Page 61 of The Moonstone Marquess
“Goodnight, Uncle Cormac.” His niece’s eyes were still sealed shut and she was still smiling.
“Pleasant dreams, duckling. Phoebe has to come downstairs with me to bolt the door, but she’ll be right back.”
“Oh, I had better dump out what we left in the kitchen,” Phoebe whispered as they returned downstairs.
He held the lamp while she hastily cleaned up Imogen’s mess. Once done, she walked him to the door and laughed in surprise when he drew her up against him and kissed her hard on the lips. “I love you, Phoebe Killigrew.”
Her smile turned impish. “You must if you still desire to kiss me after what I just cleaned up. Perhaps your sense of smell is not functioning.”
“Everything on my body is functioning, which is why I had better leave before I put the naughtier parts of me to use.” He kissed her again, pleased to see sparkles in her eyes. “I have so much I want to say to you.” He glanced toward the stairs, expecting Imogen to scamper back down if Phoebe did not return to her soon. “But it can wait until tomorrow. I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast. Lock up after me.”
He left the house, but remained close until he heard the bolt click into place. Only then did he ride off. He rode slowly, hoping Hadrian had been back and forth enough times between the two houses to memorize the way, for it was quite dark despite the silver light of an almost-full moon.
It was not long before he saw the lights still blazing at Westgate Hall.
He patted Hadrian’s neck again. “Good work, old boy. We’ve made it home.”
Yet this was not quite true.
Yes, Westgate Hall was a beautiful estate, and he owned it. But no place would ever be a true home without Phoebe in it.
He gave his steed over to one of the grooms and strode into the house, which remained a hive of activity. “Melrose, what are all the servants doing up at this late hour?”
Of course, it was not considered late for him or his guests. These lords and ladies never stirred until noon. The servants, however, were up at the crack of dawn, and he had no intention of keeping them working day and night.
“We are assisting the ladies and Lord Harding in packing their belongings,” Melrose replied.
Cormac laughed. “Can’t be rid of them soon enough, can you, Melrose?”
The butler grinned. “They wish to leave, and we wish to make certain they do, my lord.”
“And what of Lord Rothmere? Has he calmed down?”
“Yes, although he was not pleased when he realized you were serious about tying him to a chair all night.”
“I was not too pleased he wished to shoot me.”
“Quite so. We tied him up as you instructed, in one of the large, padded leather chairs beside the hearth. We kept his bindings loose, as you bade us to do. Truly, my lord, you have gone too easy on him. He’ll manage a moderately comfortable night’s sleep under the watchful eyes of my best footmen. If he complains come morning, then he can sleep it off in his coach on the way back to London.”
“You did well, Melrose. Summon me if he gives them any problem. Indeed, do not hesitate to summon me for the slightest reason. I will not rest until that lot is gone.” He then made a quick inspection of each room to be certain everything was under control before heading to his bedchamber.
He knew he would not get more than three or four hours of sleep, but he did not really need more than that to function. Morning could not come soon enough for him, not only because he wished his guests to be on their way. He was also eager to see Phoebe and his nieces, and looked forward to the day he could take the girls under his roof.
Phoebe, too.
But that would require a marriage license and a wedding ceremony.
Well, the girls would be with him soon enough. Another week of riding back and forth until his last guest departed.
“Blast,” he muttered, wondering what he was going to do with Lord Crawford once the others were gone. He could not leave him to rattle about this big house on his own.
He supposed it was safe enough to bring Lord Crawford around to Moonstone Cottage to meet Phoebe, Chloe, and his nieces. But not first thing tomorrow for breakfast. That time was for him alone. Besides, he needed to make certain Imogen was not ill. Also, Phoebe might be exhausted if Imogen’s stomach remained upset and she had to stay up all night with her.
His valet entered his bedchamber to assist him in undressing. “My lord?”
“Come in, Gunyon.” Cormac scowled and remained scowling, for he hated to stand there like a child, incapable of managing the simplest tasks.
He knew he was behaving like a surly oaf, but this nightly ritual was demeaning, and he had never gotten used to his dependence on others. Three years now, and he still hated being treated like a child.
