Ravishing Regencies- The Complete Series

by Emily Murdoch

  The scrawny face and slightly overlarge Adam’s apple quivered in her gaze, but he stared back at her resolutely. “I…I simply do not believe that a woman could be intelligent enough to – ”

  “Now then, let us not speak on this matter,” said Sir Kyle, moving away from Lady Kathryn and taking his friend’s arm, hissing into his ear. “If you know what is good for you Claude, you will quiet your – ”

  “There looks to be a lovely piece of woodland round the corner,” Rebecca said elegantly, and Chloe smiled despite herself at the heart of peacekeeping in her friend. “Miss Vaughn, why do not we explore it together?”

  “ – not possible, they simply have not the wit nor drive to pursue science,” Mr Ramsbottom’s whisper broke into the silence, and he looked up at Chloe instantly to see if she had heard.

  It had been impossible not to. “You are an insufferable man,” she said in as calm a voice as possible, “and I loathe you.”

  No more needed to be said; for Lady Kathryn, it had been quite enough. “Now see here, young lady!”

  But she would not. Without another word, Chloe swept away and followed the path along the lake, seething with anger, her irritation fuelling her footsteps. All she wanted to do was get as far away from Claude Ramsbottom as possible, and the rest of them for that matter. It was so unfair – this man’s world that she lived in was becoming impossible to accept.

  A gentle hand took hers, and Chloe relaxed slightly to feel her friend’s comforting presence.

  “But how,” she said bitterly, as though continuing an earlier conversation, “can you even consider marriage to a man who has friends like Ramsbottom!”

  Rebecca’s dark eyes twinkled as she said in a mock serious tone, “Well, you know, I do love him. That has something to do with it.”

  Chloe rolled her eyes. “Men that arrogant are disgusting – they should be repellent to all who meet them!”

  “Your temper will one day get the better of you,” Rebecca warned.

  Chloe sighed, stopped in her tracks, and nodded. “I know. But I just cannot seem to help it. It is so unfair that our dreams must make way for men of lesser brains simply due to an accident of birth.”

  Her eyes looked over the lake once more. It was broad, with just a hint of green trees on the other side. Explorers and natural philosophers through the ages had asked the questions how, and why, and why not another way – and those men had searched for answers. Why not her?

  “Take some time on your own,” Rebecca said quietly. “Why not meet us back at the house in an hour?”

  Despite herself, Chloe grinned. “Do I look that angry?”

  “Furious,” smiled her friend. “And I know you. There is nothing more you like to do when all riled up, than to be alone.”

  Chloe watched her friend return to her mother and fiancé, and she sighed. At twenty two, she had hoped – and her mother had certainly hoped – that she would have her emotions under control by now. And yet it seemed to get more and more difficult, not easier, as she got older. The injustices of the world seemed to mount up rather than fall away.

  But a few minutes on her own walking around the lake lessened the pressure on her heart. A boathouse, slightly uncared for with peeling paint on its walls, came into view, and Chloe was filled with a sense of irritation once more. It had been her brother who was allowed in a boat on his own when they had been children; their father had not believed that she could manage a boat alone. It hadn’t stopped her stealing one on a regular basis, though…

  A swell of mischief broke over her, and Chloe smiled. Walking off the path, she quickly found the door to the boathouse and discovered that it was unlocked – barely shut, in fact, with rust stretching down the side.

  Inside was a small rowing boat, perfectly designed for one. Any other day, it would have taken her three minutes of indecision to eventually conclude that it was better for her not to take the risk – but not today. In those three minutes she was out sculling across the water, watching the way the water moved in waves.

  Another small dark shape darted to her left, and the sense of injustice that she would never be able to study the effects of freshwater on saltwater fish at a college welled up in her again. The sunshine was beating down on her, and she lay back in the boat to stare at the clouds scudding past in the sky.

  Hot from anger, tired from rebellion, unable to fight it, Chloe was asleep within five minutes.

  It was a jolt that woke her, but in those frantic first moments of waking, Chloe was unsure what kind of jolt. It was then that she realised that she was freezing, and then the darkness of the day overwhelmed her.

  The sun had gone down, the lake was a mass of swirling dark waters, and she was cold because rain was lashing down.

  She sat up, shivering, and it was then that she noticed what had awoken her: the boat had hit the edge of the lake beaching itself onto the side – which was a mercy when she noticed that one oar must have fallen into the lake while she had been sleeping.

  Gown plastered to her body and teeth now chattering, Chloe looked around. Lady Kathryn, Rebecca, Sir Kyle, Mr Ramsbottom: none were to be seen. They must have left hours ago, assumed that she had walked to the village perhaps and taken a coach back to The Beeches.

  She was alone, soaking wet, in the dark. But not quite dark; there was a light coming from the Wandorne house. Swallowing and finding herself both hungry and thirsty, Chloe rose unsteadily in the boat, and almost toppled into a few inches of muddy water.

  This was not a pleasant situation to be in, and Chloe could only imagine what her mother would say if she knew that she had managed to put herself in such a position. With no other recourse but to go up to the house, Chloe wrapped her arms around herself trying to keep what little warmth she had, and wondered whether the light had come from a servant there, perhaps airing the house while their master was away.

  Her pale blue gown was dripping, and she could feel the water seeping down her hair and into her corset. Stumbling slightly on her long skirts, now heavy with water, Chloe found the bell pull and tugged hard at the impressively large front door.

  Nothing happened.

  With a slight moan, the wind whipped her hair. Chloe pulled at the bell again, and this time she could hear the deep jangle that echoed deep within the house, but after waiting another minute, nothing at all happened.

  The rain was coming down harder now, and the wind was rising. If someone did not come soon, she realised, the best place for her to be was back in the boathouse; it would not be warm, to be sure, but it would at least protect her from the rain.

  The large door was made of oak, and it had darkened over what must have been decades, if not centuries. It barred her way to warmth and perhaps food, and Chloe’s chilly irritation broke as she banged on the door.

  “Anyone there?” She cried out, against all the evidence before her. “Hie there, is anyone there?”

  Just as before, nothing happened. Her hands dropped sadly to her side, water pooling around her now. There was nothing for it.

  Chloe turned to face the storm, and shivered in the expectation of the freezing wind that would soon be blowing her about as soon as she left the comfort of the doorway. There was nothing for it; no amount of bracing would keep her warmer in the wind. She would have to look elsewhere for shelter.

  It was only after several steps into the gale that she realised what the thin line of light that had appeared just to her left actually meant.

  Spinning around, she saw that the front door of Wandorne had opened slightly. There in the gap stood a man – a butler, by the looks of him. Running forward, Chloe pushed past him and into a large echoing hall.

  “But – but what are you…who are you?” The man stood aghast, staring at her as though she were an evil spirit come to claim his soul – and Chloe had to admit, as she caught sight of herself in a looking glass hanging on the wall, that she was indeed rather frightening to behold. Long white dripping dress, hair hanging loose and sodden, with
wide startled dark eyes.

  “I apologise for my appearance,” she said in an undertone – the large hall seemed to demand silence, “but I had nowhere else to go this night, and with the storm there is of course no possibility of staying outside.”

  The butler closed the door and was now facing her in shock, as though he had never seen a woman before.

  “I…I will not be too much trouble,” Chloe said quietly, almost hesitating thanks to his complete lack of reaction to her. “A little food and drink, and a bedroom to rest is all I ask.”

  The butler blinked at her, as though attempting to remember how she had got there.

  “My name,” she said, with a little edge in her tone now, “is Miss Chloe Vaughn. And you are?”

  A frown now appeared on the butler’s face, but he did not seem to have heard her. “You will need to meet the master, then,” he said quietly. “Follow me.”

  Without waiting for her agreement, or any sound from her whatsoever, the butler started to trudge down the hallway and towards a corridor, picking up a candle as he passed one. It was the only one in the hallway, and Chloe moved forwards quickly to ensure that she could stay in the light.

  It was a strange house. No candles were lit in the corridor which she walked down behind the strangely silent butler, and cobwebs covered the empty candle brackets and paintings which adorned the walls.

  She was so focused on watching her feet in the gloom, to prevent herself from falling over, that she almost walked into the butler when he stopped outside a door.

  He nodded, muttered something that sounded an awful lot like, “Good luck, miss,” and opened the door.

  Chloe swallowed. She was a woman of science, not of mystery. Whatever waited for her in that room could hardly be worse than the storm that raged around the house. Throwing back her shoulders and telling herself that there was absolutely nothing to be afraid of, she walked through the doorway and into a large and equally unkempt room where a tall man was standing by the window in gloomy darkness.

  2

  Difficult though it was, Chloe managed not to cry out in astonishment at the strange man’s appearance. Tall but dishevelled, the gentleman had long hair that was tangled and gave his jaw a rakish look. His shirt was half buttoned, and there was a dark frown on his face from what she could make out in the darkness – but all it did was strengthen the impression of power on his features.

  He was the most handsome man she had ever seen. Breath completely taken away, Chloe took an unsure step into the room, almost unable to help herself. Just being a step nearer to him was enough, but the pull inside her was demanding another step and another.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” The man barked at her, and the illumination from a flash of lightning outlined his silhouette, and making him look even taller than he was.

  Chloe shivered, but not entirely with fear. Although she instinctively moved to take a step backwards, something in her fought it, and she instead dropped into a curtsey and then moved forward.

  The door closed behind her.

  She swallowed. “I must apologise for my intrusion; I – ”

  “It is an intrusion,” snapped the man, “and you are not wanted. You may go back to wherever it was you came from.”

  Without looking at her, almost as though she was repellent to him, the man strode over to the armchair by the empty fire grate, throwing himself into it without a word.

  Chloe stared at the side of his head, now tilted away from her. Rain thrashed onto the windows, drumming their constant patterns on the glass. The single lamp in the room, beside one of the casements, cast a strange twilight glimmer over the room and its bizarre inhabitant.

  If she had expected the strange gentleman to say anything more, she was to be mistaken, and irritation welled up in her once more that day. Why was she always surrounded by angry, arrogant men? Was it not enough that she was not considered enough of a natural philosopher simply because she was female – was she now to be ignored just because she existed?

  Striding forward, Chloe pulled aside a small table to stand right before the gentleman, who started as if forgetting that she had even been in the room.

  “I would never have considered coming here,” she said tartly, glaring at the gentleman in his astonishment, “unless it was absolutely necessary – and as you can see, due to this raging storm, I am soaking wet!”

  The gentleman glared, but then his features softened slightly as his eyes focused on her. Considering her properly for the first time, he stared at her…but not only at her face.

  As another roll of thunder moved overhead, Chloe felt her cheeks start to darken as she realised just where his gaze was moving: down her slender neck to her breasts, heaving with anger, her gown glistening and tight against her flesh because of the rain – and then further down to her hips, swelling through the clinging material.

  This was intolerable. She tried to think, but a part of her glorified in the power she evidentially had over the man whose mouth had opened slightly – in hunger, or in disgust, she could not tell.

  But those eyes: dark and monstrous as they were, there seemed to be some kindness in them, and there was certainly desire in there. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks now, and Chloe thanked her stars that the single lamp in the room was not sufficient to highlight them.

  Chloe sighed. “You did not ask me to come here,” she murmured quietly, heart rate slowing. “My name is Chloe Vaughn, daughter of Sir William and Lady Vaughn, of Chequerbent, and I am very grateful that your butler has given me refuge during the storm.”

  She looked down at him expectantly. By all the rules and regulations of society, such a formal introduction would immediately warrant a similar form from the gentleman, giving his name, parents, and place of residence.

  By all the rules of society maybe, but this gentleman obviously had no care for such things. His eyes had moved away from her now, to a point somewhere to her left, and he grunted without saying a word.

  Paying no heed to the dampness of her gown – nor the damage that it could impart to any furnishings – Chloe sank slowly into the chaise longue opposite him.

  “Of course,” she breathed. “I was foolish not to have realised.”

  “Realised what?” He snapped, refusing to turn his gaze to her but seemingly unable to ignore her completely.

  Chloe shook her head slowly. “I do not know why it did not occur to me before. You are Sir Moses Wandorne, baronet.”

  “What of it?”

  A flash of lightning threw the room into glorious light for a brief second, and Chloe gasped. The look of pain, anger, self-loathing and curiosity was an enigma opposite her, and yet none of the conflicting emotions did anything to lessen the attractiveness of the owner of the house.

  Chloe shook her head slightly, as though trying to rid the storm from her mind. And then she smiled. “I was beached, sir, on your lake. Surely your magnificent house, Sir Moses, is large enough for the two of us for one night?”

  His eyes darted to her and narrowed slightly.

  “All I ask is to stay indoors as the storm rages and dry off,” Chloe said meekly. “‘Tis not an unreasonable request, sir.”

  Sir Moses Wandorne was barely able to conceal his surprise, even now that the lady was seated and not glistening in a tantalising way before him.

  There was a woman – a young woman – in his house. Right here, in his library. Here, in his house. The fact was shocking, almost upsetting, to him. Confusion rushed through his bloodstream, pumped around his mind by a heart that seemed treacherous to his body, drowning him in bewilderment.

  There had not been another person in his house since…well, then. Except Baxter, of course, and for some reason he never did count him.

  Unable to help himself, desperate to take in her face once more, his eyes strayed over to her again – and Miss Chloe Vaughn was staring defiantly back at him. Moses looked away from her quickly.

  How could this have happened? After trying to
avoid the world for the last year, the world had managed to force its way back into his life.

  By God, but she was beautiful. Fair, and fragile at first glance, but the longer he looked the more strength and determination he saw. Grit, that was it. The shape of her eyes was truly mesmerising and the mere memory of them was enough to fill him with all sorts of thoughts that were most unsavoury, and at the same time delicious.

  “Well?”

  Moses started. He had been pondering on the exact shade of her eyes – green? grey? – that he had almost forgotten that she was still seated before him. A pair of diamond earrings shone from under her hair, catching the light from the single candle. What had she asked?

  Unable to think of anything to say and embarrassed at his lack of concentration, Moses just glared at her.

  “I said,” she spoke in a slightly forced tone now, “that I was beached on your lake and intend to stay here indoors as the storm rages.”

  Moses swallowed. The idea of having her here, here in his home, was tantalising. She was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, and something in him stirred as he took in the wet gown, the curve of her breasts, her very breathing –

  He nodded, barely trusting his own voice.

  “Oh, thank you, kind sir,” Chloe was now saying in a grateful voice. “I cannot tell you how thankful I am.”

  Moses nodded once more. Unable to face further conversation, he picked up a book from the nearest table, lowering his gaze to a random page, the better to attempt to ignore her.

  It was impossible. He was startled not just by her presence, but by how similar she was to … to … And yet she was definitely real; the water stain that was spreading across the chaise longue could not be wished away.

  “Have you eaten this night?”

  Moses determinedly kept his eyes down when he heard the question and shook his head – but even without looking, he could feel her gaze upon him. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand out, forcing a shiver up his spine. By God, he was a baronet, not just chit of a lad from the country. How could this woman do such things to him?