Seduction Regency Style

by Louisa Cornell

  She should enter a nunnery. Obviously, she was a menace to herself and others. Could anyone, ever, make worse choices when it came to men? She’d wandered off alone with a man who wished to have his way with her, and then been taken in by one using her to kidnap Lord Robert. Letting out a sigh, Cecilia dropped her forehead against the cool wood of the door with a dull thump.

  “Yes?” Lord Robert’s voice said as the door swung inward.

  Cecilia let out a squeak. Unbalanced, she tumbled forward into a pair of strong, shirtless arms. She braced her hands against him to regain her balance, only to find her palms resting against an equally shirtless chest. She let out another squeak and jumped backward. Large warm hands settled on her shoulders and kept her from toppling over.

  Lord Robert filled the open doorway, his barely-clothed state illuminated by the candlelight in the hall. Cecilia’s heart took up a staggering beat. She could not stop staring.

  He was so…strong. And tanned. Even after months in England, his skin remained tinted by a dozen years in the desert sun. She’d known that but hadn’t realized the warm glow descended beyond his face. A gentleman had no right to be so sun-touched. Did he go about shirtless in Egypt? Her gaze slid down his chest. Surely, he wasn’t tan every—

  “My apologies,” Lord Robert said. “Both for startling you and for my state of undress.”

  Cecilia snapped her attention to his face. She swallowed, throat as dry as his Egypt was reputed to be. “I-I shouldn’t have intruded,” she stammered.

  Twin lines appeared on his brow. “You didn’t. You knocked.”

  “Oh, yes.” Where under heaven was his shirt? His vest and coat? He’d always appeared strong, but to see that chest, those broad shoulders— “You’re bandaged,” she observed, shocked anew.

  Releasing her, he rotated his shoulder under the serviceable compress. “Yes, well, I did my best.”

  “You did that?”

  He appeared amused. “Egypt renders a man more self-sufficient than your typical member of the aristocracy.”

  Professional interest pressed some of her embarrassment away. She leaned near. “Are those dishcloths?”

  “Clean dishcloths,” he amended.

  She glanced up into dancing green eyes. Such an amazing color. So deep as to appear black in the dim light, but alive and bright like the most verdant forest. She swallowed again. “I think the daisies stitched on them are a very nice touch, my lord, but I should like to inspect you for myself.”

  He raised his eyebrows. Cecilia’s face heated anew as she replayed her words. Lord Robert reached to rub the back of his neck. His features flicked into a wince.

  She realized he had a second bandage, wound about his neck, just above his collarbones. How had she missed it?

  Because you were gaping at his chest, you ninny, she admonished herself. With every ounce of will, she pressed down another blush. “That is, if I may, my lord?”

  “You may, if you like, but I’m more concerned about the knock I took to the head.” He backed into the room as he spoke. “Do you mind getting a candle from the hall? I think a fire is laid.”

  “Knock to the head?” Apprehension shot through her. He hadn’t mentioned a blow to the head. She wouldn’t have left him alone for so long, if she’d known. Not that there was aught to do, generally, but a patient with a blow to the head who fell asleep sometimes didn’t wake up. Panic surged in her at the thought. She took a deep breath to counter her useless worry. Lord Robert was obviously conscious.

  She secured her medical bag and a candle from the hall, set the bag on a chair, then moved about, lighting wicks. He took the first candle she lit and went to the fireplace. Soon, he’d stoked a cheery blaze. He crossed back and closed the hall door.

  The click of the latch ricocheted through Cecilia. Her back to him as he crossed to the center of the room, she placed the candle on a table, hoping he didn’t see how the flames bounced along with her trembling hand as she set it down. Aside from William, who was like a brother to her, she’d only once been closed in a bedroom with a man.

  “Chair or bed?”

  “What?” Cecilia squeaked, whirling to face him.

  “Where would you have me sit? Would it be easier for you to examine me if I sit in a chair or on the edge of the bed?” He gestured to the rumpled coverlet. A frown pulled at the corners of his mouth. His gaze slid past her to the door. “Would you prefer to have the door open? It matters little to me. I simply assumed the servants would have returned by now, not to mention Miss Birkchester, and that we wished to hide evidence of this afternoon.”

  “No. I mean, yes. Rather, I mean, no, we don’t need the door open. Yes, Grace and the servants are back.” Cecilia hurried to her bag and opened it, rummaging inside without knowing what she sought.

  “Cecilia,” Lord Robert’s voice softened, “would you like me to send for Lanora?”

  Cecilia stilled her hands. She drew in a long, slow breath. She was safe with Lord Robert. He wasn’t like the marquess, or even Mister Everly. In truth, he was unlike any other man she’d met. He was steady, reliable, eminently competent. He’d even dressed his own wounds.

  Face composed, she turned. Firelight played across his strong form. His eyes questioned, his expression one of concern.

  She tried to keep her gaze locked with his and failed. She took in his broad form and refused to swallow. Refused to acknowledge her dry throat. She cursed her hammering pulse. The closed door took on a new significance, one that had her battling down a blush.

  It wasn’t as if she didn’t know what men looked like without shirts. She was a surgeon. She’d studied medical texts. She’d stitched William up many times, without batting an eye. This was no different.

  Only, it was very, very different.

  Cecilia squared her shoulders. She pointed to a footstool on the other side of the room. “If you’re feeling able, I should prefer you sit on the footstool.”

  Indignation flashed across Lord Robert’s features. “If I’m feeling able?”

  “You’ve suffered two knife wounds today, my lord, and apparently been hit on the head. There would be no shame in wishing for a chairback to lean on.”

  He muttered something unintelligible under his breath and crossed to the footstool. With no apparent effort, he carried it to the center of the room. Then he sat, back very straight. “I await your convenience, my lady.”

  She crossed to him, her attention deliberately fixed on his bandaged shoulder. She circled around behind him. With his dark hair cut so short, she readily saw the lump on his head. Her hand came up, but she didn’t prod him. She could feel the heat that radiated from the spot.

  “You should have mentioned this before,” she admonished. “You could have been concussed. Did you sleep? I’ve read of men who don’t wake up when they go to sleep with such a head wound.”

  He shrugged his unbandaged shoulder, setting muscles rippling across his back. “It’s my good fortune your knocking woke me, then.”

  She realized he must have bathed. “You cleaned the knife wounds? You didn’t deem them in need of stitches?”

  “There would have been no harm in them, but they aren’t necessary. As I said, mere scratches.”

  Cecilia leaned close. “Do I smell honey?”

  “I cleaned them with vinegar and coated them with honey. An Egyptian trick I’ve found successful in the past.”

  She nodded, though she stood behind him. She’d read of the technique. With light fingers, she pressed on the bandages. No blood welled. “I won’t remove the compresses today. It would likely do more harm than good. I should like to redo the bandages, though, to make them more comfortable.”

  “As you think best.” He offered another half-shrug.

  Cecilia went to her bag, this time with purpose. She returned and removed the bulky dishcloths with sure, gentle hands, for plying her skills calmed her. With equal care, she wound thin strips of clean white fabric around his shoulder, then neck. She made sure t
he linen was low and thin enough to be hidden by a cravat. As she worked, she tried not to notice the warmth of Lord Robert’s sun-kissed skin.

  “There,” she said, coming around to inspect her work from the front.

  He flexed his arm slightly. “A commendable job. Much better than mine.”

  “Well, it is difficult to bandage your own shoulder. I’m impressed with how well you did.”

  His mouth tipped up at the corners. “As I said, I’m a bit more self-sufficient than your average gentleman.”

  Yes, Lord Robert exuded steadiness and competence. Cecilia imagined he would know what to do in most any situation. “How fares your head?”

  “It’s pounding.” His tone gave little weight to the words, held no plea for pity. “There’s little to do for such an injury, though. So far as I know.”

  How she wished she had a cure for him. “I suppose there’s laudanum.”

  He shook his head, as she’d expected he would.

  “I could brew you willow bark tea,” she offered.

  His green eyes studied her, his expression one of contemplation. “Perhaps that would alleviate some of the pain. I have an additional concern, however, that I believe you may be able to help me with.”

  Something in his assessing look, the way his voice deepened, brought a new tint of heat to her cheeks. “Concern?” she managed, her voice weak.

  “How would you feel about leaving England?”

  She blinked, confused by the question, but ready to answer. “So long as William could assure me he’d found a new doctor, I shouldn’t mind. I don’t feel comfortable here, the way everyone seems to know who I am, and about my life. I can’t imagine becoming close with any of them.” Her peers’ unspoken knowledge about why she’d fled the marquess was a constant shadow that hung over her. Their knowing glances, combined with the lies she and William had told, walled her off from all but a few. Freedom from all everyone thought they knew of her, and all they never could, would be a relief. “Have you need of a surgeon in Egypt, then, my lord?”

  Lord Robert stared at her for a long moment. “No, I’m in need of an heir, and therefore, a wife.”

  Cecilia’s mouth fell open. “A wife?”

  He nodded. “Someone intelligent and resourceful enough to return to Egypt with me. She must be brave, too, for most Englishwomen would find Egypt daunting. And no naive girl, with a head full of notions of love.” A hard note crept into his voice. “I’m afraid my wife took my heart with her when we lay her in her grave.”

  “I see,” Cecilia managed. She stared at him, straight backed and tanned where he sat on the footstool. He was obviously serious. Yet, she must be mistaken in his meaning. “Are you suggesting a union between us, my lord?”

  “I am.”

  Cecilia took a deep breath, trying to match his calm. “You do realize, I brought a kidnapper to you today, which nearly resulted in both your and William’s deaths?”

  “Do you plan to keep associating with random gentlemen after we wed?”

  “Well, no.” The blow to his head. That must explain his words. His brain was addled.

  “Then I daresay today’s incident won’t be a common occurrence.”

  Cecilia took in his calm expression and strong jaw. His short dark hair and lack of English pallor. Her breath quickened at the thought of claiming the man before her as her own, even as her stomach lurched at the notion of giving herself to any man. “May I have time to consider your offer?”

  He nodded, coming to his feet. “Certainly, and I shall not keep you any longer this evening. I believe it is rather late.”

  “Is it?” She couldn’t keep a breathlessness from her tone. No longer seated, he seemed to fill her vision. She cleared her throat. “Rather, yes, it is.”

  He gestured toward the door. Cecilia realized her legs trembled. She forced them to turn her and move in the direction he gestured.

  Lord Robert followed. “In the morning, if you could send Dodger for clothing from my home?” he asked. “I can hardly summon a servant dressed as I am.”

  “Of course,” she said. How could he be so calm?

  He turned to her when they reached the door. “What did the letter ask of you?”

  “Letter?” He stood so near. The clean scents of soap and vinegar, combined with the warm allure of honey, enticed her to step closer. The flicker of firelight played across his chest.

  “Porter’s ransom letter.”

  “Oh.” She swallowed and ordered her thoughts into focus. “He wished Mister Darington to send a cache of Egyptian treasure.” She watched, transfixed, as his mouth turned up at the corners.

  “He wouldn’t have had much luck with that,” Lord Robert observed wryly.

  Cecilia nodded in mute agreement. She decided not to ruin his humor by vocalizing the threat to Lanora at the end of the letter.

  That green-eyed gaze returned, contemplative once more. “It occurs to me, I have not given you enough information to make an informed decision concerning my offer.”

  Her brows drew together in confusion. “You said we would live in Egypt, and that you require an heir, and do not require, or want”--she paused to swallow--“love, and ask only that I not bring back kidnappers when I venture out.”

  He chuckled, the sound a caress. “I did say those things, and I especially stand by that last stipulation, but there is one further consideration.” Large, warm hands came up to cup her face. Gently, he lowered his lips to hers.

  Cecilia went still in shock. His lips, firm for all their touch was light, coaxed. Their warmth seemed to infuse her. Hesitantly, she responded, trying to mimic his caress. He shifted nearer, heat radiating off his body. Feeling greatly daring, she lay trembling hands against his chest. He pressed his mouth more firmly against hers. Cecilia prayed her shaking legs would hold. Blood pounded through her veins, surged in her ears like the sound of the ocean.

  Then his lips withdrew. His hands slid from her, thumbs grazing her cheeks in a lingering caress. Opening eyes she didn’t realize she’d closed, she took in her slender fingers resting upon his chest. Shocked by the sight, she yanked her hands away and clutched them behind her back.

  “There’s no hurry to give me an answer. His voice was low. “I want you to be certain.”

  Eyes wide, Cecilia nodded. Every inch of her seemed to vibrate, though with shock or some more alien emotion, she wasn’t sure. “I-I’ll t-think on your offer, my lord,” she stammered.

  He stepped back and bowed. “Then I shall see you on the morrow, my lady.”

  She gave another nod and turned to the door to fumble with the latch.

  “Cecilia?”

  Her heart leapt. Was he going to kiss her again? She didn’t know if she could endure the sensation a second time without making a wanton of herself. One kiss, and she’d already put her hands on him, driven by some irresistible need to touch. “Yes?” she breathed, gaze fixed firmly on the door.

  “Your bag.”

  A glance showed he proffered her medical bag.

  “Thank you.” She snatched the leather satchel from him and pulled the door open to scuttle into the hallway. The door closed behind her with a gentle thud. Medical bag clutched to her chest with both arms, she stood shaking.

  The marquess had never kissed her. On their wedding night, he’d ordered her to don her nightdress, then seated himself in an armchair to watch his order carried out. She still recalled her fear, and her embarrassment as he watched with burning eyes while a maid helped her remove her clothing. She’d felt better once the young woman dropped a nightdress over her head.

  Her relief had been short lived, for the girl had gathered Cecilia’s clothing and departed. The marquess then ordered her into the bed. He’d departed the room then, and she’d entertained the hope he’d gone to sleep elsewhere. Unfortunately, that hope was as false as her earlier relief.

  She shook her head to dispel the memory of that night, over seven years ago. A wedding night with Lord Robert wouldn’t b
e like that. It would be… She didn’t know, precisely, but her imagination offered an array of possibilities that made her face heat in the dim hall. Quite a few of them involved her hands on more than just his chest.

  Cecilia forced her legs to move, her feet to carry her down the hall to her room. She dragged her mind back from the glory of Lord Robert’s kiss. That was not all that went into a union, after all. Assuming he wasn’t mad from the blow to his head, which he didn’t seem to be, she must look at his proposal with cool logic, as he obviously did.

  She wished for a husband and a family. He offered that. She wanted a caring, steady gentleman who wasn’t after her money or rank. Certainly, Lord Robert fulfilled that requirement. Of all the unwed gentlemen she’d met and had yet to meet, he was undoubtedly the most steadfast. More than that, if she accepted his proposal, she wouldn’t ever risk choosing the wrong man again.

  He required her to move to Egypt, though. She frowned. Would that be so terrible? England held so little of her affection. William could find another surgeon. He had Lanora now as a confidant. Surely, now that Lord Robert had returned once, they could visit William and Lanora regularly. She would have to be assured of that, of course.

  She pushed the door to her chamber open and slipped inside. Her maid had left several candles burning. Cecilia crossed her private sitting room and entered her bedchamber. A single flame danced there, illuminating the vast, empty bed.

  Lord Robert had also made it abundantly clear that he was not offering her love. Kindness, certainly, for he was kind. Likely affection, as well, as he already seemed to regard her warmly. That was much more than many women expected from a husband. Certainly, worlds away from her first union. Were affection and kindness enough, or did Cecilia want more? In view of her disastrous judgement, did she dare seek more?

  Chapter Thirteen