Lady's Temptations: A Winter's Regency Menage

by Reed, Kristabel

  Sarina envied such devotion.

  “Ma’am,” Lydia said from behind her. “’Tis time to ready for tea.”

  Tearing her gaze from the dreary day, Sarina turned just enough to see her lady’s maid and nod. She’d yet to dress for the day, content to stay in her bedroom, a cozy fire warming her back, her favorite blanket over her legs as her thoughts kept her company.

  It didn’t matter what the outcome of tea this afternoon; Sarina needed to be honest with Oliver. Whether she married him or not, he needed to know she was no maiden. Maybe, she thought as she stood, complete honesty wasn’t quite the way to go.

  No, telling Oliver about both her lovers was not a good idea. But he’d believe she’d slept with Prescott, as her official suitor.

  Her gown was a beautiful sage green, with cream-colored flowers along the bodice. Sarina loved this gown, but now, as Lydia did up the buttons, she didn’t care. Squaring her shoulders, she pushed all that to the side.

  Once in the parlor, she uncertainly waited for Oliver’s arrival. She wanted to see him today; they needed to talk about their future, but that didn’t make it any easier. Oh, how she missed her sensible self when she looked at a situation and knew the best course of action for her life. Now, sitting in her own parlor, cousins absent, Sarina was assaulted by nerves.

  Exceptionally punctual, she didn’t have to wait long for him to enter. Tea had just arrived when McGann announced Lord Hawksmoor.

  “Good day, Lord Hawksmoor,” Sarina said in a surprisingly even voice.

  Oliver bowed over her outstretched hand and offered a genuine smile as he sat opposite her in one of the high-backed chairs. “I certainly hope you don’t plan to venture out this evening.” He nodded toward the windows where faint light brightened the room. She’d left the curtains open despite the weather, so as not to give the wrong impression for Oliver’s visit. “It’s quite the deluge.”

  Uncomfortable silence settled between them, and Sarina cursed the awkwardness. She’d always enjoyed Oliver’s company, but now, with marriage and an inheritance hanging between them, she felt nothing but tongue-tied and embarrassed.

  “I don’t intend to leave until the ball tomorrow evening,” she said into the silence as she handed him his teacup.

  “With luck London will dry out by then.” He accepted the cup with a smile and nod, and sat comfortably back.

  He showed none of the uncomfortableness she felt, and she swallowed hard and straightened even further. Sarina had no wish to show him her feelings, her unease with this visit, necessary as it was.

  “Would you allow me the honor of escorting you tomorrow evening?” Oliver asked before Sarina had thought of a simple—and innocent—conversation filler.

  “Oh.” She cleared her throat and hated that she hadn’t anticipated this. She should have—oh, she most definitely should have known his question was a possibility. But she’d foolishly hoped for more time.

  To accept his invitation as escort, at the start of the Season, meant she’d already accepted his proposal. Sarina should’ve gone to all the balls and soirees and house parties alone, as a single and unattached woman. Not…

  “I must say, Lord Hawksmoor,” she admitted and set her teacup resolutely on the table, “I hadn’t expected such an offer.”

  “I certainly hope it’s not an unwelcomed offer,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  Resisting the urge to give into the fidgeting she suddenly found herself doing more and more often, Sarina held his gaze. She needed to be resolute. “Of course it isn’t,” she said honestly. “However, I’m unsure I’m prepared to take this next step.”

  Sadness flashed for the briefest moment across his face, quickly replaced by an implacable look of mild understanding and interest. So quickly in fact, Sarina wasn’t certain she saw it.

  “It’s just, so many knew you were to marry Aunt Georgiana…” She trailed off, knowing she grasped at straws. Sarina looked away in embarrassment at her words. She hated this entire situation.

  “I see.” He nodded.

  Sarina held up her hand to forestall any further conversation. What she needed to tell him was delicate, and she didn’t trust her cousins not to eavesdrop. Quickly crossing the parlor, she closed the door with a quiet sigh. She saw no one hovering outside, but that meant little. Even McGann seemed to have disappeared.

  “We’ve danced around this conversation since Aunt Georgiana’s death,” Sarina began. She sat back on the settee and sipped her cooling tea. “It’s mostly my fault; I know you’ve tried to broach this topic before.”

  His smile warmed, and her fears and worries eased slightly. “What is it you’re trying to tell me, Sarina?” he asked bluntly. “Are you simply not interested in this marriage?”

  If she hadn’t met Prescott and Liam, Sarina would have been quite happy marrying Oliver. But that was no longer an option. Still, she admired his bluntness.

  “I must be honest with you, Oliver,” she said, purposely using his given name. This conversation seemed too important to call him Lord Hawksmoor. Swallowing, she continued. “The fire at the Kingsnorth Frost Fair changed many things.”

  “Yes.” He nodded, just once, his voice distant. “Yes, it did.”

  She looked steadily up at him and saw the understanding in his gaze. He said nothing, asked her no questions, but his gaze took in everything and Sarina knew, she simply knew, that he understood exactly how her life had changed.

  “My belief that you’ve chosen to walk away from Sinclair and Trevelyan is incorrect. Is it not?” he asked, though she knew he already understood her answer to be yes.

  Silently nodding, she poured more tea she didn’t want and took a sip. It tasted bland on her tongue, despite the sugars. “I could not deny my feelings,” she admitted finally. “We were alone, in the house in Kingsnorth.” She stumbled over her words, then paused. “You may not wish to marry me, Oliver. I am no longer…chaste.”

  He leaned forward, his gaze solely on hers. “If that is your concern, your hesitation in not marrying me.” He paused. His smile was brief, a ghost of the one he usually offered. “Don’t let it trouble you.”

  Stunned, she set her teacup back down and curled her fingers in her gown. She hadn’t expected that answer. Sarina truly wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it certainly wasn’t his ready acceptance.

  “In my eyes, our marriage would begin the day we take our vows.” Oliver sat back, oddly relaxed. “Anything before?” He shook his head. “It’s of no consequence.”

  Sarina nodded. “That’s good to hear. Thank you. However,” she added, more certain as to her words, “I’m still uncertain if I can attend tomorrow’s ball with you as my escort.”

  Oliver stood and rounded the chair, taking a few steps from her. “You still have expectations of marrying one of them,” he stated. Draping his hands behind his back, he nodded, his eyes still focused on her. “May I ask which one? A man likes to know who his competition is.”

  Both. However, she was smart enough, and composed enough, to say, “Mr. Sinclair. If it hadn’t been for Aunt Georgiana’s death, we may have already been married.”

  “I see.”

  And Sarina knew he did—and a bit more clearly than she wished he had.

  “Any hope for a union between us is gone,” he said with another slight smile, there and vanished in an instant. “Isn’t it?”

  The last wasn’t a question, and all Sarina could manage was surprisingly firm. “No. When I visited Hawksmoor Manor, and witnessed all you faced, I knew joining my inheritance with you would be the right thing and the honorable thing to do.”

  His laugh was short, and he shook his head. “I don’t want you to walk away from someone you clearly love, simply to help me.”

  “But, Oliver,” she began. Stopping, she stood and rounded the table. “It’s more than simply helping you. And you know that—otherwise you wouldn’t have stayed at Hawksmoor Manor. You’d have left it, and its people and
debts, and gone off to be the adventurer you wish to be.”

  “I’ve made many compromises for Hawksmoor.” He looked behind her, staring blindly out the window. “That is something I’ve chosen to do. I don’t wish to compromise you to such a degree that you walk away from the man you truly love.”

  “Thank you, Oliver,” she said. Her voice was quiet, but the sincerity was everything. “But I don’t wish to abandon you, either. I thought, perhaps, there might be another solution.”

  Oliver smiled, yet another brief flash. “The only solution is to marry well.”

  Sarina nodded, accepting that. He was right. Licking her lips, she said, “Please, allow me to scheme.”

  This time his smile lasted longer, amused and waiting.

  Chapter Twenty

  Her gown was white, a silk and muslin creation with seed pearls and a blue ribbon around her waist. In her hair, Lydia had woven a matching blue ribbon through her style. Sarina looked beautiful and knew it. Embraced it. She wanted to look beautiful for Prescott and Liam, as this was the first time she’d see them since their tryst in the cottage.

  The Marchioness of Hampton’s house was one of the larger townhouses in Mayfair. Because of its size, the crush didn’t make her feel closed in so much as part of a crowd. She didn’t know why, except for the giddiness flowing through her and the smile she didn’t bother to wipe off her face.

  Her heart pounded in furious anticipation, and she constantly scanned the crowds for sight of either of her men. Oh, she was well aware this night was about more than simply seeing them again, too much more. At the moment, her cheeks were flushed from the cold April wind; lightheaded in expectation of seeing her lovers, Sarina didn’t care.

  None of that mattered.

  Nor did it matter how Henrietta and Maryanne hovered around her. They’d pestered her nonstop for information on her very secretive tea with Oliver, confirming her suspicions that they’d eavesdropped. Or tried to, at least.

  Now, however, they almost immediately went off with friends of theirs and left Sarina to her own devices. Not very chaperone-like behavior. Then again, they probably thought it only a matter of time before she and Oliver announced their engagement.

  Sarina took a deep breath. Not if she could help it.

  Scanning the crowd once more, she looked for either Liam or Prescott, or even Oliver. She spotted the latter first.

  He was already making his way toward her, the closed-off look on his face but a slight smile twitching his lips.

  “Miss Hunt,” Oliver said with a slight bow and that same half-smile. “Would you care to dance?”

  “Thank you, Lord Hawksmoor.” She curtsied in return but shook her head. “But not at this time. We have other things to discuss.”

  Oliver’s eyebrow rose in curiosity but Sarina took a moment to study him, truly study him, as she had not done. Handsome in an unconventional way, he was tall and muscled, with wide hands, long fingers, and gorgeous blue eyes.

  Sarina allowed herself a small, very small, smile. Not as gorgeous as Liam’s eyes, but different. A deeper blue like the sky at twilight. Nice lips, though she had no true desire to feel them against hers. The mole on his jawline drew her eyes, and she wondered she’d never noticed it before.

  How would Miss Ainsworth react to him?

  Sarina had seen many women cast an interested eye upon Oliver. Though he could be a difficult man to read, she’d never seen him with a woman out of pure interest. Or perhaps he had been, perhaps he had mistresses he cared for. Lord Hawksmoor was a very discreet man.

  Still, the simple fact of the matter was he wasn’t free to marry for love. Any potential woman, any woman with the slightest hint of interest in him, needed to be carefully weighed against the good of the village and estate.

  Saddened by that, the awareness he needed to very carefully choose a wealthy match, Sarina lowered her gaze. She didn’t want him to see pity and sadness in her gaze. Clearing her throat, she took a moment to steady herself before looking up at him again.

  “I have several friends I need to speak with,” Sarina said with a smile. It felt stiff and uncomfortable, but she breathed in deeply and allowed herself to relax.

  This would work their plan. It had to.

  “However, I do hope you don’t plan on leaving the Marchioness’s?” she asked. Oliver, his eyebrow still quirked, nodded. “Excellent, Lord Hawksmoor. I shall see you again.”

  Carefully making her way around the marchioness’s townhouse, she looked for either Liam or Prescott. Near the dining room, she spotted Liam. Eager to greet him, she stopped dead after only a pair of steps. Slowing her pace measurably, she made her careful way around the gossiping crowds to where he stood.

  He watched her, his light blue gaze fixed on her every move. Sarina felt herself blush but hoped any bystanders would assume it was from the heat of the crowd. Licking her lips, she smoothed her palms down her gown and tossed her head back. She looked directly up at him and while she was desperate to touch him, she kept an almost respectable distance between them.

  “Mr. Trevelyan,” she said with a bright smile she could no longer moderate. “How lovely to see you here.”

  Liam offered his own greeting, bowing to her as he did so. Then he leaned in. With her heart pounding and desire curling through her blood, she tried to listen to what he whispered.

  “Second-floor library. We’ll see you there.”

  Sarina barely had a moment to nod in understanding before he offered his good-byes and left her. She waited, moving around the room as if with purpose. She nodded to acquaintances and chatted briefly with friends, but remained moving.

  Finally, finally, she circled the room toward the stairs. Lifting her skirts with fingers that trembled, Sarina climbed the steps to the library. It took all her willpower to keep her pace even, not to race up the stairs and down the hallway for the room where her lovers awaited her.

  Counting her steps, she took one final moment to calm herself. Then she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  Her eyes had no chance to adjust to the dim light before she felt Prescott’s hands on her shoulders. Her back was pressed against the closed door, and his mouth caught hers. His lips were cool even as they pressed hard to her own as he took and took. Sarina sighed against him and wound her arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer.

  She didn’t care she wrinkled her dress, nor did she care who might be looking for her. All that mattered was Prescott kissing her and the sheer joy she felt in that simple act. This wasn’t the frantic sex on a bed during a ball or even the long, lazy days where the three of them explored each other until Sarina sobbed in pleasure.

  This was a kiss, as simple and complicated as that entailed, and she never wanted to stop.

  The door pushed against her back, and for a heartbeat she panicked. But Prescott offered a slight laugh, guided her from the door, and opened it. Liam stood there.

  Before she had a chance to catch her breath, Liam’s mouth crushed hers. Sarina whimpered, pulled him close, and let the maelstrom of need wash through her.

  No. She couldn’t give this up. She wouldn’t.

  “Have you managed to speak with Miss Ainsworth?” Sarina asked, more than a little breathless. “Is she attending this evening?”

  Those weren’t the first words she wished to speak with her lovers, but for the first time since becoming their lover, Sarina had ordered her priorities.

  “Yes.” Prescott nodded and caught her hand. “We’ve communicated with her via letters.”

  “We didn’t wish to appear as if we courted her.” Liam moved so he stood next to Prescott, and Sarina’s breath caught. She released it in a quiet rush. “We have other intentions.”

  Sarina laughed at that but then quickly quieted in case guests passed by the library’s door. “How has Miss Ainsworth received this unusual request?”

  “By all indications,” Liam said, “she seems most amenable to the idea.”

  She looked at hi
m surprised. “By all indications?” she asked, bemused. “Have you not spoken to her directly? I know neither of you wish to appear to court her, but a friendly conversation? Surely that is within the realm of possibility.”

  Even in the dim light, she saw Prescott’s dark eyes watch her carefully. “We’ve only communicated through letters and mutual friends.”

  She looked from Prescott’s dark gaze to Liam’s. Both were quiet, serious, and intent, she their sole focus. It warmed her, but she couldn’t dispel the chill she felt at their efforts. Sarina tilted her head and smiled at them. Oh, how she loved them. They’d done this for her, but obviously had no true idea how to match strangers with each other.

  Yes, she’d need to take matters into her own hands.

  “There has been no direct conversation,” Prescott said curtly.

  Sarina stepped back, needing the distance between them to think. “I’ll need to approach her and see where she stands with this proposition.”

  “We’ll make the proper introductions,” Liam began. “But…” He paused. With his head tilted to the side, he studied Sarina, but she knew he saw the other woman. She didn’t feel jealous at the move, knew how he felt for her, but wasn’t used to not being his sole focus.

  “Miss Ainsworth is forthright,” he concluded. “We shall know her intentions quickly.”

  Slowly, she nodded. Oh, she loved these men. Loved what they’d done for her, loved how they tried to meld her wishes with all three of their desires. They made her laugh and they made her cry out in passion, but hearing their efforts with Rose Ainsworth, Sarina wondered if they wouldn’t also make her scream in frustration.

  “I see.” She cleared her throat, already scheming to find Miss Ainsworth and speak with her discreetly. She wrapped her arms around Prescott and held him close, pressing her body to his and placing a small kiss along his jaw. Turning to Liam, she hugged him tight to her as well and kissed the side of his neck.

  She wanted more; need throbbed through her, but Sarina pulled back. Her hands flew to her hair, though neither man had mussed it and she knew that. Still, she needed a moment or two to prepare herself for the crush below.