Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  The music greeted them, and the sound of laughter and chatter. He escorted Lucy and her friend to the box. Patience, he noticed, had moved to one side to allow Lucy to arrive first. He greeted the Stanhope family, whom he had known for many years, then prepared to leave, as his party was a few tables away.

  “Play nice,” he whispered in Patience’s ear, as he had many times during their childhood when she had tried to beat him at some game or other. She ignored him, of course, as he’d known she would.

  Patience had to admit an hour later that the Stanhope family were nice people. Lord and Lady Stanhope appeared a friendly couple, and they welcomed Patience, Lucy and Amanda to their table and set about making them feel at ease. Their son, James, had eyes for Lucy only, but he talked with both her and Amanda, and she felt a tug of guilt over her treatment of him when first they had met. His sister, Ellen, was a vivacious young lady whom Lucy seemed to get on well with also.

  She should be happy, shouldn’t she? If Lucy did indeed make a match with Mr. James Stanhope, she would be welcomed into this family with open arms, as would Patience and Charlie, so why did the thought not fill her with joy?

  Because then everything would change, and it would just be herself and Charlie left; their little circle would be broken. You’re a small-minded person, she told herself. She had only ever wanted happiness for her siblings, and yet she was resentful.

  Looking at the table two along from theirs, she found Mathew. He had been sitting next to Simon, but now a lady was beside him. She was beautiful, her snow-white hair immaculately styled. As she leant towards him, her breast brushed his arm.

  “Hussy,” she muttered, ignoring the jealousy that was now coursing through her body.

  He was sharing the table with the Duke and Duchess of Stratton. She knew that because she had been introduced to them a few nights ago by Lord Kelkirk, whom she had been dancing with. The woman Patience did not know giggled at something Mathew had said, and it sounded like a set of bells perfectly in tune. He appeared at ease with her attentions, his body relaxed and a ready smile on his handsome face. Not that she cared, Patience thought as she pulled her gaze away; the woman was welcome to him.

  The problem, of course, was that she did care…very much, and hated that she did. When she had heard his voice as the boat arrived at Vauxhall Gardens, something inside her had wanted to cry, Yes! I am safe now he is here, and that was not right. Patience did not rely on people to protect her or her family; she did that perfectly well by herself.

  “We must take our places now, as Madame Saqui is soon to start,” Mr. Stanhope said, helping Lucy from her seat.

  The guests made their way to the rope that was suspended high in the air, and the hum of expectation grew. It was reported that Madame Saqui could run down it, and did so with fireworks exploding beneath her.

  “Are you looking forward to the entertainment, Miss Allender?”

  “I am, Mr. Stanhope, as I have heard a great deal about Madame Saqui.”

  He was a nice-looking man, with a handsome, almost boyish charm, and none of the hard angles that Mathew had. She had been wrong to treat him as she had.

  “I must apologize for my behavior when first we met, Mr. Stanhope.”

  “Think nothing of it. I admired you for speaking to me that way,” he said, his eyes on Lucy, who stood before them. “But please be assured that I would never do anything to harm your sister, Miss Allender, as she is very special to me.”

  “Thank you. I am glad to hear that, as she is very special to me also.” If she’d had any doubts as to his feelings toward Lucy, he had just allayed them.

  He bowed, then moved to her sister’s side.

  The music built to a crescendo, and then Madame Saqui appeared and Patience held her breath. The first firework exploded, making her jump. The elegant Madame Saqui looked as if she were gliding across a dance floor instead of a narrow rope, and below her everyone stood in awe.

  She felt a tingle in her right cheek, which made her turn. She saw him then—her cousin, looking at her with a gentle smile on his face. As usual, it was his eyes that gave him away; even from this distance, they were menacing. He gave her a final look before disappearing into the crowd.

  Patience was not normally a rash person; she had realized early in her role as head of the Allender household that she could no longer afford to be. However, her cousin was someone who made her lose the ability to think. When she saw him, rational thought was flung to the four winds and she acted purely on impulse—which was totally justified, considering Brantley Winston was intent on ending her brother’s life.

  In seconds she was following him, her hand going to the reticule that hung from her wrist to ensure that her pistol was still inside. She had no plans to get close to him, but she wanted to observe him, see whom he was with and where he went. She would then report any findings back to Mr. Whitty, as he had said to watch whom Brantley associated with if ever she got the chance.

  Heart thumping, she was soon able to move faster as the crowd cleared. She increased her pace, as she did not want to lose sight of him.

  He had chosen a well-lit path. There were a few guests who had forgone the excitement that Madame Saqui offered to wander arm in arm, no doubt looking for a place to exchange a few indiscreet kisses. Looking ahead, she could no longer see Brantley.

  “Bother,” Patience muttered, slowing to a walk as she looked off the sides of the path to see if he was hiding there.

  “Looking for me, Cousin?”

  He stepped from behind a tree and stopped directly in front of her. She was safe here—he could do nothing in such a well-lit area—but just in case, she slowly opened her reticule and slipped her hand inside, wrapping her fingers around her small pistol.

  “I was taking a walk, Cousin. How lovely to run into you whilst doing so,” Patience said with a calm she was far from feeling. She hated this man so much that it almost choked her.

  His eyes narrowed, but the look on his face was pleasant. “How is Charlie? I have yet to see him since I arrived in London.”

  “He is safe, and you will get nowhere near him.”

  “There is always a way, Cousin.”

  Brantley always managed to look hurt when she talked this way. Never had he openly acknowledged his intentions or owned up to what he’d done, but it seemed that was about to change.

  “You will not get near him,” Patience growled, wondering if she shot him now and ran, she could get away before anyone realized what had happened. Looking around, she saw only one couple, and they were searching for a secluded alcove.

  “I will have that title and the wealth attached, and then, my dear, sweet little cousin, I will have you.”

  “I will kill you first,” she said softly.

  “You, a woman?” he laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. You could never harm me.”

  “I will go to the authorities.”

  “And say what?” Brantley laughed again, although it held no humor and instead made Patience shiver. “That you believe your cousin is trying to kill your brother? It will be your word against that of a respectable man, one who is loved by many. While you”—he gave her a pitying look—“have no friends, and, I would suggest, inspire loyalty in no one.”

  And therein lay the problem. Brantley appeared to be a gentle, kind nobleman. His face was youthful, his eyes were a soft brown, and he always smiled. Women flocked to him, men trusted him with just a look, and even though she knew he was Satan himself, no one else did.

  “What’s wrong, Cousin? Are your meager coffers finally running dry?” Patience shouldn’t taunt him, but she would not let him see how much he frightened her. Her best defense had always been to attack.

  When his father died, Brantley had been left with an income, but not one that could sustain the extravagant lifestyle she knew he wished for.

  “My father left me a pittance, and I want what is rightfully mine!”

  She didn’t know how he kept his expression pleasant whe
n his eyes were mean.

  “But it is not rightfully yours. It is Charles’s title and Charlie’s money, and he is entitled to it by birthright, unlike you.”

  “You cannot watch him every minute of every day, Cousin.”

  She managed to smile. “I can, and I will. Furthermore, I will put a bullet through your heart should you try to touch my brother again.”

  “I’m going to kill you too, Cousin,” he snarled as his composure fled. “But I will make you watch your brother die first.”

  Quick as a snake, he wrapped his hand around her throat. She felt his fingers bite into her flesh, and seconds later she was struggling for air. Her reticule fell to her feet as she clutched the pistol and lifted it to his chest. The pressure eased as he realized what she was holding, then he stepped back.

  “Be vigilant, sweet cousin. I am coming for you and your brother.”

  With those words he turned and walked away, leaving her gasping as she watched him disappear.

  “Patience.” She heard Mathew’s voice, seconds or minutes later, she was not sure which. “Why are you walking along this path alone?”

  Realizing she was still holding her pistol, she attempted to tuck it into the folds of her skirt and as she drew air into her lungs. Her throat hurt where Brantley had squeezed it, even though the contact had only been brief.

  “I-I will return now,” she rasped, not looking at him as he arrived at her side.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “N-no.” She faced him.

  He reached for her chin, lifting it before she could stop him. “You are stuttering, and that tells me that something is indeed wrong.”

  “I…ah, a man,” she said. “He scared me.”

  “What man?” His eyes narrowed as his gaze moved from her face to the path behind them. “What did he do to you?”

  “He is gone now,” she whispered, still trying to breathe deeply. Brantley’s fingers had briefly blocked the air from entering her throat, and she still felt their imprint on her neck.

  “Tell me what he looks like and I’ll find him,” Mathew said with deadly calm.

  “No!” Patience grabbed his arm. “No,” she said again with less force. “H-he will be gone now.” She could not tolerate the thought of Mathew anywhere near Brantley, because her cousin would not hesitate to hurt him. He was ruthless and would let no one stop him from obtaining his goal.

  “You look about ready to faint, Patience.” He placed an arm around her back to steady her, and she prayed he wouldn’t see her pistol. “Sit for a minute,” he said, leading her to a seat set back from the path. He lowered her onto it, then went back and retrieved her reticule. She felt his body pressing into her side once more as he settled beside her.

  “The man did this to you?” He tilted her chin, his fingers tightening briefly as he studied her neck in the weak torchlight.

  “Did what?”

  “There are marks on your neck made by fingers.” Patience heard the anger in his voice as his eyes ran over her face and neck.

  “I want to go back to Lucy, please.”

  “I will take you back shortly, but I’m sure you would like to compose yourself before seeing your sister.”

  Yes, she did not want Lucy upset tonight, not when she was enjoying the evening so much.

  Before Patience could object, Mathew had slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. She should resist, but instead she found her face pressed into his chest. Listening to the thud of his heart beneath her cheek made the fear inside her begin to ease. For now she was safe. Tomorrow would be another matter, but for these few precious minutes she could pretend. She felt his hand on her back, moving up and down, offering her comfort, and then he pulled the pistol from her hand.

  “Why are you carrying a pistol, Patience?”

  She quickly sat upright and reached for it, but he held it away from her. It looked small and useless in his hands, but she knew different. That small weapon offered her security when she left the house by herself or with her family.

  “I use it to protect myself.”

  “Commendable, I’m sure, but why, if you did not expect to be attacked, was it in your hand? Surely you did not have time to retrieve it from your reticule, or from beneath your skirts, if you were struggling to break free from whoever grabbed you?”

  She made the mistake of lifting her gaze from the pistol to his face, and saw rage smoldering in the green depths of his eyes.

  “Let me tell you what I think, Patience. I think that whoever attacked you is likely the same person who shot at you at the cowkeeper’s shop, and that this time you chose to confront him in a reckless manner, but he was waiting for you.”

  He’d often outsmarted her in their youth, had often been the first to come to the correct conclusion. He had done the same now, but this time she could not allow him to believe he was right.

  “I have no idea what you are talking about.” Patience quickly stood then and held out her hand. “Please give me back my pistol.”

  He rose too, standing so close to her that she could see the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he drew. “I believe we have already concluded that you are not a good liar, so start telling me the truth.”

  “I have nothing to add. Now return my pistol, please.”

  It was a stalemate, and as they were both stubborn and she could see no other way out of this confrontation, she stomped on his foot as hard as she could. It should have caused him to grab said foot and release her pistol, but instead had him dropping the pistol into his pocket before he grabbed her and pulled her into his arms.

  “Nice try.”

  “Let me go, Mathew.”

  “I don’t know what is going on with you and your family, Patience, but I know there is some kind of threat. Will you not let me help you?”

  The temptation to do just that had her biting her lip. To have his strength and power to help her through this would be wonderful, but that would also put him in danger, so she simply remained silent and absorbed the delight of being held in his arms yet again.

  “God, you are a trying woman,” he said, this time against her lips. “But also a beautiful and extremely tempting one.”

  She rose up to meet his lips, fool that she was, arching close as he slipped his arms around her waist and kissed her. His hands started moving, one sweeping her spine to settle just above the swell of her buttocks, the other on her ribs, inches from her breast. Dear Lord, she could almost feel him touching her there. Her bosom ached and swelled with need at the thought. She felt him step backward, taking her with him, and then she was seated on his lap.

  “Mathew—”

  He kissed her into silence, deepening the contact and making her head feel light. One hand touched the edge of her bodice, tracing the neckline over the rise of her breasts. She had never felt anything so wonderful. She wanted more; her body ached for his touch. As if sensing her need, he dipped his fingers into her bodice and touched her more intimately, the tips of his fingers near her nipples, which were hard and peaked.

  “Christ, your scent drives me wild,” he rasped against her skin, his lips having left hers to touch her neck. Patience could do nothing to stop the moan as he kissed her heated flesh.

  The sound of laughter stopped him. He lifted his head and placed a soft, lingering kiss on her lips before lifting her back to her feet. She was pleased to hear she was not the only one affected by the passion of their kiss, as his breath came in short rasps.

  “We are not finished talking, you and I. I will call upon you again soon to discuss what just happened between us as well as the threat to your family, and this time you will tell me—”

  “No. What just happened was a mistake, and as to the other, I will not put you in danger by involving you, and I would ask you to respect that decision.” Patience knew she could no longer fob him off with lies, but she could withhold information.

  “You acknowledge that there is a threat, then.” His eyes were heated, th
e remnants of what they had just shared lingering in their depths.

  “You are no fool,” she said. “But I would ask you to honor my wishes in this.”

  He started to shake his head. Seizing the moment, she slipped her hand into his pocket and retrieved her pistol, then fled. Picking up her skirts, she ran down the path and back to Lucy, praying that Mathew would keep his distance for the remainder of the evening.

  Mathew walked up the path slowly, searching the small alcoves—looking for whom or what, he had no idea, but he needed to look anyway. Patience had said she had been attacked, and the marks on her neck and the fear in her eyes told him something had indeed happened. She had also admitted that her family was under threat from someone. The problem was, Mathew did not know who.

  He could not believe that when he’d found her, she was carrying a pistol. Anger that someone would touch her had him wanting to track the man down and pummel him, but he couldn’t do that until she told him who that person was.

  “God, you frustrate me,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

  His body was still alive from their kiss. Her scent seemed to call to him, and her lips… Mathew closed his eyes briefly. They tasted exotic and forbidden. The feel of Patience’s lush curves pressed against him was a sensual torment, and he wanted more. Clenching his fingers into a fist, he held the memory of her silken skin close. He could no longer deny what was happening between them, and realized he did not want to.

  As he slowly retraced his steps back to the party, he saw only a handful of people. He swallowed his laughter when he found Patience talking with the Duke and Duchess of Stratton. It seemed their parties had united, as Lucy was standing with Mr. Stanhope and together they were speaking with Simon. Patience would not be happy about that; Mathew was sure she had wanted to avoid him for the remainder of the evening.