Bewitching The Forbidden Duke (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Scarlett Osborne

  A red-and-white-checked tablecloth had been laid out on the grass; the remains of their lavish meal deposited in the picnic basket. Lemon syllabubs were being passed around by the servants as the company indulged in general conversation. Patrick tried to participate as little as possible although everyone was eager for a retelling of his dramatic rescue of the young Lady Greyfield. Lady Rose simply smiled proudly at him, as if she had some ownership of him.

  He sighed inwardly as one of the debutantes asked if he wanted to join their game of Charades. He politely declined and decided that he might as well put himself out to be sociable.

  * * *

  Melissa was not sure all this was necessary as she lowered herself into the waters at the bathhouse. Her green muslin gown billowed around her as she took a seat. She sighed as the water lapped at her reveling in the heat.

  “Oh, that feels nice,” she blurted.

  Brynn grinned. “You see. Soon we’ll have you feeling much better.”

  Melissa sighed. “You know that’s not why mother sent me here, don’t you? She just wanted me out of the way so that the Marquess could focus on Rose.”

  “Well…perhaps…” Brynn’s brow furrowed. “Nothing is stopping you from writing to him though.”

  Melissa perked up at once. “Yes I could do that,” her face fell as a thought occurred to her. “You don’t think that would be too forward do you?”

  Brynn slowly shook her head.

  “Well then, as soon as we get back to Aunt Prudence’s I shall write him a letter.”

  They settled back in silence, simply breathing as the water did its job. On their way out, they stopped by the pump room to drink some of the healing waters.

  Melissa grimaced. “Oh, that does not taste good.”

  “That’s because of its powerful healing. Have you ever tasted medicine that was delicious?”

  Melissa had to laugh at that. “I suppose not.”

  “No, you haven’t. Now let’s go home so you can write your letter.”

  However, when they got home, Aunt Prudence was waiting with a tray of simples she said her mother had ‘sworn by’.

  “We are going to bath your wound and then you shall drink this and have a bit of rest,” she fussed, directing Brynn on what to do. “And then you’ll feel all better.”

  Melissa could hardly get a word in edgewise and so decided to just go along with her aunt. She could always write the letter tomorrow.

  Whatever Aunt Prudence had put in the paste that had been rubbed on her wound made her so itchy she thought she might go mad with the need to scratch.

  “It’s all part of the healing, Melissa. You must just endure it, and no scratching!” Aunt Prudence said giving her a concoction to drink. The concoction made her dizzy and confused and she slumped back on the bed, closing her eyes to stop the room from spinning. When she woke up again, night had fallen. The maddening itching was gone and her mind was clear.

  She sat up, searching for Brynn. Her lady’s maid was passed out on the settee, looking extremely tired. She shuffled off the bed as quietly as she could and retrieved her robe. Tying it firmly about her waist, she left the room in search of food. She was feeling extremely peckish.

  She made her way to the kitchen where the staff all stopped what they were doing to regard her in some surprise.

  “Can I help you ma’am?” a rotund matronly-looking woman asked.

  “I uh, was wondering if I could get some food.”

  “Of course miss.” Another girl, this one younger and slimmer than the other said, walking toward her, “Shall we bring it to the dining room or will you eat in your chambers?”

  “Uh, my chambers please.”

  “Very good miss.” The girl said subtly herding her away from the kitchen. Melissa turned around and left, feeling a little wrong footed.

  She opened the door to her bedchamber with a sigh, and a sharp movement on the settee caught her attention as Brynn sat up with surprise. “Did I fall asleep?”

  “Yes, it seems you did. Don’t worry; I went in search of food. They should be bringing it any minute.”

  Brynn visibly paled. “You went to the kitchens? Oh dear, what will these people think of me?”

  “They will think that your mistress clearly lacks propriety but that is no fault of yours.”

  “Mmmph.” Brynn snorted, getting to her feet. “Well, I’d best go and see how I can repair this impression. You know your behavior reflects on me, my girl.” She wagged her finger at Melissa.

  She simply laughed, waving Brynn away. “Tell them to hurry up with that food lest my stomach eats me alive.”

  Brynn curtsied prettily. “Yes mistress, right away.”

  Melissa threw a pillow at her for her insolence.

  Chapter 7

  Check and Check Mate

  The Greyfields had invited Patrick to their home twice. It was time for him to reciprocate unless he wanted to appear rude. He was reluctant to ask his stepmother to host the function but his sister was too young to chaperone. He wracked his brains for anyone else who could do it but nobody came to mind. So he screwed up his courage and went to call upon his stepmother.

  “Patrick! Where have you been? I was just asking your father what became of you. We haven’t seen you in so long.”

  Patrick cleared his throat to prevent himself from stating that it had only been a week since he was last here. “I am sorry, Your Grace. It is a busy time.”

  “Mmm, well you are here now. Will you dine with us?”

  Patrick shook his head with as much regret as he could manage. “I am afraid not. I came because I need to ask a boon of you.”

  The Duchess simpered. “Oh? And what might that be?”

  Patrick manfully refrained from rolling his eyes. “I wondered whether you might host a tea I mean to have at my residence. For Lady Rose Greyfield and her mother.”

  Patrick could see how her eyes shone as she heard the names.

  “Oh, of course, Patrick! When would you like to receive them?”

  “Would the day after tomorrow be suitable for you?”

  She practically skipped in her seat. “Oh, I shall have to have a gown made in a dreadful rush but I shall manage.”

  Patrick hid his grimace. He knew his father would take the cost of the gown out of him somehow. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “You are welcome, Patrick. Now if you will excuse me…much to do.”

  “Of course.” He made her a leg and then exited the premises, feeling relieved to have gotten it over and done with. Now he simply had to survive the event itself.

  * * *

  It was all Lady Rose could do to contain her squeal of delight.

  “Mother! We have been invited for tea at Lord Bergon’s. What do you suppose it means?”

  “Well, I expect it means he has good manners. We have had him for tea twice.”

  “Yes but…”

  Thalia put a hand over her daughter’s. “Rose, do not get too excited about this. Until he has made an offer, all of this means nothing.”

  That wiped the smile off Rose’s face. “He seemed just as interested in Melissa,” she said miserably.

  “Well, Melissa isn’t here.”

  That brought a smile to Rose’s face, “That is true.”

  Thalia leaned forward to look her in the eye. “So, take advantage of it.”

  Rose pursed her lips demurely. “Yes, mum.”

  * * *

  Patrick was ready to receive his guests promptly at 3 pm, a ready smile on his face. The Greyfield coach arrived right on time and he waited on his feet, for his butler to show his guests to the drawing room. His stepmother was fidgeting with excitement and he regretted deeply the necessity of having her in the room.

  “May I present Her Grace, The Duchess of Greyfield, and her daughter Lady Rose Greyfield.” A tall, thin graceful Lady swayed into the room. Her rosebud mouth pursed as if everything around was beneath her touch. Her dark eyes jumped from person to person as if
searching for something while her long pale slim elegant fingers were clasped in front of her walking gown, free of any gloves.

  Patrick made a leg as his stepmother welcomed them effusively into his home.

  “It is ever so nice to finally meet you,” The Duchess of Cheshmill simpered with a smile.

  “Mmm,” The Duchess Greyfield’s smile was pained.

  Patrick hastened to cut in. “I am glad to welcome you to my home. I was hoping to return the favor and escort you around my portrait room. I have some pieces that might pique your interest.”

  The Duchess of Greyfield waved a lazy hand. “Oh, I would much rather sit here for a bit, and rest for a while. But you and Lady Rose go ahead. I am sure your stepmother would be happy to chaperone.”

  “Oh, of course, I would,” The Duchess of Cheshmill said with a pleased smile. Patrick sighed inwardly and got to his feet.

  The tour of the portrait room went fairly slowly. Lady Rose asked questions about all the paintings as if she was a buyer. Patrick answered her questions patiently, even as he heard his stepmother sigh with weariness behind him.

  Lady Rose smiled apologetically at The Duchess, “I’m sorry Your Grace, would you like to go and socialize with my mother? I do not mind. I am sure Lord Bergon will be on his best behavior.”

  The Duchess smiled with relief. “Yes, I think I shall do that.” She waved vaguely at Patrick and was off. Patrick watched her go with a strange feeling of trepidation. He had never imagined that he would ever feel regret to see the back of her. He turned to Lady Rose with a smile. She hooked a hand over his arm. “Lord Bergon, why don’t you take me on a tour of your house. I hear you have quite the eye for decorating.”

  Patrick grimaced inwardly, wondering where that rumor had come from.

  People will say anything these days. He thought grumpily.

  “I am no better than the average Lord I would imagine.”

  She batted her eyelashes at him. “You will have to let me be the judge.”

  Not seeing a way to politely get out of giving her a tour, he steered her toward his conservatory thinking that she might enjoy the hot-house flowers–perhaps he might even go so far as to pick her one. Fate seemed to be conspiring for him to court the older Greyfield sister and he was not sure whether he should not just go with it.

  “How is your sister doing? Is she feeling better?”

  Annoyance flashed in Lady Rose’s eyes. “I expect she is. She has taken the waters at Bath.”

  “Yes, your mother told me. I did not realize that the man injured her so badly.”

  “Oh, it was not the original injury. She just developed a fever. As I said, she’ll be fine.”

  “Is she all by herself in Bath?” Patrick could not help but worry.

  “Of course not! She went with her lady’s maid and she’s staying with my aunt. She is perfectly fine.” Patrick could see that she was beginning to get very irritated by his questions but he just had to know. He had entertained the idea of going down to Bath, to see her, to make sure for himself that she was fine. He knew it would be too much of a faux pas to do such a thing. He had to be patient.

  “This is my conservatory,” he said as they entered the room. Lady Rose made cooing sounds of approval and Patrick could not help but swell with pride. He had something of a green thumb if he did say so himself and had chosen each plant in his conservatory himself.

  “Ohh, it’s beautiful.” Lady Rose’s voice was low and breathy and she looked at him from beneath her lashes, her gaze heated. Patrick looked away, trying not to be tempted by her lush lips, colored lightly with red dye and glimmering with wetness. She pressed herself against his side, not hard enough to be obvious, but close enough so he could feel the swell of her breasts against his arm, her soft skin within reach.

  He took a large step away from her, drawing her attention to a cluster of oranges.

  “I do believe they are ripe. Would you like one?”

  She shook her head slowly. “Not right now. I wouldn’t want to make a mess of my gown if I tried to eat one. Why the juices would just scatter all over my bosom, you know?”

  Patrick wasn’t sure but it seemed she was thrusting her breasts at him.

  “Uh!” He lost his train of thought as her twin peaks winked enticingly at him. She was suddenly close to him again and he could not remember when she had moved.

  “Your hand must be very talented to keep all this greenery alive,” she said taking his hand in hers and staring down at it as if it were the second coming. Patrick cleared his throat. He had not expected this at all–more fool him.

  “We should, uh, join The Duchesses, don’t you think?” He tried to gently extract his hand from hers but she had a firm grip on it.

  “I do not think so. I am still so enjoying your company. Are you not enjoying mine?” she pouted prettily up at him, red lips pursed ready for his kiss. He was staring and he knew it but he could not seem to look away.

  “Lord Bergon?” she whispered sultrily and he found his head dropping of its own volition, pulled to hers like a magnet. Her lips parted and her back arched, eyes wide and blue, shining with desire. His lips closed the distance between them and they were kissing, her hand firm on his neck, holding him in place.

  Patrick’s tongue invaded her mouth and his hands encircled her waist, bringing her closer.

  What are you doing? A voice asked frantically in his head but Patrick ignored it for the moment in favor of enjoying her soft luscious lips and accommodating pliability.

  “Well, I never!” the outraged voice jerked him out of his self-imposed fugue and he snapped backward, letting go of Lady Rose as if she had caught fire.

  “Y-your Grace,” he stammered, “I…”

  The Duchess of Greyfield lifted a quelling hand. “We shall not speak of this. Tomorrow you shall present yourself promptly at 10 am before The Duke and ask for Lady Rose’s hand in marriage,” she snapped before gesturing impatiently to her daughter. “Rose, we are leaving.”

  They walked out at a fast pace while The Duchess of Cheshmill stared in bemusement. She turned to Patrick, mouth still open and clapped, laughing uproariously. “Well Patrick, that was well played.”

  Patrick simply looked at her.

  Yes, it would be well played if that was my game.

  * * *

  “Well done,” The Duchess said quietly to Rose as they made their way home.

  “Thank you, mum. I did just as you said.”

  “You did very well, just giving him enough, but not too much.”

  Rose sighed. “He kisses like a dream, mother. I cannot wait for him to be my husband.”

  The Duchess smiled. “I am glad that you are happy with the match.”

  “Oh, I am, mother. I have never been so happy. I had all but given up on the thought of ever finding the right man for me.”

  “Your generation is fortunate to be able to marry for love rather than necessity.”

  Her daughter gave her a sympathetic look. “Are you referring to father?”

  The Duchess snorted. “Your father is a generous man, caring in his way, but he would not have been my first choice.”

  Rose reached over and squeezed her hand. “But you are happy with him now,” she prompted hopefully.

  “Of course,” The Duchess said squeezing her hand back with a tight smile.

  Rose heaved a sigh of relief. “Good,” she said leaning back in her seat to watch the scenery go by. They rode in silence for a while.

  “When do you think Melissa will be back?” Rose asked apropos of nothing.

  “Not soon enough to change anything,” her mother reassured her.

  Rose nodded. “Good.”

  * * *

  Melissa sighed.

  She was having a difficult time with the letter to Lord Bergon. She found herself wanting to write ardent, flowery declarations and she knew that she could not. Aside from it being way too forward, it was also too fast. They had barely spoken.

  I must
not burden him with my feelings. She chewed her bottom lip as she tried to marshal her thoughts into something less chaotic.

  “What is it?” Brynn was sitting by the window, some sewing in hand, and sounding resigned as if she was expecting Melissa to propose some mischief or other.