Passion Regency Style

by Wendy Vella

  “This park?” she asked as she waved toward the row of hedges behind where they stood.

  “Yes. My lady,” he added quickly.

  Julia’s eyebrows arched up. “During the fashionable hour?”

  she questioned in disbelief.

  “Yes, my lady. Many times, in fact. I ...” He stopped when her finger was suddenly on its way up.

  “Indeed?” she responded, obviously not believing his claim. “And yet, from the way you behaved back there, I would have thought you new to the whole experience,” she chided. Her free hand went to rest on her hip, a move Alistair had seen his mother do a dozen times when she was about to lecture his father. “I am quite capable of handling my horse. And those of the riders around me, should the need arise,” she added, her voice rising to indicate her impatience with him. “There is no need for you to be ... to be escorting me as if I’m a chit straight out of the schoolroom,” she continued, her lecture taking on the same tone as any of those his mother might have delivered. But Lady Julia seemed to grow more attractive as she continued, her words calling attention to the shape of her mouth, her cheeks pinking up with her exertion, her eyes brightening as if tears might be collecting.

  “I realize that now, my lady,” Alistair stated with a nod, suddenly aware of how fetching the chit looked with her face lifted up to take in his, and how the fist at her waist accentuated just how slender she was. “As I was trying to say, I apologize for what happened, and I assure you, it will never happen again,” he said with a nod.

  Julia blinked. Again? Did the groom actually believe he would be escorting her in the park again? “Of course, it won’t, Mr. Comber. I can assure you, I won’t allow you to be my escort in the park ever again.”

  Alistair felt a sudden panic grip his stomach. If Lady Julia mentioned what happened to her father, or worse, the head groom, Mr. Grimes would probably fire him. He needed this position! In just a few days, he would be making his way to the Seven Dials where Michael Regan’s widow lived with her children. He intended to give her enough money to pay the rent for a year and to buy food for a month. Without the pay he was counting on from his work in the stables, he would have nothing to live on unless he borrowed against his investment from the sale of his commission. “Please, my lady,” Alistair whispered, his desperation clear in his voice. “I need this position. I’ll do anything ...”

  “Anything?” Julia interrupted, her head tilting to one side. If I ask him now, he can’t say ‘no’, she thought quickly.

  “Anything,” Alistair agreed with a nod. Christ, what have I agreed to? he wondered, his panic replaced with another when he realized she had already conjured the ‘anything’.

  Julia allowed a small smile. “Including becoming a gentleman?” she wondered, an eyebrow arching up with the question.

  Alistair blinked. Becoming a gentleman? He blinked again. But he was already ... “A gentleman?” he repeated, thinking perhaps he misunderstood her demand.

  “Yes. I wish to make you into a gentleman. And you must pass as one when you attend my parent’s ball at the end of this month,” she stated, her chin lifting with the last few words.

  Alistair blinked again. I have to become a gentleman? By the end of the month? “My lady, in what way must I ... become a gentleman?” he queried, curious as to her motive. What would she have him do that he hadn’t already done in his life as the son of an earl?

  The question seemed to catch Julia off-guard. “Well, you’ll have to learn how to bow, of course,” she began uncertainly.

  Alistair glanced around, and once he was sure no one was about, he executed the perfect bow.

  Julia continued as if she hadn’t just witnessed his perfect bow. “And how to dance,” she continued. “I’ll employ a dance master for you, of course,” she added, as if she expected him to deny his ability to learn to dance.

  But Alistair was about to claim he already knew how to dance when he realized that, as a groom, he would only be expected to know the country dances done longways. “Of course,” he agreed with a nod.

  “And we’ll have to work on your diction. You’ll need to be able to speak like a gentleman, and not sound like you’re from one of the northern counties,” Julia continued as if he hadn’t said a word. Or several of them. In a manner that was clearly not of one hailing from the northern counties.

  Alistair blinked. Where did she think he was from? Do I sound like I’m from Yorkshire? Or Northumberland? Or, worse, Scotland? He sometimes couldn’t understand a single word a Scotsman said, especially after a pint or two at the pub. “Of course not, my lady,” he agreed automatically.

  Suddenly cocking her head the other direction, Julia regarded him for a moment. “Just what county are you from?” she wondered suddenly.

  Swallowing, Alistair wondered how to respond. He decided truth was the best. It wasn’t as if he was going to start speaking like he was from Scotland when the chit had already heard him say more than a dozen words in his own Queen’s English. And hers. “Sussex, my lady,” he answered with a nod.

  Julia seemed to deflate and show relief all at the same time. “Oh,” she acknowledged, her head bobbing up and down. “Well, that should make it a bit easier then,” she said under her breath. When she didn’t offer another condition, Alistair dared to ask if that was all.

  “Is that all, my lady?” he ventured carefully. What else could she have him do? There wasn’t time to attend Cambridge or Oxfordshire for a quick degree in philosophy or history. Besides, he already had one of those.

  “Well, if there was time, I would send you to Cambridge,” she started to say before her eyes suddenly widened. “Can you read?” she asked suddenly.

  Alistair had to suppress a grin. Could the chit read his mind? “I can, my lady,” he stated emphatically. “Enough,” he added, when he realized a typical groom would only be able to read what he needed for his job.

  Julia seemed relieved by the news. “Well, then, there’s only one other obvious trait of a gentleman, and that would be ...”

  Alistair had to suppress a grin. Was she about to suggest he would need to learn how to kiss? For if that were the case, he really didn’t require any lessons. He would be more than glad to take Lady Julia as a pupil, in fact, for he rather doubted she had ever had the pleasure of a truly good kiss. A kiss that might include open mouths and a bit of touching tongues and ... he straightened as he realized Lady Julia was staring at him. Staring at him with a rather odd expression on her face. “And, what might that be, my lady?” he asked, thinking she didn’t look as if she was about to provide the information without a bit of encouragement.

  Julia stared at the groom as if she were seeing him for the first time. Good Lord! Could the man truly be the perfect candidate to become a gentleman? She recalled how she and Samantha had watched him from her bedchamber window, ogling him as if they were admiring an animal at the menagerie at the Tower of London. His shoulders were truly broad, his arms barely contained in the ridiculous livery, his legs long and strong ... and that derriere, she suddenly remembered. She had admired that behind from behind for most of her ride today. And she’d never noticed a man’s bottom before. Never!

  What had he just asked? What were they even talking about?

  Gentlemen!

  Her mind suddenly back on track, Julia nodded, remembering his query. “Clothes, Mr. Comber. Clothes make the gentleman,” she stated emphatically.

  Alistair felt a rock fall into his stomach. Clothes? Christ! How could he afford the wardrobe required of a gentleman? He owned an entire wardrobe suitable for an aristocrat, including shoes and boots, but he’d barely had time to pack before he took his leave of his father’s house. He certainly hadn’t taken any formal clothes, or even a decent topcoat. And given that fashion had changed just a bit while he was on the Continent, he decided sending a footman to collect even a portion of his wardrobe was probably a waste of time. “Of course, my lady,” he murmured, disappointment apparent in the tone of his voice
.

  “Which I shall arrange with the help of my brother’s valet,” Julia said brightly. “It’s possible you’ll be able to wear some of Charlie’s—he’s rarely home these days—and if not, I’ll just hire a tailor to see to your needs for the ball,” she assured him, her head bobbing up and down.

  Alistair straightened, his frame towering over hers as they stood near the hedgerow. “These lessons ... they’ll have to be at a time when Mr. Grimes doesn’t need me in the stables,” Alistair said carefully. How would he explain his need to take time away? And if Lady Julia thought she would be hiring a tailor on his behalf—and paying for any clothes that might have to be made for him—she was sorely mistaken.

  He wasn’t about to allow a woman to purchase clothing on his behalf. He wasn’t allowed to do it for her, after all, so why would he allow her to do it for him? Although, Alistair thought Julia would look especially fetching in a teal blue satin gown, its fabric accentuating her delicate curves and making her appear just a bit taller. With her blonde hair done up in a tumble of curls, she would be the perfect companion at a ton ball. Or anywhere, for that matter. Why, she would look perfect in a boat on the Thames, or on a high-perch phaeton, or ...

  What the hell?

  Alistair shook himself, blinking as he did so to clear the images of Lady Julia he had conjured of her just then. He was the hired help! He couldn’t be imagining Lady Julia in such clothes. But if he didn’t, he realized, he’d be imagining her wearing no clothes.

  He gulped. The thought of Lady Julia wearing nothing was ...

  “Are you well, Mr. Comber?” he heard suddenly. Gads! How many times had she asked him that question?

  “I am, my lady,” he responded quickly, giving a nod as he did so.

  “I know it’s a good deal to consider,” Julia continued, as if he hadn’t spoken a word, “But I do believe with just a bit of effort on your part, you could make the perfect gentleman.”

  Alistair straightened, her words somehow offending him and heartening him all at the same time. Couldn’t she tell just from looking at him that he was a gentleman? Wasn’t it apparent that he stood just a bit straighter than his peers in Harrington House? That he spoke a bit better? That he was to the manor born?

  And then he remembered the very dictate he’d told himself earlier.

  The ton only saw what they expected to see.

  He was expected to look like a groom, so that’s what Julia saw. That’s all she saw. Other than the possibility that he could be made into a gentleman. Well, there was that, at least.

  Suppressing the urge to sigh, Alistair regarded Lady Julia with an appropriate expression of awe. “I won’t disappoint you, my lady,” he said with conviction “I will do whatever it takes to fulfill your desire,” he assured her with a nod.

  A smile appeared on Julia’s face, one that caused a small dimple to appear in one cheek and her eyes to light up as if she was facing the sun. Which she was, but a slight turn to the left had her small hat providing shade again. She gave the groom a nod.

  Fulfill your desire?

  Had the groom really just said that? Had he really just promised to fulfill her desire? Could the man read her mind? Hear her thoughts? Hadn’t she just been thinking how exciting it would be to join the man on the terraced flagstones outside Harrington House for a tryst in the garden during her parents’ ball? Perhaps Mr. Comber would be willing to provide the tutelage necessary so she could learn how to kiss.

  She often wondered how a proper young lady was supposed to just know how to kiss when her first opportunity to do so presented itself. How could she know what to do? How could she know how to respond? How to position herself? How to angle her head? How to hold her lips? Where to put her hands? With everything else a young lady of the ton was taught how to do—needlework, elocution, dance, speak French, and draw and paint—why weren’t lessons in kissing included?

  “Are you well, my lady?” she heard suddenly. Good grief! How many times had the groom asked her that question today?

  “I am quite well, thank you,” Julia replied, her free hand waving in the air, mostly to act as a fan to help replace the rather heated air that had somehow developed between her and the impossibly handsome groom. “Quite well, but in need of a gallop, I should think,” she said as she pulled on Buttercup’s reins. The horse, having found a bunch of flowers on which to munch, reluctantly stepped up next to her.

  Alistair nearly groaned at her comment. A gallop? Good God! He could do with a ride of his own! He could imagine her mounting him, her legs straddling his hips, her wet and swollen folds of feminine flesh teasing his hardening cock until he could stand it no longer. He would lift her up and impale her, hold her hips against his own and provide her the ride of her life. He would wait until just before he was overcome with a sudden stab of pleasure to press a carefully placed thumb against her swollen womanhood and see to her pleasure. Watch as her head would be thrown back in ecstasy, exposing her throat to his teasing tongue. As her nipples would ruche into tiny buds his lips could taste and suckle.

  But he knew damn well he would be in his own state of ecstasy at that point. There was no way in hell he would be able to hold on that long before his seed would spill from his manhood, sending his body into spasms of pleasure so intense he would pass out from the intensity.

  And remain so for several minutes.

  “I understand, my lady,” he agreed with a nod, wondering if she truly understood. Did ladies ever imagine making love to their men? Did they daydream about the pleasures that could be had in the marriage bed?

  He pulled on Blossom’s reins, forcing the horse to come up alongside him. Alistair had to drop the reins, though, in order to lift Lady Julia onto her horse. He did so without informing her of what he was about to do. Her yelp of surprise was accompanied by her hands taking purchase on his shoulders, as if she had to steady herself as he raised her to the sidesaddle.

  Julia knew her first response should have been a scolding. How dare he simply take her by the waist and lift her onto the saddle? He should have laced his fingers together and provided a step onto which she could have placed a dainty foot. Then he could lift her so she landed in the saddle in a smooth, effortless movement, leaving her skirts free to be arranged artfully along the side of the horse. And she was about to admonish him for having touched her, for having placed his hands on both sides of her waist, but she found she could not.

  She rather liked the sensation his strong hands left on her body.

  Would it feel like that if he had lifted her bare body onto his? So that she sat upon him, her bent legs off to one side of his body much like when she rode Buttercup? But instead of her knee wrapping around a pommel to keep her atop him, he would have impaled her with his manhood and left his hands gripping her waist so that he could ensure she wouldn’t be tossed off his bucking body. And once she touched him with her riding crop, she could imagine how his body would respond, his manhood impaling her deeper with each stride as she rode him. She’d have to leave her hands on his shoulders, she was sure. The power of his bucking body beneath hers would require she hang on for dear life, hang on as one large hand moved from her waist to cup a breast, while another pressed her harder onto his lifting body, a thumb reaching out to tease the soft, wet folds of flesh between her thighs until it made contact with the swollen bud that was at this very moment throbbing in anticipation. And she was about to imagine even more, but the groom had let go of her and was suddenly atop his own mount, his strong thighs wrapped about Blossom’s back in a manner that suggested he was as adept a horseman as he was a bed mate.

  Lady Julia was suddenly very jealous of Blossom.

  “Where would you like to go, my lady?” Alistair wondered just then.

  Julia stared at the groom for several seconds, suddenly feeling a bit bereft. “To my bedchamber” was not an acceptable response, she knew, but she was tempted to put voice to the thought. “To your bedchamber” was also not acceptable, but, oh, so temptin
g at that moment.

  “Home,” she said quietly, deciding she best remove herself from the company of the groom as quickly as possible.

  “Home it is, my lady,” Alistair replied as he lifted the reins and gave Blossom a gentle nudge in the ribs.

  Chapter Seven

  A Talk While Shooting Arrows

  Gabriel paused in the vestibule of Trenton Manor and inhaled. The familiar scents of his home filled his nostrils.

  Home.

  He thought of how he used to react to this place, of how at one time, when his father was still alive, the scent would have him cringing, his shoulders stiff with fear and his breaths coming in uncertain gasps. His father had been an unpredictable man; sometimes in good spirits with news of recent successes at the gaming tables or in some risky investment, and sometimes in such a foul mood, his words would hurt as badly as if he had struck Gabriel with the back of his hand. On those occasions, Gabriel knew it was his mother who suffered the worst, for it was she who felt the brunt of the seventh Earl of Trenton’s wrath. His fists left marks on her, his raised voice berating her very existence.

  Gabriel was still remembering the day he had walked in on his father as he held his mother’s arm behind her back, his eyes black with rage over some slight he thought of her to be guilty. Despite the haste Gabriel made in getting to her, his father’s vindictive nature prevailed. Lady Trenton was left with a twisted arm and a broken wrist that had never quite healed correctly. Gabriel, floored by the beast’s fist when it plunged into his middle, was left breathless and gasping for air. He was powerless to do anything to assist his mother—powerless to provide aid or to counter the earl’s attack.

  As Gabriel lay prone, staring at the ceiling of his mother’s salon, he wished his father were dead. Who would have ever guessed that in the next minute, the seventh earl would suffer some kind of seizure that resulted in his death? A seizure that would leave him on the floor only a few feet away from Gabriel, his eyes rolled up in the back of his head and his tongue hanging out one side of his mouth.