Seductive Scoundrels Series Books 1-3: A Regency Romance

by Collette Cameron

  His eyes turned stone hard, as did the sharp angles of his face.

  He’d hit upon the truth. Rather more swiftly than she’d have thought.

  “Chatterton beat you?” he said, his voice fury-roughened.

  Whenever Arnold had tried to copulate and couldn’t get his limp member to cooperate. He’d never once been able to bed her; her one small victory. That she wasn’t about to tell the duke. Instead she gave a curt nod.

  “That damn bastard.” Posture rigid, Sheffield dropped his balled hands to his sides. “No wonder you’re so afraid.”

  Sarah’s fussing continued to carry through the closed nursery door.

  Uncomfortable at having shared something so intimate, she scrambled to change the subject.

  “I apologize for waking your daughter.”

  He cupped his nape, giving her a guarded look from beneath hooded lids.

  “Actually, Sarah is not my daughter.”

  Early the next morning, a thick velvet-lined mantle over her black and white striped woolen walking dress and redingote, Everleigh rapped on the nursery door.

  She dismissed her misgivings.

  Surely the duke couldn’t object to Sarah taking a walk, particularly if Nurse accompanied them.

  Quiet murmurings beyond the thick panel assured her Nurse and Sarah were awake as well. The door edged open, and a surprised but pleased smile crinkled Nurse’s face.

  “Mrs. Chatterton. I thought Young Miss and I were the only ones awake at this hour.”

  Everleigh looked beyond the plump servant to where Sarah sat fully dressed with an oversized pink bow in her hair, playing with her shabby doll.

  “I’m an early riser myself. I thought perhaps Sarah would like to take a walk with me. The frost has made lovely patterns in the gardens, and I saw a rabbit and deer from my chamber windows.”

  At once upon hearing Everleigh, Sarah scampered to the nursery door and pulled on Nurse’s skirts.

  “May I? Please? Maya too?”

  Sarah held up the dilapidated rag doll.

  “I’m not sure Miss Sarah ought to be outside. She’s still not quite accustomed to England’s cold weather.” Indecision crimped the nurse’s mouth.

  Other than saying Sarah was orphaned and born in Southern India, the duke hadn’t revealed much more about the child he’d taken in. Everleigh hoped to learn more about the fascinating little girl today.

  Sheffield had edged up another notch in her estimation too. She’d best be careful or she might find herself actually admiring him, and that wouldn’t do at all. Admiration could lead to other sentiments. Dangerous sentiments for a widow committed to keeping her independence.

  “If I promise not to keep her too long? You can tell me when you think she’s had enough and we’ll come in straightaway. I’m certain Sarah would benefit from the fresh air and exercise.”

  Perhaps it was because Meredith had died on this day, or maybe Sarah had stirred dormant maternal instincts, but in any event, Everleigh couldn’t stay away from the child.

  Nurse conceded with a nod and a smile. “You’ve convinced me. It would do the tike good to run about.”

  Excellent. Mrs. Schmidt wasn’t the type of nurse who thought children should march along like miniature soldiers or sit perfectly still for hours on end.

  She leaned in and whispered to Everleigh, “Maybe the little mite will take her lie-down without a fuss if she capers about outside a bit.”

  Hope tinged the tired servant’s voice. She was a trifle too advanced in years to be chasing after such an energetic child.

  A few minutes later, Everleigh held Sarah’s hand as they stood on the edge of Ridgewood’s neat-as-a-pin gardens and watched a doe nibble the green’s, succulent frost-tipped grasses. A smaller deer, likely her fawn, sampled a nearby shrubbery.

  “Is that her baby?” Sarah asked whilst rubbing her cold-reddened nose with her bare hand.

  Where had her mitten gone?

  Everleigh nodded as she searched the ground for the lost mitten. “I think so.”

  Mrs. Schmidt, her chins tucked deep into the folds of her cloak, looked on with less enthusiasm.

  Heavy pewter clouds covered the sky, hiding all evidence of the sun and hinting at a brewing storm. A brisk breeze toyed with the ribbons of Everleigh’s and Sarah’s bonnets. It was chilly, but not unbearably so. More importantly, no one else had ventured outdoors yet and the solitude was sheer bliss.

  Likely, most of the guests were either eating or getting ready to attend church services in Colchester. It was expected, and that meant a quiet house for a few hours more.

  There was a day when she’d have joined them, but Arnold—spawn of Satan—hadn’t allowed her to go, and Everleigh had never started attending after he’d died.

  “What goes on here?”

  At the sound of the Duke of Sheffield’s voice, Sarah whipped around and then, giggling, her little arms wide, ran to him

  “Papa!”

  His midnight-blue caped greatcoat gave his black hair, visible beneath his hat, a bluish tint. The unrelenting breeze taunted the cape’s edges as well as the hem of Everleigh’s cloak.

  “Papa, Mrs. Chatterton showed me deers. When we gets inside, she promised me hot choc’late and clodded cream,” Sarah finished in a breathless rush.

  “Is that so?” He scooped her into his arms, then whirled her in a circle.

  Her delighted screeches frightened the deer away.

  He stopped and slung one sturdy arm beneath her thighs. “Did you break your fast already, my pet?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Nurse’s kind eyes pleated around the edges in approval. “Little miss had a good appetite this morn. She ate everything but the pickled herring.”

  “Cannot say that I blame her,” Everleigh muttered, then chagrined she’d spoken her thoughts aloud, blushed.

  But really?

  Pickled fish for breakfast?

  She had never been able to appreciate that particular food, let alone breaking one’s fast with the smelly little blighters. Almost as revolting as blood sausage; a favorite of Arnold’s.

  “Well then that certainly deserves hot chocolate.” Amusement sparkling in the duke’s eyes, he nuzzled Sarah’s cheek, and she giggled again.

  “With clodded cream,” she reminded him.

  “With clotted cream,” he agreed solemnly, his gaze seeking Everleigh’s over the top of Sarah’s head.

  His leisurely perusal and the equally unhurried smile bending his mouth upward sent her stomach to fluttering. Surely in hunger, for she hadn’t eaten yet.

  What compelled a man to take an orphan in and treat her as if she were his own? Such a person must be intrinsically decent, mustn’t he?

  “I hope I didn’t overstep.” Everleigh drew near and straightened Sarah’s rumpled gown and claret toned coat, then handed her Maya. “I saw the deer from my chamber and thought she’d enjoy seeing them too. I’m afraid they’ve run off now. We had a lovely walk through the gardens as well.”

  Sarah nodded, bumping her head on his chin.

  “Ow.” She clapped a little dimpled hand to her injury.

  Everleigh waited for the howl of displeasure, but instead, Sarah took the duke’s face between her little palms and insisted he look at her.

  “Papa, we sawed a frozen spider web. It looks like Nurse’s crotch dollies.”

  “Oh my.” Merriment rounded Mrs. Schmidt’s eyes, and shoulder’s shaking, she coughed into glove.

  “Crocheted,” he gently corrected, his mouth twitching in an effort to contain his mirth. “Nurse crochets doilies.”

  Everleigh met his eyes, and she almost erupted into giggles.

  “I’ve always enjoyed an early walk myself, but the breeze grows stiff.” He lowered Sarah to the ground. “You go with Nurse now, and Mrs. Chatterton and I shall be along directly. We can all enjoy a cup of chocolate together in the nursery. How does that sound?”

  “I want biscuits with my hot choc’late. An’ a story too.�
�� Sarah scowled at Nurse’s outstretched hand.

  “Sarah, we ask politely. Please may I have biscuit and a story with my chocolate?” the duke gently corrected her.

  “Yes, Papa.” Sarah turned those big eyes to Everleigh. “Please, biscuits an’ a story?”

  “I’m sure something can be arranged,” Everleigh said, keeping her smile under control. It wouldn’t do to unravel the duke’s effort to teach Sarah manners. “I’ll stop by the kitchen and ask. I think I heard the Duchess of Sutcliffe mention gingerbread last night.”

  “Ginger . . . bread?” Her nose crinkling in confusion, Sarah looked between the duke and Everleigh. “I wan’ biscuits. Not bread.”

  “Gingerbread is a kind of biscuit made with . . .” The pleading glance he sent Everleigh silently asking for help warmed her cold toes.

  “Molasses, cinnamon, and ginger, and they are shaped like stocky little men.” She used to make them with her mother to celebrate the Christmas season. “I like to bite the head off first.”

  “I wonder why?” The merriment lighting his face revealed he teased her.

  “Go along now.” He urged Sarah toward Nurse. “And make sure you are agreeable to Mrs. Schmidt, lest I have to deny you your treat.”

  “I be good, Papa. I promise.” Skipping along, her dilapidated doll dragging the ground, Sarah began singing a nonsensical song about chocolate and biscuits and deer.

  “She’s an absolute darling.” Everleigh accepted his extended elbow.

  He smiled as he watched her romp away.

  “You didn’t answer me when I said I hoped I hadn’t overstepped, so I presume I did. I should have asked first. Please forgive my forwardness, Your Grace. I’ve little experience with children.”

  Only a few weeks with an infant born healthy, but who’d sickened rapidly, and died just as swiftly.

  He turned back to her and picked a piece of black fuzz from his bent arm.

  “You mistake my silence as censure, Mrs. Chatterton. I simply didn’t want to speak in front of Sarah. I have no objection to you taking her for an outing. What I do have a concern about is her growing too attached to you. As I told you last night, she lost her mother under difficult circumstances.”

  Everleigh swallowed her disappointment and stared at the swaying trees.

  He was right, of course.

  There was also the danger that she’d grow too attached to Sarah.

  “I understand. Please forgive me for not considering that. I was going to ask if we might walk every morning, but I think that might not be wise. In fact, I hadn’t decided if I was going to stay for the duration of the party, but given Sarah’s reaction to me, I believe it best if I leave directly.”

  Startling, the depths of her distress, when yesterday she’d been on the verge of leaving anyway.

  Releasing his elbow, she drew her cloak closer as she erected her cool, protective mien. She’d let her guard down, and look where it had landed her?

  Tilting her face upward, she inspected the heavens again.

  Yes, a storm brewed. Hopefully the clouds didn’t portend snow or Cook mightn’t have her stag. Just as well as far as Everleigh was concerned. A fat goose sufficed for Christmas dinner. Let the noble deer live another season.

  Snow also meant she’d have a more difficult time getting home. Best to leave straightaway then.

  “If you’ll excuse me. I need to pack and write Theadosia a note.”

  She swiveled toward the house, but he touched her shoulder.

  “Please don’t leave, Everleigh.”

  His tone compelled her to meet his gaze, and she couldn’t look away. The way he’d murmured her name, almost reverently, took her aback. Made her want what could never be. What she’d chosen to forsake for her peace of mind and physical wellbeing.

  It—he—wasn’t worth the risk.

  And yet she still didn’t look away from his captivating gaze, the deep russet of his eyes willing her not to break whatever bond linked them at this magical moment.

  Foolish, Everleigh!

  Haven’t you had enough pain for a lifetime?

  She toyed with fire, and with a man of his caliber, experienced and devilishly charming, she’d get burned. Charred to cinders.

  “What goes on in that beautiful head of yours?” He touched her cheek again, then spread his fingers until they framed her jaw.

  Given the temperature, the black leather should’ve been cool to the touch, yet heat seared her face.

  “I see wariness and confusion,” he said. “But mostly, dread of being hurt again.”

  At last she dropped her gaze to the buttons on his greatcoat. Mouth dry as parchment, she swallowed.

  “Why should I stay, Your Grace?”

  “Because I’m inclined to take the risk and grant your request. Sometimes it’s necessary to take a chance. Particularly if we seek something worthwhile.”

  She gave him a hard look.

  Was he still talking about Sarah?

  Withdrawing his hand, he swept the house a casual glance.

  “I’ve not seen Sarah this animated or cooperative since . . . Well, ever. As I said last night, she hadn’t reached her second birthday when I sailed from India with her, and she’s had a hard time adjusting. Her reaction to you is nothing short of miraculous.”

  “She likes my hair.” Everleigh raised a hand to her temple. “She says it’s angel hair.”

  “Hair your shade is rare, even in England. She’s never seen the like.” He gathered her hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow once more.

  “You aren’t interested in becoming a duchess, are you?”

  At once she stiffened and opened her mouth to ring him a peal, but his jovial wink sucked all the ire from her.

  He but teased.

  “No. Not a duchess or wife to any man of any station ever again.”

  She couldn’t speak plainer. Best to nip any wayward notions he might have in the bud. Only a fool didn’t learn from past experience.

  Rather than taking offense, a sympathetic smile to tipped his mouth, and compassion simmered in his dark gaze.

  “I admire your pluck. And your strength. You are a remarkable woman, Everleigh Chatterton.”

  If he’d said he worshipped her beauty or some other flattering hogwash she’d heard before, she’d have been able to dismiss his compliment. Instead, foreign warmth seeped into her bones.

  He steered her around an ornate marble fountain topped with a trio of cherubs and four crouching horses beneath. No water flowed today, probably a precaution against the freezing weather.

  “Have you eaten yet?” he asked.

  “No, I intended to after my walk.”

  “You don’t attend Sunday services in Colchester?”

  “No.” She shook her head before glancing over her shoulder. A caravan of vehicles rattled and squeaked their way down the drive. “I know it’s expected, but I’ve not been able to since . . .”

  She touched a gloved finger to the oval locket, barely detectable beneath her cloak and redingote.

  Would he judge her as so many others had?

  She glanced upward, searching his expression for any sign of censure.

  “I cannot stop being angry with God for letting Meredith die.”

  She hadn’t been angry with Him after being ruined or forced to wed Andrew. At least not this lingering inability to let go of her hurt. But when she lost her baby too? Well, that had pushed the limits of her faith, and her beliefs had shattered under the weight of her anguish.

  Sympathy softened his features. He covered her hand with his and squeezed. “You have my sincerest condolences. I cannot fathom the depth of your grief at such a tremendous loss.”

  “Thank you.” She drew in a deep breath, filling her lungs to capacity, willing herself not to cry in front of him. After a second, she released the air in a whoosh.

  “Why don’t you attend church, Your Grace?”

  He looked thoughtful for a moment.

  “I did
n’t want to leave Sarah only a day after arriving. True, she mightn’t even know I’m gone, but I don’t want to put Mrs. Schmidt in that position.” He glanced overhead for a long moment. “At one time I too struggled with anger toward God. When my parents died, but especially after Sarah’s mother died, and she was left an orphan. Time has helped ease that disappointment, and a realization that the matter was out of my hands. What I did afterward is what counts.”

  “You must’ve loved Sarah’s mother very much.”

  An odd twinge pinched her lungs.

  He looked so taken aback, she almost chuckled.

  “Meera was a friend, nothing more. Her husband Rajiv saved my life five years ago. I was set upon by thieves. They beat me severely. That’s how I got this.”

  He pointed to his scarred nose.

  “But Rajiv chased them off then took me to his house. People would call it a hovel here, but he and Meera had made it into a comfortable home. Though they were poor, they somehow paid for a physician to treat me, and they nursed me back to health until I was well enough to tell them who I was. Rajiv refused to let me repay him, though I know he could’ve used the money.”

  He stopped and leaned against a Grecian statue.

  “Every time I went to India, I visited them. Rajiv wouldn’t accept money but allowed me to bring gifts. Sarah’s doll is one of the them. The time before last, when I arrived, Meera told me Rajiv had died. A bull elephant went berserk and trampled him.”

  Everleigh sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s awful.”

  A muscle in his jaw flexed.

  “Meera and Sarah were on the verge of starving. I made arrangements to send them funds and supplies monthly, since she refused to leave India and come to England. It was the least I could do.”

  He grew silent for a moment, his bent forefinger pressed to his lips as if he struggled to control his emotions.

  There was more to this man than she’d ever have guessed.

  “The last time I was there, I learned that Meera had died. A sickness of some sort. I never did find out what exactly. Another family occupied their house, and Sarah was living in a crate behind it. I don’t know why they didn’t take her in, or if she had any other family, but I knew at once I must take her from there. If I’d been even a week later, she’d have starved to death.”