Regency for all Seasons: A Regency Romance Collection

by Mary Lancaster

  “You waltz well, Miss Grey.”

  “Thank you. I have to teach the steps to my pupils. What is your excuse?”

  “It was my duty. All Wellington’s officers have to waltz.”

  “Even when injured?” she challenged.

  “Especially when injured. There’s no mollycoddling in his lordship’s army.”

  Something in his tone made her say, “You miss it.”

  “I was a soldier for eighteen years, so yes, I suppose I miss it.”

  “Couldn’t you go back?”

  “No.” A flash of pain and something far more corroding darkened his face, and then his eyelids swooped down and his lips untwisted into a smile. “No, I can’t go back. One never can, you know. The trick is to look forward. You have taught me that.”

  Her eyes widened. “I have?”

  “We were standing still at Haven Hall, locked in the isolation of the present. Protected, safe but…”

  “Bored?” she suggested.

  A breath of laughter escaped him, warming her skin. “And stagnating. I was protecting Rosa, but you are helping her.”

  She thought of the stranger who, at sight of Benedict, had fled the party he’d only just arrived at. He had to be something to do with the family’s past, something to do with his protection of Rosa?

  “Thank you,” he said softly.

  It wasn’t so much his words but the warmth in his eyes and voice that made her flush to her toes.

  “Thanks are not necessary,” she managed. “If I have helped, then I’m glad.”

  “You are, aren’t you? What a selfless little creature you are.”

  Her flush deepened. “You needn’t make fun of me.”

  “Oh, my dear, I wasn’t.”

  “Don’t call me that,” she all but hissed.

  “Then you do not regard me as a father figure.”

  She blinked. “Father? There cannot be more than ten years between us!”

  “I suppose that answers my question.”

  Before the thrilling heat in his eyes, she dropped her gaze to his chin. She hoped it was the dance that made her breathe so quickly.

  It isn’t. It’s him…

  She didn’t want it to stop. And yet she knew this was madness. For one thing, although he took long walks, the continuous movement of the dance could not be good for his injured leg.

  “I should go and find Miss Benedict and Rosa,” she said breathlessly. “I think this is long enough for her.”

  Slowly, reluctantly, it seemed, he released her and offered her his arm until they had walked clear of the dancers. She could not look at him as she all but fled into the card room.

  Miss Benedict had, fortunately, just finished a game of whist with Miss Muir and a couple of her friends and seemed happy enough to depart. They discovered Rosa and Mr. Benedict in the larger drawing room, making their farewells to Lady Tamar.

  To Caroline’s surprise, Serena hugged her, a faintly anxious look in her eyes. “Take care,” she murmured. “And remember where I am.”

  “When do you leave for Tamar Abbey?”

  “Oh, who knows? We’re not sure about going at all, now.” She walked with them downstairs and sent servants scurrying for their carriage and their cloaks while Miss Benedict fluttered about what a charming time she’d enjoyed and what a kind hostess Lady Tamar was.

  “You must call on us when we’re quieter,” Serena invited. “One day next week, perhaps? You are all welcome.”

  For Caroline, the world had taken on a strange sense of unreality. Perhaps it was to do with the speed of her heartbeat, with the shrinking of her world into the few people now surrounding her, and her over-sensitive awareness of Javan Benedict beside her.

  Handed into the carriage, she again took the seat facing away from the horses, as befitted her lowly position. She didn’t know if the journey would be harder with him beside her, all but touching her, or opposite her where she could see him.

  He placed Rosa opposite her and sat beside her once more. Rosa threw herself back in her seat, smiling contentedly at everyone. She took her aunt’s hand and closed her eyes, exhausted by the day’s adventure.

  While Miss Benedict chattered, Caroline concentrated with difficulty. Although Mr. Benedict seemed to be leaning the other way to avoid any accidental contact, there seemed to be invisible strings binding her to him. Every nerve, every sense, quivered with awareness.

  Only as they finally drove up the neglected road from the gates to the house, did Williams cause the horses to swerve, no doubt to avoid a particularly hideous bump, and Caroline was thrown against Mr. Benedict. There was the shock of his hard shoulder and thigh, his warm hands catching and righting her.

  “Sorry!” she gasped.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No, no. Are you?”

  “Of course not. You’re little heavier than Rosa.”

  It was as if he was reminding himself that they were not alone. Tension coiled inside her. She couldn’t help but speculate as to what would have happened if they were alone. She wondered how he would kiss when not soaked to the skin and terrified he’d hurt her in a dream…

  No, no, and no!

  The carriage pulled up at the front of the hall. Mr. Benedict leapt out almost before the horses had stilled and handed down his sister and Caroline. When she stole a glance at him, his eyes seemed to burn, but it might have been the fault of the carriage lanterns and the light blazing from the open front door. She hurried up the steps while Mr. Benedict swung Rosa out—in a huge arc judging by the child’s joyous gasp.

  “Are you hungry?” Caroline asked Rosa as they entered the house. “Shall I ask Cook to bring something up to the schoolroom before bed?”

  Rosa shook her head and ran for the stairs. She needed some time alone after her unprecedented companionship that day.

  “I’ll come in shortly,” Caroline called, beginning to follow her.

  “A word with you first, Miss Grey, if you please,” Benedict said abruptly.

  Obediently, she took her foot off the step and followed him as he snatched up a candle and limped speedily toward the study.

  He knows. He’s going to send me away, or tell me off in some unbearably humiliating way…

  Knows what? she answered herself aggressively. There was nothing to know.

  He opened the study door. The fire was lit and another glow emanated from a lamp near the desk. That was all she saw before he kicked the door shut behind her and seized her in his arms. His mouth came down hard on her gasping lips, kissing her with a strength and desperation she’d never imagined.

  When she could do more than hang in his arms, shock melting into hot, thrilling pleasure, she struggled to free her hands, which were pinned to her side. At once, his grip loosened, but she only flung her arms up around his neck, drawing him back to her, and he pulled her flush against his body, ravishing her mouth with long, invasive kisses.

  Devastated, aroused beyond belief, she dug her fingers into his hair, stroked the rough skin of his face and the jagged line of his scar. She kissed him back with ever increasing urgency—though for what, where it was all leading, her befuddled mind neither knew nor cared.

  Without conscious volition, she rubbed herself against him like a kitten. When his caressing hand found her breast, she let out a moan of delight and need.

  “Christ, Caroline,” he whispered. “Have you any idea how much I want you? Here and now?” He gave her no time to reply but buried his mouth in hers once more, lifting her right off her feet in his passion.

  Beyond the study, a continuous knocking grew louder and more imperious, gradually breaking through Caroline’s haze of blissful desire. Abruptly, the knocking stopped and voices could be heard in the hall, talking loudly.

  Benedict’s lips stilled. She opened her eyes, staring into his.

  He raised his head very slowly. “I think…you might just have been saved. But damn and blast him to hell, whoever he is. Wait there. Better still, run to you
r room and lock the door. All the doors.” He pressed another quick, hard kiss on her mouth and released her.

  He threw open the study door and strode up the hall with his uneven gait.

  “I insist on seeing your master this instant,” came an imperious male voice. “Of course, he has not retired. The man never sleeps!”

  Caroline, who had never had any intention of obeying him in this, followed him with her heart in her mouth. She wondered if it was the man who’d fled the castle party at sight of him.

  Chapter Eleven

  She’d almost caught up with him by the time he rounded the corner into the main entrance hall.

  He swore under his breath. “Richard,” he said aloud. “What the devil do you want?”

  The visitor, a gentleman in a smart, many caped driving coat, spun around. He was a handsome man, his dark hair cut fashionably short. His face broke into a grin. “There you are, Javan, gracious as ever. Since you ask, a bed for the night would be appreciated. And a shipload of brandy. Companionship in drinking the same is optional.”

  Benedict let out a short bark of laughter and strode forward with his hand held out. “You are a glutton for punishment.”

  The two men clasped hands warmly. Caroline, relieved to see that this was a friend, would have crept away at this point, but over Benedict’s shoulder, the newcomer saw her.

  His eyes widened. Dropping Benedict’s hand, he walked toward her. “Surely not the second Mrs. Benedict?” he exclaimed.

  “No, sir, the first governess,” she replied tartly, although she softened the words with a curtsey.

  “Are you, by God?” the visitor said, his gaze raking her. Too late, she wondered about the state of her hair after those wild minutes in Javan Benedict’s arms. And, of course, she still wore Lady Tamar’s altered gown. “I never saw a governess like you before.”

  “There is not another like her,” Benedict said shortly, moving forward to stand protectively between them. “This is Miss Grey,” he introduced her, “who joined us from the Earl of Braithwaite’s household. Miss Grey, this, sadly, is my cousin, another Mr. Benedict.”

  His laughing eyes alight with curiosity, the newcomer bowed to her.

  “Javan?” came Miss Benedict’s voice from the staircase. “Who was knocking so loudly? Is someone here?”

  “No, it’s only Richard,” Javan replied.

  “Richard who?” Miss Benedict demanded.

  Richard Benedict sighed. “How quickly one is forgotten, even by family,” he mourned.

  “Cousin Richard,” Javan said dryly.

  “Richard!” Miss Benedict exclaimed. “Goodness, how are you? What brings you here? Come up and tell me everything! I’ll ring for a cold supper…”

  “What of little Rosa?” Richard asked as he walked toward the staircase with his cousin. “Is she well?”

  “Better,” Javan said. “But she’s had a busy day. You’ll see her tomorrow…unless she wants to join us? Miss Grey, perhaps you’d go and see? Bring her to the drawing room if you think she’s up to it.”

  Caroline bowed her head in acknowledgement. She was the governess. Whatever had provoked the madness in the study, it was over as if it had never been. And it never should have been. They had both forgotten themselves.

  Silently, she hurried past them, upstairs and along the passage to the schoolroom.

  *

  For Javan, just at first, it almost felt like his military days again, dealing with several crises at once. His blood, already on fire from holding and kissing Caroline, flowed faster, and he had to think on his feet. But of course, there were no enemies here but his baser instincts, and no one was going to die.

  The intrusion of Richard at that precise moment had seemed unbearable, and he had truly considered sending him about his business, before shame brought him back to his senses. It was true he’d come here to escape everyone who knew him, but Richard was more than family. He’d been his friend for as long as he could remember.

  So, while Marjorie chattered and fussed over her order for a cold supper to be set up in the drawing room, he pulled himself together and found he was glad to see Richard.

  As for Caroline…this between them had been building all day. All week. Since he’d first seen her, really. God knew there was more to the attraction than being too long without a woman. She was not simply any woman who’d seemed to notice him. She was not even simply a beautiful woman—although today in her fine gown with her hair in that softer style, she had shone. He had not been the only man who’d noticed, either…

  But there was something about her that had got under his skin. Her stillness that seemed to radiate calm and comfort. Her wit, the way she understood his jokes… And the way her breasts rose and fell when he came near her. She was not frightened and she was not indifferent. There was passion in her he longed to explore, for she excited him as no woman ever had.

  As if his thoughts had drawn her, she walked into the drawing room with Rosa, who ran at once to Richard. Clearly, she remembered him with affection. Richard caught her and swung her high into the air as he’d done when she was tiny, and Javan couldn’t help smiling.

  Caroline—he couldn’t think of her as Miss Grey any more, not after she’d kissed him like that, caressed him with her delectable little body—turned to go.

  Stay!

  Fortunately, he didn’t bark the word aloud. To everyone else, she had to appear merely Rosa’s governess. Even though there had never been anything mere about Miss Caroline Grey.

  “Oh, don’t leave, Miss Grey,” Marjorie said. “Stay and drink tea with us and have a little supper.”

  She looked around, as though searching for a place at the back of the room, as far away from everyone else as possible. And yet, Javan knew she’d occasionally kept Marjorie company here—only when Marjorie requested it, of course, she never presumed. No doubt experience and humiliating accusations of encroachment had taught her that. Or perhaps it was just her character. She gave everyone room and yet would always be there when needed. He wasn’t quite sure how he knew that, but he did.

  In the end, Rosa ran back to her and dragged her by the hand to sit with her on the sofa closest to her uncle.

  Javan walked to the cabinet and poured two generous glasses of brandy. “So,” he said, handing one glass to his cousin and clinking it with his own. “What brings you out into the middle of nowhere, Richard? Apart from the sudden desire for our company, of course.”

  “Like you, old boy, I’ve bolted.”

  “From what?” Javan asked, amused.

  Richard wrinkled his nose. “Marriage,” he said distastefully.

  “You’re married?” Marjorie squeaked.

  “No, thank God, that’s why I’m here, looking for cover.”

  “Is she so ferocious?” Javan mocked.

  “Never met the woman and never want to,” Richard assured him with a shudder. “It’s the whole idea that appalls me. I’m a young man with wild oats still to sow.”

  “You’re three and thirty years old,” Javan pointed out. “Past time to get an heir, for I certainly don’t want to be Bart.”

  Caroline’s head lifted, and her mouth opened as if she was about to ask what he meant. Then she closed it again.

  “Baronet,” Marjorie explained kindly. “Richard’s father, Sir George Benedict, is head of the family. Javan always called him Uncle Bart because when he was a child, he once saw a letter addressed to Sir George Benedict Bart, without the proper punctuation. Richard is his only son and heir.”

  “I shall one day be Cousin Bart,” Richard said flippantly. “But I have no intention of producing baby Bart just yet.”

  “Take your medicine like a man,” Javan advised, throwing himself into the chair beside Marjorie. “And don’t be put off by my experience. Some people have quite pleasant marriages, I believe.”

  “You’re not going to throw me to the wolves, are you?” Richard asked.

  “Not as long as you didn’t tell anyone you w
ere coming here.”

  “How are my aunt and uncle?” Marjorie asked.

  As the conversation flowed, Rosa’s head began to droop slowly onto Caroline’s shoulder.

  “I think I should take her up to bed,” Caroline said quietly.

  “Come back for supper,” Marjorie said brightly, for the servants were bringing in an array of dishes as Caroline gently woke Rosa and urged her to her feet. Javan knew she wouldn’t come back.

  *

  When he entered his daughter’s room, as he did every night, he caught a whisk of peach silk as Caroline vanished into her own bedchamber.

  The soft click of the latch echoed in his mind. He sat on the edge of Rosa’s bed and she took his hand, smiling happily. Rosa was ready to face life again. He rather suspected life had found him, too.

  The figure of Marcus Swayle swam before his eyes, all smiles and charm as he’d greeted Lord and Lady Tamar at the castle…until he’d seen Javan.

  Javan was grateful for that hasty retreat. Thank God, Rosa had been elsewhere at the time. He hoped to hell the bastard had abandoned Blackhaven, for he wouldn’t have the poisonous little toad spoiling the life he’d only just begun to enjoy.

  Rosa was fast asleep in no time. Detaching his hand, he stood and walked to the passage door, carefully not looking at the one connecting to the governess’s chamber. And yet, as he limped down the passage, he couldn’t help pausing at her door. She was in there, alone, and she wanted him. Perhaps she heard him, knew he stood there unmoving, swamped by temptation.

  He could take her. He could give her a night of joy, oh but he could, and his own would light up the heavens.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. She was no lightskirt, and no sophisticated lady protected by her husband’s name either. But she was a lady and she deserved marriage, or at the very least, an unsullied reputation in order to maintain herself. He could only give her the latter.