A Lord's Flaming Return: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Henrietta Harding

  The lists were handed out, and they all dispersed through the grounds. Benedict walked off, clutching the piece of paper. He would find a quiet spot behind a tree and just sit it out. Let someone else claim the prize. He had no interest in it at all.

  ***

  He found his spot beneath a secluded oak tree beside a pond. He leant back against the trunk, throwing stones distractedly into the water. Hopefully, the partygoers would be so intent on the hunt they would not even notice him.

  He sighed, watching the water ripple as the stones skipped the surface. It was a tranquil spot, at least, a nice way to while away the time. He heard a lark singing in the tree above him. He felt the sun on his face, warming him from the outside in. He closed his eyes as he relished the moment.

  Perhaps he had it wrong. Perhaps he had fought for his life in India to appreciate these simple moments. The chance to be free again and feel the sun upon his skin as he sat by a pond.

  When he opened his eyes again, he saw her walking down the path towards him. Emmeline. The list was in her hand, but she wasn’t looking at it. Instead, she was gazing around, seemingly as lost in the day as he was.

  He stilled, his breath catching in his throat. She was heading towards the pond now, but he knew she hadn’t seen him yet. Spellbound, he watched her stoop down, trailing one hand through the water. A butterfly hovered above her head. He was so close to her that he could almost reach out and grab it.

  At that moment, she turned and saw him. She gave a strangled gasp, standing upright.

  “I am sorry,” he said in a quiet voice. “I did not wish to disturb you.”

  She blinked rapidly. “It is I who should apologise,” she said curtly. “It seems that is I who have disturbed you.” She took a deep breath. “I shall leave.”

  “Emmeline, wait,” he said, his heart beating rapidly. “How is your ankle?”

  She looked surprised. “It has healed,” she said stiffly. “It was sore for a week or more, and then it became better.” She hesitated. “I suppose I should thank you for assisting me that day. I know you did not want to do it.”

  “How do you know that?” he asked slowly. “Why would you think that I would not wish to help you?”

  She gave a strangled laugh. “Let us be frank. It is quite obvious to me that you do not wish to talk to me or know me again in any manner.” She raised her chin. “And that is perfectly fine with me after what you did.” Her face tightened.

  A wave of immense sorrow swept over him. He had done this to her. Sweet Emmeline, who had trusted him implicitly. He had let her down horribly. He had never intended it, but it was done, just the same.

  “Why are you here?” she burst out suddenly. “Why have you returned to this district after so long?”

  He stood up, approaching her. She stepped back.

  “Perhaps I should not have done so,” he said, feeling his heart contract again. “It is only for my cousin’s sake and to attend family business.” He ran a distracted hand through his hair. “Emmeline, I am sorry. I never meant to let you down …”

  “Truly?” Her face was tight with anger. “You left the district without word or explanation, and I never heard from you again. That was over three years ago. And yet you claim you never meant to let me down?”

  He swore underneath his breath. “It was complicated.”

  “Then let me uncomplicate it for you,” she said crisply, her blue eyes flashing. “You are a cad, Lord Benedict Montagu. You seduced me and swore that you would one day make me your wife. But it was all a lie. Tell me, do you do this to other ladies when you visit other parts of England? Is it a game for you, playing with ladies’ hearts?”

  He winced, reeling back as if she had struck him. “I wrote a letter to you before I left …”

  “You are still a liar,” she cried. “I never received a letter from you. Not then or any time in the years since. You simply vanished. One day you were declaring eternal love for me, and the next, you were gone.”

  He stared at her, appalled. Why was she claiming never to have received his letter?

  This was the moment when he should tell her. He should explain everything: how he had never wanted to leave her and only done so to save his cousin. How he had been imprisoned for years in India with no way of contacting her. She thought he had deliberately deserted her and that his love for her had been a lie. She needed to know the truth.

  He opened his mouth, but no words came out. It was as if they were stuck in his throat. He simply could not speak of it to her – to anyone, other than Ralph. It was still too raw, too painful. He could not even begin to put it into words.

  She gazed at him, her chest heaving, waiting for a response. He hung his head. The silence stretched between them.

  “So be it,” she said tightly. “Good day, Lord Montagu. I hope you are successful in the hunt.”

  She walked swiftly away, back down the path from where she had come.

  “Emmeline,” he called, feeling like his heart was breaking all over again. “Emmeline … wait!”

  But she didn’t stop, nor did she turn back. Within seconds she had disappeared.

  He swore. He knew he should go after her. He wanted to go after her. She deserved an explanation, but it was as if his feet were rooted to the ground.

  Another wave of sorrow swept over him. Perhaps it was for the best that she thought him a cad who had deliberately deserted her. It was good that she despised him; far worse if she looked on him with sympathy. It might rekindle her love … and he couldn’t have that. He had nothing to offer her. He would only break her heart twice over.

  He sat down against the tree again, feeling as low as he had ever felt in his life. And maybe he deserved to.

  Chapter 10

  As soon as they were back at Derby Hall after the day was blessedly over, Benedict retired to his chambers. His mind was awhirl, and he couldn’t sit still. Desolately he gazed out the window, watching a gardener wheeling a barrow through the grounds.

  Emmeline loathed him. The knowledge felt like a stone sitting in the middle of his chest. It hurt. It hurt like hell. As much as he knew that it was for the best, it didn’t change that fact one little bit.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” he said irritably. All he wanted was to be left alone.

  Brady, the butler, entered. “His Lordship requests your presence in his study,” said the man. “He said to inform you it is business. Mr Hardy is in attendance also.”

  Benedict swore underneath his breath. After the day he had just had, the last thing he felt like doing at this moment was to sit through a business meeting. But he knew his uncle wouldn’t let him off the hook.

  “I shall be down presently,” he said.

  Brady nodded. “Very good, sir.” The man turned to leave.

  “Wait,” said Benedict, frowning. “Brady, there is something I wish to ask you.”

  The man raised his eyebrows. “Yes, sir?”

  Benedict took a deep breath. “I gave you a letter to send before I left for India,” he said slowly. “A letter to a lady who lives in the district.” He hesitated. “I spoke with her today, and she claims she never received it.”

  The man jumped a little. “My Lord,” he said. “That was a very long time ago.”

  “I am well aware of that,” said Benedict, frowning slightly. “But the letter was important. You did send it … did you not?”

  The butler hesitated. There was silence.

  “I meant to,” he said eventually. “But after you departed, sir, I suffered a fall down the stairs. Broke my right leg in two places.” He grimaced. “In the confusion, I completely forgot about the letter. I was off duty for several weeks, and by the time I resumed my station, I could not find it. I must have misplaced it somewhere.”

  Benedict ran a hand through his hair. “By Jove’s beard, you are telling me that the letter was never sent?”

  The butler nodded, looking mortified. “I am terribly sorry, si
r. But I was in a fair amount of pain and not thinking clearly at all.”

  Benedict sighed heavily. “You cannot help that you were injured, Brady. It is just an unfortunate set of circumstances.” His heart felt so heavy it was a wonder he could stand up at all. “Thank you. You may leave. Tell my uncle I will be with him shortly.”

  The letter had never been sent. Emmeline was telling the truth.

  The butler looked relieved. “Thank you, sir. I do apologise, again.”

  Benedict waved him away. The butler left, closing the door firmly behind him.

  He cursed again, pacing the floor in his agitation. What an unholy mess. No wonder Emmeline thought him an utter cad. His heartfelt letter, explaining where he was going and why had never been received. She truly thought he callously deserted her and had never truly loved her. The fact he had been unable to write to her in the years after he had left merely cemented it all in her mind.

  She had been the love of his life; he would have willingly died for her. He had genuinely been intending to marry her. And then cruel fate had intervened, sending him away. Their chance at happiness dashed forever.

  A pang of deep sorrow pierced his heart. She was truly the most wondrous creature he had ever beheld. He had been smitten with her from the moment he first laid eyes upon her. And then he had got to know her and realised she was not only beautiful but clever and sweet and kind. A jewel among women.

  His heart lurched, remembering his brief spellbinding time with her. The passion as well as the love. The feel of her in his arms trembling like a dove. The way he would scale the wall to her chambers, stealing through the window like a thief in the night, so besotted that he did not care about the risk. The way they would fall into the bed, so hungry for each other they simply could not wait another moment …

  He shivered as it all crashed over him. The memories of their affair he had tried so very hard to quash. When he had been imprisoned, it had seemed the only thing he could do to stay sane; he had to live moment by moment, one day at a time, just to survive. If he had spent that time dreaming about Emmeline, he knew that he would surely go mad with the pain.

  When he had returned to England, he had not sought her out. Too much time had passed, and he genuinely wished she had moved on with her life. That she had not waited for him like faithful Penelope. That her pain at never hearing from him again had been short-lived, and she had learnt to live and love again. He felt like he had been hollowed out, that he was a mere husk who would never be capable of deep feeling again.

  He still felt that way. He had nothing to give her. Nothing.

  His heart lurched. No, he was incapable of that kind of love now. But Emmeline deserved to know that he had not deserted her in the way she believed. She needed to know that he had at least tried to explain to her what was going on and that he truly loved her. She needed to know that he had written that letter even if she had never received it.

  It was the least he could do for the woman he had once loved, more than life itself.

  ***

  He didn’t want to warn her of his impending visit. He knew she would only make an excuse; say she was out, sick, or a hundred other things. He needed the element of surprise, or his chance would be gone. He decided he would go there the very next morning.

  He didn’t take a carriage. Instead, he borrowed a horse from his uncle’s stables, heading out to Lambeth House on a grey stallion. The wind whipped his hair as he flew down the once-familiar roads to her home.

  There it was. The house that had once been like a beacon of light to him. A large sandstone house with white shutters on the windows, surrounded by lush gardens. His heart lurched as he rode towards it. It hadn’t changed much at all since he had last beheld it. It was almost like gazing upon an old friend.

  He gazed up at the window to the right, on the second level. His heart contracted again. It was Emmeline’s chambers. So many nights, he had scaled a back wall towards it, knowing that soon she would be in his arms. Now, the shutters were half-closed. She wasn’t there peering out, waiting for him any longer.

  He knocked on the front door. It seemed an age until he heard the thud of footsteps inside heading towards it.

  The butler was there, staring at him. “May I help you?”

  Benedict took a deep breath. “Yes. I would like to see Miss Emmeline Vaughan if she is home.”

  ***

  He was taken to the drawing room to wait. Every minute felt like an hour. But eventually, a figure appeared in the doorway. It was her.

  She didn’t look at all surprised to see him, but then, she had been warned. She had time to tame her expression. She was dressed in a plain blue morning gown with white lace at the collar.

  “Why are you here?” she asked, her blue eyes wide. “Why have you come?”

  He stepped towards her. “Can we sit down?”

  She sighed wearily but nodded her head. They sat opposite each other on the burgundy chaise longues. She was the first to speak.

  “My family are all out for the day,” she said slowly. “Attending a horse race.” She paused. “I did not feel like going. Luckily for you, as it turns out.”

  He nodded, feeling beads of sweat break out on his brow. His hands balled into fists on his lap. “Emmeline. There is something I must say to you.”

  She tilted her head to the side, gazing at him. “Indeed. I thought we had said all we needed to say at the Bardwell party yesterday.”

  He exhaled slowly. “You told me yesterday that you never received any letter from me,” he said. “But I did write you one. I wrote it hastily the morning that I left and gave it to my uncle’s butler at Derby Hall to send.”

  She sighed heavily. “Benedict, there truly is no need for this …”

  “But there is.” He leant forward, gazing at her beseechingly. “Whatever has happened since, you must know that I did write a letter to you. I did not desert you, as you believe.”

  Her face twisted. “Has your conscience been pricked? Is that it?”

  He took a deep breath. “I queried the butler about it yesterday. Apparently, he suffered a grievous fall just after I departed, breaking his leg.” He paused. “The letter was never sent.”

  She gazed at him steadily. “Why should I believe you?”

  “Because it is the truth.” His voice shook slightly. “It was never my intention to leave you, Emmeline. I loved you with all my heart.”

  She paled slightly but did not say a word.

  “I told you this in the letter,” he continued. “I told you how much I loved you and wanted to be with you. But circumstances ripped me away from you. I had no choice but to go.”

  She shook her head, vigorously. “No, you are lying again! You come back after more than three years and expect me to believe that you never meant to leave me?” She paused. “It is too much …”

  “It was my cousin,” he said, his heart thudding painfully. “He got into difficulty in India, and I had no choice but to go there to help him.” He hesitated. “Once I arrived, events escalated, and I was not able to write at all.”

  She looked shocked. “You were in India? Why would you be unable to write?”

  He stared at her beseechingly, feeling the sweat dripping down his neck. He couldn’t speak of it. He just couldn’t. It was enough that he had told her this much.

  He stood up abruptly. “It is enough that you know that I did send you a letter and that it was never my intention to leave you,” he said. “I did not abandon you willingly, Emmeline. I hope that you take comfort in that.”