A Seductive Lady For The Scarred Earl (Steamy Regency Romance)

by Olivia Bennet

  His fingers dug into her hips, but while he guided her movements, he did not force them. He was true to his word, letting her maintain control while the pain melted away as her body relaxed.

  “Oh, Jeffrey,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him and luxuriating in the feeling of his skin against her own.

  He responded with a groan that wasn’t quite words, but she understood all the same. She could almost laugh, though she tried not to for fear of spoiling the seriousness of the moment. He was perfect. They were perfect. The feeling of gratification was intense as his muscles jerked and he dug his face into her neck, groaning as a gush of heat spilled inside of her.

  They collapsed against each other, entangled in each other’s arms and clinging to each other for long minutes before pulling up the covers and climbing beneath them. Barbara nestled against his side, her head resting in the crook of her shoulder. It felt like this was the place she was always meant to be.

  “I don’t know how I will bear to leave you,” he said after a time, his fingers coming through her hair, which had fallen loose over the course of their lovemaking.

  “You must promise to suffer terribly each day we are apart,” she said, grinning.

  He laughed. “I swear. And you must promise to make this place a real home for me to come back to.”

  Barbara could sense the deep importance of this promise, even if he was laughing as he said it. She touched a finger to his lips, then kissed him. “I promise.”

  * * *

  Time seemed to pass in slow motion that summer. Barbara floated through her days in a warm haze. Knowing that Jeffrey would be gone for months at the end of the summer, they spent as much time together as they could. Every waking moment, if possible.

  Barbara prayed that, by the time he left, she would be with child. In a strange way, she thought that a growing child in her belly might ease her loneliness. She imagined placing her hand over her stomach and talking to the babe as she stared out the window toward the sea. She imagined the look of surprise in his eyes when he returned to find her rather larger than he had left her. The thought made her laugh as she counted the days since her last courses and hoped.

  The morning of his departure, Barbara solemnly helped him into his uniform, sliding the gold colored buttons through the deep blue fabric and remembering how he had looked in his uniform on their wedding day.

  “Darling,” he said softly caressing her cheek. She leaned her head against his hand.

  “What will I do without you?” She asked quietly.

  “It’s only three months.” His reassurance felt rather empty, as three long months stretched out before them.

  Barbara snaked her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his chest. She wanted to memorize the sound of his heartbeat against her ear, the strong, warm thumping life that radiated from him and enveloped her in a sense of safety and security. His fingers trailed through her hair and tickled her earlobe absently.

  “I’ll have a surprise for you when you come back,” she said, barely suppressing a smile.

  “Oh?” he asked, tilting up her chin to look up at him. “And what surprise is that?”

  She smiled, shaking her head. “I meant to keep it secret.”

  “I hate surprises,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Tell me now or I shall have no rest at sea.”

  “Well…” Barbara began, smiling up at him. “When you return, I expect I shall look a bit different. A bit….” She looked up and away coquettishly, “rounder about the middle?”

  “You’re not…?”

  She nodded, hardly able to contain her excitement. So much for keeping it a secret until she could surprise him upon his return.

  Jeffrey’s face broke out into a wide smile and he lifted her from her feet, spinning her around. Barbara squeaked, clinging to his neck.

  “Darling, not the spinning…” she said as a wave of queasiness washed over her. Still, the joyous cause of the nausea softened the unpleasantness of it. She shut her eyes against the dizziness as it faded.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, but he was laughing through his apology as he cupped her face in his hands and covered her cheeks with kisses.

  “How can I leave you, now? How can I miss one single moment?” he said pulling her tight against him.

  “Honestly, I quite envy that you get to miss out on this stage of the pregnancy. I feel absolutely wretched. I imagine all you’ll miss is a lot of me lazing about, nibbling dry toast. But here...I had something made for you…”

  She pulled herself away from his embrace and ran over to the dresser where she rummaged about in a drawer before withdrawing a small frame. Inside was a miniature portrait of herself that she had had made secretly in the past weeks. She crossed back to him and handed it to him.

  “You must promise to brag about me to your men, or else what joy is there to be had as a captain’s wife?”

  “Oh, Barbara, I shall be the envy of every man I meet,” he said, gazing down at the portrait. He looked back at her, and he must have seen the sadness in her eyes because he bent down to kiss her gently, drawing his thumb across her cheek. “I will be back before you know it.”

  “I love you,” she whispered against his lips.

  “And I, you,” he replied, and Barbara let the assurance of his love rain over her, giving her the strength she would need to get through the coming months until they were reunited once more.

  The End?

  Extended Epilogue

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  Preview: A Vixen for the Devilish Duke

  Chapter 1

  Serf

  Adelia Raby’s hands were red from all the scrubbing she’d been doing in the cold. She was used to it and didn’t let that, or the little cut on her thumb, stop her from completing her task. She still had a whole bunch of children’s clothes to wash and the winter sun would be setting soon.

  She drew her worn woolen cloak closer around her as she straightened up to rest her back.

  “Golly gee,” she said as she stretched, feeling her back snap with the strain of being bent over for so long.

  “Are you doing all right there, Addy?” Sister Mary Catherine called as she carried a basket of grapes from the storeroom to the refinery.

  “Yes, Sister. I am fine.” Adelia bent quickly back to her work, not wanting to seem idle for too long. The sisters were fair employers, but very strict. She could see the children of the orphanage in the school room, heads bent over their work, and sighed.

  She had just received the news from one of the novices—the orphanage was shutting down. The sisters could no longer support it from the money they earned from the fees paid by surrounding families for their children to attend classes at the orphanage, and the church had other priorities. Adelia did not know what she would do when they let her go. She had no references and very few employers valued a referral from the Catholic sisters. She could not go home to her parents—they would simply advise her to get married. She could not really blame them as the farm had been struggling for years. They barely made enough to keep them in winter clothes and soup.

  No.

  She would have to find another way.

  She scrubbed the thin cotton tunic that served as the common uniform for both boys and girls at the orphanage. She was worried about what would happen to the children. Terese had hinted that perhaps they would be broken apart and scattered to whichever other orphanages would agree to take them in. Adelia knew that there were at least five sibling groupings: a pair of fraternal twins, two sisters and a little brother, four brothers, two sisters and three brothers, and two brot
hers. They might not all be accepted by the same orphanage.

  It broke Adelia’s heart to think of families torn apart in such a way.

  She prayed that the church might change its mind and find a way to fund the orphanage and then she would not lose her job as well as her residence.

  I need to come up with a plan.

  She frowned. She had less than a month to be otherwise situated. The convent was already receiving offers for the land. Many members of the gentry fancied themselves as wine makers. It was a sufficiently genteel undertaking that one could have a winery without any vulgar insinuations about commerce.

  Perhaps I can stay on here and work for the next owner.

  She straightened up, carrying the bucket to go and hang the clothes. Her long tawny locks blew into her face, obscuring her vision. Sister Mary Catherine was always on her to cut it a little. She always said it was unbecoming for a ‘servant of Christ’ to have such a mane of hair. Adelia did not know how she had managed to come up with sufficient excuses as to why she had not cut it yet. It was the only up side to this mess, that Sister Mary Catherine would stop bothering her about her hair.

  Adelia liked her waist-length tresses. They kept her warm in the winter cold, and the children loved to play with it, plaiting it into various twists and patterns for their entertainment. There wasn’t much entertainment to be had at the orphanage.

  “Adelia!” Sister Mary Catherine called, “Are you almost done? I need to send you to the market.”

  Adelia was not almost done. She still had several mud-spattered tunics to get through. If she did not do them now, then Sister Francine would make her finish before she could have any supper. The temperature was already dropping as the sun went down. She had no intention of having her hands still in the freezing water in the cold of night.

  “I’ll just finish these tunics, shall I?” she called back.

  Sister Francine humphed in annoyance but stomped off and left her to it. She hoped for a moment that the sister might find someone else to go to the market but didn’t hold her breath waiting for it. No doubt she would have to wake up very early to do it. Most of the maids of all work had been dismissed. Only Adelia and two other girls remained—both were former orphans and had nowhere to go or sufficient references to get other work.

  Julia and Katherine were shy, scared, sixteen-year-olds and at nineteen, Adelia felt like their big sister. She said another prayer, just in case God had not been listening before, that a solution would be found that would not have families separated and the three of them out on the street with nowhere to go.

  She finished up with the tunics and then hurried to her little bedchamber, a small eight by ten stone room with no windows, so she could change out of her wet gown into something drier and warmer. She then hurried to the kitchen where a huge fire was roaring and the steam from boiling water and tureens of soap warmed the air. She shivered as she entered, looking around at her companions and smiling.

  There was the cook, Mrs. Daniels, whose husband had died and left her destitute. Carlos, the footman and general handyman, who had also grown up in the orphanage. Katherine and Julia sat hunched on the bench, peeling a mountain of potatoes for tomorrow’s luncheon.

  “Good even,” she greeted, before making a beeline to the tureen of soup, bowl in hand.

  “Oh, did you finish with the clothes a’wready?” Mrs. Daniels asked.

  “Yes, I did. Thank heavens the mud was fairly fresh.”

  Mrs. Daniels shook her head. “I’ll newer unnerstan’ the need to go rolling aroun’ in the mud. Woulda took a switch to them if it were me.”

  Adelia just smiled. She couldn’t really blame the children. They didn’t get much time to play and when Adelia had offered to take them on a picnic the day before—since the sisters wanted to take some prospective buyers around the property without children underfoot—they had taken full advantage. When Sister Mary Catherine had seen the state of them, her usually stoic face had looked truly horrified.

  “Since you thought it a good idea to let them roll around in the mud, you shall wash their tunics,” she had declared.

  “Yes’m,” Adelia had replied quietly.

  * * *

  “Mama, I need a new gown. I haven’t had one in ages.” Dorothea pouted prettily. Her mother laughed. “But did we not just go shopping this week?”

  “That was not for the ball. You know how flamboyant Spaniards are. I cannot appear at this ball at anything but my finest. I owe it to England!”

  A booming laugh from behind her had Dorothea turning her head to see her father standing in the doorway, smiling indulgently at her. “My daughter is such a patriot, eh?” his eyes twinkled as he teased her.

  “Father, I am being serious. I need a gown that is suitable to welcome the new Spanish ambassador and his family to England. You do not want them to think I am beneath their touch do you, Papa?”

  “Oh, absolutely not, my dearest. We shall have Miss Walters stop by to design you a gown worthy of your beauty.”

  “And may we go to Rundell and Bridge and pick out some jewelry?”

  The Earl of Cornhill’s smile widened. “Anything you want, my sweet.”

  Dorothea smiled prettily. “Thank you, Father.”

  “You’re welcome, Dorothea.”

  The Earl and his wife exchanged indulgent glances as they watched Dorothea tuck into her breakfast oatmeal. They felt so lucky to have her, having lost her twin sister at childbirth. She was a fair child with her wheat-colored hair and golden eyes. People said she resembled a wild cat.

  Lord Cornhill had been to Africa and hunted big game. The painting he’d had done of himself, with a live lion, it’s mane fanning out, framing its face, honey gold eyes staring impassively at the artist, had been likened to their Dorothea many times.

  She sprung to her feet as soon as she was done eating.

  “I’ll go and get changed and then we can go to the milliner’s. I need a new hat before we call on the Miltons. So sad about their mother.”

  “Yes, indeed, I need a hat as well, so we’d best go. I promised poor Lady Cassandra that I would be there before nuncheon.”

  * * *

  Lady Cornhill and Dorothea linked hands, as their lady’s maids fetched hats and cloaks and the footman had the coachman bring their carriage around. They had a busy day of social calls and shopping ahead of them.

  “Do you think the Duke of Rosemond will be at the ambassador’s ball?” Dorothea asked as they rode. “You know that he almost asked me to dance at the cotillion?”

  “He did?” her mother raised a surprised eyebrow. She had heard through the grapevine that the Duke was in the market for a wife and so all the mothers were out in force, wherever he was, trying to get him to look at their daughters. Lady Cornhill was not one to push her daughter forward—Dorothea did that quite well by herself. She had not known that her daughter held any interest in this particular Duke, however.

  “Yes, indeed. However, his dance card was already full when Lord Cunningham introduced us. It was quite the disappointment.”

  “Well…you should make sure to seek him out early. I am sure he shall be at the ambassador’s ball. As a gesture of goodwill, if nothing else.”

  Dorothea nodded. “I think so, too. He is quite a handsome fellow, don’t you think?”

  Lady Cornhill smiled. “Yes. He’s quite handsome and kind. He will make you a good husband.”

  Dorothea smiled. “I expect he shall be very flattered by my attention.”

  “I expect he shall.”

  Dorothea preened, looking out the window. The carriage came to a stop and she sat impatiently, waiting for the footman to open the door. He went first to her mother’s side and helped her out before opening Dorothea’s door. When she was on the ground, she reached out and snatched the coachman’s whip, slashing it across the footman’s face. “Next time, move faster,” she hissed in annoyance.

  The footman held his face, his eyes wide in shock and pain. “
Y-yes, My Lady,” he said and turned away even as the welt began to swell. Dorothea humphed in annoyance and threw the whip back at the coachman.

  “We shall not be long. Wait right here,” Lady Cornhill informed the coachman.

  “Yes’m.” He bowed his head quickly, while keeping control of the horses.

  Lady Cornhill beamed at Dorothea, holding out her arm for her daughter to take and they walked into the haberdashery.

  * * *

  “The Duke of Rosemond.”

  The butler announced him as he stepped in the room and he bowed to their Highnesses, before giving the new Spanish ambassador a bow.

  “Welcome to England, Your Excellency.”

  The ambassador nodded and smiled. Harry had met him in Madrid the previous summer when he called upon the Spanish court to thank the King for his benevolence in allowing the Duke’s ships to dock briefly in Spain. “Gracias, Your Grace.”

  He smiled back and then walked into the ball, his eye sweeping the room. His mother was ill, possibly dying, and he had promised her that he would find a wife before she died. Of course, he had every intention of doing everything in his power to make sure that did not happen soon, but if this was her dying wish…then he would endeavor to give it to her.