by Regina Darcy
“It’s not proof,” Everard admitted. “But it casts doubt on the accusations.”
“I don’t give a damn about the accusations now,” Christopher said. “What matters is rescuing Beatrice before Jasper has done her any harm.”
Dawn was breaking when Everard and Christopher caught up with their quarry. They spied a horseman by the side of the road. He had dismounted and was struggling with a young girl who was trying to take the reins of the horse.
Christopher drew his pistol. ”Halt!” he ordered.
When the horseman saw who approached, he tried to mount the horse to make his escape. But Beatrice had also seen them, and she was gripping the reins tightly.
“You won’t shoot me,” Jasper sneered.
“I won’t shoot to kill you, no,” Christopher said calmly as his horse trotted next to the mare that Beatrice was riding. “But I’m close enough to do significant damage to an arm or a leg. It would be very difficult for you to make your way to American minus a limb, so I advise you to mind your manners.”
“America! I’m not going to America.”
Christopher dismounted and went up to his brother, standing so close to him that his mere posture was a threat. “You’re going to America or you’re going to jail,” Christopher informed him. “You’ve risked the safety of the woman who means everything to me. You will leave England or the Abbess will most certainly have you arrested.”
“I daresay my aunt would be most happy to purchase your passage,” Beatrice, her eyes bright, told him.
“You—”
“Have a care, Jasper. You’re speaking to the woman I love.”
“She’s ruined,” Jasper said with satisfaction. “We’ve ridden halfway to Gretna Green without a chaperone. No one will have her.”
Christopher smiled. “I will. Ruined or not, I’d be honoured to have her as my wife. But it doesn’t matter, because there is no one to speak ill of her. You will be on the Atlantic Ocean where your vile tongue and your dastardly habits will not be able to harm Beatrice. Everard has unearthed the truth of the scheme to discredit me as a suitor for Beatrice’s hand. A bit more digging and no doubt he’ll have identified you as the culprit.”
“Me? I’ve no money for such a scheme,” Jasper replied, looking everywhere but at his brother.
“But marriage to an heiress would have procured you access to the money. I’ve no doubt that your accomplices were willing to do their deeds for promise of later payment.”
“It was a lie?” Beatrice asked, her brown eyes enormous with the revelation that had been disclosed. “You are not the father of the baby?”
“He is not,” Everard declared. “Before we left the village, I sent a message to your aunt, instructing her to speak to witnesses who could give her the details that will restore Lord Davenport’s good name and standing. I cannot imagine that she will object to your suit now.”
Everard spoke up. “I believe it’s best to leave your dastardly brother in the custody of the law while we return Beatrice to the Abbess. When we come back for you, we’ll have that ticket to America.”
“You can’t seriously intend to send me to that God-forsaken country. Christopher, I beg you—”
“America may be the making of you,” Christopher answered. “Or it may defeat you. In either case, it’s where you’re going. If the Abbess will countenance it, and Beatrice will have me, I intend to make Beatrice the next Countess of Kent.”
He turned to Beatrice. “I nearly lost you. I don’t intend to let that happen again.”
Beatrice leaned down and let the Earl help her dismount. “Forgive my forwardness, but I beg your leave to grant me a kiss,” he whispered, his gaze intent on hers.
“I’m already ruined,” she replied shyly. “What does a kiss signify?”
But when Christopher took her in his arms, she was pleased to discover that a kiss signified a great deal indeed. The Abbess might not have approved of her niece kissing a gentleman with such abandon by the side of the road in public view. On the other hand, given the way things might have turned out, the Abbess might have been very pleased that her niece was kissing the man she intended to marry after all.
The End
BONUS CHAPTER 1:
–
MESMERISING THE DUKE
CHAPTER 1
The candles in the drawing-room of Sheperton Manor glittered as brightly as the jewellery worn by the ladies dancing beneath it.
Despite the almost illicit nature of the activity being undertaken in the house’s gaming rooms, the ballroom was filled with a fair number of the ton, searching for some entertainment in the Buckinghamshire countryside. Those not indulging in a spot of dancing with one fair lady or another, were busy gambling in the nearby rooms.
Their hostess, Lady Archer, had once been a well-to-do dowager, but had fallen on hard times after several gambling misfortunes. But, being ever the entrepreneurial woman, she had taken her penchant for card games and made it into a minor business. An activity that would have warranted her exclusion from polite society.
But the ton were addicted to a good game of cards.
When Lady Archer had first thrown such a vulgar event, it had been quite the scandal in their local community. However now it was seen as the height of decadency to have attended such a gathering. Known through the county for her gambling soirees, she had turned misfortune to fortune, which had to be admired.
Her gaming gatherings differed in that both women and men could attend, and dancing and socialising was a must. Of course she did charge an entry fee, which was collected ever so discreetly on arrival.
How popular these soirees were could be witnessed by the merriment of the attendees as they swirled across the ballroom to the strains of the Viennese Waltz. It was well known that most of the women attending were some man’s wife and probably another man’s mistress. Or aspiring to be one or the other. This was especially true during her masquerade balls, during the month of love. It was this very event that would draw the most reluctant rake to the countryside. At these times, every sensible matron would remain at home, keeping a close eye on their charge.
Yes, Lady Archer’s was a place for decadent amusement but one gentleman looked conspicuously bored and unmoved by the merriment. His very presence was such that the eyes of almost every woman kept returning to his imposing figure. This scrutiny could have been due to his stature, but more likely than not it was due to the man himself. Douglas Montgomery, the Duke of Staffordshire, commonly referred to as Monty by his friends.
He was not only tall, but also extremely handsome. He had a reputation of leaving a sea of broken hearts wherever he went. Despite this, matrons with aspirations to move up in the world, would not hesitate to throw their daughters at him. Unfortunately for him, this was a frequent occurrence. His reputation did nothing to dissuade them from coveting the title of Duchess for their daughter.
Douglas knew that if he ever found himself in a compromising situation with any of those insipid girls he was done for it. His own sense of honour would demand that he did the right thing. That is why he avoided debutants like the plague. No, he preferred a mature woman. Preferably one that was already married and bored with her husband. The thought brought a cynical smile to the corner of his lips.
He had learnt the hard way that women were not to be trusted. At least his paramours were honest about their desires and what they expected of him. At the thought of his mistress he frowned.
Unfortunately, today he had to undertake the unpleasant task of informing her that their time together was at an end.
He had noticed the first signs of what he could only describe as affection in the lady’s rapport with him. He did not do affection. Douglas would stake his rogue reputation on his skills to satisfy any woman, however emotional satisfaction they had to look for elsewhere. His current liaison was set to get messy as the lady’s husband, the Earl of Chelsford, had recently been named Lord Steward.
His influence over the Sove
reign was not to be underestimated. Although Countess Desdemona was an incomparable beauty, she wasn’t worth the hassle of having to tackle with her husband’s displeasure. Besides, as far as the Countess was concerned, he had grown restless, bordering on bored. Matters had not been helped by the fact that she had sent him three messages last week urging him to come urgently to Buckinghamshire. For what purpose, he did not know, but he would take this opportunity to end their assignations.
It was with quiet discomfort that he saw the Countess glide seductively towards him across the ballroom. Douglas frowned at this outward display. At this rate she would have the gossip tongues wagging before the end of the night. Even at an event such as this, a modicum of discretion was required.
Her elaborate gown with its full skirt, no doubt the latest French style, emphasised her 15 inch waist. The front was cut as low as decency permitted – which was very low indeed. But it served to accentuate her creamy shoulders and her ample bosom. Her mask served only to highlight the curves of her perfect mouth. Where once he would have been mesmerised by the sight, he was instead slightly irritated. Before she reached him, he turned and walked to a nearby alcove. He had no doubt she would follow.
“Douglas,” Desdemona whispered.
“Good evening Countess, how nice to see you in good health,” he replied coldly. It was best to get these matters over with as swiftly as possible in his experience.
“Why so cold my love? Do you not remember the heat of my embrace,” she pouted, while placing her hand on his arm. He promptly disengaged it.
“Desdemona, darling, stop wearing your affections on your sleeves. It is unseemly,” Douglas said in a cold voice.
It finally dawned on the Countess that this was not a secret rendezvous. Annoyed, she wrinkled her perfect forehead.
“Why did you call me here?” the Duke continued.
“Do I need a reason? Do you not long for my company as I crave yours?” she responded, fanning herself.
“No, my lady I do not.” Their gaze locked and it was in that moment the Countess understood she was in the process of being cast aside.
“I take no joy in this conversation,” Douglas resumed. But before he could finish he was abruptly interrupted. The Countess closed her fan violently and looked at him with venom. “My dear Douglas, I will not be cast aside as last night’s stale pastry,” she said and then smiled sweetly.
Douglas sighed deeply, “Surely you did not expect this to last? I have warned you on numerous occasions not to mistake our dalliance for more than a momentary pastime.”
“You do mean to cast me aside,” Desdemona said in a disbelieving voice. “Who do you take me for?” Douglas now suspected that their goodbyes were going to be much more tiring than he anticipated.
“I know too well the look you are currently sporting. I had not imagined to be on the receiving end of your scorn,” Desdemona spat. “Mark my words, Your Grace, you will feel my wrath and regret your actions today,” she whispered venomously.
Before the matter got completely out of hand, a male voice called the Duke’s name from behind. “Your Grace! So this is where you have been hiding out all night.”
It was with huge relief he welcomed the sight of Lord Nathaniel Hughes, the Viscount of Wiltshire, his nearest and dearest friend. Despite his mask, Nathaniel’s stature and sky-blue eyes were so distinctive, his disguise was unnecessary. The Viscount was impeccably well-dressed. Not a chemise misaligned.
“Countess,” he greeted with a nod. Desdemona spared him not so much as a glance, but instead sailed regally back out to the ballroom.
The moment she was out of sight, Nathaniel’s face cracked a big smile and he clasped hands with his friend.
“Monty, good to see you,” he said with a smile.
“Hughes, I was almost afraid you would leave me standing here with that shrew for another two hours, whilst you busied yourself with your cravat,” his friend replied, with a knowing smile.
“Give it a rest Monty, I get enough of a grilling from the chaps at the club.” Nathaniel removed an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. “Besides, I just saved you from what looked to be a very unpleasant exchange. Not to mention, I am only in this godforsaken countryside hole to lend you a hand.”
“That you are indeed.”
“Is he here?”
“Yes, he is currently occupied in the gaming room.”
“Let’s get to the matter at hand.”
Douglas turned around and started walking back to the main room when he stopped dead in his tracks. Despite her mask, the cascade of flaming hair from the beauty in the far room, beckoned him like a beacon. He looked in bemusement as the dainty little lady stomped her foot.
“Quite a beauty, old chap,” the Viscount whispered amused, “I wonder what has her so riled up?”
The beauty in question looked furious to say the least. Douglas watched intrigued as the man she was conversing with turned around and walked away. He could only assume this was her lover and he was witnessing an awkward end to their assignation. The woman was exceedingly young to be involved in such matters of the flesh. But based on the outwardly passion she exhibited, he could only imagine she was a hellion between the sheets. He smiled knowingly to himself as he watched her fan her heaving bosom.
“Monty, we do not have time for this,” Nathaniel warned in an exasperated voice, “we need to focus on this charade you dragged me to, not on some slip of a girl.”
“Not to worry Hughes, I will be with you shortly. Save a space for me at the whist table,” he replied with a distracted smile. Before the Viscount could reply, the Duke started making his way through the crowd; the woman and her ethereal beauty his sole focus.
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BONUS CHAPTER 2:
BEWITCHING THE VISCOUNT
CHAPTER 1
Lord Nathaniel Hughes, the Viscount of Wiltshire, commonly referred to as “Hughes” by his friends, was bored. Ever since his close friend, the Duke of Staffordshire, had tied the knot with the beautiful Miss Georgette Danford, he had been questioning his own bachelor status.
The loving bliss the couple exuded had him longing for something other than his current, temporary liaisons with married women. He was by no means looking for a love match, far from it. However, the issue of an heir was of outmost importance. The only problem with his new, inexplicable, yearning was that he did not trust women at all.
Anything else would have been unusual; after all, he had witnessed the treacherous nature of a woman first-hand.
Now, Nathaniel was not prone to the incessant musings that afflicted many gentlemen of his advanced age. That said, at twenty-eight, surrounded by several gentlemen who were already married, he was hard pressed to ignore the need to father a legitimate heir. This was one of the reasons he was now languishing in the Gloucestershire countryside.
Bored to tears in London, he had decided to visit his cousin at Langdon Manor. He had the misfortune to have agreed to stay for three whole weeks when he first arrived. Having spent two weeks in the company of his nieces, he was happy to notice he had now somewhat regained his senses. As he suspected, the delightful little monsters had been exactly what the doctor ordered. Five more days of Uncle Nathaniel this, Uncle Nathaniel that and he could rush back to London and freedom.
Luckily, his boredom had been cut short when his dear friend Alden Haddington, the Earl of Beckton, had come calling. He had known Alden for several years. Both had served in the same regiment under the Duke of Staffordshire. The Earl had particularly strong, disapproving views on Nathaniel’s string of mistresses. The irony was that the Earl was known to have left an equal trail of heartbroken beauties behind him. The only difference being, he had never touched them.
Alden was currently an esteemed Member of Parliament. Although he was certainly very vocal in the House of Lords, Nathaniel was one of the few people who knew Alden found the challenge of conversing with the fairer sex, insurmountable. He had yet to finish a sensible conver
sation with any eligible young woman he had actual designs on. Half the broken hearts he left behind him were due to disinterest, and the rest due to an inability to approach the lady in question.
It was a longstanding joke between them, that at this rate he would die never having known a woman. However, despite their markedly different dispositions, his friendship with Nathaniel had remained strong over the years.
“Nathaniel, are you listening?” the Earl queried bemused. “I see you are studiously avoiding the topic,” he continued as he climbed on to his horse.
“What topic would that be?” Nathaniel replied, puzzled at the sudden line of questioning. His thoughts were elsewhere.
“That of your self-imposed loneliness.”
“Loneliness? That’s a bit harsh, my dear fellow.”
“Begging your pardon, but what would you call burying yourself in the countryside?” Alden asked with a raised eyebrow. Nathaniel shrugged.
“Well, I am of the opinion that your loneliness would swiftly be solved by a matrimonial arrangement,” Alden continued dryly.
“Good Grace! I am not yet at my deathbed to be sentenced to such domestic hell,” Nathaniel exclaimed. “An incidental marriage is not something I aspire for in any near future.”
The Viscount had no wish for Alden to get a whiff of the fact that he had very much been reconsidering his bachelor status for the last couple of weeks. Once the Earl fixated on an idea, he didn’t let it be. Whilst this was useful in Parliament, it was highly annoying to his friends. Nathaniel had no intention of becoming his next pet project.