Seduction Regency Style

by Louisa Cornell

  This one was even more well sprung and the upholstery twice as cushioned. Claire only wished the seats opened up into a bed of some sort. That way she could sleep the entire distance.

  She continued to feel rather raw and ill-used.

  Worst of all, she missed he whose name she vowed to never speak again. Lying, mean-hearted spawn of the devil.

  She would lick her wounds for the remainder of the summer months at her aunt’s hideaway by the sea.

  For now, she contented herself with the knowledge that she’d never have to see him again.

  Never.

  Ever.

  A sob choked her.

  “’Tis why I never married,” Dolores informed her, becoming immune to these unexpected outbursts of despair. “They’re only good for one thing.”

  Claire blinked at her maid’s unlikely statement. Only good for one thing? Surely she didn’t mean…?

  “Chopping wood.”

  The sob turned into choked laughter. “I suppose they are at that, Dolly.” Except, Claire had never in her life seen any of the men of her acquaintance so much as heave an axe over their shoulder.

  “And of course, bed sport.”

  “Dolly!” Had her maid really just admitted so much to her?

  “Don’t look at me as though you’ve no knowledge of it. It’s not like that blasted Peabody gent slept on the floor that night.” But as Dolly stared into her eyes, she gradually seemed to comprehend the truth. “He didn’t!”

  Claire nodded. “He was a perfect gentleman.”

  “So, you didn’t…?”

  “No,” Claire answered adamantly.

  “And you’re still…?”

  “Most affirmatively.”

  “Oh, my.”

  Claire could see the cogs churning behind Dolly’s gaze.

  “But why, miss? It makes no sense.”

  Seeing as they had nothing else to entertain the two of them for the next several hours, Claire explained, in great detail, everything that happened.

  “Seems like an awful lot of trouble to go through merely to cause Mr. Dorrill a spot of trouble.”

  Claire had considered this same notion millions of times.

  Had Benjamin feigned those smiles? How did one playact the teasing behind those blue eyes? And the not so teasing?

  Claire watched out the window, wishing the coachman would speed up and yet turn around and take her back at the same time. Her head was convinced he’d betrayed her, but her heart struggled to accept the truth.

  “Just doesn’t make sense.” Dolores clucked her tongue.

  “A common trait among men,” Claire agreed.

  “I mean,” Dolores persisted, “for him to have not…well, you know…when he had every opportunity.”

  Claire wished she had more answers.

  Thump. Thump. Thump. Lurch.

  Claire and Dolores met one another’s eyes incredulously before being slammed into the left side of the carriage in an oddly familiar turn of events.

  “Not again!” Claire huffed.

  Bark! Bark! Elmer did not appreciate the world tilting, either.

  “I’m so sorry, miss!” Coachman John shouted from outside. “The blasted wheel again!” His head peaked through the door. “Excuse my language, miss.”

  Claire waited for their coachman to assist Dolores out and then handed Elmer out the door. Climbing out behind them, she had the oddest sense that fate was playing with her. Teasing her.

  The sun shone high in the sky, and the moisture from the rains lent a stifling heaviness to the air.

  Claire stepped carefully through the ruts and sat beside Dolores on a convenient rock that sat beside the road.

  “We really need to hire a new outrider, miss.” Coachman John plagued himself over leaving the two ladies sitting alone, unprotected, once again.

  “There’s nothing can be done about it right now. The sooner you go for help, the sooner we’ll be on our way again.”

  Indecision and regret twisted his features.

  “We’ll be fine, John. Now off with you. I’d rather not sit here all day.” She hoped he had as quick luck as he had on their journey up to Elysium Fields. He’d hardly been absent from them for an hour.

  He glanced at the wheel and uttered some inappropriate words beneath his breath. “Damned shoddy workmanship.”

  “It is, at that. My brother is going to need to patronize a different coach maker, it would seem.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Hurry along then,” she urged him.

  After fussing with the horses for a few minutes, he collected a few of his belongings and set to marching down the road.

  Claire tilted her head back and closed her eyes. What else could possibly happen to her?

  “It certainly is warm today,” Dolores commented.

  Claire wanted to groan. “It certainly is, Dolly.”

  “At least it isn’t raining.”

  “I am grateful for that.”

  “Although it wouldn’t be so very hot if it were.”

  “Um hm.” Claire lacked the energy for this today.

  “But then we’d become soaked.”

  “We would.”

  “So best to not have the rain, I imagine.”

  “I imagine—” The click-clack of an approaching rider halted her words. A lone gentleman on a majestic mount.

  The similarity between her two journeys slammed into her with an uncanny sense of irony.

  Top hat. Blond curling hairs peeking out from beneath it.

  It could not be.

  She blinked and swallowed hard. The thrill sweeping through her quickly turned into burning, explosive anger.

  “You!” She burst to her feet.

  As he neared, she noticed mud splashed up past his boots, pinched lips, and a tiredness around his eyes.

  His bearing appeared to be the opposite of what it had been upon their first meeting.

  He halted his horse and stared down at her, unblinking. “It appears you’ve met with some difficulties, miss,” he spoke the exact same words he had on that first fateful day.

  “I have,” she answered. “A certain gentleman has played me for a fool.” She blinked away tears. She wanted to be angry, but the hurt won out.

  Why was he here?

  “Are you quite certain of that?” Those blue eyes bore through to her soul. “Perhaps it’s only a misunderstanding.”

  “Or perhaps I have been far too gullible.” She didn’t want to fall for his lies again. She was powerless to resist his charm, even now, knowing he’d broken his promise.

  “What has this scoundrel done?”

  “He led me to believe that he loved me.” There was that word. He’d never admitted as much, but it had been implied.

  Was love something that could be implied? Was it necessary it be spoken aloud? Confessed?

  Benjamin cocked a brow, and with very precise movements, dismounted the majestic mare.

  “How do you know that he does not?” his determined voice wrapped itself around her heart.

  “He abandoned me. He was supposed to offer for me but disappeared instead. He changed his mind.”

  At these words, he nodded. “Just as I thought. He should not have left without speaking with you. He ought to have explained where he was going.”

  Claire folded her arms in front of her and held herself stiffly. “But he did not. He only used me to damage my brother’s business prospects.”

  Ben had been slowly walking toward her. Just a few feet away, she noticed exhaustion on his face. Shadows beneath his eyes and yellow bruising where Ethan had hit him less than a week ago.

  “But I am here. I have followed you.”

  Claire swiped at her eyes. “Why are you here?”

  “Why do you think I’m here?” A vulnerability crept into those dazzling eyes of his.

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure.” But then she bit her bottom lip. “I’m confused.”

  Ben lifted one side of his mo
uth into a half-hearted smile. “I did not betray you, Claire. I went to bring my brother so that our families might come to a truce. I did not believe you would take your leave before I got back.” He looked so very tired.

  “Are you unwell?” Anxiety tore past all of her anger. And then…“You love me,” she spoke the words in awe. She could conclude no other logical reason for him to come after her. Something cracked wide open inside of her and she threw herself into his arms. “I love you!”

  Strong arms crushed her against his body.

  He’d ridden through the night to come to her. To come after her.

  “But how…” she murmured into the fabric of his jacket. “How did you know where I was?”

  He didn’t answer right away, choosing instead to claim her lips in what felt like desperation.

  Claire clutched at him with all her might, almost fearful that this was all a dream. Had she fallen asleep in the carriage? She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “Are you really here? You are real?”

  “I went to your brother’s town house in the middle of the night,” his voice broke through her doubt. “He was none too pleased with the interruption, mind you.”

  This did not surprise her in the least.

  “I told him I would find you. I figured you would go to your aunt’s home.”

  She furrowed her brows. “How did you know?”

  “You mentioned that you found peace at her home. By the sea. I figured it would be your logical destination.”

  He’d listened to her. Unlike the self-important nobs her brother had thrown her at.

  How could she not smile ear to ear at this delightful turn of events?

  Ben was here. He loved her!

  “Your brother threw his hands in the air and admitted I was right. If I was insane enough to go chasing about England after you, he told me I likely made a better match for you than any of his bloody nobs.”

  “A match then?” She gazed into his eyes. “Don’t you have something to ask me?”

  Ben pressed his face against her shoulder and growled, “You’ll marry me, wench. I’ve damned well earned it.”

  Despite his arrogance, she giggled. “Of course, I’ll consent to be your wife…to make you the happiest of men.”

  He kissed her again.

  And Elmer barked.

  Sometimes a girl had to give in to the magic. Because when magic has its way, everything else is destined to fail.

  ###

  How to Catch an Heiress

  Marriage Maker

  Book Four

  Tarah Scott and Sue-Ellen Welfonder

  USA Today and Bestselling Authors

  Dedication

  For all our single readers. We wish you your own Marriage Maker

  Chapter One

  Chastity Hamilton, heir to the Roxburgh Dukedom and future Duchess of Roxburgh, awoke to the sun streaming through her window and across her bed. Her body warmed through the blanket. The cozy cocoon should have made her burrow deeper beneath the bedding. Instead, something hovered beyond the fuzziness of her sleepy brain. Something was wrong.

  Chastity bolted upright. Today was May 30th. Two days before her wedding day. Nae, not just her wedding day--the beginning of her life sentence. How had Sir Stirling managed so quickly to marry her three sisters to three men? She was ashamed to admit she had doubted that three such good men existed. But they did. Within one month’s time, Sir Stirling James had married Lucy, her youngest sister, to Baron Delny, the Devil of Delny; Olivia to the privateer—a nice word for pirate—Gordon Frasier; and Jessica, her second youngest sister, to Lieutenant Patrick Chalmers—a navy lieutenant, of all things.

  Lucy was the youngest in years, but Chastity had always thought of Jessica as the baby of the family, her kitten, the hoyden who swore she couldn’t be tamed and would never marry. Yet Jessica had blossomed into a woman almost overnight, and was thriving as the wife of a strict navy lieutenant. Though, even in the few days they had been married, it was obvious the lieutenant had changed as much as Jessica. Somehow, the two had discovered a middle ground.

  Now, as his reward for making three such fine matches, Sir Stirling expected Chastity to honor her agreement and marry him. Determination burned hotly. Sir Stirling had called her a shrew. He had yet to see the shrew. The next two days would open his eyes to the life he would have if he forced her into marriage.

  By the sun that poured into her room, Chastity estimated the time as seven-thirty—maybe eight, if she was lucky. She seldom slept even this late. But she’d lain awake worrying about her upcoming nuptials and hadn’t fallen asleep until the wee hours of the morning. Sir Stirling was due to arrive at ten to ride with her, and she planned on keeping him waiting. Now, however, it would be her who had to while away the hours until someone came to announce his arrival.

  Cook would be baking bread and preparing for the wedding breakfast, which meant Chastity couldn’t even get herself a cup of tea. She released a breath. She and Papa were now alone in the house. Never again would Jessica burst into her room to wake her. No longer would she enter the parlor to find Olivia reading a book. Tears unexpectedly stung her eyes. What was wrong with her? She had no reason for sadness. Instead of running after Jessica, and worrying that some fortune hunter would compromise Lucy, and wishing away the sadness in Olivia’s eyes, she could delight in knowing that her sisters were happy. Their husbands would care for and protect them for the remainder of their lives, just as Papa had said they would.

  But instead of stopping, her tears became sobs, until she feared a passing maid or even her father might hear. She covered her head with a pillow and pulled the blankets over her body. When force of will failed to control the tears, she finally gave in and let them flow freely.

  At last, the tears abated, and shame set in. Was she guilty of her father’s charges? Had she sabotaged her sisters’ happiness? Meeting the right man had changed Jessica’s mind about marriage. Lucy had only just come of age to enter the marriage mart, and Chastity knew she would have married in the next year or two. Then there was Olivia. The two offers she’d received hadn’t overly excited her, but was Chastity’s contempt for the men the reason Olivia had rejected them?

  Olivia’s second suitor, Mister Williams, had been far more respectable than Frasier Gordon, the privateer Olivia married. The problem, in Chastity’s estimation, was Mister Williams’ lack of backbone. He was intimidated by Olivia's intellect. Oh, he flattered her, but Chastity knew that once they were married he would have put a stop to her bluestocking ways. Chastity released a breath. Olivia was ridiculously happy with Frasier. Things had worked out just as they should, and Chastity was relieved and happy for her sisters. Olivia and Lucy, in particular, wouldn't have been happy being on the shelf as she was. Her father had been right about that. He had been right about Jessica, as well. Was he right about Sir Stirling?

  Chastity shook off the thought. Sir Stirling didn’t care for her as her sisters’ husbands did them. Now that her sisters were safely—and happily—wed, she could live her life as she pleased, with no man to rule her. All she had to do was get rid of Sir Stirling James.

  Chastity awoke with a start. Warm sunlight beat down across her bed. She blinked the room into focus, then bolted upright. What time was it? She swung her gaze onto the mantle clock. Ten-fifteen. The fuzziness in her brain persisted, but she knew something wasn't right. Ten-fifteen. Then she remembered. She was supposed to have been ready at ten o'clock to meet Sir Stirling for their morning ride. Why hadn't anyone woken her?

  She drew back the covers, jumped to her feet and hurried to the door. Carefully, she eased open the door and peeked into the hallway. Empty. She closed the door and faced the room. What had happened? Her father would never allow her to sleep while Sir Stirling waited for her. The man was late. She pushed from the door and began pacing. How dare he keep her waiting? What sort of gentleman failed to keep his engagements?

  She halted. What if something had happened to him? Bah
! Nothing had happened. He simply hadn't cared enough to arrive on time. She threw her hands up in exasperation. It was just like him to be late when she'd planned on keeping him waiting. Chastity paused again. She knew only one way to deal with a cad like Sir Stirling.

  Half an hour later, Chastity stepped into her mare’s saddle and rode out of the stables. A light mist fell. She urged the horse into a gallop down the slope, then turned left when they neared the river. Typically, Chastity loved days like this. To her right, mist rose off the water, giving the morning an ethereal beauty. She often stayed out all day in this kind of weather. Today, however, even the beauty of the rolling hills didn’t improve her mood. Seething anger bubbled like a witch’s brew in her belly. Sir Stirling hadn’t the grace to keep his appointment with her.

  Just as you intended to do to him, an inner voice reminded her.

  “Because he deserves it,” she said aloud.

  He probably assumed she would meekly await him in the parlor until he deigned to arrive. Isn’t that what wives did? This was the sort of man her father would have her wed. To his credit, Sir Stirling had saved Jessica from Lord John. Gooseflesh raced across her arms with the memory of how loudly Lord John’s bones had cracked when Sir Stirling's fist connected with his ribs. Satisfaction swept through her, just as it had when she watched Sir Stirling beat him. The man had deserved every blow Sir Stirling gave him.

  Sir Stirling wasn't a bad man, perhaps he was a good man. But he was still a man, and men considered themselves rulers of all they surveyed—and their wives’ dictators. Today, Sir Stirling had only proved her point.

  How she wished she could see his face when he arrived to find her gone.

  A mile from Gledstone Hall, Chastity urged her mare down a gentle slope toward the shore of the loch. An ancient oak grew near the water. She could lay out the plaid she’d brought and sit under the tree to watch the water lap the shore. The book she’d put in her saddlebag would entertain her well into the afternoon, or until she became too chilled to sit outside. She’d even filched a few oatcakes from the kitchen.