“I’m so sorry,” she said, wanting to die. “I don’t know what c-came over me….”
“Sorry?” he repeated, obviously perplexed, and she thought perhaps a little annoyed too. “What the devil are you sorry for?”
Bunty hesitated. “N-Nice girls aren’t supposed to behave like that.”
He let out a sigh and reached for her, cupping her cheek. “You’re the nicest girl I have ever met, and I loved every minute of it. Please don’t regret it, but I suppose I had better take you home. We’re not married yet.”
“Why?”
Lord Courtenay frowned at her. “Why what?”
“Why are you marrying me?”
He hesitated and Bunty held her breath, for once in her life allowing herself to hope for a man to say something that did not make her feel unattractive and unwanted. He turned and looked at her, his expression intent.
“Not for your dowry, if that’s what you’re wondering. I’m not marrying you because I must, and I’m not marrying you for your money. I swear upon my honour, for whatever that tarnished article may be worth to you.”
Bunty smiled at him. It wasn’t exactly a romantic declaration, but it was more than she’d dared hope for. “I think your honour is a most valuable thing, my lord.”
He stared at her, something in his eyes that she could not read.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “And it’s not ‘my lord.’ Not anymore. I should like you to call me Ludo.”
Chapter 3
“Wherein Lord Courtenay takes a wife.”
London
December 8, 1820
Ludo stared around his rented rooms, trying to see through the eyes of a gently raised young woman who had been bred for greater things than this blasted hovel.
Hell and damnation.
Oh God, what had he done? She would take one look at this dump and walk straight out again. He could take her to a hotel for their wedding night, but… but this would still await them the next day. She’d see then exactly what a pitiful excuse for a man she’d married. She hadn’t realised yet, the poor girl. For the moment, his looks had charmed her, just as they’d charmed so many other women before her. They ought to be good for something, he thought bitterly, after having ruined his life in every other way. The Courtenay family were all fair-haired, with green or hazel eyes. His father and his two older brothers fitted the mould perfectly: medium height, medium build, sandy hair, fair skin and green eyes. And then there was Ludo. Standing well over six feet, he was built like an ox, with hair the colour of midnight, skin that spoke of Mediterranean climes, and eyes of bright blue.
A cuckoo in the nest if ever there was one.
In the days before she’d died, his mother had told him his father had been an Italian count. The handsomest man she had ever met. Her lover had wanted her to run away with him, but she had not wanted Ludo to live with the ensuing scandal. God, how he wished his mother had run, and taken him with her. It could not possibly have been worse.
Ludo reached down, picked up an empty brandy bottle and set it on the mantel. He was getting married tomorrow. This would not do. He needed help.
An hour later, he returned to his rooms with three of his favourite ladies from the brothel around the corner. They had not been best pleased at being woken during daylight hours, but the promise of being paid double their usual rate—and the lure of one of their favourite customers—had got them moving.
“Well then, lover,” Jenny said, pressing herself against him with a suggestive smile. “What’s got you all riled up, then? Three of us going to be enough, is it? He’s in the mood for some sport, I reckon, girls.”
The other two women giggled, and Ludo sighed, hoping they would not hate him for asking for their help.
“No sport, Jen. I’m sorry. The truth is, I’m getting married tomorrow.”
They stared at him.
“Oh!” Sarah said, her face clearing. “He wants to sow the last of his wild oats.”
“Bleedin’ ’ell,” Rachel crowed. “I don’t reckon ’e’s got none left!”
The three of them fell about laughing and Ludo sighed, unhooking Jenny’s arms from his neck.
“No, no. You’ve got it all wrong. Please, ladies. I need your help. I’d not ask otherwise. I’m getting married and the poor girl is getting a wretched bargain as it is, without… without bringing her back to… to this….” He gestured about him in despair. “I know I’m a devil for asking it of you, but please? Help me make it look a bit less….”
“Like a tomcat’s hideaway?” Jenny suggested, raising one eyebrow.
“Exactly,” Ludo replied, relieved.
Jenny tutted at him and folded her arms. “Not sure we ought to help him, girls, not if it means he’s going to be a proper husband and mend his ways.”
Rachel snorted. “When did gettin’ married ever stop a bloke from having his fun? Won’t change nothin’.”
Jenny studied Ludo for a long moment, and he felt a wave of heat burn up the back of his neck. “Nah. Ludo’s a good ’un,” she said softly. “If he says his vows, they’ll mean summat. Won’t they, love?”
Ludo nodded, something in his chest constricting at being read so easily, when he’d hardly dared acknowledge the truth himself.
“She a nice girl?” Jenny asked, smiling at him.
Ludo nodded. “Better than I deserve, Jen.”
“Ah, come on then, ladies. Roll your sleeves up. Let’s help the poor sod get his house in order.”
“Do we get summat for our trouble when it’s done, eh?” Sarah asked him, moving close enough to run her hand over his chest and down to more intimate areas.
Ludo caught hold of her wrist and raised her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers. “A generous purse and my undying gratitude, Sarah.”
The girl heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes. “Ah, well. As you like, handsome.”
By late afternoon, Ludo’s rooms had been thoroughly cleaned and aired, fresh sheets put on the bed, and an embarrassing number of empty bottles disposed of. Once the girls had gone, each of them in possession of a generous sum for their troubles, Ludo had headed out to buy a wedding ring. A simple gold band was all he could afford, but his hopes rose exponentially on seeing the ring tucked into its little red box. A new beginning, he promised himself. On the way back, he’d noticed a flower seller, her basket crammed full of Christmas roses. He made the girl’s day by buying the entire basketful. It would be an excellent way of brightening up his less than elegant abode and, besides which, the flowers made him think of Bunty.
Ludo stared down at the large bouquet in his hand and laughed as he walked home. This was his last night as a bachelor. No doubt he ought to be out drinking with his friends and making the most of his freedom. He couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do less. He had caroused and debauched his way through life since he was a very young man, and now that was done. Now he would have a wife, someone to come home to, someone who gave a damn if he came home.
She would give a damn, wouldn’t she?