Candice Hern

by The Regency Rakes Trilogy

  "Please, not here," she said in a tremulous voice. "Not now. I... I just wanted to talk to you."

  Sedge continued his exploration, back up to her neck and jaw. "Talk," he said between kisses. "I'm listening."

  "No. Please, Sedge. No."

  Meg squirmed in Sedge's arms, and he realized he had lost his head. He had never forced a woman in his life, and certainly had no wish to force this woman. He would do nothing to dishonor Meg. He wanted her to come to him willingly, as his wife. He stepped back at once, but kept his hands on her upper arms. "I'm sorry, Meg. Blame it on that dress. You are quite irresistible."

  She blushed. How could such a remark cause her to blush after the heated kiss they had just shared? Sedge grinned.

  "I... I wanted to talk about... about what we discussed the day you left Thornhill."

  Sedge's heart did a somersault in his chest. She had changed her mind! "Yes?" he prompted, keeping his voice as level as possible.

  "Well," she continued, dropping her eyes, as if suddenly bashful, "I have been giving it a lot of thought. Your... your offer, that is."

  "Is that so?" Banking his excitement, Sedge nevertheless thought he might explode with joy. But he would not rush her. Let her say what she wanted to say, what he desperately wanted to hear. Only then would he crush her soft breasts against his chest once again.

  "Yes," Meg said. "I have had time to ... to reconsider." She raised her eyes to his. "If you are still interested, that is."

  Sedge squeezed her arms. "Oh, Meg—"

  "I am willing to be your mistress."

  The earth seemed to have stopped spinning and slammed him abruptly to the ground. He dropped his hands from her arms as though stung. "What?"

  "I said, I am willing to be your mistress, Sedge."

  "No!" He could not have heard correctly. His mistress? "No." He shook his head in disbelief. How could she think that was what he had wanted from her? How could she believe he would be willing to treat her so dishonorably? A gently bred, innocent young woman like Meg. "No." Or was she not so innocent after all? Had he been an even bigger fool than he had thought? Images of her surrounded by a circle of men formed in his mind, flirting with each of them while they ogled her bosom. What had become of the sweet, blushing, artless woman he had fallen in love with at Thornhill? Dumbfounded by her startling suggestion, he could only shake his head slowly, back and forth, refusing to believe that the woman he wanted for his wife was only interested in being his mistress. "No. No!"

  Meg's hand flew to her mouth as Sedge shook his head and looked at her as if she had sprouted wings. "No," he kept repeating, as if she were feebleminded and needed to hear the word over and over before understanding.

  But Meg was not feebleminded. She understood perfectly.

  Mortified, she choked back tears as she turned and fled, following the trail of lanterns that wound through the gardens. She wished the earth would open up and swallow her, for she did not think she could bear the shame.

  After thoughtfully and logically concluding that she could, and perhaps should, accept his offer, she had shamelessly thrown herself at him. It had never occurred to her that he might have changed his mind as well.

  Sedge no longer wanted her.

  He had kissed her. But only because she had been bold enough to invite him to stroll in the relative privacy of the gardens. What man would not attempt to kiss such a brazen creature? The implication of such an invitation was clear. And so he had kissed her, as any man would have done, under the circumstances.

  But that was all he wanted. A stolen kiss in the garden. Nothing more. He was no longer interested in a more intimate relationship. She had had her one chance, and she had refused it. He was not giving her a second chance. Sedge was no longer interested in her in that way. He did not need her anymore, as he had thought he did at Thornhill, where she was the only young woman for miles around. He had returned to London, where the number of willing women was legion. He probably had some other doxy already set up in his love nest. Another woman whose arms would welcome him this very evening, after dallying with Meg in the garden.

  It was the second time this man had mortified her beyond imagining.

  Meg hurried from one pool of lantern light to the next until she had reached the horseshoe steps once again. She stood at the base of the steps, dabbed at her eyes, and pinched her cheeks so that she might appear reasonably normal when she reentered the ballroom. She lifted the skirts of her gown and slowly climbed the steps, her shoulders straight and her chin raised. She would leave this ball with her dignity, if not her heart, intact.

  Upon entering the French doors, she could see several gentlemen preparing to rush to her side. Ignoring them, she turned in the other direction and began searching for her brother. Her eyes skimmed the room in a wide arc, finally resting upon Terrence's familiar auburn hair as he handed an unknown young lady through the steps of a cotillion. The set should be almost over. Meg kept her eyes fixed on Terrence while she moved along the edge of the dance floor closer to where he danced. He caught her eye as he twirled in her direction. Meg sent him an imploring look which he acknowledged with a brief nod. She kept herself buried amongst the crowd until the set ended, fobbing off anyone who attempted to engage her in conversation. She only waited for her brother to take her home, she explained, for she had developed a splitting headache.

  Satisfied that Terrence would come to her, Meg began searching the clusters of older women—mothers, chaperones, dowagers—who gathered about in groups, gossiping and watching the younger set on the dance floor. Though Meg's height afforded her a clear view of the room from one end to the other, Gram was not so fortunate in her stature. Her short, plump figure was nowhere to be seen at the moment. She might be seated, which meant that Meg could be required to traverse the entire room in order to locate her.

  But first she must speak to Terrence and have him bring their carriage round.

  Thinking the set might never end, Meg had worked herself into quite a state by the time Terrence came to her side. She really did have a headache now, no doubt from the effort of reining in her emotions. The sting of tears began to build up behind her eyes. The last thing she wanted was to break down in public. If she did not get out of here quickly, she might do just that.

  "What is it, Meggie?" Terrence asked. He laid a gentle hand on her arm and lowered his voice to a whisper. "You don't look so good."

  "I do not feel so good," Meg replied. "I have a blistering headache. If I locate Gram, could you call for the carriage? I really must get home before I collapse."

  "Oh, poor Meggie." He lifted a hand to stroke her cheek. "You do look a bit pinched. I'll take you home, love. But let me take you to Gram, first. She was just over here last time I saw her."

  Terrence took Meg's elbow and steered her toward a group of dowagers seated near one of the fireplaces, their plumed and turbaned heads bent together in lively discussion. Gram sat in the middle of the group, pink plumes bobbing as she listened intently to one of the other ladies. "Excuse me, Gram?" At Terrence's words, feathers righted and eyes swiveled in his direction.

  "Hello, my dears," Gram said, beaming with pride at her two grandchildren. "Are you acquainted with—"

  "I'm sorry, ma'am," Terrence interrupted. "But Meg is feeling a bit out of curl. Would you help her to the cloakroom while I see about the carriage?"

  Gram sprung up like a marionette manipulated from above. She studied Meg with concerned eyes. "Oh, my poor girl," she said, stepping to Meg's side. "You have been overdoing it, my dear. I was afraid all these busy nights would catch up with you. Come," she said, taking Meg's arm from Terrence. "Let's get you home. I will tuck you up all right and tight, and prepare you a nice tisane to help you sleep."

  Terrence hurried away to send for their carriage while Gram walked Meg slowly through the ballroom. Meg kept her head bowed, avoiding the eyes of anyone who dared to approach, though Gram kept most of the interested gentlemen at bay with a stern look. They walked
through to the main reception area, where Gram flagged down a footman to retrieve their cloaks.

  "It is too bad that we cannot say our proper thank yous to the duke and duchess," Gram said as her eyes scanned the crowd milling about the reception area. "But I doubt they will even miss us in this squeeze. I will send a note round to Her Grace tomorrow. It was a lovely ball, was it not?"

  "Yes," Meg muttered, wondering how much longer she could maintain her composure when her heart was breaking and would surely start bleeding all over the floor at any moment.

  "Oh, my dear," Gram said as she gently patted Meg's arm. "You really are feeling ill, are you not? Let us hope your brother has the carriage ready. One can only hope that the traffic will have thinned out a bit from the mad crush when we arrived."

  The footman returned with their cloaks, and the two ladies made their way down the sweeping marble staircase. Terrence met them at the entry and—thank God!—had the carriage waiting. He handed Meg and Gram into the coach before jumping in himself to take the seat opposite. Meg kept her eyes closed on the short trip to Duke Street, where Terrence had leased a town house for the Season. No doubt believing her asleep or ill, neither her grandmother nor her brother spoke during the trip home.

  As the coach bounced along the streets of Mayfair, Meg directed her thoughts away from the full mortification of her encounter with Sedge. She concentrated on the jostling ride, the soft velvet of the squabs that cushioned each bounce, the regular clip-clop of the horses hooves on the cobblestones, and squeezed her eyes more tightly to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.

  * * *

  Sedge wandered aimlessly through the dark edges of the garden, feeling as though he had walked into someone else's dream. Nothing made any sense. Nothing. First, Meg coldly rejected an honorable offer of marriage. Then stunned him with this latest offer of her own. On occasion, Sedge had had to deal with mistresses who had designs on being wives. Never had he thought to find a woman he wanted as a wife who had designs on being his mistress. It did not make any sense.

  These last few months did not make any sense. It had all started with that stupid carriage accident. Sedge absently reached up to finger the scar over his left temple. Perhaps that knock on the head had done more damage after all. Perhaps the brain fever had affected his reason. Dear God, perhaps he was no longer completely sane. Was that not possible? He had heard of blows to the head severe enough to result in brain damage. Is that what had happened to him?

  He came upon a rustic wood bench and plopped down upon it. Still touching his scar, Sedge began to consider the very real possibility that his reasoning had been impaired by his accident. It was the only explanation. Try as he might, he could not seem to make sense of anything. Meg's behavior, now and at Thornhill, proved to be a complete enigma. His own feelings had become so jumbled he no longer even knew what he wanted. One minute he wanted her, the next minute he did not.

  He felt helpless to reason through anything. He could not seem to logically consider the situation in his usual plodding but pragmatic way, because he simply did not understand it. Nothing about it seemed logical.

  Sedge rose and ambled his way through the garden, determined to return to the house, fetch his cloak and hat, and take his leave. Assuming he could find his way. He no longer had any confidence in his mental faculties. Perhaps he would wander, hopelessly lost, for hours until some kind soul came to his rescue. Poor old Sedge, they would say. We have to keep an eye on him now, since he is not able to look out for himself.

  But soon enough, he found himself at the base of the horseshoe steps. He had made his way after all. Somehow. Not bad, he thought, for a pitiful half-wit.

  Now, if he could just get the hell out of here without further embarrassing himself.

  Chapter 21

  Meg maintained a stoic silence as her maid helped her out of the dark blue silk gown. She had been so proud of this gown. It had made her feel sophisticated and worldly. Now, she could not wait to be rid of it.

  How she wished she were at Thornhill, where she could pull on a pair of breeches and take Bristol Blue for a brisk gallop. But there was nowhere in Town that accommodated such neck-or-nothing freedom. Or such blessed solitude. She would have to make do with the privacy of her bedchamber. If only Pansy, her maid, would hurry.

  While Pansy brushed the gown and carefully hung it in the wardrobe, chattering all the while, Meg began to unpin her hair. The maid then unlaced Meg's stays, helped her out of her chemise, and dropped a fresh muslin nightgown over her head.

  After dismissing Pansy, Meg dragged herself across the room. All at once, the pent-up emotions of the evening burst forth in a torrent of tears as she flung herself facedown on the bed. She cried for her broken heart, her naïveté, and her foolish pride. She let the full force of her jumbled emotions— shame, heartache, confusion—expend themselves in great wracking sobs, soaking the linen sheets beneath her face.

  It was in this state of abject misery that Gram found Meg when she entered with an herbal tisane.

  "Good heavens, my dear," Gram said as she rushed into the room, leaving the door slightly ajar in her haste. Quickly depositing the teacup on the nightstand, she sat down on the bed, lifted Meg's shoulders, and pulled her granddaughter into her arms. "There, there," she said in a soothing voice as she rocked Meg against her plump breast, as she had done so many times when Meg was a girl.

  "Oh, G-Gr-Gram!" Meg stammered through her tears.

  "Hush, now," Gram said, holding Meg's head down against her shoulder while gently stroking her hair. "Do not try to talk yet. You just have a good cry first."

  And Meg did. She had no idea how long she wept in Gram's comfortable arms. But some time later, feeling drained, she pulled away and rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes. She sat thus for several minutes, breathing deeply to combat the hiccups that followed the tears. All the while, Gram's hand massaged up and down her back in gentle circles.

  "What is it, Meggie? Can you tell your old Gram what happened to upset you so?"

  "Oh, Gram." Meg kept her eyes covered. "It is Lord S- Sedgewick."

  The soothing hand moving on Meg's back came to an abrupt stop. "Lord Sedgewick? Have you seen him, then? What has he done?" Gram pulled Meg's hands away from her eyes and forced her to look up. "Meg, what has he done to you?"

  "N-Nothing."

  "Meg! You must tell me." Gram took a deep breath and her voice became less agitated. "Please, love, you must tell me. Has that young man done something to ... to hurt you?"

  "No, no," Meg said, still battling hiccoughs. "It's m-me. Not h-him. It's all m-my fault. Oh, Gr-Gram! What have I d-done?"

  "I do not know, love. What have you done?"

  And so Meg told her. She told Gram everything. From the beginning, and leaving nothing out. She told how she had fallen in love with Sedge six years before, and how she had done so again. How that love had deepened during the times they had spent together at Thornhill. How she began to hope that he might have some feelings for her as well. How he had kissed her. How she had felt when he kissed her. And how he had offered her carte blanche.

  * * *

  After bringing Meg and Gram home to Duke Street, Terrence had retired to his study, where he indulged in a glass of brandy. The night was early yet, and he had plans to meet some friends later at Boodle's. But he did not wish to leave without first making sure that Meg was all right.

  Poor girl. She had looked so down-pin. Meg was seldom ill. She enjoyed the vigorous, blooming health of a girl raised in the country who got more than her share of exercise. It was likely the fast pace and late hours of life in Town had finally had its effect on her. That, and the wretched air, and the rich food, and too much drink, and not enough exercise. It was a wonder anyone could remain healthy in such circumstances. Though he enjoyed coming to Town on occasion, Terrence always looked forward to his return to Thornhill. He supposed he was a country gentleman at heart, and always would be.

  He took the last
swallow of brandy and rose from his comfortable leather chair. He should check on Meg. She had had enough time to change clothes and crawl into bed. He would just peek in to see that she was all right.

  As he approached the landing on the second floor, he could hear Meg's sobs. Horrible, gut-wrenching sobs that tore at his heart. As he neared her bedchamber, he heard his grandmother's soft voice through the partially open door. "There, there," she was saying.

  Unwilling to intrude, Terrence entered his own bedchamber, just across the hall. He had never heard his sister cry like that. He had never heard anyone cry like that. What on earth had happened? He must ask Gram later. He did not imagine Meg would appreciate his barging in to see what was the matter. Besides, he was not very good with crying women. He never knew what to do or say, and always felt awkward and embarrassed. He would let Gram comfort her. Poor Meggie, she sounded so miserable.

  He puttered around his bedchamber for some minutes, hoping Meg's tears would have ended by the time he entered the hallway again. He examined his cravat and decided it looked limp from the exertions of the Portland ball. He pulled out a fresh stack of neckcloths, untangled the one from his neck, and began the task of arranging a perfect Mathematical.

  Satisfied, after three tries, that the folds were flawless, Terrence surveyed the rest of his attire in the cheval glass. After dusting a piece of lint from his sleeve, he was ready to go. Entering the hallway outside his bedchamber door, he heard the voices of Gram and Meg. At least his sister seemed to have stopped crying. Thank goodness. Meg was not the crying sort, and it gave him a twinge of concern to think what might have caused such wretched sobs.