Seducing The Vengeful Marquess (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Lucinda Nelson

  Begrudgingly, she agreed to invite Tristan for dinner. She’d been extremely wary and cold at first. Determined to dislike him. But within an hour, she started smiling.

  Tristan was a difficult man to hate. He was pretty and shy and wonderfully sweet. “Nothing like a man at all,” Aunt Esther had said, once he’d left.

  Since then, their friendship had been free to blossom.

  “I’ve missed you awfully,” she admitted, still holding one of his hands as they sat in the library together.

  “And I’ve missed you,” he assured her, with a soft and sincere look in his baby blue eyes. ”Do you know how long you’re here for?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” Loraine admitted. “You know how my aunt can be.”

  “I certainly do,” he said, with a smile. He clearly hadn’t forgotten his first meeting with Aunt Esther. “What brought you here in the first place?”

  Loraine expelled a breath. “I honestly don’t know,” she confessed. “It seemed to be a sudden change of heart for Aunt Esther. I never thought she’d come back here.”

  “Perhaps she just needed to feel ready.”

  “Perhaps. But let’s not talk of that. Let’s talk about you.”

  “I am well enough.”

  “Only well enough? I would have you be extremely well.”

  Tristan patted her hand thankfully.

  “Is it your father still?”

  He nodded, losing some of his smile. Tristan had always had a troubling relationship with his father, who did not value Tristan’s softness the way Loraine did. He didn’t see it for the precious thing it was.

  “It’s mother too now. When I was younger she didn’t much mind how I was, but now she wants me to marry. And I can hardly bear the thought.”

  Loraine did not have to ask him why, because she already knew. Despite Tristan’s most honest attempts at developing some interest in a woman, he’d never been able to manage it. The women he drew close to became his friends, not his lovers. This drew his mother positively mad.

  “I am sorry,” she said. “I wish there was something I could do to help.”

  “Oh but there is,” Tristan said. “That is what I had hoped to ask you.”

  “Do tell,” Loraine said, her brow quirked with curiosity.

  “Mother and I can’t even be around one another at the moment. And the environment at the estate is becoming insufferable. But I thought that-”

  He stopped, his blushing deepening to a dark rouge. “Go on,” Loraine said, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

  “I thought that perhaps you might be able to quell some of her frustrations. By… well… by pretending.”

  “Pretending,” Loraine echoed, with a crinkle between her brows. And then she understood his meaning. “Oh,” she said. “You mean by pretending to be your lover.”

  “By pretending that I am courting you,” he explained, quickly, clearly nervous. “It’s just that seeing us together might placate my parents. Because they’d see that I do have an interest in women.”

  “And when we don’t marry?”

  “When we don’t marry, at least I can say I gave it a shot? Perhaps they will not begrudge me for it so much if I can prove that I tried.” His voice wobbled a little as he said this, revealing how much the friction between him and his parents upset him.

  This was the second plot that Loraine had been asked to participate in. But with this one, she wanted to say yes. At least Tristan was well-intentioned. He didn’t want to cause pain. He wanted to dispel it.

  “You don’t have to say yes,” he said, speaking faster and faster. “It was silly to even ask, wasn’t it? You probably wouldn’t even want to be seen with me-”

  Before he could go on, she put her fingers up towards his mouth and shook her head. “I’ll do it,” she said. “But I have a favor to ask in return.”

  He blinked at her and she dropped her hand away from his mouth. “My aunt has asked me to do something, which I have agreed to. Perhaps against my better judgement.”

  “Whatever do you mean? Why do it if you do not want to?”

  “It’s not so simple as that,” she said. “You know how delicate my aunt’s constitution is.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I believe that this is necessary to preserve it.”

  “Then what would you have me do?”

  “I need you to get some information for me. On a gentleman by the name of Lord Philip Everton.”

  “Lord Blackhill? Yes, I know of him. Well… I know of his friend Lord Theodore Brand at the very least. Well, I don’t exactly know him.”

  Again, his voice was picking up speed as it always did when he grew a little nervous. “‘Know’ is certainly a strong word, I would say. What I mean is that I am aware of him.”

  He stopped talking rather suddenly when he saw her patient expression. “Sorry,” he muttered. “You were saying?”

  She smiled at him and went on. “I need you to find out what he’s like. What he enjoys. What his reputation is.”

  “But why?” He wondered. “What could your aunt possibly want with Lord Blackhill?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,” she admitted. “And perhaps you’d rather not know.”

  He frowned. “But how can I participate in something so blindly?”

  “As a favor,” she said, with a small smile. “And in exchange.”

  He thought for several moments, before he nodded. “Alright,” he agreed. “I’ll find out all I can. If you agree to dine with me and my parents.”

  “We have a deal,” she said.

  ***

  Lord Philip Everton, Marquess of Blackhill

  Philip was extraordinarily out of touch with British fashion, which seemed to change from week to week. Before he’d left England, he’d always remained up-to-date with the latest trends.

  If he was to maintain his reputation as a highly desirable bachelor, which benefited him with women immensely, he couldn’t very well be unfashionable.

  His friends thought him a tad odd for taking such an interest in what he wore and the way he looked. Which was why, in Philip’s view, they did not have as much success with women as he did.

  Certainly, if he was to win Miss Beauchamp’s heart, he would have to pull out all the stops. So he went to an expensive shop in the centre of town. But as he approached it, having just stepped out of his carriage, something unexpected caught his eye.

  He was passing the flower market when he saw the very woman who had inspired his outing, smelling a rose. He had to admit, whether he disliked her or not, that she was quite stunning.

  “You put the rose to shame,” he said, from behind her. He expected her to be startled, but she wasn’t. She didn’t even turn to identify him. She just knew.

  “Lord Blackhill,” she said. “What a surprise to find you shopping for flowers.”

  “I wonder why that surprises you,” he remarked, as he stepped up beside her. He put his fingers beneath the head of a chrysanthemum and lowered his face towards it. He took a deep breath through his nose and the scent flooding his senses.

  “You seem like the sort of gentleman who favors less delicate delights.”

  He quirked his brow, feeling that her deduction had many layers to it. That was the thing about Miss Beauchamp. It seemed to him that when she said something, she often meant a thousand other things. And it was his job to figure them out.

  “Do you mean to say that I am not easily pleased by the simpler things?”

  He saw her smile secretively around the rose, which she was still holding to her mouth. He imagined that the petals felt like silk on her lips. As her lips had felt on his. “I did not say that.”

  “You did not need to. I am well aware of what you think of me, Miss Beauchamp.”

  “Are you?” She said, curiously, as she walked among the pots of flowers. She stopped to touch many of them.

  “You think I’m shallow,” he said, as he walked behind her, smelling the very
same flowers she did. He spoke with a smile, without accusation and without insult. As if he didn’t much mind her thinking poorly of him.

  “I hardly know anything about you,” she remarked, as if the truth of his character was of absolutely no consequence to her. “Except that you are prone to stealing things that are not yours.”

  This did surprise Philip. He blinked at her. “Stealing, my Lady? What have I stolen?”

  She looked back at him over the gentle glide of her shoulder. “That kiss you took last night did not belong to you, Lord Blackhill.”

  “If I recall correctly, I did not take it. It was given.”

  “Then you recall incorrectly,” Miss Beauchamp said. “Or does your notion of giving not take into account coercion?”

  He started to smile. Her cleverness was quite the challenge, but he enjoyed rising to it. “It was not coercion, Miss Beauchamp. I only wanted to liberate you.”

  Miss Beauchamp stopped walking and faced him, with raised brows. “Pray tell, what did I need liberating from?”

  He did not stop when she did, but passed her, allowing their shoulders to brush as he did so. He bent over a daffodil and smelt it. “From whoever that woman was at the ball,” Philip said. “You were hiding from her, were you not?”

  Miss Beauchamp didn’t answer and he didn’t look back to see her expression. But he imagined that her silence meant that he had hit upon a mark. “I wonder, how much do you want to do that which you cannot because you are too afraid.”

  “Too afraid?” She laughed. “Now that does reveal something of you, my Lord.”

  He straightened and looked her in the eye as she went on. “I do not restrain myself because I am afraid.” She paused and looked him up and down, as she often did. “I restrain myself because I owe a duty to those I love.”

  It hit too close to home, whether she’d meant it to or not. His jaw tightened a little. “And besides,” she added. “Not kissing you required no restraint, because I had no interest in kissing you in the first place.”

  With a haughty turn of her head, she resumed her walk alongside the flower pots.

  It took a moment and a great deal of effort for Philip not to rise to what she’d said. He reminded himself that she didn’t know him. That she wasn’t referring to what he’d done. That it was just mere coincidence that she’d beaten against one of his sore spots.

  “I have to ask you,” he said, as he followed her again. “If what you say is true, then why did you not want to kiss me?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “Does it astound you so much that a woman might not want you?”

  His smile turned roguish. “It does. I am not accustomed to it.”

  She rolled her eyes and his smile widened even more so. “But it doesn’t matter how many women want me,” he went. He stepped out in front of her to block her path, having plucked an orchid from one of the pots and brought it between them. “If you do not,” he concluded.

  Miss Beauchamp looked up at him, with amusement in her eyes, and plucked the flower from his hand. She looked down at it, then back at him from beneath her eyelashes. She leaned up onto her tiptoes and came so close that Philip felt certain she would kiss him again.

  He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. He felt her warm breath on his jaw. Her lips brush his earlobe when she spoke. “Then I feel very sorry for you indeed, my Lord,” she whispered, in a voice so sultry that it made him shiver.

  He could barely register what she was saying, because he was too distracted by her touch. Her fingers curled back over the top of his left ear.

  And then she was gone. She stepped away, turned and left.

  Philip stood there, staring after her dumbly. It wasn’t until a couple passed him, covering their mouths to disguise their laughter, that he realized what she’d done.

  He reached up towards his ear and felt the orchid she’d slipped behind it.

  Chapter 10

  Lord Philip Everton, Marquess of Blackhill

  Earlier that day, Theodore had informed Philip that Lady Abigail Maris knew a fair bit about the Beauchamp family. Though Miss Beauchamp had only been in England a matter of days, it didn’t surprise him that Abigail – queen of gossip – had managed to dig up some secrets.

  Before leaving to visit Abigail, Philip had asked Theodore why he was helping him. Given the deal they’d made, it wasn’t exactly in his interests to do so. Theodore had smiled, with a mischievous look in his eye.

  “I am not in the least bit concerned that I might lose this bet, Philip. Consider this evening out the odds. You need all the help you can get.”

  Philip had ignored him and left.

  He hadn’t seen or spoken to Abigail since before his mother’s funeral. Before his mother had passed away, Philip had been ‘courting’ her behind the scenes without any real intention of settling down.

  But, typical Abigail, she’d spread the word that they were extremely intimate and that a wedding was on the horizon. Which had not been the truth by any stretch of the imagination, but he didn’t blame her for thinking that it might be.

  They’d shared a few kisses and she’d allowed him greater intimacies every time he visited her. Any woman would expect a ring in exchange.

  “Abigail,” he said, with a wide smile, when she saw him.

  Her face went white when she saw him. “Philip…” she said his name like it was a prayer, as she always had. But it was clear that she wasn’t entirely happy to see him. “What are you doing here? I didn’t know you’d come back.”

  “Well I have,” he replied. “Did you think I wouldn’t visit you upon my return?”

  “It’s been…”

  “Months,” he concluded. He put his arm out for her. “Let’s talk in the garden,” he suggested.

  Wary and still a little dazed, she took his arm and allowed him to lead her outside. She was looking at him like he was a ghost.

  “You left,” she said. “Without a word.” She put her hand on the inside of his arm and squeezed. “I was so sorry about your mother, Philip.”

  Philip had not come here to talk about that. Or his departure. Or their relationship. He squeezed her hand in return and tried to smile. “Come now, let’s not talk about that. I want to enjoy my time with you.”

  Her face brightened a little. “Truly? Did you miss me?”

  “I certainly did.”

  “But when you left-”

  “Oh Abigail,” he interjected. “Let’s not talk about that. What sense is there in dwelling on the past?”

  Abigail blinked as she considered his words. She wasn’t extremely bright and she had always been keen to choose happiness over the truth. She’d always rather believe what she wanted to believe.

  “I missed you too,” she said, as she started to smile.

  Philip allowed her to chat for a long time. To talk about everything she’d gotten up to over the past few months. She gave him an impish look and told him that she’d had many men try to court her, but none of them were good enough.

  He wasn’t sure he believed it, but he feigned jealousy nonetheless. After a while, he eased her onto the subject he’d come to discuss with her.

  “What about local news?” He said. “It feels like such a long time since I’ve been home. I want to know what the hot gossip is.”

  Abigail was eager to oblige. She was never so happy as when she was gossiping. “Then you will not be disappointed,” she said, in a conspiratorial voice. “There is a new woman in town, by the name of Miss Loraine Beauchamp.”

  It was too easy.

  “Well, not new exactly,” Abigail went on. “She lived here when she was younger, until the age of sixteen when her parents died in a terrible accident and-”

  “Her parents died?” Philip said abruptly, cutting Abigail off.

  “Yes,” Abigail said, more slowly. “Their carriage crashed into the lake, leaving the poor girl orphaned. So she went to America to live with her aunt.”

  Philip felt a strange pang in
his chest, on behalf of young Miss Beauchamp. But he squashed the pang before it could develop, before he could even entertain the notion of pitying her.

  “What else do you know about Miss Loraine Beauchamp? She must be a rather interesting character.”

  “Interesting indeed. The entire town is talking about her.”