Devilish Games of a Virtuous Lady: A Steamy Regency Romance

by Osborne, Scarlett

  Letitia swallowed hard. Yes, nothing like it would ever happen again. She knew that well. And that was just the problem. She wanted it to happen again more than she had ever wanted anything. She wanted his lips on hers again, wanted his hands against her skin, wanted to know how it felt to have a gentleman’s body pressed against hers.

  “I’m sorry, My Lord,” she coughed. “I’ve made my decision. I cannot stay.” She dared to look up at him. There was so much anguish splashed across his face it made her heart ache. “But thank you for everything,” she said. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”

  Lord Radcliffe opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing.

  Letitia glanced over her shoulder as the clatter of hooves and wheels approached. The coach was rolling slowly towards the hotel, drawn by the largest black horse Letitia had ever seen.

  “Leicester!” the coachman called gruffly. “Passengers for Leicester!”

  “I ought to go,” Letitia managed.

  Lord Radcliffe pressed his lips together. He hovered awkwardly for a moment and Letitia could tell he was debating the best way to say goodbye. There could be no handshake, no kiss, not even a grazing of fingers. She knew even the slightest touch of his hand would be enough to convince her to stay.

  She let out her breath in relief when he gave her a short nod. “As you wish, Miss Cooper. Thank you for everything. And I wish you the best of luck.” His voice was husky.

  Letitia turned away, slinging her bag over her shoulder and joining the queue to board the coach. The coachman had climbed from the box seat and was hauling the other travelers’ trunks onto the roof.

  And for a fleeting moment, Letitia was a young child again, back in the coach with her parents, rattling through the dark on the edges of Hampstead Heath. She was hearing the thunder of the bandits’ horses, hearing a gunshot splinter the cold night. She was watching the coachman fall, watching blood creep across his shirt.

  A fresh wave of heat flooded her body and she felt her breathing quicken. She closed her eyes momentarily. Tried to push the memory away.

  That was many years ago. Do your best to forget it.

  But she knew well the coach would not reach Leicester until very late that night. Knew well they would be rattling along dark empty roads. Roads that likely held thieves and bandits and men with pistols in their pockets.

  Her fist tightened around the strap of her bag. She tried to gulp down air, her lungs straining against her stays.

  Her panic began to intensify.

  What am I doing? I can’t leave London. I don’t know a thing about the world outside of this place. How will I ever survive in a town full of strangers?

  A wave of dizziness swung over her suddenly and she felt herself stumble. Her hand shot out, searching for something to steady her. She found nothing. Felt herself fall heavily to the ground.

  Chapter 17

  Letitia was dimly aware of strangers leaning over her, dimly aware of muffled voices that sounded at once both close and far away. The world felt as though it were see-sawing. She tried to draw in her breath, but it felt impossible to fill her lungs. Dampness from the wet cobbles soaked through her skirts.

  “Papa! Come back! Quickly!”

  Letitia heard Harriet’s voice break through the fog of sounds around her. And then there were more footsteps. A firm hand circled the top of her arm, another pressed to her back.

  Her vision was blurred and her mind was racing, but she knew it was Lord Radcliffe.

  “Miss Cooper?” His voice sounded distant. “Are you all right? What’s happened?”

  “She just fell,” a woman in the crowd told him. “Looked as though she worked herself into a panic and then she just collapsed.”

  At the feel of Lord Radcliffe’s hands against her, the world slowly began to regain its steadiness.

  “I’m all right,” she managed. “I just…”

  I just what? I grew so terrified of a twelve-year-old memory that my legs gave way beneath me?

  No. It was not about the memory. It was not about the bandits or the coachman or the dark roads. Not really.

  It was about leaving London. About leaving Lord Radcliffe.

  She said nothing.

  “Can you stand?” Lord Radcliffe’s voice was close to her ear. She could feel his warm breath against her skin. It did little for her racing heart.

  She nodded. “Yes. I can stand.”

  With Lord Radcliffe’s hand firmly around the top of her arm, Letitia climbed slowly to her feet. The world had stopped undulating. She realized everyone was staring at her. Her cheeks colored with embarrassment.

  Harriet was standing beside her father, looking on anxiously. Letitia tried to flash her a reassuring smile.

  “Come on now,” Lord Radcliffe said gently. “I’ll take you back to my carriage. You need to rest.”

  Letitia shook her head faintly. She knew she ought to protest. The carriage to Leicester was about to leave. She needed to be on it.

  But her skin had exploded in goosebumps. Whether out of fear or desire she was unsure. And she found herself walking back towards the carriage, leaning heavily on Lord Radcliffe’s arm.

  * * *

  Algernon helped Miss Cooper into the carriage, gripping her hand tightly until she was settled comfortably on the bench seat.

  “Are you certain you’re all right?” he asked.

  She looked down, avoiding his eyes. “Yes, My Lord. Thank you.” Her voice was tiny.

  Was she ill, or just embarrassed? Algernon couldn’t tell. Either way, he was glad he had been here. What would have happened had she collapsed like that among strangers? The sight of her in distress had brought an ache to his chest.

  And then an uncomfortable thought swung at him.

  Was it my being there that caused her such distress?

  He took his own seat opposite her and shifted uncomfortably, the thought gnawing at his insides.

  Miss Cooper sat beside Harriet in the coach, her eyes turned to the window. He could tell she was trying hard not to look at him.

  Have I done the wrong thing? Ought I just have let her go? Ought I have helped her climb on that coach out of London and wished her the best of luck?

  Doing such a thing had not felt like an option.

  The carriage wheels clattered noisily, cutting through the stilted silence. Algernon churned through potential topics of conversation.

  Dreadful weather today, isn’t’ it?

  I hear the sideshow at the river has extended its stay…

  Such trivialities seemed out of place after what had just occurred. And yet he sensed Miss Cooper did not wish to speak of her collapse, or her plans of escape.

  Algernon glanced desperately at Harriet.

  He was glad when his daughter pointed out the window and said brassily, “Look! That man looks just like the pirate king! Don’t you think?”

  Algernon saw a small smile appear on the edge of Miss Cooper’s lips.

  “Yes,” she said. “He does. Very much.”

  Algernon exhaled in relief. Harriet could always be counted upon to break the silence. And he had never been more grateful.

  * * *

  And so here she was, back at the Radcliffe manor.

  Letitia didn’t know what to feel. Relief? Pain? Joy? Despair?

  She was feeling none of these things, she realized. She was feeling utterly blank. As though her mind could not manage to conjure up any appropriate response.

  Her body had made the decision for her that she was to return to this place.

  My body has been making far too many decisions on its own accord of late…

  Lord Radcliffe offered her his hand to help her climb from the coach. The moment her feet touched the ground, he released his grip.

  “You ought to go upstairs and rest,” he said. “I’ll send for the physician.”

  Letitia shook her head hurriedly. “It’s not necessary, My Lord. I’m quite all right. I just…” She swallowed heavily. “I suppos
e I just panicked.” Her voice wavered.

  She could feel Lord Radcliffe’s eyes on her. Could sense he wanted to step closer. How desperately she wanted to let him. How desperately she wanted to sink into his arms and let the rest of the world fall away.

  She swallowed heavily. “I’d best get back to the kitchen.”

  “No,” Lord Radcliffe said firmly. “If you’ll not see the physician, I must at least insist you rest. Margaret is quite recovered. She will manage just fine without you for a few hours.”

  Letitia nodded obediently. The thought of locking herself away in her bedroom for a few hours sounded like the best thing in the world.

  Locking herself away from the world was something Letitia hadn’t done in a long time. A big part of her was craving it. Existing in the real world was exhausting.

  She followed Lord Radcliffe back into the house. Up the stairs she went, past Harriet’s room. Along the hallway in which Lord Radcliffe had held her in his arms. In her mind, she saw a ghost of herself standing there, letting his hands, his lips explore her body, making her feel things she had never felt before. Things she had never wanted to end. And up those stairs she had climbed afterwards, tears spilling down her cheeks as he had turned her away.

  “I’m so terribly sorry…”

  “What happened last night was a mistake…”

  She clenched her fist tight around the strap of her bag as she climbed the final flight of stairs up to the attic.

  She was no longer feeling blank and empty, Letitia realized. She was feeling immense, crushing regret. Returning to this place was a mistake. And a big one at that.

  * * *

  Miss Scott was glaring at Harriet with her beady eyes. “Are you listening to a word I’m saying, Miss Fletcher?”

  Harriet was not listening. Not even a little bit. She was finding it impossible to concentrate. How could she focus on her lessons when Miss Cooper was down there in the kitchen, chopping carrots with her lady’s hands?

  In the three days since they had rescued their Miss Cooper from outside the hotel, she and Harriet had barely spoken.

  “Give Miss Cooper her space,” her father had said when she had questioned him on their kitchen hand’s new aloofness. “She has a lot on her mind, I’m sure.”

  Miss Cooper had a lot on her mind for certain. After all, she was a runaway, with men in black coats after her! But her father had not believed her when she had told him about Miss Cooper’s nobility. What did he assume was bothering her?

  There were so many things Harriet wanted to ask. So many questions she needed answers to. And yet she found herself strangely unable to ask them. What would Miss Cooper do if she knew Harriet was aware of who she really was?

  No, not Miss Cooper. Miss Caddy. Daughter of the Baron of Mullins.

  Harriet hoped Miss Caddy might be excited to have someone to share the secret with. Perhaps it would be a relief to have someone to whom she could tell the whole story.

  How Harriet longed to hear the whole story.

  But perhaps Miss Caddy would be so mortified at Harriet knowing her secrets that she would try and escape to Hatchett’s Hotel again.

  Harriet couldn’t risk that.

  Miss Scott leaned across the table. Her face was the color of a beetroot. She looked as though she were about to explode.

  “I’m listening, Miss Scott,” Harriet said shortly.

  The governess raised her thin eyebrows. “Are you just? Then what did I just say?”

  Harriet glanced down at her book.

  Oh yes. French.

  She looked sheepishly at Miss Scott. “Conjugations?” she guessed.

  The governess let out an enormous sigh. “I don’t know where your mind is Miss Fletcher, but I suggest you start applying yourself a little better. Or I’ll have no choice but to go to your father. Tell him your concentration skills leave much to be desired.”

  Harriet hung her head “Yes, Miss Scott.”

  “Page seven,” the governess barked.

  Harriet sighed, leafing through her French book. Perhaps Miss Caddy had the right idea, escaping from this noblewoman’s life.

  Chapter 18

  Focus on your work. You’ve a business to run.

  Doing such a thing, Algernon was discovering, was far easier said than done.

  Since the day Molly Cooper had first appeared at the manor, he had found himself acutely aware of her presence. Had found his mind drifting to her at inopportune moments, wondering what she might be doing, picturing her with that endearing frown of concentration on her face.

  But there was something about this new formality between them that made it even more difficult to concentrate. In the days since he had brought her back from the hotel, they had not exchanged a single word. He had seen little more than glimpses of her as she darted out of his sight like a shadow.

  Algernon found himself desperately missing their casual fireside chats, their shared suppers of bread and cheese. Though he was glad, of course, his staff were recovering from their illnesses, there had been something utterly magical about that night he and Miss Cooper had been alone in the manor.

  Far too magical…

  The more he tried not to think of her, the more his thoughts careered off in her direction.

  Algernon had no idea how he was to go about life with Molly Cooper in the house. Having held her in his arms, however fleetingly, had shown him how desperately he wanted her. How were they to carry on living beneath the same roof?

  His actions had rendered her unapproachable. Untouchable. Still, unapproachable and untouchable, Algernon was sure, was better than never seeing her again. Having her in his life as a kitchen hand was better than not having her in his life at all.

  Isn’t it?

  And so here Algernon sat at his desk, staring into the chaos of papers strewn across his table. He had never been the tidiest of businessmen, but this was a new low.

  Focus.

  Business had always been his savior. He had always turned to his work when the world around him became too much of a challenge. He would do the same thing now. Lose himself in the workings of his enterprise and stop his mind from straying into unwanted places.

  He took a pile of unopened correspondence out of the top drawer. He picked up the envelope on the top of the pile, glancing at the seal. It was from the Baron of Mullins.

  Algernon snapped the envelope open and unfolded the letter. He had written back to the Baron, asking politely but firmly that he honor the financial agreement they had made when they had first discussed their latest deal. As his eyes scanned the letter, Algernon felt anger bubble up inside him.

  A refusal. An argument. The latest stock, the Baron claimed, was of inferior quality.

  “Inferior quality!” Algernon found himself shouting. “What rubbish!”

  His angry words hung in the stillness. Algernon paused.

  Where did that come from?

  Algernon Fletcher was not a gentleman who raised his voice. Certainly not when there was no one else about to hear! He rubbed his eyes, tossing the Baron’s letter wearily onto the desk.

  This whole debacle over Miss Cooper was making him restless and irritable. It was turning him into a person he did not wish to be. Last night he had scolded Harriet for knocking her water glass over at the supper table.

  These exchanges with the Baron of Mullins were not helping things. He and the Baron had been doing business with each other for years. Their dealings had always been without incident. Why was the Baron suddenly refusing to pay what he owed? Algernon knew his latest shipment of tobacco was of the highest caliber. He made a point of never distributing mediocre products. This talk of inferior quality was a joke. Why was the Baron suddenly so prickly and argumentative?

  Algernon leaned back in his chair.

  Perhaps the Baron is thinking the same thing about me.

  He knew so little about the gentlemen he did business with, Algernon realized. With the exception of the Duke of Banfield, who he ha
d come to know well, most of his clients were little more than names. No doubt had he ventured out into the world a little more, he would have met some of these names in person.

  Perhaps the Baron of Mullins was going through his own crisis, Algernon thought wryly. Perhaps his dog had died, or his roof had caved in, or his wife had taken a lover.