Barons, Brides, and Spies: Regency Series Starter Collection Volume Two

by Mary Lancaster

  “Miss Claybone—Jeanette—you’ve no idea how much I’ve wanted to hold you.”

  “Lord Oakville…”

  “Call me Rupert. Let us dispense with formalities.”

  “Rupert… I don’t think we should…”

  He silenced her with his lips. She tried to push him away, but he moved his mouth against hers, and his hot, wet tongue pushed insistently against her lips.

  He broke the kiss and took her face in his hands, caressing her cheeks with his thumb. Lust darkened his eyes until they were almost black.

  “Oh, Jeanette, you want me, too, don’t you?”

  He kissed her again, and a deep groan reverberated in his chest, the sound of a male overtaken by the need for a female.

  Yet, she felt nothing, no rumble of need shook her. Was there something wrong with her? Or did she have to respond in order to find pleasure?

  Tentatively, she touched his tongue with hers.

  “That’s it, my darling,” he said. “Let me give you pleasure. Tonight, you’ll be mine.”

  What was she doing?

  She broke free from the kiss and pushed against him. “I’m sorry, I cannot do this. It’s wrong.”

  “Would you deny a husband?”

  “Rupert…”

  “What if we were to marry?” He brought his lips close, his hot breath caressing her skin. “I merely wish to sample the goods first. Wouldn’t your father inspect livestock before agreeing to a purchase?”

  “Marry? I–I don’t know.”

  “But I do. Trust me, this is what courting couples do. We share pleasures. It’s how we get to know one another more—intimately. You wouldn’t deny me another kiss, would you, darling?”

  “One more.”

  “You’re an angel!” He fisted a hand in her hair and pulled her head back to expose her throat.

  His breath tickled against her neck. “Such beautiful skin.” Wet, open-mouthed kisses traced a line down her throat. Soft fingers fumbled at the lace of her gown. He tugged at the material, and a surge of cold air rushed across her breasts.

  “Oh, Jeanette…”

  “Rupert, we cannot!”

  “Yes, we can, my love. Let your pleasure be my gift.”

  His fingers reached their destination.

  “Good grief, you’re as dry as a Muscadet down there!”

  “What do you mean?”

  He chuckled and his eyes hardened. “You really are as innocent as Dray thought.”

  She clamped her legs together, hampering the movement of his hand.

  “Who’s Dray?”

  “Drayton. Lord Ravenwell.”

  He moved to kiss her again, but she turned away. “You’ve discussed me with him?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Tonight, you’re mine, and Dray can go to the devil. He’ll have his cash, but I’ll have you.”

  A ball of nausea formed in the pit of her stomach.

  “Cash?”

  “Hush, my love,” he said, lifting her skirt higher.

  A scream broke through the air. Voices exclaimed, followed by running footsteps.

  “Good God! What’s going on here?”

  Chapter Six

  “Look at her!”

  A small party of onlookers stood beside the archway.

  Oakville turned his head, a triumphant smile spreading across his lips.

  Jeanette followed the line of his gaze. Lord Ravenwell stood apart from the group. The shadows obscured his face, but his body stood stiff and erect, fists clenched at his sides.

  With luck, she had not been recognized. She shrank back into Oakville’s shadow, but her stomach clenched at a familiar voice.

  “Jeanette! Ma fille! Have you given yourself to this man?”

  Mama rushed toward them and slapped Oakville on the arm.

  “How dare you? You’ve not even announced your engagement!”

  Oakville shook Mama’s hand off. “Engagement? Foolish woman! Your daughter was content to spread her legs for me, married or not.”

  Jeanette’s limbs grew weak. He had tricked her.

  “Jeanette!” Mama exclaimed. “Tell everyone he’s offered for you. Tell them you’re engaged!”

  What a fool she’d been, thinking him better than his friend. And Mama expected her to shackle herself to him? Never!

  She shook her head. “Viscount Oakville never offered for my hand. If he did, I’d refuse him.”

  Elizabeth De Witt’s voice cut through the laughter of the onlookers. “Poor Jeanette! To be ruined on your first season. You have my sympathies.”

  Jeanette pushed a smiling Oakville aside. As she passed the silent man standing in the archway, she looked up at the hated figure who must have planned her ruination. The usual sneer was missing from his expression. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Mama yanked her arm and pulled her away.

  Jeanette stumbled into her chamber. She turned to face Mama and a sharp slap exploded in her face.

  “How dare you! All my hard work destroyed in a moment of debauchery. Jeanette, you’ve ruined us!”

  “Mama…”

  “Don’t speak to me! You’ll remain here in your room tonight. Do not venture out, do you hear me? I won’t have you shaming our family further.”

  “What is to happen to me?”

  “Your Papa and I will decide. Get into bed and don’t speak to anyone. With luck, we’ll be able to repair the damage you’ve done.”

  “And if not?”

  “Then our whole family is ruined.”

  *

  The following morning, Jeanette woke from a fitful sleep. Her dreams had been stained with shrill laughter, ladies’ faces twisted with hatred, lips drawn back, teeth bared like savage dogs massing into a pack, eager to rip her apart.

  A shadow moved under the doorframe and she sat up, rubbing her eyes.

  Something had been slipped under the door. A piece of paper folded, with a single word written on the front, penned in Papa’s hand.

  Jeanette.

  Her hands shook as she opened it and read the words.

  My dear daughter.

  Forgive me for writing in haste, but I trust you understand the necessity. You have given me no choice. I love you dearly, perhaps the most of all my children for you bear the closest resemblance to me. I beg you to understand the consequences of your actions but I have to place the welfare of my entire family first.

  Forgive me, Jeanette, but I must think of your Mama and your sisters. If I act quickly, they may still have a future.

  I ask you not to return home. Go to London. I’ll send word to our lawyers to release funds on my behalf for you. George Stockton will look after you, Jeanie love. He’s a good man.

  Papa

  “Papa!” Desperation rekindled her strength. She paced along the corridor until she reached the room her parents shared and flung the door open.

  The room was empty! Her parents had gone.

  *

  Henry stretched his limbs, opening his eyes as his valet scratched around his chamber. His head throbbed, the light burning behind his eyelids.

  What had he drunk last night?

  After compromising Miss Claybone, Rupert had toasted his triumph, then retired to his room.

  The bet was won. Henry’s pocket, and conscience, would be heavier after today.

  None of them had come out well. Rupert had ruined a respectable young woman. She’d been foolish enough to display her ruination in public. And Henry had done nothing to prevent it.

  Though she had been a fool, Henry felt nothing but admiration for her refusal to trap Rupert into matrimony. He could have found himself honor-bound to marry her or exposed to a substantial lawsuit. But she had released him of any obligation.

  And in doing so, she had destroyed her future.

  Henry sighed. Perhaps he should give her his winnings. Not enough for her to make a living, but it would help assuage his guilt. He waved his valet over. Time to dress and inspect the carnage in the breakfast
room.

  After a disappointingly quiet breakfast, he went in search of Rupert. The lazy profligate sat reclined on a chaise longue in the morning room, one leg hanging casually over the edge, swinging back and forth. Having helped himself to Lord Holmestead’s Cognac, he swirled a balloon glass in his hand, the amber liquid forming a thick film which beaded into fat droplets on the side of the glass.

  Rupert raised his glass, then drained it in a single gulp. He let out a cough and a splutter of liquid sprayed from his mouth.

  Weak-bellied fool. He never could take his liquor. Unlike…

  Unlike her. Another image danced across his mind, a young woman pouring her fourth glass of punch, giggling as she issued unladylike curses.

  She had plenty to curse about now, the cause of which languished before him.

  “Celebrating your conquest, Oakville?”

  “You’ve as much cause to celebrate, Dray. After all, you’ve made a tidy profit. Not bad considering I did all the work.”

  Henry curled his index finger into his palm, digging the nail in to control the anger threatening to burst.

  “As if you’d understand the concept of work!”

  Oakville’s smile broadened. “Work is for the lower classes, Dray, and they must occasionally be reminded of their station. Haven’t you said that yourself? Why shouldn’t I follow in the footsteps of the friend I admire?”

  Good heavens! Had Rupert lost all sense of morality in his desperation to compete with Henry’s own prowess at seduction?

  “I never wanted you to publicly ruin her.”

  Rupert snorted. “Has your pride suffered a dent because I got there first?”

  Henry snatched the decanter and poured himself a brandy, the liquid sloshing over his hand. His senses needed dulling before he planted a shiner on Rupert’s grinning face. His Oxford blue at boxing might ensure a sound delivery, but he had no wish to provoke Rupert into challenging him to a duel. Holmestead Hall had seen enough scandal.

  He took a gulp, the liquid burning his throat. “Don’t you understand what a lucky escape you had? Had Miss Claybone supported her mother’s claim, you might have found yourself engaged.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “Honor, Rupert. I suggest you consult Dr. Johnson’s dictionary to check the meaning of the word.”

  Rupert fumbled in his pockets and drew out a wad of notes.

  “Speaking of honor, your two hundred guineas.”

  The door slammed behind them.

  “You bastards.”

  Miss Claybone stood beside the door, fury boiling in her eyes.

  “I beg your pardon?” Henry said.

  Her gaze fell on the notes in Rupert’s hand before she lifted her eyes to stare directly at Henry, the gold flecks in the emerald green irises missing, leaving a dark pool of hatred.

  “You heard, you bloody bastards!” she cried, the force of her anger propelling him backward. “You’ve ruined me, and you celebrate it by getting drunk!”

  Henry shook his head. “Madam, I’m sorry…”

  “Don’t insult me!” she cried. “Look at you, grasping your profit with your grubby fingers! Was it worth it?”

  “Every penny.” Rupert leaned back in his seat, the brandy dulling his words.

  She strode toward Rupert and pulled off one of her gloves, then drew her hand back and slapped him on the face.

  “What in the name of God are you doing?” Rupert slurred.

  She placed her hands on her hips and stood before him, eyes wild with rage, a vengeful, mythological goddess from times past.

  “I’m calling you out.”

  Rupert threw his head back and roared, his laughter turning into hiccoughs.

  “I’m serious!”

  “Very well, Madam,” Rupert said, his laughter subsiding, “I accept your challenge. If you stray onto a man’s turf, then you must abide by our rules. What say you to the field by the lake at moonrise?”

  “Why not? I’ve nothing better to do tonight.”

  Rupert’s smile broadened. “Being a gentleman, I should offer the challenger the choice of weapon, but women are weak and swords are heavy. I’d suggest pistols.”

  “So be it.”

  “Good. Now run along, there’s a good girl. I’ll await your company tonight with eager anticipation.”

  “So will I, Viscount Oakville.”

  She strode out, slamming the door behind her, the force rattling the glasses on the table. Rupert refilled his glass, but before he could raise it to his lips, Henry snatched it out of his hand.

  “Now’s not the time for drinking!”

  “I suppose not. I should practice my aim.”

  Henry sighed. “Surely you don’t intend to go ahead with a duel with a lady?”

  “You said yourself she’s no lady.”

  Why did Rupert act so belligerent when drunk?

  “Come on, Dray,” Rupert laughed, “she won’t turn up. I’ll wager that while I stand in the field tonight, she’ll be lifting her skirts for the next man. Her mama was sniffing round that fop Hugh Chambers at the Darlington ball.”

  “Who will you name as your second?” Henry asked.

  Rupert raised an eyebrow.

  “Come on, Oakville! I’ve no taste for blood sports.”

  “It’s not as if she’ll show up.”

  “We shall see,” Henry said. It was a foolish man who underestimated a woman.

  *

  A layer of clouds covered the sky in a thin, wet blanket, moisture thickening the air. Though the moon was almost full, it failed to penetrate the landscape, the shapes of the surrounding trees barely visible.

  Rupert stood beside Henry, a wooden box in his arms. “How long do we wait?”

  “We both know she’ll not come.”

  Rupert snorted. “She nearly came last night, until her mother interrupted us.”

  “What a pity she didn’t,” Henry said. “You could compare notes against your other conquests. That is, of course, assuming you’ve experienced a woman’s pleasure.”

  Rupert lacked the wit to recognize sarcasm. “Perhaps you fancy a turn with her, Dray. Then we can compare notes!” He let out a bark of mirth.

  It was a poor man who laughed at his own jokes.

  “I’m glad you both continue to find this entertaining.”

  A stream of diffused light picked out the silhouette of a woman.

  Henry recovered his wits first. “Miss Claybone. How long have you been there?”

  “Long enough.”

  “You didn’t think to reveal yourself? What an unladylike lack of decorum.”

  She snorted. “Not something I’m likely to be concerned about any more.”

  “Miss Claybone,” Henry said. “There’s no need to go through with this.”

  “Isn’t there? Why can’t I fight for my honor if nobody else will?”

  “Let her do what she wishes,” Rupert said. “I’ll enjoy seeing her lose her nerve.”

  Curse him! Why did he seek to provoke her? Henry took his friend’s arm and whispered harshly in his ear. “Be careful, Oakville. She’s courageous, desperate, and angry. A dangerous combination in a woman.”

  Ignoring him, Rupert lifted the lid of the box. A pair of dueling pistols were nestled together among red velvet folds, dark blue-gray metal barrels enveloped in polished wood.

  “Miss Claybone, where’s your second?”

  “What’s a second?”

  Rupert gestured toward Henry. “Someone to ensure a fair fight and act on your behalf in case of injury. A friend, if you will.”

  Her smile disappeared. “What makes you suppose I have any?”

  Henry’s heart twitched at the undertone of despair in her voice. By all accounts, she must be saved from her own reckless behavior.

  “Be sensible while you have a chance, Miss Claybone. You could be killed. Return to your chamber, and Oakville and I will return to our port.”

  “Do you lack the stomach for it, Lord Ravenwell
? What should I care what happens to me now? I have nothing left. Nothing!”

  He flinched at the final word, issued in a snarl.

  “Oakville has behaved badly, but I’m sure he’d be agreeable to some form of recompense.”

  “You’re worse than your friend.” She lifted one of the weapons from the box. Her fingers curled around the handle in an inexpert grip.

  Henry gestured to the pistol. “Shall I show you what to do?”

  “How difficult can it be?” she scoffed. She waved the pistol at Rupert. “Shall we get on with it?”

  “Stand with your back to me.” Rupert said. “On my friend’s count, you walk forward. On the count of ten, we’re at liberty to turn and fire. Come on, Dray! I’m anxious to return inside. It’s getting deuce cold out here.”

  Jeanette approached Oakville, issued him a glare, then turned her back on him.

  “Ready?” Henry called. “One. Two. Three…”

  Henry’s voice cut through the night air as Rupert and the woman he’d debauched moved away from each other.

  Rupert’s lack of patience would be Miss Claybone’s salvation. He wouldn’t want the bother of dealing with the aftermath of the duel. Even if shots were fired, they were hardly likely to make a hit. Rupert was a rotten shot when drunk, and Miss Claybone could barely hold her pistol up.

  “…Ten!”

  The two stopped walking. Henry counted several heartbeats, the dull thump pulsing in his ears, before they turned, almost in slow motion, and faced each other, the barrel of each pistol staring the other down. Rupert’s expression held a note of drunken contempt, his hand trembling due to the excesses of port. Miss Claybone’s arm shook more violently, but her face bore an expression of grim determination, her body as tense as a coiled spring.

  Good God, she was going to shoot!

  Rupert laughed. “I’m impressed, Miss Claybone. I never thought you’d come this far. Let’s call it a day, shall we? You’ve had your satisfaction, twice, and I’ve had mine.”

  “You think me a fool, Viscount Oakville?”

  “Come, Madam, time to admit defeat. Lower your weapon and we’ll come to an arrangement.”

  “An arrangement?”

  Unaware of the danger, Rupert continued to taunt her.