Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  He’d be damned if he’d set foot in there, now. He wished she had agreed to his proposal. She’d be his betrothed. No one would dare snub her. Damn it, he relished the idea of walking into stuffy drawing rooms with her on his arm. She’d make a damn fine duchess or betrothed until she left for Egypt. The thought almost made him wince.

  He was shattered. He couldn’t even sleep at night without having dreams about Charlotte Haywood’s long, bare legs. Legs that made him wake up uncomfortable and fevered, twisted in the bed sheets….

  God, a white slaver would make a fortune on her. Nathaniel could picture her swathed only in the sheerest of silk veils—blue ones like her eyes—standing on an auction block under the hot, desert sun. The scorching light would flame through her long, unbound hair, while one by one the veils were removed until she stood there….

  “So,” Archer said after delicately sipping his own glass of port. “We shall intercept her coach on the way back from Dacy House this Friday. Agreed?”

  “No!” He ran a shaking hand through his hair, dislodging a thick curl. The annoying lock fell over his brow. He pushed it back impatiently and tried to drink his port. His glass was empty. Had they not just refilled it?

  “Waiter!” He couldn’t be alone with her. In his house. Dependent upon him and gazing up at him with those blue eyes filled with fear….

  Of course, he’d have to reassure her. And somehow her dress would be torn from the kidnapping and the shoulder seams would give way. She’d fall prostrate in his arms with her breasts in his hands and her fair skin gleaming palely in the moonlight….

  “Your glass, Your Grace,” the waiter interrupted, holding a bottle of port in one hand.

  After his glass was refilled, Nathaniel leaned forward, staring hard at Archer. “I am not frightening her unnecessarily, and it is just the two of us. I mean, just you and I will be there. With her. No one else needs to know anything.”

  “Well, Lady Victoria—I would not want her to worry.”

  “No! Absolutely not!”

  “My wife is the soul of discretion. She must know.”

  “Agreed, but no one else. We kidnap her and—and hide her—where? She must have a comfortable bed and food. And a maid—what about a maid? I cannot be alone with her under any circumstances. Absolutely not. Is that clear? Because if it is not clear, then we simply cannot do it. This point cannot be emphasized enough. Under no circumstances will you leave me alone with her!”

  “My dear boy, if you give her luxurious quarters, she will not wish to be rescued, and we cannot sit about playing whist with her at all hours! She must be frightened if she’s to be properly grateful to you.”

  “I will not have her frightened!”

  “Well, that rather defeats the purpose—”

  “I will not scare her!”

  Archer harrumphed and finished his port, drumming the fingers of his left hand on the table. His eyes flickered to Nathaniel’s face. “You know, most women, despite their words, appreciate a little danger. It lends a certain excitement….”

  “Absolutely not!” Nathaniel felt overheated. He continued bitterly, “And I would think the rumors about me being a murderer would be dangerous enough for any female. Not that they have stopped any of those damned women from chasing me….”

  He was drunk.

  No he wasn’t. He was just worried. Worried sick about leaving White’s and facing what might be out there, waiting in his carriage or in his wardrobe.

  He almost wished Bow Street would take him into custody. A nice lonely gaol cell with a strong lock on the door.

  “We shall do our best to reassure her,” Archer said at last. “Put this on the duke’s account,” he added, speaking to a passing waiter. The waiter nodded and scuttled away.

  Nathaniel watched him go, leaning back in his chair. “You are not leaving, are you?”

  “My wife—”

  “This is a terrible idea, Archer. What you describe would be a devilishly fine adventure, but I cannot.” He was a duke, albeit slightly under the weather. Kidnapping women was not a ducal thing to do.

  But damn it, why did he always have to be responsible? No adventures, no fun. Just listening to his tenants’ problems and trying to resolve them like some sort of Solomon. Only he was not as wise as that biblical gentleman and would probably have cut the child in half or given it to the wrong mother.

  Archer drew himself up and frowned. “It is a brilliant idea. I cannot guarantee that you have the skill and nerve to carry it off, but it is a brilliant idea.”

  “I have skill and nerve.”

  “Really? You appear to have lost your nerves over the last few months.”

  “Then I will prove it.” Nathaniel placed his hat over his disheveled curls. “But we need a better plan.” He held up his hand when Archer snorted. “Or perhaps just work out the details. Surely you can spare another hour.

  Accompany me home. We will go over precisely how this should be handled to avoid causing Charlotte—that is, Miss Haywood—any unnecessary worry or discomfort.”

  Nathaniel wavered as he stood, but he gripped the back of his chair until the floor stopped heaving.

  Archer eyed him and sighed. “You are a very fortunate young man.”

  “Oh, yes,” he replied, walking very carefully toward the door. Outside, the fresh air cleared his head enough to be very glad of his uncle’s company. Nathaniel wasn’t precisely drunk, but he was under the weather enough to make him careless. “I am a very fortunate man.”

  “If you can keep your wits about you.”

  Nathaniel laughed. “Never fear. We will kidnap the fair maiden, rescue her, and I will solve this murder. And we will convince Miss Haywood to remain in your care.”

  “I only hope you can do so. You have quite wasted almost three weeks already, nevvy, and Telford is growing impatient.”

  “Never fear!” he replied, opening the door to his coach. A soft scent tickled his nose. “Come, Archer, I will drive you home.”

  He stood aside for his uncle to enter the coach first. A minute later, Archer shooed a giggling chit of seventeen out the door. He climbed down after her, waving her away down the walk. “Do you know her?”

  “I am not sure. They all look alike: short, silly girls with nothing but soft wool between the ears.”

  Archer’s sharp gray eyes scanned his face. “And you believe you are best without these pesky females about?”

  “That is precisely what I want. Peace. And a few adventures.” Nathaniel climbed into the coach. “Nice, quiet adventures without any women, anywhere. Right after I solve my murder.”

  Despite his words, when he leaned back against the well-padded seats of his coach, he saw Charlotte’s blue eyes laughing at him.

  The image promised him anything but peace.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lunatics. A constable, relieving officer or overseer is required to apprehend persons wandering at large who are deemed to be lunatics or dangerous idiots. — Constable’s Pocket Guide

  At the Dacy ball, the duke made every effort to dance with Charlotte, and to her surprise, several bland, young men also formally requested a turn around the room with her. However despite the unusual attention, she found the ball rather boring.

  After refusing to dance, she watched Nathaniel escort Miss Mooreland out onto the floor. His second dance with that particular debutante this evening.

  Since Charlotte had sent Tom Henry to Nathaniel with her list, he apparently had no time to speak to her. Perhaps he was simply occupied trying to prove his innocence.

  Sadly, she realized her refusal to accept his proposal for a false engagement might have also diminished his interest in her. Just as well. She never thought the idea particularly sound, and it certainly would not prove Nathaniel’s innocence.

  Charlotte turned away abruptly, tapping her toe on the brilliantly waxed floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Lady Beatrice frowning at Nathaniel and Miss Mooreland. She didn’t
appear happy about the pairing, either, although she finally accepted the escort of Lord Brompton, and the pair glided out onto the floor.

  Did Lady Beatrice have a rival for Nathaniel’s affections in Miss Mooreland?

  Perhaps Lady Beatrice would finally discover how it felt to lose a sweetheart to another. It was simply too bad that a few of the other long-suffering girls from their boarding school were not here to see the expression on Lady Beatrice’s beautiful face.

  Charlotte smiled. Then she nodded at one of the matrons who had taken pains to remind Charlotte that Lady Beatrice and His Grace made a fine couple.

  Life was never as expected.

  Then, a portion of her good mood evaporated. She remembered her last year at boarding school and the dismal Christmas she had spent there. Charlotte had not been surprised about her guardian’s decision to leave her there, but she had been shocked to discover Lady Beatrice had also been left.

  At first, Charlotte had tried to be friendly. However, despite their lack of other companions, Lady Beatrice had chosen to ignore Charlotte’s overtures.

  Charlotte studied her from across the dance floor.

  Perhaps she was also unhappy. Perhaps that was why she was so desperate for the duke to propose. As a duchess, Lady Beatrice would get all the attention she craved.

  She’d never be left behind during the holidays again.

  Restless and edgy, Charlotte’s mood deteriorated further when an older man with damp hands tried to get her to walk out into the garden with him.

  “No, I think not,” she said. “I am quite content here. I don’t require any fresh air.”

  Sir Baldwin, or Bolton, or whatever his name was, finally gave up and wandered away.

  When he was safely gone, Charlotte’s eyes flickered repeatedly to the French doors leading out into the soft night. Exerting great willpower, she resisted. She didn’t trust the duke not to follow her out and pester her.

  Or worse, she feared having to fend off the man with the damp hands. He wore the hot, devious look of someone attracted to her dowry instead of her. Her gaze roved the room. She had not seen the man recently, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there, watching for an opportunity.

  The insistent, fluttering noise of moth wings battering the French doors caught her attention. The night beckoned. After a single step, she stopped, her fingers drifting to her lips. Where was His Grace?

  “Would you care to step outside for some air?” Nathaniel asked. He leaned slightly over her shoulder, not touching her but filling her with warmth.

  “No. Not tonight.”

  “I am assured there are numerous moths in the gardens. Would you not like another chance to see the Garden Tiger?”

  “There will be other opportunities. And ones which are less noisy.”

  He studied her, and then pressed a glass of punch into her hand. She glanced back at him for a moment before dropping her gaze and taking a sip. He seemed strangely excited. His eyes gleamed as if fevered.

  Had he decided to ask Lady Beatrice to marry him tonight since Charlotte refused him? Mr. Dacy’s wife was His Grace’s sister. What better time or place to make such a declaration?

  The thought irritated her. If they were going to make such an announcement, then why had not they done so? Why was he still pestering her?

  Maybe they were just waiting until midnight. She turned her shoulder to him and took another sip. Her eyes scanned the crowd. Lord Dacy and his plump wife, Oriana, were standing near Lady Victoria and Mr. Archer, laughing. Charlotte had liked the couple immensely. Her gaze rested on Lord Dacy. Where had he gotten the scar bisecting his brow and lean cheek? It did not detract from his appearance and certainly his wife didn’t seem to mind, but it made him look dangerous.

  His wife, Oriana, stared up at him as if he were the only man in the room, and Charlotte observed them with a pang of envy.

  When Lord Dacy made a brief, shallow bow and strode away, his wife’s brown eyes followed him. Her face suffused with a soft glow and her lips bowed in a barely discernible smile.

  Charlotte shivered, suddenly cold. All around her, couples were dancing and flirting. Laugher floated above the sounds of a quartet of musicians playing a boisterous country dance.

  “Would you care to dance?” Nathaniel asked.

  “No. I am rather tired. I think I might ask the Archers if I could leave early.”

  The glow in his eyes flamed. Charlotte glanced away, suddenly nervous, but her eyes were drawn back to his.

  His cheeks grew flushed as if he were suddenly drunk or feverous. “Let me call the carriage for you. I will tell my uncle you have a headache and went home.”

  “Don’t exaggerate on my behalf!” she said abruptly, feeling even more out of sorts. “Simply inform them I was tired and left.”

  He chuckled although the sound was marred by his underlying tension.

  What was wrong with him? His body was rigid and his eyes gleamed with a strange brilliance.

  “Certainly. Let me escort you,” he said.

  Charlotte said goodbye rapidly as Nathaniel rushed her out. He practically shoved her into the Archer’s rather well-worn carriage.

  “Rest and don’t worry,” he said as he shut the door.

  “Worry?” Charlotte asked through the window set into the door. “Why should I be worried?”

  “Halt!” Archer demanded, stopping his coach a short time after Charlotte left.

  Nathaniel spurred his horse forward, flinging open the door. Leaning over, he peered inside. Nothing. There was no one inside!

  But she had left Dacy House in this carriage! He had put her inside, himself. He guided the horse backward with his knees, studying the conveyance. It was the right one. There was no mistaking the Archers’ slightly battered carriage, even in the misty darkness.

  “Coachman! Where’s your passenger?”

  The man laughed. Laughed! “Gone! You scamps are not the only ones out tonight. You had best let me pass before the Watch catches you, you devils. I am on my way to report a kidnapping.”

  “What?” Nathaniel growled.

  “You are the second lot. The early bird got the worm. Took off with the heiress ‘bout a mile back.”

  “And you did not try to stop them?” Archer asked.

  “There was two of ‘em. What could I do?” the coachman replied philosophically, scratching his head under his tall hat. He glanced briefly at his fingernails before chewing at a hangnail.

  Nathaniel glanced down the darkened road. “Where did they head?”

  “They took off into St. James.” The coachman shrugged and pulled back the reins slightly as the horses moved restlessly, their traces creaking. “Could be miles away by now. Let me pass. I be off to find the Watch!”

  Nathaniel kicked the door shut viciously and galloped away.

  Where could she be? In whose hands? Was she hurt? Each question pricked his conscience like a thorn.

  “Come on, we will catch up to them in the park,” Archer suggested, bringing his black mare up beside Nathaniel.

  They cantered in silence for a few beats. Nathaniel didn’t trust himself to speak. Flicking the reins, he urged his bay forward through the darkness.

  There were still a few carriages and the occasional horse and rider moving along the dark paths of St. James’s Park. Nathaniel stopped a number of them, calling out abrupt questions. No one had seen two horsemen, one of them carrying a woman. Many guffawed and made lewd suggestions that made Nathaniel’s normally placid disposition long to commit violence upon their insolent persons.

  Archer kept surprisingly quiet. A very astute move since one word from him would have made Nathaniel’s fragile grip on his temper break. He wanted to twist his bare hands around someone’s neck.

  After an hour of fruitless searching, Archer brought his horse up in front of Nathaniel baring his way.

  “They are not here. We should return. Perhaps she has home again or Lady Vee has word—”

  “Word of what
? Ransom?” Sensing the fury in its master’s tone, Nathaniel’s horse reared up slightly and bit the flank of Archer’s black mare. Nathaniel gripped the horse with his knees and guided it away. “Why did I listen to you? I should have accompanied her home. Letting her go without a chaperone in the coach was insane!”

  “Nonsense. Simply a slight inconvenience. The plan can still be made to work. We will just—”

  “We will just nothing!” Nathaniel shouted. He pulled the floppy black hat off his head and pushed back the concealing cloak. The hot folds constricted him. He felt as if he were bound by a tangle of ropes, unable to break free.

  This mess is my fault!

  His voice dropped to a low, vicious growl, “She could be…what? Damn you! Don’t you see what you have done?”

  Archer maneuvered his horse around and grabbed Nathaniel’s reins. However, Nathaniel ripped the leathers away. He turned his horse in the opposite direction.

  “Your Grace, this will not win the pot. Come back with me. We will talk to Lady Vee. There may be news….”

  “Fine.” He bit his words off coldly. “But if anything happens to her, I will hold you responsible.”

  “Nothing will happen. You shall see,” Archer replied, his voice shaking.

  Nathaniel searched his face and saw painful worry in the gray eyes. Archer looked older, his face haggard in the dim light.

  “There is nothing else I can do,” Nathaniel said at last, wheeling his horse around. “But if she is hurt, someone will pay, dearly. Very dearly.”

  Perhaps the newspapers would prove prophetic in branding Nathaniel as a murderer.

  He would like nothing better than to kill whoever abducted Charlotte.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Outrages. — The scenes of all outrages must be visited by the constabulary without delay, and the facts at once reported. — Constable’s Pocket Guide

  When Nathaniel waved and the carriage lurched away from the Dacy residence, Charlotte sat back, wondering why she felt so…anxious.

  Perhaps it was due to the difficulties she’d encountered recently with her Egyptian plans. She nodded in the darkness. Mr. Belzoni had finally decided he did not want her funds. At least not since she insisted that she, personally, travel to Egypt to make any investments she saw fit. However, there was still Mr. Mainwaring. He had not precisely said no, but he had not agreed, either.