Seducing The Perfectly Enchanting Marquess (Steamy Historical Regency Romance)

by Scarlett Osborne

  “At first, I lavished it all on Heather. It was simple. It felt natural. But I knew that a child cannot fill the space in one’s heart that a spouse leaves behind. I noticed myself spoiling her, and soon I knew that she would come to resent my smothering. The animals became a natural outlet for my…my need to care for someone.”

  He still stared at his hands. Slowly, he curled his fingers up into his palms. “Forgive me, Miss O’Neil, for being so…for laying this at your feet. It’s only because I suspect that you understand.”

  Only then did he look up at her. The green of the wood amplified the dark, shadowy green of his eyes. He didn’t utter Conor’s name, but he didn’t need to. Amanda nodded minutely. She knew intimately of what he spoke, the sweet, insistent pain of having had one’s love roused only to have its object die. To be left carrying those feelings with no one to give it to.

  “I do,” she said. Again, she reached for his hand. This time he did not stiffen in surprise. He merely entwined his fingers with hers, as naturally as if it were the thousandth time.

  “Miss O’Neil.” The birdsong faded away, and it was as though the sound of the leaves rustling had been silenced, though the dappled shadows still flickered with movement. His voice became the only noise in the world. And then his hand was slipping from hers as he raised it up to stroke her cheek. His touch was tentative, and while his eyes shone with intensity, he also looked ready to remove his hand at the slightest hint of displeasure on her face.

  “Would it trouble you very much if I…” he whispered low. His gaze flicked to her lips. “If I gave some of this love to you?”

  Amanda was trembling, though the air was warm and sweet. Her lips parted.

  “I’ll carry it for you, My Lord. If you will carry mine.”

  He exhaled a small, quiet sigh of relief. And then he kissed her.

  Chapter 18

  Amanda’s first thought was of Conor. She remembered in an instant all the sensations and emotions that had swirled inside her and overtaken her the first time he had kissed her. It had all been so new, so thrilling and even frightening. She had felt then like a child on the very precipice of adulthood, gazing out with shivering determination to meet all the storms of real life with her beloved at her side.

  She was surprised by how different it was with Lord Ethelred. Though her heart still pounded, and her stomach turned those familiar flips of excitement, she found his kiss less tumultuous than the other. This kiss felt much more like a return home. Almost as if he had kissed her that first day in the hall where they had met, and they had been kissing ever since.

  His thumb grazed across her cheek as his lips brushed hers. Her body relaxed against his touch, a total surrender. As his hand came to the small of her back and lowered her to the sweet-smelling earth, she felt as though a great weight was being lifted from her. Her grief was not erased, but now, at last, it no longer felt like a stagnant pool of ever more toxic, dark waters. There was movement inside of her again as the Marquess’s lips caressed hers, parting her own lips. His tongue met hers with a sense of almost familiarity.

  She didn’t want to compare the taste of him to Conor, but the comparison came unbidden. Lord Ethelred was sweet, the newness of him refreshing her senses as she arched her back to press against him and threw her arms around his neck.

  He groaned softly into her mouth, the sound of it loosening a flood of heat that rushed to the apex of her legs. With that small sound, that admission of masculine need, a floodgate was opened. All of the repressed frustration at a wedding night denied came rushing forward at once. When the Marquess broke the kiss momentarily, she gasped in disappointment only to see him smile in satisfaction before tilting his head to the side and kissing her again.

  This time his tongue ravaged her with an intensity that she welcomed with all openness and the hubris of freshly reawakened lust. When he tugged at the neckline of her dress, she was neither frightened nor offended, but rather she felt almost impatient. She rolled her shoulder, helping him to pull the sleeve down enough for him to expose her breast.

  The breeze wafted like a caress over her exposed skin, causing her nipple to harden before the warmth of his palm came to cover her. It was almost as if he meant to preserve her modesty against the judgement of the clouds above. She arched against his touch as he fondled her, her sex growing wet and needful.

  He rested his forehead against her temple, breaking the kiss. She could feel the heat of his breath on her cheek as he panted lightly. The pad of his thumb toyed with her nipple for another moment before, with apparent reluctance, he pulled her sleeve back over her shoulder and pressed his lips to her neck.

  “Forgive me,” he whispered against her skin, “I went too far.”

  Amanda released a shaky breath as her head swam. He trailed soft kisses across her collarbone now, and to the hollow of her neck where the fine chain of her necklace had pooled when she was laid on her back. He kissed the neckline of her dress, over the tops of her breasts.

  Then, slowly, he helped her to sit back up. The sounds of birdsong returned to her ears, and the rustle of leaves blanketed her ears.

  “Have I insulted you?” he asked softly, both of his hands covering hers.

  She shook her head. “I cannot hold you responsible for what I permitted, My Lord. I will forgive your boldness if you forgive my wantonness.”

  One corner of his lip quirked up. “You must call me Joseph now. When we are alone, at least.”

  This hinted promise of more time to be spent alone together, in each other’s arms, awakened Amanda’s spirits even more. Subtly, she moistened her lips and smiled.

  “Joseph.” She tasted the name, letting it roll over her tongue like a kiss. He blinked slowly, watching her lips as she formed the name, so intimate and yet so common. “And you will call me Amanda.”

  “Amanda,” he whispered, touching his fingertip to her lips before leaning forward and kissing her once more. She grinned against his lips, reveling in the feeling that he could not help himself from kissing her once he had done it once.

  In those rather short moments, a barrier had fallen between them that now lay in ruins at their feet, never to be fully restored. Amanda felt as though she were made of the air itself, so light did she feel as he helped her to her feet and together, they walked back to Ethelred Manor.

  * * *

  Joseph felt as though his entire being was trembling. His legs were weak as they walked, and the birds and the wind and the blossoms in the garden around him all seemed to have become louder, brighter. It was as though he had been looking at the world through frosted glass for all these years, and only now did he see things clearly.

  He wanted to reach for Amanda’s hand. He wanted to squeeze it tightly as they walked together back to the house. The only thing that stopped him was the fear that she would not want anyone to know about what had transpired between them.

  As for himself, he wanted to shout it from the rooftop. He felt giddy and full of energy. He knew at once that there was no possibility of finishing his work that afternoon. The thought of sitting still at a desk as the sun blazed outside and Amanda wandered the manor was ludicrous.

  “Perhaps we might all go on a long walk this afternoon,” he said as they passed through the doors, which led to the ballroom.

  “It’s a beautiful day,” she agreed. It was odd to him that she could speak with the same voice she had before they kissed. Did he sound the same as well? He felt like a different person; it was hard to imagine that the change in him might not have any outward evidence.

  “I will look for Heather. Likely, Miss Green has her sweeping some neglected bedroom,” he said. “While you go and fetch a shawl, and one for her as well.”

  Amanda smiled at him. While they were yet alone in the vast, empty ballroom, he quickly took her hand. Pulling her against him, he wrapped an arm around the small of her back and kissed her again.

  She smiled against his lips and he felt her slim fingers travel to the nap
e of his neck and flex into the curls of his hair. A shiver went down his spine at her touch.

  He didn’t know where this might lead. Would he marry Miss O’Neil? Would she want to be his wife? Or was this merely a case of two lonely people comforting each other for a time?

  He had never entertained the thought of remarrying. The thought had always struck him as far too callous and disrespectful of Teresa’s memory. But suddenly, there he was, his arms around another woman, wondering with worry how she would react to a proposal.

  She would have offers pouring in soon. Now that she had been brought closer to London, closer to society at large, her charms could not go unnoticed for long. He was aware of the Dowager Marchioness’ ambitions for her to marry well, but he wondered if Amanda herself harbored any lofty goals of that nature.

  Am I good enough?

  “You had better find her before she finds us,” she whispered breathlessly. Though, she did not make any move to extricate herself from his embrace.

  Her worry was well-founded. Should Heather see him kissing the governess, her excitement would be formidable. She would be planning the wedding gown the instant she saw him even touching the hand of Miss O’Neil. He had an inkling that Amanda would do just about anything to make his daughter happy, but he did not intend to use Heather to pressure Amanda into accepting a premature proposal.

  Stop thinking of marriage. Quit jumping ahead.

  He brought his hands to hers, bringing them down in front of him to kiss her palms.

  “We’ll meet you in the foyer.”

  She nodded and they went off in different directions, her toward the nursery and he toward the kitchens, where he thought to find Miss Green.

  Out of Amanda’s presence, his giddiness faded somewhat.

  Have I made a mistake?

  It had been so long since he had felt any desire toward a woman, now he wasn’t sure how to react to it. Part of him wanted to marry her tomorrow. Another part of him shied away from the change in himself, wanting to shrink back and pretend it hadn’t happened.

  He’d grown comfortable in his life of hidden grief. While he felt renewed by this new intimacy, there was also a sense of discomfort. Change had never been an easy thing for him.

  “Miss Green?” he asked of a maid who was sitting at the long table in the kitchen mending stockings.

  “She and Lady Heather are in the dining hall polishing silver.”

  He nodded his thanks, slapping the doorframe as he spun on his heel and headed back in the direction in which he had come. He felt full of boyish energy but, not being a boy any longer, he didn’t know what to do with it. He fought the impulse to run down the hallways.

  “Heather, there you are,” he said when he found her. She was sitting at the dining table, a rag in her hand as she buffed a tall silver candlestick. Miss Green was wiping the mantle of the large fireplace.

  “Look, Father. I can see myself.” The little girl beamed with pride at her distorted image in the ornate candlestick.

  He bent down and inspected her work. “Very well done. Now every time you see gleaming silver, you will think of the hard-working people who keep it that way, won’t you?”

  She nodded her head.

  “Now, how would you like to go on an amble through the vineyards with Miss O’Neil and me?” he asked.

  Heather, though she had been quite contentedly working, jumped up from the table with enthusiasm. “Oh, yes, please!”

  “Thank you, Miss Green,” he said, straightening up before he and Heather left the room. The housekeeper nodded her head, smiling gently.

  “Miss O’Neil has already gone to the nursery to fetch you a wrap. It’s warm, but a bit breezy. She will meet us in the foyer,” he explained as they crossed through the house.

  The foyer of the manor opened up with high ceilings to the grand stone staircase. The open space made for echoes, and even before he could see him, Joseph heard the familiar voice of the Earl of Pemperose.

  Chapter 19

  Amanda clutched Lady Heather’s light shawl to her stomach. The vast open foyer of Ethelred Manor felt tight and small now that the Earl of Pemperose was striding toward her. The butler stood patiently near the door to the drawing room, but he would be no help in getting Amanda out of this strained conversation.

  “Miss O’Neil,” Lord Pemperose said, smiling at her. “How lovely to see you again. I must say, it was nearly impossible for me to imagine you as a governess when you were in your finery, and yet here you are.”

  His eyes traveled down her body, apparently taking in the simple dress she was wearing, which had accumulated a slight greenish hue about the hem in her woodland walk with Joseph. Though, she felt at once that his gaze took in far more than her attire.

  While such attention paid to the shape of her body had brought her pleasure when it was by Joseph, it was the opposite with Lord Pemperose. She felt herself closing up, putting up her guard as he stepped even closer to her.

  She was not exactly a stranger to the leers of gentlemen. She was not so naïve to think that just because a man had money and a title meant that he knew how to treat a woman with respect. Normally such flirtation didn’t upset her too much. She knew how to parry unwanted attention.

  It was the sudden change in atmosphere that caught her off guard. Going from kissing Joseph in the ballroom to politely fending off the attentions of Lord Pemperose had her head swimming.

  “Yes, it’s true. I really do work for Lord Ethelred,” she said with a polite but not overly warm smile. She glanced at the butler as if to silently ask, “Can’t you see how close he is standing to me?” But the man was oblivious to her discomfort.

  “How remarkable,” he said, his voice lower than it needed to be. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Miss O’Neil, you are unlike most governesses I have seen. Surely this is not a permanent position for you? Merely a way to pass the time before getting scooped up by some lucky devil, eh?”

  Amanda’s breath caught in her throat and she chewed the inside of her cheek nervously. “What will be, will be, My Lord. But I have no immediate intention to leave my post here. I’m quite content.”

  “Lord Ethelred treats you well, I’d wager?”

  She didn’t answer but hoped fiercely that her silence did not say enough on its own.

  Lord Pemperose smiled at her. The Earl had perfect, straight teeth as white as pearls. He was fashionable almost to a fault. His clothing gave away nothing about his personality other than that he paid good money to his tailor.

  It was not that the Earl seemed unkind or threatening in any way. Amanda had no doubt that if she knew him better, she would not be so alarmed by him. He was a mystery, a gentleman of no apparent personality. It troubled her that she couldn’t get a read on him, that was all.

  Lord Pemperose seemed to straighten up, and Amanda felt that she could take in a breath at last. He clasped his hands behind his back and looked up at the staircase.

  “I’ve been after Ethelred’s southern vineyard for ages. It abuts my property, you see. Well, the Marquess may know a great many things, but how to maximize the profitability of a vineyard is not an area he excels in. I could put it to much greater use and take it off his hands. Only he seems determined to keep it merely as a stomping ground for that charming daughter of his.”

  He looked down his nose at Amanda. “I tell you this, Miss O’Neil, because I suspect that you may have some…influence over the Marquess.” He winked in a way that made Amanda’s temper flare. “You’ll put in a good word for me, hm?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said. Her fingers rose to the chain of her necklace and, as was a nervous habit she’d had for years, she fiddled with the pendant.

  Unfortunately, the movement brought his attention back down to her bosom. Quickly, she dropped the pendant and brought her hands back in front of her, clasping the shawl.

  “That necklace again,” he said, eyeing it. He even stooped lower as if to make out the image
on the medal. “I meant to ask about it at the ball. I would expect a woman like yourself to wear rubies or pearls.”

  “I haven’t any jewelry,” she said simply. Perhaps reminding the Earl of her low birth would draw him back to his senses about flirting with her.

  “Is it of religious significance?” He peered at the necklace so fastidiously that she tucked it back into the neckline of her dress.

  “Yes,” she said, as it was easier than explaining the real importance of the pendant.

  “You must be Catholic then.”

  “I’m Irish.”

  Lord Pemperose laughed, straightening up again. His laugh was bright and easy and lightened the mood significantly.

  “Ah, yes, of course. Of course,” he said, his laughter dying down. “Still, it looks familiar even to my Church of England sensibilities. Which saint is it you’ve devoted yourself to?”