Devilish Games of a Virtuous Lady: A Steamy Regency Romance

by Osborne, Scarlett

Algernon hesitated. Harriet had never been permitted sweets outside of mealtimes. Her strict nurses and governesses had always ensured it. But he found himself saying, “Of course.” He dug into his pocket and handed Harriet a few coins. Then watched as she bounded off towards the vendor.

  He dug his hands into his pocket and looked out over the river. The tide was high, licking against stone walls. Watermen were zigzagging from bank to bank, their barges overflowing with feathered bonnets and top hats.

  Algernon took a long breath. It felt good to be out of the manor. Out of the office and away from his books for a time. His head felt clearer than it had in days.

  He had had some troublesome clients of late. Angry, demanding letters he’d felt rather reluctant to deal with. But this jaunt to the sideshow had left him feeling somewhat rejuvenated. When he arrived home that afternoon, he’d send off the necessary replies and be done with it.

  Harriet returned with a grin on her face and a small bag full of sweetmeats. She held the bag out. “Try one, Papa,” she said, her words muffled by her mouthful of treacle. “They’re wonderful.”

  Stifling the urge to scold her for her unladylike manners, Algernon took a sweet and popped it into his mouth. The sugar exploded over his tongue. Harriet was right. It was wonderful. And entirely a good enough reason to speak with one’s mouth full.

  He pressed a hand to her shoulder, ushering her back onto the walkway and felt something warm beneath his palm. Looking closer, he saw a shag of soft blue wool peeking out from beneath her coat. He had not noticed it before.

  “Harriet,” he said, tugging on the edge of the shawl, “who does this belong to?”

  “Oh,” she said airily. “That’s Miss Cooper’s. She gave it to me that day at the market.”

  “And you didn’t think to give it back?”

  Harriet shrugged. “She said she didn’t mind.”

  They made their way back into the streets, Algernon’s eyes darting in search of a cab. On the opposite side of the road, he could see two men in black great coats stopping passers-by in the street.

  “What are they doing, Papa?” Harriet asked, watching curiously.

  Algernon squinted. The men had something in their hands that they were showing to the passers-by. A portrait, perhaps? “I’m not sure,” he said. “Looking for someone, perhaps.”

  “Looking for someone?” she repeated. “Like a runaway?”

  Algernon held out his hand to signal to an approaching cab. “Perhaps.”

  Harriet grinned. “They’ll not find her,” she said dreamily. “She’s run away to sea to marry a sailor and live on an island with the mermaids.”

  Algernon laughed, pulling open the door and helping her climb into the carriage. “You have a far too overactive imagination.” He climbed into the coach and jabbed a finger at her. “Don’t you go getting any ideas.”

  Harriet smiled to herself. She glanced out the window again at the men in black coats. She scrunched the bag of sweetmeats into her fist.

  “You’ve not eaten them all,” Algernon noted.

  Harriet’s hand tightened around the bag. “I’m saving some for Miss Cooper. Sweetmeats are her favorite. When she was a girl, she sneaked into the kitchen and stole some from the cupboard.”

  Algernon chuckled. “Is that so?” He found himself picturing Molly Cooper as a girl; a freckled, snowy haired child creeping barefooted into the kitchen while the cook’s back was turned. The thought left a smile on his lips.

  Harriet peered into the bag. “There are three left,” she announced. “I’m going to give them all to her.”

  Algernon smiled. “I’m sure she’ll like that. She’s been working very hard lately.”

  Harriet nodded slowly. “Yes,” she said, turning her eyes back to the window. “But her cooking is not very good, is it Papa?”

  * * *

  Algernon went upstairs to his office, closing the door behind him. He felt ready to tackle the fractious letters after the day at the sideshow. Especially now he also had a glass of brandy in his hand.

  He took a sip, then reached into the drawer for his pen and ink. He was behind on his correspondence too, he realized. He had received a letter from the Duke of Banfield three days ago and was yet to pen a reply.

  Algernon felt oddly calm as he churned through his paperwork. He and Harriet had returned from the sideshow to find more members of staff—including his housekeeper and groom—struck down with illness. The physician was making his rounds of the downstairs quarters right now.

  Algernon knew that had such a thing happened a fortnight ago, he would have been beside himself with worry. Now he felt oddly calm about the whole thing. The physician had assured him it was unlikely to be serious. A few days and the household would be back on their feet.

  A few days of dusty floors and unchanged sheets. He could do that.

  His glance strayed to the blue shawl he had slung over the chair in the corner of his office.

  Algernon put down his pen and brought his glass to his lips. He couldn’t deny these changes in him had been more than a little the doing of Molly Cooper. He had even dared to tell her as much.

  When he was around in her presence, he felt lighter. No, not just lighter. Alight.

  But where could such a thing truly lead? Though he had little interest in the ton, the fact remained that he was a member of the nobility, and she a kitchen hand. Surely there could never be anything between them.

  Could there?

  Does such a thing give me the right to be with whoever I choose?

  Algernon took another gulp of brandy. He didn’t know the answer. And he knew it was not something he could discuss with anyone. Even Edward, who had always been immensely understanding of Algernon’s quirks and life choices, would surely have raised eyebrows if he dared ask about the propriety of bedding his kitchen hand.

  Algernon rubbed his eyes. What was this woman doing to him?

  He glanced down at the unfinished letter to Banfield. Molly Cooper may have been good for his spirits, but she was terrible for his work ethic.

  He took the shawl from the chair and made his way out into the hall.

  * * *

  Letitia pulled the kitchen door closed and began to trudge wearily up to her attic room. She could hear a barrage of coughing coming from behind the closed bedroom doors. The physician had been gone, prescribing the patients bed rest and plenty of lemon tea. After serving supper to Harriet and Lord Radcliffe, Letitia had done the rounds of the servants’ quarters, handing out cup after cup of steaming tea. Even Margaret had seemed almost grateful.

  Her legs were heavy as she climbed up from the servants’ quarters. She felt certain she would fall asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. When was the last time she had read her book at night, she found herself wondering? When was the last time she had felt the need? Between the demands of running the household and the thudding of her heart when Lord Radcliffe was around, the tales of the pirate king had begun to hold little allure. The real world had become far too interesting.

  As she made her way towards the stairs, she saw Lord Radcliffe coming down the staircase from his office. He was clutching the blue shawl she had given to Harriet the day they had met.

  He stopped on the staircase and held it out to her. “I realized today that Harriet still had this,” he told her. “I’m sorry. It’s been so cold of late. I’m sure you could have used it.”

  “I’ve managed quite all right without it, My Lord,” Letitia said. She had rather liked the idea of his daughter wearing it. “Harriet is welcome to—”

  “Oh no,” he said hurriedly. “I… She…” He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. “She has plenty of her own.”

  Letitia hesitated. This time, she was certain the Marquess was flustered. Why?

  Is it truly me that is making him feel this way?

  She found it difficult to believe. Something else must have rattled him.

  His dealings with the Duke of Banfield, per
haps.

  She hurriedly shoved the thought away. Standing here alone with Lord Radcliffe was far too pleasant. She would not let the Duke of Banfield intrude on such a thing.

  A moment of silence hung between them.

  “I must thank you,” said Letitia. “For the sweetmeats. It was most kind of you. They went quite some way to getting me through a long and tiring day.”

  Lord Radcliffe smiled. “All the thanks must go to Harriet. They were hers after all.”

  Letitia knotted the shawl around her fingers. “I’m sure you had a hand in it.”

  The smile played at the edge of Lord Radcliffe’s lips. “I don’t know how to thank you enough for all the work you’ve done these past two days,” he said. “I’m sure you never had such a trying time with the Earl of Worthington.”

  Letitia frowned. “Pardon, My Lord?”

  “The Earl of Worthington. Was he not the gentleman you worked for before me?”

  “Oh, yes sir. Of course.” Letitia cursed at herself silently.

  If you’re going to make up stories about your past, at least have the good sense to remember them…

  She had not told Lord Radcliffe about the fictitious Earl and his cats, she realized. He must have garnered such information from Margaret. Must have been curious enough to ask after her.

  She squeezed the shawl to her chest.

  “I’m sure running the household was not what you had in mind when you took the position here,” said Lord Radcliffe

  “I’m hardly running the household, My Lord.”

  Lord Radcliffe put a sudden hand to her shoulder and squeezed. “The place would have fallen apart by now if it weren’t for you.”

  At the feel of his fingers against her, Letitia’s heart began to pound. She cursed the thick wool of her dress. What would it feel like to have those warm fingers against her skin?

  Letitia swallowed heavily.

  Too quickly, Lord Radcliffe pulled away.

  “Good night then, My Lord,” Letitia managed, her voice stuck in her throat.

  He looked back up at her, his lips parted slightly and a flush of warmth in his cheeks. In that moment, Letitia knew instinctively he too felt that strange tug of attraction that had seized her the moment she had first set eyes on him. The realization made her breath short. She longed to step closer. Longed to touch.

  But she knew she could do no such thing. Shared attraction or no, she was still no more than a kitchen hand, at least as far as Lord Radcliffe was concerned. And that would never change.

  He cleared his throat and gave her a faint smile, making heat flare inside her.

  “Good night, Miss Cooper. And thank you for everything.”

  Chapter 12

  Algernon stood at the docks and watched the ship slide into port. He had always found such a thing fascinating to watch. He loved watching the highly-trained crew maneuver the great beast of the ship into its narrow moorings. And he also loved to imagine all the things the crew had seen as the cutter had bucked its way across the world with tobacco in its hold.

  On occasion, Algernon would bring Harriet to the docks with him to watch the ships come in.

  “What do you think they’ve seen?” he would ask her.

  “Sea monsters,” she would say. “Sea monsters and pirates and mermaids.”

  Algernon smiled at the thought. Harriet’s colorful imagination could always be relied upon to make even the dullest of situations interesting.

  Today, there was no Harriet. Algernon had needed a little solitude.

  No, that’s not entirely true. It is not solitude I need. It is a day of not thinking about Molly Cooper.

  He knew such a thing was likely impossible. But surely it would be easier without his daughter singing the praises of their new kitchen hand every time she opened her mouth.

  Algernon was thrilled his daughter adored Miss Cooper so much, of course. The problem was, he was beginning to adore her just as much. And that was simply not appropriate.

  He forced himself to focus. The ship was dropping anchor with a loud groan. Soon, the tobacco he had ordered from the Virginian plantations would be hauled from the hold in its hessian sacks and stored by his workers in the warehouse close to the shipyard.

  Algernon knew he did not strictly need to be here. But the distraction was a welcome one.

  With the tobacco unloaded and safely stored, Algernon began to walk. He had arranged to meet Edward at the George Hotel for supper; a gesture partly to spare Miss Cooper the extra work of cooking him another meal, while single-handedly caring for all the invalids in the household, and partly to spare himself another night of her cooking.

  The night was cold and damp, with mist ghosting around the streetlamps. A dreadful night to be roaming the streets. And yet Algernon welcomed the walk. Welcomed the blood pumping through his legs.

  It made a welcome change from blood pumping through other parts of him.

  And as he strode through the lamp-lit streets with his hands in his coat pockets and his mind full of that beautiful, freckle-dusted face, Algernon Fletcher realized he was falling in love.

  What point was there denying it to himself?

  He had done his best to ignore these feelings that were slowly building up inside him. But ignoring them did not make them go away. Nor did the knowledge of how inappropriate they were.

  He had never experienced this before. He had loved Charlotte, yes, but had not come to do so until after they were married. By the time he realized he loved Charlotte, she was already at his breakfast table each morning. Already in his bed each night. There was none of this longing he felt around Molly Cooper. No holding his breath as he made his way through the house, both fearing and desperately hoping she might appear. There was no lying awake in bed at night and wondering what she might be doing.

  Algernon rubbed his eyes.

  So much for a day of not thinking about Molly Cooper…

  When he reached the George Hotel, Edward was already inside. He had secured a table in the corner of the bar, a glass of red wine in his hand. He grinned at the sight of Algernon.

  “You’re becoming quite the social butterfly, Radcliffe. I never thought I’d see the day.”

  Algernon handed the waiter his greatcoat and ordered a glass of wine. He slid into the chair opposite Edward. “I just can’t keep myself away from your sparkling company.”

  “The shipment arrive on time then?”

  Algernon supposed he had to give Edward credit for not launching straight into the finding another wife spiel he knew was to come.

  “Arrived early this afternoon, as scheduled. The ship was in Margate last night. So only a short journey.”

  Edward nodded. “I see. And the kinks in the business have straightened themselves out then?”

  Algernon hesitated.

  Kinks in the business?

  He remembered suddenly he had used troubles with the business as an excuse for his arriving flustered on Edward’s door last week. “Yes,” he garbled. “They’re working themselves out. Somewhat at least.”

  In truth, his disgruntled client was becoming more and more aggressive. That morning, Algernon had received a hand-delivered note from the buyer refusing to pay the sum owed. But he was not going to bore Edward with such details.

  To his friend’s credit, they were halfway through their oysters before Edward said, “You’ve received an invitation for the George’s autumn ball, I assume?”

  Algernon had. It had been the first invitation in more than a decade he had not turned down immediately.

  Edward brought his glass to his lips. “And?”

  “And I suppose it would be rude of me to decline.”

  Edward gave a snort of laughter. “That’s never stopped you before.”

  Algernon felt a tug of guilt. His friends had been incredibly patient with him, he realized. After ten years of dutiful refusals, it was a wonder he got invited anywhere at all. “No,” he admitted. “But perhaps I’m coming to see the error of
my ways.”

  Edward waved his fork in Algernon’s direction. “Something’s up with you, Radcliffe. Something’s changed. What is it?”

  Algernon shook his head. He could never speak of it, of course. Could never speak of this new pounding of his heart, or the fresh excitement he felt every time he stepped back inside his manor.

  He tossed back a mouthful of wine and gave Edward a wry smile. “I’ve just been hibernating long enough I suppose.”