Seducing The Vengeful Marquess (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Lucinda Nelson

  In fact, he’d wanted to find love more than any other man he’d known. And he’d loved women. But having lived under his father’s strict rule for all his life, and meeting such rebellious and free-spirited men at university, he’d gone off the rails.

  He’d started acting like someone he didn’t recognize. He’d womanized, lied, cheated, gambled. And he tried to tell himself that all that was in the past, but he couldn’t.

  If he’d ever had any chance of redeeming himself, he’d lost it when his mother had died. Because he hadn’t wanted to be good after that. He’d wanted to be bad and hedonistic, because being self-indulgent distracted him from his pain.

  And he was coping with Edgar’s death no differently.

  Philip swallowed. And then he heard the ladies announce their intention to go back to the ball. “Damn it,” he whispered under his breath and took a sudden step back into the shadows, into a little nook between a cabinet and the study door.

  Thank God it was dark, or he’d have had no chance.

  Loraine and Lady Mary emerged. While Lady Mary returned to the ball, Loraine stood outside the study silently until she disappeared.

  “You may come out now,” she said.

  It only took Philip an instant to realize that she was talking to him. He winced, hesitated, then stepped out. “Did you enjoy eavesdropping?” She asked, without looking back at him.

  “How long did you know I was there?”

  “I caught sight of you in the dark when you tried to hide.”

  He didn’t question it. Only nodded. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he lied. But was clear that she didn’t believe him when she looked back at him. Her expression was cold.

  Shaking her head as if she was disappointed, she went back into the study. He followed her unbidden and shut the door behind him in the hopes of having some private time with her, so that he could explain himself.

  But what could he say without lying?

  When he thought this, he realized that it didn’t matter. Their whole relationship was a lie he’d been feeding to her. So why should the truth matter now?

  He didn’t know the answer to that question. “Alright,” he conceded. “I did mean to eavesdrop. I came looking for you and I listened in.”

  Loraine leaned against the edge of the desk, half-sitting. She didn’t say anything. Just stared at him.

  “Well, don’t you have anything to say?”

  “No,” she said. “But I think you do.”

  Philip bit his tongue. Her expression was so calm, so patient, but expectant. She just continued to stare at him until his words entirely failed.

  And when he didn’t say anything, she stood as if she meant to leave. “I see,” she murmured.

  Before she could get past him, he grabbed hold of her upper arm. They were alongside one another, staring into each other’s eyes. “I know what you think of me now that you’ve heard the truth.”

  “Then you admit that it’s the truth?”

  “It is,” he answered, after a long moment spent doing battle with himself. He couldn’t lie. It would be too easy to find out that he was lying and that would ruin everything.

  So he chose another path.

  “But what I did – who I was then – I’m different now.”

  Her hand fisted between them, her arm still held tight in his grip. “And you expect me to believe that?”

  “I don’t expect you to,” he admitted, in an unsteady voice. “But I hope you do.”

  “You’re telling me you’re a changed man.”

  “Yes.”

  “A good man?”

  He hesitated. When she tried to pull away again, he pulled her right back towards him. He held both of her wrists now and their chests were flush against each other’s. “I’m telling you that I may not be a good man, but that I am in want of a woman who is making something more of me.”

  He watched her closely as he said this, looking for some sign that her resolve was wavering. And the coldness of her expression did seem to soften. He could see that she wanted to believe him.

  But then her face turned back to ice. “Let go of me,” she said, calmly.

  Philip felt something visceral and wild take hold of him. He shook his head and tightened his jaw. “I can’t,” he confessed, through grit teeth.

  “I don’t think you’re trying.”

  He laughed at that. A sad, bitter laugh. “You have no idea.”

  She looked at him for a long time. Enough time that his desperation eased and his hands loosened on her wrists. But he didn’t let go. He looked down at the way he was restraining her and a soft pucker emerged between his brows.

  His fists softened until they were cradling her wrists and he watched as his thumbs moved over her pulse gently. Almost apologetically. “I want to be a good man,” he whispered. “I want you to make me a good man. I think you’re the only person who can do it.”

  As he said this, he released her wrists.

  He expected her to step away from him, but she didn’t move. And he could still feel the rise and fall of her chest against his. Instead of leaving, she moved past him. Back towards the desk. She walked around it and brushed her fingertips over the wood. “Do you know what I think?”

  There was something different about her voice. It was less accusatory. Softer and lighter. It made him shiver.

  She had an expression he recognized.

  And he realized that she wasn’t sending him away. She was lulling him closer. She was like the serpent in Eden and he was Adam.

  “Tell me,” he said, his voice deepening. She was around the other side of the desk now, having paced around it and put it between them. Philip followed her at a languid, purposeful pace.

  “I think you’re a scoundrel,” she murmured, in a voice that was whisper-soft. As she said this, she looked up from the grains of wood she’d been following with her fingertips from beneath her lashes. Their eyes met.

  They were each on opposite sides of the desk, looking at each other. The air was charged with electricity. It made the hairs on his arms lift and made his skin tingle.

  “Your scoundrel,” he whispered.

  The moment held, as if it had been frozen in time.

  When it shattered, it gave way to something beastly in them. At the very same moment, they crossed the space between them and met alongside the desk. He heard books and ornaments clatter to the ground and felt her hips beneath his hands.

  He’d lifted her onto the desk and their mouths were fuzed together in a wild tangle of tongues. They moaned into each other’s mouths in unison and her hands pulled at him like he was a rope out of a pit she’d fallen into.

  “Oh God,” he breathes against her lips as she feels the pull of her hands on his shirt. She’d unfastened his waistcoat and was gripping his shirt, yanking at it until it came free of his trousers.

  He felt unsteady. He felt the warm press of her fingertips on his stomach. Felt her roaming hands find the ridges of his abdomen and the hollow points at the corners of his hips.

  He felt… overtaken.

  And he didn’t know his own intention until he was experiencing the sensation of her inner thigh. It was soft like melted butter. Like freshly spilt cream. And he could feel her pulse beating harder the higher up his hand drifted.

  When he felt the heat radiating from the part of her that wanted him most, he heard a door slam.

  Philip sucked in a sudden breath. It was the ballroom door, not the study door, and he knew that the moment he’d heard it. But it was the smack in the face he’d needed. It was a cold bucket of water tipped over him.

  “I can’t,” he realized, as he stepped away from her, leaving her sat on the edge of the desk with her thighs pushed open. She closed them and rearranged her skirt around her knees. “I can’t do this. I’m not… this. Not anymore.”

  Just as he’d been trying to tell her. But he’d thought that had all been part of a rouse. Now he wasn’t so sure. He didn’t know what had stopped hi
m, because God knew he wanted her more than his next breath.

  He told himself it was because it was too soon. If he took this any further, she’d be sure to stop it and she’d never trust him again. His plan would fall apart.

  Yes… that’s what he told himself.

  She was breathing heavily and her cheeks were pink, growing pinker by the instant. And he realized that she was displaying an emotion he’d never seen in her before.

  Embarrassment.

  “You shouldn’t have kissed me in the first place,” she snapped, as she stood and let her gown fall back to her ankles.

  Philip quirked a brow. “You kissed me as much as I kissed you,” he reminded her. “And you seemed to enjoy it.”

  His bearings were returning to him and he was starting to think a little more clearly, particularly in the presence of her embarrassment. Which he found both bemusing and endearing. “You will think what you want to think,” she said, tersely.

  Loraine opened the door to the study while Philip was still tucking his shirt in and buttoning up his waistcoat. He followed her out into the hallway which was still, thankfully, empty.

  As he reached out to take her hand she snatched it away from him before he could touch it. She whipped her head around and said, in a vicious tone, “Find someone else to pursue. I won’t be swayed by your would-be charm.”

  “Loraine-” he said, but before he could go on she disappeared into the ballroom.

  Chapter 17

  Miss Loraine Beauchamp

  She’d had the upper hand. It had all been part of the plan. To make him beg for her. To make him want her even more by showing him that she couldn’t be fooled.

  But then something had happened between them and she’d practically thrown herself at him. And this time, she hadn’t had any intention of stopping.

  And just like that, he snatched the power away from her again. By pulling away. Loraine had never felt mortification like that before. She’d behaved like a hungry harlot and he’d been the gentleman. After calling him a scoundrel.

  She couldn’t stand to be around him after what she’d just done. Livid and humiliated, she disappeared into the ballroom, leaving him behind her.

  Loraine knew that he’d come looking for her, so she made it supremely difficult for him to find her. She went into the ballroom initially, but then looped back around to the foyer through the drawing room.

  Needing some fresh air, she went outside and took a deep breath. It felt so cold outside, after the heat of the study.

  She rubbed at her arms, which were covered in goosebumps and stayed out there for a long time. Long enough that she thought he might have given up on his hunt for her.

  She didn’t know what to do with herself for the rest of the evening. She didn’t feel like she could face any of her guests, even though no one knew what had happened but him. And she could face him least of all.

  Loraine tried to think of a way to take her power back, but she felt like she was thinking through fog. A fog caused by the way he’d touched her inner thigh, which she wasn’t able to shake.

  Taking one last breath of the fresh air, she went back inside. She went back through the dining room, but stopped when she saw that it was no longer unoccupied.

  ***

  Lord Philip Everton, Marquess of Blackhill

  Philip had been looking for her for almost an hour, with no success. He felt as if he was coming out of a daze and that frightened him.

  Because underneath his charming exterior, he was burying a lot of stuff. Just as George had said.

  The longer he spent looking for her and not finding her, the more uneasy he felt. He felt as if buried feelings were beginning to sneak up on him. Making him ask questions that were better off left alone.

  Like what if he’d gone with Edgar to meet Loraine? Would he had been able to keep him from falling so deeply in love and getting hurt? Would he have been able to keep his friend steady, as Edgar had asked him to?

  And then the thoughts went deeper still. Further back into his past, before he’d gone traveling. To ignoring his father’s letters because he hadn’t wanted to reveal that he’d been kicked out of university for poor behavior.

  To discovering that they’d been trying to reach him because his mother was sick. To going home and finding that she was already long dead.

  Wondering what she’d thought when she’d been on her deathbed and her eldest son hadn’t come.

  It was too much. He had to stop. He was in the ballroom, but was afraid to be seen when he started to fall apart. Taking a shaky breath, he ducked into the dining room, expecting it to be empty.

  But it wasn’t.

  A group of gentlemen were sitting at the far end of the dining table, playing cards. They didn’t notice him at first. Because they were too engrossed in their game and because they’d made the light in the room dim so that it had more of a tavern feel.

  “Can I join?” Philip heard himself say.

  He didn’t know the men who were playing. They gestured for him to take a seat. And he felt relief. As he sat down and was dealt in, he felt those questions bury themselves again.

  But he had to wonder how much longer he could hold them off.

  They played for a little while and Philip put down some risky bets. The gentlemen, who were trying to work out if he was bluffing, could hardly figure him out. It was why he’d always been so good at gambling.

  But by the fifth round, he had a tricky hand and he was facing off with the man at the head of the table. His back was to the second dining room door. He’d just put a hefty bet down and everyone else had folded, leaving only Philip.

  He could have folded. All he had was a pair of kings, which was easily beaten if the gentleman wasn’t lying. He scrutinized the man’s face. He had thick cheeks and a stubbly jawline, and his eyes were small and beady.

  “Are you in?” He said, impatiently.

  Before Philip could answer, he saw the door behind the gentleman open. And in stepped Loraine. She moved so quietly that no one else saw her. They were all focused on Philip’s face, looking out for his decision, knowing that someone was going to lose an awful lot of money.

  Loraine eased closer to the man and Philip saw her eyes drop to his cards. Then she looked up at him and shook her head ever so slightly, to indicate that his cards were poor. “He’s got nothing,” she mouthed, silently.

  Philip tensed his jaw to disguise his smile.

  “All in,” he said, and pushed what was left of his cash into the center of the table. He lifted his eyes to look back up at Loraine’s face, but she was gone. He frowned and looked back at his opponent.

  He was smiling and Philip felt his stomach sink. “I’m afraid this isn’t your day, good fellow,” he said, as he showed his cards.

  Philip expelled a slow breath and leaned back in his seat, watching the money he’d just thrown away disappear into the gentleman’s pockets. “Excuse me,” he said, quickly, and stood to follow Loraine outside. He found her in the hallway, making an attempt to disappear back into the ballroom.

  “Not this time,” he said and snatched Loraine by the wrist to keep her from going any further. She stopped looked back at him. “What are you playing at?” He said.

  “I heard you were an avid gambler,” Loraine answered. “I wanted to find out if it was true.”

  “What difference does that make? Everyone plays from time to time.”

  “That’s certainly true,” she agreed. “But not everyone plays so regularly and recklessly as you do.”

  She pulled her hand free and this time he let her. He was seething, but at least the anger was a pleasant distraction from what he’d been feeling before. The burn of anger was almost comforting.

  “You tricked me,” he accused her.

  “Gambling is a risky business.”

  “Why did you do it?”

  “I wanted to see how good you are. But you couldn’t call my bluff.”

  “I didn’t know we were playin
g,” he insisted, in a stiff voice.

  Loraine smiled. A knowing, clever smile. “Yes you did. We’ve always been playing.”

  Philip didn’t know what she meant by that, but it sounded ominous. “I lost a lot of money, Loraine.”

  She made a sympathetic face that was entirely insincere. “How disappointing for you. Do you want me to repay you?”

  That would be even worse than losing the money, somehow. It would sting his pride. His eyes narrowed and he shook his head. “No. But you can do something else for me.”