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

by Sydney Jane Baily

  Soon, they had traversed London, along Holborn to Oxford Street, and then onto Brook Street where Michael’s townhouse awaited, lamps already lit. He continued to hold her close, but strangely, he didn’t try to kiss her.

  Was she really going to do this? Going into his home without a companion certainly marked her as something less than respectable. Even a widow was not supposed to go into a gentleman’s residence unless she didn’t mind being considered his mistress.

  Everything was the same inside as the previous time she’d entered, except without her son and nanny. Without their presence or even Dash’s, the place seemed like a lifeless tomb.

  Once seated in the drawing room, Ada couldn’t help making an observation.

  “You don’t spend much time here, do you?”

  He brought her over a glass of brandy without asking, and she took it from him.

  As he sat beside her, he answered, “You’re correct. I don’t. How did you guess?”

  “Meaning no offense, it simply has that air about it, as if it’s been closed up for a month and no one remembered to air it out.”

  “Stuffy and dusty, then?” he asked.

  “No, not that. There’s a smell a place gets when no one lives in it.”

  “Musty, like a tomb?” he offered helpfully.

  She laughed. “Whichever way I say it, I sound insulting, so I’ll stop. You spend more time at your club, obviously, and perhaps in other rooms than this one.”

  “I would like to show you another room,” he confessed.

  “Indeed.” If she went to his bedroom, she had no doubt they would make love. A crackle of desire was always merely a touch away.

  “I believe I could entice you tonight,” he said, “yet I find I don’t want to.”

  She stayed silent at his strange words, both self-assured and dismissive. He would explain himself in due time, so she sipped the brandy and waited.

  To her surprise, he laughed. “I like that about you. Your cool head. Some women would have found what I said insulting.”

  Ada shrugged and took another sip.

  He set his own glass down. “Let’s address the first part.”

  With no more warning than that, he leaned close and kissed her.

  As soon as their lips touched, yearning flared within her—stark and strong. She nearly dropped the glass, but he took it from her, setting it aside before beginning a slow and thorough pillaging of her mouth.

  With her eyes closed and her senses heightened, Ada relished the familiar roaming of his deft hands, and almost involuntarily, she laced her fingers behind his neck, holding him to her.

  When at last he pulled back, he rested his forehead upon hers.

  “You make my entire body hum.”

  Her eyes still closed, she smiled at his unexpected statement. Then she told him the truth.

  “Mine as well.”

  “We could go to my bedroom,” he offered, and she drew away, opening her eyes to his.

  “You think you can entice me to your bed with a single kiss? Maybe you can,” she conceded. “What about the second part? You don’t want to. Is that true?”

  He groaned and reached for his drink, finishing it in one go.

  “I want to have you in every way possible,” he confessed, making her insides flutter. Reaching up, he stroked the side of her face.

  “But you wouldn’t be happy afterward. I’ve learned that about you. Thus, I wouldn’t be happy with myself.”

  He sounded awfully insightful and selfless, which only made her want him more.

  Michael sighed. “You want a respectful, proper courting, not a quick roll, no matter how delightful it would be. And you deserve such. Howell could see your worth in one glance. I feel the same.”

  She expelled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Lord Vile was showing a tender, considerate side, making it extremely difficult to hold onto her vengeance.

  Her head spinning with confusion and her body sizzling with desire, she reached her hands out to him. “Kiss me again.”

  Ada didn’t have to wait long. In the next moment, he gathered her in his arms and claimed her mouth again. His tongue slipped inside to dance with hers, causing a pool of heat to gather low between her hips.

  Arching against him, crushing her sensitive breasts to his chest, all the while, she felt his hands stroking her back through the thin satin fabric of her gown.

  She wanted his hands upon her skin. Moreover, she wanted to touch his bare flesh, feel his heat and his strength.

  About to demand he show her his bedroom, she nearly cried out when he broke away and stood up.

  His breath was coming harshly, and her own lungs felt too small.

  “Bringing you here without intending to ravish you was a tactical error,” Michael confessed, snatching up his empty glass and returning to the sideboard.

  Glancing at her own half-filled glass, she frowned. The feelings coursing through her were unsettling and, yes, frustrating as anything she’d ever experienced, but she had no desire to dampen them with liquor.

  Why did he turn to the soothing substance every time something seemed tense or pleasurable? Apparently, it was his answer to every emotion.

  She watched him pour a large draught into his glass, emptying the decanter. When he upended the cut crystal carafe, so every last drop fell into his glass, Ada couldn’t hold her tongue.

  “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. You drink too much. You will become puffy and have a red nose.”

  “Like Mr. Moore’s jolly old elf,” Michael quipped. “That’s not so bad. Children love Father Christmas.”

  “It’s not funny,” she insisted, standing and crossing to him. “After a few glasses, you are too jolly.”

  “I didn’t realize one could be too happy.” He took a sip of brandy and smiled.

  “You’ll get gout and have trouble walking.”

  His smile faltered. “Will I?” He took another sip.

  Sighing, Ada paced the room. Many people drank brandy, even more drank gin. And at every party or dinner she’d ever been to, there was always wine and champagne. Be that as it may, she’d simply never been around someone who seemed to always want his next potation.

  Michael narrowed his eyes at her. “Last time you said I drank too much, I asked you a question to which I received no answer. I shall ask again, do you care?”

  The devil take him! Why did it matter to the man if she cared?

  Clearly, since he’d asked her twice, it did matter. Even more apparent to her was how much she, in fact, cared for him. All at once, she thought what an unpleasant void there would be in her life were Michael Alder not in it.

  “I do,” she muttered, stopping her pacing and crossing her arms in front of her chest. She cared, but she didn’t have to like it.

  He blinked and said nothing. Then he looked at the glass in his hand. Quick as a whip, he hurled it into the fireplace where it shattered, spraying the bricks and the coal with brandy, causing the flames to flare and jump.

  Startled, she jumped, too.

  “A bit drastic!” she admonished him, though inside a sense of relief washed over her. “If you intend to destroy every glass you have, may I suggest instead you simply don’t refill the brandy decanter.”

  “I really wanted that drink,” he said at last, his tone a little exasperated, perhaps with regret over his impulsive action.

  “There’s always your flask,” she pointed out, feeling as if she were challenging him.

  He tilted his head. “There is, isn’t there?”

  Then he sighed, a heavy-hearted sound, and reached into his coat pocket. Withdrawing the silver flagon, he stared at it.

  She found herself holding her breath until he lifted his head, looked into her eyes, and then handed his flask to her.

  “Why don’t you keep this for me? You can put lemonade in it if you like, to refresh yourself when you’re out walking or riding.”

  She smiled at the notion of tak
ing a beverage with her, but studied the silver object in her hand. It was about half full by its weight and engraved with the initials MGA.

  “G?” she asked.

  “George, after my father.”

  She nodded and tried to tuck the flask into her own hidden pocket in the side seam of her skirt. It was heavier than the handkerchief or coins she usually kept there, and too wide. Feeling a little awkward under his watchful gaze, she went to her reticule and tucked the flask inside. As soon as she was home, she would put it away in a drawer.

  Glancing at his sideboard, knowing what was inside, she said, “I’m not sure this really solves anything.”

  “Were we looking for a solution to something?” he asked, taking a seat on the sofa.

  It seemed very familiar of him to do so while she was still standing, even a little discourteous, but she took a seat beside him.

  “What I mean to say is, I’m certain you have more brandy in your home. As well as wine and maybe other spirits. How will you manage to abstain, or cagg as they say, even for a short while?”

  He merely shrugged, perhaps hating the thought of going without liquor.

  “When I leave, will you ask your butler for another bottle to refill your decanter?”

  Michael looked thoughtful. “It had occurred to me, of course. Are you asking me to stop drinking completely, or simply the brandy?”

  “I didn’t ask you to do anything.”

  He pursed his lips at her sidestepping.

  Relenting, Ada added, “But if I were to want anything, it would be for you simply not to reach for your flask a dozen times when we are out, and not to have a glass of brandy as soon as you step indoors. Or, more precisely, a few glasses of brandy.”

  “I see. I didn’t realize I was doing both of those things.”

  All the more reason to stop, she thought.

  “I don’t see any reason, though, why we can’t have a glass of wine with dinner, though. Or champagne at a party?”

  He nodded. “That sounds reasonable.”

  She glanced at the fireplace again. “I suppose your butler won’t be pleased with the shattered glass.”

  “It is a bit out of character for me, but Lawrence won’t mind.”

  His face looked boyish, tugging at her heart.

  No, she thought. It was enough she cared for him, like a friend. She would not let her heart get further entangled.

  “I should go home now.” Though at home, Harry had Nanny Finn, who was probably readying him for bed, and Dash, whom everyone loved, was most likely in the kitchen with Mary. Was there really anyone at home who needed her at that moment?

  “I don’t think you should,” Michael said, and she stilled at his soft tone. “You’ve taken my brandy from me, and now you intend to deprive me of your company, too. That will make the evening intolerable. Besides, it’s still abysmally early. If we were going to a ball, we’d still be getting ready and have the whole night ahead of us.”

  She crossed to the fire, seeing shards of glass, now blackened amongst the flames.

  “Yet we are not going to a ball. So, what shall we do with ourselves?”

  He shook his head. “I know you well enough by now to know you are not being coy. That is not a masked invitation for me to take you upstairs.”

  True, though she could admit to herself she might accept if he did.

  “What would we do,” he pondered, leaning back, crossing his arms, “if we were to simply stay indoors of an evening? Besides the obvious.”

  Ada considered the options, finding it to be a pleasant exercise, thinking about companionship, specifically with Michael. Her parents kept company together nearly every night. Her mother loved knitting and needlepoint, as well as puzzles from the newspaper. Her father was often writing letters or reading. Sometimes, he even drew small ink drawings. They talked about whatever caught their fancy.

  “My parents play cards,” she offered. “Écarté, such as you and I already played, as well as double dummy. Of course, there are so many amusements when there are more than only two.”

  He looked curious. “I suppose if we invited over your best friend and her husband, we would all play cards and charades, and maybe a few forfeits.”

  Ada considered a small dinner party with the Earl and Countess of Cambrey. If her beau were anyone other than Lord Vile.

  “Do you have some friends?” she asked.

  His laughter came out like a short bark. “Meaning you don’t think the Cambreys would want to spend an evening with me?” He shrugged. “I have a few friends, but I don’t know their wives at all. I suppose we would get to know them together. That is, if anyone deigned to enter the home of Lord Vile, even if I had a civilized, reputable wife such as you.”

  How on earth had they got to talking about her as his wife?

  “I like chess,” she said, firmly bringing their discussion back to games, “and if I’m too tired to think properly, then checkers.”

  “And backgammon?”

  “Yes, of course.” She’d played many hours with Grady.

  “I have a set here somewhere. Shall we play?”

  Nodding enthusiastically, she watched him get up and yank the bell pull before going to the cupboards at the other end of the room. He began to rummage through them.

  When a maid came in, he asked her if she’d seen his backgammon set.

  “No, my lord, but I’ll ask the others.”

  In a few minutes, the board had been retrieved, and they sat in front of the fire with it open before them.

  “I don’t suppose a glass of madeira is in order,” Michael remarked as Ada shook the dice in a little leather cup.

  She shook her head. “You don’t want fuzzy thoughts when you’re playing against me. How about a good strong cup of milky tea?”

  Feeling quite at home, she rang for tea and biscuits, and they proceeded to play well into the evening.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Michael got up the next morning feeling one all-encompassing emotion, guilt! He’d insisted on escorting Ada home rather than sending her on her way with his driver. That was easy—it was the correct, upstanding, and gentlemanly thing to do. Moreover, he’d garnered another kiss or three in the carriage.

  However, as soon as he’d walked through his own front door, tossing his hat to the side, he’d asked his butler for a glass of brandy. Taking it upstairs with him, he’d sipped it slowly while his valet helped him undress, and he’d enjoyed the remainder while sitting in front of his own fire, contemplating the success of the evening.

  From Dolly’s Chop House to laughing hard as they both tried to solve the Weekly Dispatch’s puzzle to being equally matched at backgammon—there was nothing about the evening he would change. Nothing he wouldn’t want to repeat over and over.

  Except the absence of his brandy.

  At least, he hadn’t ordered the decanter to be refilled. Truthfully, he wouldn’t do that in case Ada saw it again.

  Nevertheless, he was a grown man who liked brandy. Was there anything wrong with that? He wasn’t rolling on the cobbled streets like an admiral of the red with no sense of propriety. He wasn’t befuddled or listing sideways when he walked. It was only a glass or two of brandy. Or occasionally gin.

  So why had he awakened with the overarching feeling of guilt as soon as his eyes lit upon the glass he’d left on the mantle in his room?

  Dammit! He had let her down. She hadn’t specifically said not to drink, but she’d seemed so impressed when he’d said he wouldn’t. Wait, had he said he wouldn’t?

  No, he was fairly certain he hadn’t. Problem solved, then.

  Today, he would take a break from brandy since she had his flask. Hopefully, they would dine together again for he felt no lessening of desire to spend time with her, even without the pleasures of the flesh. Or the French liquor.

  And when they did have dinner, they would have a glass of wine. He remembered her promising they could.

  He might ask what she thou
ght of him having a glass of brandy at his bedtime.

  On second thought, he wouldn’t ask. He didn’t need to. That would be emasculating and, frankly, ridiculous. If he wanted brandy at bedtime, it was up to no one but himself. Even if they married—the thought came so easily and often to him now, always making him smile—she would either accept it or not. Or he could drink it in private if it caused her distress.

  Satisfied he’d solved the issue, and tamping down his unnecessary guilt, he decided to go directly to Hatton Garden, the area of London with the best jewelers. Practically retracing their ride home of the prior evening, he wandered the shops in the shadow of St. Paul’s until he entered Mayer and Sons.

  “I’m out of my element,” he said to the clerk, a middle-aged man with a looking glass contraption strapped to his head. “My lady is fair-haired and seems to favor pale purple frocks. Does that help one to choose a ring?”

  The clerk’s nimble fingers bypassed the tray of emeralds and rubies, past the sapphires and pearls, until he reached a small selection of rings with rich purple stones.

  “Perhaps something here, my lord.”

  “I haven’t seen many women wearing these,” Michael pointed out.

  “Correct, my lord. The amethyst is not as popular as a traditional emerald or sapphire but beginning to find favor.”

  He liked that at once. For his Ada was unique, and any old stone wouldn’t do. Then Michael saw it, a gold setting with a large amethyst encircled by diamonds.

  If he spent his entire newly built fortune on it, so be it. He could always earn more in the robust market of the day.

  Slipping the black velvet box into his pocket, he signed the credit slip with a feeling of glee. To celebrate, he went to his club at noon and had brandy with Hemsby.

  *

  When Mr. Randall announced Lord Alder’s arrival at seven o’clock, she realized she’d been waiting for him, trying and failing to read the evening newspaper as the appointed time for his arrival got closer. Moreover, her heart sped up at the sound of Michael’s footsteps in the foyer.

  Glancing at Dash who seemed to give her a knowing look in return, she stood up, just as his familiar face came around the door, followed by the rest of him. Ada couldn’t deny a flood of gladness and had to restrain herself from rushing over to him.