Devilish Games of a Virtuous Lady: A Steamy Regency Romance

by Osborne, Scarlett

  She looked into the flames as the kettle boiled, letting their erratic dance still her thoughts a little. She shivered, her bare feet cold against the flagstones.

  With the tea poured, she gripped her cup in one hand and candle in the other. She made her way up the stairs.

  And ran straight into Lord Radcliffe.

  He was not, it seemed, waltzing across the ballroom with a Duke’s daughter. He was standing here in the entrance hall with Letitia’s tea slopped down the front of his jacket.

  She gasped in horror. “Oh, My Lord, I’m so sorry. I…” She looked up to find his eyes locked with hers, his nose almost grazing her own. She stepped back hurriedly.

  Lord Radcliffe shook his head dismissively. “It’s no matter.” He chuckled. “At least it was the tea and not the candle.” Catching Letitia’s horrified expression, he said with a smile, “This jacket is long overdue to be retired, believe me.” She caught the faint waft of brandy on his breath.

  Letitia looked down at the puddle of tea on the floor. “I’ll clean it at once, My Lord” she said hurriedly. “I—”

  Lord Radcliffe put his hand out and touched her wrist gently. “Miss Cooper, please. It’s quite all right. It’s barely a drop.”

  Though his words were calming, the feel of his hand against her skin made Letitia’s heart speed. She tried to swallow.

  Lord Radcliffe pulled his hand away, as though suddenly aware of it. “Perhaps you ought to make some more.”

  Letitia blinked. “Pardon?”

  He nodded at her cup. “Your tea. It’s spilled. Perhaps you ought to make a little more.”

  “Oh.” She felt color rising in her cheeks. “Yes. Perhaps I ought to…”

  Lord Radcliffe grinned.

  And she found herself asking, “Would you like a cup, My Lord?”

  “Yes. I’m afraid I may have overindulged a little tonight. I think a little tea would do me good.” He gave her a look that seemed almost shy. “Perhaps you might bring it to the parlor?”

  Letitia nodded obediently. “Of course, My Lord. I shall bring it to you at once.”

  Letitia was jittery as she returned to the kitchen. She hung the kettle back over the range and clattered about filling the teapot, knocking over the tea jar, and dropping the spoon onto the flagstones. She half expected Margaret to come barreling into the kitchen and scold her for waking up the household.

  Letitia set the teapot on a tray, along with her own teacup and candle. She carried it carefully upstairs.

  When she arrived at the parlor, Lord Radcliffe had set a fire roaring in the grate. He was reclined in one of the armchairs, his soiled jacket tossed carelessly over the chaise.

  He smiled broadly at the sight of her. Letitia filled his teacup and set it on the table beside him.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Very much. I know it’s late.”

  Letitia cheeks blazed. She managed a smile. “You’re welcome, My Lord.” She hurriedly grabbed her candle and teacup from the tray and turned to leave.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  She hesitated. “I…” She dared to look back at him.

  “Please,” he said. “Stay.”

  “Stay?” Letitia repeated. Surely she couldn’t. She couldn’t sit here in the Marquess’s parlor, with her bare feet and unpinned hair.

  Especially not with such inappropriate thoughts barreling through my head…

  Letitia was painfully aware of the way her eyes were drifting; roaming over those broad shoulders, that sharp chin, the soft curve of his lips.

  Would they feel as soft as they look?

  The thought made her breath catch and she felt her cheeks blaze. Never in her life had she thought such things. Who was Lord Radcliffe turning her into?

  She stood dithering in the middle of the parlor, eyes safely pinned to the floor.

  I ought to go back upstairs. It would be far safer.

  But Letitia realized she very much did not want to go back upstairs. Not even a little.

  Safety, she was slowly beginning to realize, was greatly overrated.

  “You’ve made an enormous pot,” said Lord Radcliffe, gesturing to the chaise. “I could hardly drink it all on my own.”

  Letitia sat.

  Her heart was racing. But not with fear. With what? She was not quite sure. She only knew she liked it.

  Why had he invited her to stay? She couldn’t make sense of it.

  She reached over to the teapot and refilled her cup, before sitting back on the chaise. She was inches away from where Lord Radcliffe had tossed his jacket, Letitia realized. On the fabric she could smell the lingering brandy and tobacco scent of the ball. Being so close to an item of his clothing felt oddly intimate.

  Ought I move?

  Surely such a thing would be far too obvious.

  She took a tiny sip of her tea, tucking her bare feet beneath the chaise to hide them. “Did you enjoy the ball, My Lord?” she asked shyly.

  “Actually, I rather did.” He sounded surprised. “Far more than I was expecting to, anyway. I must admit I was rather dreading it. I was not sure why I let Edward convince me to go.”

  Letitia smiled. “I understand. Receiving an invitation always filled me with a similar feeling of dread.”

  Lord Radcliffe raised his eyebrows.

  “I mean,” Letitia said hurriedly, “I was always so glad I never had to attend them. The thought of doing such a thing filled me with horror. I was always so glad I was not born a lady.” She took a hurried mouthful of tea.

  Good heavens, Letitia, you cannot be trusted around this gentleman. Keep your damn mouth shut.

  She was relieved when Lord Radcliffe let the topic slide.

  “You’re something of a night owl then?” he asked.

  “A night owl, My Lord?”

  “Are you always up this time of night? Or were you just having trouble sleeping?”

  Letitia wrapped her hands around her teacup. The warmth of it was steadying. “Trouble sleeping, yes,” she admitted, turning her eyes back to her cup.

  “Oh? I hope nothing is the matter?”

  Well, My Lord, I have found myself strangely drawn to you. And I can’t sleep for wondering how it might be if I were to kiss you.

  “Not at all, My Lord,” she said hurriedly. “Just an unsettled night. It’s no matter.”

  Lord Radcliffe smiled. “I’m glad.” He sipped his tea and looked into the fire. The dancing light of the flames emphasized the sharp line of his jaw. “I’ve always liked this time of night. Late at night and early in the morning seem to be the best time for me to conduct my business. The quiet helps me concentrate.”

  Letitia knew little of Lord Radcliffe’s business dealings. Knew him a dedicated businessman by the hours he spent ensconced in his office.

  “Your business,” she asked, hoping she did not sound too forward. “What is it?”

  Lord Radcliffe sipped his tea. “Tobacco,” he said. “I import the stuff from plantations in America. Sell to distributors here in London.”

  Letitia’s stomach knotted. Tobacco distributors in London?

  Might her father be one of the men Lord Radcliffe did business with? Might the Marquess sit in his office each day and exchange letters and ledgers and scrawled messages with her father?

  Letitia’s heart quickened. This time, the sensation was anything but pleasant.

  It didn’t matter, she told herself. She was not the Baron of Mullins’s daughter here. She was Molly Cooper. There was nothing to connect her to her father.

  Unless his footmen find me…

  “Tobacco?” She forced a steadiness into her voice. “There must be quite some demand for it.”

  Lord Radcliffe nodded. “Indeed. It certainly keeps me busy. The business was quite a savior after my wife died. Kept me from getting lost in my thoughts.” He smiled. “Well, the business along with Harriet, of course.”

  “Tell me about her,” said Letitia. “Your wife.” She lowered her eyes, suddenl
y aware of how personal a question it was. “I mean, if you wish to. I don’t—”

  “Of course.” There was a small smile on Lord Radcliffe’s face, that made Letitia exhale with relief. “Charlotte was the perfect lady,” Lord Radcliffe told her. “Gentle and polite. Kind to everyone she met.” There was a shine in his eyes when he spoke of her, Letitia realized.

  She smiled. “You must have loved her very much.”

  Lord Radcliffe sipped his tea. “It’s odd,” he said, “I’ve not spoken of her in so many years. I think about her often, of course, but never have cause to speak of her. Not even with Harriet.”

  “Is she very like her mother?” asked Letitia.

  “In many ways, yes. She has certainly inherited her mother’s looks. And her kindness.” He chuckled to himself. “But Charlotte never had the rebellious streak Harriet has. I’m quite sure she never bolted out of the manor gates as a child and sent the household into a panic.”

  Letitia grinned. “She must have inherited it from you.”

  Lord Radcliffe sipped his tea. “Had you suggested such a thing yesterday, I would have denied it. But tonight I was reminded of who I used to be. I was reminded that once I was not always so uptight. I was reminded that I once had a rebellious side, just like Harriet.”

  Letitia frowned. “You think yourself uptight, My Lord?”

  Lord Radcliffe’s grip tightened around his cup. “At times, yes. I know I’ve developed a knack of taking life far too seriously.” He looked into the fire. “I’ve begun to realize just how fixated on work I’ve been of late. I’ve begun to realize just how much of life I have been missing out on.” He swallowed, his voice growing softer. “I’m sure it’s no coincidence that I began to feel this way after you arrived here.”

  Letitia felt his eyes on her. She found herself holding his gaze. She realized she had slid forward on the chaise so her knees were closer to his. Realized he had done the same. She swallowed heavily.

  Her heart was racing. Did he truly feel that way? Did he truly feel as though her arrival at the manor had changed his life so dramatically? Surely not. Surely this was just the brandy talking.

  She could smell the faint waft of liquor and tobacco on him. The scent was dizzying. She wanted him closer, she realized. So much closer. Wanted to know how it felt to have a gentleman so close his breath tickled her skin. Wanted to know how it felt to have his hands on her cheeks, her neck, her shoulders. How it felt to have his hands touch places she had never even touched herself.

  She didn’t know what this was. She only knew these were not appropriate feelings for a kitchen hand to be having for a Marquess.

  She stood abruptly.

  Lord Radcliffe let out his breath. “Forgive me,” he said. “I didn’t mean to… I should never have said—”

  “No,” Letitia garbled. “It’s not that. I…” She swallowed heavily, forcing herself to look at him. “If I have had any small part in making you feel yourself again, My Lord, I’m endlessly glad of it.” Her voice came out far softer than she had intended. “It’s just that it’s very late. And I must get to bed. If I’m late to the kitchen in the morning, Margaret will have my head.”

  Never mind Margaret. If I don’t get myself to bed there is every chance I will act on these urges. And that would be a mistake there would be no talking my way out of.

  Chapter 10

  Colin Caddy had slept little. He was not sure if he were buoyed or discouraged by Black’s possible sighting of Letitia at Covent Garden market.

  A part of him was overjoyed, of course, at the possibility of his daughter being safe, unharmed. And yet, Letitia— if that was truly who Black had seen— had been dressed as a lowly house maid. Did she truly see scrubbing a gentleman’s dishes as preferable to becoming the Duchess of Banfield?

  The Baron sighed heavily and leaned back in his desk chair.

  Where did I go wrong with her?

  And where had this rebellious side of his daughter been hiding?

  She had been reading too many books, no doubt. Had come to see herself as something of an adventuring heroine.

  The Baron rubbed his eyes. He sat up straight, looking out at the chaos of papers his desk had become. Since Letitia had vanished, he had given little thought to his business. He needed his daughter back and he needed her married to the Duke. He had worked too hard to let his good name slide through his fingers.

  The Baron picked up his nib pen and twisted it between his fingers. There was something about the action that always made him feel as though he was getting things done.

  He had somewhere to begin looking. He could search the townhouses and manors within the vicinity of the market. Have his footmen ask after any young worker who might have arrived within the past week.

  But despite the thought of having his daughter back— and having her safely married to the Duke— the Baron felt a nagging reluctance.

  Go searching the manor houses of Covent Garden and Mayfair and word of Letitia’s disappearance would spread. The ton would catch hold of all that had happened, and they would not let go. How long would it be before news of the Baron’s runaway daughter reached the ears of the Duke of Banfield? How long before it reached the ears of the men he conducted his business with?

  “The Baron of Mullins? Can’t even keep his daughter under control. Wouldn’t dare trust him with my money…”

  The Baron sighed heavily, feeling an unbidden swell of anger at Letitia for her thoughtlessness.

  Still, she was his daughter and she had to come first. If his business was to suffer, so be it.

  After forcing down a little breakfast, the Baron called his footmen into the office and outlined the search plan.

  “You will ask at every house within walking distance of the market. Then go further afield if necessary. You will ask each household if they have had any new workers arrive in the past week.”

  The four footmen nodded obediently.

  “Get to work,” the Baron said, sharper than he had intended. A steady pain was beginning to pulse behind his eyes. “Go out there and bring my daughter home.”

  * * *

  Letitia was alone in the kitchen. Anxious of being late to work, she had found herself awake at the first hint of dawn. She had managed no more than a few hours of sleep.

  The tea she had drunk the previous night had done little to help her sleeplessness. Lord Radcliffe’s words had helped even less.

  “I’m sure it’s no coincidence that I began to feel this way after you arrived here.”

  The thought that she may have had a hand in making him feel himself again was dizzying. How could she, with her stolen skirts and burnt bread have such an effect on a gentleman like the Marquess?

  She had lain in bed staring into the dark, feeling a thumping in her chest and a hot ache between her legs.

  When she had finally stumbled down into the kitchen, she had been certain Margaret would somehow know of all that had transpired the previous night. Somehow, she would know of how the new kitchen hand had weaseled her way into the parlor to share a pot of tea with the Marquess. And somehow she would know of all the lustful, improper thoughts flying through that kitchen hand’s mind. Would know that Letitia Caddy was also beginning to feel as though she were waking up.

  But when Letitia had arrived in the kitchen, she had found it empty. A strange thing. Letitia felt sure that Margaret had never been late for work in her life. Certainly, each morning Letitia had arrived in the kitchen since beginning work for Lord Radcliffe, the cook had already been hard at work, her hands deep in a mound of bread dough, and a disapproving scowl on her face.

  So when Letitia had found the kitchen empty, the surprise had not been entirely unpleasant. She set to work filling the coffee pot and setting the bacon on the range for frying. She found the bread loaf Margaret had baked the previous day and set it on the chopping board.

  She was edgy, Letitia realized as she hacked into the bread. And it was not just her wayward feelings for the Marq
uess that were causing her to feel this way.

  The tobacco business.

  Letitia knew how likely it was that Lord Radcliffe conducted business with her father.

  Did it matter? Would the two gentlemen ever meet face to face? Did her father ever pay visits to his suppliers’ homes?