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

by Sydney Jane Baily

  Thrusting a stack of newspapers into Maggie’s hands, she started back down the main staircase. At the bottom, she turned and offered her an encouraging smile.

  “Don’t be shy, dear girl. He won’t bite, I assure you. You can knock first, but sometimes he’s deeply asleep. Therefore, do go in if he doesn’t answer. And by all means, awaken him. The doctor said we can’t have him sleeping all day and night, or he’ll become like a soft pudding.”

  Gracious! John Angsley becoming a pudding!

  Nodding to the retreating figure of Lady Cambrey, Maggie continued her climb. Instantly, the butterflies were back, tickling her insides.

  “Well, in for a penny in for a pound,” she muttered, wishing she had the buffer of John’s mother with her in case he protested her presence. After all, he wouldn’t be rude with Lady Cambrey in the room. Or would he?

  Tapping on the door as his mother suggested, when there was no answer, Maggie pushed it open, her heart beating a fast tattoo. Even though it was late morning and the sun was streaming through the open draperies and into the pale gray room, the figure in the bed was lying prone and unmoving.

  Hmm. Approaching the bed on tiptoe, Maggie realized he was snoring. Flat on his back and, as his mother mentioned, his leg raised up in a sling hanging from a wooden contraption on the bed, John was nearly immobilized.

  Letting her gaze move up his body to the plaster cast on his right arm, slowly, she drank in the sight of him, right up until she reached his face.

  Gasping, Maggie raised a hand to her mouth, all at once glad he was asleep while she had time to become accustomed to his appearance. Dear God, how it must have stung to have one’s face split open in two places. And very close to his eye!

  His mouth—the one that kissed so divinely—was nearly undamaged except for the very bottom of his lower lip, which appeared to have been cut. From there down across his chin, he was healing from many scrapes.

  Still, after a few moments of studying him, she realized nothing she could see detracted from his innate handsomeness, not one bit, not even the strange greenish-yellow tinge of the healing bruises.

  The stitches must have been very neat and uniform, indeed, and obviously done by a skilled surgeon. With them removed, they’d left behind pink healing wounds that would most likely end up as thin white lines where each gash had been. Nothing more. And those would fade in time.

  Looking at his two injuries though, she hoped he made a full recovery. With what she knew of John Angsley, he wouldn’t care for any inconvenience in his usual way of living life.

  If only he would awaken naturally, then she wouldn’t feel like such an intruder. However, it seemed she had to rouse him somehow. Tossing the papers onto the end of the bed, she made sure they fanned across his good leg. Still, he didn’t stir.

  Hands on hips, she considered clearing her throat or beginning to hum. Staring at his toes, suddenly, she saw them wiggle.

  “Oh,” she exclaimed loudly, and that was all it took. He awakened.

  Turning his head as he opened his eyes, he smiled slightly, looking utterly unconcerned by her presence, almost as if expecting it.

  “I liked you better in the white dress,” he said, resting his good arm behind his head and offering her an indolent smile.

  Even with his scars and scrapes, both his familiar face and the wicked glint in his eyes caused her stomach to flutter, this time in a pleasant way.

  Glancing down, Maggie took in her gown of pale green. She liked it immensely. And to what white dress did her refer? She almost never wore white, as it didn’t show her hair to its best advantage.

  Shrugging, she opened her mouth to greet him more formally when he sighed.

  “You’re slow today, Margaret. Go on, take it off. Let me see those luscious breasts and the fine downy curls over your quim.”

  She felt her mouth drop open. Her luscious breasts! Her quim! Speechless, she stared at him.

  When he lifted his good arm and reached for her, his fingers fell a little short, brushing the back of her hand. Stepping away, she shook her head. Was he still sleeping perhaps? Yet, he seemed fully awake when he frowned.

  “Come along. My yard is already at full mast.” As he spoke, John rubbed his hand along the stiff bulge that had blossomed under the blanket, drawing her gaze there in fascinated disbelief.

  He petted his member like a cat and then grinned at her again, beginning to pull the blanket to the side, possibly for better access.

  “No,” she ordered him, jumping forward to hold the cover down.

  As soon as she was within reach, John’s left hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist.

  “You feel entirely real,” he said, pulling her even closer until she nearly fell across his chest.

  Mindful of his bandaged ribs, which were on display, Maggie held herself up, a hand on either side of him. He took the opportunity to run the back of his knuckles across her breasts.

  “And if you would just take off this blasted gown, I already know how real you will appear.”

  Maggie knew her cheeks must be twin flames of scarlet, especially when her nipples began hardening against the front of her dress. Even through the layers of her clothes, she was certain he could see them.

  Struggling, she attempted to push herself off the bed. Though, even flat on his back and with the use of only one arm, he seemed to be in complete control.

  With his hand behind her head, he brought her face close to his.

  “There you are,” he whispered. “With those eyes that draw a man into their depths to drown. How many men, I don’t want to know.”

  What on earth?

  Before she could even form an outraged thought, he pulled her head down, and thus brought her mouth close to meet his. As soon as their lips touched, a flame sparked and raced through her body.

  John Angsley, even incapacitated, had such power over her. Relaxing against his chest, Maggie stopped fighting. Hearing his slight gasp, maybe from the weight of her atop his tender ribcage, she remained still so as not to injure him further.

  At some point, his kiss stopped being demanding and controlling. Instead, they engaged in mutual exploration. He slanted one way, she, the other, and they were for many minutes joined as one.

  “Oh! Oh my!” The shocked sounds reached Maggie’s ears about a second before John started to thrust her away from him.

  Then she heard a man’s cough.

  Struggling to stand while John still pushed at her shoulder to help her up, Maggie wished a large bottomless well would open up in the floor and let her fall to her doom.

  With her dress in disarray as well as her hair, and her face feeling shamefully hot, Maggie turned and faced Lady Cambrey, and next to her, Mr. O’Connor.

  “John!” his mother exclaimed. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Glancing back at the man in the bed, Maggie noted his cheeks were a ruddy shade of embarrassed red that must be mirroring her own.

  “You can see her?” he asked, staring from his mother to Mr. O’Connor and back to Maggie again. His words entered her ears but made no sense. Perhaps he had hit his head very hard indeed.

  “Of course we can see her!” Lady Cambrey said, stamping her foot as if tired of some childish game her very adult son were playing.

  “She looks like a woman whose been thoroughly kissed,” the estate manager added unnecessarily, as if he were enjoying every moment of his boss’s predicament.

  Lady Cambrey shot Mr. O’Connor an annoyed glance. Then she took a steadying breath.

  “She looks like a debutante who is now going to marry my son.”

  “What?” Maggie said at the same time as John.

  The estate manager actually had the gall to chuckle, and Maggie took an instant dislike to him. How dare he find amusement at her humiliation.

  “It’s entirely my fault,” John blurted out. “I grabbed her when she got near the bed.”

  “Why?” his mother asked him. “Never mind. Miss Blackwood looked as
if she were entirely capable of resisting you if she’d wanted. After all, she was on top.”

  As if realizing she’d strayed into improper territory, the older lady closed her mouth into a firm disapproving line.

  “No,” John explained, struggling to sit up while his leg was raised in the air.

  Since no one else looked to be going to help, Maggie put her shoulder to his back, letting him push against her. At the same time, she reached across the bed and grabbed another pillow which she stuffed behind him.

  Nodding his gratitude, he continued, “I pulled her off her feet, and she was trying to regain her balance when—”

  “When your lips struck hers?”

  John stared daggers at Mr. O’Connor who’d spoken.

  Then, as if her mortification couldn’t get any worse, Simon arrived.

  “Is this a gathering of thieves?” he joked, nodding a greeting to each in turn, until his smile died at their grim countenances. “Whatever has happened?”

  Lady Cambrey was the first to speak. “I’m sorry to say my son has put your sister-in-law in a compromising position.”

  “Oh?” Simon looked more bemused than upset, with an eyebrow raised in query.

  “I would think it calls for pistols at dawn,” Mr. O’Connor quipped, “except shooting a man in his bed is considered poor sportsmanship.”

  “That will be all, Grayson,” Lady Cambrey told him.

  Maggie was surprised by the man’s decidedly non-deferential attitude as, still looking entertained by the whole business, the estate manager nodded to the countess and to Simon, saucily saluted John, and left.

  “They must marry,” Lady Cambrey declared into the silence.

  “No.” Maggie and John spoke in unison. She turned her head to look at him. He shrugged.

  “Let’s not be hasty,” Simon said to the older lady. “I’m confident it’s a simple misunderstanding.”

  “You have all been speaking as if I’m not here,” Maggie said, starting to get her dander up. After all, she was innocent in the entire matter.

  “Harrumph,” Lady Cambrey said, ignoring her words. “In my day, eligible, unengaged people did not kiss in a bedroom unsupervised.”

  “Mother,” John reasoned, “we could hardly have kissed if we had been supervised.”

  Apparently, he was regaining his good humor. Perhaps due to her nerves, this statement made Maggie giggle until she could control herself.

  Simon cleared his throat, and Maggie suspected he was trying not to laugh.

  “John,” Lady Cambrey warned her only son.

  “Sorry, Mother. I suppose you can’t simply forget what you saw.”

  “No.” She crossed her arms before her ample bosom.

  “What precisely did you see?” Simon asked.

  “Miss Blackwood was lying atop my son, and they were kissing. There is no doubt in my mind.”

  “Ahh, yes,” Simon said. “I suppose that is difficult to misunderstand.”

  Finally, Lady Cambrey addressed Margaret. “My dear, I hold you blameless for many reasons. Firstly, my son is a good catch. I acknowledge it. Who could blame you for wanting to become his wife, by hook or by crook?”

  “Now, see here,” Maggie began. She had never been accused of trying to trap a husband, and she wasn’t about to let the countess get away with such, no matter how elevated above Maggie’s station the woman was.

  However, Simon stopped her with a quelling gesture, leaving her mid-rant, with her mouth open.

  “Secondly, I understand how, upon seeing John stretched out helpless, you were compelled to minister to him.”

  “Compelled to minister to me?” John repeated, sounding outraged. “What hogwash, Mother?”

  “Lastly,” the countess continued undeterred, “I am frankly touched beyond words you still find my son as becoming as you obviously do despite his current condition. Sickness and health, and all that,” she finished.

  Sickness and health, as in marriage vows? Maggie wanted to sit, but the bed was the only thing close, and being on it was what got her into trouble in the first place.

  Behind her, she heard John mutter, “My current condition, indeed.” Then in a louder tone, he said, “It was a mistake. I honestly thought she was a dream.”

  Maggie didn’t think she could blush any more deeply, but she felt it down to her toes.

  “Well,” his mother admitted, “she is a beautiful girl. I’m sure many would claim her to be like a dream. Why, in my youth, I looked rather like her.”

  Simon was clearing his throat again, and Maggie wanted to clobber him.

  “You must marry,” Lady Cambrey declared again.

  “But why?” John asked.

  “I found you on the bed with her. Grayson saw it, too.”

  “I tell you, Mother, I thought she was a phantom and I was dreaming her very existence. Thus, I grabbed Miss Blackwood, and she stumbled on top of me. You’re not going to say anything to ruin her. I know Gray won’t. No one need ever know. That’s the end of it.”

  Maggie thought he sounded extremely reasonable. She wished, though, he seemed instead a little more amenable to the idea of marrying her. After all, given his circumstances, it wouldn’t be the worst thing to ever happen to him.

  Maybe he would think it was though, if his heart was set on Lady Jane Chatley. She was definitely no Lady Jane!

  His mother proved to be like a dog with a particularly juicy bone, unable to let it go.

  “But why don’t you want to marry?” As if Lady Cambrey couldn’t believe two people of a certain age and status didn’t simply desire to enter the bonds of matrimony.

  “He doesn’t want to.”

  “She doesn’t want to.”

  Maggie and John spoke simultaneously, a duet of gainsaying.

  “That’s settled it, then,” Simon said, stepping into the fray. “We don’t want anyone forced to do something they don’t want to do. Besides, my wife would kill me.”

  Lady Cambrey pursed her lips, then shook her head at him.

  “I’ve known you since you were a green youth!” With such a mystifying statement causing Simon to shrug, she turned on her heel and walked out.

  Simon exchanged a wide-eyed glance with John. Sighing, Maggie moved toward the door. What a trying morning it had been. At that moment, she wished they could depart for Belton Manor at once.

  “Where are you going?” It was John who asked her.

  Where was she going? After what had occurred, she could hardly sit with him and read the newspapers.

  “I took a ride around the estate with Mr. O’Connor yesterday on a particularly gentle horse named Nell. I think I should like to do the same again. There is a lot more to see, and I can’t bear being cooped up.”

  As soon as she’d said it, she wished she could take back her thoughtless words. The expression of bleakness that crossed his face tugged at her heart.

  “Sorry,” she muttered and left quickly without looking back. Best to end the already disastrous visit on a bad note instead of an even worse one.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “So, you’ve had a nice visit with my sister-in-law?”

  At Simon’s words, Cam couldn’t help laughing. He tossed himself back onto the pillows and groaned. Then he reached for the laudanum. After taking a sip, he relaxed instantly, even before the medicine could do its magic.

  “Why did you kiss my sister-in-law?”

  Because I love her madly. What would Simon say to that?

  “Because she is a tempting morsel,” Cam said, hoping he sounded like his old self.

  “Is she?” Simon pondered.

  “Well, not to you,” Cam pointed out. “At least, one hopes not to you.”

  Simon bristled. “Of course not to me! Jenny is my world. As soon as I think of my wife, I feel warm.”

  “Warm or hot?” Cam asked.

  Simon grinned. “Warm in my heart because she’s extraordinarily special to me. Hot everywhere else.” He laughed. “Especia
lly when I’ve been away from her for a few days.”

  “Margaret makes me a little warm,” Cam ventured. “We spent some time in each other’s company during the Season. Well, me and many other men.”

  His friend’s chuckling did not lift his mood.

  “What is so funny?”

  “Isn’t that the whole point and goal of a Season for a young lady?” Simon asked. “Or even for an old bachelor like yourself?”

  “Old,” Cam repeated, feeling a bit glum, “and now crippled.” Even then, Gray was probably out riding with Margaret, seeing the sunlight on her glorious hair. He gripped the sheets.

  “Nonsense,” Simon scolded. “Being injured is not the same thing. Let me get your valet and we’ll have you outside on the veranda, observing your beautiful estate in no time. It will do you good.”

  Cam considered. “As long as I keep my leg up, I guess it will do no harm.”

  “Back to Maggie,” Simon began.

  “Must we?”

  “Do you have feelings for my sister-in-law?”

  Cam made a face. “I would prefer to discuss the best manufacturer of ale or the best houses of ill repute where one is least likely to catch a disease than to discuss my feelings.”

  “She feels like family to me.”

  “I don’t feel brotherly toward her. Is that enough of a confession?”

  “Is there someone you prefer more? Do you find her unsuitable to marry because of her lack of title?”

  Cam barked a laugh. “You know I don’t give a fig for a woman’s title. I have my own and that’s enough. Fortune, too, for that matter.”

  “You skipped my first question,” Simon pointed out.

  Cam crossed his arms. “It’s personal.”

  “I thought we could discuss anything.”

  Clenching his jaw, Cam considered. “I believe I haven’t determined the answer yet, and thus, I cannot tell you.”

  Simon nodded. “Fair enough. But no more shenanigans like this morning. Don’t hurt her or play with her sentiments. I’d hate to have to add to your pain by punching you in your one good eye. Now, let’s get you outside, shall we?”

  *