Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  “Safe,” Cheery said with damnable nonchalance.

  Nathaniel groaned and transferred his gaze to his uncle. Archer shrugged and wandered over to the table. He picked up a fork and transferred a slice of rare roast beef to Nathaniel’s bread plate. Sitting down, he pulled the plate in front of him.

  “What are you doing? We must go!” Nathaniel protested. He shoved his chair back and stood.

  “She will keep,” Archer said as he calmly cut a small piece of beef and raised it to his mouth. “She is perfectly safe in her attic.”

  “You don’t know that! They could be…that is, she could be…. Damn it, we don’t know what they are doing to her!”

  “Nothing, I presume,” Archer assured him, pouring more wine into Nathaniel’s glass and drinking it down. “Red would never harm a lady. Come, sit down. Let us have dinner like reasonable men. Then we can determine if Gaunt’s theory survives the turn of the card.”

  Nathaniel strode to the door and back. Cheery sat across from Archer and waited while Carter brought several more plates and cutlery to the table.

  “I assure you, she is quite safe,” Cheery said. “If she is where I believe her to be, that is.”

  “How can you two just sit there like…like insensate animals while she—” Nathaniel lashed out, wanting to throttle the pair.

  Neither one paid the least attention to him. They polished off his bottle of cabernet and demanded another while they feasted on his roast beef, pudding, casserole of potato, and the seafood aspic his cook had provided for the main meal. Then they insisted on partaking of the cream tartlets a footman brought in for dessert.

  “Have you had enough to eat?” Nathaniel finally asked, his voice thick with sarcasm.

  Archer wiped his lips and sat back, draining his final glass of port. “Very good, Your Grace. Excellent.”

  “And can we leave, now? If it wouldn’t inconvenience anyone, of course. And if you are sure you have had enough to eat?” Nathaniel replied. He stood behind his chair, his hands almost crushing the delicate carved back.

  “Of course,” Cheery agreed. “Lovely beef, though. Have you a carriage?”

  Nathaniel’s voice dropped even lower and grew silky. “I believe that can be arranged. Anything else? Trumpets and drums, perhaps? An armed escort?”

  “I am merely thinking of Miss Haywood’s comfort,” Cheery commented as he stood up. “Dashed uncomfortable to be rescued, and then forced to ride pillion all the way home.”

  “I would never allow that to happen.” Nathaniel strode out. In the hallway, he gave short, sharp orders to Carter.

  His butler quickly supplied his walking stick and hat after seeing Nathaniel’s expression.

  “There’s a map of London in the dining room, Carter,” Nathaniel said. “In case this theory of Mr. Gaunt’s turns out to be a fairy tale, I want you to brief the servants. When I return, if we haven’t located Miss Haywood, they will have to search the designated areas.”

  “Not a fairy tale,” Cheery murmured softly. “Perhaps a story of ghosts in the attic and strange occurrences, but not a fairy tale.”

  “Be quiet,” Nathaniel replied as the carriage was brought around. “Don’t you realize you are in the company of a suspected murderer?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Warning.—If a constable finds his exertions insufficient to effect the arrest, he ought to warn one or more of the bystanders to assist him, and it is an indictable misdemeanor in any one so warned to refuse. — Constable’s Pocket Guide

  Irritated, Nathaniel watched as Cheery gave his coachman orders. When the men moved toward the carriage door, Nathaniel noticed Michael hanging onto the back of the coach. He scowled at him and opened his mouth to order the servant to stay behind to organize the others. However before he could speak, Cheery placed a firm hand between his shoulder blades and pushed him into the carriage.

  “Where did you tell Lansbury to go?” Nathaniel asked, tugging at his waistcoat and sleeves as he settled into the seat. The full material of his linen shirt was uncomfortably scrunched under the fitted sleeve of his coat, making his arm look like an overfilled sausage. It felt like one, too. He shoved his fingers into his cuff and snatched at the fabric until he could more easily bend his elbow.

  Every minor discomfort and little annoyance made his temper flare. He eyed the two men sitting across from him and had to restrain himself from strangling the both of them.

  “I hate to be proven wrong, Your Grace,” Cheery replied, catching his glance. “So forgive me if I don’t say anything until we reach our destination.”

  “What difference will it make whether I know now or fifteen minutes from now?”

  “I will not have to suffer through interminable arguments about it,” Cheery replied before adding, “Your Grace.”

  “I am not going to dispute your conclusions. I just want her found.” Nathaniel gazed out the window. “Mayfair? The west end?” He sat back again, feeling relief. If she was in the west end, chances were good she was being held captive in decent surroundings, even if it was an attic room.

  On the other hand, that meant the rotter who had kidnapped her was likely to be a titled bastard. He would have no compunction about taking advantage of her if it meant he could refill his empty coffers with Charlotte’s inheritance, and chances were good he had already compromised Charlotte very thoroughly by now.

  He clenched his fists. “How do you propose we enter this person’s household? We have no warrant. Have you informed Bow Street?”

  Cheery shook his head, giving one of his sardonic grins. “You will not have any difficulties. Once we have recovered your lady, we can determine how to proceed. I trust she will be able to identify her kidnapper at which juncture we can enlist the services of Bow Street.”

  “She is not my lady. She is my uncle’s ward, and I will thank you to remember it.” He missed Charlotte’s company so much he ached with it, but he was damned if he would admit it.

  “Ah, yes.” Cheery glanced out the window. “We are almost there.”

  Nathaniel stared outside. “But, that is my sister’s house! Why are we halting here?” He grabbed Cheery’s shoulder. “It is the bastard across the street from her, is it not? What is his name—General somebody or other—”

  “Captain Greene, I believe, but no. We are not going to the Captain’s quarters.”

  “You cannot mean to tell me my sister and brother-in-law are involved? I don’t believe it. Not Oriana. No.”

  Cheery ignored him and climbed out, forcing Nathaniel to continue the conversation by himself or quit the carriage and join Cheery on the sidewalk. Nathaniel stepped down and glanced around.

  He rotated his shoulders, trying to ease the fit of his jacket. His muscles felt tight and stiff with tension. “What now?”

  Cheery walked up the steps to the front door and rang the bell.

  Nathaniel ran up the shallow stairs two at a time. “You cannot just—oh, hello, Worthington,” he said as the butler opened the door.

  “Your Grace.” He bowed. “Mr. Gaunt. Please enter. I shall see if Lord Dacy is available. Unless you would rather speak to Lady Dacy?” His voice trailed off, leaving the question hanging politely in the air.

  “Lord Dacy will do,” Cheery replied.

  Worthington led them upstairs to a small sitting room at the front of the house while he went to find Lord Dacy.

  “This is deucedly awkward,” Nathaniel complained, pulling of his hat and running his hand over his brow. Although the sun had gone down hours ago, the air was still warm. In the distance he could hear the rumble of thunder. “We cannot just accuse him of kidnapping Miss Haywood. This entire situation has me confounded! Why would Dacy abduct her?” Nathaniel paced in a circuit around the room, pushing aside the scattered chairs if they presumed to stand in his way.

  “I am not accusing him of the abduction,” Cheery said, sitting down and stretching out his long legs. “Which is why I have not involved Bow Street. In fact, I d
on’t believe your brother-in-law is even aware he may have a guest in his attic. Either that, or a very lively ghost.”

  “Ghost!”

  Cheery laughed, and then stood up as the door opened.

  “Your Grace!” Dacy exclaimed as he entered.

  Following closely upon his heels was his wife Oriana, who flung herself into Nathaniel’s arms and pulled herself up on tiptoe to kiss him soundly on the cheek.

  “Nat! What are you doing here?” she asked, hugging him again before letting go. “Is everything all right? You look terribly worried.”

  “Never better.” Nathaniel kept an arm around her and forced a grin. He squeezed and couldn’t help but notice a little plumpness around her waist. “When is the happy event?”

  She pursed her mouth, her upper lip made even fuller by her slight overbite. She sighed. “Not for ages yet. September at the earliest.”

  Dacy stepped forward and extricated his wife from her brother’s grasp by shaking his hand. Then Dacy placed a heavy, proprietary arm around her shoulders while she glanced up at him and smiled.

  “To what do we owe this honor?” he asked.

  “It is the damnedest thing,” Nathaniel started, before apologizing swiftly to his sister. “Cheery—that is, Mr. Gaunt believes there may be, ah, someone in your attic.”

  “Someone in the attic?” Oriana stared at him with puzzlement darkening her brown eyes. “What precisely do you mean? Burglars?”

  “Oh, no, nothing of the kind,” Nathaniel hastened to assure her when her husband scowled.

  Dacy might not want his wife worried, but Nathaniel wasn’t sure he could accommodate his desires. It was rather distressing to have a kidnapped heiress living in one’s attic, and there was very little he could do to make the news more palatable. He pulled the lapels of his jacket uncomfortably.

  “Before we engage in a lot of speculation, why don’t we simply confirm it one way or the other?” Nathaniel suggested.

  Dacy nodded. “I agree.” He turned to his wife. “Wait here, my love, we will not be long.”

  “Why?” she asked. “I am not utterly incapacitated. I believe I am capable of climbing a few stairs.”

  “I will not disagree, but there is no point in traipsing around the dusty attics. I doubt we will find much more than a few mummified rats.”

  Nathaniel smiled and agreed, patting his sister’s plump shoulder. Only Cheery shrugged and maintained enough confidence to make Nathaniel suffer a spasm of confusion.

  Was Charlotte truly here? How could she be kept in the attic without Dacy or anyone else in the house knowing?

  He strode to the door, unable to control his desire to find Charlotte. “Are you coming?”

  “Wait here,” Dacy gave soft orders to his wife again, pressing a quick kiss to her temple before joining Nathaniel.

  Cheery brought up the rear, looking like a tall, black shadow drifting down the hallway behind them.

  The stairs to the attic were in the back of the house and formed a continuation of the servants’ stairway. When they got to the top, Nathaniel found a short hallway running along a wall the length of the townhouse.

  Several small rooms, full of trunks and dusty, broken furniture, opened out onto the corridor. The doors to the storage rooms were either missing or hanging awkwardly off their hinges.

  Nathaniel walked a few yards down the hallway, glancing around.

  “So, Your Grace,” Dacy drawled. “Where is your heiress?” He leaned against the long wall, arms crossed over his chest, the white scar on his face clear despite the dim lighting. He looked like a bored pirate who found the cargo hold of a captured ship weighted with ballast bricks instead of gold.

  At the end of the hall, Nathaniel turned to start back, when he noticed a narrow door. A stout piece of wood barred it. He grinned and motioned to the other two men.

  “What are you storing here, Dacy? I had not realized mummified rats required a door barred with a plank of wood to keep them imprisoned.”

  Dacy studied the wooden bar for a moment and shrugged. “I have never been up here, so I have no explanation. Would you like to open it or shall I?”

  “I will do the honors.” Nathaniel lifted the bar. Heart pounding, he thrust open the door.

  He strode into the room and glanced around quickly. A narrow cot stood against one wall, next to a small table.

  An old lantern and a tray covered by a piece of linen rested on the table. Tucked nearby was a rickety-looking chair. The bare floor was oddly marked with the letters of the alphabet written in a large, childish hand with chalk.

  “Well?” Dacy said. “Is she there?”

  The room seemed empty until Nathaniel stepped further inside. In the far corner, a shadowy figure stood, watching him.

  “Charlotte?” he called. “Don’t be frightened, ah, Miss Haywood. It’s Nathaniel, er, the Duke of Peckham.”

  “Nathaniel?” she asked. “Your Grace?” She turned away from a dusty window and moved hesitantly forward. “Is that really you?”

  “Yes, are you safe? Are you hurt?”

  She ran toward the door, pausing a yard away as if unsure of her welcome. He held out his hands, his muscles shaking with relief.

  She grabbed his hands, her eyes shining. “It really is you! Oh, this is such a relief. I—I feel almost faint.”

  His eyes roved over her face hungrily, hardly daring to believe she was alive and well. His glance took in her pale skin and a hint of moisture in her deep blue eyes. She blinked rapidly and her grip on his hands tightened, shaking with emotion. Finally, she shook off his grip and flung her arms around him, burying her face in his lapels.

  He cradled her head against him and pressed his cheek against her soft hair, breathing in the warm scent of her.

  “Charlotte!” he said, barely able to grind out her name. His heart hammered in his chest.

  Until that moment, he had not realized how desperately worried he had been. How frightened that she might already be dead. He couldn’t forget the woman with her throat slashed, dead in his carriage.

  What if that had happened to Charlotte?

  “Thank God!” he said. “I have been insane with worry—I thought I had lost you….” God, I love you.

  He clasped her more tightly against his chest. Before she could reply, he lifted her head and angled his mouth over hers.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  In all cases of fraud, however, the constable will do well to protect himself by the warrant of a justice. — Constable’s Pocket Guide

  Charlotte opened her lips in surprise, overcome with longing. The warm scent of Nathaniel’s skin, spiced with the scent of bay and lavender, filled her.

  Oh, she loved him so.

  She breathed deeply and slid her arms up his chest. His body was hard beneath her palms. The thick slabs of chest muscles bunched beneath her hands as his grip on her tightened. She felt so safe in his arms—accepted.

  He released her lips as his mouth ran down her neck before caressing the skin at the base of her throat. His hands pulled the lace at her neck, freeing her shoulders. His mouth brushed the sensitive skin as her breath caught in her throat.

  He leaned into her, pressing the lean length of him against her body.

  “Your Grace,” a man’s voice said from behind them.

  Charlotte buried her face in Nathaniel’s jacket, breathing in his warm scent. Why wouldn’t they leave them alone? She just wanted a few precious minutes with Nathaniel.

  “Your Grace?” Lord Dacy asked. “Are you…hurt?” His voice shook as if he was struggling for control.

  “Get out!” Nathaniel demanded, pressing Charlotte’s face into his chest.

  She moved restlessly in his arms and flicked a glance at Lord Dacy. A tall man dressed entirely in black moved into view. He examined her dispassionately.

  She was safe…and irritated by the unnecessary audience staring at her from the doorway.

  “Your Grace,” the man in black said. “I believe y
our sister is waiting for us.”

  Nathaniel’s fingers smoothed a curl at Charlotte’s nape, and he spoke gently into her hair, “I am sorry….”

  She lifted her head and caught his gaze. His eyes blazed. She held her breath, sure he was about to say the words she longed to hear, but he merely sighed and let her go.

  Perhaps it was only relief she saw in his eyes, not love.

  Charlotte flushed with embarrassment. She had let her feelings overwhelm her common sense and had responded wantonly to the duke’s kiss.

  Perhaps it was fortunate she had remained silent.

  She might have blurted out something that would embarrass them both, such as the humiliating fact that she just realized how much she loved him. The next few years were going to be very strained if she had to hide that unfortunate emotion and couldn’t convince Mr. Archer to let her leave for Egypt immediately.

  Her spirits sank. Nathaniel had embraced her because he was relieved to see her and misunderstanding his motives entirely, she had kissed him.

  He must be mortified.

  Why had not Red simply killed her when he had the opportunity? It would have been the kind thing to do.

  And now the duke would most likely feel obliged to ask her to marry him. She had compromised both of them when she kissed him in front of two witnesses. If she were not mistaken, Lord Dacy was the brother-in-law of His Grace, so he would undoubtedly convince him to “do the right and proper thing.”

  How utterly idiotic.

  With her back rigid, she walked out, only to hesitate in a narrow hallway. The stairs were not right outside the door as she imagined. The hall looked dusty and unused.

  She felt completely lost.

  “This way,” the dark, slender stranger said.

  She eyed him, examining his plain, black attire. The only spots of color were his white neckcloth and the soft glint of a gold watch chain crossing his waistcoat. His black eyes gleamed in his long, lean face, as if he enjoyed some mysterious joke. Perhaps he found the notion of her kissing a duke amusing.

  She glanced past him to see Nathaniel watching her, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked unhappy, as if he had just realized what she already knew: that if they allowed Society to dictate their actions, they were stuck with one another.