Seducing The Vengeful Marquess (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Lucinda Nelson

  But on the other, it forced her to tip her head back to look up at him. Which made her feel small. And she hated to feel small. “I think that you want to see me,” he said, boldly. “I think that you are afraid of how much you want to see me.”

  “You’ve made a substantial jump to reach that conclusion,” she said, though she sounded increasingly breathless. She felt backed into a corner, though there was nothing but open courtyard behind her. But she couldn’t very well step back and reveal that he’d gotten under her skin.

  So she did something to retrieve the power she’d somehow lost to him since they’d dismounted. She took a step and tumbled into his arms. “Oh!” She breathed, beside his ear. “I’m so sorry. These boots are new and I fear I’m still getting used to them.”

  She spoke these words softly beside his ear, so close that her lips brushed his earlobe. Loraine could feel his heartbeat pounding faster in his chest. Could hear the catch of air in his throat.

  She didn’t realize how dangerous a game she was playing until she felt the scatter of his breath down her neck.

  The fall had been meant to snatch her power back. She’d whisper in his ear and make him weak at the knees.

  But he knew how to play this game. He wasn’t like most men, who could be so easily manipulated. She realized that when his hand came to rest against her lower back, because she felt a shiver go down her spine.

  Loraine looked up at him, desperately trying to work out her next move.

  But before she could come up with one, his face lowered towards hers.

  She didn’t move, because she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to be the victor over this small battle, so she decided to lose it. In the hopes that it would somehow benefit her winning of the war.

  Her eyes closed and she let him kiss her.

  At first, that was all there was to it. Him kissing her still but pliant lips.

  But his taste did something to her. And with a soft sound in the back of her throat, she moved her mouth under his and kissed him back.

  In an instant, she forgot where she was. Forgot that she was standing in the courtyard and how easily her aunt could spot her from a window.

  Her hand lifted, then hesitated, before diving through the thick locks of hair at the nape of his neck. She tightened her grip on the curls and pulled him closer so that their mouths were pressed harder against each other.

  She felt his tongue on her lower lip. The lightest brush. Just a taste of what he could do for her. In response, she took his plump lower lip between her teeth and bit it.

  Lord Blackhill moaned. A deep, guttural sound that vibrated through her entire body.

  That sound returned her senses to her in an abrupt and violent instant.

  Loraine sucked in a breath and took a sudden step back. She put her hand up to her mouth and whipped her face around, looking back over her shoulder at the house.

  She quickly looked between every window, but couldn’t see anyone watching through the glass.

  A breath shivered out of her and she looked back at Lord Blackhill. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she breathed.

  “It seemed like you enjoyed it,” he remarked, equally breathless. His lower lip was a deeper pink, from when she’d bitten it.

  “I have to go,” she said, quickly, and turned back towards the house.

  “Come riding tomorrow,” he called to her as she walked away.

  She didn’t answer.

  ***

  Lord Philip Everton, Marquess of Blackhill

  “You look happy,” Theodore said, around a thick cigar. Philip had come looking for his friend after his success with Miss Beauchamp and had found him just where he’d expected to. In the local tavern.

  “Play a game?” Theodore suggested.

  Philip was easily convinced, especially as he was feeling lucky. He sat down and was dealt into the game. “I am happy,” Philip answered, with a smile that felt ever-lasting. “I’m about to win a rather grand sum of money.”

  “I call bluff,” Theodore said. “You haven’t even looked at your hand yet.”

  “I didn’t mean the game.”

  Theodore took a big puff of the cigar, then took it out of his mouth and held it between his fingers. He quirked a brow at Philip. “You are awfully cocky, aren’t you my friend?”

  “It’s not cockiness,” Philip replied, as he looked at his cards. They were rather good, in fact, but he didn’t let it show. “It’s intuition. She’s already starting to give.”

  Theodore snorted a sound of disbelief and looked down at his cards, shaking his head dismissively at Philip. “You really are an optimist.”

  Quite the opposite in fact. But one might say that he had too much faith in his own abilities. He took too many risks, because he always felt certain that he’d come out on top.

  But this time, he wasn’t being foolish. “I’m telling you Theodore, I can feel it.”

  “Perhaps what you’re feeling is your own infatuation,” Theodore observed.

  Philip didn’t even entertain the notion. “No woman has ever managed to capture my heart. And this one won’t be any different.”

  “Mhmm,” Theodore hummed, unconvinced. “And what if this woman is different?”

  “Why should she be?”

  “She has a reputation.”

  “And so do I,” Philip answered, with an impish smile. “She kissed me today.”

  This did seem to surprise Theodore, which gave Philip an enormous amount of satisfaction. “Pardon?”

  “I said that she kissed me today. I told you I’ve been making progress.”

  But Theodore just continued to frown, as if he didn’t quite understand.

  “What is it?” Philip asked, having expected to feel a little victorious. Instead, Theodore’s countenance gave him a queer, anxious feeling in his gut.

  “Don’t be a sore loser,” Philip remarked, finding himself echoing what Miss Beauchamp had said to him after their little race. “Why are you making that face?”

  “I just find it unusual,” Theodore admitted. “That a woman known for evading the advances of men should give in so soon.”

  “As I said,” Philip pressed, his arrogant smile renewed. “She must be quite smitten with me.”

  “Or she is playing a game of her own,” Theodore muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Philip. Philip waved his hand at the remark and ignored it.

  Though Philip had only meant to play one game, he found himself on a winning streak and wound up staying long into the evening.

  He went home with a far heavier pocket than when he’d left that morning and a mighty spring in his step.

  Truly, he felt like a conqueror.

  But as he walked inside, he remembered that those feelings would only ever be a distraction from what lurked underneath them.

  As he stepped into the foyer, his eyes fell on an ornament by chance.

  It was one of his mother’s favorites.

  Philip stopped, then went towards it slowly. He picked it up. It was a simple little thing. Very pretty. It was a copper sculpture of a lily in full bloom.

  His mother had always liked simple pleasures, above anything else. Just sitting in the garden and watching the bees buzz around was enough for her.

  Just like that, his victory – his joy – was gone.

  He put the sculpture down and swallowed. “Have you been drinking again?” George said, from behind him.

  Philip turned his back to the sculpture, not wanting to be seen holding it. God forbid his brother should ever think he had a heart.

  “A little,” Philip answered. The slur in his voice didn’t help make him sound convincing.

  “I can smell the whiskey from here, Philip.”

  “Are you my keeper?” Philip said, as he passed his brother and walked towards the stairs.

  “You don’t seem happy.”

  “I am extremely happy, as a matter of fact. I just won a great deal of money.”

&
nbsp; “Gambling,” George said.

  Philip didn’t answer. He climbed the stairs, but before he reached the top his brother called, “Philip.”

  He stopped, but didn’t look back. “What?”

  “Hedonism won’t keep grief at bay for long. Eventually, they have to choose to face it, or it will catch them unawares when they are least able to handle it.”

  Philip felt like he’d been forced to swallow a rock. It sat heavy in his belly, making him feel like he might sink at any moment. He wanted to tell his brother to mind his own damn business, but couldn’t muster the words.

  Without saying anything at all, he kept walking.

  Chapter 12

  Miss Loraine Beauchamp

  When Loraine stepped inside, she put her back against the door and expelled a long, heavy breath.

  She closed her eyes and leaned her head back and tried to forget about the kiss he’d given her.

  The kiss she’d returned.

  “Idiocy,” she whispered to herself, as she put her palm against her forehead in frustration. She’d never felt like such an idiot. She wondered how, after all her years spent evading even the most determined men, he managed to keep getting kisses out of her.

  “Loraine?” Her aunt’s voice snapped her out of her frustration. She dropped her hand and looked up suddenly, knowing that her cheeks were bright red.

  “How did it go?” Her aunt said, excitably, without even seeming to notice Loraine’s frazzled state.

  “It went okay,” Loraine answered, tripping her words. “I mean it went better than okay. It went well. Very well.”

  “Did they ask about me?” She said, as she ushered Loraine into the drawing room.

  No doubt settling in for a long discussion that Loraine could hardly bear the thought of.

  “Of course they did. They couldn’t stop talking about you,” she lied.

  Aunt Esther clapped her hands together like a delighted child. “What did they say? You must tell me everything.”

  “A number of the ladies were at the ball. They remarked that you’d looked so well and that they’d been so pleased to speak to you.”

  “What else?”

  “That you had such a clever wit.”

  “What else?”

  Loraine was quickly running out of lies. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. Her aunt’s face fell. “Did they truly talk about me?” She said, as anxiety and paranoia conquered her delight.

  Before she could spiral into full blown disbelief, Loraine said, “Of course they did, auntie! I’m sorry I hesitated. It’s just that I have something else on my mind.”

  Her aunt frowned. “What else could you possibly have to think about?”

  At first, Loraine hadn’t wanted to tell her about Lord Blackhill. But she knew better than to try and hide it, and it would serve as a suitable deflector to keep Aunt Esther from sinking further into paranoia.

  “Lord Blackhill was at the tea party,” Loraine said.

  Her aunt put her hand up to her mouth. “He was? Oh my dear, that must have rather shocked you.”

  “It shouldn’t have,” Loraine sighed, as she approached the window of the drawing room.

  She pulled back the curtain and looked outside at the gardens, because the room and her aunt’s interrogation made her feel suffocated.

  “Well, what happened? Did you speak?”

  “We argued,” she answered, honestly.

  “Argued? You’re meant to be winning his affections, Loraine.”

  “That is exactly what I was doing,” Loraine replied. “Men like him crave a challenge, which most women can’t give him. But I can.”

  “Then you think you were successful?”

  “I know I was. He’s coming back in the morning.”

  “You invited him? You should not make it so easy for him Loraine. He won’t want what he doesn’t need to work for.”

  “I didn’t invite him,” Loraine said. “But he will come nonetheless.” She didn’t mention that she’d already kissed him. Twice.

  She just thanked God that Aunt Esther hadn’t seen her.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know men like him,” she said, as she let the curtain fall back into place.

  She turned to face her aunt. “I may not have invited him, but that will give him even more cause to come.”

  Her aunt nodded and opened her mouth to go on speaking. Loraine had been caught in one of these conversation spirals many times before.

  Aunt Esther would recycle the same subjects, over and over again, late into the night.

  But today, Loraine didn’t have the energy for it. She had too much on her mind. “I’m sorry to interrupt auntie, but I think I’ll retire. I’m feeling a little under the weather.”

  Her aunt blinked at her, surprised. And then her countenance turned sympathetic and anxious. “Under the weather? Should I call a doctor? Do you think it’s flu?”

  “No, no, auntie,” Loraine assured her, with a forced smile. “Only a little tired. Please do not worry.”

  Her aunt was visibly gnawing her lip, but she conceded with a reluctant nod. “Very well, my dear. I’ll have Mrs. Barrow bring some soup for you.”

  Though Loraine didn’t particularly want soup, she agreed in order to appease her aunt. She kissed her on the cheek before going upstairs to her bedroom.

  It wasn’t too long before Mrs. Barrow knocked and came in with the soup.

  Loraine sat on her windowsill with her knees up, looking out at the sun as it started to set. “Unwell, I hear.”

  Loraine sighed audibly. “I’m fine,” she said. “Only tired.”

  Mrs. Barrow came and put the soup and fresh bread down on a little table beside the window.

  Loraine expected her to leave, but she didn’t. She stood beside her, silently, until Loraine looked up at her.

  This seemed to be her cue to speak.

  “I overheard you talking to your aunt,” Mrs. Barrow said.

  Loraine tried not to let her growing dread show. There was a reason she’d kept the plot from Mrs. Barrow, who always disapproved of anything Aunt Esther coerced Loraine into agreeing too.

  “You should not eavesdrop,” Loraine said.

  “I saw something too,” she said. “Earlier today.”

  Loraine winced. She already knew what Mrs. Barrow had seen, without having to ask. Her and Lord Blackhill.

  “This is a dangerous game you’re playing, little miss. And I for one can’t understand why you’re playing it.

  This is your aunt’s mischief to make, not yours. If she wants to take revenge, she can do so without dragging you into it.”

  “She isn’t dragging me,” Loraine answered, defensively. “I chose this.” She lifted her chin a little higher and looked Mrs. Barrow in the eye. “I want this as much as she does,” she lied.

  “If that is true, then why?”

  “Because he deserves it,” Loraine answered. At least that much seemed to be the truth. After all, Lord Blackhill had a fairly atrocious reputation.

  “You hardly know him.”

  “I’ve heard enough about him,” she replied, curtly.

  “Well even if it is true that he deserves it. Why you? Are you judge, jury and executioner now?”

  “Oh, don’t be dramatic.”

  “I just want you to be careful. To be happy. You know you aren’t likely to make friends here if you’re off plotting.”

  It was a sore spot for Loraine. Mrs. Barrow knew all too well how much she longed for friendship. “That’s none of your concern,” Loraine answered, in a stiff voice. “Now please leave me. I am tired.”

  Mrs. Barrow hesitated, seeming like she wanted to say something else. But when she saw Loraine’s cold expression, she closed her mouth and turned to leave.

  ***

  Miss Loraine Beauchamp

  Just as she had anticipated, Lord Blackhill came in the morning. When he knocked, it was Mrs. Barrow who answered the door. She regarded him wi
th a cold eye.

  “I’m here to see Miss Loraine Beauchamp,” Lord Blackhill announced, as he tried to peer around Mrs. Barrow’s body.