A Most Unsuitable Groom by Kasey Michaels by Kasey Michaels Read Free Book Online Page B

and Rian," Mariah repeated. "Are they brother and sister?"
    "No, not by blood." The baby stirred slightly, made a small sound, and Spencer's heart lurched in his chest. "Is he all right?"
    "I think so. He may be getting hungry, poor little scrap. You should probably call someone. And that's all? You, Rian, Callie, Morgan and Eleanor, who has already told me that she lives here with her husband, Jack..."
    "And Fanny," he added helpfully. 'Then there's Chance, the oldest of us all. He has his own estate north of London and is married, with two children of his own. And Courtland. God, let's not forget Court. He still lives here and probably always will. You'll recognize him by the perpetual scowl on his bearded face. The world sits heavily on Court's shoulders, you understand."
    Mariah lifted William's hand to her mouth, kissed it. "Why?"
    "Why?" Spencer repeated, inwardly wincing. Damn his tongue for running too hard. Explaining his family without exposing his family was difficult in the best of times. "No reason. Court just likes to see himself as being in charge of all of us. Elly, too, come to think of it. But they're not. Ainsley is the head of the family, very much so."
    "Such a large family. I had only my father," Mariah said. "It must be wonderful, having so many brothers and sisters."
    Spencer smiled. "Many would think so, I suppose."
    "But you don't?"
    "That's not—of course I do. But I'm a younger son and sometimes I feel as if I'm standing at the end of a long queue, awaiting my turn to—never mind."
    "No," Mariah said, truly interested. "Waiting your turn for what, Spencer?"
    My turn to live. The words were in his mind, but he didn't say them, ashamed of his desire, his need, to be his own man, unburdened by the shadow of Ainsley's past and the dangers that past still held for them all. Because he'd always believed there was a life away from Romney Marsh and, now that he'd seen it, he felt more confined than ever. Because to say the words out loud would brand him as an ungrateful bastard.
    Mariah felt the sudden tension in the room and raced to fill the silence. "So Ainsley was once in the shipping trade, you said. What do you all do here? Farm? Herd sheep? What do people do in Romney Marsh?"
    Free trade. Ride hell for leather across the Marsh after midnight as the mist rises all round, outrunning the militia as the casks of brandy and tea are moved inland. Race ahead of the wind on the Respite upon occasion, just for the thrill of it, playing cat and mouse with a French frigate patrolling the Channel. Cool their heels two weeks out of every four and stare at the choppy sea, aching to see what lies beyond the water.
    Spencer bit back a smile. "We keep ourselves busy," he said, standing up once more. 'I'll go find Odette."
    'They've already bound my breasts," Mariah heard herself say, and then lowered her head, her cheeks hot. "They won't even let me try. But if it's best for William, I suppose I understand."
    "I'm...I'm sorry," Spencer said, sure that Mariah was upset. "You haven't had an easy time of things. I'm sure your woman is only thinking of your own health, as should you. I don't remember most of my voyage home. Was yours an easy crossing?"
    She shook her head, wishing away these silly tears that kept threatening. "We had storms most of the way. For six long weeks I spent the majority of my time with my head over a bucket, I'm afraid." She lifted a hand, let it drop onto the coverlet once more. "I know they're right." Her face crumpled slightly. "But I'm his mother."
    Spencer felt as useless as a wart on the end of Prinney's nose and sighed in real relief when the door to the hallway opened and Odette came sailing in, a young woman following behind her.
    "Here now," Odette said, taking in the scene. "Is this what you're good for, Spencer Becket? Making the girl cry? Take yourself off and be glad I don't turn you into a toad and step on you."
    "But I—oh, never mind. Who's this?"
    "I'm Sheila, sir," the