Chapter Seventeen
Denham House
St. James Place
Mayfair, England
Still exhausted from the events following the scandalous Valentine’s Day ball at Thornton’s country estate, he still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he had lost all control over the members of his club.
Things were rapidly growing out of hand, and when his members started to cross unspoken, gentlemanly lines, there were issues somewhere.
“I believe I need to either clean house at the club or screen members better,” he said when Abigail came into the room.
“How so?”
The hiss of snowflakes against the window glass served as a reminder that winter was still very much in control.
Wallace shrugged. “This debacle with Thornton and Galahad has me concerned. Does that mean these men will forever be at odds with each other? They might, especially since Thornton shot him.” That had been a shock, for he hadn’t thought any of it would have happened.
Abigal nodded. She’d been in attendance at the ball as well.
“I’ve discovered that there is no logic when love is thrown into the mix, and when a man is quite possessive of his wife?
” With a soft shake of her head, she took his hand and urged him off the sofa.
“There is no predicting what will happen.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Clearly, Thornton adores his wife, and I believe he only just realized it close to the ball. Emotions come swiftly to some men, but others, those revelations are delayed. At times, when that happens, a man might temporarily lose his mind until those emotions can regulate.” She smiled up at him.
“Imagine, though, the fierceness Lady Thornton must feel from him, knowing beyond all doubt he would do anything for her.”
Wallace glanced sharply at his wife. “Never say you are jealous?”
“Perhaps.” Her shrug lifted one shoulder, but her smile remained mysterious.
“It was the height of romantic, though, when he swept her up and carried her off. It rather made for the most delightful gossip, and I’ll wager the two of them were locked in an embrace soon after they got into that traveling coach. ”
“Ah, well if that is what you wish for, I am quite eager to make that happen.” He slipped an arm about her waist then, with a grunt, he swept her up into his arms. Since he was a smaller man than Thornton, he couldn’t quite manage to toss his wife over his shoulder, but this should suffice.
Pausing, he claimed her lips, gratified when she twined her hands about his neck.
“You never were one to let a hint drop.” Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight. “Don’t worry too much about your clubmates, though.”
He frowned. “Why not? Everything is dismal.”
“Not truly.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Well, a fair number of them have become married, and as for Ravenhurst, as of yesterday, he is now a father.” As she spoke, he watched her lips.
In mere moments, he’d have her in his bed, and he wouldn’t let her out until he’d gotten his fill of her body in all the ways that mattered.
“Had you ever thought men in your club would become fathers?”
“I’ll admit, I hadn’t given it thought.” He carried her from the room and toward the stairs.
“Perhaps you should, but I find it lovely that men in the club are healing themselves while finding love and carving out a bit of happiness for themselves.” She manipulated the folds of his cravat as he moved them to the next level of the townhouse.
“And if it helps them keep their demons and drudgeries at bay, where is the harm if they’re obsessed with their wives or fiancées? ”
“I suppose, but—”
“No, Wallace.” She shook her head as she let the silken length of his cravat drift to the corridor floor just outside his suite.
“Love is powerful; it makes men do impossible things, and if we’re fortunate, wonderful things, so don’t begrudge them that, when you are lost to your own most of the time. ”
As he let them both into the suite and then slammed the door behind him, he huffed. “You believe I’m lost?”
“In what we share?” She nodded. “Yes. We both are. For good or for ill, it is love that we share together, love that we need to nurture if we wish to raise Bartholomew to be an upstanding citizen and a member of the beau monde.”
Gently, he deposited her on his massive four-poster bed then followed her down, still fully clothed. After a brief kiss, he held her gaze. “When a man discovers what is most important and puts that person—people—above all others, that is the day when his life begins anew.”
He would always believe that, for that is what happened when he married Abigail and again when he found out he was a father to Bartholomew. It had occurred one last time when they’d become a family.
“Exactly.” His wife’s grin was everything. “There is no shame in loving the people in your life fiercely, Wallace. In fact, doing exactly that is welcomed, for life is short and we should all live in spectacular fashion.” Then she pulled him down and kissed him.
In seconds, he was lost, and he reveled in that. The club could take care of itself in his absence.