Games of Desire for Lady Hellion: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Olivia Bennet

  Now though, and ever since he returned home, he had had a twinge of guilt and anxiety. He had broken his promise, not followed the plan, and he knew Thomas would be angry. Except…Thomas was nowhere to be found. He had been expecting Thomas to be waiting up for his return, but when he wasn’t he expected a full questioning at dinner that evening.

  But he is not here either. It is like he doesn’t care.

  Isaac took another bite of his meat and chewed thoughtfully. Things had not gone according to plan the night before, but it wasn’t bad either. He had certainly not won Lady Celine over as he was supposed to, and he dreaded Thomas’ reaction to the news.

  In that, I have failed him. And my Father.

  Lady Diana, however, was another matter. Every time he thought of her, a smile played involuntarily on his lips and he could not stop his mind from running away with all sorts of fanciful thoughts. And every time he realized, he forced his face straight and his thoughts back to work. He couldn’t allow himself to think of her; he needed to get back on track.

  But he couldn’t stop it. She was already a presence within his being that he couldn’t rid himself of. How he wanted her. Her beauty was striking, certainly, but it was the way she spoke that really drew him.

  She had a humor that matched so closely to his own, an intelligence that shone from every word she used. She was fierce and independent, and she refused to be sucked in by society’s frills. He liked that. He liked it an awful lot.

  He put down his fork and raised the wine to his lips, savoring the aromatic richness and forcing her, yet again, from his mind.

  Focus on the flavor.

  He could not swoon over her like a maiden in one of her books. He was gentleman, not a lady, and worse—he had a task to complete that he had already fallen behind with.

  At just that moment, Thomas barged in, the door banging against the wall, and he strode to the other end of the table, uncaring for how he looked or what people thought of him. He held himself tall and proud, but with tension and readiness to fight, and he didn’t even glance at Isaac as he pulled out of his seat and shook out his napkin.

  As though I am nothing and not his keeper.

  “Wine,” he demanded, blank and with no intonation.

  He did not look up at Hobbes as he dashed over to fill his glass. He merely sat, jaw clenched and fists tight, looking at the table. Hobbes maintained his professionalism, but Isaac suspected he was cursing Thomas inside, as any man would at that rudeness. A servant Hobbes may be, but Isaac was a strong believer in respecting your staff—especially if you had any desire at all for them to be respectful and loyal in return.

  Isaac watched Thomas open-mouthed, his wine glass still halfway to his mouth, so surprised he was. Thomas was never overly personable or particularly friendly—especially not with the staff—but tonight he seemed especially bitter.

  Does he already know that I failed him?

  “Good evening to you too, Thomas,” Isaac snapped after a moment. He was already irritated after his day, and from the fact that his thoughts wandered to where he did not want them, and Thomas’ behavior only served to make it worse. Added to that, his heart pounded with the worry of what was to come.

  Stop it. Isaac reprimanded himself. He couldn’t take his bad mood out on his brother, no matter how annoying and inconsistent his actions may be, and it certainly was not Thomas’ fault that his mind whirred so rapidly.

  “Good evening, Isaac.” Thomas still didn’t look up at his brother, and the tone in his voice was tired, disinterested. Isaac put his wine down and steepled his hands in front of his face.

  “Where have you been all day? I have been waiting for you ever since I returned last night.”

  “I’ve been out,” Thomas said sullenly. He picked up his knife and fork and looked tiredly at his food, as though it was a poor offering and Thomas expected better.

  “Out where?” Isaac demanded. He could hear the hiss in his voice, but he didn’t have the energy to disguise it. He was annoyed at Thomas, and he no longer cared whether it showed.

  “Just out,” Thomas replied, finally looking up at his brother. He looked weary, as though it were Isaac who was the wayward brother, and Isaac shook his head in amazement. “Why does it matter to you?”

  “Fine,” Isaac said, tight-lipped. He resumed his meal, but he spoke as he cut up his meat, the knife scraping noisily across the porcelain. “I was expecting to see you after the ball. I thought you might want an update. Since we have spent so long looking forward to the night. But now, after all this time, you seem altogether uninterested.”

  “I have no doubt you did your duty,” Thomas said simply. “You know how important it is, and I know you would not let me or Father down.”

  Rather than cut his meat, Thomas dragged chunks of it apart with his fork. Isaac looked at him in disgust, but with a streak of guilt widening by the second. He had let them down.

  Does Thomas really have so much faith in me that he need not question me?

  “What’s got into you today, Thomas?” he asked finally. “Last night was important. I really thought you might—”

  Thomas sighed and let his cutlery clatter to the plate loudly.

  “Yes, it was important. And I have complete faith in you, my dearest older Brother. It went well, I know it. And perhaps today I have been out putting other parts of our plan in action.”

  “Have you?” Isaac asked, glaring at him over the table. Thomas didn’t answer and for Isaac, that was answer enough.

  “Are you going to tell me it did not go well?” Thomas asked, head tilted.

  Isaac started, the question surprising him. It hadn’t gone well, but that Thomas was so convinced it had surprised Isaac. He had a faith Isaac did not think possible, and that only served to make Isaac feel all the guiltier.

  “I—” Isaac faltered, but he could sense the color of his cheeks deepening and he looked away, licking the last drops of his wine from his lips.

  “Isaac?” Thomas’ voice took on an urgent, worried tone, so different to the harsh and hateful tone of earlier. He sounded panicked, and Isaac knew this was the moment he would have to confess all.

  “Hobbes,” he said, turning to the butler. “If you don’t mind. I’d like a little privacy with my Brother. If you could please tell everyone else not to disturb us, also. Thank you.”

  “As you wish, Your Grace,” Hobbes said. He bowed deeply, first to Isaac and then to Thomas, and he took his leave. The room fell into a tense and awkward silence, brother glaring at brother, not speaking until the door clicked quietly closed behind Hobbes. Even then, the final seconds dragged on in the quiet.

  “Well?” Thomas hissed at last. “What have you got to say for yourself? Did you fail me and Father?”

  He glared at Isaac and then drank his wine back in one go. He rose from his chair and snatched the wine bottle from the sideboard, carrying it by the neck, letting it swing by his side like a drunkard.

  Isaac sighed, letting his eyes close for a few seconds, not wanting to see his brother in such despondency. He threw his napkin from his lap and onto the table—their meal was ruined now anyhow—and he looked at Thomas’ disheveled hair, the rough and damaged skin of his cheeks.

  “I’m sorry, Thomas,” he said, and he meant it.

  As much as his brother angered him, Thomas would always hold the largest part of Isaac’s heart. He hated seeing his brother in such a state, especially when he knew he had helped put him there with his failure. Thomas had been in pain and despair for far too long—first when their mother died and then, in a much larger part, when their father died. He had turned from a happy little boy to a bitter young man, and to see him as such broke Isaac’s heart.

  “You’re sorry?” Thomas asked. His jaw tightened and his breath heaved as she stared at Isaac.

  “Things…didn’t go quite as planned with Lady Celine.”

  There was silence once again, although this time neither brother looked at the other, not wanting
to read the thoughts that ran through each other’s mind. Isaac could sense the tension building, knew his brother would not take this news well.

  “You mean she rejected you?” Thomas seethed. He sneered, his deep breaths almost a growl, and Isaac knew if he didn’t calm his brother down, things would turn out badly. He felt a stab of something akin to pain at the insult, but he brushed it off. After so long planning, it was only natural Thomas would not take the news well.

  I had expected this. Remember that.

  “You cannot do anything right,” Thomas railed. “I thought we had an agreement.”

  “We did—we do,” Isaac urged, but Thomas slammed his fist into the table, making his plate and his cutlery jump. Isaac leaned back in his seat, as though trying to get away from him.

  “Then what went wrong?” Thomas roared.

  “She has eyes for another, certainly,” Isaac said, fiddling with the handle of the knife that rested on the table. “And perhaps I was not quite as forthright as I could have been.”

  “Why ever not?” Thomas asked. “You knew what you were meant to do. Why didn’t you do it?”

  Isaac could see the anger simmering just beneath the surface of Thomas’ bitter veneer, but he managed to control it. Thomas glared, then took a swig of wine right from the bottle and Isaac’s heart filled with love and pity for this brother of his. He was rude and disrespectful, yes, and he had chosen to live off Isaac for far too long, but Isaac could see he was a man in pain, a pain Thomas had lived with for far too long. Their plan had always been to fix that, among other things, and Isaac could not blame Thomas for being angry at his failure.

  “I just…it didn’t happen as I expected,” he said, looking around the floor for an explanation he didn’t have. “It was…different.”

  Thomas sank back into his seat and buried his head in his arms, letting out a pitiful wail. He had rapidly switched from sullen to angry to devastated, his mood on a continuous swing.

  “It’s not that bad,” Isaac said, his voice pleading. “It’s not—”

  “It is that bad,” Thomas said, looking up again. “This was our last chance to get our revenge for Father’s death. I told you that. Why don’t you ever listen?”

  “I’m sorry, Thomas. I—”

  “What are we going to do now?”

  Isaac paused for a long moment. He knew what he was going to say, but he was wary of how Thomas would take it.

  “Did you know Lady Celine has a Sister?”

  “She does?” Thomas scrunched his eyes shut then opened them again, a tic he had had ever since their father had died. It resurfaced every time he was confused or uncertain.

  “She does. Her name is Lady Diana. I met her last night.”

  Thomas thought for a long moment, gazing up at the ceiling. Finally, he shook his head, then took another swig from the bottle. “Please, Thomas, pour it into a glass if you must drink it at all. There is no need for us to lose our manners simply because we can.”

  “You know,” Thomas said. “Now you say the name, it brings back some memories. Is there a reason we discounted her so easily?”

  “I had quite forgotten about her existence until last night,” Isaac said.

  “How peculiar we should have not realized.”

  “Indeed,” Isaac said, his lips tight with annoyance. He wouldn’t dare say it for fear of upsetting his brother, but it was Thomas who should have remembered. He was the mastermind behind the plan, after all.

  “Anyhow, it matters not. Everything we have worked for has gone down the drain.” Thomas growled as he spoke, although Isaac could see his underlying misery, his whirlwind of emotions. “Who care if she has a Sister? How does that help us?”

  “Surely the plan would work just as well with either Sister,” Isaac said.

  And I would get to spend some time with her.

  No. He shook the thought away. He could not allow himself to like her if he was to do what was necessary.

  “She’s the elder, too,” Isaac added encouragingly. “The plan might work even better with the eldest daughter, don’t you think?”

  “And she’s not married yet?” Thomas asked, narrowing his eyes. “If she is the elder, and Lady Celine is already eight-and-ten—”

  “No, she is not married, and she is not betrothed.”

  Isaac didn’t dare lean back in his chair as he wished, tired of it all. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table with a sparkle in his eyes, silently willing Thomas to agree.

  “What’s the matter with her?” Thomas asked, and Isaac started. He had not been expecting such a question.

  “What do you mean, What’s the matter with her?”

  “She has no suitor yet. There must be something wrong with her.” Thomas’ words were so plain, so simple, as though it was a perfectly normal question to ask but to Isaac, it was abhorrent.

  How could anyone think there something wrong with the beautiful Lady Diana?

  “There is nothing wrong with her,” Isaac snapped. “You are older than she is, Thomas, and you are yet to even move out of your Brother’s house, let alone find a wife.”

  Thomas shook his head and waved his hand, giving himself time to swallow back another swig of wine.

  “It is not a wife I seek, but revenge for past transgressions, as you well know. Neither of us can rest until this comes to pass. Come on, Isaac, we have been working toward this for so long. We cannot stop now.”

  “Exactly my point,” Isaac said, raising a finger. “Things did not go according to plan with Celine, but there is another option…Lady Diana.”

  “And you think she’ll go for it?” Thomas asked. His brow was creased and he looked worried. “I mean, you ruined it with her Sister. What makes you think you can win this one over?”

  Isaac could feel that unintentional smile creep back on his face as he thought of Diana, and he fought to keep it under control.

  “I…we talked, for a long while. I am fairly certain she enjoyed the evening.”

  Thomas narrowed his eyes at him again, glaring.

  “You like her,” he said.

  “I do not!” But Isaac could feel the warmth of his cheeks even as he denied it.

  I do like her. I like her a lot.

  “Yes, you do,” Thomas said.

  “Well yes, perhaps I also enjoyed the evening,” Isaac admitted. “But that is all the more reason I am certain this is the way forward. Lady Celine has no interest in me and therefore cannot further our cause. Lady Diana can.”

  “All right,” Thomas said finally. He stood and took a great scoop of trifle into his bowl even though he had barely touched his guinea fowl, then he let himself fall heavily back into the chair. “We’ll use Lady Diana, but other than that, the plan goes ahead exactly the same. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  Chapter 13

  “You wanted to see me, Father?”

  Diana had been called to her father’s study for the second time in as many weeks, and she felt her heart race with anxiety. It was not that she disliked seeing him, but whenever her summoned her, it rarely turned out well.

  “Yes,” Henry replied, looking up at her from his seat by the unlit fire. His legs were crossed, and he allowed the one to swing in time with the ticking clock. “Come in. Please take a seat.”

  His lips were tight and thin, and the wrinkles crept around his eyes, worry lines building on his forehead. Diana could see he hadn’t slept yet again, and that something was bothering him—something more than usual. She suspected what was to come, but she would make him say the words rather than make it easy for him.

  “Is everything all right?”

  She smoothed out the back of her muslin skirt and perched on the edge of the chair, tense and uncomfortable.

  “I’m sure you know why I called you here,” Henry said.

  He looked at her as he did when she was a child and had disobeyed his orders. It had the odd effect of making her feel small and irritated while giving h
er a warm, nostalgic buzz.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about, Father,” she said, turning her face away from him

  I will act the child if he wishes to treat me as such.

  But Henry sighed, so tired and full of sadness, that Diana instantly regretted her insolence. She did not want to make her father feel bad, she loved him dearly.

  “All right,” she said, her tone an apology, even if she couldn’t bring herself to say the word. “You wish to ask why I am yet to find a suitor.”

  “Yes,” Henry said, sagging with relief. “I have waited long enough, Diana. It really is—”