Weddings and Scandals: Regency Romance Collection

by Alec, Joyce

  “Nothing happened,” Michael grated, his heart slamming furiously into his chest. “If you think that—”

  “I was also informed that there was something of a heated argument between you both only a few days ago,” Lord Brentwood continued brightly. “She was insistent that there was nothing more than a brief acquaintance between you both, but I must confess that I wonder if there is something more. Something you have not said to anyone as yet.”

  “Whatever are you blathering on about, Brentwood?” Lord Stevenson interjected with a slightly bored air. “If the fellow was courting the girl, then I might understand your attempt to intimidate him in this way, but given that he barely knows her and is grateful to her only for standing between him and the two rogues you sent—for yes, I am quite certain it was you who sent them—I hardly think that you are likely to achieve your aims.”

  Michael drew in a slow breath, realizing what his friend was trying to do and finding himself a little surprised when Lord Brentwood lost a touch of his confident, arrogant air.

  “It is as Stevenson says, of course,” he added, steeling his nerve and holding Lord Brentwood’s gaze. “This ‘heated argument’ was simply because I would not accept her urgings to allow her to call upon me, to ensure that I was well.” He rolled his eyes and let out a long plaintive sigh. “She was determined, the poor thing. It seems that her brother has long been insisting that she find herself a husband but that the lady herself is unwilling. There must be good reason for her reluctance and therefore, I did not want to encourage her attentions. She is not at all the sort of young lady I would be drawn to, Brentwood.”

  Lord Brentwood narrowed his eyes, his hands slowly tightening into fists as he looked steadily back at Michael. “You are trying to pretend that you have no interest in this young lady so that I—”

  “Oh, it is true, Lord Brentwood.”

  Michael closed his eyes tightly as the sound of Miss James’ clear voice came from just over his left shoulder.

  “Good evening, Miss James,” Lord Brentwood said quickly, turning his fury and displeasure into a warm, welcoming smile although the narrowing of his eyes remained. “You are not eavesdropping, I hope?”

  Forced to turn around to face the lady in question, Michael could barely bring himself to speak her name. He had insulted her terribly and had not meant a single word of it. Never once thinking that she would overhear, he had done everything he could to dissuade Lord Brentwood from thinking that she meant anything to him.

  “Miss James,” he muttered, dropping his eyes from her face as he bowed. “Good evening.”

  Miss James’ sharp eyes barely glanced at him. “I was not eavesdropping, as you so kindly put it,” she said with a glare directed towards Lord Brentwood. “I heard my name quite clearly and it is not as though you were speaking quietly.” Her eyes traveled back to his, but Michael could only look into her face for a second before his shame and frustration became too much to bear. Dropping his head, he prayed silently that he would be allowed some opportunity to speak honestly with the lady in question, prayed that she would be willing to listen to his explanations. He could not allow her spirit to be broken like this, not when he had not meant a single word of it.

  “I am sorry if you are upset,” Lord Brentwood said with a fake sweetness dripping from his lips. “It was never my—”

  “I do hope that this will be the end of the matter, Lord Brentwood,” Miss James said firmly, interrupting him. “Not only have you peppered me with questions regarding Lord Glenister this very afternoon, you have now come to speak to Lord Glenister about me, it seems.” Her expression became dark with apparent frustration. “Whether it is that you have a sister or a cousin you wish to press into Lord Glenister’s attentions, I do not know, but I can assure you that it is precisely as Lord Glenister has said.” She shot him another glance before drawing herself up to her full height. “There is nothing more than a light acquaintance between myself and Lord Glenister. He has no interest in courting me, as he has just informed you. Yes, I came to his aid some weeks ago, but now that he is recovered, I have no good reason to involve myself in anything whatsoever. Does that satisfy you, Lord Brentwood?”

  Michael waited for Lord Brentwood to speak, holding his breath as the man looked at him steadily. Lord Brentwood gazed first at him and then at Miss James, who now had two red spots of color in her cheeks, her eyes flashing dangerously.

  “It is as you say,” Lord Brentwood answered, bowing at the waist as though attempting to ingratiate himself with the lady again. “I shall not ask Lord Glenister any more questions about you, nor shall I come to your elbow again to ask about the gentleman.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” Miss James replied stiffly. She held herself there for another moment or two before turning around on her heel and marching away from them all.

  * * *

  “Miss James? Miss James!”

  Michael saw her stiffen as he whispered her name urgently, having been unable to speak to her alone since the incident with Lord Brentwood some hours before.

  “I do not wish to be accosted, Lord Glenister,” she said, not quite turning all the way around to look at him. “I am simply making my way to the powder room and do not require an escort.”

  “Miss James, please,” he insisted, finding a deep sense of urgency pushing him forward, and he hurried to catch her. “There was no truth in what you overheard. What I said to Lord Brentwood was simply an excuse, so that he would not attempt to plague you anymore.” That was not the entirety of the truth, of course, but Michael was still fiercely determined to protect Miss James in any way he could.

  “I do not particularly care what you meant and what you did not,” Miss James replied, still walking away from him. “As I have said, I—”

  “I do not believe that.” Reaching out, he caught her hand and, in one swift movement, tugged her towards him.

  Her eyes flared as she fell against his chest, allowing him to hold her tightly for a moment. Nothing but silence passed between them for a time, the excuses she had piled up as to why she did not care seeming to shatter about their feet.

  And then, Miss James pulled away, her hands falling to her sides as she looked up into his face with an almost curious expression.

  “What is it that you want, Lord Glenister?” she asked, her voice a good deal more gentle than before, the anger fading from her eyes. “I confess that I do not understand you.”

  “I know.” He looked deeply into her eyes and felt his heart twist in his chest. He could not pretend that he felt nothing for her, for the affection that rose in his heart was full and hot and overwhelming. It had come so suddenly, but as yet, it had not left him. “I swear to you, Miss James, I did not mean a single word of what you overheard. I have behaved in a most frustrating fashion, I know, but I have never meant to harm you or drive you away. In my own way, I have been trying to protect you.”

  “Protect me?” Her eyes widened and she settled one hand against her heart. “Protect me from what?”

  Michael pressed his lips together, not certain whether or not he had done the right thing in speaking to her so openly. “I cannot say now,” he said, shaking his head. “I cannot be certain that this is even wise, given that I myself have been in so much danger.”

  Miss James took a step closer to him and, much to his surprise, looked up steadily into his face, her eyes filled with a gentle reassurance.

  “So, the reason that you pushed me away, that you would not tell me your name… is it not because of what I supposed, then. It is because of your injuries, because of those men who were beating you.”

  Swallowing hard and feeling his heart leap up in his chest at the vision of beauty that lay before him, Michael nodded. “It is,” he admitted, his voice a good deal quieter than before. “I wished I could have told you the truth and maybe even now, I cannot, but I did not want you to think that I do not care for you, Miss James. I could not allow you to believe that I would ever speak to you so call
ously or so carelessly.”

  Her eyebrows rose in surprise and it was only then that Michael realized what he had said.

  “I—I must go,” he stammered, knowing that the door behind them might open at any moment and that Lord Brentwood might appear in the hallway to see them both talking. What would happen then? “Might you call on me, Miss James? I dare not come to your abode for fear that your brother might presume something and then share it with all and sundry.”

  Miss James nodded and the smallest of smiles appeared on her face. “I shall do as you ask,” she said slowly. “Might I bring Miss Smythe with me?”

  “But of course.” Quickly, he gave her his address and saw her smile grow into something that seemed to touch every corner of her expression. His heart now felt a good deal freer that before, his relief that she had listened to him and had accepted his explanation bursting in his chest. He could not help but smile back at her, his heart quickening as she reached out and took his hand in hers.

  “I am sorry for causing you more trouble,” she said, her eyes alight. “Although I confess that my apology does not include the fact that you have sought me out in order to set me to rights.”

  “I could not have left here in the knowledge that I had spoken so cruelly and that you believed every word,” he said softly, pressing her fingers and wishing he could tell her just how deeply her touch affected him. “It was unthinkable.”

  Miss James looked back at him carefully, as though she were seeing him for the very first time. “You are a gentleman with many secrets, I think.”

  “And you are courageous, Miss James,” he replied honestly. “I am sorry to have to take my leave of you in such a fashion and leave things without explanation.” He smiled at her and let go of her hand. “You must know that I think you an extraordinary young lady.”

  Something changed in her expression. Her eyes flared and she took a step back, one hand pressed lightly to her lips. Color bloomed in her cheeks and she stared at him, her breathing quickening to the point that he could hear it.

  “What?” he asked, making to go to her in case she should faint. “What is it?”

  “It was you,” she whispered, her eyes bright and filled with an intensity that he had not seen before. “That night in the gardens. The gentleman who kissed me.” She took a breath, as though to steady herself. “That gentleman was you.”

  11

  “Where is it we are meant to be going?”

  Charlotte laughed softly as she sat across from Emily, who had, of course, been more than willing to accompany her this afternoon. In one way, it was a blessing that Viscount Hornsby, Emily’s father, did not particularly care what his daughter did, so long as she was always careful to act with propriety, although Charlotte knew that his lack of interest was a painful sting to Emily herself.

  “We are to call upon Lord Glenister,” she told her friend, seeing the way Emily sat up straight in shock. “I should have told you everything last evening, but I had to be most discreet for fear that someone should overhear me.”

  “Overhear you?” Emily looked both confused and alarmed all at once, making Charlotte laugh again. “What are you talking about, Charlotte?”

  Briefly, Charlotte explained what had occurred. She told her friend just what she had overheard and saw the anger flaring in Emily’s eyes on her behalf. She then went on to tell her that Lord Glenister had then come in search of her and had begged her for an opportunity to explain.

  “And you gave it to him?” Emily asked, looking at Charlotte incredulously. “Surely he cannot be trusted.”

  Charlotte allowed her smile to soften, feeling heat spiral up her chest as she recalled just how Lord Glenister had been last evening. “I think he is to be trusted, Emily. The way he spoke to Lord Brentwood showed me that he did not care for the gentleman. And when he came to seek me out, there was something in his expression that told me he was both utterly desperate and deeply concerned. Concerned for my safety, it seems, although precisely what that means, I have yet to discover.”

  “Which is why we are to call upon him this afternoon,” Emily said slowly. “And you are taking a hackney instead of the carriage because you wish to remain discreet?”

  Charlotte nodded. “As discreet as I can be. I do not want Lord Glenister to have any more difficulties.” She took in a long breath. “And there is more.”

  Her friend narrowed her eyes, her lips set in a thin line as though she expected bad news. “And what is that?”

  “He cares for me,” Charlotte said triumphantly, as though her every wish had been fulfilled in that one moment. “He confessed as much and whilst I agree that it does not seem to make any particular sense when set against his previous behavior, I find that I want to believe him.”

  “You want to believe him,” Emily replied carefully. “But again, I would question whether or not you can truly trust him, Charlotte. What if he is only saying such things for his own ends?”

  Charlotte frowned, a murmur of discontent beginning to voice itself in her heart. “What ends could they be?”

  Emily opened her mouth, only to frown and then close it again before sitting back in her chair. “I do not know,” she said, a little crossly. “It is just that I am not as inclined to believe him as you are, Charlotte. Although I am glad for you if he is genuine in his affections, even if you have spent a good deal of time convincing yourself that you feel nothing for him in return.”

  Charlotte flushed and laughed a trifle awkwardly. “I know. You are quite right. It feels as though I have been pushed to the top of a hill, only to roll to the ground in a heap, hurt and confused.” She smiled at her friend, who still did not look truly convinced. “And now I find myself slowly climbing back to the top again.”

  Emily sighed and spread her hands. “What can I say to convince you to be careful?”

  “I shall already be on my guard,” Charlotte promised, ignoring the stab of guilt that came with such a promise, for her heart was already running wild and free in the hope that she might find a true happiness with Lord Glenister—even though it was not something she had ever imagined herself to desire. “That is why you are here after all, Emily. To ensure that all goes just as it ought and so that you can, thereafter, give me your opinion on what Lord Glenister says.”

  “I shall be glad to do so,” Emily declared, looking more determined than Charlotte had ever seen her. “Ah, the hackney is slowing. Have we arrived?”

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, Charlotte found herself being ushered into Lord Glenister’s drawing room, with Emily close behind her. Lord Glenister was standing by the fireplace, leaning on the mantlepiece and looking down into the small, flickering flames that brought a warmth to the room on what was a cloudy summer’s day. He turned to them both as they walked inside and for a moment, Charlotte was startled to see the deep strain that had settled over his features. It disappeared in his smile of welcome, but it lingered in her mind, making her question what it was that troubled him so.

  “I am so very glad you were able to call upon me,” Lord Glenister began as the maid brought in a tea tray that had obviously been prepared in advance for their arrival. “It is quite unorthodox, I am aware.”

  “Miss James believes there to be a good reason for it,” Emily said quickly as they all sat down. The tone of her voice told both Charlotte and Lord Glenister that she herself was not convinced about his supposedly genuine intentions.

  “There is,” Lord Glenister replied fervently, looking towards Charlotte with such a deep intensity in his eyes that she felt herself turn to water, her heart racing furiously. She had never felt such extraordinary things for a gentleman before and knowing that it had been he who had kissed her in the gardens that night made his presence all the more overwhelming.

  When she had made the realization last evening, she had seen the way his face had blanched before turning a deep, scarlet red. His eyes had flickered with an unexpressed emotion and he had opened his mouth to speak—
only for the door behind them to open. He had disappeared in a moment and she had not seen him since. The revelation had crashed over her and she had found it difficult to continue to make her way to the powder room without stumbling.

  “Might you pour the tea, Miss James?”

  His voice was gentle and Charlotte felt heat ripple up her spine as she held his gaze. “I would be glad to,” she murmured, reaching forward to do just that. Silence reigned for a few minutes as she completed her task, her whole body jolting as their fingers brushed when she handed him his cup and saucer.

  “What is your explanation then, Lord Glenister?” Emily asked, her voice sharp and breaking through the heated air between Charlotte and Lord Glenister. It forced Charlotte to regain her sense of perspective, recalling that she had to discover the truth about Lord Glenister’s behavior and not become distracted by all that she felt.

  “It is to do with this.”

  Much to Charlotte’s surprise, Lord Glenister reached into his breast pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a book of some kind.

  “It is a journal,” he told them, as both Charlotte and Emily stared at it blankly. “I have been forced to hide it within the very depths of this house, so that it can never be discovered.”

  Charlotte frowned, taking in the small journal and wondering what could be contained within it. It was tied with a leather strap and appeared boring and ordinary. What on earth could be contained inside that had caused Lord Glenister such trouble?