Seduction Regency Style

by Louisa Cornell

  Grandfather Thomas had hired Dolores to act as lady’s maid when Claire turned sixteen. Four years they’d been together now, and so Claire knew what was to come next.

  “It certainly is hot, Miss Claire. Don’t remember it being this hot last year.” Dolores did not disappoint. She uttered the words and wiggled uncomfortably on the fallen log both women sat upon.

  Claire held tightly to Elmer as the trunk shifted on the uneven earth.

  “It is a warm day, Dolores.” Claire set Elmer on the ground and removed her fichu, which she then waved in front of her face.

  “I suppose the heat is better than rain, Miss Claire. Mud would be quite unpleasant, indeed.”

  “It certainly would be, Dolores.” Claire allowed a teasing grin to dance upon her lips. She’d had many such conversations with her maid over the years.

  “Just a few clouds in the distance. Don’t suppose they’ll amount to anything though.” Dolores sighed heavily again.

  “I don’t suppose.”

  “And if they did, then there would be all the mud…” Her poor maid would never decide which might be the greater weather travesty to besiege them.

  Elmer perked up watchfully at the clop of an approaching rider from the opposite direction John had disappeared. It seemed she was to be spared her maid’s titillating conversation after all.

  Claire was aware she ought to be wary. As two women on the side of the road, their present circumstance could almost be considered scandalous, and some might argue, fraught with danger. She clutched her reticule in one hand and sat up straight, pushing her shoulders back.

  The majestic horse carried a gentleman, of course. Even several yards away, Claire noticed his impeccable dress. If the black top hat and magnificent horse weren’t enough for Claire to peg him as titled, his regal bearing would have been.

  As he drew closer, Claire studied him unabashedly: Aquiline nose, chiseled jawline, and barely perceptible from beneath his hat, blond hair that curled over his collar.

  None of which mattered the moment she met his gaze.

  Blue flames. The color reminded her of the hottest of flames hidden in the depths of a fire.

  She’d never seen eyes so brilliant and intense.

  Despite the summer sun, a tingling shimmied the length of her spine.

  “Ah hem.” The sound of Dolores clearing her throat jolted Claire to her feet. Elmer followed suit, tail wagging in excitement.

  He certainly lacked the makings of a vicious guard dog.

  As Elmer danced about in excitement, Claire wondered if this stranger was somebody important. He was certainly no gentleman she’d ever met before. She would not have forgotten such a man. Finely attired, he sat atop his mount prominently displaying his broad shoulders and slim waist. Just as Claire’s eyes dropped to study the rider’s well-muscled thighs, he drew his mount to a halt and leapt to the ground in one fluid motion.

  “It appears you’ve met with some difficulties, miss.” He shifted his eyes toward the broken traveling carriage and then to Elmer. He frowned before swinging that compelling gaze of his back to Claire. “I imagine your coachman has gone for assistance?”

  Something about this man slowed her brain to a snail’s pace. As his low-timbered voice set butterflies alight within her belly, her gaze reluctantly shifted to the traveling coach with a sigh. Ethan had purchased it just a few months ago. He would be more than a little annoyed by such shoddy workmanship.

  When she regarded the rider again, she caught him watching her with one impertinently cocked eyebrow. Claire shook her head to dismiss the thoughts he evoked. She honestly did not think she’d ever laid eyes on a man so handsome as this elegant stranger. He would not be a baron, or even an earl. He must be a prince or a king, so exceptional were his looks and charisma.

  Giving momentary rein to her frivolous thoughts, she stared at him from beneath her eyelashes. How could his mouth appear so firm and yet his lips look soft and kissable at the same time?

  The heat had obviously turned her into a simpering ninny.

  Perhaps he would attribute the flush in her cheeks to the sun.

  “Miss?” his gravelly voice broke into her musings at the same time Dolores elbowed her in the ribs.

  “Er…” What had he asked her?

  “Your coachman?” he prompted.

  “Ah, yes… Coachman John. Gone for assistance…” Claire clasped her hands together tightly. “The, er, wheel broke.” In that moment, she struggled to string together a coherent sentence.

  “I’ll admit I’m surprised to stumble upon two fine ladies left to fend for themselves.” His expression sobered at these words.

  Dolores snorted.

  Claire ought to assess this stranger with at least a modicum of suspicion. Normally, she would have kept herself guarded. But there was something inherently…trustable…about him. He seemed dependable and capable and yet he lacked the pomposity of other titled gentlemen. He did not come across as insensitive or self-important like the men Ethan had recently paraded through their home.

  “Our outrider is indisposed, my lord.”

  At her admission, he blinked those blue eyes of his, seemed to come to some sort of decision, and then bowing, removed his hat.

  “My apologies, madam. Allow me to introduce myself.” As he bent low, Claire could not keep herself from admiring his wavy, thick blond hair, or the sinewy muscles visible on the back of his neck. “Baron…er…of Jester, at your service.” He glanced around the perimeter, taking further notice of their predicament and then absentmindedly fidgeted with one of the buttons on his coat. “In all conscience, I cannot abandon the two of you to your own devices until I know your coachman has returned and your safety is assured.”

  Most honorable, indeed.

  “I’d not have you go against your conscience, my lord,” Claire spoke softly, feeling unusually girlish beside his masculine stature. And then she resorted to doing something she’d never done before.

  She fluttered her eyelashes.

  “I’m grateful to you if you’re inclined to delay your journey on our behalf.” Flashing a warning look in Dolores’s direction, she added, “I am Miss Claire Dubois”—she told him her mother’s name—“and this is my companion, Miss Dolores Finke.”

  He was a baron.

  Most barons of which she had an acquaintance—most notably—had pockets to let.

  She did not want this gentleman to see her merely as a means to bolster his estate.

  These Lords all knew her brother’s name. Most were well apprised as to the size of her dowry, which was considerable. Was there any harm in participating in an hour or so of meaningless flirtation? With someone who didn’t gaze adoringly into her eyes because he saw her as the answer to all of his financial woes.

  Dolores scowled but Claire ignored her.

  “My day has brightened indeed.” His words ought to sound ridiculous.

  But they did not.

  Not ridiculous, at all. Claire licked her lips. What a fine afternoon it was turning out to be.

  Chapter Two

  The Baron of Jester

  Benjamin Peabody knew the charming young woman was lying about her name. Even if her companion had not raised her brows and then frowned disapprovingly, he’d heard the hesitation in Miss Dubois’ voice.

  She’d addressed him as My Lord.

  And so, he too had impersonated somebody else.

  The Baron of Jester, indeed!

  The well-heeled chit was probably the daughter of some Earl or other nabob. Would she be smiling at him now if she knew not an ounce of gentility flowed through his veins?

  He doubted it.

  And so, he’d lied.

  What harm could come from it? In fact, he reasoned, she and her companion might not have been so comfortable in his presence if they knew of his common origins.

  Not that he lacked financially. In fact, his family’s coffers rivaled those of most titled gentlemen of his acquaintance. Many Lords might hol
d their nose at his bloodline, but Benjamin was no fool. He knew they envied the size of his bank account. They’d not admit it, but at some point, status alone failed to pay the bills.

  This young lady likely led an indolent life. Her braided coronet of dark auburn hair reminded him of princesses and queens, while her creamy complexion and cherry red lips exemplified the quintessential English rose. He recognized the carriage she rode in as one of the finer models. A Lady. Anyone could recognize her to be a lady.

  Beyond her looks and clothes, however, she exuded intelligence.

  Intelligence and…ferocity.

  Sitting alone on a highway, most women of the ton would have been halfway to a fit of vapors. But not this one. She sat proud, fearless—and if he was not mistaken—a flirtatious light danced behind the clever light he spied in her gaze.

  “For a lady abandoned by your driver, you certainly appear in good spirits.” Benjamin wanted to know more about this girl. Of course, it would only amount to naught, with all the lying and whatnot.

  Nonetheless, she intrigued him.

  The companion grunted and rose from her perch on the log. “I’ll await Coachman John from inside,” Mrs. Finke muttered as she approached the listing carriage. “Where there is less hot air blowing around.”

  Benjamin caught Miss Dubois’ gaze and the two of them shared a private joke. It was almost as though they’d known one another for a lifetime. Names were inconsequential. As were their stations in life.

  The thought was enough to lift his heart for a moment.

  “So, you are not afraid of highwaymen or robbers then?”

  She shrugged and lifted one corner of her mouth. “The odds are in my favor, my lord.” She surprised him with her response. “Why worry myself over an improbability?”

  Ah, intelligence, indeed. Ben forced his gaze from her lips back to her eyes. Light blue encircled her pupil, almost so light as to be silver.

  “So, you are not simply an optimist, then.”

  Again, the delicate shrug. “Nor am I a cynic,” she responded with a boldness unusual for ladies of her age. “I consider myself more of a realist.”

  This resonated with his own outlook on life.

  Benjamin approached the log.

  “Won’t you sit down, my lord?” She gestured before he could request permission. The makeshift bench, although sturdy, was covered in shredded bark and dirt. Ben lowered himself beside her, not caring what his valet would have to say about the condition of his wardrobe.

  He and his older brother, Clem, had only just acquired the annoying indulgence recently.

  Ben wondered if he’d ever grow accustomed to having another person doing for him what he could easily do for himself.

  But the funds were available, and Clem and he had agreed they ought to make a greater attempt at blending in with society. Even though they’d never find true acceptance.

  Settled onto the surprisingly small space vacated by the companion, Ben allowed his thigh to casually brush the material of Miss Dubois’ dress.

  As he shifted, a floral, fruity scent met his senses.

  She’d declared herself a realist.

  “You’re shockingly pretty for a realist.” He couldn’t help but flirt with her. He turned to watch her response.

  A slight blush crept up her neck, but she was not too shy to meet his gaze. “I’m not sure that makes any sense.” And then she laughed. A sparkling, light sound that made him want to amuse her once again. “But I appreciate the compliment.”

  Dark, thick lashes framed those shimmering eyes of hers. This close, his attraction to her was almost alarming.

  “What of you, my lord? Are you like most men of your station, or are you wise enough to look for opportunities that are not attached to a betrothal?”

  Ben raised his brows. Not only was she some nabob’s daughter, but she was likely one with a large dowry. She apparently knew her financial worth and realized any suitors would take this into consideration.

  “I’m wise enough to recognize beauty and intelligence.” Ben held her gaze steadily. She smiled and glanced down at her hands. On close inspection, he realized her complexion was not perfect, after all. Small clusters of freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. And her smile lifted higher on one side than the other.

  Which charmed him all the more.

  Her smile faded, and she chuckled again. “I believe that was another compliment. That’s two in less than five minutes.”

  “Don’t attempt to convince me you aren’t used to compliments. I’d wager you sit court to a bevy of beaus.” He could not be certain of this as he’d not attended any balls himself, but he could picture her in his mind, reclining on a fainting couch with popinjays vying for placement on her dance card.

  He didn’t like it.

  But she was shaking her head. “Such an imagination you have.”

  He could hardly believe his luck.

  A beautiful lady.

  Intelligent. Witty. Modest.

  “You do not sit court?” he teased. “You stand, then?”

  She laughed again and her small, pale hand swept an escaped tendril of hair away from her face. Ben itched to do it for her.

  “You’re bamming me.” Again, the sweet sound of her laughter. How could she be so unaware of her own allure?

  Shaking her head, she reached to the ground and opened a basket. “Would you care for a refreshment? Dolores and I brought along a picnic…” She removed a napkin and some grapes. “There is some lemonade…” She pulled out a canteen and poured a small amount into a dish for her dog before offering it to him.

  Benjamin accepted the fruit but declined the drink. He carried his own water when he traveled. “Many thanks.” He popped one of the grapes into his mouth. “Would it be presumptuous of me to inquire as to your destination?”

  Instead of answering, she plucked one of the grapes off the branch in his hand and thoughtfully rubbed it along her bottom lip.

  Did she realize what that did to a man? Perhaps he had the wrong of it… Perhaps she was a courtesan in disguise… He held back a groan as she twirled the fruity member between her lips.

  “Just visiting a friend. What of you my lord? Is your estate nearby?” And then the grape disappeared and she bit down.

  Was she fishing for information about him? Did she doubt he was in fact the Baron of Jester, an entirely fictitious title he’d invented on the spot?

  He’d keep as close to the truth as possible. He and his brother lived on a large estate near Manchester. Why would a nabob be traveling in the heat of the summer? “Social obligations,” he answered. “My home is in the north.”

  The urge to confess his lie nearly had him explaining that he was, in fact, a member of the wealthy Peabody family. Not a lord. But he checked himself.

  What would she say if she knew the extent to which he involved himself in trade? Involved didn’t nearly begin to describe what he did. Immersed was more accurate.

  The opportunity to confess all passed when a rabbit dashed across the road, capturing the attention of Miss Dubois’ short-legged dog.

  Which promptly launched into exuberant pursuit.

  “Elmer!” Miss Dubois jumped from the log and took flight as well.

  Whereupon, Ben knew that as a gentleman, his obligation required him to track down the little hound himself.

  But Elmer? Really? What the hell kind of name was that for any self-respecting dog?

  After one quick glance at his mount, which stood patiently near the carriage, Ben dove into the trees where Miss Dubois had disappeared.

  “Blast and Bollocks, Elmer! You bad, bad boy, come back here this instant!” her voice carried through the brush for Ben to follow. “You benighted little devil!” He couldn’t help smiling at some of the words escaping Miss Dubois’ lips. Likely, she’d be blushing when she realized what he’d overheard. “Damn your eyes, Elmer!”

  Ben emerged near a stream in time to see her, crouched down on her hands and
knees, reach into the water.

  Covered in mud.

  And yet, with a perfectly timed jump and splash, the little beast eluded her. Safely on the opposite bank, he then shook his sausage-shaped body in such a manner as to send water flying all around him.

  Ben crossed the small stream easily, stepping on a few conveniently placed stones, and scooped the canine into his arms.

  “I’ve got you, little chap,” Ben muttered. He barely had to grasp the little creature, however, as Elmer promptly made himself comfortable by burrowing his snout into Ben’s jacket.

  “You stinking little beast!” Miss Dubois leaned back on her haunches, eyes flashing.

  Not at him, Ben presumed. At her dog.

  Even as the odor of wet canine assaulted his senses, Ben couldn’t help smiling at the sight before him.

  Gone was the perfect coiffure. Gone, the pristine dress. Gone were all the embellishments that had given her the appearance of a perfect lady.

  Most notably, she’d lost her practiced demeanor.

  Swiping again at a few escaped tendrils of hair, her fingers left behind a dark streak of mud. When she reached toward the ground in preparation to stand, Ben leaped into action.

  Still clutching her pet, Ben crossed the stream in time to offer his assistance.

  “I have no words for that dog right now.” She glared up as Ben helped her to her feet. “No words, at all. If I had a farthing for every time that little stinkard has tried to run away from me,” she muttered in frustration as she attempted to brush mud off her dress.

  And then reached across and scooped Elmer out of Ben’s arms.

  And cuddled the lucky dog.

  “Don’t scare me like that!” She kissed the sopping little sausage on the top of his head, blinking back tears.

  Ben watched her, stunned.

  A most unusual lady.

  Unable to help himself, he pulled out his handkerchief and reached across the space between them. The sight of dried mud clinging to the curve of her cheek… It ought to look out of place and yet it affected him.