Page 41 of Marriage with a Proper Stranger

At his core, he was a sensible man, raised to take responsibility for his emotions and actions no matter how riotous. He’d married Sabrina in order to assist her with her plight, but that was only part of his motive. He’d been attracted to her from the moment she showed up at his door hidden under the hood of her cloak. Kissing her had been a revelation. Apparently he knew nothing about desire, because everything he’d experienced before did not even come close to what he felt when Sabrina was in his arms.

If he wanted to try and convince her there could be more between them than this temporary legal arrangement, his original assessment of taking things slow had been the correct one. The way she’d melted in his arms showed passion existed in her. He need only allow her the time to acknowledge her hidden sensuality.

His trepidation grew as the tree-lined drive leading to Wollstonecraft Hall came into view. The property consisted of magnificent grounds, ideal for hunting, though none of the Wollstonecraft men did it for sport, as they found it barbaric, particularly fox hunting. The original house, done in the Tudor style and constructed in the sixteenth century, had all but been demolished, except for the timber-framed entrance and front hall.

The additional wings were Gothic Revival and Georgian, light beige brick with Palladian windows. The small Gothic wing sported black brick with lancet windows. As the sprawling building came into view, Riordan smiled. In spite of its strange, eccentric look, this was home. His arrival had been anticipated, for Martin stood by the door while a young lad from the stable hovered nearby to take charge of Grayson.

“Good to see you, sir,” Martin said. His deep voice resonated but had a gentle, firm tone. The no-nonsense butler had been around as long as Riordan could remember. He’d been hired as a young footman about four decades ago. Around the age of Riordan’s grandfather, Martin commanded respect from the other servants and ran the hall in an efficient manner. Tall, lean, and gray-haired, he stood ramrod straight, motioning to a young footman who’d appeared in the doorway to take Riordan’s valise.

“Good to be home, Martin. Am I the last to arrive?” He slid off Grayson, giving the horse an affectionate pat on the neck before handing the reins to the stable boy.

“No, sir. Master Aidan has yet to make an appearance. You will find the earl, the viscount, and Master Garrett in the library. Dinner will be at eight.” Riordan had departed at the crack of dawn in order to have most of the afternoon to visit.

“I’ll go the library first and greet the family, but will wish a bath before dinner. Who will attend me?”

By their own choice, both he and Aidan did not have their own valets, nor did Garrett. Usually one of the footmen stepped in when needed, such as preparing for formal occasions or seeing that baths were prepared. Otherwise, the twins looked after themselves, shaving, dressing, and the like.

Handing his hat, gloves, and cloak to Martin, Riordan strode through the hall, steeling his spine for the confrontation ahead. Should he tell them now? At dinner? Tomorrow morning at the meeting? Spilling the information over brunch before he departed was the coward’s way. Not his style at all.

Stepping into the library, he found his grandfather, father, and uncle sipping whiskey and sitting in the half circle of leather chairs before the large stone medieval fireplace. A roaring fire crackled in the hearth, the logs snapping noisily on the grate.

“Riordan, my lad,” his grandfather called out, a warm smile on his face. Martin had followed Riordan into the library and was already pouring a tumbler of scotch. When Riordan sat, Martin handed him the drink. “Thank you, Martin. That will be all.” The butler bowed toward the earl and left the room.

“You look well, Riordan,” his father stated. The viscount, though self-contained and not as outwardly affectionate as the earl, felt things profoundly. Riordan never doubted that his father loved him. One only had to look at his astounding record in parliament, fighting and speaking passionately for progressive causes, to see the proof. But it was not only in his work—he’d spent as much time as he could with him and Aidan as they grew.

“As do you, Father.” Once settled in with his drink, he savored the comforting warmth, not only from the fire, but also from being with his family. Which reminded him. “Where is Aidan? Sleeping?”

His father frowned. “We have not heard from Aidan. At all. Not once in the past two months.”

Riordan looked to Garrett, who said, “It’s true. We sent runners out to his usual haunts and…nothing. He’s gone to ground.”

Riordan did not like the sound of this. “How odd, he’s never done that before. He has always stayed in contact, no matter how deeply immersed in his vices. But I haven’t heard from him either.” He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “Damn, I’ve been caught up in my own… Is anything being done to locate him?”

His father nodded. “Of course. We have people in Bath and London and points beyond. He will be found. And dealt with.” His father’s expression turned stony. Aidan was in deep trouble. He’d been sinking for months, but this was the final straw.

“Tell us about Carrbury and your teaching. Garrett was sparse on details,” his grandfather said, no doubt glad to change the subject.

Garrett laughed. “Da, I wasn’t in the schoolroom with him. I was only there for a couple of nights.”

Riordan stared into the depths of his whiskey. Why put off the inevitable? Might as well reveal it. “I was married. Last week.”

The silence was deafening. The only sounds came from the fire crackling in the hearth and the pendulum clock on the mantel ticking away the awkward minutes.

“What did you say?” His father’s tone was incredulous.

“It’s a temporary marriage of convenience only. I’m assisting a widow left penniless by her earl husband. She was about to be literally sold off by her miserable baron father to an old marquess.”

Garrett blew out a breath, then took a long swig of whiskey. His father turned his thunderous look toward his brother. “Were you aware of this?”

“I knew a little of his plans,” Garrett murmured.

“And you thought not to tell us?” the earl cried.

“He asked me not to. Riordan is of age, and able to make his own decisions. He’s here now to tell you of it. Listen to what he has to say,” Garrett replied.

“What do you mean by ‘assist’ and ‘temporary’? Explain yourself,” his father barked.

Riordan took a fortifying drink, savoring the burn. Once he swallowed, he commenced giving his family as thorough an explanation as he could. The earl looked shocked, but his father’s expression darkened.