A Ravishing Night With The Mysterious Earl (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Olivia Bennet

  Throughout his childhood, and into his adulthood, Simon had always felt trapped by the establishment he had been born into. Yes, he had stood to inherit a grand title and a pleasant estate, when the time came, but it came at a price. One that he had grown tired of paying, when it meant his endless presence in society, and bowing and scraping to the upper echelons he was supposed to be equal to.

  So, when his father had died but two years ago, Simon had decided to make a bold change in his life. He had paid his dues to his father, whilst the gentleman had been alive, and to the title that had become his. For the first time, with his father’s passing, he had finally had the opportunity to do something for himself. And he had seized that chance with both hands.

  No longer content to wander about the empty halls of Burhill Towers, he had made the unprecedented decision to delve into the merchant trade. He still saw to his duties at Burhill Towers, but he only did so when he was not traveling. In the interim, he left those duties in the capable hands of his steward, Asher.

  This is living.

  He gazed upon the ships coming in and out of the harbor, wondering what treasures they held, and what business they provided for. He had purchased several ships of his own, with some of the inheritance he had received from his father, and had chosen to trade in silk and spices.

  Already, in the years that had gone by since his father’s death, he had traveled farther than any of the Fitzwalles before him. He had been to India, to Africa, to Europe, to the Americas, stopping at exotic ports all across the world—more than he could even remember. And yet, he treasured each one, for they reminded him that there was so much more to this Earth than one tiny island.

  “It looks to be a fine morning, My Lord.” Simon turned to find the Captain of his flagship, the Evening Star, approaching him. Captain James McMorrow was a seasoned sailor with a fine reputation. Simon had personally handpicked him to lead his fleet and enjoyed sailing alongside him. Indeed, Simon had come to think of James as more of a friend than an employee. Spending so much time out at sea with a man would do that.

  “I was just thinking that very thing,” Simon replied.

  “Are we still sailing on Wednesday morn?”

  Simon nodded. “With the dawn tide.”

  “Your thirst for the sea gets stronger each time we come back to England, My Lord.” James chuckled. “We’ve barely been back two days, and yet we sail again in four.”

  “Do you not believe we can sell our wares in such a short time?” Simon often looked to James for business advice, for even though he had been part of this merchant world for a few years, he still felt like a novice from time to time.

  “Our wares will be gone by Monday’s auction, My Lord. There’s no fear in that. I just thought I’d note how eager you are to be back upon the ocean. There’s a charm to it, if I may say so. Once it’s cast its spell on you, there’s no going back. That’s why we sailors keep on, no matter the hardships of the last voyage or the challenges of the next.”

  Simon smiled. “You think the ocean has cast its spell on me?”

  “For sure, My Lord. She’s got her claws into you, and no mistake.”

  “Then, the ocean may be the only wife I ever take,” he said, with a sad heaviness in his chest.

  Spending so much time away from England left no time for the pursuit of a wife. He did not mind so much, at the present moment, but he often wondered if that would change. After all, he was not getting any younger. Then again, he could not think of a single lady who would take on such a gentleman as him. To the ton, he was a peculiarity, and nobody wanted to marry their daughter off to a peculiarity.

  “There are worse wives to have, believe me,” James replied, with a smirk. “She’s not so different to most of them. When she’s angry, there’ll be a storm. When you’ve done wrong, you’ll wish you’d never set out with her. And when she’s at peace, she’ll seem the most beautiful thing in all the world.”

  Simon laughed. “Very poetic, Captain.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “And how is your lady wife? I trust she was glad to see you safely returned?”

  James nodded. “Aye, she was singing your praises, right enough. Says she’s never worried when I’m out on the Evening Star. She thinks you were born under a lucky one—a star, that is. The boys are much bigger now, though. They’ll be young men soon enough, and I’ll wonder where all them years went.”

  “Is that why you want us to remain here a while longer?” Simon eyed James, feeling a small twist of guilt in his chest. The sailors on board his vessels had chosen this life, but he could not help feeling slightly responsible that those with families were missing out on so much of the ordinary, day-to-day business.

  “Goodness me, no. My wife and I can only be in the same house for a week or two before one of us wants to kill the other,” he replied, with a grin. “She knows my mistress is the sea, and she’s more than happy to share me. And the boys are always pleased to see me back. I doubt they’d be as eager if I were home all the time. They’d get tired of me, right quick.”

  “You are a good man, Captain.”

  “As are you, My Lord.”

  In companionable silence, they both turned their gaze out towards the water, watching the burning horizon give way to the new day. As Simon saw the first rays peeking through the wispy clouds, he wondered what adventures lay before him. Four days until they set sail seemed like four days too many. He was desperate for the freedom of the ocean waves again, and the gentle rock of the Evening Star beneath his feet.

  Here on land, he risked the ghosts of Burhill Towers coming back to haunt him, impressing his duties upon him, and the incessant pull of the ton trying to rope him back into a more respectable existence. He had lived too long under the duress of others, and he would never do so again.

  The Evening Star was his ticket to the rest of the world. And he would not give that up for anything.

  * * *

  Not too far away, sitting in the drawing room of Beaurgant House, Peter Sheton tapped his fingertip against his brandy glass and stared into the dying embers of the night’s fire. The sun was almost coming up outside the window, though he had only returned home an hour ago.

  Even without Lady Jemima’s company, there had been plenty to keep him occupied at the Cowden residence. In fact, her absence had given him the prime opportunity to speak with Andrew Livington, the Duke of Cowden, who just so happened to be Lady Jemima’s father. The gentleman was a logical, sensible man, which worked well in Peter’s favor.

  He had heard whisperings from several guests at the Cowden’s ball that Lady Jemima was proving rather difficult when it came to marriage. At nineteen years of age, she was not yet beyond the pale, but it appeared as though her mother was extremely keen to see her wed before the year was out. And Peter had the perfect solution. One that benefitted himself and the Duke and Duchess of Cowden.

  He had been plain about his intentions, and the Duke had responded well. True, he was only an Marquess, but the Duke was a reasonable fellow. Rumors of a difficult, headstrong daughter were hard to quell amongst the social elite, and there were very few gentlemen who were up to the task of bringing such a lady into obedience.

  Peter liked to think of himself as precisely that sort of gentlemen. Indeed, he prided himself on it.

  “And you are of good standing?” the Duke had asked him, over brandy in the gentlemen’s smoking room.

  “Of greater wealth than one would expect of a Marquess,” Peter had replied. “And I have the means to ensure the happiness of your daughter. I would take great pains to give her all she could ever hope for, and I would honor her to the end of my days. I am an honest gentleman, of excellent reputation, and I am eager to make a proposal of marriage, if you would accept such a thing?”

  Peter smiled contentedly as he recalled the Duke’s favorable response. Feeling victorious, he downed the dregs of his brandy and rang the bell for another. He had cause to celebrate.

  L
ady Jemima might have thought she could escape him, and embarrass him by running from his side, but he would be the one to have the last laugh. Whilst it was true that he intended to give her all she could ever wish for, he did not expect it to be an easy road ahead. Nor did he want it to be. Her indifference, and near disdain, towards him was intoxicating. And he could not wait for the day when she had no choice but to obey him.

  You will be mine, Lady Jemima. I will have you, one way or another. And, if you fight…oh, I hope you fight…that will only make the experience more enjoyable for me.

  Chapter 3

  Andrew, the Duke of Cowden, sat patiently at the breakfast table, awaiting the arrival of his daughter. He had always hoped for sons, but they had not been gifted with any, throughout his marriage to Leonora, the Duchess. There had been the chance of one, many years ago, before Jemima was even born, but the infant had not survived past a week old. It was still a difficult memory for him to recall, even after so long.

  That was not to say that he did not love his daughter, for he cared about her deeply, but it had come as quite the surprise to discover how trying young ladies could be, once they reached womanhood. Duty and responsibility had always been of paramount importance to him, and his family, and he could not understand her reluctance to marry. She was far too much of a dreamer, with her head forever in the clouds.

  She will be content once she is wed.

  He had come to the conclusion shortly after Jemima had come of age, though he had left the matchmaking endeavors up to his wife, for the most part. She seemed to know more about romance than he did, for he did not believe it was a requirement in the contract of marriage. And yet, he had been happy enough these past twenty years. He had come to love Leonora above all others, and he knew his daughter would experience the same, once a husband had been chosen.

  Yes, I am certain of it.

  He desired to see his daughter protected by a reasonable, kind, well-respected gentleman of good means and excellent character. And he believed he had found the perfect match. As a daughter, she could not inherit Cowden Manor, nor the title that came with it. And he knew that her only means of security would be found within a marriage of her own.

  The sooner, the better, as far as I am concerned.

  “Must you tell her today, Andrew?” the Duchess asked, as she sipped her tea. Even in her advancing years, Leonora was still a beauty. Jemima had been gifted with the same fine looks and raven black hair, though Jemima’s eyes were more like his own—a dark, stormy blue that were not good at keeping secrets.

  “There is no time like the present, my darling,” he replied. “Do you not agree that the match is favorable?”

  “I believe it is very favorable, though I always hoped she might marry a Duke. Someone of slightly better standing than a Marquess.”

  “The rumors are spreading of her strong will and independent spirit, darling. We cannot allow it to progress so far that no gentleman will dare to make an offer towards her.” He paused. “Unfortunately, I am of the mindset that this is the only choice she may have. There are many jealous, fickle young ladies amongst the ton, and they have taken it upon themselves to deter any of those more fitting prospects.”

  Leonora sighed. “Why must they spread such callous rumors?”

  “Because she is a threat to them, my dear,” Andrew replied. Although he did not know much of romance and of the whims of young ladies, he was well-versed in the behaviors of the social elite. Those jealous young ladies had no doubt been instructed by their own mothers to sabotage any hopes that Jemima might have of wedding a gentleman of higher station.

  Not that it mattered. Andrew’s mind was already set on this path, and he would not be dissuaded against it.

  As if drawn by Andrew’s thoughts, Jemima appeared in the doorway to the dining room. She looked well rested after the previous evening’s sudden ailment, though Andrew suspected there had never been such an ailment to begin with.

  As everyone knew, Jemima was a willful creature. She did as she pleased, with no concept of how it would appear to those who cast judgment. In the last month alone, she had been spotted at a women’s literary meeting, casting aspersions upon her that she may be a bluestocking.

  These actions of hers had to be nipped in the bud, before they ruined her reputation entirely. At nineteen years old, she could not afford to make a bad name for herself. A husband would resolve that immediately, casting aside all gossip and aspersions that were laid upon her. Andrew was certain of it. Not only that, but it would see her future secured, killing two birds with one neat stone.

  “Good morning, Jemima,” Andrew said, innocently enough.

  She smiled. “Good morning, Father.”

  “And how are you feeling this morning? Gemma informed your mother that you took to your bed last night, with a sudden headache. I hope it is much improved?”

  “She was rather worried about you, darling,” Leonora chimed in.

  “I am much improved, thank you. I think I had imbibed too much, and the heat of the ballroom was somewhat overwhelming.” Jemima moved towards one of the chairs opposite her parents and sat down.

  Leonora nodded sympathetically. “I always find that champagne gives me a terrible headache.”

  “Well, now that you are feeling much better, there is something we must discuss,” Andrew said, watching his daughter closely.

  “Oh?” She looked up, puzzled.

  “I happened to have a rather pleasant conversation with the Marquess of Beaurgant, after your unexpected departure from the ball,” he continued. “It would appear that he is very charmed by you, Jemima. Indeed, so much so, that he has asked if he might have your hand in marriage.”

  Her face paled. “Father—”

  He cut her off before she could say another word. “Naturally, I have agreed to a betrothal between the two of you, for he seems a suitable gentleman and he spoke with marvelous elegance. Moreover, he spoke very highly of you, and of his wishes to make you happy.”

  “Father, you have surely taken leave of your senses?”

  Andrew held her gaze with steely resolve. “On the contrary, and may I say that I do not appreciate your tone of voice. You will speak to me with the respect I ought to be accorded.”

  “He is a weasel, Father!” Jemima cried.

  “He is nothing of the sort, do not be ridiculous. I have looked into his family, and they seem to be very well-to-do, and he seemed exceedingly polite to me. Indeed, just this morning, I sent word to the local newspaper, to announce your betrothal. It should be in the paper by this evening, or tomorrow at the latest.”

  Jemima shook her head. “Father, no. I will not marry him!”

  “You will do as you are told,” Andrew shot back. “After your incessant displays of willfulness, your choices are extremely thin on the ground. Your behavior does not become you, and everyone is talking unfavorably of your character. Do you honestly believe that I can sit here, as your father, and allow the ton to look down upon you? I will not. A husband will fix this unruliness in you.”

  Jemima gripped her fork. “If it involves marrying that vile little man, I will not do as I am told!”

  “The Marquess will return you to the respectful young lady that you ought to be. He will calm all of these peculiar whims of yours. Once you are a wife, you will find your place in this world, and you will no longer have time for these outlandish dreams of yours. Romance is one thing, as I know you young ladies are fixated upon the idea of love, but being seen in improper environs will not be tolerated any longer.”

  “So, you would rather see me wed to a gentleman that I openly detest—that I am telling you I despise, and do not trust?” Jemima was shaking now, her eyes wide in horror.

  Andrew ignored her obvious aversion. “I cannot understand why you would feel such a way. Clearly, you are the one who has taken leave of your senses. He is a good, sturdy, stoic gentleman, with a remarkable estate and a healthy yearly income. He will do very nicely as your husband.�
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  “Mother, will you not say something?” Jemima asked in desperation.

  “I happen to agree with your father, Jemima. The Marquess seemed very keen on you indeed, and he spoke rather poetically of you. I found him to be charming, with a romanticism about him that most young ladies would be grateful for.”

  Jemima shook her head. “Then you have only seen what you wish to see. You did not see him stalking through the hallways in pursuit of me. You did not hear his incessant words in my ear, and how he attempted to encourage me to walk with him outside.”