A Rake for All Seasons: A Regency and Victorian Romance Boxset

by Samantha Holt

  Mrs Pepperwhite. The woman had tenacity, she would give her that, but she knew August well enough now to know he held little affection for her and even less tolerance. Poor man.

  Ivy waited a few moments while they conversed before deciding to rescue him. She wasn’t sure he deserved it. He had spent the entire week being his usual fusty self, pretending nothing had happened between them and seeming immune to her. Why would he not allow himself just a few moments of pleasure? She swore he would work himself into an early grave if he wasn’t careful. But the past week had done one thing. It had changed her motivations.

  Before they had been purely selfish. A desire for affection and the overwhelming sensations he brought out in her drove her. But now it was something else. She longed to help him find enjoyment in life outside of work. He could find enjoyment with her, she was sure of it.

  Even if it was only brief.

  Oh goodness, there she went again. She thrust that thought aside. Ivy Davis, the famous singer. That was her dream, was it not? It certainly wasn’t to spend the rest of her days being Elsie’s governess and August’s mistress. And what if he did marry? She pressed a hand to her mouth. Oh dear, that would be awful. She definitely wouldn’t be able to stay under the same roof as him. Better she have those few moments of excitement to keep her going while she pursued her career.

  Ivy pulled open the door with little finesse, hoping the thud of the door would catch their attention. August glanced her way, his blue eyes seeming to penetrate the gloom and her heart squeezed, as though he had shot an arrow from those beautiful eyes.

  Mrs Pepperwhite either hadn’t noticed her or was determined not to. The woman motioned with her hand and appeared aggravated. No doubt she wished August to solve whatever problem was plaguing her. She supposed she couldn’t blame her. If there was ever a more capable man than August, she’d certainly never met him.

  “August,” she called and realised her mistake when Mrs Pepperwhite drew back her umbrella enough to shoot a narrowed gaze her way.

  “Sir,” she tried again, feeling warmth rush into her cheeks. “Elsie needs you.”

  He nodded in her direction but before leaving he pressed a hand to Mrs Pepperwhite’s arm. Ivy clenched her teeth together and this time the warmth was uncomfortable and centred down low in her stomach. She had to look away from the brief touch and stare at the swirling iron railings of the steps.

  When he moved away from the woman, Ivy braved a look at him. He came up the steps, rain dripping from the brim of his hat and greeted her in his usual manner.

  “Get inside, Ivy. It’s bloody miserable out here.”

  She stepped back and allowed him to press past and shut the door. He removed his hat and shoved a hand through his hair to neaten it but it only seemed to tousle the dark strands, making her want to push her fingers through it too.

  “What does Elsie want?”

  “She’s fine. She’s asleep. I thought you might want...”

  A flash of a grin broke his face and another tumult of something tumbled through her. It was quite weary, his effect on her. She could hardly keep up with what would happen next. Perhaps her insides would do a full flip or she’d have a heart attack. All she knew was that if she did not find a solution soon, she might end up in the grave or bedlam.

  “Thank you, I appreciate it, but for once I didn’t mind speaking with Mrs Pepperwhite. I have some news that you might find exciting.”

  “Oh?”

  His eyes twinkled and she narrowed her gaze at him. August took his time removing his coat and hanging it. It seemed he wished to torture her further. “Shall we?” He motioned to the drawing room.

  “You are mysterious, August.” He didn’t say anything else, so she relented. “Very well then.”

  Facing him, Ivy waited for him to sit but instead he went to stand by the empty fire. He rested his palm on the mantelpiece then scowled. Drawing out his pocket watch, he eyed it for a moment before flicking open the front of the mantle clock and adjusting the minute hand by a fraction. Ivy clenched her hands until her nails dug into her hands. He was teasing her—and enjoying it by the small grin on his face.

  “Well?”

  “How would you like to perform at the Grandbury gathering?”

  Iciness darted through her. Her mouth fell open. “Perform?”

  His brows rose a little. “Yes. As in sing.”

  “But... why?”

  “It seems the singer they were hoping would be coming over from France has fallen sick and they have need of a replacement. Mrs Pepperwhite was availing me as to the dilemma and I told her I knew just the woman.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, though I didn’t say as much.”

  If Ivy hadn’t been so shocked or filled with... horror?... she might have giggled at this. Mrs Pepperwhite would be annoyed indeed to find out the woman August had offered as a replacement was a mere governess.

  “B-but I’m hardly suited to... to...” She waved a hand.

  “Ivy, I thought you were desperately searching for opportunities like this.” His brows dipped and a crease appeared between them. “I thought I was doing you quite the favour. I thought you’d be happy.”

  “N-no I am, it’s just that... I am ill-practiced.”

  The excuse sounded weak on her tongue. The thought of performing to all those people filled her with dread. At such a prestigious event too. She had been convinced it was merely the setting for the auditions that had made her freeze and it would just take a different event for her to be able to sing in front of people, but now she realised that was not it. She simply could not sing for anyone apart from herself, her old singing teacher and little Elsie, it seemed.

  Oh dear, what a failure she was. She felt as though all the air had left her body. Gaze lowered to the carpet, she eyed the golden fleur-de-lys pattern. Slightly muddy shoes spoiled her view. Mrs Cartwright would not be happy about that. When she lifted her gaze, she found August barely a pace away. He put his hands to her shoulders and studied her with a frank expression.

  “What’s wrong, Ivy?”

  She swallowed. Could she really admit it to him? She had hardly wanted to admit it to herself. And now it seemed he was keen to get rid of her. Apparently she had been making a pest of herself. Now she saw herself as he did and realised what he had been contending with. A young, naive woman near throwing herself at him. He surely had the patience of a saint to have continued to bear it.

  “Ivy?” he persisted.

  “I... I don’t know if I can do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Sing.”

  “Ah.” He released her arms. “You have a beautiful voice. It seems a shame to waste it.”

  “I struggled to perform at two auditions in London. I thought... I don’t really know what I thought, but I hoped it would not happen again. Now I realise I simply cannot.”

  “Stage-fright.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You have stage-fright. It’s when a performer finds themselves terrified to perform and often causes them to be unable to.”

  “So it’s like an illness? I might never be able to overcome it?”

  “No, not an illness.” His face softened and he took her arms again. “Ivy, you are the most courageous woman I’ve ever met. I have no doubt you can overcome this.”

  Some strength returned to her at his words. He didn’t seem aggravated with her or annoyed at her presence, but still, she needed to know. “You wish to be rid of me as soon as you can, do you not?”

  “Hardly. What shall I do with Elsie when you are gone? But, regardless, you have the gift of a beautiful voice and I would not hold you back from your dreams.”

  Relief washed over her. He did not want her gone as quickly as possible. How could she have thought that? August was the most caring man she had ever met, in spite of his gruffness.

  “I appreciate your offer, August, but I cannot do it,” she said softly.

  “We have—what?—five days until
the event. Surely with my help you can overcome it? You can’t pass up this offer. I won’t let you.”

  His grip grew tight on her arms but it wasn’t painful, simply supportive. She felt his determination thread into her and she lifted her chin. “I suppose maybe I should at least try.”

  Something hesitant flickered in his gaze before he released her and smiled. “Excellent. You can start now.”

  August backed away and sat, leisurely bringing one ankle up to rest on his knee as though he had not just asked her to do the thing that terrified her most.

  “N-now?”

  “Yes. Sing to me.”

  Her stomach threatened to drop to her toes. She could not be sure, but it felt like her throat had closed over. Her tongue was dry and she trembled. Clasping her hands in front of her, she tried to clear her throat but it was no good.

  “I cannot,” she said, hearing the hysteria seep into her voice.

  “You can.” His was low and soothing. “I’ve heard some performers imagine their audience naked. It gives them a sense of control, I believe.”

  Ivy let her eyes widen. She attempted to draw in a breath through her constricted throat. Imagine him naked? Oh no, that would not help. And now she was doing it. Oh dear, oh no. She was stripping him of his waistcoat and unbuttoning his shirt. Her hands were against his taut skin, feeling the rippling response of his muscles. Now her fingers came to his trousers and were pulling them down and off. Next came his drawers.

  In reality, her gaze was fixed to the front of his trousers and if she wasn’t much mistaken, his growing arousal that tented the black fabric wasn’t a figment of her imagination. Images of his shaft, hard and pulsing and then his beautiful rear, that she had only glimpsed briefly floated in front of her gaze. She licked her lips.

  “Ivy,” he near growled.

  She lifted her gaze to his, startled. He knew what she was thinking. How mortifying.

  “Stop it,” he told her.

  “I cannot seem to.”

  “You’re meant to be singing.”

  “You told me to imagine... imagine you naked! This is your fault!”

  “I didn’t mean for you to imagine me.”

  “Well, it’s too late now!”

  August stood suddenly and closed the distance. Gone was his relaxed demeanour or the lazy smile. Tension simmered from his form and made the air thick. If she’d been struggling to breathe before, she feared she was on the verge of suffocation now.

  His gaze dropped to her lips. “I shouldn’t ask... Damn it all. What are you thinking of?” She opened her mouth, not entirely sure what she was going to reply with but he held up a hand. “No, don’t tell me. I know already.”

  Oh Lord, was he trying to drown her in desire? He knew what she was thinking so was he imagining the same?

  “Kiss me,” she begged. It wasn’t seemly or proper to beg. It felt like all she’d been doing recently was begging for his touch, yet the words dropped from her mouth before she could stop them.

  “Sing for me,” he countered.

  Ivy stilled at this. “And you will kiss me?”

  August rubbed his forehead and a reluctant smile came across his face. “Will you sing for me?”

  “Maybe,” she said coyly.

  “A kiss for a song.”

  “Is that all I get?”

  “Yes,” he said tightly.

  Perhaps she should negotiate harder but a kiss could lead to more. Much more. She drew in a deep breath and cleared her throat. But no noise would come—not while he was standing in front of her.

  “I cannot.”

  “Close your eyes.”

  She did as he commanded but the heat from his body seemed to leap across the gap between them, building tension inside her. She opened her mouth again then clamped her mouth shut.

  In the darkness behind her eyelids, her fantasies were able to take flight again. August touching her all over and then... then her on stage singing to thousands. Their rapturous applause. Then there were footsteps, hands coming to her arms, then up to her shoulders. He really was touching her. Not in the manner she really wanted, but warmth rolled through her tense muscles as he massaged her shoulders and the base of her neck. Clever thumbs worked into the stiffness there until she released a sigh.

  “Sing for me,” he whispered, his breath caressing her ear.

  His hands remained on her, like a support should she fall. With him standing just behind her, she was aware of his strong form and that strength seemed to feed into her.

  Allowing her ribs to expand, she recalled a song that she had become very fond of. Who would have thought that after listening to his drunken singing that night, she would begin to fall for her master?

  “Go on,” he urged.

  Licking her lips, she began, “M-mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam...”

  The sound was full—stronger than she expected but not up to her usual standards. But it was singing after all. She continued through the first version, stumbling over several words until she reached the chorus. “Home! Home! Sweet, sweet home!”

  Courage filled her and she even smiled as she recalled his baritone singing the same words. She finished the song on a strong, bold note and finally opened her eyes. It disappointed Ivy that there was no audience but then August turned her around and she saw the admiration in his gaze.

  “Minx,” he said with a smile. “That was my song.”

  She merely beamed back at him. She had done it. She had sung in front of him. Perhaps she was cured.

  “I’m so proud of you, Ivy.”

  And then he kissed her. His lips came down upon hers, seeking, claiming. Warmth burst through her chest while his words echoed around her head. He was proud of her. A mere parlour song and he was proud of her. When had anyone ever said that to her?

  The thought was lost to the heat of his mouth and the touch of his hands. One palm came up to cup her face while the other settled on her lower back. Acutely aware of his fingers resting just above her rear, she swayed into him and looped her hands around his neck.

  When he broke away, he grinned at her. The fact he wasn’t scowling or giving her his usual regretful look warmed her heart and gave her hope. Perhaps she could perform, perhaps she could get something more from August. She certainly hoped so.

  “We shall continue to practice,” he promised her, “and you shall be ready to perform before the week is out.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  August tugged at his necktie and straightened his dinner jacket. Even Mrs Cartwright had come out of the kitchens to see Ivy. The sour-faced woman would never admit it but he was convinced she had a soft spot for her. It seemed Ivy had everyone enraptured.

  He tapped his foot and drew his pocket watch out of his waistcoat to check it again. What was taking her so long? He eyed the top of the stairs and listened for footsteps. If she did not hurry up, she would miss her singing debut. He’d told the duke that an undiscovered talent would be performing at his gathering and August prayed he wouldn’t look a fool. Once the population of Manchester heard her sing, he had no doubt they’d be under her spell too but if they didn’t get to Grandbury on time, that wouldn’t happen.

  “Will you be all right with Elsie, Mrs Cartwright?” he asked the housekeeper for the third time.

  She clasped her hands and pursed her lips, her shoulders going rigid under her basic, grey gown. “Of course. I hardly think a sleeping child is beyond my capabilities, sir.”

  He managed to smother a laugh. A few months ago, all she could do was complain about the child but he supposed Elsie slept through the night now and had settled quite well. Mostly thanks to Ivy. Whatever magical routine she had the infant in, it certainly worked.

  The sound of floorboards creaking made his heart come to a standstill. He lifted his gaze to the top of the stairs and his heart started up again, doing an odd little dance in his chest.

  A vision. He’d even go as far to say a goddess. In deep purple silk that compleme
nted her beautiful skin, she stole his breath. The gown highlighted her trim waist with its gold embroidered panel while ruffles along the neckline revealed a tempting hint of cleavage. Hot jealousy spiked through him as he realised he wouldn’t be the only man staring at her tonight.

  Her hair was piled high on her head with several curls skimming her neck. His mouth grew dry when he recalled tasting that neck. Many men might lust after her tonight but none would know how sweet that skin tasted. Throughout the week she’d traded kisses for singing. It was so very wrong, yet he’d been powerless to resist. She had to sing, had to share her gift with the world and he...

  He simply had to kiss her.

  What a fool he was.

  She reached the bottom step and smiled up at him. “Will I do?”

  August reached for her hand, ignoring Mrs Cartwright’s disapproving expression, and lifted her gloved fingers to his lips. “Breathtaking.”

  Her breasts rose and fell in what he deemed a relieved sigh. His opinion mattered to her? He hoped so. At some point during their acquaintance, her opinion had become important to him too. She had become important to him. And not just because she cared for Elsie.

  Damnation. What was wrong with him? Too many days listening to that sultry voice and tasting those lips, that was the problem.

  “Come, we had better leave or we shall be late.” He offered her his arm.

  She took it, turning to Mrs Cartwright. “Good evening to you, Mrs Cartwright. Thank you for looking after Elsie.”

  The woman waved away the thanks and August was sure he detected a hint of a smile. “Best of luck, my dear.”

  Eyes wide, August had to pause to study his housekeeper. Was she ailing? Was he? Perhaps he was hearing things. Her cold countenance was back and no hint of softness remained. Ivy tugged his arm, drawing him out of his shock.

  As they made their way down the steps to the waiting carriage, he whispered, “What the devil have you done to Mrs Cartwright?”

  “Oh, she is not so bad once you get to know her.”

  “Know her?” he spluttered as he helped her into the carriage. “I’ve known her most of my life and I don’t recall her ever smiling or calling anyone dear. You must tell me your secret.”