Devilish Games of a Virtuous Lady: A Steamy Regency Romance

by Osborne, Scarlett

  Algernon found himself smiling slightly at the sight of them. How he missed that comfortable, loving companionship. He longed for it, he realized. Longed for a lady to slide his arm around, longed for adult conversation at the supper table, for arms around him at night.

  “Oh Algernon,” Lady Wesley sighed, as they entered the brightly-lit ballroom. “You’ve a stain on your jacket.” She sighed in frustration. “Did you not look in the mirror before you left the house tonight?” She brushed at it ineffectively, before pulling a flower from her hair and slipping it through his buttonhole to cover the mark. “There.” She smiled at her handiwork. “Good as new.”

  Algernon managed a smile of thanks.

  “Ah! Radcliffe!”

  He looked up to see Thomas barreling towards them, his cheeks blazing red from what Algernon assumed was a mix of excitement and brandy.

  “I heard you were coming, but I must say, I didn’t quite believe it!”

  Algernon managed something halfway between a smile and a grimace.

  Hadn’t I just shown my face at one of these cursed things a week ago?

  After an hour of painful small talk, the guests were shown to their tables for the first course. In a match-making endeavor of the smoothest subtlety, Thomas had planted Algernon right next to Lady Emma Worthington and her brother. Lady Emma, Thomas told Algernon, with just a little too much enthusiasm, was the widow of a Marquess.

  He stood close, murmuring in Algernon’s ear. “She’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

  Algernon flashed Thomas a smile, deciding his friend was well-meaning, if more than a little transparent. He took his seat beside Lady Worthington and introduced himself dutifully.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Lord Radcliffe,” she said with a small smile. “Lord Winton has spoken endlessly of you.”

  I’m sure…

  Lady Worthington’s brother, whose title Algernon had already forgotten, was watching their exchange with hawk-like eyes. Lady Worthington turned to him, flashing him a warning glare. She turned back to Algernon and mouthed an apology.

  Algernon flashed her a short smile. Surely she knew as well as he did that this was an attempt at match-making on their host’s behalf. Thomas had clearly decided to thrust these two long-suffering souls together in hope of them living happily ever after.

  Algernon had no desire to be seen as a long-suffering soul. As his irritation at Thomas began to grow, he found himself scowling his way through the first course and responding to Lady Worthington’s questions with short and sharp answers.

  Algernon knew he was being foolish.

  No, not foolish. Downright rude.

  Lady Worthington seemed kind, genuine. A Lady whose company he might enjoy were his head not entirely full of Molly Cooper.

  With the second course finished, he took himself out to the terrace. The wind was still blowing hard, bending the dark shadows of the trees and rattling the lattice work that stood at the edge of the garden. Algernon shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. He wished he were wearing his greatcoat.

  He gripped the railing and looked out over the dark grounds. He had to banish these thoughts of Molly Cooper. They would do no one any good.

  Least of all myself…

  The sharp click of footsteps behind him made him start. He turned to see Lady Worthington in the doorway. “May I join you a moment, Lord Radcliffe?”

  Algernon nodded. “Of course.”

  She came towards him and stood beside him by the rail. “I’m sorry if you were made to feel uncomfortable,” she said.

  Algernon was hit with a sudden rush of guilt. “Forgive me,” he said hurriedly. “It was rude of me to be so cold. And to disappear this way. I can only assure you it had nothing to do with you.”

  Lady Worthington flashed a smile of understanding. “Lord Winton is well-meaning, I’m sure. But he has something to learn about the art of subtlety.”

  Algernon chuckled. “Yes, that’s Thomas. He’s never been one for delicacy.”

  “You know him well?”

  “Yes. At least, I used to. From University. But I’m afraid we’ve rather drifted in recent years.”

  She nodded. “It happens.”

  Algernon dared a sideways glance at her. Thomas was right; she was beautiful. Extraordinarily so, with high cheekbones and perfectly sculpted features. Her dark hair was pulled back neatly, and unadorned, as though she knew she had no need for frippery and frills. She was close to him in age, Algernon guessed, and she held herself tall, with her shoulders back and chin lifted.

  Lady Worthington, Algernon realized, was the stark opposite of freckled, shy Molly Cooper.

  She took a step to the side, so she would not be visible from the doorway. “My brother will be looking for me,” she explained, giving Algernon a wry smile. “I know he means well,” she said after a moment. “He’s determined that I remarry as soon as possible. I think he fears I will crumble on my own.”

  Algernon smiled faintly. From what he had seen of Lady Worthington, she did not appear to be a Lady likely to crumble.

  “You must forgive him,” she continued, curling her long fingers around the railing. “He can be a little intense at times.”

  Algernon shook his head dismissively. “Your husband,” he asked, “how long has he been gone?” A personal question, he knew. For a moment, he regretted asking it. But Lady Worthington said:

  “Barely a year.” She looked out over the dark grass. “Consumption took him. He had been unwell for some time.” Her eyes grew glassy and she held the silence for a moment. Algernon could tell her grief was still raw. Finally, she looked back at him. “And your wife?”

  For a moment, he felt foolish. Lady Worthington had been thrust back into the ballroom after her husband had been in the ground barely a year. And he had been hiding himself away for more than a decade.

  “Charlotte has been gone a long time,” he admitted. “Ten years. I’ve just always been happy on my own. Or rather, with just my daughter.”

  Lady Worthington looked at him curiously. “What’s changed?”

  I’ve fallen in love. I’ve been awoken by a beautiful kitchen hand who will never be mine. And now I must do my best to forget the way I feel.

  But he could tell Lady Worthington none of this, of course.

  “I just decided it was time,” he said simply.

  Lady Worthington gave a nod of understanding. “I’ll leave you then,” she said. “I just wanted you to know there is certainly no pressure on my behalf.”

  “There’s no need to leave,” Algernon heard himself say. He couldn’t deny he had been enjoying her company.

  A tiny smile flickered on Lady Worthington’s lips. “It’s dreadfully cold,” she said, glancing back towards the lamp-lit ballroom.

  “It’s been a very long time for me,” said Algernon, “but perhaps you might care to dance? I’ve very little co-ordination, but I suspect it may satisfy Lord Winton and your brother for a time.”

  Lady Worthington laughed. “Then I think is an excellent idea.”

  * * *

  The thing about falling in love with one’s kitchen hand, Algernon was beginning to realize, was that it was not something a person could simply stop doing. Logic and common sense had little place in such a debacle.

  He had spent a less-than-terrible night at Thomas’s ball, and had even managed to grace the dance floor with Lady Worthington.

  The following day, despite a liquor-induced headache that refused to go away, he had successfully negotiated two new deals that would improve both the visibility and financial situation of his business.

  And yet, there beneath it all, was that tugging at his heart. That irritating little voice that told him it had been three days since he had last set eyes on Molly Cooper. Three days that were making him decidedly edgy.

  He had to see her. Never mind how fleetingly.

  It would be an innocent, well-meaning thing, he told himself. He would simply ask after her, ensure she had
recovered from the turn that had befallen her outside Hatchett’s Hotel.

  And then, perhaps that gnawing inside him might be satisfied. Perhaps he might begin to push aside this foolish infatuation and build a future with a suitable match like Lady Worthington.

  Perhaps.

  He stood dithering in the doorway of his office for a ridiculous amount of time.

  How was he even to go about finding her? There was no way he could simply walk up to the attic. Perhaps he could venture to Harriet’s room and hope to find Miss Cooper and his daughter ensconced in their latest piratical adventure.

  In the end, he went to the kitchen. He held his breath as he descended the stairs. How would he explain himself if he found Margaret standing over the range?

  More pressingly, how would he explain himself if he found Miss Cooper standing over the range?

  The kitchen door was hanging open. Through it, he could see Molly Cooper scrubbing at a pile of potatoes. A strand of pale hair hung over one eye, the bridge of her nose creased as she frowned in concentration.

  Surely there is no one else in the world who could make scrubbing potatoes look so beautiful.

  Algernon dared to peek further inside the kitchen. He was glad to find Miss Cooper was alone.

  He knocked lightly.

  Miss Cooper looked up. She did not look as surprised to see him as he had expected she might.

  “Good afternoon, My Lord.” He watched her hand tighten around the edge of the bench.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Cooper. I hope you’ll forgive my intrusion.” He seemed to have made a habit of intruding into the kitchen, he realized.

  She gave him a tiny smile. “This is your house, My Lord,” she reminded him. “It’s no intrusion.”

  Algernon swallowed. “I thought to see how you were feeling. After what happened at the hotel…”

  Miss Cooper lowered her eyes. He could see her cheeks color with shame. “I’m feeling much better, My Lord. Thank you for your concern.” Her voice was flat. She is feeling much better? Algernon was not sure whether to believe her.

  How he hated this formality. Less than a week ago, she had been sinking into his arms, sighing into his ear. And now she could not even look him in the eye.

  Still, such a thing was for the best, he knew.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you’re well,” he managed. “You’ll let me know if there’s anything you need. Anything at all.”

  She nodded, still avoiding his eyes. “I’ll do that, My Lord. Thank you.” Her voice was tiny.

  Algernon climbed upstairs. He regretted going to her. Seeing her had not done a thing to ease the ache in his chest. Seeing her had made him feel far worse.

  He went back to his office and sank into the chair. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached into his drawer. There at the top was Lady Worthington’s calling card.

  He looked down at it for a long time. How could he call on a Lady when his heart was with another?

  Perhaps to call on another was what he needed. Perhaps it was the only way to get Molly Cooper out of his head.

  “You deserve to be happy,” Edward had told him. “You ought to have a lady in your life.”

  Yes, Algernon thought. He wanted to be happy. He wanted that more than anything.

  He scrawled a quick note to Lady Worthington and rang for his footman to deliver it.

  Chapter 20

  The following day, Letitia was hiding herself away upstairs with her nuncheon when there was a sharp rap on her bedroom door.

  Harriet let herself inside without waiting for a response. “Guess what?” she whispered. “Papa is going to visit a lady!” Her blue eyes were shining with excitement.

  Letitia froze, her hand halfway to her mouth. Her stomach worked itself into a knot.

  I can’t pretend to be surprised by this. Lord Radcliffe has been attending the balls. No doubt he is searching for a wife.

  She forced a smile. “Is he, now? Who?” The moment she spoke the word, she regretted it. She didn’t want to know who. No doubt it would be some beautiful lady who carried herself with confidence and wasn’t full of lies.

  Harriet sat on the edge of Letitia’s bed. “Lady Worthington,” she said reverently. “He met her at the ball. I bet they danced together all night.”

  Letitia’s stomach rolled. She felt suddenly, foolishly hot. “Lady Worthington,” she repeated. “Oh, I see.” The name felt bitter in her mouth.

  Harriet edged across the bed so her shoulder was pressed against Letitia’s. “I can’t wait until I’m old enough to go to the balls. I’m going to wear the most beautiful gowns and dance with everybody. I already know the steps to all the dances.” She looked slyly at Letitia. “Do you know the steps to all the dances, Miss Cooper?”

  Letitia swallowed heavily. She did, yes. Her mother had insisted on it, despite her refusal to attend the balls.

  “One day soon you’ll be married,” her mother had said firmly. “And every bride ought to dance at her own wedding.”

  But to Harriet, she forced out an airy laugh and said, “Of course not! What need would a girl like me have for dance steps? My mother taught me how to bake bread instead.”

  That last line, Letitia decided, was something of a mistake. Harriet had tasted her bread. Letitia was either a liar, or her mother was a dreadful teacher.

  Harriet hummed noncommittally. “Yes,” she said at last. “Of course.”

  Letitia stood abruptly, feeling a sudden urge to escape the conversation. “I need to get back to work, Harriet. I’m sorry.”

  Harriet glanced at Letitia’s plate. It was still full of cheese and ham. “You’ve not eaten any of your food.”

  Letitia forced a smile. “It seems I’m not as hungry as I thought I was.”

  * * *

  Algernon sat opposite Lady Worthington in her parlor, a teacup in his hand and a polite smile on his face.

  Her response to his note had come back almost immediately. She had been surprised to hear from him, she had admitted. But yes, he was most welcome to call on her that afternoon.

  She was telling him in detail about her children, two boys and a girl, all close to Harriet’s age. The boys were away at boarding school, she told him, her daughter upstairs, thoroughly enjoying her governess’s lessons.

  Algernon smiled wryly to himself. He wished he could tell Lady Worthington the same thing about Harriet.

  As she spoke, Lady Worthington held her cup and saucer neatly in her hand, her dark eyes lighting as she spoke of her children. She was dressed in a simple white gown, a lacey chemisette visible beneath her neckline. Dark curls framed her face. She looked effortlessly beautiful, just as she had the night of the ball.

  Algernon felt nothing. No quickening of the heart, no shortness of breath. Not the faintest desire to hold this exquisite lady in his arms.

  He didn’t want effortlessly beautiful. He wanted messy blonde hair and a chaos of freckles. Wanted shy eyes and blazing cheeks. He wanted hands worn coarse from scrubbing pots, nails grimy with potato muck.

  Stop. Enough is enough. Lady Worthington is wonderful. At least have the decency not to think of another while you’re in her presence.

  It had taken him time to fall in love with Charlotte, Algernon reminded himself. But surely when he had first laid eyes on the lady who would become his wife, he had felt a flutter in his chest, or a warmth in his body, or something that had reminded him he was alive.

  Hadn’t I?

  It was so long ago he could barely remember.

  Perhaps he ought to give up on this whole sorry escapade of finding another wife. After all, what was so wrong with the life he had been living for the past ten years? He had Harriet, he had his work.

  But now I also have Molly Cooper in my kitchen.

  And that, Algernon knew, had changed everything.

  How would Miss Cooper react if he were to marry? He’d not allowed himself to think of such things before. Would it be difficult for her?

 
Surely not. His feelings for Molly Cooper were not reciprocated. Her fleeing from the manor had shown him that. True, she had been more than willing that night outside Harriet’s room, but they had both been sleep deprived. Had both had a little too much wine. Had both made foolish choices. Choices she clearly regretted.