Page 45 of The Reckless Love of an Heir (The Marlow Family Secrets #4)

Henry rolled onto his back, his head pounding. He had drunk himself into oblivion last evening. After everyone left, he came to his room and finished the bottle he had started outside, then sent for another. He had drunk until he could no longer lift a glass.

Samson lay on the covers beside him, something that would annoy his mother if she knew. His hand reached to Samson’s ear and his fingers stroked the dog, as memories whirled in his head.

God, what had he done? He could feel himself pressing into Susan’s body, the warmth of her, the slickness of her welcome. He could still smell the damned roses mingling with the scents of sex.

He shut his eyes as he recalled kissing her mouth, and his fingers invading her.

Bloody hell. Why had she let him do it? Because she loved him in return. There was no doubt of it, she would not have allowed it if she did not.

Damn. He had been mad – and intoxicated – and drawn her into hell with him. And the foolish woman had allowed it when she had denied them any future. Well, he had forced her hand now.

You utter bastard, his internal voice accused – his conscience speaking.

He nudged Samson off the bed, then threw back the covers and walked across the room to open the shutters and let in the daylight. The sun was high. It was probably already midday. Samson yawned behind him, then began to whimper in a need to be let out.

What was Susan thinking? She must be cursing him.

He pulled some clean clothes from his chest of drawers, clarity in his mind. The first certainty he had known in weeks.

When he left the house, he encountered none of his family in the halls he walked through, with Samson at his heel. He imagined today his parents would keep to themselves. Percy would look after the boys, and the girls had each other. Today, he had to put Susan first.

He lifted a hand to a footman who stopped to bow. ‘Would you take Samson outside, please, then to the kitchens?’

‘Yes, sir.’ The man took hold of Samson’s collar, well aware he would rather follow Henry.

‘Stay, boy,’ Henry commanded, then walked on to the tune of Samson’s barked complaints.

He left the house through the door leading to the stables.

‘I wish to ride!’ he called to a groom.

‘Yes, sir.’ The man tugged on his forelock, then rushed to ready the stallion that had been given to Henry years ago.

Henry lifted off his hat and tapped it against his leg as he waited. The carriage they had used yesterday was being cleaned and polished by the grooms. He could not look at it, he did not want any memory of yesterday .

His gloved fingers ran over his hair; the action brought a memory to mind, of Susan’s fingers holding his hair.

A couple of grooms returned riding his sisters’ horses they must have taken out for exercise. The stallion was led out from its stall, saddled and ready for Henry to ride. He took the reins, led the horse to the mounting block, climbed the steps there and settled himself in the saddle.

‘Thank you,’ he said, looking down at the groom. Then to the horse he said, ‘Go on,’ and struck his heels against its flanks as he rocked his hips forward, commanding the animal to walk until they were out of the stable yard.

Outside the yard, he lifted up from the saddle and urged the horse into a trot with his rise and fall. On the drive, he pressed his weight into the stirrups and his knees against the horse, and lifted off the saddle to set the animal into a canter along the avenue of tall horse-chestnut trees.

The best way to reach Uncle Casper’s was along the road. He did not gallop, but cantered the horse all of the way, turning off the road and along the drive which passed the fields where the stud horses grazed.

When he reached the house a groom appeared and came to hold the horse as Henry dismounted.

The gravel crunching beneath his boots, he walked to the door as a cuckoo called from somewhere in the trees behind the house.

How apt.

Henry lifted off his hat as he walked the last few paces. His other hand ruffled his hair.

When he reached the door it opened before he could knock.

He looked at the footman, it was not a man he knew, and probably therefore not a servant who knew him. ‘Is Lord Forth at home? ’

‘Yes, my lord.’ The man bowed. ‘Please wait here in the hall.’

‘Please tell him I would like to speak with him privately,’ Henry said before the man turned away.

‘Yes, my lord.’

Whenever he called here, Alethea ran downstairs or Aunt Julie rushed into the hall to embrace him, no one came today. But he had never arrived when he was not expected before.

‘Henry!’

He looked up to see Susan leaning over the bannister of the landing above. Then she was hurrying down the stairs. She wore dark blue, a colour which set off the fascinating quality of her eyes. Her beauty gripped tightly about his heart as it had done every time he looked at her yesterday.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, her gaze questioning and a blush colouring her skin.

He would have held her hands but he still had a hold of his hat. ‘I have come to speak to your father.’

‘About what… Oh no. No, Henry.’

‘There is no choice now, Susan.’ He did catch one of her hands then, stopping it from waving about, denying his intent.

He held it firmly. ‘You cannot complain nor disagree. I am fixed on this. After yesterday there is no other choice. You think of Alethea, you think of me, you worry over all of us, trying to stop us all from feeling pain, but in that commitment, you forget yourself.’

‘But I cannot, Alethea…’

‘Damn Alethea. She will manage well enough. It is you I care for. There will be consequences, and if there are no physical consequences then there will be sadness regardless. I will not allow it. I had thought I was hurting you less by letting you walk away but that is hurting you too, and me. Let us have each other. Let us be happy. Alethea will find her happiness too in another way. Please…’

‘I do not?—’

‘My lord.’ The footman reappeared.

Henry let go of Susan’s hand and turned.

‘Lord Forth asked me to bring you to the library.’

‘Thank you.’ He looked back at Susan only for an instant, then followed the footman, as though he did not know where the library was. When they reached the open door the man stepped out of his way. Henry passed him and shut the door.

‘Uncle Casper,’ he said when they faced each other.

‘Henry… What might I do for you? Can I be of some help?’

‘I have not come to ask for help, but to ask for something else, Uncle.’ Henry set his upturned hat down on a side table, then stripped off his gloves and threw them into his hat. His hands were shaking, but whether it was nerves or a hangover from yesterday’s liquor he did not know.

‘What is it you need?’

Henry walked across the room. Uncle Casper was still sitting behind his desk. ‘I wish to ask for the hand?—’

‘Now, Henry?’ Uncle Casper interrupted, standing up, surprise twitching his pale moustache and distorting his brow. ‘I am sure Alethea is willing to wait until?—’

‘Not Alethea’s.’ Henry swallowed hard against what felt like cowardice in his throat. ‘I wish to ask you for Susan’s hand.’

‘Susan…’ Uncle Casper walked about the desk, looking utterly perplexed.

‘Yes, sir, Susan.’ He did not think it necessary to explain, it was just a fact. He loved one sister and not the other. Not the one they had tried to force upon him.

‘Is she aware of this?’ Uncle Casper asked.

‘Yes, sir. ’

‘Good Lord.’ He leaned back against the desk. ‘And Alethea?’

‘She is not aware. I have not had opportunity to discuss my feelings with her.’

‘Well, this is going to be a to-do, then, is it not?’

‘I know. I am sorry for that, but I cannot help what I feel for Susan.’ Henry’s voice was deep and his throat dry, as the emotion stacked so tightly beneath his skin that if he let himself yield to it he might go literally mad.

Uncle Casper nodded, his gaze looking into nowhere as though he were already thinking about the consequences.

It would mean a lot of upset, both in Susan’s family and his, but there was nothing else for it.

He had been reckless again, they both had to face the consequence of that and he refused to regret it.

He wanted this, and so did Susan, even though she would not admit it.

She had admitted it on the grass in the rose garden when she did not say stop.

‘But why now, Henry? Surely now is not the time. Surely it is better to wait until the end of your mourning. It would be better for us to tell Alethea, too, and then give her a few months to become used to the idea of you courting Susan before you become engaged.’

Henry swallowed. He knew he would be asked to wait.

He thought of nothing else during his ride over here, and there were no words with which to explain the urgency without telling Uncle Casper the truth.

So he spoke the truth. ‘We have anticipated the vows, sir. I am sorry. Susan has no choice but to marry me, and we need to be married now.’

‘You…’ Uncle Casper’s mouth dropped open and his skin flushed with anger.

‘Well, now that explains much,’ he barked.

‘For instance, why Susan plans to look for employment and why she ran away from London. Yes, Henry, you had better marry her quickly.’ He walked to the door while he spoke and pulled it op en.

‘Would you send for… Ah, I see you do not need to. Come in, Susan.’

Guilt and shame challenged Susan as her father glared at her, holding the library door wide and beckoning her in. She had been listening outside.

‘I am sorry,’ she said as she walked past her father.

‘I should hope so,’ he snapped back. After he shut the door he added, ‘I am disappointed in you.’ Then he looked at Henry. ‘I am disappointed in you both.’ He lifted his hand. ‘Susan.’ Her name was a sharp order, telling her to walk across the room to join Henry.

She was going to be scolded for stealing Henry from Alethea.