Lady's Temptations: A Winter's Regency Menage

by Reed, Kristabel

  But that was neither here nor there. As her footman opened the door, Sarina was surprised that only Oliver greeted her. No, she realized, she shouldn’t be surprised. Henrietta and Maryanne knew when she’d arrive, even with the weather. They’d no doubt purposely made themselves scarce.

  As Oliver led her into the parlor, Sarina noticed another uncomfortable observation: a distinct lack of servants. An estate this size should have easily twice or maybe three times the number of household staff she saw in her brief examination.

  “My apologies,” Oliver whispered to her as he led her from foyer to parlor. “But you’ve been victim to a conspiracy by your cousins.”

  Sarina only grinned up at him; it wasn’t his fault. “I should’ve expected as much,” she admitted in an equally soft tone. “Please, don’t mind me. I don’t wish to be a bother. I’ll simply retire to my room.”

  She didn’t miss the slight dejected look he quickly covered. “If you’re tired, of course,” he said gallantly. “However, if you feel up to it, I could take you on a tour of the grounds. The weather seems to have broken.”

  Sarina paused. She was no closer to finding the words to gently let Oliver down than she had been weeks ago. But now that she was here, now that she saw certain aspects of the estate, she found she couldn’t simply dismiss them. Or him.

  Nodding she said, “I believe a tour would be lovely.”

  Oliver smiled at her, his blue eyes alight, and for the first time Sarina realized how handsome he truly was. Not classically like Liam or even in a darker way like Prescott. Oliver was older than both men, his features harder, sharper.

  But no matter how she looked at him, his smile did nothing to make her heart pound, to make her blood heat or her breathing catch.

  Wordlessly, Sarina placed her hand on Oliver’s arm and allowed him to lead her along the grounds. Though he didn’t say anything—he had far more style than to point out his estate’s failings—it was difficult to miss the closed-off gardens, overrun with dried weeds and dead leaves. Or the single stable boy tending only a few horses.

  Sarina didn’t comment, but her heart broke for the clear former magnificence of Hawksmoor. They walked along untended paths, littered with puddles and the husks of last year’s flowers. Even with the weather so wet, it was March and the spring flowers should be in bloom, the gardens bursting with greenery.

  She saw none of that.

  The weather held, and though the trip had been long, Sarina found herself restless and glad she’d agreed to walk with Oliver. She needed this outlet for her nerves.

  They crested a hill that overlooked the lands. More unkempt gardens, a threadbare vegetable patch, and rundown stables. In the distance, she saw the tenant’s houses and for the first time wondered at their situation.

  Was his farm failing? What of the village Maryanne and Henrietta seemed so eager to visit today?

  “These are my tenants,” he said quietly. “The farmers of the estate. I made the decision, several years ago, to take the rents and invest it in irrigation. It had become a problem for them, a lack of water for the farms.”

  Oliver shrugged, an oddly elegant move beneath his formfitting attire. She could feel the tension in his arm beneath her fingers, even through his clothing. “But without the rents, the rest of the estate has been neglected.”

  “I think it’s very admirable that you had such forethought,” she admitted, turning from the view to look at him. “I know several estate owners who wouldn’t have cared for their people’s hardships. Only for their own pleasures.”

  He offered a half-smile, the lines around his mouth easing with her words. “There have been more than a few of those in my family, too.” He sighed and looked out at the land again. “But it was either invest or lose all of this.” He waved a hand to encompass all she could see.

  It was impossible to miss his pride in his estate, in his legacy. In what he’d accomplished.

  “How many does the estate employ?” Sarina asked softly.

  “In one fashion or another,” Oliver said in an equally soft tone, “half the village.”

  Sarina nodded to that, suspecting as much now that she was there.

  “If I didn’t feel beholden to them,” he continued, “I might not have cared about this old place. I’d much rather explore. Perhaps,” he added in a lighter tone, “find an exotic land and scratch out a living.”

  That surprised her, and she looked up at him. Tilting her head, she studied him then laughed. “I can see that for you,” she admitted. “Perhaps a plantation in Java or Brazil. It does sound quite exotic and wondrous.”

  Was that longing in her voice? It stunned Sarina, though she knew she would never, and could never, do such a thing. Never leave England and start anew. It wasn’t in her. But Oliver, yes. She could see that longing in him as he looked around and could hear it in his voice when he admitted as much.

  Hear that longing for a new life, yes, but also the ties of this one. Staying here and seeing to his land, his people, the village that relied on Hawksmoor.

  They had much in common, her and Oliver. Too much for her to ignore.

  “However,” she admitted softly, “I see why you can’t go. And I know they must be grateful. Grateful you’re not a rake out to use this place, and its money, for what he could take only to abandon it.”

  Oliver leaned down as if afraid someone might overhear their conversation, though only the two of them stood on the small hill. “Tempting as that has been, I cannot.” He straightened but his gaze remained on hers, and Sarina wondered what he saw in her. “There’s a duty I must meet.”

  He raised his hand and cupped her cheek briefly. His gaze bore into hers, so intense Sarina swore he saw straight through her. The tension she’d felt in his arm radiated throughout his body. “And I’m sorry it’s a duty I ask you to share.”

  And he sounded truly sorry. Sounded as if he’d rather ask anything else of her save that. His hand dropped from her cheek, but he kept his gaze on hers.

  “It’s a noble undertaking,” she heard herself say. Of all the things that ran round her mind, Liam, Prescott, Prescott’s courtship of her, her desired marriage to them…her refusal of Oliver, that agreement was not what she’d expected to say.

  Surprise flittered over his features, and she knew her words were not what he’d expected to hear, either. Oliver had always struck her as very proficient in keeping his true feelings to himself.

  “The work here has reward.” And the sincerity in his voice couldn’t be feigned. “It’s not simply for the sake of pomp. But there are pleasures to this life, and I hope that one of those pleasures might be about more than duty.”

  Sarina sucked in a shocked breath, and she knew he heard it. His lips twisted at the irony of her surprise, but he let it pass.

  Liam and Prescott were wrong.

  Oliver cared little for his own station. He cared for the people his family had neglected and the village that needed Hawksmoor estate to survive. Sarina had always known he wasn’t one for overt spending or gambling, but until their conversation had never realized how deep his need for a wealthy wife went.

  She opened her mouth to say something. She wasn’t certain what, didn’t know how to respond to that, but desperately felt as if she had to speak. No words emerged.

  He needed her, her inheritance. And he was willing to make their marriage work, to make her happy. Warmth blossomed in her chest at that, but was quickly tempered by the thought of Liam and Prescott.

  How could she accept his proposal when she didn’t want to marry him? She wanted Prescott and Liam. Wanted her lovers’ touch.

  But Oliver needed her. Well, her money. And for a good cause.

  Confused, conflicted, Sarina stepped away from him. She felt her carefree side crumble in the face of his obligation. Of an obligation she shared and could do something about.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sarina looked out the carriage window as they slowly made their way back from the vill
age. Oliver, she knew, was sequestered in his library. Though Sarina wasn’t sure what exactly he did there, the constant stream of foremen, steward, and villagers didn’t surprise her.

  Not now that she knew the heavy burden he carried.

  So she left him in peace and sought tranquility. What had begun as a simple desire for a solitary walk around the gardens had soon turned into a desire to leave the estate, and her conspicuous cousins, to clear her head. She’d wanted to walk to the village, give herself time to think, but the rain hadn’t held off and she couldn’t take one more moment in their company.

  Before Georgiana’s death, and her de facto engagement to Oliver, Sarina had never truly been bothered by Maryanne’s prodding to marry or Henrietta’s romanticism. By either of their incessant gossiping.

  But now, with both cousins pushing her in no uncertain terms to marry Oliver, Sarina found she had no real desire to spend any time in their company. She missed the days before the Kingsnorth’s Frost Fair when the three of them would sit and chat about everything and nothing.

  “Would you be wanting tea, ma’am?” Lydia asked quietly as the carriage rolled up the grand driveway to Hawksmoor Manor.

  “No thank you, Lydia,” Sarina said, still looking at the gray skies outside the window.

  She’d taken to bringing Lydia with her everywhere, on the off chance Oliver had somehow been tricked by her cousins into seeing her alone. On the second occasion they’d left her and Oliver alone, the pair of them made a joke out of it.

  But the very real threat of scandal remained. And since both Maryanne and Henrietta insisted on tittering to themselves and all but shoving Sarina into Oliver’s arms, Sarina now clung to Lydia as her only chaperone.

  The carriage door opened and the footman handed her out, but Sarina wasn’t yet ready to enter the manor house. She didn’t want to see her cousins and though she thoroughly enjoyed Oliver’s company, most especially his wit when it came to this situation, she needed to think.

  Dismissing Lydia, she turned for the gardens.

  The March air was cool and damp, with the ever-present threat of rain. Sarina glanced up at the sky, heavy and dark and gray, as if she could pinpoint the moment when the rain would start again. A slight breeze carried the scent of rain and freshly plowed earth, and she breathed deeply of the scent.

  But she didn’t want to escape it; Sarina preferred the dampness of the outdoors than the confinement of the manor. Small portions of the estate were still manicured, but it hadn’t taken her long to realize several footmen, instead of gardeners, tended to the gardens, though a large section of both the lands and the gardens remained untended.

  Heading for that area, Sarina studied the untended grounds. He’d pulled back his staff and reluctantly, she knew, dismissed many of his servants. Much as he’d pulled back inside and closed off entire sections of the manor, he’d done so here as well. She wondered if he’d rehire the same hands once he married and had that infusion of income.

  Still, he was a generous patron of the Hawksmoor Village. Unlike many others she knew or knew of, Oliver never placed his own comfort above paying his debts—both in the village and to others. As she’d wandered the village, each and every shop had unfailingly praised Lord Hawskmoor.

  And each and every shop owner had done so in a genuine and unadulterated manner. They had nothing but praise for Oliver; at first, Sarina believed it was because they knew who she was, or who she was supposed to be—his future wife. But even Lydia had confirmed the villagers’ respect and admiration for Oliver.

  Yes, there was great value here. If she were to marry Oliver and bring the inheritance Georgiana left her, and her own money, it would soon be swallowed up by repairs and taxes and improvements. But it would buy time for this grand old mansion.

  Breathing deeply, suddenly desperate for air, more air, fresher than even this open ground provided, she tried to steady her thoughts.

  Did she have a duty to Oliver and Hawksmoor Manor, Hawksmoor Village, she’d never known before this week? Oliver was a distant cousin, and family history and familial legacy was important. But even without that, and she understood it far more than she wished to, it did not detract from her own desire.

  Sarina hadn’t asked for this desire, her love for Prescott and Liam. But it had happened, had developed beyond her control. She’d never thought being in love with two men, having that manifest and become so very real, would ever happen. It had. And she’d embraced it with her heart, body, and soul.

  As much as she knew she should not want this relationship, with all its traps and pitfalls, Sarina desperately did. How did she marry that desire, that consuming desire she felt for them, with the duty she’d come to understand she owed Oliver?

  Dear heavens, she’d gone mad thinking about Liam and Prescott and the danger they were in with the relationship the three of them shared. But with Oliver? With Oliver, she hadn’t wanted it; it grew into another complication, a moment of fate to drive her insane.

  But no matter what, Sarina could no longer deny it. She did have a duty to Hawksmoor. More than duty. She was honor bound to help, not simply to provide money to him, but to help this village and the people Oliver so clearly cared for.

  Frankly, Sarina had no true desire to become a countess beyond what it took to keep this estate solvent. Her only desire was to be in Prescott and Liam’s bed, to feel their arms about her, to feel them inside her. Married to them both if only to Prescott in name. If she had that, she’d be content for the rest of her life.

  More than content.

  However, Sarina still dwelled on each and every problem they faced. The lies they’d need to tell. The hiding they’d need to do. With Oliver, there’d be no lies, no hiding. No fear of discovery.

  No passion, either.

  Not, at least, what she felt for Prescott and Liam. And Sarina didn’t want to give it up—she wasn’t certain she could do so.

  The warm tear tracking down her cheek surprised her, and Sarina slowly raised a hand to brush it away. She refused to acknowledge its presence, but of course she knew why she cried. Her body, her heart, knew before her mind acknowledged that one simple fact.

  She might not be able to marry Prescott and be with the men she loved.

  Sarina spoke of a loan, of passing Georgiana’s fortune to Oliver. But even she knew it wouldn’t be feasible for the estate. Or Oliver. Even if it was never repaid, that money couldn’t be entailed.

  No, Oliver needed her as his wife. With the money that marriage brought.

  Damn Georgiana! This marriage was hers, her fortune, her marriage. Her aunt wanted to be a countess, had loved the idea of it. What had she been doing in Kingsnorth? They’d never discovered the reason, and though a part of her, a very small part, wanted to hire a Bow Street Runner or some such to suss out Georgiana’s movements in Kingsnorth, Sarina had not.

  She gasped in a deep breath and pushed back the tears that continued to threaten to fall. With only two days remaining in her visit, she refused to make a decision now. And she longed to return to London.

  * * * *

  Nerves danced away in her stomach as Lydia dressed her for travel. She hated being nervous.

  Sarina enjoyed her practical side because it meant she never experienced nervousness. Excitement, yes, as when she anticipated seeing her men. Anticipation, of course, like when Prescott had courted her in the parlor…and then shown her just how amorous a marriage with him, with him and Liam, could be.

  Her nerves made her fingers shake and her breathing shorten, but she stared straight ahead and tried to order her thoughts.

  Lydia stood behind her, painstakingly securing each button on a rather lovely blue traveling gown. The Spencer jacket was a deeper navy blue and currently lay next to the straw bonnet with navy ribbons.

  For the first time in her life, Sarina felt the need to fidget, to tap her foot in impatience or fiddle her fingers along the bureau’s surface. Instead she curled her fingers into the skirt of her gown and
tried to catch her breath.

  But her heart beat too quickly and no matter how she attempted to corral her thoughts, they raced round and round in unending circles. It drove her mad.

  Finally Lydia finished dressing her and Sarina sat at the vanity for her lady’s maid to fix her hair. Sitting still did not help her nerves one bit.

  Lydia kept up a steady stream of chatter, but Sarina focused instead on her future. Her lovers. Her duty.

  Lydia finished and bobbed quickly before promising to fetch her tea. Sarina stood and paced to the window, back to the vanity, then to the window once more. She looked over the view, the gardens she’d walked for hours at a day, the land she and Oliver, and Lydia, had traversed as they spoke of the village and tenants and Oliver’s plans.

  Closing her eyes, Sarina thought of Prescott’s promised words of love in her front parlor. Of his kiss, of Liam’s kiss. She wanted to fall asleep in their arms as she had their first night together. Since that night in Kingsnorth, they’d managed only to snatch small bits of time; there was never enough time for her to relax with them after they’d made love.

  Sarina wanted that intimacy of afterward, where she felt Liam’s soft kisses on her inner wrist or Prescott’s gentle touch on her hip after the three of them had climaxed. Wanted to wake still in bed with them and know she could stay there all morning if she so desired.

  Sarina opened her eyes and looked out once more at Hawksmoor Manor. No, she hadn’t yet decided on a course of action, on whether to follow her heart or her duty. But she had a feeling that was a lie she told herself and she had already decided.

  Lydia returned with her tea, and while she drank a cup, Sarina barely tasted the sweet, dark brew. She set it down, automatically giving Lydia permission to finish the sandwiches that remained untouched.

  In the breakfast room, Henrietta and Maryanne sat, enjoying a leisurely meal. They planned to leave early afternoon and return to London. Sarina planned to visit her own rather modest estate half a day’s travel from Hawksmoor.

  In truth, she’d lied to her cousins. And to Oliver, though he’d looked at her for a long, assessing moment before wishing her a safe journey. She had panicked, certain he’d somehow discerned her true plan—to meet up with Prescott and Liam in a small cottage outside her estate.