Ravishing Regencies- The Complete Series

by Emily Murdoch

  “And so I was wondering,” Miss Vaughn was saying cautiously, “if … well, if you would be so kind as to …”

  Her voice trailed off, and Moses rose automatically, the shining knight without armour ready to rescue the damsel in distress.

  The moment that the thought had crossed his mind, he cringed at it – and at every muscle in his body, which seemed unable to remember how to walk properly. With Miss Vaughn’s gaze on him, his legs did not move with the typical strength and grace that he had once been noted for. What in God’s name was wrong with him?

  The answer came as soon as she turned around to reveal yes, the slender curve of her neck, and the bare skin of her back. There was a sharp intake of breath, and to Moses’ shame he realised it was his own.

  He was but a step away from her now – and now he was right behind her, inches away, mere fingertips if he could have but the strength and reach out to her –

  “‘Tis a simple pattern,” breathed Miss Vaughn. “I do not think it will give you too much trouble.”

  Moses almost laughed at her words, but that would require breath, and he had none. His fingers were shaking now at the mere prospect of grazing that warm soft skin, but he could not stand here all night with a half-dressed lady before him.

  This damned dress had to be either off or on, and while he knew the preference that every inch of his body was crying out for, he would not countenance it. He was not a seducer of young ladies.

  “I can see the pattern,” he said hoarsely. “I will be but a moment.”

  Swallowing hard, Moses reached out his fingers and took the wayward ribbons in each hand. This was closer than he had ever got to a woman, and it was a challenge to keep his mind on the winding ins and outs of the ribbons as his fingertips danced closer and closer to that skin which he wanted to taste, not just touch.

  For one crazy, heady moment, he imagined it: pulling out the ribbon instead of weaving it through, and pulling down the gown in one silky fluid moment, turning her round to face him and seeing the startled look on her face but also the forbidden desire, her breasts heaving with shock and excitement, and his hands moving across her body to bring her closer to him –

  And then he was finished. With one shaky knot, the ribbon was secure, and Miss Chloe Vaughn was safe from his wildest fantasies.

  “There,” he exhaled.

  Unsure exactly what he was expecting, Moses was nevertheless disappointed when Miss Vaughn took an experimental step forward, as though to check that the gown was indeed securely tied, and then picked up her plate of food and returned to her seat.

  With a raised eyebrow, she stared unashamedly at it with curiosity that Moses was unaccustomed to. He scowled at her, and threw himself back into his own seat, but before he could reach out and retrieve his book – this time, the correct way up – she spoke.

  “You asked me before how I knew about the quail’s name.”

  Moses glanced at her. Miss Vaughn’s expression was open, and she was smiling at him gently as she finished her food – clearly famished. He nodded.

  “I am a natural philosopher,” she declared with a wry smile. “Or perhaps more accurately, I wish to be one.”

  Moses stared at her, and she laughed at his obvious incredulity.

  “Well, why not!” Miss Vaughn declared, but there was a hint of defiance in her tone which did not go unnoticed. “There are intelligent women up and down the country, Sir Moses, and are we to be restricted in our academic efforts merely due to a coincidence of birth?”

  “‘Tis sadly the approach of our universities,” Moses managed. A natural philosopher? This woman before him was surely more suited as a model for the greatest painters in the land, such was her beauty. “I do not think that they have admitted a woman…well, in all their times. ‘Tis more the stage for baronets and lords, like myself.”

  Miss Vaughn scowled, and he almost laughed at how well the vision of annoyance became her. “It is a dreadful scandal, that is what it is. Why educate our young ladies, I ask you, if we as a society are just to forbid them from venturing further? To offer them a sweet taste of education, a glimpse at the knowledge that lies just beyond our reach, if we are to curtail them just as their minds begin to blossom?”

  “And yet you must admit that few women are educated in such a manner,” countered Moses, almost despite himself. Was this really happening? Was he having a debate with an Aphrodite who had stumbled into his home, dripping wet, about the merits of an English education.

  Shifting in her chair, Miss Vaughn nodded sagely. “I was fortunate indeed. I was educated as befits a man, as the school motto goes, and it was there that I met one of my closest friends, Miss Rebecca Callaghan. She shares with me the love of knowledge that has been, for so long, barred to the fairer sex.”

  Moses did not reply but watched the countenance of Miss Vaughn. Well, her argument was sound. Had he ever seen evidence that a woman could not be as smart as a man?

  “You have certainly proved an intelligence beyond most of the woman that I have met,” Moses said gruffly, trying to ignore the stirring in his stomach as he spoke, “and some of the men, too.”

  Miss Vaughn laughed, and it caused a lurch in his chest that was not unpleasant. “I would never believe that the superiority was on purely one side at all – but I do think that the balance of academic power has rested with men for too long. How are we to prove ourselves, I ask you, if never given the chance?”

  Moses nodded slowly. “You are quite right, of course, Miss Vaughn. I have always believed that a girl, if taught properly, could be the match of her brother.”

  Something changed in the way that she was sitting – did she lean forward? Did she tilt her head towards him?

  “Exactly,” she said quietly. “Have you children, Sir Moses?”

  She could not know; she could never know the pain that the question inflicted on him. Moses physically started, and then turned his face away to the empty grate, trying to quell the rush of emotions that rose, unbidden, in his heart.

  When he had collected himself, his eyes glanced over to Miss Vaughn once again. Her cheeks had coloured, and her eyes had fallen to consider her fingers.

  “One of my greatest faults, I have always been told, is my desire to question,” she spoke quietly. “To always be asking, always wondering. I think it will make me a truly inquisitive natural philosopher, but I often forget how intrusive that is for those who I have just met. I … I apologise for my rudeness.”

  This speech was so different from anything that Moses could have imagined would come from Miss Vaughn’s lips that his jaw dropped. A natural philosopher? Inquisitive? Apologise?

  The sense of awkwardness between them was growing slightly now, and Moses gritted his teeth. He had been raised in some of the best society, and he well knew now what was expected of him: a returned apology.

  His gaze flickered over Miss Vaughn; the way the single candle in the room still seemed to dance over her, glistening over her golden hair, which was still damp in places.

  “And I too owe you an apology,” he said gruffly, without much heart.

  “I wish you would not,” returned Miss Vaughn sharply. “There is nothing more irritating to me than a false apology, and so I hope you will not insult my intelligence by trotting one out just because manners demand it.”

  Moses’s jaw, so recently dropped, fell again. “I beg your pardon?”

  In the seconds of silence between them, Moses heard the rain lashing on the windows, but felt something like warmth growing between them. It was impossible not to respect Chloe – Miss Vaughn, and with every word he found himself, against his better judgement, against his inclination, against his very nature … trusting her.

  “‘Tis evident to me,” continued Miss Vaughn, but with a smile that was kind, “that society’s description of you was quite correct.”

  Heat – from embarrassment or anger, he could not tell which – rose in Moses’s face. “Description?”

  Miss
Vaughn laid her plate down on the floor, empty save for a few crumbs. “Miser.”

  Moses’s eyebrows rose, and he repeated, “Miser.”

  At least she had the good grace to look a little embarrassed at the word. “‘Tis not my own description, you understand – just that which others use.”

  He could not help but look at her when they were conversing, and he was glad of it, for he was not sure whether he would be strong enough to look away, even if they were silent.

  “Miser,” he repeated quietly. “Well, ‘tis true I suppose, though no man on God’s green earth ever had such cause as I.”

  Miss Vaughn was silent, but the openness and the kindness in her face made him relax in his armchair, and his mouth opened to share his story with the first person outside of his immediate acquaintance.

  “Like all good tales,” Moses said gruffly, “it started with a woman. I met her at Ascot, believe it or not – eyes across a crowded room, would you credit it? I … I loved her very much. She was everything to me for over a year, and I proposed marriage early on in that year. We planned for the wedding, and we planned our futures together and … and we were happy.”

  If Miss Vaughn had noted the crack in his voice, she did not indicate so, and Moses took her silence for assent to continue. Even if she had asked him to stop, he was not sure if he was able to: like bleeding poison from his blood, now the process had started, he was loath to finish.

  “We planned for the future, we considered our hopes and dreams, and at the centre of them all: a family. Children, Miss Vaughn, are not just the desire of the female sex. I longed for children, and we talked about how many we would have, how we would raise them – here, together, with no wet nurses or farming out to villagers. We would love them more than ourselves, more than each other, I do believe, because in every turn of their head and smile on their face I would see my Charlotte in them, and she would see me.”

  Moses swallowed. His throat was dry now and it was starting to scratch, but he would not stop.

  “Her brother was a doctor, in Ely. A month before our wedding date, she travelled to visit him there and spend some time with the last remaining family member she had, before she joined my own. What she did not know, and he would have told her had he known of her intended visit, was that … that ague had broken out just days before.”

  There was a gasp, and Moses was startled to see Miss Vaughn’s mouth open, but he stopped her from speaking with a raise of his hand.

  “She was a caring soul, my Charlotte,” he said quietly. “I did not know how much until I received her brother’s letter. Determined as she was to help, she had accompanied him – against his wishes – to care for a patient of his, and Fate had her way. Within days, my darling had succumbed.”

  Moses’ gaze had drifted to the fire, unlit, but now it moved back to Miss Vaughn and saw the concern in her eyes, and something a little deeper which he could not name.

  He sighed. “I think I can honestly say, Miss Vaughn, that in many ways I too died that day. My heart certainly broke, and it has never been mended. That was just over a year ago, and in that time I have wished for nothing but to be left alone. Alone with my bitterness.”

  Chloe stared at him in astonishment. It had simply not occurred to her that there was such deep passion within such a dark and depressive frame. Sir Moses Wandorne gave the impression of deep emotion, certainly, but emotions such as gloom, and sadness, and misery.

  The idea of Sir Moses being violently and passionately in love was something that didn’t quite match the figure hunched in the armchair before her. To hear him speak of children; of the children that he had longed for, a dream that she herself shared but had never revealed to anyone…it was intoxicating.

  “I will admit,” she murmured, “that the idea of losing someone close to me … someone that I loved so deeply would be utterly devastating to me.”

  What she did not say, and wild horses would not have been capable of dragging it from her, was that now that she looked at him, she could see the echoes of the man that Sir Moses had once been in the features before her. Those dark eyes. That long, tangled hair that would be so refined if kempt. His broad frame. The presence that he created, even when bad tempered.

  “You are a brave man,” she said with a small smile. “I have no idea how you manage to … to continue. To cope with it all.”

  He laughed, and it was bitter and dark. “I do not think that I do. Emotions, romantic entanglements, the ability to love … I do not think that I will ever venture too close to any of them again. What good can they do me?”

  Chloe hesitated. This particular opinion of hers had been frowned upon by her acquaintance, but somehow, here in this dark room, with this dark soul, it did not sound so strange.

  “I have always thought,” she said quietly, “that romance clouds the senses, rather than enhances them. Marriage is formed as a contract, and we blind ourselves to the fact that in many cases, there is little heart and almost no real emotion at all.”

  Sir Moses raised an eyebrow. “You have seen some loveless marriages in your time.”

  “‘Tis rare that I see the opposite,” Chloe confessed with a wry smile. “And yet I do not believe that romance is necessary for a successful one. It is possible, surely, for two people to come together with a mutual understanding for the betterment of both without the entanglement of romance?”

  Her words seemed to hang in the air between them for a moment, and her eyes caught his, and her stomach lurched. What did she mean – what was she saying, she barely knew herself except those eyes kept drawing words from her, and she believed them to be true, and she felt the truth within her, and yet …

  “Perhaps you are right,” Sir Moses said lightly. “I have certainly avoided human companionship for so long now, I barely know what I am missing. ‘Tis the reason that I have hidden myself away for the past twelvemonth. I have not seen anyone, bar a few close friends, and I have not wished to.”

  Chloe’s mouth broadened with a smile. “Do you mean to tell me that you have been here, in this house, all year? When all from Leeds to London have been attempting to guess where you have hidden yourself on the continent? My word, the truth is nothing like the rumours!”

  As soon as the words had left her mouth, she regretted them: how coarse, how callous had been her thoughts and they had just tumbled out!

  But instead of bitter anger, it was a smile that came from her companion as the storm raged around them.

  “Rumours?” He said darkly. “What rumours?”

  Despite her best efforts, Chloe could feel a blush tinging her cheeks as she took in Sir Moses’ gaze. Glowering or not, he was a strikingly handsome man.

  “I took no part in them,” she said hastily, trying not to think of the feeling of his fingers on her back when he had carefully laced up her dress.

  Sir Moses did not reply, instead leaning back in his armchair and staring at her expectantly, almost as though he was amused.

  Chloe swallowed. “Well,” she said, curling her feet up onto the chaise longue in the unladylike manner that she was usually scolded for. “There are there who believe that you have immigrated to the continent, because of ill health. The lakes of Italy, you know, or somewhere in Switzerland.”

  No matter how closely she regarded his expression, it was impossible for her to read it accurately. Was he censuring her for speaking, offended by her words, shocked, perhaps, at the wild imagination of society at large?

  As he did not stop her, Chloe continued, “Of course, there are others with more fanciful ideas. My favourite is that you have sent out expeditions to America looking for gold – very Christopher Columbus, you know – and actually found some.”

  Sir Moses laughed, and this time it was a natural, hearty laugh, that seemed to start from his stomach and rise up into his shoulders, rocking them slightly. It was the first true laugh that Chloe had heard from him since she had stepped into this strange, dark house, and it seemed to wash her in a warm
glow that settled somewhere lower than her stomach.

  “Are you disappointed with the truth?” He chuckled.

  She returned his laugh with one of her own. “No, I am no chit of a girl who expects a great mystery behind every unexplained fact. ‘Tis true of science, I think, to find a rational explanation behind something that is previously unknown.”

  He nodded, and Chloe found herself hoping that he would speak again in that deep voice. It had a strange power over her: at once calming, and at the same time exciting.

  “And to tell the truth,” she added more seriously, “I cannot think any less of you for feeling so bitter and heart worn, after your experience. No one would.”

  He said not a word. Rain fell harshly on the windows, and a roll of thunder a little way off told her that the storm was, at least, moving away from them – but it was nothing to the storm that was starting to grow in her heart. This man, this strange man: part lover, part bitter, part collector, all man. She liked him. Despite herself, and despite every effort it seemed from him, she liked him.

  Chloe looked down at her fingers in her lap, and then asked tentatively, “Do … are you still in love with her? Charlotte, I mean?”

  For a moment she thought that she had gone too far; that the impertinence always under the surface of her conversation had sprung up once more.

  Sir Moses sighed deeply. “I will admit that her memory lingered on with me for much longer than I would have thought. I expected to see her each time I opened a door. Every foot on the stairs had to be hers. Each letter I received a note from her brother saying that it had all been a mistake, and she had been revived, and she was asking for me …”

  Chloe watched as his gaze became unfocused for almost a minute, and then it snapped back to attention, and he gave her a look that she could not decipher.

  “You cannot be in love with a memory,” he said finally. “What emotion I have for her now is more like sorrow than love. I mourn what could have been.”

  “‘Tis only natural,” Chloe said quietly.

  Sir Moses shrugged. “If I were to be as honest with you as I try to be with myself, I would say … I would say that the idea of loving again terrifies me. Of not being able to keep someone that I care about safe in the future. It paralyses me, and so I have come to accept, bitter as it is, that I will probably die completely alone.”