Beastly Lords Collection Books 1 - 3: A Regency Historical Romance Collection

by Sydney Jane Baily

  When their kiss ended, Simon rested his forehead against hers for a mere moment, and she could feel him breathing as hard as she was. When he sat back, releasing her, he broke all contact except for the intimate gaze they still shared.

  “Are you terribly offended?” he asked.

  At first, she couldn’t reason past the roaring of her blood, certain he could hear the loud thumping of her heart. Still, he waited for an answer.

  “I don’t think I am.” It was true. Jenny knew she ought to slap his handsome face for taking liberties. Moreover, propriety dictated that she jump from the carriage and race for the nearest home to demand sanctuary.

  Instead, she smiled slightly. “Should I be?”

  He threw back his head and laughed. Then he picked up the reins where they rested across his strong, lean thighs, and with a swift movement, got the horse moving once again.

  “No, you should not. I meant no disrespect at all. Precisely the opposite. I hold you in the highest esteem and meant only to pay tribute. It is only because of you, and Thunder, that I was able to sally forth this morning. Think of that.”

  Her small smile became a large grin, and she faced forward again.

  “It was quite an agreeable tribute,” Jenny allowed.

  They remained in companionable silence after that.

  Back at the manor, her carriage was precisely where she’d left it, though currently without a horse attached.

  As Simon gave her his hand and helped her down, stable boys came at once to unharness the chestnut mare. Another two led away the lightweight tilbury toward the carriage house. Yesterday, the same boys had gawked at their lord in his strange state of undress, though they were too well-trained to say anything.

  Drawing aside one of the lads, Simon instructed him, “After you get my horse rubbed down, go to Miss Blackwood’s home. You are to assist with their horses until they dismiss you. You may ride Luster.”

  She could see by the stable boy’s shining eyes that riding Luster was a treat for him.

  “It is the small stone house just past Norman’s Corner,” Jenny told him.

  “Yes, Miss. I know the place. George is your stable boy.”

  She nodded. “Yes. He has sustained an injury but should be well soon.”

  “Yes, Miss,” he said again and hurried off to finish his duties so he could leave.

  “That was very kind of you.”

  “Will you take a refreshment with me on the terrace?” When he chuckled at his own words, she tilted her head.

  “What is funny, my lord?”

  “Merely, the extreme civility and properness of such an invitation after you’ve spent hours in my room, it strikes me as nearly absurd.”

  She shrugged and laced her arm through his. “We are friends, as you said.”

  Instead of entering the house, they took the long way around, through the side garden opposite the stables.

  “Your cousin is a useless toad,” Simon said unexpectedly and with enough ire to surprise her, though she couldn’t argue with him.

  Having been taught not to speak ill of people, particularly family, she remained silent.

  “I cannot stomach such a man,” the earl continued. “You could have been hurt.”

  “Ned is only visiting, and most likely didn’t think it his place to interfere.” She forbore mentioning her cousin’s fear of horses. Why humiliate him further?

  Still, the earl’s mouth nearly dropped to his chest. “Interfere? Are you saying that is what I did?”

  Jenny rushed to respond. “Oh, no, my lord. Your assistance was invaluable. And I am beyond grateful.”

  Was that a gleam appearing in his blue eyes?

  “How grateful? And stop calling me ‘my lord.’ I’ve given you leave to use my name, so use it.”

  “Exceedingly grateful. Thank you, Simon.” That one word, his name, struck her as intensely intimate.

  He smiled broadly at her. “Your cheeks are quite pink again. What are you thinking?”

  Curse her fair complexion and tendency to blush! Yet, she did not have to tell him anything about her thoughts. Luckily, he didn’t press her for a response. Instead, on the terrace, he drew out a wrought-iron chair with a soft cushion upon it and gestured for her to sit. After he’d taken a seat, Binkley appeared.

  “Lemonade,” Simon requested. “And if you have any biscuits.”

  “Of course, my lord.” However, the butler didn’t hurry off to do his master’s bidding. Instead, he hovered a moment until Jenny looked up at him, shading her eyes in the sun to see the man’s face.

  Was he widening his eyes? And then scrunching up his face? What on earth?

  Simon noticed the man dawdling. “That will be all, Binkley.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  This time, there was no mistaking the intense, pleading look the butler gave Jenny, even gesturing with his head toward Simon before he withdrew.

  She was not going to be let off the hook, not by the staff. Yet, was this really the time and place.

  Coward! she admonished herself. Was any time a good time?

  “I think he likes you,” Simon interrupted her inner war.

  “A very devoted servant, isn’t he?” Jenny offered. How to begin?

  “He has been with us for as long as I can recall. My father hired Binkley after he got out of the king’s service.” Pausing, musing, he looked out at the gardens. “My father has always been very good at choosing staff.”

  And there was the beginning she needed.

  “Your father … is … was … That is, are you close to him?”

  He shot her a puzzled expression. After a moment, he looked away. “Yes. Like many fathers and sons, I suppose. Were you close with yours?”

  No, she didn’t want to talk about her father but his.

  “Well, I loved him. And he seemed like a good father, right up to the end. As I mentioned, it turned out he was in a bit of financial trouble.” This was not helping. They were straying farther from the topic.

  Simon nodded. “Still the worth of a man’s bank accounts is not all there is to a man.” He reached out and patted her hand as if consoling her. “Baron Blackwood had three daughters who seem to be smart and lovely, and that is his legacy.”

  Jenny was perfectly at peace with her rather careless father. That was not the issue.

  “Yes, but, Simon, about your father. The earl. The old earl. That is, Lord Lindsey. Or rather formerly—”

  “You are trying to tell me that my father is dead.” His tone was flat, unemotional, unexpected. Resigned.

  She quickly covered his hand with hers, making a layering of their hands. He looked at them all pressed together on the table, then lifted his gaze to her eyes.

  “You knew?” she asked, her voice low and soft.

  He nodded. “He would have come to me the moment I set foot on the property, no matter my state. I suspected it. I didn’t want to ask though. I could almost believe he was simply away. I went to his rooms one evening, very late, and found everything shrouded in sheets.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Just then, Mr. Binkley arrived with a maid who carried a silver tray of refreshments. Worry was etched upon the older man’s face, but in his hands was her basket.

  “Another reason to stay isolated,” Simon added. “I didn’t want to hear anyone from the outside call me Lord Lindsey.”

  The butler flinched but didn’t speak until Simon spoke to him directly. “Binkley, old man, I thank you for your careful attention to my feelings along with everything else.”

  “Yes, my lord,” the butler said as if Simon had commented on the weather. However, Jenny noticed the man’s jaw tense and knew he was not unaffected. “Will there be anything else, my lord?”

  And the only outward demonstration of sentiment was that Mr. Binkley set down his small burden and hurried off even before Simon could answer.

  “Did he ask you to tell me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Kind of
him,” he murmured. Then he noticed the basket. “Not that again. What in God’s name is in there?”

  Laughing, Jenny slipped her hands free from his and pushed the offering toward him. One of the stable boys must have found it on the floor of the carriage.

  “It’s for you.”

  He frowned at her a little suspiciously. Then lifting the cloth cover, he peeked inside. Reaching in, he withdrew a porcelain covered dish and placed it on the table before him. He took another look and noticed a single silver spoon. Looking suddenly like a little boy at Christmas, Jenny nearly blurted out the surprise.

  He lifted the lid and his expression became one of absolute wonder. Slowly, without taking his eyes off the contents of the dish, he set the lid aside.

  “Is that …?”

  “It is.”

  Without another word, he picked up the spoon. Then with lightning speed, he thrust it into the very center of the apple Charlotte and shoveled in a massive mouthful. And then another. Simon closed his eyes, causing Jenny a momentary fear that he would lapse into a state of terror. He chewed, savored, and swallowed. Then he snapped his lids open and looked at her.

  “It’s positively wondrous. Would you like some?”

  She shook her head, unable to conceive of depriving him of a single morsel.

  But he insisted, spooning some more up, he held it out to her.

  “Taste,” he commanded.

  Because she could see that it would please him to share with her, she leaned toward him and let him feed her. It was one of Cook’s most heavenly desserts. Swallowing, she sighed.

  “Thank you, but I insist you eat the rest.”

  Staring at her, his gaze fell to her mouth. Raising his hand, he wiped the corner of her lips, coming away with a drop of thick custard on his thumb. This, he lifted to his own mouth and licked away.

  Jenny’s mouth went dry. Good God but he was an attractive man. She wanted to be that drop of custard encountering his tongue. At the same time, she was fascinated by the idea of licking his thumb herself.

  Clearly, he knew his effect on her, for he offered her a wicked grin before focusing on finishing the rest of the dessert.

  God bless his stomach, she thought, after he finished about four portions’ worth. Hopefully someone in the manor knew enough to give him some mint tea later if he felt an ache. When he was done, he sat back in his chair.

  “You listened and remembered. Thank you.”

  His words warmed her from her toes to her heart. It was rather easy to make him happy, and it pleased her to do so.

  “You’re most welcome. I’ll tell Cook that you approved.”

  For a few moments they were silent, looking out at the gardens in full bloom.

  “I reclined on the bed last night,” Simon’s voice drifted toward her softly. “To sleep.”

  The import was not lost on her. Could she ask him a personal question? Would he mind? She thought not.

  “How did you fare? Did you sleep well?”

  Simon didn’t hesitate to answer. “No, not well at all. In truth, I ended up in a heap on the floor.”

  Gasping, she raised a hand to her mouth. “Were you injured?”

  “Only my pride. I was grateful for the floor’s assistance in awakening me.”

  She had to stifle a laugh, only because he was clearly comfortable telling her, even making a jest of the whole thing.

  “Are you going to try again?” she asked, taking a sip of the forgotten lemonade.

  He shot her a glance from under his lashes.

  “Are you envisioning me in bed, Genevieve?”

  She coughed, choking on the chilled tart beverage.

  “No, my lord,” she said when at last she could speak.

  “Pity.”

  *

  Two hours later, after they had talked of everything and nothing, she stood. “I must get home before the next crisis befalls my family. Also, I’ll give Maggie a ride, as she hates the long walk.”

  “Long walk? From here to your cottage? Why, I could sprint it in five minutes. Or I could have. Before.”

  Before! No doubt, a part of him would always divide life betwixt the years before he’d been held captive and after. He was, as she’d noted, a little thin. Yet, if the way he wolfed down Cook’s dessert was any indication, Jenny had no doubt he would fill out his clothing again in no time.

  Not that his filling out was any of her business.

  What were they talking about? Maggie …

  “Nonetheless, it’s different when one is wearing impractical footwear, as our Maggie. She has a fondness for soft slippers, more suited to a parquet ballroom than a country road.”

  “Let’s go find her then. I’m sure she’ll be glad of your gig to take her home.”

  In fact, Jenny’s middle sister was thrilled to be rescued from the last half hour of tutoring, not even minding that Lord Despair, himself, stood there in the doorway.

  After curtsying deeply to the earl, Maggie looked him directly in the eye. “I understand you saved our horse and did so bare-chested, my lord. Bravo!”

  Jenny wanted to slap her own forehead, and then slap Maggie’s. One didn’t say “bravo” to a peer of the realm.

  However, Simon only laughed. “That was an unintentional consequence, I assure you.”

  Jenny sought to catch her sister’s eye and get her moving toward the carriage before she said anything else embarrassing. However, Maggie surprised her by an expression of gravity.

  “I wish to offer you my sincere gratitude, my lord, for your generous sponsorship of my sister, Eleanor, and myself. This means a great deal to us and also to our mother.”

  He gave a wonderfully deep bow that removed the hint of charity from his gift and turned it into a token of respect. Jenny watched as the earl and her sister smiled at one another.

  Oh, dear. The green-eyed monster was swishing around Jenny’s skirts again. Maggie looked perfection itself, even in an ordinary day dress of pale blue with her thick, caramel-colored hair braided effortlessly over one shoulder. And, of course, Simon was her equal in his gray pants and waistcoat, his crisp white shirt and perfectly tied cravat.

  Suddenly, Jenny felt every bit the plain sister who had been easily tossed aside by a viscount. Her feelings, nay, her strong reactions to Simon’s touch should warn her she was delving into deep waters in which she had no business swimming. After all, he was the Earl of Lindsey.

  “Your sister is my new and very good friend,” Simon told Maggie.

  His words permeated Jenny’s thoughts, which had been spiraling with doubt. When Simon’s gaze caught hers, they shared a smile, and she let go of her misgivings. His friendship was a great gift she’d never expected when being forced to move to the country.

  Not caring how she blushed in front of her sister, Jenny felt instantly lighthearted. Even more so when he said to her, “I hope you will come again soon. We still need to go over the ledgers.”

  “Yes, my lord,” she agreed. “Of course.”

  As soon as the three of them appeared in the courtyard, with a gesture from Simon, one of the stable boys brought out the Blackwood’s old Cleveland Bay and harnessed him swiftly and efficiently to their carriage. It was difficult not to notice how the horse’s coat shone. Someone had even waxed its hooves.

  “The Bay’s had a night of pampering,” Maggie remarked. “His mane is nearly as glossy as mine.”

  Jenny rolled her eyes at her irrepressible sister.

  As the old horse waited docilely, Simon helped first Maggie and then Jenny into the gig. She noticed he managed to also touch her arm and then her waist in his efforts. She was greatly aware of each place where the earl’s hands branded her. In fact, her body seemed to sizzle under her clothing.

  What was wrong with her?

  “Jenny.” Her name on his lips sounded equally as intimate.

  “Yes?”

  “You are incredibly helpful in a crisis. I would be happy to have you by my side if and whenever disast
er strikes.”

  Goodness! What could he mean by saying that? In London, during the Season, that would practically be a proposal.

  “Thank you,” she managed and flicked the reins to get moving as her sister elbowed her excitedly in the ribs.

  Halfway down the long drive, Jenny, like the biblical Lot’s wife, could not resist looking back. Simon Devere still watched her, his arms at his sides, his head cocked slightly. She couldn’t tell for sure, but she had a feeling he was wearing one of his charmingly boyish smiles.

  *

  Watching her leave, a sinking sensation rolled through him. Nervous energy assaulted his body as she completely disappeared from his sight. This young woman had become important to him. He couldn’t deny it.

  The smart, capable Jenny made him feel safe. How outrageous! A slip of a thing. However, it was blatantly true. Her lovely eyes held him captive in this world more strongly than any bamboo bars could. His anxiety fled at the sound of her voice and the touch of her hand. Yes, he very much enjoyed the touch of her hand.

  “My lord!”

  Simon turned to see his butler hurrying toward him.

  “Thank goodness I’ve found you.”

  “I was not lost, Binkley. I assure you.”

  The butler stopped in his tracks, then realized he was making a jest. “Of course, my lord, it’s only that …”

  “That I’m normally right under foot, precisely where you can find me.”

  Binkley stayed silent.

  Simon supposed he should be grateful his servant cared about him to such a degree. Binkley had been holding everything together above and beyond his post.

  “You wanted to speak with me about something important, didn’t you? And I put you off the other day.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Then let us do that now.”

  “Yes, my lord. I will meet you in your chamber.”

  Simon was loath to go indoors, yet he could hardly set up camp outside. No doubt his butler would feel the need to commit him to an asylum if he did that. Still, he could avoid his room until bedtime.

  “No. The library, where Miss Blackwood usually works.”