The Lady and the Rake: A Scandalous Arrangement (The Eardleys of Gostwicke Hall Book 1)

by Penelope Redmont

  She smiled at him. "Well then… yes. Yes, Lord Linton, you do me great honor, and I would like very much to become your wife."

  Mine

  Melly felt very warm. The heat of his hands, and the heat in his eyes, seemed to ignite something in her. "May I touch your face?"

  He swallowed visibly. "If you wish, yes."

  He released her hand, so that she could brush the back of her fingers across his cheek. When had he become so dear, and so familiar to her? She had agreed to be his wife — and she thought of something.

  "Yes?"

  "How would I fit into your life?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean — Catherine said that you have your life. Gambling, your horses — and —"

  "No, I will not have a mistress, if that's what you're asking."

  It wasn't only that. She glared at the humor in his gaze. "I don't wish to have a fashionable marriage, where you spend most of your time in London, or Newmarket, or traveling between your estates. I would like to accompany you — and yes, that means when you are gaming, and to Newmarket. Friends, you recollect?"

  "My dear, if you wish it, you may accompany me wherever I go, although perhaps not to Gentleman Jackson's or to my tailor, although —" He chuckled.

  She raised her brows.

  "I'm sorry. I was imagining you at Gentleman Jackson's. The men are in their shirtsleeves. Some are bare chested."

  Melly blushed, and lifted her chin.

  Suddenly, he was kneeling, right in front of her. "A moment."

  He produced a small box from his pocket, and smiled. "I went back to Rundell, Bridge & Rundell." He opened the box.

  Melly gasped. She had never seen a more beautiful ring. The center sapphire had been set within a gold heart. Diamonds flared in the sunlight, outlining the heart, enhancing the deep indigo blue of the stone.

  Linton took the ring from the box. "May I?" He asked.

  She nodded. He slid the ring onto her finger, then kissed her hand. "I wanted you to have something as unique as you are… I gave you my heart after you confronted Pierce… that's when I ordered the ring. Now, will you kiss me?"

  "I do love you, you know," she said solemnly, as he bent his head to hers. She lifted her hands to his face — and kissed his cheek. Then she laughed, when she saw the expression on his face.

  "Rogue," he said, his deep voice husky.

  "I mean to be an obedient wife… sometimes." She set her mouth on his.

  He enclosed her in his arms, pressing her against him, and took charge of the kiss. When had he become so important to her, she wondered. Then she thought of nothing other than his mouth, his body, and the strange reaction of her own body.

  Heat sizzled through her, pooling in her lower body, and making her move restlessly against Linton. He groaned, and tightened his arms.

  A moment later, he moved away, and she felt lost. She wanted him to kiss her again.

  He shrugged out of his jacket, and spread it on the grass. "Come," he said, and held out his hand.

  She hesitated, then took his hand. He sat, and pulled her down beside him. He tugged at the ribbons on her bonnet, lifted it, and tossed it away.

  Her eyes opened wide.

  "Now we shall be more comfortable," he murmured, then took her in his arms again.

  After another long kiss, he pressed her down, until she was lying on his jacket. He looked down at her. "You're mine now, Miss Eardley," he said solemnly.

  She shivered. Before she could respond, he was kissing her again, and she gave herself up to the sensations engulfing her. She glowed with heat, and felt languorous, as if he were the sun, warming her.

  Kissing was delightful, she thought. She felt completely relaxed until she felt his warm hand on her breast. Her eyes blinked open. How had he undone her pelisse… He met her gaze and kissed her again.

  Then, slowly, he lifted his head, and stared into her eyes. He cleared his throat. "Mel, my darling wife to be…" He shook his head, then sat up.

  She felt hurt. "What is it?"

  He cleared his throat again, and laughed shakily. He ran his hand through his hair, then stood, and reached out his hand to help her up.

  Taking her in his arms again, he kissed her forehead.

  She frowned at him. Had she displeased him? "Tell me what it is, please. Did I do something wrong?"

  Kissing her hand, he laid it on his chest. "No indeed — I'm trying to keep my sanity here, and your honor. I love you, and I adore your mother and sisters. Even Catherine." He chuckled.

  She felt the vibration of his laughter in her heart. He did love her. She smiled.

  "No more kisses…"

  "What?"

  "Well, kisses yes, but single kisses, I think, until our wedding night."

  "I see," she said. She didn't see at all.

  He laughed outright at that. "I know you don't understand, yet. You will understand after our marriage."

  A wedding

  Melly married Lord Linton at fashionable St. George's, Hanover Square, in the final month of autumn.

  Mrs. Eardley had wanted the wedding in spring, but the groom adamantly refused. Even the dowager countess protested that she needed longer to make the preparations, but to no avail. Linton said that he would wait no longer, and was inclined to marry by special license.

  In the meantime, whenever Linton called, Catherine insisted that Melly was chaperoned either by Anne, or their mother. She refused to countenance Melly traveling with Linton to his estates. "Indeed not."

  Finally the wedding was over. Melly was relieved to change into a carriage dress. Her face hurt from smiling, and her lacing was so tight that unless she stood or sat very erect, she couldn't get her breath.

  She had had enough of all the fuss, and was well on the way to becoming crabby.

  "Unlace me, quickly," she said to Bessie in her new bedroom at Linton house.

  She loved the room, with the curtains at the long windows in her favorite colors of cream and deep sea green. As soon as she was free of the corset she threw herself across her huge new bed.

  "You can't sleep now, ma'am, his lordship has had the horses put to, and won't want to keep them standing," Bessie said pragmatically some five minutes later, when Melly showed no signs of leaving her bed.

  Melly sighed, and stood up. "I will not be bound up like a chicken for roasting," she warned, when Bessie helped her into yet another new corset. All her clothes were new.

  The couple left the celebrations at Linton house in the middle of the afternoon, and set out on a journey to one of Linton's estates in the north. They would spend the first night and days of their marriage a few miles from London, at the country home of Linton's friend, Sir Robert. Sir Robert stayed in town.

  At Sir Robert's palatial country home, they dined à deux, although neither did justice to the meal, then retired to Sir Robert's library to share a glass of brandy. In Melly's case, a small glass.

  She stared at Linton. He seemed nervous. Why? she wondered. All day, she'd done her best to smile, to remember the name of each of Linton's relations — every member of his extended family was in town for the marriage, it seemed.

  "Well, Lady Linton?" Linton asked finally. "Shall we retire?"

  Melly's face flamed. Her mother had spoken to her about her wedding night, and although Melly had listened attentively, she'd been doubtful, and not a little suspicious that her mother was making a game of her. It all seemed unlikely, but her mother had sounded so distressed, and her words so disjointed that they hardly made sense.

  "Your husband will explain, my dear," her mother finished hastily. "You must allow yourself to be guided by him."

  Catherine, who strolled into Mrs. Eardley's sitting room at that moment, laughed when she saw the expression on Melly's face. "Stop frightening her, Mother. You will soon forget the pain, Melly."

  Pain? Her mother hadn't mentioned any pain.

  Bessie, who had traveled with them in a carriage with Linton's man, dressed Melly
for her wedding night, laying out Melly's nightgown on the enormous bed in which Linton would join her.

  Melly held up the garment. "It's a chemise," she said flatly, staring at the thin cloth. "Where's the nightgown?"

  "No ma'am, that is a nightgown," Bessie said firmly. "The most wonderful nightgown I've ever seen, so delicate, it's —"

  "Then I shall wear a chemise underneath it."

  "As you wish, ma'am."

  After Bessie helped her into the nightgown — over her chemise — Melly belted her dressing gown firmly around herself, then sat down so that Bessie could undo her hair.

  Linton arrived in his shirtsleeves while Bessie was plaiting Melly's hair after brushing it out.

  "Leave that," he said gently. He looked at Melly carefully, then nodded to Bessie to leave. "I'd rather your hair unbound."

  Although Melly wanted to protest that unless her hair were plaited, it would be a horrid tangle in the morning, her mouth was too dry to utter a word.

  "I think you are overtired," Linton said, picked up her brush.

  Melly closed her eyes, because tears had started to roll down her face. She smoothed them away, and swallowed hard. Why had she never noticed how large Linton was? She wasn't frightened of him, not exactly, but the thought of taking off her dressing gown terrified her.

  She shuddered when she remembered what her mother had said — surely not?

  "Mel, look at me."

  She met his gaze in the mirror.

  He continued brushing her hair. "This is all new to you… and to me. My dear, nothing will happen that unless you wish it too — I am yours to command, I promise you." He chuckled, his eyes crinkling. "I'm not a slavering wolf, intent on devouring a lamb. Tonight, we will retire to that bed, and we will sleep. You're exhausted. Agreed?"

  She nodded.

  "You know," he continued conversationally, "I may have made a mistake."

  "How?"

  "I may have been too preux chevalier — entirely too nice, and now you think me an ogre. No doubt your mother has filled you with ideas which terrify you. I say again, Mel, that I am yours to command. Would you like to sleep alone?"

  To her surprise, she didn't. "No."

  "Well then, we'll go to bed, and we'll sleep."

  Melly climbed into bed and shrugged out of her dressing gown after Linton went into the dressing room. She wriggled underneath the sheets, until only the top of her head showed.

  It was a large bed, she reassured herself, and closed her eyes.

  When Melly awoke she found herself in her husband's arms. Somehow she had twined herself around him like a vine.

  "Well, wife?" He growled.

  She blinked, meeting his gaze. His eyes glowed with tenderness, and something else too. Desire.

  She didn't respond, because no words came. She was too engrossed with a myriad of wonderful sensations which made her body tingle, and suddenly, she was filled with a desire to become his wife in truth.

  Although what happened over the next few hours truly was unlikely, it was wonderful too. Melly knew that she would love being Linton's wife. "Well, husband?" Melly looked down at Linton, her eyes gleaming.

  "Madame, I think…" He didn't say anything else for another half hour.

  Well pleased with herself, and with him, when Linton looked up at her next, his eyes filled with love, Melly could only laugh with joy.

  Autumn, 1816, Gostwicke Hall

  Lord and Lady Linton welcomed their first child, a son, at Gostwicke Hall just over a year after their marriage.

  They decided to stay at Gostwicke until autumn. Linton was forced to make several journeys to London, and to his estates, but his wife and child were never far from his mind. He resented every minute that he was separated from them.

  One chilly morning, when the leaves were dropping, and winter was on the horizon, he found Melly in the nursery, standing over their son's crib. Baby Randall's nurse and nursemaid curtsied, then left the room quietly.

  He didn't notice their departure, because Melly was in his arms. He kissed her deeply. He could never get enough of kissing her.

  Then he greeted his son, who grinned at his father, and waved chubby fists at him in excitement, demanding to be picked up.

  Linton obliged, then looked down at Melly.

  "How was your trip?"

  "Long, Mel."

  "You were gone for a week — it was long, Randall." She kissed him, and then their son.

  "I've made a decision."

  She looked up at him, her indigo blue eyes clear and happy. "You have? What is it?"

  "I've decided that now I'm a doting papa, I never need to travel alone again."

  Melly laughed. "An admirable decision…"

  On his way out of the nursery, with his son in his arms, and his wife by his side, Linton decided that he was the happiest of men. And the luckiest.

  Lady Saville’s Lover

  Here's an excerpt from Lady Saville's Lover: A Regency Romance.

  Prologue: "Uncivilized"

  Bess Fleming, the only daughter of the Laird of Macansh, was in London with strict instructions to marry. Her mother was English, and her father had promised his wife that their daughter would marry an Englishman. Now that both her mother and father were dead, the promise remained.

  Bess would keep her promise, but after the incident, she hated London with a passion. Nevertheless, she was determined to do her duty. The "incident" had shattered her naivety: she'd thought herself a success in her new and relentlessly fashionable life.

  Before the incident, she'd been presented at court, and to the Lady Patronesses of Almack's. The Macansh wealth ensured that she was dressed elegantly. A group of tutors: in protocol, etiquette, and elocution, ensured that she would be able to take her place in the world of the haut ton. She might have succeeded in convincing herself that she would enjoy her new life, if she hadn't overheard that conversation.

  The incident took place at a ball. She'd been in London for several months, and her season was a success. Her dance card for the ball was full, and she was enjoying herself.

  When she came downstairs from the ladies retiring room, she noticed that her hair was coming loose. Her hip-length, thick burgundy hair was the bane of her existence. Although it was confined with both slim gold ribbons, and an emerald-scattered snood, it had a mind of its own.

  Bess had always struggled with her hair. The village children pulled it, which led to fights. So she'd cut it short with shears when she was eight years old. She'd thought herself clever until her mother cried, and her father made her promise that she would allow her hair to grow — she was to keep it as long as her mother's.

  She secluded herself behind three large floor vases so that she could repin it. A group of men her aunt Jane, Lady Beale, had pointed out to her was on the other side of the vases. Jane had indicated the men with a nod when they'd entered the ballroom, and whispered to Bess: "That's Charles Fox's set — be careful of them. They're all confirmed rakes, and Lord Darius is the worst of that bad lot."

  Although she didn't mean to eavesdrop, she was perfectly situated for it, and to her dismay, she realized that the men were speaking about her.

  "I like Miss Fleming — pretty clothes, and a very small, and very pretty, and very rounded figure. A completely delicious morsel. One feels that one could, and should, gobble her up. But what makes her enticing is that she's blessed with more money than god," a bored voice remarked.

  "There's that. She has money," a deeper voice said. "But my heavens — the highlands? Uncivilized, old son. Truly. I've heard that they go into battle naked, covered in blue paint."

  A chuckle, and a snort. "Does that include the women? If they're naked, they can paint themselves in any color they choose."

  "Red hair too," the deeper voice said disparagingly. "You know what that means — hot blooded, and hot-tempered."

  "Yes," another voice responded. "But then I like a hot-blooded and passionate woman. You don't, Darius? You like your
women to lie still for you? Must be because —"

  "Quietly," Lord Darius said. "You're too loud. Remember where you are," Lord Darius warned.

  Bess finished pinning her hair. She felt both hot and cold. Uncivilized? Was that what they thought of her? She shuddered. Tears came to her eyes. Homesickness engulfed her again. She hated London, and hated the supercilious fashionables, but she had to do her duty.

  "You'll go to London," her brother had ordered, "and you'll marry as father promised mother. No arguments, Bess, please."

  She would have argued. However, Gordon's wife and son had died in childbirth, and he'd carried on, even though sadness shadowed him. If Gordon could carry on, as their father would have wanted, then so could she. She would carry out her father's commands, and would bring honor to her family.

  "What's the matter?" Jane asked when Bess found her. Jane was her aunt; her father's only sister. She was a wealthy widow, who was sponsoring Bess's season.

  Bess shook her head. She wanted to go home, but Jane would ask questions. Her next partner approached her, and she smiled, curtsied, and accepted his hand.

  The word echoed in her head. "Uncivilized," was she? She decided that she would mark the owner of that voice so that she knew him again. She'd show him.

  An hour later, she knew to whom the deep voice belonged. It belonged to Lord Darius Saville, the second son of the Duke of Saville. Handsome, she thought, and as polished as his tailor could make him. He was taller than the men who surrounded him, and had broad shoulders, as well as a distinguished air.

  I'll know you again, Lord Darius, Bess thought. Perhaps she would show him just how uncivilized a highlander could be.

  An hour later, when she asked Jane about him, very casually, Jane told her that Lord Darius rarely attended fashionable events. He was only making an appearance, the gossip said, because his father had ordered him to marry.

  Gossip said that the Duke of Saville was worried. Not only had the Duke's eldest son been married for six years, without issue, the heir was also childless, and a heavy gambler. The heir was cutting into the family fortune in such a way that the Duke had resorted to money lenders.