When Regine and Juliet had visited the glovers the day after their museum outing, they’d run into Theadosia and Jessica. How unusual that three misses from their small country hamlet had all become duchesses.
It hadn’t taken much persuasion on Theadosia’s part for Regine to accept the invitation to dine. Naturally, she’d known James would be there. But she couldn’t stay away, now that she’d seen him again.
He remained in her blood, in her aching, wounded soul. His presence brought her such exquisite torment. It hurt to be near him, knowing she’d ruined the rare jewel they’d shared. Yet, she couldn’t deny herself the opportunity to see him either.
On the Continent, she’d never fretted about an unexpected encounter with him. But since she’d seen his dear face in the coffeeshop window, she searched every street, every window, and every coach and carriage for his auburn hair and blue-green eyes.
Regine couldn’t eschew an opportunity to see him. Even if he never spoke to her. How very pathetic she’d become. Pining for a man who, if perhaps didn’t revile, certainly disdained and condemned her.
Nonetheless, other than their initial meeting, he’d been kind and courteous, and she believed, perchance, she detected a glint of primal protectiveness in his eyes last night. A distinct feminine appreciation for gallantry thrummed in her. And now, hopefully, he’d be able to advise her how best to proceed with George-Curtis.
Through her lashes, she observed James, a forefinger resting on his upper lip and head bent as he perused her documents. That stubborn forelock of bronze hair had fallen forward as it was wont to do. She wanted to smooth it back in place, and cup his chiseled cheeks between her hands and kiss him.
A crease drew his arched eyebrows together, and only the ticking of the mahogany bracket clock on one of the shelves interrupted the silence.
He flipped to a previously read page, marking it with his finger as he riffled forward and studied another. At last, he sat back, and fingers steepled, twisted his mouth into a half-smile. “These appear to be in order, Regine. I’ve found nothing in my initial inspection that gives me cause to believe the Duke of Heartwaite would prevail in court.”
So great was her relief, she almost sagged against the chair. Except, duchesses didn’t sag. “I cannot tell you how relieved I am.” Leaning forward, she placed a palm upon the desk. “He cannot seize my ship or home? Freeze my funds?”
“He threatened you with that?” A fierce scowl lined James’s face, and he balled the hand resting atop his desk as if he’d very much like to smash it into George-Curtis’s bulbous, red-veined nose.
“He did. And more.” Unless she made him welcome in her bed, the vile wretch. He’d also vowed to confiscate her horseflesh, furnishings, jewels, and even her clothing. Vengeful and vindictive. Resenting every penny his father had spent on her.
It wasn’t as if George-Curtis or his siblings hadn’t been provided for. Heartwaite had been generous with his children, bestowing estates on the younger sons as well as enormous dowries on his daughters. And yet, they begrudged Regine…everything.
The genuine fear she’d end up in the same position she’d been in eight years ago had niggled incessantly. No funds. No home. No means of provision.
Except things weren’t the same at present as they had been then. Regine had only the one sister to fret over now, and if worse came to worse, Christiana or Marian would take Juliet in, albeit reluctantly. They’d married for love—one a rector and the other a professor—and each had children. Neither had an abundance of room or coin.
Simply knowing she wouldn’t have to impose upon her sisters if George-Curtis chose to be obstinate about the matter and cut off her funds as he’d threatened until a court decision was rendered, felt as if a loadstone had been removed from her shoulders.
“I feared he might have had a case against me, and I would have to prevail upon one of my sisters to take Juliet in,” Regine admitted, attempting to disregard the flush creeping from her neck to her hairline.
Something indiscernible flashed across James’s features but disappeared in a heartbeat. “If you’d permit, I’d like to keep these to examine at my leisure.” He tapped the papers with his forefinger. “Only to be certain I didn’t overlook anything.”
“Certainly.” She gathered her gloves, prepared to depart, but reluctant to do so. Now was the time to tell James. Explain what had driven her to accept Heartwaite. To ask for his forgiveness.
Except the words wouldn’t come, wouldn’t form on her tongue. As a young girl of eighteen, her reasoning had seemed so sound, but had it truly been?
Hadn’t James had the right to know the calamity that had befallen her family? To be a part of the decision she’d made that had so disastrously affected both of their lives?
In truth, these past few days, she’d begun to doubt the wisdom of her girlish decision. And still, the words remained stuck in her throat, her mouth dry as sand, and fear of further rejection rendering her mute.
Since when had she become a coward?
He scraped his fingers through his hair in a disarming manner, leaving a few strands tufted and endearingly boyish. “Ah, would you care for coffee?”
Already in the process of donning one glove, she brought her gaze up to meet his.
Warmth and masculine approval shone in his eyes.
“I would, in truth.” Regine would’ve accepted an offer of cold tea or pond water. Anything to spend another few minutes with him. It was not wise and could only lead to more heartache, but she couldn’t resist.
James flashed her one of his captivating smiles of old, and her mouth went impossibly dryer. “Excellent,” he said, rising in an agile, smooth movement. He gestured toward the sofa. “Make yourself comfortable while I request refreshments.”
He strode to the door, and she took the opportunity to take in his impressive form. Fine, to ogle, undetected. For certain, he hadn’t gone soft from sitting behind a desk. She’d wager he still rode neck or nothing and mayhap boxed.
Unlike the mincing pups and foppish dandies she’d encountered on the Continent, James possessed an impressive physique. Well-muscled, his face a healthy shade, rather than pasty, and his fingers ink-stained and slightly calloused.
As he opened the door and poked his head out, she made her way to the sofa. She dropped her gloves and reticule on the table centered before the manly piece of furniture and then on impulse, removed her navy-blue bonnet. After placing it beside her other possessions, she flattened a palm over her fluttering stomach and sank onto the unexpectedly comfortable cushion.
Stop it, Regine Daphne Philippa Maberly! she scolded herself. You aren’t a green schoolgirl.
James turned from the door and giving her another incandescent smile, he winked. Roguish and charming, and wholly unexpected. But oh, so very welcome.
Her ragged heartbeat quickened into a gallop, and the sun itself seemed to ease into the room, filling the space with golden warmth and radiance.
Instead of taking one of the chairs across from her, he settled beside Regine, his sculpted mouth kicked upward at the corners.
Why did James have to have such a lovely mouth?
She glanced downward, only to have his defined, muscular thigh catch her attention. A groan almost escaped her. The carved marble and stone masterpieces she’d viewed in Grecian temples had nothing on the virile man inches from her. So close, in fact, his sandalwood and shaving lotion aromas wafted past. She curled her toes against an overwhelming urge to bury her face in his corded neck and breathe him in.
Duchesses didn’t sniff men.
Nay, but country lasses might.
“James.”
“Regine.”
They spoke simultaneously and then gave a short laugh.
“Ladies first,” James said with a gallant dip of his head.
However, before Regine could tell him what had been burning in her heart, a quiet rap preceded the entry of a fresh-faced clerk bearing a tray.
His ears glow
ing red, the young man very carefully paced to the table, and ever-so-slowly bent and deposited the tray. He breathed out an audible sigh of relief when he straightened.
“Thank you, Bentley,” James said with an encouraging smile.
“Will there be anything else, Mr. Brentwood?” Bentley slid Regine a side-eyed, inquisitive glance.
“No, thank you.” Hilarity colored James’s denial, but in no way did his expression reveal his amusement.
After bending into a stiff bow, Bentley let himself out.
“I believe, Your Grace, you have conquered another male heart.” Rubbing his nose with his forefinger, James chuckled. “I’ll wager there is a long queue of males from pimply-faced youths to doddery decrepitudes awaiting a kind word or a smile from you.”
Regine flashed him an astonished glance. “There is no such thing.”
Would she have noticed if there were?
No, for though she might’ve been married to one man, her heart had remained faithful to another. It always would.
More because she needed something to do, or she might stupidly blurt her feelings and embarrass them both, she examined the refreshments. Her eyes rounded, and she shot James an astonished glance. “Maid of honor tarts?”
And shortbread and Naples biscuits. All of her favorites.
“Yes.” His eyes twinkled with familiar jollity.
Oh, how she’d long to see that gleam there.
He’d planned this, and joy sluiced through her.
“James.” She waved a hand over the tray, her smile a trifle unsteady, and a sheen of moisture blurring her vision. “You remembered.”
His eyes darkening to the shade of the deepest sea, he gathered her hand in his and then astounded her by firmly pressing his mouth to her knuckles. “I’ve not forgotten anything about you, Regine.” Huskiness tempered his tone, and she was nearly undone.
A spark of hope ignited, so minuscule, she was afraid to breathe lest it die.
He edged closer until his thigh touched hers, and she could see the cobalt ring circling his iris. His manly scent encompassed her, his heat an almost undeniable, magnetic pull. “I remember how you feel in my arms,” he said throatily as he drew her to his solid chest.
Good God above.
“I recall the sensitive place behind your ear,” he breathed against that exact spot. “Just here.” He placed a hot kiss there, and she couldn’t quite smother a moan of pleasure.
“James,” she whispered shakily into his neck. “What…what are you doing?”
He leaned away a couple of inches, a tender, enigmatic smile bending his mouth as he brushed a knuckle along her cheekbone. Rather than answer, he pulled her onto his lap.
She gave a little yelp and grabbed his lapels, all too aware of the hard length of his thighs beneath her bottom and another insistent lump straining against his falls. He wanted her. A delicious thrill heated her blood. Sweet Lord, her beloved James, wanted her.
“James, Bentley might return,” she managed between gasps as he continued his sensual onslaught on her neck and throat.
“Not if he values his position, he won’t,” he fairly growled. “He was directed to see that we are not disturbed.”
Mortification scorched her face. Good Lord. What must the nervous clerk be thinking? Did he suspect what went on inside his employer’s office? She gave a mental shrug. Let Bentley think what he would. At last, she was in James’s arms again, and nothing else mattered.
“I realized something last night,” James said, nuzzling her neck and making her head spin. All thoughts of propriety flew to the four corners of the Earth.
“You did,” she murmured breathlessly, somehow finding her fingers threaded in his silky hair, and her neck arched to permit him easier access. “And what…” She moaned as he nipped her throat. “What…what did you realize?”
She could barely cobble together two words, she was so aware of him. Of every sinewy, hard contour as he wreaked havoc on her senses.
“That I still love you.” He pressed her palm to his chest, and she felt the steady beat of his heart. “You are now, have always been, and will always be the duchess of my heart.”
James hadn’t meant to blurt his feelings. He’d intended to woo Regine, to break down her defenses and reservations first. But the words had played non-stop, a monologue in his mind since the realization had struck him with the force of a lightning bolt at dinner last night.
I love her. I love her. I love Regine.
Elation and trepidation and a myriad of other sentiments roiled within him in a cacophony of confusing feelings and emotions. But rising to the top was one indisputable, all-consuming truth: he loved her.
Regine’s past didn’t matter. Why she’d married Heartwaite didn’t matter. She was here, in his arms, where she should’ve always been. Where he’d have her stay for as long as he drew a breath.
He loved her. And by God, from the doe-eyed glances coming from her gorgeous, guileless azure eyes, she still loved him. Their love had endured, despite everything.
“You love me?” Wonder and awe rendered her voice sultry as her eyes flicked back and forth, looking into one of his and then the other. “You truly love me, even after—?”
Such hope glimmered in her gaze that moisture stung the back of his. “I do, darling.”
“Oh, James.” A teardrop trickled from the corner of one eye and then the other.
His gut wrenched at the sight, making him recall the last time he’d seen her hugging herself, hunched over and sobbing as if in agony. When he’d left her without letting her explain. “Regine, I—”
“I love you, too.” She sucked in a shaky breath and sniffed against the crystal-like droplets making a slow path over her smooth, ivory cheeks. “I never stopped.” Her expression grew serious. “Please believe. I never stopped loving you, and it almost killed me to marry Heartwaite.”
He pulled a handkerchief from his coat, and a heart-shaped slip of paper adorned with red ribbon and lace dropped onto her lap.
A frown turned her mouth down, and she stiffened before raising stricken, inquisitive eyes to his. “A valentine?”
He scooped up the valentine and waved it under her nose, grinning all the while. “This is from your imp of a sister.”
Regine blinked at him as she patted at the moisture upon her cheeks. “Juliet?”
“Certainly not Marian or Christiana.” He winked roguishly.
Her nose wrinkled in that adorable way it always had when she was perplexed, and the tempting love mark beside her mouth practically pleaded with him to kiss it. “I didn’t realize she fancied you.”
He chuckled and tucked her close to his chest. “She doesn’t. The minx signed your name. She also vowed undying, eternal love.” He waggled his eyebrows. “She mentioned my muscled chest and irresistible eyes, too.”
“She didn’t!” Regine jerked her gaze to his before groaning in chagrin, and her sooty lashes fluttered to brush her pink cheeks. Her eyelids popped open a moment later. “Wait. How did you know it wasn’t from me?”
Eyebrow cocked, James looked askance. “I told you, I remember everything about you. It’s not your handwriting. I’d recognize yours anywhere. I still have the love letters you sent me, including, if you recall, three valentines.”
“You saved them?” Her voice had grown raspy from suppressed emotion.
He rolled a shoulder. “How could I not? They were all I had left of you.”
She fingered the silky crimson ribbon. “I saved yours, too. Heartwaite never knew, of course.” Fresh tears threatened, welling in her eyes, and she averted her gaze. “I want you to know why I married him, James.”
He wrapped his arms tighter around her and brushed his lips across her temple then her forehead. “Sweetheart, it isn’t necessary.”
She laid a palm on his chest. “Please. I need to.” Her gaze roamed his face, such earnestness there. “I need to make you understand. I never cared about his title, or money, or the things he could
give me.”
James had accused her of all of those. Thrown the words like daggers, each finding a target in her unselfish heart. A wave of shame washed over him. After last night, he guessed why she’d married the duke, but she’d asked to explain, and he owed Regine that and much more. And so, with a long, resigned sigh, he settled against the sofa’s back, and after arranging her so that she lay cradled against his chest, he said, “Go on, then, love.”
The telling was short. Regine spared herself no mercy. And with every softly uttered word, his love for her blossomed more profoundly and grew impossibly deeper. “So, you sacrificed yourself for your family and to ensure that I became a solicitor.”
She met his gaze, straight on. “I did. I honestly thought it was the only way. Since then, however, I’ve wondered if I made the wrong decision. But by then, it was too late.”
“I would’ve made it work, somehow, Regine.” He firmed his embrace, almost as if by holding her to him so close he could erase the past. “I confess it wouldn’t have been easy, but I would have.”
“I couldn’t fathom how, James. And Heartwaite only gave me a week to decide. I think he knew if he allowed me longer, I’d refuse him.”
“Bloody sod.”
She shook her head. “He was kind to me. More like a doting uncle.” Her cheeks suddenly flushed bright pink, and she bit her lower lip. “He never…ah, that is. We never…”
“Never what?” Eyebrows drawn taut, he tried to discern her meaning.
Her shoulders rising and chest expanding, she inhaled then said in a rush. “We were never intimate. He couldn’t perform the act.”
“Sweet Christ on Sunday.” Of all the things she might’ve said, James would never have expected that. Eight years of frustration and anger and resentment melted away as he took her mouth in a reverent kiss.
She responded, matching every slash of his tongue, every sigh, every moan. At last, his groin pulsing from need and fearing that if they continued, he might very well take her on the sofa, and despise himself afterward, he reluctantly lifted his lips from hers.
Seductive Scoundrels Series Books 4-6: A Regency Romance Page 36