Cavern of Pleasures Boxset: Georgian Regency Romance

by EM BROWN

  “Any gentleman would have done as much,” he said.

  “Hardly!” Lady Constance exclaimed.

  Lady Debarlow said nothing.

  “Mr. Edwards!” a voice called.

  He saw Miss Pettington waving at him from an open carriage. Beside her sat the dour Lady Louisa. The company of those two ladies was far less inviting than the two before him, but he had the sense he had overstayed his welcome with the Baroness.

  He touched his fingers to his hat. “It were a fine day, and I will not keep you ladies further from its enjoyment.”

  He turned his horse towards Miss Pettington.

  EVALINE EYED HER NEW gown in her bedchamber mirror and was pleased to conclude that she and the dress made a perfect match. Surely the vision of her in this gown would catch the eye of Mr. Edwards? After seeing him at St. James’ Square – he cut a rugged figure upon horseback—she was determined to know him better.

  The sound of a horse approaching drew her to her window. It was as if Providence had read her mind for she saw none other than Mr. Edwards! She admired his form upon a horse. He had an easy but upright posture. She would not have been able to abide by a man who did not look stately upon a horse. She doubted Mr. Edwards could appear in poor form regardless. He moved with such understated confidence. He was unlike any man she had come across. The thought that he might have come to call upon her made her heart flutter. Oh, but she was not ready to be viewed!

  “Quick, Maggie!” she barked at her chambermaid. “Finish pinning the gown and do not tarry. And fetch my gold slippers with the pink roses. Be quick about you!”

  The maid complied. Evaline even had time to add a dash more rouge to her lips. The women in Bath, if they were pretty, surely could not present a significantly lovelier sight. With a satisfied sigh, she waited for the butler to knock upon the door.

  “Maggie, there is a guest come to our house,” Evaline directed when the knock did not materialize, “go and see what has become of him.”

  Unable to wait further, she followed Maggie but stayed above stairs, wanting to make a grand entrance for Mr. Edwards. She wanted to appear like an angel floating from down on high.

  “Miss Pettington,” Maggie said upon returning, “it appears a Mr. Edwards came to call upon His Lordship.”

  Evaline was disappointed but not for long. Of course the proper thing for Mr. Edwards to do was to call upon her father. But what if his purpose was not to see her?

  “Where are they now?” she asked.

  “In His Lordship’s library.”

  Evaline decided she had best wander downstairs in the event that Mr. Edwards might miss his opportunity to see her. She passed by the door of her father’s library and considered entering on some pretext requiring her father’s attention, but she paused upon hearing the roused voice of the Earl.

  “He has declared that he has no intention to marry Miss Worsely at all!” her father was saying. “The situation has worsened. Have you made no progress?”

  Mr. Edwards responded in a cool, deep tenor. Not able to catch his every word, Evaline pressed her ear to the door.

  “I think you must need hasten your efforts. I can assure you that Worsely will not tolerate any slights upon his daughter.”

  “Even were the Baroness to abandon her attentions upon your son, there is no assurance he will cooperate where Miss Worsely is concerned.”

  “I will worry of the latter. You take care of the Baroness.”

  Take care of the Baroness? Evaline wondered what her father could have meant.

  “I have not forgotten our arrangement.”

  She thought she detected a perturbed note in his response and would have gathered that Mr. Edwards was not overly enamored of her father.

  “Indeed. I should imagine with Chelton at stake, you would apply yourself with utmost earnest.”

  She wondered who or what Chelton might be. It was plain her father was agitated over Charles, but what had Mr. Edwards to do with it all? The sound of movement made her scramble from the door and back up the steps. She pretended to be walking down the stairs when Mr. Edwards emerged from the library. He was visibly disgruntled.

  “Oh!” she gasped, feigning surprise. “Mr. Edwards, is it not?”

  He bowed. “Miss Pettington.”

  Stopping a few steps above him, she presented her hand. He took it and pressed his lips near her knuckles. The warmth and strength of his grasp caused her to shiver. He must have noticed it for he glanced up at her with a more probing stare. She attempted to stymie the blush that was surely crawling up her countenance.

  “What brings you here?”

  “A matter of business, if you will, betwixt your father and I.”

  Matter of business? What a strange way to term their discussion regarding her brother’s marital situation. She was still extremely puzzled as to why Mr. Edwards would be privy to such a sensitive matter of her family. She noted that he had his hat tucked beneath his arm and gloves in hand. No doubt he expected to take his leave soon.

  “A simple matter, I take it, for your visit here has barely begun?” she queried.

  Amusement glimmered in his eyes and she realized her error: she had revealed herself to have known of his presence despite appearing surprised.

  “Are you – are you in London long?” she stammered, wishing she had not left her fan in her chambers. Her hands felt empty and idle without the ivory handled instrument.

  “As long as it takes me to conclude my business here.”

  “I hope you are not tired of the City already?”

  He smiled – it seemed especially for her. “How could I be?”

  That silly maid of hers had pinned the dress too tightly for she could feel its constricting warmth right now.

  “Have you taken yourself to Ranalegh Gardens yet?”

  “I have not.”

  “They have quite the display of orchids, though I would venture that the orchids in our nursery have as beautiful a bloom. Has father shown you our gardens?”

  “He has not.”

  Her father preferred his library and rarely ventured into the gardens, but she doubted Mr. Edwards knew that.

  “My father can be quite the forgetful host. It must be nearing time for tea. Perhaps you would care to stay for tea?”

  He glanced toward the closed library door, perhaps contemplating whether or not the Earl would approve of his company.

  “You are most gracious, Miss Pettington, but I think it best if I decline for today.”

  Her lips pursed in disappointment, but she would not be daunted. She attributed his rejection to his discordant discussion with her father.

  “Perhaps another time then?” she tried.

  “Undoubtedly.”

  She said more cheerfully, “Then allow me to escort you out.”

  “I should be honored.”

  She smiled and took a purposeful misstep, tumbling down the last two steps straight into his arms. It was a risk for she might have ended up sprawled upon the floor – not an alluring image – but she doubted that a man like Mr. Edwards would fail to catch her. How glorious his arms felt about her, as if they could shield her from anything. Was it her imagination or did he hold her a second longer than necessary before setting her back upon her feet? This time she did not mind the flush in her cheeks.

  “Miss Pettington?”

  “How clumsy of me! The heel of my slipper must have caught the step.”

  His eyes began to glimmer once more and she wondered if he saw through her charade.

  “They are pretty slippers indeed,” he noted. “No doubt worth the occasional hazard?”

  Pleased that he had noticed her slippers, she gave him her widest smile. “I see that you know the mind of the fair sex all too well.”

  “I have two sisters to credit. Though I lamented the lack of a brother when I was young, I appreciate all that I have learned from the women in my family.”

  They headed through the vestibule to the front doors.


  “Vauxhall will be featuring a balloon ascent in a fortnight’s time,” she said. “Perhaps if you are not attending to your business matter, you could enjoy the display.”

  “Will Miss Pettington be in attendance?”

  “I plan to be there.”

  “Then I shall make an effort.”

  Her heart quickened its beat and she could not bridge a rejoinder. He bowed over her hand before taking his leave. His horse awaited him outside and she watched as he replaced his hat and mounted the steed.

  He touched his hat. “Adieu, Ms. Pettington.”

  With her breath still caught in her throat, she could only give a curt nod. She could not wait a fortnight before she saw Mr. Edwards. There had to be a way to encounter him again – soon.

  Chapter Nine

  IT HAD BEEN YEARS SINCE her body had experienced such divine agitation, and the hunger, once woken, would not be easily tamed. Abigail had attended to herself every night since her encounter with Montague in the stables, but she could not replicate his sweet torture. She came but the satisfaction was short-lived. She yearned for his touch. He had shown her the depth of his skills as a lover, and she would have returned the favor. Why did he not permit it? That she could not understand lest it be a tactic of his.

  “There is no sense making yourself mad over it,” she told herself before donning her mask and walking out into the assembly of the Cavern of Pleasures.

  But she had felt nothing but agitation whenever she recalled what had transpired between her and Montague. He was a distraction, pulling her focus away from Tremayne. Her plans with Charles remained unfinished, and she fueled her agitation into renewed energy for her efforts with the Viscount. She had to trap him once and for all before any new obstacle presented itself. Striding into her alcove, she found the naked Viscount at his knees.

  “Mistress,” he greeted her. “The days have been an eternity without you. Where had you gone?”

  “A submissive does not ask such questions. I go where I will and have no obligation to alert you.”

  “Is it wrong to profess that I have missed you?”

  She could sense the Viscount to be upset. He could not have possibly known what had transpired at Lord Bennington’s, and she wondered what could have prompted his distress.

  “My dear, you are troubled. What has happened?”

  “May I speak freely, Mistress?”

  “You may.”

  “Very little has happened, and that be the rub. I have been obedient and patient, yet still you are distant. What more must I do?”

  “You must show me in no uncertain terms your full devotion.”

  “But I have!” he protested.

  “It is not enough for you to attend to my commands when we are here, secluded from others and shrouded in anonymity.”

  “But you have unmasked me here.”

  “The patrons here observe a code and are unlikely to reveal you.”

  “Then I know not what more I can do.”

  His complaint and self-piteous tone vexed her. “Then we are at an impasse and should discontinue our association.”

  She walked out of the alcove, her heart pounding. Perhaps she should not forsake Tremayne so readily, but her impatience had ruled before she could think more clearly.

  “Mistress, wait!”

  Tremayne came upon her and grasped her arm – most inappropriate for a submissive.

  “You question my devotion, but you must know that I want you above all else.”

  “How?” she returned. “You are aware that I have been with many men. I find they will use all manner of words, profess all forms of adoration, but in the end, I have found naught to distinguish one from the other.”

  She attempted to extract her arm. A few of the other patrons near them were eying them and she did not wish to be a spectacle. But Tremayne maintained his hold.

  “Has any of them asked for your hand?”

  She paused, unsure if she had heard him correctly.

  “Have they asked for your hand as evidence of their devotion?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Are you asking for my hand?”

  He abruptly dropped to his knees. “If you would have me, Mistress.”

  Her pulse drummed in her ears as she stared down at the Viscount. It was what she had been striving for. “Your father would never approve.”

  “Then we head to Gretna Green. If you meet me at the Inn of Four Knights outside of London tomorrow night, I will have a carriage waiting for us.”

  She was tempted to question if he meant what he said, but he appeared to be in earnest.

  “Very well,” she said carefully. “I shall attend to my bags then.”

  He rose to his feet. “Do I not merit a reward for my demonstration of devotion?”

  “We have yet to make it to Gretna Green.” She trailed her finger along the ridge of his pectoral. “But I assure you that when are bonded to one another, you will receive your just desert.”

  As she walked away, she saw the Marquess of Dunnesford watching her. She wondered if she had ruined her prospects with him when she was wed to the Viscount. Or her prospects with Montague Montague. She doubted Montague would allow so trivial a thing as matrimony to hamper his efforts if he truly wished to seek her. But such things should not concern her. She was to have her vengeance upon Frotham at last. And Libby would have hers, albeit posthumously.

  She happily imagined the look upon the Earl’s face when he discovered his son had run off to Gretna Green with the Lady Debarlow. She would be the Viscountess Tremayne. What a lark! Constance would not find it nearly so amusing, but her friend would be happy to know that with Tremayne secured, she could turn her attentions elsewhere. Tremayne would no doubt accuse her of crim con but the damage would be done. The dye of shame would have been cast. A public divorce would only bring further scandal to the family.

  She felt a nudge of pity for Tremayne, but she quelled her conscience. She deserved this. Her mother deserved this. At long last her grief would find solace. Nothing would deter her from reaching Gretna Green.

  “SHE IS HEADED TO GRETNA Green with Tremayne,” Jonathan informed Montague, who sat at his writing table having just finished reading an invitation from a Countess he barely knew. He expected it to be the work of Evaline Pettington.

  “That is a serious development,” Montague replied. “Are you sure?”

  “Her maid confirms she is packing her valise. She departs tonight for the Inn of the Four Knights.”

  Montague put hand to jaw in thought. If they married, his objective would have failed. Even if an annulment could be procured, Frotham would not have his daughter wed the likes of Tremayne after such a scandal. He considered informing the Earl, but what could the man do but have his son kept under lock and key? It was clear the man had no powers of persuasion with his son. He could send his son off to America perhaps, but the Viscount had already shown a rebellious will of his own and was not like to submit to his father. He could not identify anyone that Tremayne respected enough to listen to.

  What did the Baroness gain by marrying the Viscount? She had lain with him but a few days before and now she wished to marry Tremayne? Was it guilt over what had happened that had prompted so extreme a step? Was she troubled by the thought of entertaining two possible lovers? He did not think it to be the case because he did not believe her affections for the Viscount to be deep enough. Perhaps if he took the Baroness into his arms once more, he could convince her to abandon the idea of marrying Tremayne. But time was of the essence.

  Jonathan shook his head. “A disastrous development.”

  “Not yet,” Montague replied, his thoughts still turning. “The first step is to ensure they do not make it to Gretna Green.”

  He considered what obstacles they could throw in the pair’s path.

  “We could pose as highwaymen and stop their coach,” Jonathan offered.

  “And risk having our heads blown off?”

  “The Earl
could send men after his son.”

  “And then? Lock Tremayne in a cellar until he is old and grey?”

  Tremayne was evidently more attached to the Baroness than anyone had anticipated.

  “Aye, if we were to inform the Earl, he might claim to have resolved the problem on his own and forego our recompense. Would the Earl allow us to shoot the Viscount in the leg? Tremayne would be incapable of travel and would require time to heal.”

  Montague laughed. “It were not a terrible proposal, but let us consider a few more possibilities.”

  It was unfortunate the Viscount had proposed, Montague thought. His efforts with Lady Debarlow had been promising of late. With more time, he could have turned her attentions away from Tremayne. If only he could have her alone for as long as he desired...

  “One cannot wed without the bride,” he said aloud.

  “Eh?”

  “Tremayne cannot marry the Baroness if she is not there.”

  “But it would seem she intends to go with him to Gretna Green.”

  “We will simply prevent that.”

  “How?”

  “By kidnapping the Baroness.”

  Jonathan mulled the idea and nodded. “You are ever the clever man.”

  “Come, let us pack our own valise and take ourselves to this Inn of the Four Knights.”

  ABBEY LOOKED OVER AT the young couple sitting at the table across the room from her at the Inn of the Four Knights. They huddled near each other and spoke in hushed tones, not wanting to draw notice. Every now and then she could espy their faces, though the young man wore his hat and the young woman kept the hood of her cape wrapped about her. They glanced about themselves frequently as if anticipating that the king’s army might descend upon them at any moment. They also looked often at each other with a glow that could only come from love. No doubt, like she, they were headed to Gretna Green, but for quite different reasons.

  Turning away from them, Abbey opened her snuffbox and inhaled a pinch of snuff. Watching the young couple made her feel old. Nor did she like the stirring of envy in her bosom. She had never experienced the purity, the optimism, the euphoria, of young love. Theirs might not be an easy life. Their parents might have disowned them. Society might shun them. But they had thrown all these considerations to the wind for the chance to be together. Without standing, theirs might be a life of poverty or hardship and certainly not the life of luxury enjoyed by the Baroness Debarlow. Abbey had oft considered herself fortunate. She had married a man she regarded with friendship and affection, and, albeit by a pained and arduous road, she had arrived at a place where she suffered for no one and was at the mercy of none. Yet, for a brief moment, she thought she might forsake all that for a taste of what the young couple had.