Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  A hand slid over his shoulders, jolted him from his thoughts. Her soft caress made his skin burn through his shirt. Was this how men spent evenings with their mistresses? He had to admit it wasn’t something they discussed in the gentleman’s clubs and there were certainly no books on the etiquette of looking after one’s mistress. For the first time in his life, he felt out of control.

  Actually, he conceded, he had not been in control since the moment he saw Lilly walking down the stairs at Oakholm Hall.

  “What are you doing?” he asked when she settled closer again and urged him to turn his back to her.

  “Helping you relax. You spend half your time looking thoroughly miserable, Evan. If I am to spend time with you, you had better learn how to enjoy yourself.”

  “I do not,” he grumbled.

  Did he? Perhaps she was right. His own father had passed away ten years ago, leaving him the title of marquess. Ever since then, he had carried the burden of managing his large estate and all his investments. While his brother enjoyed the freedom of wealth with no responsibility, Evan had no such pleasure.

  Her clever fingers pressed into his back, and muscles he did not even realize were tense gave way under her magical touch. Stirrings of desire tingled through his body and in spite of taking several deep breaths and trying to picture anything other than Lilly naked, he grew hard.

  “That is enough,” he said gruffly and tried to move away from her touch.

  Lilly placed her hands firmly on his shoulders. “It is not.”

  “Lilly, enough,” he snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the fireplace. He glanced back at her and saw the disappointment on her face.

  “I was only trying to—”

  “Relax me, I know.” He clenched his jaw and let out a hiss of air. “But the problem is, I don’t find your touch relaxing at all.”

  “I do not—”

  “Damn it, Lilly, I am as hard as a stone.”

  Her eyes widened, and Evan pinched the bridge of his nose. Now he had frightened her. Just because their lovemaking so far had been like nothing he had ever experienced didn’t mean she would be comfortable with such talk. Lord almighty, she was still practically an innocent.

  “I’m sorry. I did not realize.” She licked her lips. “Perhaps… perhaps we should have an early night?”

  He spun around to fix her with a bemused look. The twist of her lips told him he had not misunderstood. The damned minx wanted him in her bed. He chuckled. “An early night sounds like a fine idea indeed.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The train pulled into Paddington shortly after lunchtime. Evan’s stomach grumbled with the missed meal and he fought to ignore the weighted sensation in it. How was it possible to miss Lilly’s presence already? Yes, she was a wonderful distraction in bed, but he’d never intended to actually enjoy her company. Damnation, what was that woman doing to him?

  He stepped down from the train, smoke whirling about the station and the scent of it filling his nostrils—a far cry from the fresh aroma of the country. People hustled along, some with luggage in hand and Evan bit back a curse as a gentleman smacked his suitcase into Evan’s shin as he brushed past.

  Making his way out of the station, it only took him a few moments to find his carriage waiting for him and he reached Lonsdale House within half an hour. Evan sidestepped a pile of excrement and took the stairs to the door of the three story building so swiftly that the butler had barely opened the door.

  “My lord,” Higgins greeted.

  “Higgins.” Evan handed him his hat and pulled off his jacket

  Higgins took them without comment but a hint of concern sat on the older man’s brow. His usual placid countenance seemed fraught with tension.

  “What is it, Higgins?”

  “You have a visitor, my lord. Lady Ashby. She is unaccompanied but would not leave. I thought it best to let her in rather than have her make a scene on the doorstep.”

  “Quite right, Higgins. Is she in the drawing room?” Evan had a niggling suspicion why she was here. He only prayed he was wrong.

  “Yes, Mary is with her, my lord.”

  “Thank you. Have some tea sent up will you?”

  “Already done, my lord.”

  Evan eyed the man who had been his butler since his father passed away and wondered where he’d be without him. Thankfully Higgins shared his views on the treatment of women and had been happy to aid him in these matters. At one and forty, the butler was not too old to get his hands dirty either.

  “Right, let us see what we can do about Lady Ashby.”

  The plush carpet of the hall gave way under his feet as he strolled past the various gilded portraits of long dead family members. He entered the drawing room cautiously, wary of adding to Eleanor’s distress.

  Eleanor stood as he entered. The young woman’s nose was red from crying and she dabbed a handkerchief to her eyes. “Lord Hawksley,” she exclaimed. “Forgive me…”

  Evan stepped swiftly over and nodded his thanks to Mary, who lingered in the corner of the room—not for propriety’s sake but she knew well that, while Eleanor might trust him, to be alone with a man could be more than the woman could bear.

  He paused a way in front of her, just enough so he could spot the mottled bruising on her cheek. His hand fisted of its own accord and he had to pry it open and relax his jaw so as not to scare the poor woman.

  “Eleanor, please sit.” He motioned to the cream chair she had been sitting on.

  With a shaky nod, she sat, handkerchief clutched tightly in one hand. Evan waited for several moments as the pretty young woman darted her gaze about, taking in the room and avoiding his gaze. With almost white blonde hair and a delicate figure, Eleanor was quite the beauty. Dressed in a teal gown of the highest fashion, she looked every inch the fine countess. But the bruising in her cheek—even hidden under some pale makeup—destroyed the image.

  Heat simmered under his skin, his muscles bunched and it took all his control not to let it show. It was times like these he feared his anger would overtake him. And if that happened, surely that made him no better than his father whether he took the anger out on a woman or a man. Ideally, Eleanor’s husband.

  “What can I do for you, Eleanor?” he prompted quietly.

  “You said…” She drew in an unladylike sniff. “You said if I needed help, I could come to you… to… to get away from him.” She spat the last word.

  “He has hit you again,” he stated.

  “It only used to be when he was drunk but now…” More tears dripped down the woman’s cheeks. “It is not just one hit either. He took a cane to me. Oh, Lord Hawksley, I fear he might kill me one day.”

  Evan remained stiff in his seat, but nodded for Mary to sit beside her and hold her hand. Eleanor took it gratefully. From what Evan knew of her parents, it was unlikely any of them ever showed her affection. Mary’s touch was probably one of the few moments of comfort she had received in her several years of marriage to the depraved earl.

  Thankfully, Mary could be relied upon for complete discretion. She, herself, had suffered at the hands of her husband so she understood well what a battered woman might need. Evan had only been too glad to protect Mary from a man like his father. Eventually her husband had left her be and moved on. Evan only prayed his threats were enough to stop him from turning his anger on another woman. The law would never see him punished properly.

  He leaned forward. “Eleanor, I can help you, but you must make arrangements to leave. This means never returning to London or seeing any of your friends here again.”

  She nodded frantically. “Some of them know of his behavior so they will understand.”

  “Do they know you intended to contact me?”

  “No. I did not breathe a word to anyone.”

  “Good. I have a large house in Scotland. You shall be very comfortable and well-hidden there. You must start making arrangements to leave.”

  “S-Scotland?”

  “
Yes. The house is fully staffed. Mary can accompany you—she has done it before—and my man will meet you in Edinburgh. If you take the night train, your chances of being spotted are small indeed.”

  “If my husband finds out…”

  “He shall not find out. You aren’t the first woman to want to escape a brute like him.”

  Eleanor’s eyes widened. “There are others?”

  “One other woman.” Evan would not reveal who to Eleanor. He still didn’t know if she could be fully trusted and as far as he knew, Mrs. Davenport’s husband was still searching for her. He was unwilling to risk any rumor of Mrs. Davenport’s whereabouts reaching him. “Eleanor, if you decide to do this, no one must know. It could put you and the other woman in danger and I shall not be able to help anyone if it is found out what I have done.”

  “I understand,” she said breathily.

  Evan was not sure she did fully. If it was known he had stolen away a man’s wife, none would let him near their wives again. His close friends abhorred violent behavior, but in spite of their pressure on parliament to take firmer action against violent husbands, no solution had been found. At the age of eight he had been unable to protect his mother, but he could not stand by and let more women fall victim to violence.

  He smirked inwardly. What would Lilly think of his actions? Would they raise him up in her esteem? Perhaps, but he could not breathe a word of it even to her. These secrets were not his to tell, and he had yet to decide if she could be fully trusted.

  “When can you get away?” he asked.

  “My husband goes away to France in two weeks. I could leave easily then.” She darted her gaze about the drawing room as if her husband might pop out from behind the heavy velvet curtains. “I should return. The servants watch me constantly. I was meant to be calling on Lady Sherbourne, but she and my maid have given their word they shall not say a thing about the matter. They don’t know I was coming to you, only that it was to do with my husband.”

  He drew in a heavy breath. The fewer people who knew about his involvement the better, but he understood why Eleanor had come to him in such a hasty manner.

  “Shall you be safe in the meantime?”

  “I should think so. He usually leaves me alone for a while after a—” She pressed a gloved hand to her lips.

  Evan cursed his powerlessness. If it were up to him, he would see the men lashed and put away for longer. But unfortunately the law seldom saw the high ranking men punished and even if they were put away or fined, it only harmed those who relied on them for financial support—their wives.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. Some days, he saw no way to help these women. There were too many cases like this—usually amongst the lower classes who had not been brought up to treat women properly. Lord Whitley, a magistrate and good friend, had informed him the cases were becoming more frequent. He saw twelve such cases the previous month.

  Forcing a smile, he waited until Eleanor rose and followed suit.

  “How shall I send word?” she asked.

  “Can you send letters?”

  “Yes.”

  “I shall likely be returning to Oxfordshire shortly.” Amusing how the idea of seeing Lilly’s bright eyes and beautiful smile warmed him and banished all his grim fears briefly. “Send word of the date and I shall begin to make arrangements. Have your maid bring the letter here and Higgins shall see it sent on.”

  “I cannot thank you enough.”

  “I’m only doing what any decent gentleman would do.”

  Eleanor’s eyes grew misty. “No, my lord, few would do as you have. You are a brave man. You have put your life on the line for women like me. It is an admirable trait indeed.”

  Evan compressed his lips. If she knew what his true nature was like—that he fought to control his temper on a daily basis, that he feared one day it would snap and he would lash out at the nearest person to him—perhaps his wife or even his mistress—she would not think him so brave.

  “Send word and ensure your maid understands the need for secrecy.”

  “I shall.” Eleanor offered him a wobbly smile and dipped. “Good day to you, my lord, and God bless.”

  “Take care of yourself, Eleanor.”

  She nodded and hastened out of the room. He waited until he heard the door shut before slumping onto the chaise. He glanced at Mary and nodded at her smile of understanding. “Tell Higgins to have word sent to the estate. They are to expect another visitor in two weeks. I shall apprise them of the specifics soon enough.”

  “Of course, my lord.” Mary stood and paused in the doorway when he called her name. “And tell Higgins to hire someone to keep a close eye on Eleanor. It seems her husband’s behavior is growing erratic. I noticed as much when I met him in White’s. If we find a thug who doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty if the moment calls for it, we can be assured of her safety.”

  “A fine idea, my lord.”

  “And get me a brandy. I have a headache coming on.”

  Mary’s lips twitched, but she made no comment on his gruff command. Thankfully his staff were well used to his manner and even seemed to view him with some kind of amusement. It reminded him of Lilly. How her lips curled and her eyes glittered when he was in the worst of moods. And of course, sometimes, she would rise to the challenge and use that barbed tongue of hers to lash out at him and put him in his place. How many other women had been bold enough to talk to him so?

  None, as far as he could recall. It had to be her pampered and secluded upbringing that had done it. A life lived away from society likely meant she was used to speaking her mind. A pity really. She would never fit in with the upper crust in London.

  Mary entered and handed him a brandy before leaving wordlessly. She knew better than to engage him when in a rotten mood. He eyed the amber liquid and swirled it around the crystal glass.

  Not that he ever intended to bring Lilly here of course. Mistresses were kept in the country for a reason. What a shame she was not of better birth. He could see a woman like her doing well as his wife. He sipped the brandy and relished the burn in his throat and the warmth coursing into his muscles with a grim smile. That was if he ever got around to finding one. The little voice that told him it was a disaster waiting to happen refused to be quashed. What if, after choosing a wife and settling down, his true nature revealed itself? What if his father’s predisposition to be violent to women ran through his blood too? Sometimes, he suspected he would be better off alone. His brother would inherit when Evan died and, though the man could be a cad, he was no wife beater.

  Perhaps he was better off forgetting marriage altogether. Women in general were too great a risk. The thought didn’t stop his stomach from dropping when he considered what awaited him once Lilly moved on. Nothing. Loneliness.

  Evan downed the brandy and rang the bell for another.

  ***

  The familiar scent of cigars, wood and brandy filled Evan’s senses as he stepped into Wellington’s—his preferred club in London. Quieter than White’s or Boodle’s, the peaceful setting and non-political allegiance appealed to him.

  His brother lifted a glass in greeting and Evan headed directly to his spot by the large bay window. Taking a seat opposite Thomas, he settled himself back against the green leather and peered around. He nodded to Bradley and Smith and noted a few new faces—young, arrogant-looking fellows who made him feel distinctly old and grumpy.

  “I was surprised to hear you were in London, Evan,” Thomas said, his words muffled around a cigar as he fought to light it.

  “Why? You knew I intended to come back after our time in Hampshire.”

  “Yes, but you had your emergency to deal with.” Thomas grinned and wagged his brows. “If I had that kind of emergency waiting for me, I wouldn’t be here on my own, that’s for certain.”

  “I had to meet with my banker.” A waiter brought over a brandy, and Evan wrapped his hand around it as he murmured his thanks.

  “You would not be gambli
ng away all Father’s fortune, would you?”

  “Hardly. One failed speculation means little. I have profited aplenty this year.”

  “Well, you shall need it if you’re going to be funding that mistress of yours.”

  Evan pressed a breath through his nostrils and shifted his gaze to the intricate wood paneling behind his brother’s head. Thomas only spoke out of jealousy, but the man insisted on doing his best to rile him. Would his brother ever grow up? He loved Thomas as much as any brother could with their age gap but his immature behavior never failed to grieve him. Even a foolish marriage had not made his brother see sense. He greatly feared one day his brother would do something beyond foolish and Evan would be left to pick up the pieces—just as he had with his father.

  “I still cannot believe you did not give me a shot at Miss Claremont,” Thomas said, drawing Evan’s attention back to him. “Not very sporting of you, Evan.”

  “She would not have had you.”

  “Yet she accepted you? I cannot fathom it. You spent half our time at Oakholm eyeing each other as if you loathed one another.”

  “Clearly, Thomas, I have charms that even you cannot understand. Perhaps Miss Claremont recognized as much. Her head wouldn’t be turned by a married man with a penchant for questionable behavior.”

  “Oh, come now, I have been very well behaved recently. I rarely gamble and I haven’t frequented a brothel in several months. Though after losing out on Miss Claremont, I’ve been sorely tempted…”

  “Forget Miss Claremont,” Evan said through gritted teeth.

  “You are very possessive over her.” Thomas leaned against the table and took a long draw of his cigar. Smoke swirled in the air, dancing amongst the light streaming in through the window. “And here I thought no woman could interest you. You’ve seldom shown preference for any particular woman and now there are two.”

  Evan straightened at this. “Two? Whatever do you mean?”