Regency Hearts Boxed Set

by Jennifer Monroe

  “You said you care not for how I might…” he paused as if to think. “Call down lightning? Is it true what that drunk told me? Is my temper so great that people fear me in such a manner?”

  “I do not fear you like the others,” she said, her hands returning to her sides, although they grasped her skirts. Then she took a deep breath. “Well, if I am honest, I do a little.”

  “I would never hurt you,” he said and then started. An odd sensation came over him, some sort of emotion he could not name. What he had said seemed to hang in the air, and although he was uncertain what he meant by those words, she seemed to garner understanding from them, for she did not appear confused in any way.

  The silence hung over the room like a heavy blanket on a summer’s night. He had to say something, or he would be suffocated. “You said there is nothing left to lose. What did you mean?”

  She bit at her bottom lip, clearly not realizing how enticing such a subtle movement was. “You see, as times have affected both the rich and the poor, we continually lose clients. Many walked away without means in which to pay us. If we lose your account, we will lose our business as well as our home.”

  He imagined this woman with no place to live, and the idea pierced his heart. Such a scenario for anyone would be horrible enough, but when he placed her there, he found such a circumstance unfathomable.

  “I do not lie in order to garner pity,” she said, her voice but a whisper. “My story is true. I must have this chance to review your record keeping. I believe something is amiss, and I have the capabilities to learn the truth.”

  He sighed as he pushed away from the desk and walked over to stare out the window. He never showed pity to anyone, for inside him the storm always raged. However, her words, her simple presence, seemed to calm the waves of anger. He cared nothing for her accounting; his interests lay in her ability to control her own storm, and he was determined to learn how she did it.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” Miss Barrington said with a resolved sigh when he did not respond. “I will leave now.”

  Another odd sensation, as if he had received some fright, rushed through him. It was as if he knew, somewhere deep inside himself, that if she left at that moment, he would regret it for the remainder of his life.

  “Wait,” he called after her.

  She stopped and turned back toward him but did not respond.

  He rushed to her and she winced as if expecting a blow from his fist. Another pierce to his heart. “I…will you help me? With my books, of course.”

  She nodded. “I can have Stephen collect your ledgers at a time which is convenient for you.”

  Her scent pulled him in—lavender soap—and he somehow needed her near him. Sending his books to her office would not allow that. “You may come here,” he said. She scrunched her brows, and he feared she would not agree. “I will pay you for your time, of course, and I offer you my carriage as a means of transportation.” That provocative worrying of her lip made him want to smile, but he did not.

  “I do not know,” she said finally. “Would it not be easier for you to send the ledgers to my office?”

  “Perhaps,” he replied, an idea forming in his mind. “However, I would like you to teach me.” He could sense her slipping away, for she gave him a suspicious look. “I am afraid that organization is not one of my strong suits, and I must admit that mathematics has always been a struggle. However, you clearly have an ability to do both. Will you help me?” His heart raced. Although what he said was true, why would he tell this woman such intimate details only a few knew about him? And for the first time that he could recall, he was worried someone might tell him no.

  “Very well, then,” she replied after some thought. “I am unable to come right away. However, I will be available in two days’ time.”

  He gave a silent sigh of relief. “Excellent. I look forward to it.”

  With a nod, she went to the door, and he hurried to open it for her. “Miss Barrington?” he said as she stepped into the hallway, “I admire your ability to speak on your own behalf.”

  She smiled at him, and he thought he had never seen anything so lovely in all his life.

  “I admire your ability to listen,” she said as her smile widened.

  When she was gone, he returned to his office. A strangeness came over him, for he laughed. Not in anger, but in some newfound joy. For the first time in many years, the storm inside him lay silent.

  Chapter Six

  The dress Emma had chosen was well out of fashion—no, it had never been in fashion if truth be told—but it was the finest she owned. White muslin with light-blue lace, it had always been her favorite despite its fraying edges. This one she saved for special occasions, and she knew the baron would appreciate it. She did her best to style her hair, pulling it up in the manner of those of the ton and leaving several strands to hang down her cheeks. Her choice in what she wore did not come from any hope of winning the eye of the baron, but rather to keep him happy as she fought to save her father’s flailing business.

  The carriage Lord Miggs had sent made its way down the muddy streets, and Emma peered out the window. Her mind reviewed the last few days, weeks, and even years. She would be five and twenty soon, growing old without children and, more importantly, a husband. The only men in her life were clients, two of which were of the ton. One of those two had a horrible temper and the other was filled with lust. She feared the latter over the former.

  Although she had not believed the duke would have struck her for returning after he had sent her away, his temper had her cowering in fear before she was able to rein in on her emotions. It was with relief that she gave him a piece of her mind, though she trembled with each word. By the time she had finished, she was filled with panic. She could do nothing but wonder if she had lost her mind, for she certainly had lost his account. Or so she had thought.

  Once they had come to an agreement and she had looked into his eyes, she was shocked to see a calmness that had not been there before. The storm had passed, and she had lived. He then had smiled, bringing about a calmness she had not felt in a long time. The worries over her father, the business, and life were swept away with the gentle breeze of his words that promised to soothe any who would listen.

  It had been a shock when he had asked her to teach him. At first, she thought he was mocking her, but his voice had been kind and his eyes pleading. She had felt such a warmth rush through her, a pleasant feeling she had never felt before and would not mind if she felt again. The duke was handsome, once one was able to look beyond his anger. The question was, would that temper of his remain contained during their lessons, or would he become frustrated and unleash that storm once more?

  “Oh, what had I been thinking?” she whispered. Yet, she had no choice in the matter, no more choice than she had in attending this horrid dinner with Lord Miggs this night. No such demands would have been forced upon her father if he had been in attendance! Yet, life was what it was.

  As the carriage trumbled along, her mind wandered, and images of she and the duke courting played in her mind. What a wonderful thought! They would walk through the magnificent gardens—she imagined they would be magnificent; she had yet to see them—and he would offer her his arm…

  She laughed. A duke courting a spinster from the working class? The chances of a man genuinely calling forth lightning were more likely to happen! She was a woman of better sense than to give herself to flights of fancy, and she pushed aside the images, delectable as they were, and focused on the task at hand.

  The carriage came to a stop in front of a house that was not as large as she had expected. Oh, it was certainly much larger than the office and room she occupied at the moment, but from what Lord Miggs had said, his home should have been at least thrice the size of this one.

  As she stepped from the carriage, the door of the house opened, and Lord Miggs stood on the stoop, his black coat and breeches pressed to perfection, his cravat tied just so. Unfortunately for h
im, it did nothing to make him look less slippery.

  “Ah, Miss Emma,” he said as he came down the single step to meet her, “I take it your journey went well.”

  Emma had to stifle a laugh, for the man made it sound as if she had traveled a great distance in order to see him when, in fact, she had been in the carriage less than thirty minutes. “Yes,” she replied, lifting her skirts and curtsying. “Thank you for sending the carriage.”

  The baron nodded to the driver, who dipped his head and returned to the carriage before driving it away. “Dinner will be served soon. I thought that perhaps we would walk the grounds?”

  “That would be lovely,” Emma lied. The idea of walking with this man made her ill, but she reminded herself of the reason for accepting his invitation. When the baron offered his arm, she rested her hand upon it and they walked around to the back of the house, passing a large oak tree with wide branches that created a wide expanse of shade beneath them as it would be another hour before the sun set below the horizon.

  “I am glad the rain has stopped,” Emma said in an attempt to bring sound to the otherwise quiet that surrounded them. It helped calm her nerves, even if it was her own voice she heard.

  “Indeed” was all the baron replied, and Emma felt a sense of foreboding as they moved further from the house. Did this man mean her harm? But no, that made no sense, for he might lust after her, but he certainly was not evil.

  Further down the path they followed, they came upon a creek small enough to jump across if she had been able to lift her skirts high enough. “It is nice to have this so close to the house,” the baron said as they walked beside the gentle flow of water. “However, I did not bring you here to speak of a creek. Nor the weather.” He stopped and turned to her, a crooked smile on his face that made her uneasy. “Where is your father?”

  The question caught her off-guard, and her mind scurried to find a reasonable answer.

  “He has not been seen in nearly a year,” the man continued. “Has he left you alone?”

  “Oh, no, My Lord,” Emma replied, her heart and mind racing. “He has returned several times, although only for a few days at a time before he is called away again. I am afraid he has been very busy with his London clients.”

  “And he believes these clients to be of more importance than those already in his care?”

  “Not at all,” Emma assured him. She searched her mind for any words that would ease the clear concern the man possessed. “The truth of the matter is that he finds them much less agreeable, for they make more demands on him. Rest assured that he prefers local business by far.”

  Lord Miggs halted beside a bush trimmed to resemble a horse. “You would not lie to me, would you?”

  “No, My Lord.”

  Her stomach knotted as he raised his hand and stroked her cheek, part of her wishing to push his hand away, for she found his touch nauseating. It took every ounce of her strength to keep from recoiling. However, if she were to do so, she would not only lose a client but her home and place of business, as well.

  “No,” he said in that cloying voice drenched in lust, “I do not think you would.” His hand moved down her cheek to her shoulder and then to her arm, lingering there for several moments on her bare skin before he dropped it to his side once more.

  She found her breath once again, and she had to stop herself from sighing with relief.

  “We must discuss your rent,” Lord Miggs said as if the intimate moment had not taken place. “You are delinquent, and I am in the business of making money not losing it. Did you bring your payment as you promised?”

  Emma looked down at the ground. She had anticipated the question, but it did not make it any easier to reply. “No, My Lord. I am sorry. I am working on accounts at the moment…” She paused when the baron raised an eyebrow. “That is, I am collecting payments for the accounts. My father’s assistant does all the work, and I assist him.”

  The grin the baron gave her made her wonder if he believed her. However, rather than discuss his belief or disbelief of the excuses she gave, he said, “Now, what shall I do? Continue to lose money? Or perhaps I should throw you out into the streets?” He waited as if to assess her response to this suggestion, and she clutched her skirts to keep her features serene. “Perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement? Yes, I believe we can.”

  “I would like that,” Emma said with a relieved sigh. “What can I do?”

  “Tomorrow I leave for two weeks. When I return, I will send word for you to come and dine with me again. You must accept—regardless of what you are doing at the time and with whom. Are you willing to do that?”

  Emma nodded without thought. That was an easy enough request. A second dinner with the man would not be a problem and well worth saving the business.

  The man smiled that oily smile once more. “Very well, then. You may delay the payment by two more weeks, and I will not even ask for interest.”

  “Thank you, My Lord,” Emma replied, doing nothing to hide her relief this time.

  “One more thing,” the man added with a wide grin that held little mirth. “In just over a month’s time, the Earl of Bronsley, a dear friend of mine, is hosting a small party. You will join me as my guest.” The last was made as a statement and not a request.

  Emma considered her options and realized she had none. Therefore, she gave a nod of agreement.

  “Good.” He offered her his arm again, and they walked back toward the house. “You will find working with me has many benefits.” He turned that disconcerting smile back on her once again. “I know I look forward to working with you. I hope you feel the same.”

  “I do,” Emma replied, but doubt crept in like a sudden fog, and she could not shake the feeling of regret that hid in it.

  ***

  The home of Lord Miggs was much larger inside than it had first appeared. The dining room was decorated with light green wallpaper and gilt-framed portraits that looked down upon its guests as a host of servants served a dinner of lamb and stewed tomatoes accompanied by a bottle of red wine. As luck would have it, the baron had been polite during the meal, and Emma began to wonder if she had misinterpreted his actions by the creek.

  Once dinner was completed, they made their way to the parlor. It had deep brown oak walls and a low sculpted ceiling of the same color. The room had a cramped feeling with its dark and heavy furniture of blue velvet; too many pieces for a room of its size. All of it made the foreboding Emma had already been feeling to grow stronger.

  Yet, the baron had been polite despite his intimate advances earlier, and he had been speaking without pause for nearly an hour, the wine nearly gone. Emma was ready to leave, but no opportunity presented itself, so she simply sat and listened; though she could not have repeated most of what the man had said in all that time.

  Smiling, Lord Miggs reached over with the bottle of wine. “A drop more?”

  “I cannot,” Emma replied, placing her hand over the top of her glass, for she had said so before and he had still poured her more wine. For a moment, Emma thought she saw a bit of anger rise in the man’s features, but it was gone so quickly, she was unsure if she had seen it in the first place. Just in case she had angered him, she added, “The evening has been very pleasant; however, tomorrow my schedule is quite busy. It would do me no good to wake in the morning with a piercing headache because I had consumed too much wine the night before.”

  He let out a small sigh, and panic gripped her. He was angry. Had she ruined a perfectly good evening by declining an innocent offer?

  She forced a smile. “Well, now that I consider it, I suppose one more glass of wine cannot hurt.”

  This made the baron grin, and he quickly refilled her glass. Then he set the bottle on the table beside her. However, rather than returning to his own chair, he sat in the place on the couch beside her.

  “Why have you not married?” he asked.

  She could not help but stare at the man in surprise. Not only did she not wish t
o discuss a subject so close to her, but she also did not wish to discuss it with him! How dare he ask such a question?

  “Do you not wish to share with me?”

  She could not remain silent; although, what she wished to do was to storm out of the house and leave him to finish off the rest of the wine alone. However, she could not do that. “I am helping my father,” she replied. What she said was true, even if the answer was incomplete. “Of course, many men do not want a woman who has become a spinster.”

  “They are fools,” Lord Miggs said with a snort. “A woman as beautiful as you, spinster or not, should have every man begging for her hand.”

  “Thank you,” Emma replied. His compliments meant nothing, and the lust in his eyes conveyed his intentions. All she wished to do was leave and return to the safety of her small quarters above the office. “One day, perhaps, but for now I am much too busy to consider marriage. Or courting.” She hoped her words would express to this man that she had no interest in him. She could not simply say so outright, not when her livelihood rested in his hands.

  “We are all busy,” he said as he stood. “So much to do and so little time in which to do it.” He walked over to the window, his back to her. “The Earl of Bronsley…his party will be magnificent.”

  “So you said,” Emma replied. She covered the curtness by adding, “I do not know the man myself.”

  “He is a recluse,” the baron said. “Yet, he is a dear friend of mine despite that fact.” He then turned, and his eyes seemed to look right through her. “You do not regret agreeing to be my guest at the party, do you?”

  With her heart in her throat, Emma managed to reply, “No, of course not. It will be an honor to accompany you to the party.”

  “Indeed,” he replied. “It will be an honor. Now, I have kept you much too later, and you must be well-rested for tomorrow.”

  “I do,” she said as relief rushed over her. “The dinner this evening was lovely. Thank you for the invitation.”