The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection

by Dorothy McFalls

  “Are you threatening me, Edgeware?”

  Nigel loathed both threats and confrontations. But since the success of the week depended on the guests actually staying for the house party, he was forced to play the clever bastard.

  “Yes, my lady, I believe I am.”

  George had been right. His friend had spent the previous week gathering all sorts of nasty bits of information against the invited guests from a variety of underworld sources. Nigel had protested but was now glad George hadn’t listened.

  “Shall I have Lady Waver show you and your daughters to the guest chambers I’ve selected specifically for you?”

  Lady Dashborough smiled through tight lips and her voice sounded strained. “Yes, my lord, that would please me.”

  He gave a deep bow. “Until this evening then, my lady.”

  The first crisis of many, no doubt, had been quite smoothly handled. Satisfied, he turned his mind to Elsbeth. Lady Dashborough was not the type of woman to keep her dislikes silent. If she and the Baneshire family had arrived at the estate at the same time, he could only suppose that Elsbeth was upstairs licking her wounds and planning her escape.

  He stopped a footman who was descending the grand stairs. “Is Lady Mercer settled in the chamber I’ve selected for her?” he asked, thinking to invite her and her cousins into the red parlor to take an early tea. Women often required extra attention and reassurances when faced with a difficult situation. He doubted Elsbeth was any different.

  “No, my lord,” the footman said.

  “She is not?” Had she run off so quickly?

  “Lady Mercer had asked for directions to the gardens. I showed her the way myself, my lord. And then a few minutes later, I showed Lady Olivia the same path.”

  “Very good,” he said, and raced back down the stairs and out the back door into the estate’s private gardens.

  The soft scent of daffodils greeted him. Beyond the yew hedges, he heard the whisper of voices and the rustle of skirts. Steeling himself for the worst—namely, a river of tears—he straightened his coat and began a brave march forward.

  “Ho there!” George’s voice carried across a grassy field.

  Nigel waited for George to trot across the field. “What detective work have you been pursuing today?” he asked.

  “Me?” George shrugged. “Nothing, really. Just a brisk trot around the grounds.”

  “Looking for evidence, perhaps?” Nigel pulled out the scrap of material he’d found in the woods and handed it to George. “Something like this?”

  George studied the woolen fabric.

  “I believe someone was stalking in the woods, watching me. He eluded me when I went in pursuit but not without tearing his cloak.”

  “Strange,” George said, giving the cloth even more attention. “I spoke to Charlie on the wooded path between our houses a few minutes ago. He arrived this morning with three young friends. They are looking to invade your house party.”

  “Charlie?” He was surprised to hear that his cousin, the younger Charles Purbeck, would leave the excitement of the London Season for what promised to be a staid country gathering.

  “He’s set up at the dowager cottage.”

  “Fine. I’ll send a footman to invite him and his friends to dinner. The younger women will be grateful for the company of men closer to their age.”

  George frowned. “Are you not the least concerned that Charlie or one of his friends might be wearing a torn cloak?”

  Nigel considered the idea and quickly dismissed it. “Charlie’s harmless.”

  George frowned, not looking at all convinced.

  “Granted, Charlie has an uncommon talent for mischief,” Nigel conceded. “But I assure you, he would never do anything to harm me. We were raised together. We survived his father’s rages together. We’re as close as brothers.”

  “Of course you are,” George shook his head and smiled. “I’ve been working in the shipping business too long, I suppose. I no longer trust anyone.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true. Anyhow, I don’t have time to worry about this now. I’m tending to a fire on our other front.” He explained the situation and was more than a little relieved when George followed him into the gardens. His friend had a certain way with women, handling the fairer sex with a rogue smile and a smooth tongue.

  Without too much searching they found Elsbeth and Olivia in the folly, a sham ruin celebrating the goddess Athena. The round Greek temple sat in the midst of one of the garden’s many ponds.

  “My ladies,” Nigel said, as they crossed the arched bridge and joined the women in the shelter of the marble stone structure. “Please allow me to introduce my friend and neighbor, Mr. George Waver.”

  Olivia stepped forward. Her smile rivaled the sun reflecting off the pond. Elsbeth stayed behind her cousin. Her features remained as still as the stone ruin. At least her sapphire eyes, though hard and wary, were clear. No evidence to suggest she’d been weeping. Perhaps Lady Dashborough’s complaints had not reached her ears.

  George greeted the women using his extraordinary charm and began to recount a silly adventure Nigel and George had shared as lads. “We were convinced the head gardener was a French spy and had set out to uncover the truth,” he said and then launched into his tale with vivid descriptions.

  George’s presence seemed to put the young Lady Olivia immediately at ease. Elsbeth was more reserved in her reaction. Her wary gaze, Nigel noticed, kept straying away from George and in his direction. Nigel crossed his arms in front of him, hoping to strike a languid pose.

  What was she thinking? What did she find so unpleasant about him that she would have to regard him so?

  George must have noticed Elsbeth’s odd behavior for he stopped mid-story. “Lady Olivia, would you care to stroll the bulb garden with me? The flowers are near their peak, and the light is perfect for viewing.”

  Olivia quickly agreed and latched onto George’s proffered arm. “I will see you at dinner, my lady,” George said, giving a departing bow to Elsbeth, who had stepped forward to join in the stroll. “And do not worry after your young cousin. I will have her back to the house in a trice.”

  “Very well,” Elsbeth said with a sigh. “I will be waiting for you in our apartment, Olivia.” Her gaze stayed fixed upon the departing couple until they disappeared around the corner of the path. She then turned to Nigel.

  “Why do you stare at me so?” she asked in a harsh whisper.

  “I don’t understand.” He was quite taken aback at the charge. He took a step toward her. “It was you who was staring at me. Not that I mind the attention, mind you. At least you are finally taking notice of me.”

  “Absurd. Simply, absurd,” she said, as she backed away from him until she’d pressed herself up against one of the far columns.

  Her behavior confounded him. “Is it so terribly frightening to find yourself alone with me?” He braved a second step forward. Pursuit of a woman was foreign to him. He was much more used to the role of hapless prey than aggressive predator. And aggressive predator was unquestionably the role he filled now. He purposefully stood between Elsbeth and her escape, making damned sure there was no danger of her fleeing. There could be no seduction if she refused to remain in his presence for more than a moment or two.

  “I am not afraid,” she whispered. Her lips quivered ever so slightly as she pressed herself more firmly against the far stone column.

  “You believe I will attack you?” Certainly she didn’t think he’d—

  “A-attack me?” she breathed.

  Ah, she did.

  Her gaze shifted toward the bridge, the only way out of the ruin, and back to where he stood blocking the way.

  “I promise that you are safe with me,” he said as he stepped to one side, careful to keep his distance while opening up her escape route. “I spoke with Lady Dashborough. Lady Waver mentioned that she arrived the same time as you. I hope she—”

  “Did she leave?” Elsbeth asked before he co
uld explain. “She told me she planned to leave.”

  “I’m sure Lady Dashborough told you a good many things she now regrets.” He couldn’t help but chuckle as he remembered how easily the good Lady Dashborough came into line. “She would not dream of leaving my house party.”

  The news didn’t seem to cheer Elsbeth in the least. “This bodes to be a very long week.”

  “And pleasant, I hope. I am pleased you decided to attend.”

  “You gave me no choice! You conspired to set my own family against me!”

  Despite her fierce scowl he couldn’t help but take heart from her sparking anger. Where she was standing, at the far end of the ruin, the sunlight streamed in and bathed her in the most ethereal light. She could have been the warrior, Athena, returned to earth as lithe as a deer and as strong as a lioness.

  A sudden surge of lust nearly stole Nigel’s breath. He wanted this goddess to come to life, this picture of perfection, but he had no idea how to win her. The goddess standing in his garden was as real as the water in the ponds. She would be staying in his home and sleeping in one of his beds. The thought was staggering.

  “You’re doing it again,” she said.

  “Doing what?”

  “Staring at me like that.” She clutched the locket at her throat. “Like you’re hungry. It makes me uneasy.”

  Well hell, that was the last thing he wanted to do. “I only wished to speak with you. I was curious to know how you fared after your encounter with Lady Dashborough.” His voice was purposefully neutral, though he felt anything but neutral toward her and the whole bloody situation.

  “I’m fine. Lady Olivia has convinced me that my uncle would be most upset if I showed up at their London town house a few days after leaving.”

  “That is a—what did you say? Baneshire is in London?” Her uncle, a very well respected member of the ton, was to play a large role in the reformation of Elsbeth’s good name.

  “He sends his regrets. He had every intention of attending. But at the last minute found it impossible to leave Lady Baneshire alone. She’s been gravely ill for some time now, you must know. He insisted we come, though. He sent an army of footmen with us to guard the carriage.”

  The unplanned change of topic worked well to smooth the worry lines from Elsbeth’s brow. Her tone strengthened and turned quite clipped and frosty. If only the change in topic would do the same for Nigel, and his lust for her could be so easily forgotten.

  “Lord Baneshire will be missed.” He took a step toward her. He caught a whiff of her perfume, a sweet orange scent in the cool breeze.

  “Stroll with me in the gardens,” he said, and instantly cursed himself for sounded imperious. He had rather hoped his invitation would have sounded as accommodating as George’s had when he invited Olivia to accompany him through the gardens.

  “I should return to the guest chamber, my lord. I am still in my carriage dress.”

  True, she was dressed in a heavy dark blue gown, suitable for traveling. There was a smudge of dust on her cheek, a tiny matching hat sat askew on the top of her head, and a few pins were coming loose, letting the random blond strands of hair escape from the tight styling.

  “Very well,” he said, but he was not ready to leave her company. He tilted his head and smiled at her. “Perhaps you can do one thing for me before you take your leave?”

  Her gloved hand shot out. “You wish to touch my hand again, I suppose.” Sapphire blue eyes smoldered from behind her steady lashes.

  “Please, Elsbeth,” he said. He drew off his hat and tossed it aside so he could drag his hand through his hair. This was going to be a very long week indeed. “You have no need to feel a duty to placate me. And I promise you there is no reason to fear me. The only two things I will insist upon is that you accept my assistance in restoring your reputation, and that you do not attempt to uncover Dionysus’s identity.”

  She closed her palm and lowered her hand. For a moment her brows furrowed. “I don’t know…”

  What she didn’t know, Nigel wasn’t sure. “I had hoped, though, to persuade you to agree to a chaste kiss.” Of course he had pictured the kiss blooming into something daringly passionate.

  She appeared scandalized by his admission. “I would not enjoy it.”

  “A challenge, then?” He stepped away from her. She looked ready to dive over the railing and into the pond to escape his wicked presence. “Now you will certainly have to agree to permit me to brush my lips with yours. For if you don’t, I will forever believe you find me lacking.”

  With a look of outrage, Elsbeth charged toward the bridge. Nigel’s heart dropped as he watched her rush past him. Skirts raised, she made haste over the wooden planks and down several feet of the garden trail.

  And then, much to Nigel’s astonishment, she stopped.

  “How chaste a kiss?” she inquired over her shoulder.

  “Our lips would touch.”

  She took several more steps down the path before stopping again. “For how long?”

  “For as long as you desire.”

  She stayed frozen in the middle of the path with her back to him for several moments. Nigel was wise enough not to pursue her. Instead he held his breath while she considered the request, convinced she’d refuse. But like a skittish wren lured to a bowl of seeds, she slowly turned around.

  “I will not enjoy it,” she said, but closed her eyes and puckered her lips.

  As light as the spring breeze in the air, Nigel made a jaunty trail to her. Elsbeth stood stiff with her eyes tightly sealed. He didn’t dare wrap his arms around her for fear she might bolt again. So he leaned in close until his lips were a whisper from hers. “I will kiss you now,” he said softly.

  He brushed his lips against her mouth. She stood unmoving, unresponsive. And yet, his desire grew. He flicked his tongue over her puckered lips hoping to soften them, praying he could draw her out.

  She gasped, perhaps to protest. No matter, he took advantage of the opening and suckled her lower lip.

  Instead of pulling away, she leaned in closer, her mouth drinking in the attention as if starving. She pressed a hand against his chest and returned his kiss passion for passion.

  Nigel groaned.

  Suddenly, she pulled back. “That is not the kind of kiss we had agreed to.” Her whole face was flushed, her breathing hitched.

  “Did you not enjoy it?” he asked, knowing full well that he was the very devil for teasing her.

  “Certainly not!” She turned on her heels and held out her arm. “I would thank you to escort me back to the house now.”

  He gratefully placed his forearm under hers. At least she’d not run away. She was a proud woman and strong. He could admire that. “I must practice then, my lady. For a kiss should be most enjoyable for both parties. Perhaps you will give me pointers?” he said seriously, though a smile played upon his lips. He guided her back to the house while she remained silent.

  “Your lips are most exquisite,” he said just before leaving her at the base of the grand staircase, knowing it would scandalize her. “I won’t be able to think of anything other than your sweet taste upon my mouth for the rest of the day.”

  Chapter Eight

  Elsbeth stood off to one side of the drawing room door and watched the ladies taking afternoon tea with the gentlemen gathered within. Everyone appeared so at ease. They visited and laughed freely with each other.

  Her heart shuddered.

  She’d never experienced such familiarity with her husband and his friends. Men, loud and often brash, simply could not be trusted. They needed to be watched as carefully as one would watch a thief around the household’s best silver.

  She felt much more comfortable around the servants. That was where she had spent the afternoon, questioning the servants about Dionysus. Though they had expressed honest concern, every single one she’d questioned was either too loyal to the Marquess, or they truly didn’t know Dionysus’s secret identity.

  She tended to
think that it was the latter, that the servants simply did not know. The secret was that deep.

  “Dreadful, isn’t it?” a voice whispered in her ear, startling the wits out of her. She nearly jumped to the ceiling before she whirled around with such speed that her feet jumbled beneath her, tossing her directly into his chest.

  His chest.

  She felt his muscles ripple from beneath the layers of his clothing. Or was that just her overactive imagination at work? And that kiss in the garden. She couldn’t seem to keep from thinking about it. Or wondering if there would be a second one. Those unruly thoughts frightened and excited her all at once. She shouldn’t be having such thoughts about a man, especially not about a man who could turn her legs to jelly with the twitch of his lips.

  Edgeware smiled down on her as he very gently set her back on her feet. “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said softly.

  Her face heated from embarrassment…and from that other emotion she was unwilling to acknowledge. She was forever making herself look the fool around him.

  She quickly gathered her composure and turned a hard glare toward the devilishly handsome lord.

  “What do you mean by saying I am dreadful?” she asked.

  “Not you, dove.” His gaze flicked toward the drawing room. “Them. I despise such gatherings. One feels obligated to be in a perpetually cheerful mood and such obligations tend to irritate my nerves by half.”

  He looked so miserable, so utterly put out, she couldn’t help but smile. Surely he was jesting. A man of his position and wealth must thrive on social gatherings.

  “We must go in, you know,” he said. “My fortifiers—brandy, sherry, and port—are all on that sideboard…” He sighed. “On the far side of the drawing room.”

  “Poor man.” His behavior was so unlike her late husband’s. Lord Mercer would have never bemoaned the location of his brandy. Instead he’d have plowed into the room, poured a snifter full, and ignored the guests if that was what he chose to do.

  “I have a duty to my guests,” Edgeware said and heaved another deep sigh. “Perhaps if you stay close to me, we’ll both survive the ordeal.”