Seduction Regency Style

by Louisa Cornell

  “No.” She rose gracefully and started up the steps toward the house.

  “I beg your pardon?” He knew it would not be easy, not where Rhiannon was concerned. He ran up the steps to catch her. “What do you mean, no?”

  “The same thing I meant when I turned down your last invitation to London.” She whirled and nearly knocked him down the steps. “How dare you try to take Pendeen away from me?” She poked his chest with a finger. “You may leave Babcock here, if you like. I am certain he will send you a detailed report of my every order, my every purchase, and every single entry on the estate ledgers.”

  He had no choice but to back down the steps as she continued to poke and rage at him. “That isn’t—”

  “I have lied to you, forced you to marry me, kept your brother’s return from you, and I am certain I have not run this estate as you or your precious grandfather would prefer.” Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “I will live the rest of my life here alone, without husband or children, and that will be punishment enough for my crimes. I will not be carted away from the only people who care for me just so you can parade me through the ballrooms and drawing rooms of London and remind me of all the wrong I have done to you. I won’t.”

  “How is offering you a life of ease and privilege a punishment?” he shouted. She saw life with him as punishment? The force of this pain was far too powerful to be wounded pride.

  “That isn’t what you are offering me and you know it, Your Grace. You are dragging me off to control me the way your grandfather controlled you.”

  “I am weary as the devil of hearing about my grandfather’s control. I am my own man, madam. And as Duke of Pendeen, your husband, and my own man, I will have my wife with me in London where I choose to live.”

  “Where you choose to live?” Her chest heaved against the confines of her muslin dress. Her bottom lip trembled and then stilled. “Leave me here, Dymi. I am useful here. I serve a purpose. I can do nothing for you in London.”

  “You can provide me an heir,” he replied, even as his mind provided a thousand things she might do for him. A thousand things he needed from her and feared only she might provide. He could not make sense of any of it.

  “So you can raise him the way you were raised?” She shook her head. “You are a good man, Endymion, but there is something broken in you, something lost. I don’t want a child of mine to grow up believing duty is a cage and needing and trusting anyone is a weakness.”

  “Lest you forget, you may already carry my child.” Was it weakness to hope he might have that to tie her to him?

  “Mrs. Davis worked as a midwife. I asked her when I might take you to bed and not risk getting with child. There is little to no chance, Your Grace, when one schedules marital relations correctly.”

  He was stunned.

  “Why?”

  “Not all dangers are to the body, Dymi. Some dangers are to the soul.” She reached up to run her forefinger across his lips. “I can’t do it. I can’t go to London. I can’t have a child with a man who gives me nothing of himself, least of all, his trust. We both did foolish things when we were children. I forgave you long ago. You will never forgive me. And that leaves us where we have always been. Apart.” She shrugged. “Perhaps it is for the best.”

  She started back up the steps. He caught her hand.

  “Why, Rhiannon?”

  “I’ve told you.”

  “No, why? Why did you want to marry me? What made you do…all those things to make me your husband?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No, I don’t.” He searched the past for an answer, just as he’d done all night. Achilles said he’d know if he just thought about it, but Endymion truly did not understand. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he was irreparably broken.

  “It doesn’t matter, Dymi. I shouldn’t have done it. If could undo it, I would. I would grant you that freedom, at least.”

  “Rhee, I don’t understand.”

  “Goodbye, Dymi.”

  He stood at the bottom of the steps surrounded by roses and watched her go. The clatter of carriages arriving under the portico made the decision for him. It was time he returned to London. When he reached the top of the steps, Voil and Achilles waited for him.

  “I take it she said no,” Voil said, not bothering to put his inquiry in the form of a question.

  “Which of you betted she’d say yes?” Endymion walked past the carriages being loaded under Babcock’s capable supervision.

  “Neither,” Achilles replied. “Our bet was on something entirely different.”

  “What might that be?”

  “Why are we headed to the stables?” Voil asked.

  “I am going for a ride. You may accompany me, if you wish.”

  The two of them looked at him as if he’d lost his wits. Just as well. He was beginning to think he had. He hoped a ride might help him to find them.

  They rode the entire estate, from the cliff’s edge that threatened to drop into the sea, to the rolling green fields dotted with sheep, to the mines, and through the forests. They rode through the village where men doffed their caps and bowed, and women curtsied. Children stared, as they had every right to do. They rode to the ruins where Voil and Achilles remained on their horses whilst Endymion climbed to the top of the tower and slowly circled the battlements, studying the land like a Latin text in search of an answer that eluded him.

  He descended to the tower chamber where they’d hidden the night his mother died. The voices were silent now, save for one. He listened this time, truly listened, and the odd, murky scrap of an idea at the back of his mind grew clearer. Once he remounted his horse, he turned toward the village once again.

  “You are certain you won’t come to London with us, Achilles?” he asked after they’d ridden in silence for a while.

  “There are two more men out there, Dymi. I intend to find them.”

  “And after that?” Voil asked.

  “Cornwall is my home,” Achilles said. “I’ll not let anything or anyone keep me from it. London holds nothing for me. It never has.”

  “Why did she do it, Achilles? Why did she want to marry me?”

  “The proper question is why does she still want to be married to you?” Voil suggested.

  “She has no choice, Voil.”

  “Your wife does not strike me as the sort of woman who lets others make choices for her,” Voil replied.

  “Why do you want to be married to her, Dymi?” his brother asked.

  “I’ve made a muddle of it.”

  “Why did she do it? Why did she do something she knew you’d hate her for? Why did she do any of it?” Achilles asked with a disgusted shake of his head. “She is married to you for the rest of her life. Uncle Richard has offered her a great deal of money to have the marriage annulled.”

  “He what?”

  “Have I told you how much I despise your uncle, Pendeen?” Voil offered, as he had on numerous occasions.

  “Why did she do it?” Achilles asked once more.

  Endymion stopped his horse. He closed his eyes and filled his lungs with the bright summer Cornwall air. He remembered. He remembered her face the night they’d married. He remembered her face as he came down the stairs on his return to Cornwall. He remembered her face in the room at The Mermaid’s Tale, her touch, and words of comfort. He drew each vision in like air, her face, always her face, and her voice, and her touch. And he knew. Why she married him. And why he needed her, like the very air he breathed in the gentle heat of a Cornwall summer.

  “I need a favor,” he shouted as he urged his horse into a gallop. “Of the both of you.”

  A favor, some luck, and a chance in hell it wasn’t too late.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The case clock at the end of the corridor struck three. Rhiannon lay in the comfortable bed in the green guest chamber and stared at the ceiling where shadows played across the mural of birds and butterflies. The dim light from the fireplace and the
candle on her bedside table made it difficult to make out the individual figures. However, as she’d been lying in bed since she’d heard the procession of carriages and baggage carts make its way down the drive, she had most of the mural memorized.

  A small part of her wished she’d gone with him. It would not be so terrible to live in London if it meant she might see him every day. Having him in her bed every night might be worth playing the part of the idle duchess, to be trotted out when he needed an ornament on his arm. And to have his child… Even if Endymion became more like his grandfather over the years, she would be there to show her child love, and demonstrate the joy of living life as it came rather than as it was dictated by schedules and rules and the censure of Society over every misstep.

  To give her child the life every child deserved, she’d have to fight, and Rhiannon hadn’t the heart to fight Endymion. So much of his life had been an act of survival, the most desperate of fights. In the end, that is why she’d refused him. He held her heart, broken as it was. He’d stolen it, and whilst love mended broken hearts, duty and responsibility tended to cause a heart to whither until there was nothing left but contempt, or worse, indifference.

  She pulled the banyan she’d pilfered from his luggage from beneath the pillow she’d retrieved from her bedchamber. ‘Pitiful’ did not begin to describe her actions, but perhaps after all she’d endured these last few days, she was due a bit of the pitiful. Tomorrow, she’d battle Babcock and wrest back control of the estate. Tonight, she’d have a good cry and dream of Endymion in her bed, in her arms, and in her life.

  She rolled over and gave the pillow a few punches.

  A sudden, loud knock at the chamber door drew her attention.

  “Your Grace,” Bea called and then flung the door wide. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but you are needed in the library at once.” She bustled into the room and dragged the covers off the bed. “I’ll help you to dress.”

  “Dress? Why do I need to dress to go to the library in the middle of the night?” Rhiannon stumbled from the bed and scooted her feet around in search of her slippers.

  Mrs. Davis bustled in with undergarments and a voluminous blue silk dress in her arms. “Get her out of that nightgown. They’re waiting.”

  “They? Who is waiting?” Rhiannon was forced to raise her arms over her head as Bea stripped her of her nightgown and Mrs. Davis replaced the nightgown with a chemise and petticoats and front-closing stays. Bea made quick work of the stays and wiggled them into place to show Rhiannon’s bosom to its best advantage.

  “This isn’t my gown,” Rhiannon complained as she fought to settle the yards of silk around her.

  “A few well-placed pins and it will be fine,” Mrs. Davis assured her. “Miss Smith, do something with her hair.”

  Rhiannon nearly pinched herself to ensure she was not dreaming, or having a nightmare. Had her maid and housekeeper gone mad?

  After a few swipes of the brush and a few well-placed pins, Bea declared, “That will have to do. Come along, Your Grace.”

  They dragged her out of the bedchamber and down the corridor toward the stairs. Every servant in the household stood in the entrance hall in their nightclothes. What on earth were they about?

  “Beatrice Smith, if you don’t tell me why I am being dragged to the library in the middle of the night I am going to—”

  “Think about it, Your Grace,” Mrs. Davis suggested. “It will come to you.”

  Think on it?

  Rhiannon began to drag her feet. She stopped before the library doors where Josiah stood waiting.

  “Josiah?”

  “Take my arm, lass.”

  “What is this, Josiah?”

  “A chance to make a choice, my girl. For both of you.”

  “Both? Both who?”

  He opened the double doors to reveal Lord Voil and Achilles, dressed in their finest clothes and grinning like fools. Josiah pulled her arm through his and escorted her into the library. A great deal of scuffling, muttering and shoving ensued as the servants crowded in behind her. It was as if she’d been summoned by her governess for an exam for which she had not studied. Then she saw him.

  Standing at the far end of the library before the white Italian marble mantel held up by two carved Pendeen dragons stood Endymion, looking nervous and hopeful and…oh Lord, who was that with him? The rector?

  “Josiah?” she whispered out of the side of her mouth as they walked slowly across the Persian carpets.

  “Say the word and I’ll take you back to your chamber and bar the door. But His Grace has gone to a great deal of trouble.”

  “For what?”

  “That, you’ll have to ask him yourself. Here we are.” Josiah kissed her cheek and placed her hand in Endymion’s.

  Achilles, dressed in his customary black highwayman garb, stood next to his brother. Lord Voil, dressed in a suit of blue silk breeches, blue silk frock coat, and white shirt with acres of lace at the throat and cuffs swayed slightly on his buckled shoes. Endymion wore similar clothes, save the breeches and frock coat were black. She looked at her own dress and realized she, too, was attired in clothes borrowed from some de Waryn ancestor’s wardrobe. The rector, thank goodness, was spared.

  It suddenly occurred to her. This rector was the son of the rector who had married her to Endymion seventeen years ago. He was also the boy whose nose Endymion had broken when he’d insulted her. She had the most awful urge to laugh.

  “What did you do to convince him to leave his bed in the middle of the night?” she asked her husband under her breath.

  “I threatened to break his nose again.”

  “I thought as much.” She patted the rector’s open prayer book. “Excuse us for a moment, rector.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  She dragged Endymion to the window seat in the corner. “What is this about? Why are you not on your way to London?”

  “Is that what you want, Rhee? Do you want me to live in London whilst you live on the other side of England?” He held her hands and ran his forefinger over her wedding band.

  “It’s what you want. I have no choice in the matter.” Her throat began to tighten.

  “And if you did? If you had a choice, would you let me stay here in Cornwall? With you?”

  “Let you?” she shrieked softly. “I never asked you to leave.”

  “Why did you do it, Rhee? Why did you strike such a bargain to make me your husband?” He needed to stop looking at her like that, as if she were the only woman in the world.

  “Why do you think?” She could not breathe, and it had nothing to do with the tightness of her stays.

  “I hope I know, but I want you to say it. Please tell me.” He dropped his gaze to her hands once more.

  She’d faced angry miners, farmers, murderers and countless other dangers. None so frightening as what she contemplated in this moment.

  “I did it because I love you, Dymi. I have loved you since you broke my fall from that tree and cut your thumb. I loved you the night we married, and I love you now. Everything I have done, good and bad, I have done because I love you.”

  He caught her face between his hands and kissed her. “Thank God for that,” he breathed against her lips. “I’d hate to think what you’d do to me if you hated me.”

  “What is all of this, Dymi? I don’t understand.”

  “Neither of us had a choice, Rhee. Not really. Your father was determined you be a duchess. He would not have let you refuse. Tonight, we have a choice. Will you marry me?”

  “Why, Dymi?”

  “You’ve kept my secrets, saved my life, run my estate, and put up with me being a complete arse.” He touched his forehead to hers. “I married you. I abandoned you. I broke my marriage vows to you, kept my marriage vows to you, and never, ever thought of any other woman more worthy or more desirable to be my duchess. I had no idea why until today. I love you, Rhiannon Harvey de Waryn. Cornwall broke my heart seventeen years ago. This place took everything fro
m me. And you have given it all back. Let me stay here with you. Help me chase away the ghosts. I am the Duke of Pendeen. I am begging you, my love, be my duchess. Marry me. Again.”

  He gazed at her, his green eyes bright and clear. Here was the boy she’d married. Here was the man she loved. Endymion had made her cry once when they were children. She’d asked his mother what love was because she didn’t think love was supposed to hurt. His mother had hugged her tight and smiled.

  “Love is a thief, Rhiannon. If you allow a man to steal your heart, rest assured he will break it, and probably more than once. You just make certain the thief is man enough to mend it.”

  As she stood before the rector in her itchy, borrowed clothes and spoke the vows she now understood with so much more clarity, she realized his mother was right. And no matter the reason all those years ago, Rhiannon had married the only man for her, the only man who could mend her broken heart. And if it took a lifetime, she vowed to be the woman to mend his.

  ###

  A Rose in Disguise

  The Marriage Maker

  Book Twenty

  Flowers of Scotland

  Susana Ellis & Tarah Scott

  Chapter One

  January 1813

  The Forfar Inn

  Forfar, Angus, Scotland

  Roslyn Grant clutched her cloak tightly about her throat as she watched the coach pull away from the Forfar Inn. She shivered. What to do now? The coach fare to Forfar had cost every ha’penny of her small savings and had gained her but only another eight miles since yesterday, for a total of forty miles from her villainous stepbrother, Teryn. Fear twisted her insides. Would he really turn her over to his crony’s brothel as he’d threatened? He had even threatened to kill her and leave her body in the snow for the wolves if she tried to claim her dead father’s tavern as her own.