Tempted by a Rake’s Smile: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Meghan Sloan

  She sighed deeply. “All right, Papa. You can inform the Wilmington family that I am receptive to the offer.” She stood up, smoothing down the creases in her gown.

  He looked happy, standing up and taking her hand. “You know I only want the best for you, my Alice bear,” he said slowly, tears in his eyes. “The Wilmington family are well-respected and wealthy. You will want for nothing in this life, my dear.”

  Alice nodded slowly. It seemed that she had set the wheels in motion now, and she knew how it would run. There would be no time to change her mind, without causing offence. She was committed, as surely as if he had already slipped a ring onto her finger.

  But a small corner of her heart screamed out, shaking her to the core.

  What about love, Alice? Do you not deserve to have that in your life, too?

  Chapter 2

  Silas Wilmington managed to run into not one but two couples as he hurried down the street towards the club rooms. He sighed, irritated. Bath at this time of year was overrun with visitors, all eager to take the spa. The population of the town swelled exponentially, and always did. It was frustrating, going about business, but it had been ever thus, since the Roman baths that had been built here had been restored back in 1755.

  He pondered as he walked on. His father had told him that Bath had once been unremarkable, until the baths had been restored. Now, the well-to-do flocked from London and other areas of England, eager to take the waters. The Pump Room, an elegant chamber above the baths, was the epicentre of it, for the ton. They would congregate there daily, ostensibly to take the waters, but mostly to see and be seen, and to gossip, to their hearts’ content.

  He was almost there. Taking the steps two at a time he arrived, shaking off light snowflakes that were sprinkled like fairy dust on his black coat. He handed his hat and coat to the waiter, and then proceeded in.

  It was as warm as toast in the grand room. That was courtesy of two roaring fires at either end that were piled high with logs. It was promising to be a cold winter. Even though it was only the start of December he had noticed it.

  My first winter without her.

  The thought slid into his mind, uninvited. He never intended to think of her now. In fact, he tried very, very hard not to think of her. But it was as if his unconscious self just couldn’t help it, even now. Even six months after she had vanished into thin air, she was still in the very air around him, haunting him.

  Marina, with the violet eyes.

  His face tightened as he strode into the grand room. Those eyes. He remembered the first time he had ever seen them, across a crowded room at the assemblies. He had felt as though he had been struck by lightning, as if a bolt of it had scissored out of the sky and struck him, right in the heart.

  For a moment he savoured the memory, despite his best intentions not to think of her. She had looked like a queen standing there, dressed in regal purple. Her golden hair had been piled atop her head and she even had a small tiara affixed there. And then she had turned around and he had been struck by those eyes, rendered more vivid by the colour of her gown.

  He had never seen a more beautiful woman in his life.

  He shook off the memory, like a dog shaking droplets of rain from its coat. An unbearable sadness entered his soul. Why was he still tormenting himself like this? She was gone. She was gone forever, as surely as if she had died and was lying now in the churchyard for eternity.

  He had hoped, for a long time. But he knew that six months was too long. If she was going to return it would have happened by now. No, something sinister had happened to Marina. Her father had hired a private investigator, but the man had found nothing. And he knew that if she was still alive, and able to, she would have made her way home by now.

  He was conscious of eyes upon him as he made his way towards the settee at the far end of the room. He smiled in a noncommittal way, but all the gentlemen coughed, embarrassed, and slid their eyes away. He was infamous now, it seemed. The gossip had been intense, and still it lingered. Like a noxious smell.

  His fists tightened. Did they think he had something to do with her disappearance, either intentionally, or unintentionally? Was that the reason they looked at him the way they did and then cast their eyes to the floor?

  He was almost to the settee. And there was his father, in his usual position. The newspaper was spread out around him, and the tea service was on the small table in front of the settee. The older man raised his eyebrows, folding the paper carefully, as he sat opposite him.

  “You are on time,” said Mr. Wilmington. “A good thing. You are improving, Silas.”

  Silas forced a smile onto his face. His father was a stickler for routine and punctuality, courtesy of being an army man when he was young. He had always run his own household as if it were a military camp and his three sons were the foot soldiers within it.

  Silas grimaced at the memory. His older brothers Tobias and David were naturally compliant and had not had many problems with it. But he had always resented it, deep down, wishing that his father was not so rigid. Edwin Wilmington was a stickler for rules and regulations and took his office of magistrate very seriously. Silas and his brothers had been lectured endlessly about the necessity of order and proper process.

  Tobias and David were gone now, married with their own households, and no longer had to endure it. But he, Silas, was not so lucky. He was still stuck in the childhood home, like some kind of man-child, even though he was six and twenty, following his father’s rules. It was like a straitjacket binding him, and it only got tighter, year by year.

  He swallowed down his frustration. If Marina had not vanished…well, they would have been man and wife by now. A big midsummer wedding had been planned, when the weather was perfect, the days long and golden and full of promise. They would have set up their own home – he had almost secured a modest house for them, before she had disappeared. Afterwards, he had let the deal go. Why purchase a house for a non-existent wife?

  Yes, his life would have been very different if everything had panned out the way that it should have. He couldn’t bear to think about it.

  “Thank you, Father,” he said now, through gritted teeth.

  His father picked up his teacup, sipping thoughtfully. “Word has come through from the professor,” he said slowly, eying his son. “Miss Sinclair is receptive to the offer. The Sinclairs have invited us all to dinner, so that you can be formally introduced to her. If all goes well, the engagement will be announced in due course.”

  Silas felt his heart sinking into his boots. He had known that this was going to happen, of course. He was a willing participant. He had accompanied his father to the Sinclair home, on Darling Street, to talk to Professor Reginald Sinclair about offering for his only daughter’s hand in marriage. He had even re-assured the man that he was steadfast and earnest in his offer.

  But now that it was real, he wanted to jump up and run as fast as he could. He wanted to run out of Bath entirely and not stop, until he reached the very tip of Scotland.

  “That is good,” he said slowly, his cheeks aching with the effort of maintaining a smile. “When is the dinner?”

  Mr. Wilmington put down his teacup. “Tomorrow evening,” he said with satisfaction. “We thought that it was best not to delay it.” He paused, gazing at his son steadily. “Best to get it over and done with, hey? Like ripping off a bandage. It is for the best, Silas. It is high time that you carry on with your life and leave all that messy business behind.”

  Silas felt a lump form in his throat, a tightening, of sorrow and anger. His father was talking about Marina as if she were something shameful that had to be swept aside. And even as he knew that it was necessary to move on, and that he needed to, for his own sanity, something in his innermost soul howled in protest.

  How can you take a wife who is anyone but her?

  He had loved her fervently, to the point of madness. He had simply not been able to believe that a lady as beautiful and charming as she would
ever have picked him, and it had been an astonishing delight when she had. His nights had been filled with longing for the moment she would be finally his, and he could take her in his arms, forever…

  But all of it lay like ashes around his feet now.

  “Very good,” he said in a forced jovial voice. “I am eager to meet Miss Sinclair.”

  His father shot him a weary look. “I do realise that you are not eager, Silas,” he said. “You do not need to pretend for my sake. But it is good enough that you are willing and that you have seen the necessity of it.” He paused. “From all accounts, Miss Sinclair is an attractive girl, modest, and chaste. Exactly what you need, after…” He let his voice trail off.

  Anger flared in him again. He knew that his father had never really liked Marina, and why would he? Marina had been dramatic and fiery, almost larger than life. She wasn’t a quiet, compliant mouse, eager to become a proper young lady, in the way his father wanted all ladies to be.

  Marina had danced all hours until her feet were almost bleeding. Marina had attended bohemian parties, where they served exotic drinks, and talked of poetry and philosophy. Marina had posed for an oil portrait by an up-and-coming London artist, dressed as a Roman goddess. Marina was way too much for a man like his father.

  She had almost been too much for a man like himself.

  He had loved her for her flamboyance, not wanting to change a single thing. But he had anticipated that it would be hard after they were married. Marina was like a wild bird and he had no desire to cage her. Would she start to resent the upper-middle-class life, that they would lead?

  It was something that he would never know.

  His thoughts drifted to Miss Alice Sinclair. The lady who was about to become his new fiancée. He had never heard of her before his father had approached him with his scheme. He couldn’t recall ever having seen her on the social circuit. Nor had he heard her name mentioned by any of his friends or acquaintances.

  She was twenty years old, he had been told. The only child of a professor of natural history, who had recently retired. They were a respectable family, moderately wealthy, courtesy of a stipend her father received from a deceased relative. Mrs. Sinclair had artistic inclinations, apparently, attending a great many exhibitions in London, and was a member of a local group for lady painters.

  He had mentioned her name to people over the last few days, curious to see what people would say about Miss Alice Sinclair. But no one had any opinion. She was not noteworthy in any way, it seemed, although that could just be because no one had met her.

  His father insisted that she was an attractive girl. Apparently, he had met her briefly at a garden party, more than a year ago now. He had known the Sinclair family for quite a few years, although not well. But enough to approach the professor for his daughter’s hand.

  His father, in his regimented way, had approached the task of finding Silas a new fiancée like a military drill. Lists had been drawn-up of all the eligible ladies of a certain age within their acquaintance circle and crossed out one-by-one. The reason Mr. Wilmington had eventually chosen Alice Sinclair was not for her supposed attractiveness, but because she was so self-effacing, in a social way. The exact opposite of Marina.

  “We need a steady girl,” his father had told him. “There has been enough controversy. A steady girl will mean the gossip will all die down. She will not draw attention to herself, and the engagement can proceed without incident.”

  Silas had shrugged his shoulders through all of it. What did he care who he married if it was not Marina? A strange indifference had settled over him, as if he was walking through life in a bubble. And he had to admit, the thought of getting out of his father’s house, and his control, was appealing. If he married someone else, at least there was that.

  It had all happened quickly. The next thing they were calling upon Professor Sinclair. He had vaguely hoped that he might spot Alice Sinclair while they were at the house. But she had been out, shopping with her mother. So, he was going into this engagement without ever having seen his new fiancée’s face.

  He did not know her at all. And somehow that was exactly what he needed. A fresh start, in every way imaginable.

  Perhaps one day it would all go away. Perhaps his broken heart would finally mend. He intended to be as gracious to Alice Sinclair as he could manage. It wasn’t her fault, was it, that his heart was dead, as dead as the trees were now, shed of their leaves, as the long winter approached.

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