Passion Regency Style

by Wendy Vella

  He pulled on his breeches and started walking. No simpering, frothy chit could trap him, he thought, puffing out his chest like a proud, multicoloured peacock. He was, after all, an old hand at escaping sticky situations. He had decamped, not only with his bachelorhood intact, but also managed to save his pants and his dignity.

  He chuckled softly. His valet would be pleased and his coachman relieved. They were getting tired of finding him lurking around on street corners wearing only his unmentionables or, at times, nothing at all.

  “Bloody blooming roses sprouting out of a fairy’s arse!”

  The Earl skidded to a halt, the smile dying on his lips. Who could possess the voice of an angel and curse like a bloodthirsty pirate? He was intrigued.

  He raised his foot to bound ahead and discover the delightful creature when the sensible part of him forced him to pause and think . . . Was this another ploy of some young miss out to ensnare a husband?

  A skirt rustled somewhere close by.

  He tilted his head and his naughty ears trembled impatiently.

  Something or someone squeaked softly.

  He took a small step forward, and immediately the sensible part of him reared up once more in warning. He had but a moment ago escaped a terrifying virgin — could he afford to test his luck once again? What if this time he was caught and god forbid . . . forced into marrying a giggling, dim-witted creature.

  He shuddered. He had noticed an increasing amount of mothers with their unmarried daughters circling around him in ballrooms. He had learned to spot them a mile away. They were beautiful, innocent looking creatures filled with evil complicated plans that involved trapping poor, harmless attractive men like himself into marriage.

  Mothers and their daughters, he thought grimly, should be allowed to hunt with rifles. Any young woman actively searching for a mate would bring down more prey than the best of shots in London.

  The moon brightened at that moment illuminating a bit of dark green skirt peeking out from behind the tree.

  The wise, sensible part of him went quiet.

  It was not every day that one heard a cultured voice utter such words aloud. If it was another contrived ploy, then it was a creative one.

  He took another cautious step forward. He wondered how a woman from a respectable background learned such an inspired cuss. That she was cultured, he did not doubt. The dignified hiss and the fact that this was the viscount’s ball, with only the select upper class invited, ensured the presence of only the well-bred variety.

  It could be someone’s chaperone, he mused, as he tiptoed towards the tree. The voice, though, had sounded too young to belong to a chaperone, and he truly doubted if a lady in hopes of finding a husband would resort to uttering expletives in dark corners of gardens.

  If anything, it would have sent a man with any sense running in the opposite direction.

  “Bollocks!” the hidden stranger muttered.

  This charming new exclamation decided him, and he quickened his step. He convinced himself that he was safe from the dangers of matchmaking as his curiosity mounted.

  A twig snapped under his foot, sounding like a whiplash in the silent night. He winced at the sound and found a head peering at him from behind the tree.

  “Are you all right, madam?” he asked, sending a swift prayer up to anyone who might deal with matters of luck.

  There was a beat of silence before the girl gently lifted her skirts and stepped towards him. He briefly cursed the sliver of moonlight that hid more than it showed. The rustle of cloth had sounded like silk, and now he desperately wanted to see her face.

  “Yes, My Lord. I felt a little faint from the heat in the ballroom.”

  That cuss wouldn’t have come out of a fainting belle, he thought smirking.

  She still stood near the looming tree, which dispersed whatever little light the moon threw out. Her voice sounded vaguely familiar, but he could not place it.

  “That was an inventive little oath. Wherever did you hear it first?” he drawled.

  A tiny gasp was followed by an outraged silence.

  The Earl wanted to grin in delight. He truly shouldn’t have mentioned that, but some devilry in him had prompted him. He had been bored with social games, and since the season was ending, his refined edges were fraying.

  “You sounded out of temper,’’ he continued. “How can I be of assistance? It is sometimes easier to talk to strangers.”

  “You, My Lord, are not a stranger.”

  “Your frigid tones warm my heart. I wonder what you have heard about me. I assure you, I do not bite. Come, tell me what is wrong?”

  Again, a beat of silence followed. He could almost hear the wheels turning in her head, her need to unburden her woes warring with her need to behave like a lady and not gossip.

  “Miss Clearwater told me that-that I resembled a pea!” came the mortified reply, followed by a shocked gasp. She had clearly not meant to say it.

  Ah! The lady in question had her refined edges fraying as well.

  “A P?”

  “The tiny, disgusting, green vegetable.”

  “Surely that’s nothing to get worked up about? I have heard women can be a lot more vicious.”

  He held out his hand and waggled his fingers impatiently. They needed to get back indoors before they were discovered in this dark, lonely part of the garden. And the last thing he wanted at the moment was to be discovered with someone who resembled a little round vegetable.

  Her father would likely jump at the chance and insist his lovely daughter had been compromised. Thereafter, he would be doomed to marry her and produce little round green children. The prospect sounded far from being pleasant.

  She ignored the hand and continued bitterly. “Yes, it should not have bothered me, but she said it in front of the only man who has shown any interest in me during the entire season. She, being the beauty of the ton, turned her wiles on him, and all my hopes of being married are now dashed, for his eyes glazed over the moment she smiled at him.”

  “He sounds like an insipid sort of fellow. He should have stood by you instead of being charmed by that cat." He had spoken absently. He was growing concerned about the fact that he was still chatting with this girl, who by her own admission was so unappealing that only a milk faced sop had paid any attention to her the entire season.

  His eyes warily tracked the dark looming shadows, wondering if one of them was her father waiting for the right moment to pop out and declare a quick trip to Gretna Green was now in order.

  Her giggle snapped his attention back. She had a pretty laugh.

  “You haven’t been deceived by her looks, My Lord?”

  “Anyone with more wit than the hair on his head can tell that the young Miss Clearwater, however well packaged, is dangerous.”

  “I suppose there is always next year.”

  “I am sure you will make an excellent match next season, miss. Now, we truly should be going indoors. You must be getting chilled.”

  “I am perfectly fine, and the evening is uncommonly hot. You can go, My Lord. I want to stay out here a little longer.”

  “I cannot leave a young lady unattended. Please take my arm now,” he commanded.

  The girl ignored him. Instead, she picked up her skirts and ran in the opposite direction of the house.

  He groaned and took off after her. He knew she didn’t want her identity known. Not after that florid outburst and all she had revealed in her agitation, but he was in no mood to play games.

  He could see the outline of her running figure, and her slight build put him in mind of a wood nymph. Her emerald dress sparkled in the light of the various lamps around the garden path. He increased his speed as she turned the corner and momentarily disappeared from his sight.

  He paused. He should leave her to her fate. He was a rake, after all. But then his conscience intervened. He may be a rake, but he had always been a gentleman rake.

  They had reached the end of the garden before he ca
ught up with her. He was impressed with her pace, giving him his first clue as to who she was–someone who had assuredly spent her life in the country.

  He grabbed her hand and brought her to a stop. Before she could even think of struggling in his grip, he forced her to turn around. She was afraid of his discovering her identity, so once he knew it, she would stop this nonsense of trying to escape him.

  He stared down into a delicate face now bathed in moonlight. Long gold lashes rimmed eyes the colour of new budding leaves. Her mouth was a full pink, her features fragile. Shock had him rooted to the spot. This was no wallflower, no ugly miss.

  This was the extremely beautiful, Emma Grey.

  The reason no one had approached her was not due to lack of beauty or birth but because she had three very big, very surly and very possessive elder brothers. Her brothers eyed any man hovering in Emma’s vicinity with undisguised menace.

  The Earl had been introduced to her and danced with her once, all the while holding her as far away from him as possible lest her brothers were watching. He had wisely left her alone after that.

  He should have remembered his wisdom then. He should have recalled her burly brothers to mind. He should have dropped his hands and quickly made his way back.

  He didn’t. Instead, he foolishly kissed her and then promptly fell in love.

  Chapter One

  The ton was aflutter when they discovered the news of Miss Emma Grey snaring the most eligible bachelor of the season.

  The society papers were full of the romantic match, and even the most conservative of the lot approved. Miss Grey was, after all, the daughter of a respectable man next in line for a Dukedom.

  Emma’s father, Lord Grey, was the first cousin of the Duke of Arden and next in line to inherit. The Duke had no other male heirs and was of considerable age; hence, the title was sure to pass on to Lord Grey.

  All that Lord Grey had to do was wait and pray for his dear cousin to depart for heaven and sooner done the better.

  Lady Grey was delighted to be sure. Emma was nineteen, having missed the first two seasons of coming out. The first season Emma’s grandfather had died, and the next year was followed by the death of her grandmother. Her darling daughter, in the year of her debut, had snatched the young, handsome and superbly wealthy Richard Hamilton from under the very nose of Miss Clearwater. Nothing could have made her happier.

  Meanwhile, Emma had spent the entire season wondering if she were a homely sort. She refused to believe the compliments of her loved ones. She didn’t think she would ever find a man, since most men under the age of fifty, married or otherwise, barely looked her in the eye and departed as soon as common courtesy allowed.

  She soon learned the reason when Lord Hamilton hesitatingly requested her to speak to her brothers and beg them to spare his life.

  Understandably furious, Emma took her three brothers to task. The five feet four inches tall girl faced her six foot muscled brothers and gave them a tongue lashing that they never forgot.

  In spite of the terror their sister had induced in them, they still refused to allow the Earl to court her.

  Lord Hamilton proved his love and devotion for Emma in the only way a man can prove his worth. Nights out in pubs with contests as to who could drink more ale followed for the next few weeks. After that came archery competitions and horse racing.

  Lord Hamilton proved his might and successfully and cleverly won over the three surly brothers.

  A month later, looking pale and worn out, he finally presented his proposal to Emma’s father and was accepted.

  You would think the trials for the lovers were now over. The brothers were agreeable, the parents pleased, and the ton approved.

  Yet, the biggest hurdle was still to be faced. The Duke of Arden heard of the engagement, and thus began the most difficult battle the two had ever faced.

  ***

  Emma nibbled her bottom lip worriedly. “Richard, we have a problem.”

  “What is it?” the Earl asked absently.

  They were taking a carriage ride around town, and having his betrothed so close to him was proving to be awfully tempting. He wanted to grab her and kiss her. The occasional brush of her skirt and her being completely unaware of his state was frustrating to say the least.

  The last thing he wanted was to have an extended engagement. He was the kind of man, who once made up his mind, stuck to his resolution and tried to finish off the task as speedily as possible.

  The fact that his fiancée was so very desirable had him wishing that they didn’t have to wait a full two months before the wedding occurred.

  His protests had been shot down, not only by his future mother-in-law, but also by his future bride. Neither of them could fathom how a wedding could be organised in anything less than three months. Two months was all the compromise they were willing to offer.

  Emma turned towards him. “Do you know my uncle, the Duke of Arden?”

  “No. He retired to the country before I graced society, and prior to that I was at Oxford.”

  “Well, yes, but you know of him?” she asked impatiently.

  “Who does not?” he asked grumpily.

  “His daughter, Catherine and I spend our summers together. We are very close, and the Duke is exceedingly fond of me, and he . . . he heard of the engagement.”

  The Earl heard the slight tremor in her voice. He turned to look at her and noticed for the first time that something was troubling her.

  He would have noticed earlier, but his mind had been preoccupied with trying to keep his hands off her. He wanted to be respectable and start his marriage on the right footing. His Cherie Amie had been politely told to retire and compensated well for her expertise. Now he wanted to be a perfect gentleman, honourable to his vows and faithful to his wife.

  He could not afford to ruin his new found resolutions by tumbling in the hay with his fiancée.

  “Is the Duke against the marriage?” he asked, feeling slightly ill.

  “No, no . . . it’s not that. His Grace is pleased, or rather delighted that I am engaged. He has even invited us to have our wedding in a church near his home. You would admire him greatly. He has been so generous to our family. My father often seeks his advice on important matters — ”

  “You are babbling, my dear. Now, out with it.”

  She took a deep breath and let the words out in a rush. “He wants us to wait a year.”

  “No!” he exploded.

  This would not do, not do at all. He would never be able to stay celibate for an entire year. He was, after all, a hot-blooded man.

  The Duke had no right to dictate to him about how and when his wedding occurred. He would not allow it. Two months had seemed like an eternity, and the thought of delaying the wedding for a year had him breaking out in a cold sweat.

  “For one moment stop thinking about the marriage bed and hear me out,” Emma snapped.

  The Earl turned to stare at his fiancée. He should be used to her shocking ways by now . . . but he was not. She continuously surprised him with her boldness. In fact, she had made three dames swoon at the last ball they had attended together.

  He shook his head disapprovingly. If anyone had the right to scandalize the ton, then it was him. But now that they were getting married, he had tamed his behaviour somewhat. However, his future bride was another matter.

  He would have to take her in hand, starting now.

  “Why do you think I was thinking of the marriage bed? Are you?” he asked silkily.

  She blushed.

  That calmed the Earl down. At least she had a modicum of maidenly modesty intact.

  “No . . . that is what my mother told me. She told me to be careful around you because men had only one thing on their mind.”

  The Earl scowled, regardless of the fact that her mother had told her exactly what he had been struggling with a few moments ago.

  “I can control myself,” he bit out.

  “So, then you will have no t
rouble waiting a year,” she responded slyly.

  He smiled in appreciation of her tactic. But he was far cleverer than she gave him credit for, and he was not willing to wait any longer.

  “I will not wait longer than two months,” he said firmly. "I desire you too much." If she could not curb her wild tongue, then nor would he.

  Emma was stunned into silence. She had hoped to rile him up and have him defend his position as a gentleman. She had not expected him to admit he wanted her too much to wait.

  She felt curiously thrilled at the thought. His kisses had told her enough to know that the result would not be entirely unpleasant.

  She took a trembling breath. “Still . . . we cannot marry for a year. My father cannot afford to alienate the Duke since he is next in line to inherit. The Duke might decide to take another heir if we displease him. We have to heed his wishes. Can you imagine our third cousin, Mr Barwinkle, becoming the next Duke?” she pleaded. “Why, he looks like a flea bitten rabbit!”

  The Earl was silent.

  “Please don’t be angry, Richard. My family cannot disregard his request on such an important matter. He is really quite reasonable. I am sure once I plead my case, he will reconsider,” she placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. “I am planning to visit him and convince him. He must have a good reason for asking us to delay the wedding. I simply need to prove to him that I have made the right choice. I will allay his concerns, and he is intelligent enough to listen to reason.”

  The Earl grew more and more annoyed all through Emma’s speech. Their courtship had been quick, and he had not yet spent enough time with her to know her well. Her brothers had kept him busy during most of their relationship. A few moments alone together with an abigail keeping a close eye on them was hardly enough time to learn her character.

  She had agreed to marry him and seemed to like him, but neither of them had mentioned love. Love was unfashionable, and marriages were made according to status.

  The Earl, however, when it came to taking a wife, held very old fashioned views. He loved her . . . but he did not know her. It was a confounding experience.