Seductive Scoundrels Series Books 1-3: A Regency Romance

by Collette Cameron

  “That’s awfully harsh, don’t you think?”

  It explained why Thea had been worried about being caught with him yesterday. It also dashed his excuse to hold her in his arms again while he waltzed her ’round the ballroom or terrace.

  Mother rolled a shoulder. “He’s a man of rigid beliefs, and while I do not approve of his daughter’s scandalous behavior, I think it wiser to be merciful and slow to judge. We don’t always know what motivates someone to take extreme action.”

  Sorrow turned her mouth down.

  Now she spoke of Father.

  Even after all this time, she grieved for him. They’d been soulmates, and when Father died, a part of Mother had too. Little chance she’d marry again. Still . . . Mayhap he’d add a name or two to the guest list. Available gentlemen of a certain age of whom he approved. No rogues or rakes, no men of his ilk, for his Mother.

  He hesitated a moment. Might as well crack on and ask for her help in acquiring a bride. It might help distract her. “I’m certain you recall I must wed in August, or the unentailed property transfers to Jeffery.”

  Jeffery was a decent chap, and yet it grated to think he’d inherit simply because Victor had dawdled too long in finding a duchess.

  “I know, dear.” A soft, understanding smile curved her mouth. “And I knew when you were ready, you’d come home and face that dragon. I honestly cannot fathom what possessed your father to add that stipulation.”

  Neither could Victor, unless it was to guarantee the duchy an heir. “We’ll never know, but I hope you will be able to advise me in my search for a bride. You know more than I who the eligible young ladies are in the area, and you know what I require in a duchess.”

  He’d no doubt that whomever he selected, the chosen lady would eagerly agree to the match. What sensible woman would turn down becoming a duchess?

  Expression contemplative, her attention focused on the gardens beyond the mullioned windows, she held her chin between her thumb and bent forefinger.

  “What about love, my dear? I’d much rather you waited until you found someone you love.”

  Victor sighed and rubbed his fingertips across his forehead.

  “I shan’t have you lose your home because of my selfishness.” He pressed his lips together. He’d cause her no more unhappiness. “I know you love Ridgewood.”

  “Darling, I can live anywhere as long as my children visit. Your sisters invited me to live with them numerous times, but I’ve stayed at Ridgewood for you.” Patting his hand, she offered a gentle smile. “To give you a reason to return and face your demons.”

  She’d stayed here alone when she could’ve been with one of her daughters and grandchildren? All the more reason he could not disappoint.

  “And it’s because of your generosity, Mother, that I cannot ignore the codicil.”

  “Victor, even the best of marriages endures many challenges, and I worry that without love . . .”

  “I’ve considered that, but the most I can strive for at this late juncture is to find someone compatible. Father robbed me of the chance for love.”

  Just as well.

  Not one to deceive himself, he knew there was scant risk of a shattered heart in a marriage of convenience. Mother was a far stronger person than he, because he wouldn’t take the chance of loving someone with all his being as his parents had. He’d seen what that kind of affection had done to his mother. Seen her utter devastation. No, better to not have emotions involved, most particularly since he was rushing into the blessed event, and he too might perish from cancer.

  Fine lines of concern fanning the corners of her loving eyes as she searched his face, his mother seemed to come to a decision. She inhaled deeply and clasped her hands.

  “All right. Let’s start with a guest list that includes all the eligible young women in Essex.”

  “All of them?” Precisely how many were there? “I was thinking of a half dozen of the most quiet and acquiescent—”

  Her delighted laughter rang out.

  “Oh, darling, no, no.” Another trill of laughter filled the room. “You’d be utterly miserable with a biddable wife. Oh, my goodness no! You’re too intense to tolerate a compliant, submissive duchess for long. She’d bore you within months, and I fear your eye would stray. That would be unfair to her, since I know too well you are a man who will demand fidelity from your duchess. No, I think a spirited girl who gives as good as she gets is a far better choice for you.”

  Hell and damnation.

  She’d just thrown a huge hurdle in his plan, even if she was bloody right.

  “To avoid hurt feelings, however, I shall invite all the unmarried ladies in Essex. Even the Nabity spinsters. Does that satisfy you?”

  Her mouth trembled, and he grinned. Her good humor was contagious.

  “Perhaps you ought to select those of childbearing age, unless you don’t want more grandchildren?”

  Could he really subject his children to the same sort of pain he’d endured if this new fear of cancer became a reality? And what if his children were susceptible to the demon disease?

  What choice had he?

  Let Jeffery inherit the duchy too? What good would that do? They shared a grandfather and their paternal grand uncle had died from cancer.

  “I may not produce any offspring, you know.”

  “La, Victor Nathanial Horatio, don’t say such a wicked thing! The Sutcliffes have never forfeited in that department.” She swatted his arm, and as she rose from the settee, she chuckled. “You must admit hosting a ball and inviting all the eligible women in the area so you might find a duchess is similar to the fairytale, Cendrillon, is it not?”

  Victor also stood. He draped his arm around her shoulders and kissed the crown of her head.

  “Except I’m no prince, and there won’t be a magical happily-ever-after.”

  “Don’t be too sure. I knew the moment I saw Sutcliffe I’d marry him, and he swore he fell in love with me during our first dance.” Lost in her long-ago memory, a sad, fragile smile tipped her mouth. After a moment, she collected herself and patted his shoulder. “If you’ve anyone else you’d like to invite to the house party and ball besides the friends you already wrote to ask if they might visit, you can tell me their names later.”

  Yes, as well as the middling-aged banker Jerome DuBoise and the widower Major Rupert Marston. One gentleman or the other might possibly be the solution to Mother’s loneliness.

  “It’s times like this I do wish I had a secretary. Primrose is going to help me, aren’t you sweetums?” She bent and scooped the tabby into her arms. “Now you run along, dear. Get some fresh air. I have to speak with Cook about next week’s menu, and I have a guest list to compile.”

  She did indeed know Victor well. Understood this talk of weddings and brides and balls exacted a toll he couldn’t keep hidden.

  “Thank you, Mother. I think I’ll go for a walk before my ride. There’s another dragon I need to face.”

  This one a massive, angry, fire-breathing demon he must conquer before it destroyed him.

  If he was going to marry and stay at Ridgewood Court for any length of time, he must face the image tormenting him. After giving her another hug and scratching Primrose behind her scruffy ears, he strode to the door.

  “Oh, Victor. We need to set a date for the ball. There’s a full moon in three weeks. Is that too soon?” Mother had followed him to the doorway. “That way you have time left if you don’t find your bride before then or on that night.”

  Her forced cheerfulness didn’t fool him. She didn’t approve, but because she loved him, she’d support his rash decision.

  “Three weeks is fine.” Feeling decidedly wicked, he winked. “In fact, why don’t you put Duke seeks Duchess on the invitation. No better yet, A dance will decide the Duke of Sutcliffe’s duchess.”

  “You inherited your father’s droll sense of humor, darling, but I think you may be onto something. Let me ponder on it.” She waved her hand at him, indicat
ing he should proceed her out the door. “Now shoo.”

  One lodestone’s weight lifted from his shoulders, Victor left the house after asking Grover, the butler, to send word to the stables to have Acheron saddled.

  Mother would indeed see that every eligible miss in all of Essex was invited to the ball. All he had to do was pick one to be his duchess. But how to determine the right one? Or rather, not the worst one?

  What did he really want in a wife?

  Biddable and bashful, or boisterous and bold?

  A vixen or an angel?

  Why couldn’t she be a bit of both?

  Thea’s impish smile flashed to mind.

  He’d tasted that sweet mouth yesterday. Sampled enough to make him want more. Crave more than settling for a marriage of convenience. A marriage of necessity.

  But time was against him, and he’d been selfish long enough, and no force on God’s Earth would prevent him from marrying in order for Mother to remain at Ridgewood.

  Somehow, he didn’t think Theadosia Brentwood was the type of woman to marry for station or convenience, more was the pity. He sighed. Else he’d end his search for a duchess before it began. It didn’t matter that she was a commoner. He couldn’t care less that she’d never left Colchester in her entire life and knew nothing of haut ton customs.

  Or that the minx had lied most adeptly yesterday.

  He’d seen the apology in her soft gaze, had noticed her silently pleading for him not to betray her.

  Surely, if he offered for her, she’d be content to remain here, near her family, and yet enjoy the privileges a duchess warranted while he returned to London. She didn’t seem the demanding sort. But neither was she a timid, agreeable dowd. Not by a long way.

  Even though he’d been in his cups, she’d piqued more than his interest. Theadosia Brentwood wasn’t the type of woman a man left behind and forgot about while he caroused in London.

  He hadn’t missed Mr. Brentwood’s hawkish regard either. The man was no simpleton, and Victor would vow the reverend guessed something more had transpired between Thea and him, but had chosen to keep quiet about the matter.

  The fact that Thea had volunteered a sizable purse to pay for the chamber organ and new choir robes probably had a lot to do with the rector’s silence. She’d looked so contrite after telling her tarradiddle. Victor would never humiliate her by disputing her claim; she’d made it to protect them both.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d anticipated anything as much as seeing Thea again. Friday next couldn’t arrive soon enough for him. Then, hopefully Pennington, Bainbridge, Westfall, and Sheffield—four of his closest cohorts—would attend the house party and ball. Dandridge and his bride too.

  Almost like old times when the chaps had come up from university.

  Almost . . .

  He forced his feet to take the meandering path that led past the stables toward the dovecote. A trio of giant willows graced the meadow near the lake, their wispy branches rustling softly. No trace remained of the tree Victor had cut down and burned.

  As nature does, she’d reclaimed the charred ground. Now lush grass covered the area, the verdant carpet scattered with the pinks and yellows of ragged robin, buttercups, red campion blossoms, and birds-foot trefoil.

  The tightness in his chest lessened with each step until he stood where the willow had once towered. Closing his eyes, he filled his lungs to capacity then blew out a long breath of air. For the first time in over three years, he understood why his father had taken his life.

  He’d wanted to be in charge of his own destiny, not at the whim of a ruthless disease.

  Now Victor could let go of his pain and confusion. His anger too.

  “I forgive you, Father,” he murmured softly. “I cannot judge or blame you any longer. I never should’ve.”

  For if he faced the same circumstances, might he not do the same?

  No. He wouldn’t.

  He’d choose to fight death until his last breath.

  Peace engulfed Victor, and an even greater weight fell away, this time from his soul.

  A turtledove cooed nearby. It probably sat on a nest in one of the willows.

  He opened his eyes and smiled, for the first time truly glad to be home.

  Through the ash copse beyond the field, a flash of color caught his attention. A group of women ambled along the lane leading to Colchester, and one wore a familiar straw bonnet bedecked with blue roses.

  Thea.

  In a trice, he dashed to the stables and mounted Acheron. Like an infatuated buck, he galloped the gelding around the lake to intercept the ladies where the woods paralleled the track before a sharp bend in the road.

  As he emerged from the shadow of the trees, the women stopped chatting and glanced upward.

  Reaching to doff his hat, he realized he’d been so consumed with thoughts of his father, he’d forgotten it. His gloves too. He bent slightly at the waist instead.

  “Good afternoon, ladies.”

  He intended the greeting for them all, but his attention centered on the tallest woman dressed in a fetching cream and cerulean gown. The colors made her lips appear rosier and her eyes more chocolaty brown today. They also complemented her strawberry-blonde locks to perfection.

  “Good afternoon, Your Grace.” Surely Thea’s smile was a trifle more exuberant and warm than politesse required. “I trust you enjoyed your walk home yester eve?”

  Minx. She was taunting him.

  “It was most . . . sobering.”

  Her eyes widened the merest bit, and he swore her mouth twitched at his jest.

  Whisky wasn’t addling his senses today, and he looked his fill.

  She was even more impossibly exquisite. The sun filtering through the leaves overhead revealed a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks that he’d missed yesterday.

  Too adorably perfect.

  Absolutely the wrong sort of female to be his duchess. He’d not be able to leave a woman like her behind, only to visit her a couple of times a year. So why did he not go on his way?

  “I’m sure you remember my friends and my sister.” Thea saved him chagrin by rattling off their names in case he didn’t. She lifted a gloved hand and indicated each young woman in turn. “Miss Jessica Brentwood, Miss Nicolette Twistleton, and Miss Ophelia and Miss Gabriella Breckensole.”

  As one, the other ladies dipped into graceful curtsies.

  “It’s a pleasure to see you again, ladies.”

  He vaguely remembered the Breckensoles and Miss Twistleton, and Jessica Brentwood, naturally. She greatly resembled her sister, though her hair was blonder and her eyes bluish-green instead of rich, warm cocoa he could drown in.

  Perhaps one of these very women might be his duchess in a few short weeks. He already had a strong inclination as to which one he favored. But she wasn’t the wisest choice if he intended to stick to his well thought out scheme to find the perfect duchess: amendable, compliant, undemanding, polite, and easy to get on with.

  Boring.

  Blast him for a fool, but Mother was right.

  Thea approached Acheron, a look of wonder upon her face. “Oh, he’s beautiful. His coat has a silvery glint. I’ve never seen the color before.”

  Acheron flared his nostrils, taking in her scent. Then the shameless beast nudged her chest.

  She patted his neck and giggled, a musical gurgle that wasn’t the least grating or squeaky, as feminine laughter often was.

  “Aren’t you the lovely one?” Thea edged to Acheron’s other side. Her tone confidential, and low enough that only he could hear, she said, “Thank you for not exposing me yesterday. Please forgive my lies. I assure you, it’s not a normal habit.”

  He bent to pat the horse’s neck and whispered from the side of his mouth, “Anything for a damsel in distress.”

  Her eyes widened in pleased wonderment.

  On impulse, he touched her cheek and whispered, “Permit me to call upon you tomorrow.”

 
A shadow flitted across her radiant features, and she shook her head, casting an anxious glance in the direction of her sister and friends. “No. That’s impossible. Papa doesn’t permit me callers. It’s too soon after your arrival home, in any event.”

  No callers? Did the reverend intend to make his daughters spinsters? Was this because of the elder sister dashing off with an unbefitting fellow?

  Victor wasn’t giving up that easily. Theadosia Brentwood intrigued him as no woman ever had.

  “Then walk with me. Meet me at the east end of Fielding’s orchard, by Bower Pool at ten o’clock tomorrow morning?”

  “All right.” A pleased smile slanted her mouth, and her cheeks pinkened becomingly as she dropped her gaze, her focus once more on his horse.

  Only with supreme effort did he subdue the ridiculous smile that threatened to split his face.

  The other women remained unnaturally quiet. Any time his sisters had been in their friends’ company, the chatting and tittering seldom ceased, and certainly never for more than a second or two.

  Drawing his attention away from Thea petting and cooing to his horse whilst cramming down a wave of jealousy that the animal was permitted what he was not, Victor raised his head.

  The foursome stared at him.

  Their regard, curious and speculative, perhaps even sympathy-tinged, gave him pause.

  Thea had told them about his upcoming nuptials.

  She must’ve also told them he didn’t have a bride yet.

  He could see it in their inquisitive gazes.

  Except Jessica Brentwood. Her expression didn’t reveal her thoughts. He’d be bound the Brentwood misses had become adept at hiding their feelings with a father as severe as the reverend.

  The news that the Duke of Sutcliffe sought a bride by August would spread faster than a fire in dried hay. Maybe inviting all the available females of a marriageable age to a ball wasn’t the wisest decision.