Seduction Regency Style

by Louisa Cornell

  “Shhh,” Elise soothed. “It'll soon be over.”

  “Nae!” Chloe shoved at her hand. “I've killed my own bairn.”

  Elise wiped Chloe's neck. The girl's body clenched. “Winnie!” Elise called, but Winnie was already pressing down on the baby.

  Chloe jerked and would have bolted upright, but Elise grabbed her shoulders and shoved her deep into the mattress.

  “I've killed him,” Chloe whimpered.

  She relaxed, the contraction receding, but her weeping continued. Elise looked at Winnie, who again placed a hand over the baby's buttocks and tried forcing the head into position. Elise watched the skillful hands at work. Winnie had an uncanny knack for understanding the core of a problem. She always had some potion ready for any ailment. But no potion could be concocted for Chloe. The girl no longer wept. She lay, eyes closed, her tear-stained face resigned.

  With a short nod to Elise, Winnie pressed down on Chloe's stomach again. Elise held Chloe's arms. The girl did little more than grunt when Winnie bore down on her stomach. Another contraction struck. Chloe's hips arched off the bed. Elise bit her lip to keep the tears in check. How much more could the girl endure? She'd labored for twenty-two hours. Soon, she would grow too weak to birth the child.

  Winnie pressed down on the baby for an agonizing hour and a half, then abruptly took a quick step back and reached beneath the sheet covering Chloe's legs. Elise felt a sudden jerk on Chloe's body, and the girl nearly wrenched free of her hold.

  “Hold her!” Winnie shouted.

  Elise closed her eyes. Chloe screamed. Elise heard a loud swooshing noise and her eyes shot open as Chloe went limp.

  No loud wail followed.

  Chloe bolted upright. “Give him to me!”

  “Now, Chloe,” Winnie cooed, her back to them. “Let me take the babe and—”

  “Nae!” Chloe screamed. “Give me my bairn.”

  Winnie looked over her shoulder. “Chloe, 'tis best if ye don't see him.” Her eyes softened. “Trust me, lass, I know.”

  Chloe looked at Winnie, her face suddenly far older than her nineteen years. “He's mine. I have the right to hold him.” Her pained expression deepened.

  A pain of the soul, not the body. One Elise knew all too well.

  “The bairn is a part of me,” Chloe ended simply.

  Winnie sighed, then faced them. Elise told herself to avert her gaze, but maternal instinct, the memory of her own lost child, brought her gaze to bear on the beautifully formed babe. Winnie placed him in his mother's arms. Chloe cradled him as tenderly as if he had lived. She wiped the blood from his face, then traced his mouth with a gentle finger. She looked up at Winnie.

  “He has Daniel's mouth.”

  “Aye,” Winnie replied.

  Chloe began to rock as she sang in a low voice. The Gaelic words were as Greek to Elise but the meaning was clear. Unshed tears stung her eyes. The picture of mother and child blurred with the memory of holding her own dear Amelia, the feel of her daughter's skin, baby soft against her breast. Elise's gaze focused on the blood-smeared body of Chloe's child. Were things so different for her? Did Chloe love the nameless child any less than she had loved Amelia?

  Love had deepened for Amelia as time passed. Yet she and Chloe shared the same pain that came with lost possibilities. The young woman had glimpsed her husband in their child. Elise had seen much of Robert in Amelia. Who would the children have grown up to be? Who would they have fallen in love with? What children might they have brought into the world?

  Winnie snatched the child from Chloe's arms. Chloe's tear-filled gaze locked on the babe as Winnie whirled and disappeared through the door. Elise froze. She was alone with the grief stricken mother. Her own loss, instead of creating a bridge between them, had widened the chasm, bringing her to the precipice where roiled unrealized emotions, more bittersweet memories—and another, deeper, more concrete conviction that she, too, had failed as a mother.

  “I killed him,” Chloe whispered.

  Elise stared. When had it happened? What had been the defining moment in history when womankind became convinced that if anything went awry in the lives of those they loved, they were somehow responsible? Had it begun with Eve? Had the beguiling serpent planted the seed that all mankind would suffer as a result of her misdeed? Elise fell to her knees beside Chloe's bed.

  “No.” She took the shaking girl into her arms. “It isn't your fault. It's no one's fault.”

  Chloe clung to her, her tears bathing Elise's neck.

  It seemed hours later when Elise heard the creak of the door and looked up to see Winnie standing in the doorway. Winnie's gaze went to Chloe, who slept, then came back to Elise. Elise rose from the bed and tiptoed across the floor. Winnie stepped from the doorway and Elise followed, quietly closing the door behind her. The porch, not long ago filled with friends and neighbors joyously awaiting the arrival of the newest MacGregor, now held only silence.

  “You told Daniel?” Elise asked.

  “Aye.”

  “Where is he?”

  She nodded to the left of the cottage where the path led into the cover of the moonless night. Elise started down the steps.

  “Perhaps ye had best leave him to his grief,” Winnie offered.

  Elise paused, then disappeared into the darkness.

  Daniel hadn't gone far. She saw him, arm outstretched on a tree, shoulders shaking with silent tears. She halted a few feet from him. “Daniel.” She heard his quick intake of breath and stepped closer in order to put a hand on his shoulder. “Daniel.”

  His shoulder stiffened beneath her fingers. She turned him toward her. Without hesitation he fell into her arms and wept.

  “A son,” he said between sobs.

  “I know,” she replied, and his tears fell even more freely.

  At last, he released her and stepped back. He straightened, again the proud warrior. Elise breathed a silent sigh of relief. He would recover. Now for Chloe. “Daniel, the loss of the child is terrible, but you have something else which must be dealt with now.”

  “What?”

  “Chloe.”

  “Is something amiss? Winnie said she would live.” He looked as if he would race back to the cottage.

  “No,” Elise quickly put in, “you misunderstand. She will live. However…” Elise hesitated. These Highland men weren't known for having a deep understanding of their women, and she, a stranger, stood before one of them, presuming to tell him how to better deal with one of his own.

  “Out with it,” he growled. “If she is in danger—” His voice lowered. “Did Winnie lie?” He seized her shoulders.

  Elise laid a hand on his arm. “The danger doesn't lie with her body, but her heart.”

  “Her heart?”

  “She blames herself. What's worse, she believes you blame her.”

  His hands dropped away. “Of course I don't blame her.”

  “She thinks otherwise.”

  He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “She'll think differently tomorrow.”

  Anger shot through Elise. “You, sir, have no idea what a woman thinks.”

  A silence drew out between them before he said, “What did she say?”

  “She didn't tell me outright, but I… I understand how she feels.”

  Daniel studied her. “You lost a child?”

  “Yes.”

  He breathed deep. “What's to be done?”

  “Go to her. Be with her. Let her know you still love her. It's you she needs.”

  He stared for a moment then, without a word, strode toward the cottage.

  Elise watched until he disappeared into the darkness. A moment later, she heard the shuffle of boots on the porch. With the click of the cottage door, exhaustion washed over her. She took three steps to the closest tree and leaned against the trunk, resting her head. What a fool she was to have become too entangled with these people. They were no longer faceless strangers, but named friends whose lives had touched her. Friends she had deceived—
Marcus most of all. She pushed from the tree and started down the path.

  No guard remained to escort her home. The moon peeked from behind clouds. She welcomed the solitary walk. The moment the thought formed, tears rolled down her cheeks. Elise gave her head a hard shake but only succeeded in further blurring her vision. The moon dipped behind the clouds again and she was plunged into shadows. Her toe slammed against a rock. She lurched forward. She thrust her hands out in defense of the fall, but large hands seized her waist and yanked her against a hard body. Elise opened her mouth to scream but the arm tightened around her and the scream emerged a squeak.

  “Re-release me you brute!” she wheezed, giving her assailant a hard kick to the leg.

  He cursed softly. Her stomach did a somersault. Marcus.

  “Brute, is it?” he murmured. A strained note in his voice said the kick had been successful. “You dare call me brute when I saved you from a nasty fall?”

  Elise sagged against him. “You gave me a scare.” She took a deep breath.

  He ran a hand over her shoulder, following the caress with a kiss to her neck. “'Tis not nice for a lady to call her lover a brute.” Another kiss followed on her shoulder.

  “Good Lord.” She broke free and faced him, trying to discern his features in the darkness. When unsuccessful, she muttered, “You truly are a man.”

  He chuckled. “That doesn't please you?” Marcus took her hand and started down the path. “Never mind. It will soon enough.”

  They walked for a few moments, then he slipped an arm around her waist. A shock rippled through Elise, settling between her legs. This feeling she had to guard against. When she left—her heart wrenched and she became painfully aware of his arm around her. His warmth had seeped through her dress, comforting, offering the promise—Elise clamped down on the burgeoning desire. She wouldn't hurt him by giving herself to him then leaving. She had to keep him at a distance for just a little longer.

  “You must be exhausted,” he said.

  She thought of Chloe. “I'm worried about Chloe.”

  “She'll be fine. Daniel loves her.”

  “Yes. Their love is their salvation.”

  “'Tis always the case,” Marcus stated matter-of-factly.

  Her heart leapt. “Oh?”

  “Aye. The love between a man and a woman is salvation itself.”

  “Perhaps. However, they will be needing an extra dose now.”

  “You don't think Daniel loves her?”

  “I believe he will do his best to comfort her,” she replied.

  “And who will comfort Daniel?”

  “Chloe, of course. Who else?”

  “Who else, indeed?” Marcus repeated softly, and this time she couldn't stop the flutter of her heart.

  * * *

  When they entered the castle's kitchen, Marcus ordered Mary to prepare a hot bath for Elise. She protested, but he shook his head.

  “I planned on going straight to bed,” she complained, as he escorted her through the kitchen.

  “Trust me.” He forced her to keep pace with him as they crossed the great hall. “You will thank me in the morning.” They neared the stairs and he prodded her up.

  She remained silent until they reached her door. “Really—” she began.

  “Go,” he interrupted. “I'll return in a moment.”

  Elise sighed but acquiesced.

  Marcus strode down the hallway to his room. He pushed past his bedchamber door and crossed to the sideboard in the far corner. He poured a brandy and drank it in one swallow. He grimaced, then poured another and went back to Elise's room. Pausing at her door, he knocked once then entered. She looked up sharply, one hand on the remaining boot she was in the process of removing.

  “You might have waited until I gave you permission to enter,” she said, giving him a reproachful look.

  “Drink this.” He handed her the brandy.

  Elise set the boot on the floor, then took the glass. She sniffed and peered at him over the rim of the snifter. “Napoleon brandy.” She drank it in nearly as quick a flourish as he had.

  Marcus raised his brows. “Careful, lass. One should acquire a tolerance for spirits before gulping them.”

  “I wish you'd brought two. Mmm.” She stood. “Makes me feel warm all over.”

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “Come in,” he called.

  Elise frowned. “This is my bedchamber,” she said, as the door opened and two men entered carrying the bathtub. “If you don't mind, I will be the one to allow visitors entrance.” Her gaze shifted to the tub. She thrust the glass forward, bumping Marcus's chest. He grasped the snifter as she released it and stepped past him. “Over there,” she instructed, “by the fire.”

  Two more men followed with pails of steaming water. “Mary said the rest of the water will take a little time to heat,” one man said, as he dumped his pail into the tub.

  Elise walked to the tub and peered into it. “Two pails of cool water will do.”

  The men nodded and were gone. She faced Marcus. He gave her a questioning look, knitting his brows as though not comprehending.

  “Marcus.”

  “Ah, yes.” He set the glass on the nightstand, then came to stand beside her. He grasped her shoulders and spun her facing away from him.

  “Wha—?”

  He began unbuttoning the buttons down the back of her dress.

  “Marcus!” She tried to twist free.

  “Hold still,” he commanded, holding fast to the dress, “or you'll rip the fabric.”

  Elise reached back, slapping at him, and hit the hard muscle of his hip. She instantly snatched her hand back. He regretted his lack of foresight in not standing closer. An inch or two more, and she might have managed a nice swat to his groin.

  “Release me,” she growled.

  “Not unless you intend to bathe in your clothes.” He tugged on the final button, leaving the dress open to her waist.

  She grasped the back of her dress, whirling just in time to hide her back from the man who entered with the two pails of cold water she'd requested. She stepped out of his way as he hurried past her and Marcus to pour the water into the tub. He turned and left. The door clicked closed behind him. Elise faced Marcus. He grinned and leaned against the bedpost.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Marcus MacGregor.”

  “I could wash your back—”

  “Out!” She pointed to the door.

  He sighed, straightening from the bedpost. He started for the door then halted, and faced her. “Mayhap another brandy? It would take me only—”

  “Ohhh!” She lunged forward and shoved at his chest.

  He took a faltering step back. “It would relax you, lass. Trust—”

  Elise released her hold on the back of her dress and used both hands to push even harder. He stepped back several paces until he came up against the door.

  “Surely you don't mean to keep all the warm water to yourself,” he said.

  She leaned into him. “You want to share the water?”

  His body tensed. “I would gladly share your bathwater, love.”

  Elise shoved away from him. “Fine. I will have it sent to your room when I'm done.”

  Marcus entered the kitchen an hour later to find Mary sitting by the fire. “How is Elise?”

  “I haven't heard a peep. Should I see to her?”

  He shook his head. “I will go.”

  A few minutes later, Marcus opened Elise's door. He froze at the sight of her fast asleep in the tub. Mesmerized, he tried to throttle the dizzying current that raced through him. He had held her intimately. Yet those encounters had not prepared him for the sight of her naked. Earlier, he had teased her mercilessly, knowing full well she wouldn't give in. Now, she lay before him in all her womanly splendor, his for the taking.

  In his mind's eye, he saw himself lift her from the water. Her eyes would flutter open to register first surprise, then desire. Desire streaked through him. A blush crept up h
er neck as he slid his gaze to her breasts. When he pressed her close, the moisture that clung to her skin dampened his shirt. Water dripped from her body and across the floor as he carried her to the bed. He laid her on the bed, coming down on top of her—Marcus jarred from the vision. The throb in his groin deepened and he couldn't halt his gaze from moving down Elise's body, past her breasts, along her stomach to the curls below. He closed his eyes. If he took her now, she might acquiesce but would later blame him, feeling he had taken advantage in a moment of weakness.

  God help him, she would be right.

  If he took a single step toward her, nothing could call him back.

  Marcus whirled. Behind him, sweet victory whispered. Then laughed.

  Chapter Ten

  Elise awoke the following morning, the lingering warmth of Marcus's body from her dream state so real that she jolted awake upon reaching out and touching only cool sheets beside her. Sadness settled over her. There would be no mornings where they awoke together, no mornings where Marcus pulled her close and kissed her body before slipping inside her.

  Tears stung her eyes. This time when she left, there would be no clues, no one to confess that she had gone with Peter McFie. She didn't blame Winnie. When confronted by her master, Winnie had told the truth. Elise expected nothing less. She had gambled and lost. She wouldn't lose a second time. Now, if she could only locate the secret passageway leading from the castle to the outside.

  The mantel clock chimed softly. She looked at the clock. Nearly seven. Elise bolted upright. Marcus had likely already gone to the fields. She swung her legs over the side of the bed then paused before rising. He would be preoccupied with final preparations for the celebration starting that night. If she chose the moment with care, he might not overanalyze her request to go to Michael's.

  A pang of guilt surfaced. Was the need to check for the notice in the Sunday Times worth manipulating him one last time? The question went beyond morality. When she reached Glasgow, if no ship left immediately for America, she might have to go to another port. London was the best choice. But if the notice was still in the paper could she risk it?