The Wicked Wallflowers: Regency Boxed Set (Chronicles of a Bluestocking)

by Tammy Andresen

  “No need to explain.”

  “But that land is yours. I’ve just been keeping the people there and getting paid handsomely for my trouble. It’s good land. We had an off year last year so the soil should be fertile.”

  Wes was lost for words. Opening himself up had brought nothing but joy to his life.

  “Thank you,” Penny answered for him, standing too.

  Epilogue

  Christmas, London 1815

  Penny sat on the settee as Caroline draped herself over the one directly across from her.

  “The Christmastide tree is lovely,” Caroline sighed.

  “Annabelle outdid herself,” Penny answered, rubbing her hand along her stomach. It was a habit she’d developed over the past few months as her stomach grew in size.

  Chloe’s mouth pinched. “I know I asked her to do research but the man she’s trying to use as a subject…”

  They all fell silent. A marquess with a wicked reputation, he’d recently been called out for attempting to ruin a debutante.

  “He’ll be good for the book,” Caroline added finally. “And Annabelle is so smart. Surely she’ll be able to outthink him.”

  “We should find out what he’s about,” Chloe said, sitting up.

  Penny shook her head. “I can’t go out to the larger social events. The two of you will have to meet him.”

  Chloe sat up straighter, her feet tapping on the floor. “Fin and I will hold a soiree. We can hide your stomach. Then each of us can find a way to engage him in conversation.”

  “If he comes.” Caroline pressed her fingers to her cheeks. “He’s not known to socialize.”

  “I believe Fin knows him. I’ll check,” Chloe answered. “I’ll just have to convince him that we are trying to protect Annabelle, not encourage her.” Her shoulders slumped again. “He’s quite upset about the book.”

  Penny winced. Wes had told him about their research and Fin hadn’t been happy. Both men had been keeping careful tabs on Annabelle since her own father couldn’t be bothered. “I’m sorry Chloe. I don’t mean to cause trouble.”

  Chloe shook her head. “It’s not your fault but mine.”

  The women fell silent again. Caroline rose and crossed over to Penny, lifting her feet and sliding underneath them. “I’m so glad that you and Wes have been successful. I mean in business of course, but more so personally. You’ve found love.”

  Penny smiled at the mention of her husband. “Me too. More so than I could have imagined.”

  “Will you sell your property after all?” Chloe asked.

  “No, we’ll keep it. But I think we’ll build a house on Wes’s land in the next year or two.” She stared at the tree, as bright decorations danced on its branches. “It was never a home.”

  Chloe rose too and took her hand. “And the London townhouse that is entailed to the title?”

  “Beginning renovation.” Penny smiled brightly. “Next year, we’ll be able to stay in our London home.”

  “Drat,” Caroline answered. “We like hosting you.”

  “I’ll host you instead.” Penny grinned. “We must make a pact to spend Christmases together.”

  “Agreed,” Caroline gushed. “Though I must confess that I am disappointed we’re not moving to the seaside.”

  Penny winked. “Perhaps you’ll change your mind when you find a rogue of your very own.”

  Caroline sniffed. “Don’t be silly. We all know that rakes and rogues are not for me.”

  Like this book? Keep reading for the first chapter of the next book: Too Wicked to Want

  I’ve also started launching a whole new Regency series! You can start by reading the completely free prologue! Lord of Scandal

  In the Lords of Scandal series:

  Duke of Daring

  Marquess of Malice

  Earl of Exile

  Viscount of Vice

  Baron of Bad

  Earl of Sin

  Too Wicked to Want

  Tammy Andresen

  Chapter One

  Lady Annabelle Marks stood on the side of the dance floor assessing her prey. For all intents and purposes she was the least likely person here to be likened to a predator.

  Tall for a woman and fair, she had a slender build that one might be able to argue was at the very least cat-like. But her mark was no garden bird, in fact, he was more like the tigers she’d heard about that lumbered on the great continent of Asia. Dark, brooding, massive, not round but large and muscular, he stared about the floor, his gaze sweeping across the room as though he dared the assembly to attempt and approach. Just like the tiger, she’d guess he had large teeth and claws.

  No one had yet taken the challenge he’d presented. She knew because she’d been watching him for the last forty-five minutes. Not that it was a difficult task. When one was so imposing, he needn’t hide or skulk. He stood taller than anyone in the room with arms crossed, his muscles bulging through his finely cut evening jacket.

  Two matrons passed by her where she remained partially hidden behind a well-placed fern. “You would think that Lord Harding would have the decency to look ashamed.” One sniffed as she passed.

  “That is the benefit of being a marquess. He can go around ruining perfectly lovely girls and no one will call him to task,” the other replied.

  Their conversation continued but Annabelle couldn’t hear anything else without abandoning her post. Not that she needed to learn any more gossip. Lord Harding, her tiger, well not her tiger, had a reputation that preceded him. And she’d learned everything she possibly could before coming here tonight. If one was going to attack, it was best to study the victim first.

  A chuckle floated up into her throat, and she nearly laughed out loud. She was here on a fact-finding mission only and she allowed herself to become carried away.

  When Lady Cecilia Chase had been caught in the garden with an unknown man, she’d loudly declared that Lord Harding had been the rake who’d stolen a kiss. Annabelle didn’t personally know the woman, but her babbling indicated that she was not the most mentally gifted debutante to attempt to force a match with a lord. Lady Cecilia might, however, be the least successful.

  Lord Harding had denied all charges and refused to wed the lady in question. Her family had yet to press, probably because Harding was as powerful as he was intimidating. He now stood before the ton, daring someone to confront him and he glared at anyone who caught his eye.

  Annabelle’s interest was more or less academic. She and her friends had each been ruined in various ways by careless or inattentive men and had decided that it would be in society’s best interest to compile a guide that demystified the elusive rake. Technically, the guide had been Chloe’s idea but as her friend was currently married to an earl, the task was up to Annabelle.

  She bit back a smile. There was nothing difficult to track about this rake. Though, in her financially impoverished state, the invitation had been difficult to come by. Her friends, Lord and Lady Dryden, had been cajoled into accepting theirs and securing one for her.

  If she were going to do research, she first had to discover if he was in fact the man who ruined Lady Cecilia or not. She didn’t need to research him if he wasn’t actually a rake. She’d attempted to interview the lady already, but answers from Cecilia had proven difficult to obtain. She’d twisted her hands and said things like, “I thought it was Lord Harding but perhaps I was mistaken. It was dark.”

  Annabelle had struggled to reply. “You don’t remember the man who kissed you?”

  Cecilia had turned pink. “It was dark.” Either the girl was lying or not very bright, so she’d decided to search out Lord Marks instead.

  But gaining information from a reclusive marquess had been the more difficult task. So far she’d stood behind a plant concocting metaphors. Lady Dryden sat nearby with her husband and she turned back to wave at Annabelle.

  “Are you going to stay behind there all night?” Chloe said in a loud whisper, clearly not at all concerned wit
h keeping Annabelle’s whereabouts a secret.

  Annabelle wrinkled her nose. “For as long as it takes. Now hush, you’re distracting me.”

  One of Chloe’s eyebrows cocked up. “From staring behind a plant? How could I?”

  “Don’t start.” Annabelle gave her friend what she hoped was a stern look. “This book was your idea to begin with.”

  Chloe nibbled at her lip. “I know that it was, but honestly…” Her gaze travelled across the room. “Not him.”

  “Why not?” Annabelle straightened. “He’s perfect material for our book if what Lady Cecilia says is true.”

  Chloe leaned back and whispered, “She’s a ninny, Annabelle. Your interview proved as much and he…he’s frightening.”

  Annabelle’s mouth turned down. There was that. He was rather intimidating. Not just because of his hulking size but also because he bore a long, jagged scar down the side of his face that ran from his left eye all the way down to the corner of his mouth. “Looking imposing does not actually make him scary.”

  “Yes, it does,” Chloe answered. “I don’t care what you say scientifically. Emotionally, it’s distressing.” Chloe gave her one more long look before she turned back to her husband.

  Annabelle sighed. Emotionally Lord Harding’s size and visage were rather imposing. She looked back to where he’d been, intent upon continuing her studies, only to discover he’d gone. “Drat,” she muttered, scanning the room to find him. It shouldn’t have been difficult. His size alone made him easy to spot. But as she searched, she didn’t see him anywhere. Drat, drat, drat. Where had he gone?

  “Looking for someone?” a deep voice rumbled behind her.

  Cold fear made her spine stiffen as she let out a gasp and then slowly turned toward that deep, dark voice. She needn’t ask who was behind her. Only a man as large as Lord Harding could have a voice that low. Making the circle, she swallowed the lump clogging her throat. “I’m sure I do not know what you are referring to, my lord.”

  He gave her a long, hard stare. The sort that made her chin want to tuck into her chest. “You’ve been staring at me from behind this plant for the better part of an hour.” She started in surprise. His voice didn’t change cadence, didn’t rise or fall, and his face remained impassive and unreadable. Frightening. Chloe had been correct on that count.

  “I beg your pardon.” She straightened her spine to prove she wasn’t afraid, but the gesture didn’t work. He still towered over her. She was tall for a woman, but she had to tilt her neck to look up at him. Exposing her neck in such a way made her feel vulnerable. Not like the hunter at all. She was far more like the prey.

  “You heard me,” he rumbled back. “You’ve been watching me with a singular purpose that leaves little doubt you are up to something. Are you a relation of that ninny-head, Lady Cecilia? Explain yourself.”

  She swallowed down a lump. Oh dear. She’d have to explain something rather quickly. But what?

  Lucas Harding assessed the little chit before him, glad to have a single point of focus for his irritation. He wasn’t a man to chase skirts. Never had been. His duty to his land and his title were about the only things he cared about and yet, even he had to admit she was lovely.

  The thought only made him frown harder. Why was he picking this moment of all times to notice the attractiveness of a female? Ladies and their scheming ways had gotten him into this situation to begin with and now he was faced with another duplicitous woman who definitely had some trick up her pleated sleeve.

  “I’ve only met Lady Cecilia a few times. I barely know her.” She sniffed and straightened her shoulders, raising her chin. It highlighted the delicate column of her neck, exposed by the gentle upsweep of her silky blonde hair.

  He narrowed his gaze, hoping to intimidate her into speaking the truth. She neither changed her statement nor looked away. Instead, she lifted a brow. Just one, cocking her head slightly to the side. “Have you decided if I am telling the truth or not?”

  For a moment, he widened his eyes. Realizing that she’d caught him off guard, with his own trick of being blunt, stretching himself to his full height trying to regain the upper hand. “No, I haven’t.”

  “Well then.” She sniffed again. “We seem to be at an impasse.”

  “So it would seem.” He crossed his arms again, his final attempt at intimidating the truth out of her. As a gentleman, he could do no more. “If I return to my side of the room are you going to continue staring?”

  “Most likely, yes,” she answered, a small grin playing about her lips.

  He snapped his teeth together. Damn her. She was a vexing woman to be certain. “May I ask why?”

  “No, you may not.” She took a step closer. “But you may ask me to dance.”

  This time his lips parted and his eyebrows rose. She’d lost her mental capabilities or perhaps never had them. “Dance?” He did not dance. And certainly not with lovely blondes who looked him right in the eye, with irises the color of grass on a summer day. Why the bloody hell had he just thought that?

  She moved closer again and he caught her scent, like summer meadows and rain. “You know that thing people are doing where they move about the floor together.”

  “I don’t dance,” he rumbled, looking down at her with his fiercest expression. He’d seen it in the mirror once, it pulled at his scar and appeared hideous. While he didn’t normally make a spectacle of himself, at least not intentionally, this moment called for drastic measures.

  “Neither do I,” she answered with a slow shrug.

  His brow drew together. Why wasn’t she intimidated? Women generally were. Except for Lady Cecilia but then again, they’d never actually met. The lying little chit had made everything up. And the woman in front of him was up to something as well. “Then why did you ask?” He puffed up his chest, tilting his chin down to show he was above her.

  She leaned in, her graceful body making his tighten in a most unwelcome way. “Because people are beginning to stare, and your reputation is damaged enough.”

  He snorted, which nearly made him jump in surprise. He was a marquess. He didn’t snort and certainly not to cover a laugh. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t consort with me, since my reputation clearly precedes me.”

  She gave another slow shrug. “Not to worry. My reputation is also most damaged.”

  He blinked, then stepped closer. He didn’t like that thought. Sure, she was brazen for a woman. Standing up to him when most cowered. But he prided himself on making excellent snap judgments on people’s characters and this did not seem the sort of woman who’d fall victim to a man’s charms. She was funny, intelligent, and, if not sincere, she wasn’t insincere. She’d simply refused to answer his questions. There was a difference. “Ruined?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” She curled her fingers into her skirts as her mouth tightened.

  He stepped closer, catching a whiff of her scent again. Despite himself, he drew in a breath, filling his nose with intoxicating aroma. Reminded him of June in the country. It was a natural scent, unlike the perfumes so many women wore. “Explain.”

  She cocked her head again. “Dance.”

  He let out a long sigh through his nose as his lips tightened. “Fine. But mark my words. You’re likely to regret this.”

  Chapter Two

  Annabelle blinked in surprise as he grasped her hand and threaded it through his arm, charging toward the dance floor. She had long legs for a woman, but she could hardly keep up. Tugging at his elbow to slow him a bit, she dropped her voice as they moved into the crowd. “Why will I regret it?”

  Lord Harding looked down at her, frowning. “Why are you ruined?”

  Perhaps she had not used the best strategy in sharing that information. She’d been hoping to connect with him so that he might divulge his relationship with Lady Cecilia. She needed some method of extracting information from his rather hard head. “Well,” she started, tapping her chin with her free hand. “My father is a baron by birth but an in
ventor by trade and so…”

  “You’re Lady Annabelle Marks,” he stated, coming to an abrupt halt.

  She nearly tripped, the stop was so sudden. Her feet tangled in her skirts and she gripped his arm to keep upright. His very muscular arm. “I am.” It hurt that he knew who she was, honestly. Lord Harding barely participated in society and even he was aware of the details of her life. Her father had all but abandoned his title and spent every available coin on supplies for his inventions. He truly believed in them and she was happy he’d found such a passion. As a woman who wished to pursue science, she understood his desire to follow his heart.

  But she was less happy for the people who depended on him, like the farmers who worked his land or, quite honestly, herself. Her father’s interests meant that he often neglected his duties as a landowner.

  “Your father is the famous inventor?” Finding an open spot on the floor, he took her waist as he reached for her hand. He began the steps to the waltz, swinging her about with a power and grace that left her breathless.

  “Notorious might be the better word,” she answered. He’d managed to invent a farming tool that had made them money, though it had long ago been spent. And that success had only fueled her father’s resolve. He spent larger and larger amounts of time on his designs rather than his duties.

  Lord Harding’s eyes scrunched as he considered her words. His large hand covered her entire back, making her hot in the strangest way. “He created a new shovel of some sort?”

  Heat burst in her cheeks. She’d been proud of her father in one respect. He had a great mind. In terms of finances, however, he couldn’t be bothered and his inventions cost far more to build and produce than they ever made. And in terms of his daughter, he cared even less than he did about his duties to the barony. “It was a hoe, actually with a wheel at its center to help turn over soil faster.”