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“Now, when shall we learn what Cecile has up her sleeve? I do not think she will give up the Master of Pemberly without a fight. She seemed too enamoured of him, and if I know anything of my sister, I know she is a determined woman.”

Even as he talked, Evan began to kiss just below her ear, trailing down her neck and making his way across her décolletage. Georgiana squirmed in response, sliding back and forth against his now hardening groin.

Breathing heavily, she sighed, “I have no idea, but I imagine she will tell me, as she means to return for your birthday dinner in a fortnight.”

“How fortunate then that we have so long before she arrives,” he responded, kissing that spot at the base of her neck—the one that always made her moan. Today was no exception.

Hearing her response, he stood with her in his arms and hurriedly crossed the room, exited into the hallway, and strode towards the grand staircase that led ultimately to their bedroom. One of the downstairs maids walked out of the drawing room just ahead of them and, seeing the spectacle, made a complete circle, heading back into the room from whence she came. They both chuckled.

“Mr. Ingram! In broad daylight!” Georgiana teased. “What will the servants think?”

He nuzzled her perfumed hair, his ardour beginning to take control, and whispered hoarsely in reply, “They will think the Master loves his wife, Mrs. Ingram.”

As the seasoned maid peeked out of the drawing room, the sound of laughter could still be heard continuing up the stairs and then echoing down the hallways above. Seeing no one about, she cautiously continued on her way, trying to suppress the wide grin on her face.

~~~*~~~

Chapter 9

London

A Townhouse

“You had no right!” Count Stefano bellowed, his green eyes flashing, the veins in his neck were distended as he hurled a candelabrum across the room where it smashed into a liquor cabinet. The sound of crystal shattering brought a servant rushing to the door, who upon seeing the commotion quickly retreated. “I should have been the one to decide when my wife was to be informed of my activities!”

“The contessa is the mother of your son, Stephen. She deserves to know the truth! You are in no position to have Eduardo join you here. At any time, you might be confronted by an angry father or brother. Do you want to place the life of your son at risk?”

“What truth did you tell her, Father? Have you told her that I have taken several more wives in England or that I make my living by thievery, as you have cut off my allowance?”

Frederick Stanton, Earl of Essex, recoiled, making his son sneer.

“Surely, if you are aware of the number of women I have supposedly married, you must know what enables me to live so lavishly, though you have for all practical purposes disowned me.”

“All the more reason to keep Eduardo away from you.”

“You have made it your mission to keep those I love from me. I loved Elizabeth, but you took her away from me.” He began to pace, mumbling incoherently before halting abruptly. “She was the only one I chose because I loved her. She had no fortune.” Whirling around, he moved to stand face to face with his father. “You ruined it! You told her everything!”

“No! I should have told her, but for her sake, I could not. It was your failings that caused her to leave.”

“Lies! You are lying!”

At the look on his father’s face, Stefano began laughing hysterically, causing Stanton to declare, “You are mad!”

“You only want to be rid of me. Was that not your plan when you schemed to have me committed when that wench died! Do not think you can fool me again. I now have with me men from my mother’s country that will stop you—men whose loyalty was to my grandfather and now to me. If you are smart, you will go back to your comfortable life and keep your nose out of my affairs.”

The earl grabbed his cane and stalked towards the door but was halted as Stefano ran to step in front of him, grabbing his forearms tightly.

“Consider this your last warning, Father. If I learn that you have interfered in my life again, I will not hesitate to have my men hunt you down.”

Stanton shook his arms free and walked around his son, not looking back until he stood outside the front door. Taking a shaky breath, he descended the steps and entered his carriage.

Mr. Scroggins, his long-time servant now serving as his bodyguard, enquired, “What did he say?”

“The usual threats,” Frederick Stanton replied, not meeting the other man’s eyes. Mr. Scroggins studied him for a few moments.

“You should have let me accompany you.” Stanton shrugged. “You did you best, sir. You tried to rear him right, but that mother of his and his grandfather filled his head with so much rubbish that—”

“Please, Scroggins! Do not try to absolve me. I knew what he was—what he was capable of many years before I tried to right the wrongs he had committed. If only I had acted sooner! He has deceived two women that I know about, not counting that mentally unbalanced one.”