Seducing The Perfectly Enchanting Marquess (Steamy Historical Regency Romance)

by Scarlett Osborne

  Amanda yawned. It had been very late indeed when she had fallen into bed. She wondered at how she would manage to remain lively during their lessons that day.

  Perhaps a walk in the garden will help to wake me up.

  She didn’t admit, even to herself, that she harbored a secret hope that they would run into the Marquess if they had their lessons in the garden. It was as though her heart sought him out at every opportunity. Running underneath her every thought was the constant awareness of his nearness, somewhere in the manor. The awareness that he was under the same roof as she was. That any turn of a corner could bring her face to face with the man who seemed to have unique control over the sensations in her body. With merely a glance or a word, he set her entire being aflame.

  It was dangerous. And she knew better than to seek it out consciously. And yet she was drawn to him as by some invisible thread.

  At least she would have the protection of the little girl now. In the broad, piercing light of day with a small child between them, the sparks that flowed between herself and her employer would be dampened by the reality of their situation.

  And so, she strolled with the small Lady through the garden, drilling her on her French and a few old Irish folktales as they meandered through the flower beds. It was a beautiful day. The wide world seemed to be bursting with color and fragrance. Amanda inhaled deeply, allowing her nerves to relax and her senses to awaken.

  The ball had disturbed her sense of peaceful routine, which she had so happily fallen into at Ethelred Manor. Being twirled in the arms of a succession of strange men was enough to excite any young woman. Yet it was only her employer who stood out to her in her memory. The other men drifted away, and she remembered their dances as through a thick fog.

  She was recounting the ball to the best of her ability to Heather when, turning a corner toward the vineyard at the south of the manor, they crossed paths with Lord Ethelred. He was seated in a flowering arbor with the Dowager Marchioness herself.

  “There she is, at last. Why, I thought you’d sleep the whole day long!” the Dowager Marchioness said when she caught sight of Amanda.

  “I’ve been awake for some time now,” she said. “I’ve been with Lady Heather.”

  “Well, I am perfectly exhausted,” the Dowager Marchioness continued, fanning herself with a large black fan. “I am getting too old for these parties that go on endlessly into the night. I meant to return home first thing upon waking, but, of course, I wanted to wait and say goodbye first.”

  “My apologies, My Lady. I didn’t know you were waiting for me,” Amanda said.

  She glanced at Lord Ethelred. He didn’t look tired at all. In fact, there was a brightness to his complexion that made him look younger than usual. Refreshed. As much as he protested about not wanting to throw a party, it looked to have done him good. He was still his own rather stiff and forbidding self, to be sure, but there was just something…else.

  He did not smile at her, but his eyes were soft as he nodded his silent greeting to her.

  Has the party changed you, or is it merely my perception of you that has changed?

  She studied him for a moment, wondering. The way he had hovered over her as she had nervously sat down at the pianoforte, the way he had offered his arm, lending his courage when she was visibly anxious throughout the night…it had shown her a side of him that she hadn’t known before. He was not merely the strict master of Ethelred Manor who, for some reason, stirred her loins in a most unnerving way. He was also someone who supported those in need, who anticipated people’s weaknesses and sought to lend aid where he could.

  She found that she could depend on him. Even though he might not have been the most charming conversationalist or the most demonstrably friendly gentleman she’d ever met, there was a stalwart quality to him. He was steady. Reliable. Traits which appealed to her more than she might have known or expected.

  “You played beautifully,” the Dowager Marchioness said, breaking into Amanda’s reverie. “You must not worry about that little falter at the beginning. As soon as you entered your stride, I’m perfectly assured that everyone forgot the little mishap.”

  “Thank you, My Lady,” Amanda said, cringing at the memory of how her fingers had forgotten how to play at that moment of stage fright.

  “I have it on good authority that more than one eligible Lord had his head turned by you throughout the night. The ball was a capital success if you ask me.”

  Amanda chewed her lip. The Dowager Marchioness had been sensitive enough to halt her matchmaking for a time after Conor’s death, giving her time and space to grieve. It seemed that that grace period was over now, though.

  “We thank you for the idea, of course,” Lord Ethelred said.

  “Nonsense, nonsense. It would have come to you, eventually, I’m sure,” the elderly lady said, puffing up with pride. “But I really must be going now. I’m really getting too old for these sorts of things. Too old, indeed.”

  Lord Ethelred, Amanda, and Lady Heather saw the old woman off, walking around with her to the front of the house where her carriage was waiting. Despite her guilt over feeling ungrateful for all that the Dowager Marchioness had done for her, Amanda was relieved to see her go.

  Now for a return to routine.

  As she grasped Lady Heather’s hand and looked up at Lord Ethelred, however, she got a sense that the return to normal might not be as smooth as she had thought.

  No, he definitely looked at her differently now. Something had changed between them during the night. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it had happened. Perhaps it was when he had offered his arm to her and walked into the ballroom with her. Perhaps it was when they had danced. Perhaps while he had watched her play the pianoforte.

  One way or another, their relationship was not merely that of a governess and an employer any longer. Something akin to friendship had softened his gaze toward her. She could feel the warmth of it, even if no words were ever exchanged to cement this new bond.

  “You must be tired, Miss O’Neil,” he said, as the three of them walked back into the manor together.

  “Oh,” she chuckled, “to be sure. It’s a good tired, though. Such nights are rare, and I intend to savor the excitement while I can.”

  “Indeed,” he intoned gently. He smiled at his daughter, reaching down to adjust a wayward curl that sprouted up perpendicular to the rest of her hair. “Why don’t you leave off your studies this afternoon? Perhaps a few hours tramping about in the wood will prove restful.”

  Lady Heather hooted in excitement, eliciting a forbidding glance from her father.

  “Restful, Heather. Restful. No climbing trees and having Miss O’Neil frightened out of her wits.”

  “I’ll bring my butterfly net!” Lady Heather said, bounding off in the direction of the stairs.

  “Thank you, My Lord,” Amanda said.

  “Don’t thank me yet. She does like to get into scrapes. Still, there are some picturesque meadows around that will be good for you and her to lay down in. She knows where they are. Have the cook prepare a lunch.”

  “Yes, My Lord,” she said and went to do as he instructed. The thought of spending the afternoon in the fresh air filled her with peaceful gratitude.

  Chapter 14

  “Will father be coming along as well?” Lady Heather asked as Amanda draped the little girl’s cloak over her shoulders and fastened it in the front.

  “He didn’t say as much. I’m sure he is busy,” Amanda replied. She put the basket of food over the crook of her arm.

  “Oh, can’t we ask him to come? He’s a Marquess; surely he can do as he likes for an afternoon?” the girl complained.

  Amanda sighed. She really was quite tired, and she didn’t feel like arguing. “No, let’s just go. I don’t want to interrupt him. He’s a busy man and even Marquess’ have to put their duty first sometimes. Instead of complaining, let us be grateful that he has given us an afternoon to rest.”

  Lady Heather rol
led her eyes, but when Amanda chided her for it, she did not protest further.

  Together they bounded down the stairs and headed out the back of the manor and through the gardens. The lake glittered in the sunlight, and around the left side of it, a wood beckoned with its dark greens and shadows. Finding a game trail, the two females disappeared into the mild wilderness.

  The damp, sweet smell of decomposing leaves and wildflowers greeted Amanda, and she walked along dreamily. She followed after Lady Heather, who appeared to know this area of woodland very well. Even where the trail was overgrown, she knew just where to make a veering turn to the left or right.

  Amanda was led to a clearing that seemed to be taken from the pages of a fairytale. The grass was soft and spring green, patches of tiny bluebells decorating the edges of the meadow. The leafy trees created a thick wall of flashing shades of green and the soothing sound of leaves rustling in a warm breeze. Swifts darted overhead, chirping as they went.

  “Do you hear that woodpecker?” Lady Heather asked, standing alert in the center of the clearing as Amanda spread out a blanket on the grass.

  “I do. Come and eat your lunch.”

  “Where do you suppose it’s coming from?” Lady Heather asked, still standing where she had been.

  Amanda lowered herself to the ground, arranging her dress about her. A thick oak tree provided something to lean back against.

  “You can find out after you have finished eating.”

  Lady Heather sat down reluctantly. Her ears still pricked up, attuned to the intermittent pecking sounds coming from the west. The lunch that the cook had packed for them was simple, bread and cheese and cold pieces of meat. Simple food always tasted sweeter outside; Amanda mused as she bit into a slice of sharp cheese.

  “Did Father dance with anyone last night?” Lady Heather asked suddenly, through a mouthful of bread.

  “Yes,” Amanda said vaguely, taking another bite.

  “Who?”

  “Whom,” she corrected.

  “With whom did Father dance?” Lady Heather asked again rather peevishly.

  “Well, he danced with me. As a courtesy, you see, because I didn’t know anybody. After that, I’m not sure, as my attention was engaged elsewhere.”

  “If Father begins to court a lady, will you tell me?” Lady Heather asked. Her peevishness had been replaced with a sort of somber earnestness.

  Amanda thought about it as she chewed slowly and swallowed. “I suppose unless I am told to keep such things to myself, I don’t see why I shouldn’t inform you. But as of now, I don’t know of any Lady to whom your father has paid any particular attention.”

  Except me.

  Amanda pushed that thought away. It was vanity itself to believe that the Marquess had any romantic aims with her. She did not want to read too much into the moments of fleeting and confusing tenderness between them.

  Lady Heather sighed and her posture slumped.

  “I have never had a mother, you know,” Lady Heather said desolately.

  “Everybody has a mother, Lady Heather. And even if yours only got to meet you for a few hours, she loved you very much.”

  “I know,” Lady Heather said, with a tone that implied that she’d heard as such many times from Lord Ethelred.

  “I’ll tell you something, Lady Heather. I don’t remember my own mother either. Happily, I was adopted by two wonderful people, and I came to learn that blood isn’t everything. In life, there will be many people who become like family and you must never let yourself feel motherless when there are so many people who love you.”

  Lady Heather sighed softly and they lapsed into silence, listening to the birds in the trees as they ate.

  “Still, I would like Father to get married. I wish I had a brother or sister to play with. I think babies are ever so sweet and I just know I would be a smashingly good big sister.”

  A slight twinge of jealousy troubled Amanda’s stomach as she briefly imagined Lord Ethelred remarrying and fathering more children with an elegant, refined lady.

  “No one can tell what the future will bring,” Amanda said glibly. “Now, if you are finished eating, why don’t you go and search out that woodpecker?”

  Lady Heather jumped up and brushed crumbs off her dress.

  “I am just going to rest here. Mind you do not stray too far.”

  “I won’t get lost. I’ve played in these woods since I could walk,” the young lady beamed.

  “Regardless. If I call you and you are too far to hear me, I will be very cross. And remember your Father said no climbing trees.”

  “Yes, Miss O’Neil,” Lady Heather groaned. But when Amanda grinned and swatted her away, her countenance brightened as she bounded into the thick of the trees.

  Breathing deeply, Amanda leaned luxuriously against the sturdy oak tree. Tipping her head up, the patches of light and shadow danced over her closed eyelids. The sound of birds and the breeze and even, now that she listened carefully, the distant sound of running water, soothed her. It had been a long time since she had sat so peacefully in the midst of a nature brimming with life and color.

  A long-legged spider crawled over her hand, and she jumped, flinging it away with a little shriek. She laughed at herself, settling back against the tree.

  It had been so kind of him to suggest this little outing. She’d not have known about this idyllic little shrine to the natural world if not for his suggestion. She wished he’d come along. He would sit with her, also drowsy from the long night, and perhaps they might talk as Lady Heather bumbled about in the underbrush.

  What would we talk about?

  She closed her eyes again, smiling gently as she imagined.

  I suppose we would talk about Lady Heather. About how well she is sleeping now. And how her French is improving. He would compliment me in his stiff, formal way, and I would blush and stammer and make a fool of myself as usual.

  She wondered if he had any idea about the effect he had on her. Did he know how his slightest touch lingered persistently in her mind for hours? That, if she focused even now, she could still feel the slight weight of his hand at the small of her back?

  I wish he would kiss me.

  Even as she thought it, she knew how disastrous it would be. He still loved his late wife, and even if he was interested in remarrying, why should he settle for a girl with no money, no connections? If he did kiss her, it would merely be as a pass time, a vent for the pressure of his long years alone. It would mean nothing to him and everything to her. He would break her heart.

  Am I so desperate for the touch of a man that I would allow myself to be compromised by a man like that?

  She didn’t want to know the answer to that, though she had her suspicions.

  Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a catastrophe. After all, she had been engaged. If she let herself be ruined by Lord Ethelred, any future husband would likely accept a story about getting caught up in the anticipation of marriage. She was sure many engaged couples didn’t quite make it to their wedding night.

  Besides, I could pretend…

  Her mind wandered. But when she opened her eyes again to the sound of a robin taking flight nearby, she came back to reality. It was all well and good to fantasize about sinful impossibilities in a sunny meadow. But when it came right down to it, she knew she wouldn’t ever go through with such a thing. No matter how her body cried out to be touched by her enigmatic employer.

  The look in his eyes.

  Sometimes it was so intense that his gaze felt like actual heat on her skin. She thought that he must have wanted her. Perhaps he would never act on his impulses, but vanity be damned, she knew that look when she saw it.

  As she rested in the warmth of the sun, she tingled all over, imagining what Lord Ethelred might be thinking when he looked at her.

  “Miss Amanda!”

  The shriek pierced the air, and in an instant, Amanda was on her feet, her heart racing as she called out and darted into the woods after Lady Heather’s voic
e.

  “Miss Amanda, come quick!” the girl cried.

  Amanda was frantic, hearing the panic in the little girl’s voice. Ghastly images ran through her head as she ran, imagining Lady Heather with a broken leg or cornered by a wild hog or something equally terrifying.

  At last, she burst through a copse of trees to find Lady Heather crouched on the ground.

  “He’s hurt!” she cried.

  Amanda realized that the little girl was crying over an injured squirrel who was lying helplessly on the ground. She clasped her hand over her heart and bent at the waist to catch her breath. Excitement coursed through her.

  “Child, you frightened the life out of me. For heaven’s sake, I thought you were hurt,” she said through a tense jaw.