Chapter 1
There was nothing Guy liked more than having a long hot bath after a vigorous afternoon of sexual congress.
Especially when his bed partner was none other than the beautiful widowed Lady Beth Paxton.
Her elderly and infirm husband had had the decency to die, and she had been indulging herself ever since.
Married four years ago at the age of twenty to a man old enough to be her father was never a girl’s dream. But with her father dead and her mother having no money, she did what all well-bred, destitute daughters were expected to do—she married for money.
She was brought up well, following society’s dictates, so she had not indulged in affairs until after her husband had died.
Or so she would have society believe. But the rumor was that since her husband could not perform, she’d been sleeping with any man she could in order to get with child before Lord Paxton passed.
Childless, she received a small widow’s pension, but if she provided a son she would reign in luxury as Lady Paxton with Lord Paxton’s heir.
Taking Guy to her bed was proof she’d born no son.
No child at all. On Lord Paxton’s death, with Beth’s mother now in her grave too, and finding herself without the means to live the life she wanted, she’d turned to the oldest profession, one she seemed to relish and enjoy. Which was a small blessing.
Six months ago, Guy became her latest “protector.” He’d taken pride in the fact that he’d won her favor, given he was not the richest man pursuing the beautiful young widow.
As the second son of the Earl of Argyle he had a generous allowance from his brother, but he could not compete in the financial stakes with the likes of Lord Ashton or Lord Clifton.
Yet he had youth and looks on his side against those wealthier men.
Beth had become his mistress upon his discharge from the army; however, he could feel their time was coming to an end. She’d been complaining about the lack of jewelry he’d presented to her. And he did not blame her for wanting more financial security than he could provide.
Guy spent most of his allowance on this house that he leased for her at the edge of Russell Square.
When he was not here with Beth, he was at the townhouse of his brother, the Earl of Argyle, in London.
He knew he had to look at getting his own residence but he had only been out of the army for six months and, ironic as it was since he was sitting in a tub of it, he felt like a fish out of water.
He had no idea what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.
Given his—affliction—he didn’t know what he could do.
Guy would be sad to end his liaison. He believed Beth would be too, and that was why she had put off the conversation he’d known was coming. She genuinely liked him, as he liked her. But in their world money ruled. He understood that.
He picked up a jug on the stool next to the tub and poured water over his head to rinse off the soap before sluicing water from his face with his hand.
“Darling, will you be long? I’d like a word before I have to dress for Lady Skye’s soiree.”
Yes. She was definitely going to end their liaison.
Usually she joined him in the tub, with most of the water ending up on the floor.
He particularly liked it when he took her from behind as she knelt holding on to the end of the tub for dear life.
He could make her come and come and come in that position, as his hands were free to caress her little hardened nub.
Goddamn it, now he was hard for her again.
He closed his eyes and thought of his dead father, who Guy hoped was burning in hell.
That was enough to see him flaccid within moments.
With a resigned sigh he stood and stepped from the tub, reaching for a towel.
He dried himself off before grabbing a second towel and wrapping it around his hips and joining Beth in the boudoir.
She was pacing with her hands clasped together, her sheer negligee hiding nothing of her voluptuous curves as the late afternoon sun shone through the window. He took pity on her once again and preempted her.
“It’s all right, sweeting. I understand why you need to end our liaison.” He shook his head as tears welled in her eyes.
“It’s just Lord Clifton has promised me a small fortune. Enough that I will need no other protector once my liaison with him ends.”
He briefly closed his eyes on the idea of Beth having to have sex with the likes of Clifton.
He walked to where she stood so desolate and pulled her into his arms. “Just ensure he gives you whatever he has promised you before you bed him. Don’t let him fob you off.
He could die and I’m pretty sure his widow and brother would never give you a penny. ”
She sobbed against his chest. “Thank you. I have really enjoyed our time together. I will never forget you.”
He thought she was sincere but what else could one say when an arrangement was ending. “I doubt I’ll forget you either, Beth. You helped me heal from the horrors of war.”
She pulled out of his embrace and ran her fingers over the long, puckered scar that ran from his back to his stomach. The wound that almost killed him.
“I’m glad. As a prost—”
He pressed his finger to her lips. “Don’t say that word.
We all do what we must in this world. Never be ashamed for being a survivor.
” Images of what he had endured and faced in his past flashed through his vivid memory.
His father’s brutality, the wars he’d fought in, the men he’d killed…
He cleared his throat. Now was not the time for self-pity.
Beth apparently had the same thought. She swallowed hard and wiped the tears from her face.
“Soon I will be free to choose my lovers without worrying about money. Perhaps I will come calling then.” She pressed some notes into his palm.
“Lord Clifton took over paying the lease this month so I am returning to you what you paid in advance.”
He looked down at the notes in his hand and gave them back to her. “Keep it. You have more need of it than I.”
Tears welled once more. “I shall miss having you in my bed.” He didn’t doubt it—Clifton was old. “Some lady is going to be very lucky to become your wife.”
His last coherent thought as she tore the towel from his hips and lowered herself to her knees was that Beth had no idea how unlikely his taking a wife would ever be.
She had just slipped his rampant erection between her sweet, skillful lips when there was an urgent pounding on the bedchamber door.
She looked up at him with a question in her eyes.
“Ignore it,” he urged, and he let out a groan as her mouth sucked him deep.
The pounding continued. “Mr. Neville, please, sir. There is an urgent missive arrived for you from Argyle House.”
It was not only the pounding on the door that saw him pull Beth up from her knees. It was fear. Kit—Christopher, his valet, was not here. “I will be with you shortly,” he called to the servant banging on the door.
He pushed Beth behind the modesty screen and pulled a robe off the end of the bed before walking to the door. To his surprise it was Evan, a groomsman from Argyle House, his family’s seat near Cambridge. It must be serious.
“Lady Argyle bid me to put this directly into your hands.” Evan handed him a note from his mother with the family seal on it—except the seal was in black not red.
A shiver hit.
He stood there like a statue, his insides rollicking in panic as he reached for the note. It must be important to send it to him. Reginald should know better. But then, it was not Reginald’s script; he could at least recognize that.
Evan stood there expectantly. “I’m to await your instructions.”
He needed time. Time to find Kit. “Can you wait downstairs while I dress?” he said, and in a panic Guy simply closed the door in Evan’s face.
Beth stepped out from behind the screen. “Who is the missive from?” she asked, pointing to the unopened note in his hand. “Are you not going to open it?”
His brain and mouth froze. What could he say? I don’t want to because I cannot read? He kept his inadequacy well hidden. So he used his finger to break the seal and unfold the note.
It was his mother’s writing, very messy, the letters looking more jumbled than usual. He tried to focus. Tried to make sense of each letter, but even though Kit had been able to teach him to recognize small words like “yes” and “no,” the letters on the note made his insides clench. Klipmmp juliomy…
“Whatever is in the message? You’ve gone as white as a sheet.
” And to his immense relief Beth pulled it from his hand.
As she began to read the note her face paled too and she looked up at him.
“Oh, my God. No wonder you have gone pale. I’ll pour you a whisky, my lord.
” She handed him back the note. “Perhaps I have been too hasty accepting Lord Clifton’s offer. ”
It took him but moments to understand. The black seal, the fact that Reginald had not sent the message, and Beth had called him “my lord.” When she pushed the glass of whisky into his hand, she added, “I know you were close to your brother. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Reginald was dead.
His whole body shook with the horror of it and he sunk to sit on the edge of the bed before his legs crumpled beneath him. And he hadn’t even been able to read his mother’s note telling him he was now the Earl of Argyle.
His father’s stupid, idiot son was now the earl.
The boy who could not read or write, the boy his father had beaten until he was almost unconscious on several occasions, but that still did not make Guy able to read or write…
was now the Earl of Argyle. His father must be turning in his grave, and Guy liked that idea.
The loss of Reginald hit him hard and his chest hurt. His brother had always been kind, had tried to protect him from his father. As children they had sat up late at night, Reginald helping him memorize the lessons so no one could tell he could not read anything.
And now his staunch protector was dead.
Guy wanted to scream at the unfairness of the world but he knew from experience that screaming didn’t help.
He closed his eyes against the burn of anger and shame. He could not even read his mother’s note. He would never be able to do what Reginald could.
He couldn’t read, for God’s sake. He was stupid. An idiot.
He tried to breathe but it was as if all the air was being sucked out of the room. He wanted to claw at his chest.
Then Beth’s arms were around him. “It’s all right, my lord.”
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped.
She didn’t respond immediately, instead she hugged him tighter. “It is your correct title now, my lord. I wish you could stay longer but your mother’s comment about your cousin’s concern and the funeral…Well, you must of course leave immediately.”
Patrick Neville—his cousin’s name—made his skin crawl.
Older than Reginald, Patrick was a cruel and bitter man.
Bitter that he had not been born to Guy’s father instead of the earl’s younger brother.
He wanted what Reginald had—the title and estate—and had made Reginald’s life at Eton a living hell.
Patrick could never get his hands on the title, but what would he do if he learned Guy’s shameful secret?
He could be made trustee of the estate if he could prove Guy was unfit.
Patrick knew something was wrong with Guy, but he didn’t know what the problem was.
He had always been curious as to why Guy never went to Eton and why Guy’s father had beaten him so often.
If Patrick learned about Guy’s inability to read or write…would he have a case?
Guy closed his eyes and prayed for his dead brother, and for himself.
How on earth was he ever going to cope as the Earl of Argyle?