Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  “Lady Quincy.” Eve swung her glare onto the older of the two gossipmongers. “Lady Consworth.”

  “Miss Crenshaw,” Lady Consworth sputtered.

  “We did not see you there,” Lady Quincy said.

  “Of course you did,” Eve said.

  “Miss Crenshaw—”

  “Do not act as if you didn’t say those things just to be spiteful and crude.”

  “How dare you?” Lady Quincy hissed.

  Lady Consworth cast a glance around them. “Keep your voices down.”

  “Why?” Eve demanded, raising hers. “So no one else learns how cruel you are?” The ladies’ eyes widened. “Or perhaps you are worried that people will guess your true feelings?” Eve snapped.

  “What true feelings?” Lady Consworth said stupidly.

  “Willamina,” Lady Quincy said under her breath.

  “That you are jealous Lord Rushton did not make an assignation with you in the gardens.”

  A malicious gleam lit Lady Quincy’s eyes. “So it is true, your sister did meet him in the gardens.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Eve retorted.

  “But you just said—”

  “I did not say Grace met him. I said you wished he had met you. For pity’s sake, are you so dense that you don’t understand plain English?”

  Lady Quincy gasped.

  “You said those things about me and my sister just to be mean, knowing I was within earshot. So don’t act indignant when I do not remain silent.”

  “Miss Crenshaw,” Lady Consworth said. “There has been a mistake. Please—”

  “There has been no mistake,” Lady Quincy said in a harsh whisper. “When your sister couldn’t trap him, you decided you could do a better job of it.”

  Eve stared. “Are you insane? I did not trap him. He came to my room.”

  Triumph shone in Lady Quincy’s eyes. “We heard your father discovered the two of you in bed together, and that you shot Lord Rushton. Frankly, I thought the story was too fantastical to be true. I see I was mistaken.”

  “Annabelle,” Lady Consworth tugged on her arm.

  “The two of you naked…” Lady Quincy tsked and shook her head in disapproval.

  “Naked? That is a bald-faced lie,” Eve said. “I was fully clothed, as was Lord Rushton.”

  “I did not see your sister arrive with you,” Lady Quincy said, “and I have not seen Lord Rushton. Is it possible they—” Her gaze jerked past Eve and her eyes widened.

  Eve started to twist to see who approached, but a large body bumped into her back. She whirled to face a tall, blond gentleman.

  “Pardon me,” he quickly said.

  “Lord Paisley,” Lady Consworth said.

  “Lady Consworth. Lady Quincy.” He looked expectantly at them and Lady Consworth finally said with a flutter of one hand, “Oh, Lord Paisley, may we present Miss Eve Crenshaw.”

  He once again faced Eve and this time grasped her hand. “Miss Crenshaw.” He bent over her fingers, his face angled slightly away from the other ladies. His eyes lifted to meet hers in the instant his mouth brushed her hand, and he winked.

  Eve blinked.

  He straightened, his face all respectability. “Again, my apologies for ramming into you.”

  “You did not ram into me,” she said. “But thank you, my lord, I am unharmed.”

  “I am immensely relieved.” He turned his attention to Lady Quincy. “I believe I saw your brother a moment ago, Lady Quincy. He was looking for you.”

  Surprise flickered in Lady Quincy’s eyes, followed by suspicion, but she quickly demurred. “Thank you, my lord. I will find him.”

  “Allow me to escort you. The crowd here is the largest I have seen tonight. You are sure to be trampled.”

  Her mouth pinched in obvious frustration.

  “Lady Consworth,” he said. “Perhaps you would like to accompany us.”

  “Oh, yes, of course.” She took the arm he proffered.

  He canted his head toward Eve. “Very nice to have met you, Miss Crenshaw.” Then he led them away.

  Eve stared. What had just happened? Why had a gentleman she didn’t know winked at her? Were the malicious things Lady Quincy and Lady Consworth said a part of the gossip that others believed? Did Lord Paisley believe—understanding struck. Lord Paisley had bumped into her as she was about to say things that would have gotten her deeper into trouble. He had saved her, and the wink had been his way of telling her so. He must have been standing on the other side of the column and—oh Lord, how much of their conversation had he overheard?

  “Miss Crenshaw.”

  Eve jumped, then silently groaned when recognition struck. Of all the people who could ruin her plans, Lord Richard Somerset was that man. It had been too much to hope that she wouldn’t encounter him tonight. She forced a smile and faced him.

  “My lord.” She extended her hand.

  He lightly grasped her fingers, bowed, then released her. “Am I fortunate enough to be the first to claim a dance?”

  “I have only just arrived and—”

  “Good. I want to speak with you.”

  Private conversation with Lord Somerset was the last thing she wanted, but she could find no way to protest as he led her onto the dance floor. Her heart sank when the orchestra struck up a country dance. They would be on the dance floor for half an hour. He pulled her into the line of dancers and took his place opposite her. They approached one another in time to the music, bowed, then backed into their former positions. She stepped with her left foot, then the right, and everyone in line followed as one, until the partners again approached one another and slowly circled each other.

  “Did you receive my card?” he asked.

  “I did. Thank you.”

  “I will call him out, Eve.”

  She faltered in her step, but caught herself. “That is not necessary,” she whispered.

  They danced back into separate lines, then forward again, this time switching partners. The guilt she’d grappled with since devising the plan to marry Grace to the earl resurfaced with a nervous turn of her stomach. Lord Rushton did not wish to marry her or Grace. In the end, however, Grace was the better choice. She would accept him for the man he was and embrace a life separate from his. Grace was a beautiful woman. The time Lord Rushton spent in her bed would be pleasurable. If he eloped to Gretna Green with her, the polite world might talk, but nothing more, for they wouldn’t know the elopement had been a kidnapping.

  When Eve came back around to Lord Somerset, they locked arms and swung around.

  “I do not believe you invited him into your room,” he said.

  Blast the man. If he thwarted her plans, she would call him out. That was the trouble with a man who believed a woman to be above reproach: he simply couldn’t accept the possibility she could be less than the paragon of virtue he saw her as. A mistake Lord Rushton wouldn’t make. Her father was right. The earl had no illusions where women were concerned. The realization pricked her pride.

  They separated again. She stepped right and circled the gentleman diagonally across from her. He smiled as they clasped hands and shuffled forward and back, then separated. The couples once again stood opposite one another as each couple on the end pranced hand in hand down the center of the two lines. When their turn came, Eve stepped toward Lord Somerset, he clasped her hand, and they whirled. Before she realized it, he had maneuvered her out of the line of dancers and into a small alcove to their left.

  Her heart sped up. She had no intention of eluding the scandal with Lord Rushton only to have her father sign a marriage contract with Lord Somerset because gossipers saw her in a private alcove fraternizing with him. Lord Somerset stopped and she turned back toward the ballroom, but he stepped in front of her.

  “My lord.”

  “I saw your marriage announcement in the paper,” he said.

  Eve gasped.

  “Just as I thought,” Lord Somerset said. “Your father is forcing the marriage.”
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  “No, I promise you, he is not.”

  The viscount’s eyes darkened and frustration bubbled to the top. Why hadn’t he fixed his interest on Grace instead of her? Grace adored attention. Eve had met Lord Somerset a year ago and, while he was cordial, he’d given no indication he felt any tenderness for her. But three months ago he had approached her father in regards to his suit toward her. Of course, her father had rejoiced that a reputable man showed interested in her and gave the viscount his blessing.

  “I do not believe you are marrying Rushton of your own accord,” he said.

  “You assume too much, sir. You do not know me well enough to know what I would or would not do.”

  “Are you saying that the gossip that has been revived about you and Lord Blane after all these years is true? Are you loose?”

  Eve stiffened. “I am saying, it is none of your concern.”

  “Miss Crenshaw—Eve—you do not have to do this. Sit down, let us talk.”

  She shook her head. “I will not sit down.”

  “Marry me,” Lord Somerset said.

  Eve stared. “Sir, please.”

  “It is obvious he’s forcing this marriage.”

  ”Things are not always what they seem,” she whispered.

  “Things are rarely as they seem,” drawled a familiar male voice.

  Eve jerked and Lord Somerset whirled to face Lord Rushton. Behind the earl, the blazing light of the ballroom haloed his large frame and she was reminded of an avenging angel. No. Not an angel. An incredible male demon rising from the pits of Hell.

  Her heart raced as he took three leisurely steps and halted uncomfortably close to her. Dismay at the wonder as to why he wasn’t bound and gagged inside a carriage racing toward Scotland vanished when she glimpsed the chilling glint in his eyes. Horror rushed to the surface at the possibility that it would be Lord Rushton who called out Lord Somerset.

  The earl grasped her hand and brought it to his lips. His eyes held hers as he brushed a kiss to her fingers “This situation, for example.”

  Chapter Four

  Technically, Erroll hadn’t agreed to kidnap Miss Crenshaw. Yet the warmth of her fingers beneath his conjured the picture of her lying on the cushion of his carriage, hands tied and bound to the door, and eyes blindfolded as they raced into the night. His carriage stood outside. All he had to do was get her inside and he would have her exactly where he’d envisioned having her since he’d leaned over her bed and her breast brushed his chest. Erroll nearly laughed. There was no other answer. He’d lost his mind. He would have her where he wanted her—without the trip to Gretna Green and quite willingly, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  He had done a little investigating and found that five years ago the lady had eloped. The prospective groom’s father caught up with them before the marriage took place but, as was so often the case, the wedding night had preceded the vows. Lord Harrison Blane claimed she was pregnant with his child. Time passed and no child appeared, but the accusation was enough to brand her an undesirable bride. A fact that was sure to work in his favor.

  Erroll straightened from his bow, placed her hand in the crook of his arm, and faced Somerset. “It almost seems you intended to take advantage of my future wife. But that cannot be the case.”

  Miss Crenshaw gave a soft gasp and he only half regretted his stupidity. If he could hear her gasp in that fashion while he moved inside her, it would be worth the thrashing his father administered once they broke their connection. She had no more desire to marry him than he did to marry her. In the end, she could cry off, and they would both go their merry ways; her, the wounded lady, and him, the same rakehell he’d been all along.

  Somerset’s eyes narrowed.

  Erroll had seen that look before. “Really, Somerset, does the lady look as though she is being held against her will?”

  He released the hand that held her fingers around his arm. She didn’t pull away. Very good. Now what would it take to induce her to stroll with him in the gardens? That, Erroll decided, would be the challenge—and the fun—of the chase and, who knew, they might slake their desire even quicker than he’d anticipated.

  “She is too much of a lady to show her agitation,” Somerset said through tight lips.

  “Rest assured, I am not a prisoner,” she said in a no nonsense tone that made Erroll want to laugh. That she had no fear of him, he found intriguing.

  Somerset wasn’t afraid of him, either, and that could present a problem. Dueling over a woman was bad business. Erroll had no intention of turning a simple affaires de coeur into a drama that might exile him to one of their homes in Scotland, or worse, to France. Neither had he any intention of giving up the chase.

  He looked down at Miss Crenshaw who, as he’d noticed upon first seeing her, looked beautiful in olive green velvet. The dress would have appeared modest on any other woman, but the bodice simply couldn’t contain her breasts, and the rise of creamy flesh that spilled over the top of the lace hardened Erroll’s resolve—and his cock—to taste her sweet charms.

  “Would you like lemonade, my dear?” he asked.

  Surprise flickered in her eyes, then they narrowed almost imperceptivity. She may not be afraid of him, but she didn’t trust him. She wasn’t stupid. Unexpectedly, her expression turned sweet, and Erroll was pleased to realize she had no more taste for duels than he did.

  She inclined her head. “That would be lovely, my lord.”

  “Somerset.” Erroll gave him a slight nod, then started away with her.

  “I am here if you need me, Eve.”

  Erroll paused and looked at her. “Do you need him, my dear?”

  “I am quite well, thank you.”

  Erroll shifted his gaze to the earl. “She does not need you, Somerset. By the by, I expect from now on, you will not be so familiar with my future wife.”

  Miss Crenshaw’s fingers tightened around his arm and he agreed with the sentiment he knew the action betrayed. He’d done it again; called her his future wife.

  *****

  Eve walked from the alcove on shaky legs. What had gone wrong with her plan? Why wasn’t Lord Rushton on his way to Gretna Green? A hint of fatigue beneath his eyes caught her attention and she wondered if he had attended other parties before finding her here. His direct manner inside the alcove gave her the feeling that he’d been searching for her. She recalled his wound and realized his leg might be worse than he’d let on.

  “How is your leg, sir?”

  He looked at her. “Are you sorry you shot me?”

  She waited until they sidestepped two gentlemen in their path, then said, “You deserved it. But I am sorry. The shot alerted the innkeeper and maids to our altercation. Things would have been much easier had they not seen the mess with their own eyes.”

  “So you do not regret so much shooting me, as the fact it got us caught.”

  She gave an impatient shake of her head. “I wasn’t trying to kill you.”

  “How fortunate for me.”

  “Why someone did not shoot you long ago defies belief.”

  “Others have tried,” he said with an amiable tone. “Their aim simply was not as good as yours.”

  The next steps brought them to a stop as Lady Banks and Lady Hollister turned toward them.

  “Good evening, my lord,” Lady Banks said.

  “My lord.” Lady Hollister gave a small curtsey, then looked at Eve. “Miss Crenshaw.”

  “Ladies.” He reached for Lady Hollister’s hand and Eve released him as he bowed over it, then turned to Lady Banks and did the same.

  “We must offer our felicitations,” Lady Banks said. “We read of your engagement in the paper. How exciting!”

  Eve caught the flicker of surprise in the earl’s eyes. So he had been unaware of the announcement as well.

  He flashed a charming smile at Eve. “I am a very fortunate man.”

  Good Lord, his performance was sure to ignite the two old biddies’ imaginations. By morning, all of Manchester
would believe that Earl Rushton was smitten with his wife-to-be. The current gossip was bad enough, but after this, his and Grace’s return to England as man and wife would paint her forever as the bride cast aside in favor of her sister. The gossip would not flatter Lord Rushton any more than it would her, she realized with a start. She hadn’t considered how his ‘jilting her’ might affect his reputation. What sort of cad left his intended bride for her sister?

  Lady Hollister’s titter of laughter grated against Eve’s ear. “I am sure you two shall be very happy,” the older woman said, “and it could not have come at a better time. We were saddened to hear of your brother’s death, Lord Rushton.”

  He stiffened.

  That was right. Eve had forgotten. He returned from the navy a little over a year ago with the news that his brother had perished at Trafalgar. His brother had reached the rank of lieutenant, and Eve’s father said he earned that rank as an enlisted man, instead of letting the marques buy him a commission. According to her father, Lord Valan was on his way to an Admiralty.

  “That is kind of you,” Rushton replied.

  Lady Hollister looked confused. “Forgive me if I spoke out of turn, my lord. I—”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” he interrupted. “Now, if you will excuse us, we were on the way to the refreshments room. Miss Crenshaw is thirsty.”

  “Of course,” the ladies answered in unison. They dropped a curtsy and he led Eve away.

  “Meddling old busybodies,” he muttered as he guided her around another couple.

  Eve knew he was bothered by their mention of his brother, and wanted to offer condolences, but his response made her reticent. Instead, she said, “You purposely egged them on about our supposed engagement.”

  His head snapped in her direction. He stared for an instant, then grinned. “I cannot help myself, can I?”

  “I believe you thrive on mischief.” His brows rose, and she added, “In this case, you are only making it more difficult for when we do not marry.”

  “You are still set against marrying me, then?”

  “Do not act as if you feel any different.”

  “Rushton,” a large man called to him.