Seducing The Perfectly Enchanting Marquess (Steamy Historical Regency Romance)

by Scarlett Osborne

  “I…” it came out as a whisper. “I don’t think she’s spoiled, My Lord. All children have nightmares.” She was touched by his vulnerability in admitting his fears that he was not parenting his daughter correctly. Something told Amanda that he would not speak so freely to her were it not for the dark hour and the haze of dreams and sleep that still enveloped them both. “She is a sweet girl, generous and kind.”

  The faintness of the single candle against the thick darkness of the room made it necessary for him to step closer to her. She assured herself of this as she tried not to notice that, if she lifted her hand now, she could place it on his chest and feel the beat of his heart against it.

  “I hope you’re right,” he whispered.

  She exhaled through her mouth. His eyes gleamed in the faint yellow light, and she feared that he would soon hear the hammering of her pulse.

  “Are you cold?” he asked softly. She felt as though his gaze was holding her in place. She feared that if he maintained eye contact for a moment longer, he would surely gain access to her every hidden thought, and yet she couldn’t look away.

  “No,” she breathed.

  When she felt his hand on her upper arm, she gasped quietly, heat spreading rapidly over her body that emanated from his touch.

  “You’re shaking like a leaf.”

  “Oh,” she said dumbly. “Yes. I am cold.”

  He regarded her for a moment and then went to the unused bed that stood cold and neglected in the middle of the room, there was the sound of fabric shuffling and when he returned he was wrapping a blanket over her shoulders. It smelled of dust and dried lavender and she held it tight over her chest.

  “I know this is your first post as a governess, but tell me, Miss O’Neil, have you any experience with children in general?”

  He seemed to be waking from his half-slumber, and he regained that detached air about him by steady degrees.

  “Some, My Lord. Not in any official capacity, but my parents are bakers in a poor part of Dublin. When…when people are poor and everyone has to work, children are raised by the village, as they say. I kept my eye on the young ones that played in the street where I lived, and I’m familiar with the caprices and pitfalls of childhood.”

  “So, you know for certain that it’s normal for Heather to have these nightmares?” Despite the coolness in his voice, it was clear that he was confessing anxiety that he had been harboring silently for some time.

  “Quite certain, My Lord. And, if I may say so, while I’m sure it’s rather wearying to be awoken in the night, the fact that she feels so free to come to you when she is frightened is surely a mark of her love. And your faithful parenting.”

  He was silent for a moment, seeming to take this in.

  “Thank you, Miss O’Neil, for saying so. It does me good to hear you say it.”

  “If I may be so bold, My Lord. It is my opinion that too many parents, and fathers, in particular, would rather be feared by their children than loved by them. I am relieved to be employed in a home where that is not the case.”

  “She is all that I have left of her mother,” he said, quite softly, and then he looked away as if he were ashamed of himself for saying it.

  His words hung in the air as Amanda considered how to respond to such an unusually intimate word from him.

  “If Lady Heather is anything like her mother, she must have been a remarkable lady.”

  At this, he smiled. For once, not a chagrined half-grin, but a real one. His face lightened. He looked younger.

  “Yes,” he said, “she was.”

  Amanda was so taken by the change in his face that she was without words.

  “You had better go back to bed,” he said. “In the future, keep in mind that I am at least attempting to get her past the habit of spending half the night with me. With that said, she is not expressly forbidden from coming to me if she is beyond your consolation. I am quite used to it by now.”

  Amanda curtsied. “Yes, My Lord.”

  “Goodnight.”

  With the blanket still wrapped around her, she hurried back across the cold dark corridor to her room. Closing the door behind her, she sagged against it, shutting her eyes. She could still feel the warmth of his hand when he had touched her arm. How could such a simple touch make her feel so overwhelmed?

  It’s just because of his state of undress. I was bowled over by the sight of his neck, that’s all.

  Her inner voice laughed at that stupid excuse.

  Bowled over by the sight of his neck?

  With a silent groan she trudged back to her bed, which was in disarray after leaping from it at the sound of screams. Climbing back beneath the covers, she pulled the blanket he had given her up around her face, breathing in the scent of lavender. She knew that she would forever connect that scent with the memory of this night.

  * * *

  Joseph’s blood was racing as he passed ghost-like through the corridors of the house. It was cold, and yet he felt warm. Miss O’Neil in her nightgown was a sight to behold. Although the muslin floated away from her curves, it was so thin that he had been able to clearly make out the shadow of her body beneath it. The blanket he had thrown over her shoulders had not been so much an act of chivalry to keep her warm, but an act of desperation on his part. As she had stood there trembling he had been able to see, even in the dim light, the way her nipples contracted. Yes, she was cold. As much as he wanted to attribute her trembling to himself, he couldn’t. She was shivering, not aroused by his nearness.

  No, he was the only one struggling with that particular emotion.

  Her hair was so long, trailing over her shoulder in a rope-like braid he longed to loosen with his fingers. Her voice…it was like honey, so low and lazy with sleepiness.

  He’d been called My Lord countless times by countless women, but never had the sound of those words ignited such a fire in him. She made My Lord sound like I’m yours. It was through no fault of her own. There was none of the cloying sweetness that the voices of fortune-seeking would-be mistresses had. He’d grown familiar with that tone through the years. No, Miss O’Neil’s tone was unpracticed, natural. The sweetness of it was not like too much sugar in too little tea; it was earthier, like sucking the nectar out of a honeysuckle blossom.

  Oh, stop that, you fool.

  At any rate, there was no firing her now. She had seen him vulnerable, and he had, without even stopping to consider the consequences, opened up to her. There had just been something about the darkness, the dream-like ambiance that made him feel as though he could tell her anything. Confess any fear. Reveal any weakness.

  As he passed into the older part of the house, the darkness seemed to thicken.

  I may regret speaking to her so intimately in the morning.

  He returned to bed, noticing once more how large and empty it was. Miss O’Neil would fit comfortably next to him. The warmth of her body would seep into the mattress and the sheets, wrapping him in the comfort of the nearness of another human being.

  He rolled onto his side, gazing blankly at the tapestried wall. The nursery and her room felt so far away, as if he had traveled miles into isolation simply by walking back to his room.

  It’s better this way.

  Chapter 8

  In the weeks that followed that night, Amanda saw somewhat less of the Marquess. He still checked in on her lessons with his daughter, but he seemed even more distant from herself than before. Fear crept into her heart, and she wondered if he had found her too bold, perhaps, in speaking to him so softly in that darkened room.

  Looking back on the exchange now, although they spoke only of the young girl, the atmosphere of the conversation had been inappropriately charged. To begin with, they were both in their nightclothes. Alone together, man and woman, in a dark room. In the middle of the night.

  What would Siobhan and Patrick say?

  She felt ashamed of herself. It was her first position out in the world as an independent adult woman. And there
she was, positively salivating over her employer. And a Marquess at that! It was ridiculous and terribly embarrassing. She thought back to the two giggling maids, whom she had privately looked down upon for their immature fawning over the lovely Marquess. Well, clearly she was no more mature than they were.

  She also remembered their warning. That there was no use trying to win him over. That they had tried. The maids were both lovely in their own right, young and attractive. Surely Amanda did not think so highly of her own looks to think that she could catch his eye when they could not.

  She needed to draw her mind away from the tingling sensations that gathered at the apex of her thighs whenever she thought of or saw the Marquess. Amanda threw herself wholeheartedly into the task of Lady Heather’s education.

  Within the course of two weeks, she had an entire plan laid out in carefully drawn tables and lists. Having determined the young Lady’s temperament, which was enthusiastic if a bit undisciplined, she felt confident in her ability to coach her in the ways of refinement and intellect. As she began, she realized that her tutelage of the young girl was much the same as the courses that the Dowager Marchioness had put her through when she had first taken Amanda under her wing.

  Though she was inexperienced in the ways of governessing, her own transformation into a passable approximation of a lady of rank was still fresh in her mind. This made it easy to know what steps to take with Lady Heather.

  While Lady Heather continued to have nightmares, she was growing more accustomed to Amanda’s presence, and it seemed that not being alone in the newer wing of the house was doing her good. For now, she was sleeping through the night more often than not.

  Lord Ethelred was pleased with Lady Heather’s progress on that point. He said so himself to Amanda, one day in the gardens while Lady Heather gathered flower specimens for a lesson in watercolors.

  “She seems to be thriving. I have you to thank for that,” he had said.

  Amanda had been filled with pride at his modest compliments, and his words followed her through the days that followed. Even if he had taken a step back from her after their meeting in the dark room—a necessary correction, she now reasoned—it was pleasant to be on a good foot with the Marquess. She felt that he respected her, and in turn she was encouraged to keep doing her best.

  Which was not difficult, as it turned out. Lady Heather was an agreeable girl who seemed most eager to learn. Even if her eagerness presented itself in an overabundance of energy and restlessness.

  Amanda and Lady Heather were seated under a willow tree near the lake one morning. It was the preferred spot in the garden for both of them. The gentle spring breeze wafted the long, languorous branches in a way that soothed the senses, and Lady Heather leaned comfortably against the trunk as Amanda drilled her in French verbs.

  The arrival of Lord Ethelred was not uncommon, though it never failed to send a jolt of excitement down Amanda’s back. The breeze tousled his dark hair slightly, humanizing his typical rigid composure. He had in his hand an opened letter. At once, Amanda recognized the wax seal clinging to one corner of the paper.

  “Good morning, Ladies.” He always greeted them thus.

  “Bonjour Papa. J’etudie ma francaise!” Lady Heather returned.

  Lord Ethelred’s eyes smiled at her.

  “I am in receipt of a letter from a certain Dowager Marchioness, Miss O’Neil,” he continued. “If I may interrupt you two for a moment.”

  “Of course,” Amanda said graciously.

  Lady Heather jumped at her chance to stretch her legs and being thus dismissed for a short break from her drills; she took off running across the lawn. The adults both watched her go, amused by the way her coppery curls bounced behind her.

  “I was rather perplexed to hear from the Dowager Marchioness myself. I thought it odd that she would not write to you directly. Her aim became clear, however. She has asked to come and visit to check in on her protégé.”

  “Oh?” Amanda asked.

  “Well. To say that she asked is perhaps an overstatement. Rather, she has invited herself to stay at Ethelred Manor for a weekend and shall arrive the day after tomorrow.”

  Amanda laughed. That sounded much more like the Dowager Marchioness she knew.

  “She does do things her own way,” Amanda said. “I do hope you aren’t too put out by the intrusion. I could write to her and tell her that it would be inconvenient to host her just now but…”

  Lord Ethelred shook his head. “It would be no use, I wager.”

  “No,” Amanda agreed, grinning slightly. The Dowager Marchioness likely already had her hats packed before she even sent the letter.

  “It is rather remarkable, is it not? How she has taken such an interest in you,” he said, gazing at her until she met his eyes, then looking out across the blue-green lake.

  “Yes. I…I can’t really account for it myself.” She shrugged her shoulders lightly. “Just lucky, I suppose.”

  He looked back at her, mild alarm in his furrowed brow. “Miss O’Neil, I pray you understand that I meant no offense. You have more than proven yourself worthy of such attention in the time that I have known you.”

  “It didn’t occur to me to take offense, My Lord. I know how fortunate I have been, and I am grateful every day for the advantages I have been given, and I’m not ashamed to have needed them. I am grateful to the Dowager Marchioness, and grateful to you as well, for taking a chance on me.”

  As she spoke, she noted how his gaze flitted down to her mouth and back up to her eyes. That tingle in her spine returned, and the scent of lavender seemed to fill her mind.

  “Well,” he said.

  Is his voice slightly ragged now, or am I imagining things?

  He continued, “As she is, technically speaking, your guest, I will forgive you for putting off some of your duties while she is with us. Heather will enjoy the chance to run wild for a couple days while you visit with your friend.”

  Amanda smiled at the Marquess, warmth spreading through her at his kindness.

  “Thank you very much, My Lord.”

  He seemed on the verge of saying something more, but then he appeared to think better of it. He turned his gaze away from her and called after his daughter. Lady Heather returned, looking a bit put out by the short length of her break. As she approached, she slid her small hand into Amanda’s, glancing back and forth between her governess and her father.

  “Back to work,” the Marquess said, firmly but with a gentleness that made his demands a pleasure to follow. Amanda was acquainted with that tone, and she related very well to Lady Heather’s quick obeisance.

  * * *

  As Joseph returned to his study, the letter from the Dowager Marchioness in his hand, he felt an odd sense of anxiety settle over him. With every step away from the governess and his daughter, the sense of unease grew. He couldn’t quite lay his finger on what it was that was bothering him. He was not genuinely offended by the Dowager Marchioness’ abrupt way of inserting herself into his home. He was well enough acquainted with the lady to expect such eccentricities. It was something else.

  When he was settled back in his study, he pushed the curtains open. From here, as from his bedroom, he could look out across the gardens and make out the distant shapes of the two females. Heather now was balanced on one foot and seemed to be turning some sort of odd acrobatic move. He chuckled. She took it well in stride, but that young governess had her work cut out for her with his daughter.

  The sense of discomfort returned when he let his mind linger on the thought of Miss O’Neil.

  Yes, that’s it.

  It dawned on him then that his fear was of the hawk-like observation of the Dowager Marchioness. He was afraid that she would somehow intuit the lascivious thoughts he harbored toward her protégé. Perhaps it was ridiculous, but a part of him was terrified that the canny old lady would take one look at him and see exactly what he thought of the sweet Miss O’Neil.

  He could just imagine her rai
sing her imperious brow at him. “Ah. So that is why you needed a governess so desperately.”

  Every inch of him cringed in shame at the thought of such a reprimand of his character. He let the curtain fall, obscuring his vision of the governess in question. He couldn’t bear the thought of anyone thinking him capable of such predatory behavior. Miss O’Neil was an innocent in his home and under his care, really. His duty was to protect her in order to provide her a safe and comfortable environment in which to educate his daughter. It would be improper in the extreme to ever follow through with the pathetic fantasies that plagued him. It would undermine his true intentions. It would cause damage to Heather to behave improperly toward her governess.