Seduction Regency Style

by Louisa Cornell

  Stupid fool. You can’t decide what the woman wants. You have to ask her!

  He needed to speak to Ann.

  Chapter Thirteen

  By the time Ann escaped to her room, her head hurt. Joy on her behalf felt sweet at first, but Maud and the children soon overwhelmed her. Alone with Alec, Ann had confidence and peace, but there had been no time for them to be alone after dinner.

  Wedding ideas jumped about in her head, causing a cacophony of ideas and a maelstrom of emotion, like so many discordant notes. She struggled to sort them out. The demands from those whom Alec loved left her drained; she couldn’t please them all. She wanted to please him, but in the dark, she began to wonder what he meant by “soon.” Ed had joked about marrying them in ten minutes, hadn’t he?

  Maud’s words about family and friends had cut deep. Ann’s father, dead these eleven years, difficult though he might be, would have liked Alec, she thought. At the thought of her wedding, she felt his loss more than ever before.

  But Mama! A wedding would give her such joy.

  Mama died during Ann’s first year at Lower Bottleby. They had quarreled when Ann accepted the position. Her mother accused her of running from her humiliation over Ronald Herring and begged her to stay home. It had been the last time they saw each other.

  Ann pulled a trunk from under the bed. Two others lay in the Salter’s attic, but this one—small but sturdy—held her greatest treasures. She removed her father’s fiddle, wrapped in cotton. The coverlet her mother knitted for the wedding that never occurred came next. She laid both on the bed, pushed aside the gossamer night rail with eyelet trim her mother had deemed necessary for a bride, and pulled up her mother’s lace shawl, letting it slide through her fingers before raising it to rub her cheek.

  She wrapped the shawl around her shoulders and sat in the window seat, hugging it to herself and imagining her mother’s arms holding her while she stared out at the dark cathedral set against the full moon.

  One thought rose to the surface: I want to be Alec’s wife.

  Remembering his face, and his fingers gliding across the keyboard, made her yearn for him to the point of pain. Memories of Ramskeld—his home, now her home—and the children gave her confidence. Even as her private joy filled her, however, the wedding fracas cut up her peace. Decisions had to be made, if she could sort her preferences.

  She did the only thing she knew how to do to resolve her roiling emotions. Still wrapped in the shawl, she pulled a warm cloak over her shoulders, and slipped from her room in search of the assembly hall and the piano.

  The cold, dark room brightened once she lit the candle sconces that lined the walls. She laid the cloak across the piano bench, folded the edges over her lap, and stretched her fingers over the keys. She began playing Lillian’s mother’s favorite ballad from memory, followed by a traditional melody and then another. None of the pieces were complicated, each one filled with love and longing, while her soul wrapped itself around her love for Alec. The rest didn’t matter. The wedding planning would resolve itself.

  The music absorbed her, as it always did. At some point, she sensed his nearness before she heard him. Her hands paused, but she didn’t turn. Behind her, he whispered, “Don’t stop.”

  When she went on, he raised his voice to add the words,

  “Her voice is low and sweet

  She’s a’ the world to me,

  And for bonnie Annie Laurie

  I’d lay me doun and dee…

  “I would, you know,” he murmured. He leaned over and kissed her ear. “I hoped I might find you here.”

  She leaned back against him. “I couldn’t sleep. Too much…everything.”

  He sat on the bench, his back to the piano while she sat facing it, so they could see each other. He cupped her cheek with one hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Maud means well, and Lillian—well, we have her approval. That much is certain.”

  “I’m rushing you; I know. If you want to wait until summer, we’ll open Ramskeld to all of Orkney. We’ll have dinner on the lawn, dancing in the hall, and bonfires. You can invite your friends from Inverness and Lower Bumblebee.”

  “Bottleby,” she corrected, smoothing the wrinkles in the corners his eyes, touched by his concern.

  “I’ll behave like a gentleman of honor until summer. It won’t be easy, but I’ll do whatever you choose.”

  She kissed him lightly. “No, thank you. I would’ve liked my friend Olivia to be with me, yes. But when I considered how long it will take to arrange that, I decided against it.”

  His kiss was deeper. “We did say soon,” he murmured against her mouth.

  “But not over the Salter’s dinner table,” she responded, pulling away, yet keeping one hand on his chest. “Isn’t there a middle ground?”

  “What do you want most, Ann?”

  “I’ve been asking myself that. You. That’s my first answer.”

  More kisses, each deeper and longer than the last, distracted her. This time, he pulled back. “You decided against waiting for your friend. I like it when you are decisive. What else?”

  “I want the side chapel and candlelight—so evening. And music.”

  “Who will play? We’ll be busy.” He pulled back the neck of her gown and nipped her shoulder.

  “Lillian, of course. She can manage the lute, but it will take a bit of practice. She needs time to accept all this, and new music might do it.”

  “And a dress as well,” he said. “For both of you.”

  “Of course!” She grinned.

  He touched the lace around her shoulder, “And this treasure?”

  “It was my mother’s. It brings her close.” Sympathy shown from his dear face. He remembered what she had shared.

  “My orphan bride. You’ll wear it then,” he murmured, bringing tears to her eyes. He kissed them away.

  She sank into his embrace, becoming hot with need. When he pulled back, she objected.

  He shook his head. “Not here; not now. How long will it take to get those dresses made? A month?”

  Ann considered foregoing the dress but remembered Lillian. “Two weeks?” she replied.

  His grin expanded. “That’s my girl. I do love a decisive woman.”

  “But Alec,” she replied, “do we have to wait?”

  ***

  In the end, they reached a compromise. Kirkwall had their organist for Saint Andrew’s Day. Lillian got her new frock and Robbie got cake. When Alec pointed out that a wedding supper at the townhouse meant little privacy for their wedding night, Maud got to plan a small reception in the assembly hall and even recruited someone to play for the bride and groom to dance. Maud also planned for the happy couple’s privacy.

  Before the altar in the cathedral’s side chapel, Alec wed his Ann with his children beside them under the beaming approval of Ed Salter.

  They managed—just—to preserve Ann’s virginity until their wedding night. But when Alec brought her to the master suite in the townhouse—empty of children and servants, warmed by a fire, and covered and scented with roses from the Ramskeld succession house—the heat in Ann’s eyes told him he had done well. The heat in her eyes grew at the sight of her gossamer night rail laid out on the expansive bed’s thick cotton coverings. Nothing mattered but his bride’s perfect comfort.

  A flagon of wine and two glasses waited for them, but Ann shook her head when he offered. “You’re all I need. I want that duet you promised.”

  Her mother’s shawl slipped from her shoulders, and she took care folding it. She turned her back to him and lifted her hair from her neck. “Help me out of this gown.”

  He kissed the back of her neck and did as she bid. “Yes, I do love a decisive woman,” he laughed, kissing his way down her back as each button parted. She let the dress drop to the floor with far less care than she’d shown the lace shawl and turned to embrace him, running her hands up his chest to pull his face to hers.

  When she unfastened his shirt
and pulled it over his head, he didn’t object. He sat to remove his boots, but before he got to the second, she sat on the bed next to him and slid one white stocking down her leg. He froze, unable to look away, while she removed the other and frowned at him.

  “Boot?” she prodded.

  He made short work of it under her approving gaze.

  “What now?” she asked. “I think I have a grasp of the preliminaries.”

  “That you do, my love,” he said. “Scoot back a bit and let me join you.”

  “But you are still dressed,” she said, reaching for his falls.

  He reached a hand to stop her, for fear he would embarrass himself if she aroused him too quickly, but she placed her hand over his to still it.

  “You promised me I could touch you wherever I pleased,” she reminded him.

  So he had.

  He shifted to the center of the bed and propped himself against the backboard. “Have your way with me, wife.”

  Ann knelt next to him and sank back on her heels, examining his naked chest and the bulge in his trousers with interest. She unbuttoned his fall slowly and eased his trousers down his hips.

  “Goodness,” she said, watching him carefully. A sly grin came over her then, and she reached down and pulled her chemise over her head.

  The sight of his naked wife on her knees in the firelight almost undid him, but when she curled against him, he knew he had to focus on her pleasure and not yet his. He allowed her touches but distracted her with his, bringing her to completion with mouth and hands before beginning in earnest.

  Their first duet was awkward and ended sooner than he wished, but as with all good compositions, it got better with practice. Before the night ended, the duet became a symphony.

  Epilogue

  Alec and Ann had both agreed she would stay on as organist and musical director of Kirkwall. She couldn’t imagine life without the music, and Alec couldn’t imagine life without her passion for it. Ann’s duties in the cathedral lessened after Pentecost, and when June came, Ramskeld called to them both.

  Summer meant the countryside, the shore, and the simple things. It also meant company; his sister’s family came up from Edinburgh, at last, to meet his bride.

  “Do you think Bella and Dougal will notice we slipped away?” Ann asked, following her husband along the shore.

  “After the way the children ran them ragged all afternoon? I think not. Besides, from the look in his eyes, I’d say Dougal Graham has designs for his own wife and will be too busy to pay attention.” He tugged her toward an uphill path.

  If Orkney days are short in November, June makes up for it. Ann and Alec enjoyed extending their lazy days at Ramskeld long past the time the household servants and the children fell asleep.

  This night, he led her by the hand up the headland north of the manor toward the standing stones hidden in the little wood. Though well past ten on the clock, the golden light of the far north illuminated the circle of stones, some as tall as Alec, some broken in half. Ann and Alec reveled in their solitude within the impressive remains.

  “Auld Peter told me the wee people left these,” Ann said, looking up at the tallest and running her hand down its face.

  Alec chuckled. “He would. People who came before us—before our Viking forbearers even—left them for us. I fear we’ll never know who they were.”

  “Whoever they were, I’m grateful. Look how the light reflects off the blue stone. I wonder what it is meant to say to us.”

  “They’re solid and they’ve endured the storms of Orkney. Perhaps that’s the message.”

  “Perhaps. The circle looks like a dance, though,” she retorted.

  “You would think of music,” he laughed.

  “And why not?” Under his amazed gaze, Ann pulled her dress and chemise over her head to stand naked in the golden light, the swell of their child making her even more beautiful than the night he married her.

  She gave him a smoldering look, began to hum, and danced in a rhythm rising from deep inside, raising her arms and floating in and out of the circle, gesturing for him to join her.

  Had he once worried she was a poor, withdrawn woman? He threw back his head and laughed. And joined in her dance of joy and gratitude. Alec suspected that the magical, passionate creature he had married would fill his life with a torrent of love and music to the end of his days.

  And so she did.

  ###

  Not Another Nob

  Forbidden Love

  The Marriage Maker

  Book Thirty-Two

  Anabelle Anders

  Chapter One

  A Harmless Flirtation

  God save Margaret Claire Dorrill from the diligent care of her older brother—by all of eleven years. Not that he treated her cruelly, or ever neglected her. Rather the opposite, in fact; loving, protective…organizing.

  Controlling.

  Overbearing.

  “I’ll land you a proper husband if it’s the last damn thing I do.” Ethan Dorrill executed his guardianship far too seriously. Good Heavens! Claire was only weeks from arriving at the ripened age of one and twenty. She was a woman in her own right!

  She wished Ethan would focus his energies on his own marital state. Relax his overblown sense of responsibility to her for just a moment.

  Or a month.

  Perhaps a decade.

  “And by proper husband, you mean a titled gentleman?” she needled him.

  Ethan slid her a frustrated look and rubbed the back of his neck at the same time. “You deserve such respect—”

  “I’m afforded enough respect.” Claire exhaled loudly, blowing the hair up from her forehead. “I’d prefer to ‘land’ my own husband, thank you very much. How would you feel if I had deigned to choose your wife?” He sent her a stern glance. Having recently found happiness with his wife, Georgiana, Claire would have thought he’d have been more understanding. He ought to expect that she, too, would want, at the very least, to like the man she chose to marry.

  She and Ethan laid claim to the most common of births. Although her dear brother’s success in business had given them rise financially, nothing could change the circumstances of their birth. Even Ethan’s marriage to Georgiana could never make her brother anything more than a ‘Mister.’

  Their parents had been of the merchant class, as had their grandparents before them.

  Claire accepted this fact gracefully.

  Ethan did not; at least, not for her.

  Nonetheless, he provided his wife with not only security, but vast wealth.

  “I’m sorry about Lord Pringle.” Ethan scrubbed one hand over his face as he apologized for the titled gentleman he’d invited to their townhouse. He’d done so in hopes of a respectable offer for Claire—an offer which would have made Claire a Lady.

  If Claire had been willing to marry an ass. The truth of the matter was, she had no desire to lay claim to a title. “I’m not…sorry, that is.” She hated the fact that the pompous young man had managed to prick her pride. She’d given him the benefit of the doubt and then been horrifically disappointed.

  “It had nothing to do with you,” her brother admitted.

  He’d simply been unwise to issue the invitation to begin with.

  “I’ve no wish to remain in London now.” The Season was all but over. She would play upon her brother’s guilt. “Amy Fairchild is hosting a house party and has invited me. I’ve already accepted her invitation.” Amy and Claire had been bosom buddies for most of their lives. Claire tilted her chin up in defiance before Ethan could respond.

  The Fairchilds were as far from the nobility as she and Ethan were. There would be no dukes, no earls, not even a lowly baron at such an event.

  Normal people, rather. Her friend even welcomed Claire’s small dog, Elmer.

  Who currently lay sprawled on the decorative rug at Ethan’s feet. Her brother pretended to barely tolerate the short-legged canine, but Claire knew better. On more than one occasion, she’d caug
ht him sneaking Elmer treats beneath the table.

  Her brother, although more controlling than she’d wish, was a good man. A decent, hardworking man.

  But for now, she’d have her way.

  “You know I don’t approve of that woman.” Ethan’s mouth pinched into a hard line.

  Except Claire knew he would relent, since he believed Lord Pringle had broken her heart.

  Ethan owes me.

  Claire tilted her chin up even higher. “I already sent her a letter promising I’d travel tomorrow.”

  Which was why Claire now found herself sitting on the side of a road, in the sun, alone with her maid and Elmer, miles from anywhere on this late summer afternoon.

  The three of them had been rolling along, windows open to allow the warm breeze to flow through and then kathump. The carriage had listed to the left, lurched heavily, and then jolted to a stop.

  Coachman John had been beside himself with what to do.

  “I can’t leave two women alone on the road.” He’d blustered his consternation for all of fifteen minutes before accepting Claire’s reassurances that she, Elmer, and Dolores could wait the hour or so it would take him to reach help without being in any real danger. She reminded him of the right hook Dolores could dole out, if necessary.

  The burly driver had found himself on the receiving end of her maid’s fists on one unfortunate occasion when Dolores popped him a good one for getting ‘fresh’ with her. The supposed insult had never been repeated but had left John with one blackened eye.

  The outrider who normally traveled with them had been called home due to an untimely death and a temporary replacement was yet to be found.

  With a convincing bark from Elmer, the driver reluctantly relented and marched away to track down either another wheel or a replacement conveyance.

  Although John had no qualms about driving cattle, he never rode them.

  Ever.

  He’d been gone less than ten minutes when Dolores began expelling a series of heavy, sorrowful sighs. Claire glanced sideways at the heavyset older woman and tried not to smirk.