A Lady by Chance (Historical Regency Romance)

by Cheryl Bolen

  "Do sit down," Anna told them as she sat on a rose brocaded settee, "and tell me of your journey. Where did you go?" Haverstock took a seat on a French chair that looked much too small for his large body. "We had to check on various investments around the country."

  "The investments you needed the money for, my lord?" she asked.

  He pursed his lips and frowned. "Have I not instructed you, my dear, not to address me as my lord?"

  "I am sorry, Charles," Anna said.

  "Yes, my dear, we needed the money for the investments."

  "Have you seen your mother?" she asked.

  "No. I came here straight away. How soon can you be ready to move to Haverstock House?"

  "I am ready now. I have made arrangements to let this house."

  "Very good," Haverstock said. "By the way, has my mother called?"

  "No, but I did not expect her. I cannot blame her for being disappointed in the match. She has no doubt decided I am completely unsuitable," Anna said in a confident voice. "Beside your mother, who else is in your family?"

  "I have five sisters and a brother. I bought James colors, and he is now in the Peninsula." He shook his head. "Worry like the devil over him." Sighing, he added, "My sister Mary married last year and lives in Cornwall. The sister closest to me in age and in temperament is Lydia. She's thirty and has no prospects of marrying. Unfortunately for her, she resembles me very much. I fear she is much too tall and too broad to attract suitors – which is a loss for them for she is quite the most agreeable woman I have ever known. But, then, I might find her so because she thinks and acts more like a man."

  "Bruising rider," Morgie added. "And a capital whist player."

  "It's easy to see that Lydia is your favorite," Anna said.

  Haverstock thought for a moment without responding. "I suppose you're right. Lydia, too, is probably the most loyal to me, because of the closeness of our ages, I expect."

  "What about the other three sisters?"

  "I'm sorry to say they are a pack of empty-headed females who will all marry quite well. They are tolerably good looking and think of nothing except the latest fashions and hair arrangements."

  "And what are their names and ages?"

  He thought for a moment. "I am not particularly good at remembering that sort of thing. I know Charlotte is the youngest. She's seventeen and will come out this next season." He skewered his face in thought. "Let me see, Cynthia came out last season and turned down several offers. I believe she's holding out for a peer. I think she's nineteen. Then there's Kate. She's a year older than Cynthia."

  "The three youngest seem very much of my own age," Anna said.

  "And I am sure they will adore you, for you possess that which they hold above all else – an enviable wardrobe."

  "Then outfitting them in all new clothes will be very enjoyable for me."

  His eyes narrowed. "I told you I don't want your money, Anna."

  "In most matters, my lord, I will abide by your decisions, but when it comes to my money, I will spend it as I like, and providing your sisters with beautiful clothes will give me great pleasure."

  He rose and paced the room. With his back to her, he said, "I go to make sure Haverstock House is ready for you, madam. If all goes well, I will collect you later this afternoon."

  She offered her hand first to Morgie, then to her husband, who kissed it softly before he took his leave.

  Lydia was the first to meet him when he entered Haverstock House. She wordlessly pulled him into the morning room and spoke quietly. "I don't need to tell you how distressed Mama has been over the news of your marriage. She's taken to her bed. What's come over you? You've never done a rash thing in your life."

  He placed his hands on her broad shoulders. "When you meet her, you'll understand."

  "Knowing you as I do, I cannot believe you would enter into a gross misalliance. I will endeavor to make your wife welcome in every way."

  He kissed his sister on her cheek. "You are the best of sisters." Then he swept from the room, mounted the stairs and found his mother in her bed in the marchioness's chamber.

  His face flushed with anger, he said, "This room was supposed to have been made ready for my wife, Mother."

  Tears seeped from her eyes. "I have been much too upset over your marriage to do anything."

  "You have had sixteen days to get over the shock. You are to remove yourself at once from this bed. My wife moves in this afternoon."

  "Charles, you are heartless."

  "I am not throwing you out on the streets. You will merely move down the hall. I am thirty-two, Mother. Did you think I would never take a wife?"

  She sniffed. "It is just that I thought bans would be posted and I would have more time to prepare for the changes." Bursting into fresh tears, she said, "And I never in my wildest nightmares thought you would marry so far beneath you."

  "My wife is the daughter of a duke, and her mother was a member of the French aristocracy. I hardly think that is beneath me."

  "Her mother was a – -"

  "You will not speak ill of my wife or her mother," he interrupted angrily. "Ever! Is that understood?"

  "Can I not even hope that you will change your mind about the marriage?"

  "No, you cannot."

  "Then the marriage has been consummated?"

  His jaw stern, his lips a straight line, he replied, "Indeed it has."

  She observed her first born. "You are exactly like Steffington. He was totally obsessed with the de Mouchet woman. Just because she possessed an extraordinary beauty. Is the daughter also beautiful?"

  "You will have to judge for yourself. I am of the opinion that her beauty is unrivaled."

  She shook her head. "You're breaking my heart just as Steffington broke my poor sister's heart."

  "Aunt Margaret is dead," he said sternly. "Steffington is dead. Annette de Mouchet is dead. You need to put the past behind you, Mother. Don't blame Anna for the circumstances of her birth. And let us hope she does not blame us for the cruelty she and her mother received from Father."

  Late that afternoon, the Haverstock women gathered in the salon to meet the new marchioness. Anna had selected an impeccably cut dress of deep gray wool with matching pelisse. The pelisse was trimmed in claret velvet and a claret-dyed ostrich plume jutted from the fashionable gray hat which sat askance on her head. She carried a huge fur muff dyed in the deep claret and wore gray leather boots. She felt rather like a fine horse being trotted before bidders at Tattersall's as Haverstock escorted her into the salon where the awaiting females unabashedly took in her every feature and cast envious glances at her exquisite attire.

  One by one, Haverstock introduced her first to his mother, who offered a cool greeting, then to each sister before taking a seat beside his wife on the sofa.

  Haverstock strongly resembled his mother, Anna thought. The dowager was a large woman, more in height than in weight, though she carried a good bit of matronly padding. And, like her son, her eyes were black and her hair still a dark brown.

  Lydia shared the coloring and stature of her brother and mother, and Anna thought she looked even older than her thirty years.

  The three younger sisters bore little resemblance to the others, though they looked remarkably like each other. They were small, though not as small as Anna, and were fair and blonde.

  "I understand you have a rather large staff," the dowager said to Anna.

  "I bring only my abigail with me," Anna answered. "She has been with me my entire life and with my mother before that."

  Anna noted Haverstock's mother stiffened at the mention of her mother.

  "I suppose I should have checked with you these past two weeks to determine how many you would bring so we could ready quarters for them, but I have been indisposed," the dowager said.

  Lydia got up and rang for a servant. When the butler entered the room, she told him to instruct servants to ready a room for Anna's maid.

  "Thank you, Lydia," Anna said gratef
ully.

  Awkward silence followed before Cynthia asked Anna, "May I inquire as to who is your modiste, Anna? That is quite the most exquisite outfit I have ever seen."

  Anna smiled. "If it is agreeable to you, I will take you girls there tomorrow and have Madame Devreaux design gowns for each of you."

  "My wife is possessed of a great fortune which – above my objections – she is determined to shower upon my family."

  "I do not find that objectionable at all," Kate said, grinning.

  Her mother cast a disapproving glance at Kate. "I think not tomorrow, girls. Remember, there's a rout at the Abernathy's tonight and you will not get to bed until very late."

  "Then the day after," Anna interjected authoritatively. She had decided to exert her authority from the start. The dowager would not be given the opportunity to undermine her.

  Her face grim, Haverstock's mother turned her attention to her son. "You and your wife will accompany us tonight?"

  Anna noted her mother-in-law had refrained from referring to her by name.

  "I think not, Mother," he said. "I wish to enjoy a quiet evening at home with my wife. You forget, we have been apart for over two weeks."

  Chapter 7

  The two of them sat before the fire in Anna's chamber and partook of a light dinner in near total silence. After the servants took away the dishes, Haverstock poured two glasses of brandy he had brought back from France, giving the snifter to Anna, then sitting beside her on a settee in front of the fire.

  She took a sip and grimaced. "I have never had brandy before, my – -, Charles."

  His eyes flashed mischievously. "What! A French woman who does not appreciate excellent brandy?"

  "I am not a French woman," she said defiantly. "My mother held a great bitterness for her country, and her greatest desire was that I be thoroughly English. I was baptized in the Church in England, my mother spoke only English to me – though Colette spoke only French – and my sympathies in this awful war are entirely with the English, I assure you." Her chest tightened as she ruefully remembered her husband did not share those sympathies.

  "So I have married a thoroughly English woman," Haverstock said gently. He took her hand in his.

  His touch had a profound effect on her. "There was just one area where my mother did not succeed in Anglicizing me," she said, trying to retain her outward composure while inside she fairly sizzled from the feel of his huge hand clasped about hers. "It was her fondest wish that I be educated at Miss Sloan's School for Young Ladies. I had no desire to leave my home, but Mama was insistent." She stopped and gazed into her husband's obsidian eyes. "It was your father who kept me from the school."

  "Surely that's not why you hold him accountable for your mother's death?"

  "It broke her heart," Anna said softly. "After he left that day, she cried inconsolably. It was a bitter cold January day and she left the house without even a shawl. She walked for hours in the square. I didn't know she had gone out. She came home when night fell, blue with cold." Anna's voice lowered. "She took lung fever and was dead a month later. At her death bed, she made me promise I would be a lady."

  Haverstock released her hand. "So that – more than revenge against my family – was your reason for coaxing me into marriage."

  "You are very kind to use the word coaxing when you know very well I forced you," Anna said lightly, her lips curving into a smile.

  "'Tis my fate to be shackled to an authoritative female," he said teasingly. "I shall not be master in my own home."

  Was it the brandy or her husband's presence that spread a liquid ease to the core of her body? She almost laughed over her mind-numbing desire for this man she had been prepared to stoically tolerate. She had come to crave the very sound of his voice, his powerful body, his ruggedly handsome face. But most of all, she ached to be held by him. With full cognizance, she knew this longing for what it was: an extremely strong physical attraction she could never confuse with love. For she could never give her heart to one who turned against his own country, his own brother.

  Her voice husky with a passion she tried to repress, Anna looked up into his eyes. "You will be my master, my teacher, Charles."

  Their eyes met and held, that feeling of oneness she experienced on their wedding night enveloping Anna again. She wanted to feel his lips on hers, to feel herself cradled within the comfort of his arms.

  He gently touched her face with a finger, and she found herself lifting his hand to her lips. That instinctive gesture removed all barriers between them. His burly arms came around her as she moved into his chest, resting her head against him, listening to the thumping of his heart.

  His head lowered, and she lifted her face until she felt the soft warmth of his mouth on hers and slipped her arms around him, basking in the solid feel of him.

  After the kiss, he spoke softly. "I have something for you, my lady." He reached into his pocket and presented her with a huge emerald ring surrounded by diamonds.

  She drew back and looked at it but did not take it from him. "Will you put it on?" she asked.

  He slipped it on the third finger of her left hand. "I shall have it cut down for you, my dear."

  "I hate to remove it, Charles. It is very beautiful. I feel so. . .so undeserving."

  A frown furrowed his face. "It belongs to you, for you have become my wife in every way, or have you forgotten?"

  She stared into his black eyes, remembering how thoroughly he had taken possession of her. "I am yours," she said breathlessly.

  Over her clothing, his palm stroked her breasts, massaging them with surprising tenderness. The effect on Anna was devastating. Her body came alive at his touch. It was for this moment she had lived the past sixteen days.

  With practiced ease, he unfastened her buttons and lowered the top of her gown, then her chemise and stays. Her gaze dropped, and she saw the contours of her own sizable breasts in the glow of the firelight. Though no other man had seen them before, she was not embarrassed.

  He reverently lifted a breast in both hands. "Oh, my Anna, you have the body of a goddess." His lips covered her breast, his tongue circling the tip, then taking it deep into his mouth and suckling.

  Warmth flowed deep within her. My Anna. How magical those words sounded, how blissful he made her feel with every magical stroke.

  When he gazed up at her, his face wet and heated, something seared inside of her like flame to parchment.

  He stood, his majestic body blocking the firelight. Her breath hitched as he threw off his coat, planting his booted feet and standing tall, the fire to his back. My dark titan. Her eyes flitted from his broad shoulders beneath the soft linen shirt, down his v-shaped torso to his flat waist, then rested on his straining groin. She wanted to see his flesh golden in the firelight. She wanted to feel its moistness against her own bare body.

  His black eyes hungry, he held out his hands to her, drawing her to a standing position as her gown and chemise pooled on the carpet. She moved to untie his cravat, her eyes never leaving his, then she slipped her fingers beneath the soft linen shirt, stroking his moist flesh. She deftly unfastened his buttons, and he assisted her in removing his shirt.

  His eyes devoured every inch of her bare flesh, his uneven breath a catalyst to her own surge of. . .desire. She had finally been able to put a name to this craving she held for this man.

  Effortlessly, he swooped her into his arms as if she were paper and carried her to the bed where he gently set her on its silk coverlet and lay down beside her, drawing her into himself. His lips came down on hers in a wet, open-mouthed kiss while his smooth, strong hands moved over her back, down her hips, then her legs. A wet heat gushed between her legs. How could one man have such a nearly debilitating effect on her? She was powerless not to arch into him.

  Those magical hands of his moved between her thighs and inched upward until her thighs parted as his long finger slipped into her wetness. With breath labored as if she'd been running, she circled his tongue with her ow
n, windmills of pleasure spiraling through her thoughts, thoughts that were nothing more than pulsing fragments: Desire. Need. Love.

  He withdrew his finger, trailing its wet path over her stomach, the erotic gesture robbing her of breath.

  When he raised his hips to remove his breeches, she almost could not bear the brief separation, almost could not bear the anticipation of his next move.

  The glorious spectacle of his skin glowing golden in the soft firelight was nearly as compelling as drawing a breath. She softly stroked the firm muscles of his chest and its mat of soft black hair, moving toward the swell of his manhood. Her hand curled around him as a deep groan escaped his throat. That she could solicit such a primeval noise from her giant exhilarated her.

  His hands began to work their magic on her again, first one finger, then another sliding into her warmth as she widened herself even more. All thoughts now obliterated from her mind save for this meeting, this melding with her dark giant.

  She initiated a hungry kiss, then a series of feverish, wet kisses as she arched her body into his, her breath even more labored. She felt his heat, his warm breath on her, his manhood brushing against her. And she parted her legs and guided him into herself. He plunged deeply as her whole being rocked with the numbing pleasure he gave her. His motions quickened, her body trembled convulsively. He kept saying her name, and she reveled in it.

  Their chests heaving together as if one heartbeat united them, Anna's hands dug into her husband's back. Where dream left off and reality began Anna couldn't say. All she knew was this was what she lived for, these dreamy moments when nothing else intruded on their world of two. She savored the feel of him within her and lovingly stroked his firm body.

  He rolled back to his side. She moved, too, to keep from disengaging him. His powerful hand lightly touched her temple and brushed away the damp hair, softly kissing her brow. He began to trace her features with a long finger, placing soft kisses on her eyelids, her nose, then came to brush gently on her mouth. She smelled his heat and the brandy and the scent of their sex and was oddly sated by it.