Seduction Regency Style

by Louisa Cornell

“I need more light,” she murmured, unaware she spoke aloud until her voice reached her ears.

  “More light?” He sounded amused. “Whatever strikes your fancy, my lady.”

  “Thank you.” Cecilia crossed the room, pulled to the medical books by the host of familiar, and unfamiliar, spines. At a glance, she couldn’t note a book she knew that wasn’t displayed, the familiar spines accompanied by many more. Truly, Missus Everly hadn’t exaggerated. Behind her, Cecilia heard Everly toss several logs on the fire. Soon, the room filled with greater light.

  Cecilia ran tentative fingers along a row of books. Her hand once again trembled, but for an entirely different reason. Her face split into a smile when her gaze fell upon Jean Louis Baudelocque's L'Art des Accouchemens. Precisely what she needed to read to know more about Lanora’s state, should she be called on to assist in any way, and difficult to lay hands on. It was said Monsieur Baudelocque had improved upon both Mister Smellie’s and Monsieur Levret’s work but, as Baudelocque was a special favorite of Napoleon’s, his words bespoke too much of blasphemy for his books to be easily come by.

  Everly’s footsteps crossed the room, light taps of the dancing shoes favored by most gentlemen. He propped a shoulder against the shelves, obscuring the next set of titles. “I’d give half my fortune to have that smile turned on me.”

  Cecilia laughed. “If you contained a tenth of the medical knowledge these volumes do, it would be.”

  He ran smooth fingers down her cheek, and she realized he’d removed his gloves. She took a step back. He stepped nearer.

  “There’s no need to maintain the pretense, my lady. You have me here. You may do with me as you like.” His eyes closed as he moved his mouth toward hers.

  Cecilia stepped back again. “I apologize if you misunderstood, Mister Everly, but I meant what I said. I am interested in the library for the knowledge it contains, not as a location for a tryst.” She made her tone as firm as she knew how and tilted her chin up, endeavoring to sound like Lanora at her most severe.

  “Yes, certainly not,” he murmured, stepping nearer again. “Never fear, I shall tell no one differently. You are the very picture of decorum.” His hand snaked out and grabbed the back of her neck. He yanked her close.

  Cecilia wrenched her head aside. His lips squished against her jawline. “I do not wish to kiss you, Mister Everly.”

  “Of course, you don’t.” He placed his hands on her shoulders to pin her in place against the shelves. He leaned in again.

  Panic surged through her. Her mind went blank. Just as it had so many years ago, when the marquess had come to her on their wedding night. Then, she’d been too afraid to move. Only his inability to consummate their marriage had saved her. Everly assaulted her jawline with his lips again. A hand left her shoulder to clasp her face. That same mummifying darkness she’d felt with the marquess wrapped about her now.

  But she was not sixteen. She was not a girl gone straight from the rule of her father to the rule of another. She did not want Mister Everly’s lips upon her, and she would not stand for them.

  Pressed against the shelves, her hand twitched. She clenched her fingers into a fist. That triumph of movement ricocheted through her. She began to thrash.

  And got nothing for her pains save pressed harder into the shelving, her chin squeezed in his hand. Wood and bindings bit into her back. Everly pressed against her, as solid and unmovable as an oak.

  Spines, those familiar medical texts, dug at her. Somehow, knowing them, these books, offered strength. They were some of her closest friends and allies, and they would aid her now.

  She closed her hand about a volume. A yank drew the book out. She drove the corner into Mister Everly’s kidneys.

  He jerked back. “What the bloody he--”

  With both hands, Cecilia slammed the narrow side of the book into his groin.

  Mister Everly turned red. He gasped, hands moving to cover the accosted region. He seemed to curl inward. A wheezing gasp left him as he toppled to the floor.

  Cecilia gaped at the body writhing before her feet. She turned the book over in her hands, realizing it was the second volume of Mister Smellie’s A Treatise on the Theory and Practice of Midwifery. She bit her lip. Mister Everly appeared to be in a great deal of pain.

  “Mister Everly?” she asked tentatively.

  She could discern no change in the gasping, groaning sounds that left him. She dropped to her knees to better take in the red of his face. Tears leaked from eyes that were squeezed closed. She touched his shoulder. He flinched away.

  “Just what have we here?” a deep baritone asked.

  Cecilia popped to her feet. She whirled to find Lord Robert filling the library doorway. The flickering flames in the hearth did little to light his tanned face, but his eyes gleamed and she easily discerned his frown.

  “Lord Robert.” Cecilia gestured toward the floor. “I’m afraid I’ve damaged Mister Everly.”

  “Mister Everly?”

  If she’d thought Lord Robert couldn’t become any more imposing, she was proven wrong. Those two words were spoken in a low growl. His lids narrowed until his eyes were emerald slits reflecting back firelight. He strode across the room. Lord Robert, she noted, wore gleaming Hessians, not soft dance shoes. She hoped he was a very fine partner, or he would win no favor with the ladies, trodding on their toes in boots.

  Lord Robert halted beside her. He prodded a now limp Mister Everly with a booted toe. “What are you doing here with Lady Cecilia, Everly?”

  “She attacked me.” Mister Everly got the words out on a groan.

  “I did.” Cecilia clutched the book to her chest. “I’m afraid I overreacted.”

  Those narrowed, soul-searing green eyes turned on her. They swept over her person. She followed his gaze and took in the lingering imprint of fingers on her shoulders, the crushed ruffles of her gown. She could still feel the pressure of Mister Everly’s grip on her face.

  “What were you overreacting to?”

  “I uh…” She glanced down at Mister Everly, sprawled on the floor. His breathing was still rough, but his color was returning to normal. Hadn’t he been punished enough?

  Lord Robert turned back to Mister Everly. The toe of his boot pressed down on a gloveless hand. “What was she overreacting to, Everly?”

  Mister Everly groaned. Lord Robert’s boot pressed harder. Cecilia bit her lip.

  “I tried to kiss her,” Mister Everly blurted.

  Lord Robert lifted his boot. Mister Everly swiveled into a sitting position. He scooted backward until he hit the shelves.

  “Did you wish for his kiss?” Lord Robert asked.

  Eyes wide, Cecilia shook her head.

  Lord Robert turned back to his relation. A murderous glint kindled in his eyes.

  Cecilia angled her slight form to come between them. “But I’m sure he would have stopped. I overreacted by accosting him.” She held up the book she still clutched.

  Lord Robert blinked. A baffled look dimmed the volatility that created a nearly palpable aura about him. “You felled Everly.” He looked about the room, as if realizing for the first time that no one else was in evidence. “With a book?” He peered at the volume. “On Midwifery.”

  Cecilia clutched the book to her chest. She nodded. “I hit him in the kidneys and then, um, an unspeakable location.”

  A deep, rumbling chuckle worked itself free of Lord Robert’s chest. He looked at her, then again at Mister Everly. More laughter rolled forth. The coiled tension left his frame. His teeth gleamed impossibly white as he threw back his head and roared with amusement.

  Cecilia watched with wide eyes. She’d read about hysteria. A slap was recommended, but she didn’t wish to assault two gentlemen in one day. Especially when one was a duke and so solidly built, he wouldn’t feel her palm on his cheek. Should she hit him with Mister Smellie’s book, as well?

  Lord Robert dropped his chin. His chuckles subsided. He wiped at his eyes. “I believe we should return, my
lady. Miss Birkchester is worried for you.”

  Grace. Cecilia had all but forgotten her. She let out a groan. “She’ll never dance again, or permit me to dance, or let me out of her sight for a moment.”

  “That is easily remedied. I shall dance with both of you, in turn, and you shall swear not to wander free of the ballroom.”

  “Yes, of course.” Cecilia nodded vigorously.

  “And you, Everly.” All warmth left Lord Robert’s tone as he turned back to his kinsman, who still sprawled on the floor, propped against the shelves. “It seems you got what you deserve, this time.” Lord Robert leaned low to glare into Mister Everly’s eyes. “But never forget, I’ve tallied your debts. I’ve found them to be considerable, and I’ll be watching for the chance to settle them.”

  Mister Everly offered a weak sneer. It transformed his face from handsome to sinister in an instant. Cecilia despaired that she’d trusted him. Would she ever be able to gain enough experience in assessing men to safely pick a husband? She sighed.

  “If we’re to leave the library, you must return the book,” Lord Robert said.

  Cecilia looked down at the work. With reluctance, she turned and tucked it back between volumes one and three. She rested her fingers on the spines, gazing longingly on the collection.

  “You very much wish to read them, don’t you?”

  On the floor, Mister Everly snorted in contempt, but Cecilia answered the genuine question in Lord Robert’s tone. “I very much do. Mostly, I wish to read the ones I haven’t read, but once I finished with those, I would reread all the others.” She gave the medical texts a fond smile, then firmly turned her back on them.

  Lord Robert’s expression was thoughtful. “Shall we?” He offered his arm.

  Cecilia placed her fingers on his sleeve. Here, at least, was a gentleman she could count on. If only he wasn’t an avowed widower. To see even a spark of interest… Cecilia suppressed another sigh as Lord Robert escorted her from the library.

  Chapter Seven

  Robert ducked low. William’s blade whistled through the empty air vacated by Robert’s head. From his crouched position, he jabbed. William pivoted, narrowly avoiding being skewered. They both jumped backward. Across from Robert, William grinned.

  “You nearly had me that time, my lord.” William circled left. “You could have made two of me.”

  Robert matched the younger man’s slow turn, arms held wide, every muscle coiled. William was a lightning fast opponent. “I knew you would dodge.”

  William snorted. “You’re lucky I dodged. Try to explain running me through to Lanora.”

  Robert’s lips pulled back into a smile. He wouldn’t be distracted. William’s tactics were wasted on him.

  William charged. He stabbed with the rapier. A flick of Robert’s wrist sent the narrow blade wide of the mark. At the same moment, a knife appeared in William’s right hand. Robert barely got his weapon back around to knock the knife from the air as it came hurtling toward him.

  William muttered a low invective. “I thought I had you that time.”

  “You nearly did,” Robert confessed. “And how would you explain putting out my eye to my daughter?”

  “I knew you’d parry.”

  Robert shook his head. He spread his arms wide as William began to circle for another attack. “I’m calling it another tie. We’ve been at it for nearly an hour.” Sparring with William was a rare joy, but if they grew too fatigued and errored, one of them really would have some explaining to do. Lanora’s temper increased as her middle expanded. “I was specifically told you’ve enough holes in your hide and I’d better not add another or Lanora will summon my sister and feed me to that mangy pack of terriers Edith keeps.”

  William blinked. He came out of the half crouch he’d adopted as he circled. Straightening to his full height, he winced, flexing the hand he’d drawn the knife with. Robert could see his son-in-law bringing the reality of the large gymnasium, which he’d converted from a ballroom, into focus.

  Robert frowned slightly as William pulled off his right glove and flexed knuckles puffy and dark with bruising. “How did you manage that?” Robert tried to keep his tone casual. “Skull?”

  William grimaced. “Wall. The bastard ducked.”

  “The audacity of the man,” Robert commiserated.

  “My fault. I’m slower with my off hand.”

  “So I noticed when you threw that knife,” Robert said, tone dry. His gaze dropped to William’s hand again. He cleared his throat. Through a conflict of worry, pride, obligation and reluctance, he forced out, “I know it’s not my place to say, but you’ll soon be a father and--”

  “Spare me,” William snapped. He winced. The anger clouding his visage quickly transformed into apology. “I beg your pardon, Lord Robert.” William pushed a hand through his disarrayed locks. “Lanora has been at me on the subject daily. I consider our sparring a sanctuary from such complaints.” His eyes entreated.

  Robert nodded. “Very well.” He gestured toward William’s hand. “I assume Lady Cecilia had a look at that? She’s quite good, Lanora assures me.” Robert frowned. His son-in-law hadn’t mentioned Lady Cecilia as a source of complaint, only Lanora. Surely, Lady Cecilia didn’t encourage William?

  “Cecilia? She’s downright amazing. Best surgeon I know, or know of. It’s a shame her talents are used only on me, but I don’t believe London is ready for a female surgeon, especially not a marchioness.” He flexed his hand again. “Not much she can do for this, though. Nothing is broken.”

  The flicker of an idea stirred Robert’s mind. A woman who’d lived for six years somewhere on the north side of the Mediterranean could hardly protest Egypt. Her keen mind might even appreciate the mysteries of the place. Certainly, she was young enough still for his purpose, and as a widow she should be worldly enough not to press him for greater affection than he was able to supply.

  Like a ghost, he recalled Lady Cecilia’s light touch as they danced at Dame Parson’s ball. Her delicate features played through his mind. She was tempting enough, to be sure. “She’s happy to be back in England, or she prefers her life abroad?”

  William strode to one of the benches set around the room and picked up a towel. “You’d have to ask her,” he said, words muffled as he wiped sweat from his face.

  Robert narrowed his eyes. Even through the towel, obviously employed with deliberateness, he could hear the strain in William’s voice. “Where, again, did you say she resided all those years?”

  “The Mediterranean,” William said through more aggressive toweling.

  “I meant where on the Mediterranean.”

  William tossed the towel to the bench and turned away. “Do you know, she’s always been a bit vague on that?” He strode toward a rack of swords, presenting Robert with his back. “I suppose her grasp on geography isn’t as strong as on surgery.”

  “I see.” What Robert saw was William lying to him for the first time in their acquaintance, no matter how he tried to muffle his voice and obscure his face to hide the fact. “Who stitched you up before Lady Cecilia returned to England?”

  William went still, rapier half raised toward the rack. He resumed his movement, returning the sword to its place. He turned slowly, expression suffused with chagrin.

  “She never left England, did she?” Robert asked quietly.

  “We decided it was simpler to continue with a six-year-long ruse.” William shrugged. “Not that it matters any longer, except as part of my secret.”

  “Where did you hide her? Your father had considerable resources. I’m impressed you succeeded.”

  William’s grin was too malicious to hold joy. “Right under the old bastard’s nose. Right here in London.”

  Robert was all the more impressed. “Six years without detection, right here in London? Why, she must rarely have gone out.”

  Sorrow drained William’s vindictiveness. “She never went out. We changed her name, and the servants, routinely.” He shook his head
, sadness lending shadow to his eyes. “All she had was me, and her books. A week in my father’s house, then six years in a gilded cage. I should have killed him after one.”

  The venom in William’s voice startled Robert. “Murder is a difficult step to retreat from. You did your best, for all concerned. You did well,” he added, aware William’s bitterness was aimed as much internally as at his deceased father.

  “Tell that to my half-sister’s mother. I’ll never have proof, but I know my father pushed her down those stairs.” William’s expression went blank. “Tell it to my mother, who died sick and alone in a cell.”

  Robert crossed to the sword rack. He clasped William’s shoulder in a strong grip. “You did your utmost, for all concerned. You’re all beyond his reach now.”

  William swallowed. He drew in a long breath. Some of the darkness receded from his eyes. “Yes, he’s gone now. I beg apology for my display.” He shrugged. “I just always feel I should have done more.”

  Robert gave his shoulder a last squeeze and dropped his hand. “No need to apologize. I commiserate.” He turned to rack his sword, ill at ease with their exchange.

  William returned to the bench for another towel, though he didn’t appear to require one. Robert followed more slowly. He donned vest and coat, mind roiling. He’d meant his words. He could commiserate.

  Though he and William had exchanged letters for years, Robert hadn’t comprehended how terrible things were. Yes, William’s father had been renowned as a man who would as soon spit on a person as extend a hand in aid. Robert hadn’t realized, though, hadn’t stopped to consider, what growing up under the rule of the old marquess must have been like, let alone being wedded to him.

  And if he had? Would he have shucked off his grief, left his work? Could he honestly say he would have returned from Egypt? To do what? Remove William from the marquess’s household? Robert hadn’t the right.

  He could have challenged the man. A duel at dawn, to scour him from existence. The old marquess would never have accepted, though. He’d never have taken the risk, no matter what insult Robert handed him.