The Regency Season

by Ann Lethbridge

  She startled. ‘Oh, no. The duck is delicious. You must excuse me, my mind was wandering.’

  ‘Wool-gathering.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘When someone’s mind is engaged elsewhere it is called wool-gathering.’

  She laughed. A delightful sound. Full of merriment. ‘I beg your pardon. It is rude to gather the wool, I think.’

  ‘No. I like watching your face. You give little away, but you were clearly not pleased by the direction of your thoughts.’

  ‘I was thinking about our plans, what we will do if things go awry.’

  She pushed a carrot from one side of her plate to the other. The urge to take her on his lap and feed her one mouthful at a time until he was sure she was suitably nourished had him putting his hands flat on the table in preparation. He forced himself to remain seated. She was a woman of spirit and pride. She would not welcome him ordering her about. Yet.

  ‘Moreau is a clever and devious man,’ she mused, sending a potato to join the carrot. ‘He might sense a trap.’

  The pain in her voice, the way she hid her gaze made him look forward more than ever to catching up with the man. He wasn’t sure what he had done to Minette but apparently it had affected her deeply. ‘We will catch him, no doubt about it. Sooner or later he will make a mistake.’ He took a swallow of wine. ‘Eat. There is no sense in worrying about the future. Plan, yes, but worry, there’s no sense to it. We can never know what is to come.’ Like becoming a duke because of one stupid bragging statement he’d do anything to retract.

  ‘You advocate patience.’ She cast him a brief and considering glance before returning to the rearrangement of her vegetables. Peas were now making the journey, one at a time.

  ‘Eat. If we are to chase French spies around the countryside you will need your strength.’

  A small smile appeared and this time her glance did not flitter away. ‘You are right. And, besides, I gather your fancy French chef is likely to take a pet if the dishes are sent back untasted.’

  ‘He’s as French as my elbow.’

  She grinned. ‘I know. I met him on my tour with the housekeeper. He was clearly terrified I would ferret out his secret.’ She forked up some fish in white sauce. ‘I pretended not to notice. French or not, his food is excellent.’

  ‘I will be sure to pass along your approbation.’

  For the next few minutes they applied themselves to the meal in front of them in silence, and it wasn’t long before they were finished. He rang for the footman to clear away and bring the dessert course. He would have preferred to have done away with the servant’s services, but even a duke could only go so far down the road of informality before his servants began to regard him with disfavour. These were things he’d assimilated without realising as a child. Other things he’d had to work harder to learn, like when his father had finally accepted he had a new successor to train.

  ‘What is this?’ Minette stared at one of the desserts after the footman had left the room.

  ‘Bread and butter pudding.’

  ‘Pudding.’ She made a face. ‘It is a very English thing, this pudding.’

  ‘I suppose it is. I hadn’t thought about it. However, it was one of my Reggie’s favourites. Mother has it served at every meal.’ He never touched it, though he had liked it as a boy.

  ‘Another slap across the cheek?’ she said.

  He frowned. ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘Always, she throws the death of your brother in your face. It almost seems that it pleases her to hurt you.’

  He stiffened. He wasn’t surprised that she had picked up on the relationship between him and his mother—they were, after all, at war, but it was hardly her place to have an opinion. He gave her a quelling look and hoped she would drop the subject.

  She raised a brow. ‘One feels the chill in the room when you are together.’

  ‘You don’t really expect me to respond to that, do you?’

  She sighed. ‘Tiens. I will say no more.’ She stared at the pudding on her plate and put down her fork. ‘Je suis finis.’

  ‘Hopefully with dessert and not with me. I beg your pardon. Things have been less than pleasant with my mother for a very long time. I have given up caring. Come, let us retire to the sitting room. They will bring tea there while they clear away the dishes.’

  They strolled back into the other room. ‘You call this a sitting room?’

  ‘It seems more apropos than drawing room. It really isn’t elegant enough for such a distinguished term.’

  He guided her to the chair by the hearth.

  She glanced around, her face carefully blank. A chilly distance had opened up between them, no doubt because he’d refused to let her commiserate with him over his mother’s behaviour. He couldn’t do it. It would open wounds older than his brother’s death.

  ‘I feel as if I should have brought some needlework or some sheets to hem,’ she said brightly. Too brightly. ‘It is the kind of room where a maman plies her needle while papa reads aloud.’

  A crack of light appeared somewhere in the darkness inside him. The idea of something as warm as domestic bliss. A far-off dream now dangling before him like a bauble he had only to reach out to grasp. A lie, though. Even when they married, it would never be true for them.

  The footman arrived with the tea tray and put it in front of her.

  ‘Everything like clockwork,’ she commented.

  Glad of a neutral topic to redirect the darkness of his thoughts, he took the seat opposite her and stretched out his legs. ‘An establishment of this size cannot run on a whim.’

  ‘But it could be less regimented.’

  The implied criticism made him bristle. He wanted to defend, but forced himself to be more rational. ‘You see improvements that are needed?’

  She pursed her lips. ‘The grandeur is impressive.’ She gave a sad smile. ‘But I would not be the right person to uphold such consequence, I fear. It is a house, not a home. It is cold.’

  Like its occupants. The thought lingered, silent, accusing.

  He left his chair and sat beside her on the sofa. Her perfume drifted into his lungs with each breath of air. ‘You are too modest. You underestimate your abilities.’ He took her hand and raised it to his lips, inhaling the scent of her skin to the sound of a soft gasp. ‘As my duchess, you would be welcome to make whatever changes you wished. I think we would deal well together as husband and wife.’

  ‘You didn’t think so when we met first,’ she said, sounding a little bit breathless. ‘On board ship.’

  That husky sound gave him something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Hope. She was attracted to him, and he intended using his every advantage, though it seemed he had some lost ground to make up.

  ‘You mistake the matter,’ he said, stroking his thumb over her palm and smiling at the way the small hairs on her wrist stood to attention. ‘There is this unwritten gentlemanly code of conduct. A man who is not in the market for a wife does not flirt or in any way show an interest in his friend’s little sister-in-law. You were barely eighteen when we met. Gabe knew I had no thoughts of marriage. He would have put a bullet in my brain if I had so much as hinted I found you interesting.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Find you interesting? Bien sûr.’ He kissed the inside of her wrist and inhaled her delicious scent. ‘Do you doubt it?’

  ‘You called me a brat.’

  ‘A smokescreen. As I said, there is a rule. I think you might have been throwing off a little smoke yourself at that time.’

  She averted her gaze, and he knew he was right. ‘What were you hiding?’

  She stilled, but the pulse beat in her wrist picked up speed.

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘It is not important. But, Minette, do not hold my past behaviour towards you against me. It will make for an uncomfortable marriage if you do. And we will be married. Make no mistake.’

  ‘Because of your honour. Because of Gabe.’ Her words were calm, accepting
, but he wasn’t idiot enough to step into that sort of trap.

  ‘Because I want you for my wife.’

  Her head whipped around. There was disbelief on her face, but was there hope there also? God, he hoped so. Another woman in his life who couldn’t abide him was going to make life hell on earth. Not that he deserved anything much better. To be contemplating marriage when he had sworn he would take no benefit from his brother’s death and serve simply as custodian. The only defence he’d had to the accusation in his parents’ eyes. But he did not expect his Duchess to live on the proceeds of Fools’ Paradise, as he had done these past several years. When he married he would have to keep her in proper style. She’d be entitled to wear the family jewels, too. And she ought to have some of her own. Personal items.

  He looked at her left hand. Ringless. He should have bought her a ring, a token, something to mark their engagement. To mark her as his. Hell’s bells, where had this feeling of possession come from?

  He tipped her chin with a fingertip and gazed down into those fascinating eyes. ‘Well, brat,’ he said softly, ‘shall we make the best of it?’

  And would she let him seduce her this time?

  * * *

  The heat in his gaze made Minette feel giddy with longing. He almost had her believing he wanted this marriage. Almost. The recollection of his face when he’d realised they’d been caught in a compromising position had faded but not completely disappeared.

  ‘I did not arrange for us to be found in the library,’ she said. ‘The last thing I wanted was to ruin my reputation.’ For Nicky’s sake.

  ‘I believe you.’

  ‘You do?’ She could not keep the surprise from her voice. It was rare for any man to admit he was wrong.

  ‘I do,’ he said firmly. ‘While you were reckless in coming to my club to find me, foolhardy in the extreme, you were open and honest about your intentions. At Gosport’s ball I let past experiences colour my judgement. I should not have said what I did to you that night. But we can’t keep apologising for something that has happened. We have to move on.’

  Guilt washed over her. ‘To be truthful, I wasn’t displeased that it happened. It suited my plans.’ He went to speak, and she touched a finger to his lips. ‘You must understand.’ She stared into her teacup as if it would give her the words she so desperately needed. ‘If all else failed, I might have thought trapping you a perfectly acceptable strategy.’

  He chuckled softly. ‘Honest to a fault. I think my rush to judgement that evening was coloured by your previous partiality for cheating.’

  ‘That I did to annoy you,’ she admitted ruefully. ‘You seemed so irritated by your role as bear leader. As if you would sooner be anywhere else than playing cards with me.’

  ‘Irritated? So much so I couldn’t make out one card from another. All I could think about was kissing you.’

  His eyelids dipped a fraction, his gaze dropping to her lips, his mouth softening.

  Her breath caught in her throat. The man was positively seductive when he set his mind to it. And his kisses were deliciously tempting, especially as there had been no kissing in her life after coming to England, except for his. There had been no one else she’d wanted to kiss, if she was truthful. Not after Pierre. But there was something else playing on her mind. He was a duke. He had to marry and produce an heir. How would she feel once Moreau was caught and she cried off and he married another?

  She would be lying if she said she wouldn’t care. She wouldn’t like it one little bit. Not now that they had become co-conspirators, friends and perhaps something more.

  Yet what right did she have to hold him to his promise of a marriage of convenience, forced upon him by circumstances in which she had played an active part, even if it had been unintentional?

  How could she marry him when she’d given away her virtue to a man he considered an enemy of his country? It didn’t matter how honourable Freddy was, or how kind; once Moreau was dealt with in a way so that he could never harm Nicky, she must cry off. For his sake. Whether or not the miniature came to light.

  Letting him make love to her, as he so obviously wanted to do, might be one way to make sure he didn’t object to her ending their betrothal. He’d know for certain she was no innocent miss.

  ‘So you want to kiss me now?’ she asked.

  ‘Can’t you tell?’

  Eyes hot, he lowered his head, and she lifted hers to meet him halfway.

  This she would have. This would be accomplished between them, or she would regret it for ever. She wound her arms around his neck and parted her lips to welcome the most sensual of kisses. The strokes of his tongue against hers. The taste of him. The feel of his heart beating against her breasts. Their loud, frenzied breathing.

  His hands were large and warm, one on her spine, the other cradling her nape. She felt cherished. Wanted. She stroked his cheek with her fingertips and slowly they broke apart. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his lips curved in a smile, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.

  Passion personified. Her blood heated, her core fluttered pleasurably, her nipples felt uncomfortable in the confines of her gown. All that with a kiss and a glance. Dark and delicious passion. The man was a wonder.

  In a swift, almost negligent move he lifted her onto his lap, one hand casually stroking her shin while the other toyed with a curl that had slipped from its pins. He had a lithe strength that appealed to her femininity in blood-stirring ways. Made her limbs feel languid.

  ‘What if someone comes in?’ she said.

  A small smile curved his lips. ‘One advantage of being a duke. No one enters unless sent for.’ He ducked beneath her chin and first kissed and then licked the base of her throat with the sounds of a connoisseur enjoying a fine wine. ‘You smell and taste of my favourite things.’

  ‘And what would they be?’

  ‘Aroused woman and jasmine.’

  She couldn’t help a smile at the sheer devilment in his voice as he drawled the shocking words. She put a hand to her knee to stop his hand wandering above her garter. ‘What about your mother?’

  ‘Believe me, that would never happen.’

  Utter confidence. And why not? His mother would never arrive unannounced. Not because she was discreet or understanding, she realised with sadness, but because it would never occur to the woman to visit her son.

  ‘Why the worried face?’ he murmured, twirling that unruly curl around his finger. He cast her a sidelong glance that glittered in the light of the candles. ‘Are you hoping for rescue?’

  ‘Quite the opposite.’

  He cracked a short laugh of genuine amusement. ‘You are so hard to read. I never have a clue what you are thinking.’

  ‘That is a good thing. A man needs to be kept off kilter.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ he asked as he raised his head to look at where his mouth had been. ‘Your sister?’

  ‘Something I overheard once.’ Minette should not have been listening. But it was how she had learned just what Nicky had endured to keep her safe. She had learned other things, too. Things that had made her feel oddly breathless and hot. Later, she’d understood. She’d also realised what sort of man Nicky’s husband had been. His death had not been much of a loss.

  He must have heard a note of bitterness in her voice because he gave up teasing her breast to look at her face. ‘Unhappy memories?’

  ‘Things best forgotten.’ She smiled and pushed up to kiss his cheek, knowing full well the effect of the added pressure on his groin.

  He ran his fingers in a light caress down her shin. ‘Do you know what attracted me to you the first time I saw you?’

  ‘No.’

  His hand closed lightly around her ankle. A gesture of possession that she found very much to her liking. ‘This. The prettiest ankles I have ever seen stepped on board that ship. And then, when I looked up at your face, I was done for.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Do you know what the next thing I s
aw was?’ He nipped at her ear lobe, and a shiver shot through her body. ‘Gabe’s face. Giving me the fish eye.’

  ‘Fish... What?’

  ‘Glaring murder. Warning me off.’

  ‘And so you were following orders when you were so rude.’

  ‘Mmm.’ He dipped his head. Hot lips seared the rise of her breast, his hand curving beneath the swell to plump it up for better access. ‘Delicious.’

  Delicious indeed. His mouth hot and wet and his tongue teasing at her flesh.

  He groaned softly and caught her around the shoulders so he could kiss her with open-mouthed ardour. A kiss of skill and temptation that set her body on fire. She turned into him, her breasts, heavy and sensitive, pressed against his hard chest. He cupped her buttocks and lifted her, adjusting her position on his lap, and she felt the hard ridge of his arousal against her hip.

  Once she was settled to his satisfaction, he skimmed a hand up her thigh beneath her skirts and a low sound of approval rumbled through his chest.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When she’d arrived at his club, he’d done his absolute best to remember she was his best friend’s sister-in-law. The woman he’d held in his arms was a passionate, sensual female who appealed to his most primitive of male instincts. Warm and delicious in every way.

  An unexpected gift in his life he had no intention of refusing. Not when it would ensure she became his wife. And perhaps, since she wasn’t objecting, she wanted the decision taken out of her hands. Please, all the saints above, she didn’t say no this time.

  The rest of it he’d deal with later. Find a way for them to be together. There were ways a man could make love to his wife and ensure no children resulted. If he was careful.

  Her tongue tangled with his, her body melted into him. Her sweet, lush bottom rocked against his rock-hard arousal. Lust clawed at the cage of civility. It was all he could do not to lower her to the floor and take her on the carpet. She deserved more. Better than him, better than this. But it was too late for her to have choices.

  She may not have intended their discovery in the library at Gosport’s ball, but from that moment on it had been too late to turn back. From that second she’d become his responsibility, no matter what she thought. His to protect.