Seductive Scoundrels Series Books 1-3: A Regency Romance

by Collette Cameron

  Blast, of course it wasn’t, but he didn’t have much choice now, did he?

  He’d dilly-dallied too long to go about courting, wooing, and paying his addresses, and with time running short, this strategy was the best he could think of.

  A derisive snort almost escaped him.

  Only a duke would dare this idiocy.

  He considered Thea’s bent head again.

  Why look any further?

  Wheels rattling and hooves clopping alerted him to a conveyance’s approach.

  He felt Thea’s gaze on his face as surely as if she ran her long fingers over his features. He met her pretty sable-lashed eyes, and in their depths, he spied pity too.

  That was too much.

  Pity most certainly was not what he wanted from Theadosia Brentwood. Feeling very much the callow youth, he tipped his head.

  “I look forward to dinner next Friday, Misses Brentwood. Ladies it was a pleasure to see you again.”

  He’d held his tongue about the house-party and ball. They’d learn about it soon enough in any event. Given Mother’s efficiency, invitations would be posted by Monday. At least she had something to look forward to, something to occupy her time.

  Forcing himself to ride on and not look back to see if she watched his retreat took rugged self-control. He’d be unwise to show partiality to anyone yet. Particularly given the good reverend’s reputation for propriety.

  What would Mr. Brentwood do if he knew Thea had agreed to walk with Victor unchaperoned?

  Tar and feather him? Lock him in irons? Excommunicate him?

  As he veered Acheron toward Ridgewood’s drive, he looked over his shoulder, unable to resist one last glimpse of Thea.

  Instead, he encountered the reverend’s formidable glower.

  Four days later, Theadosia cast a casual but hurried glance behind her as she turned down the path leading to Bower Pool.

  Good. No one was in sight, and she relaxed a trifle.

  It had taken some doing to manage an hour’s absence each day, but her parents encouraged benevolent visits and assumed she was about charitable tasks. Taking her basket along aided in the pretext. There was always an ill parishioner to take soup to, a lonely elderly widow to share a cup with, or errands to run in Colchester.

  Jessica had lifted her fair brows the past couple of days, but said nothing.

  Theadosia might have to take her sister into her confidence but was reluctant to do so since Jessica would also suffer Papa’s anger if he found out about her clandestine meetings.

  Theadosia gave a small, wry shake of her head.

  Look what she’d been reduced to.

  Sneaking about to meet a man, much the same way Althea had.

  Theadosia willingly risked Papa’s wrath, for every minute with Victor became a cherished memory. Their friendship, her greatest treasure. To hope for more wasn’t wise, and so she didn’t allow herself that luxury. She took every moment she was gifted and refused to look too far into the future, because looming on the horizon was the knowledge he’d come home to wed.

  Just as he had the two previous days they’d met, Victor waited for her, tossing rocks into the calm pool while lounging against a stone as tall as he.

  She stopped to observe him for a few moments, tracing every plane of his handsome face, simply soaking in his masculine beauty. She could look at him forever. The high slash of his cheekbones, the noble length of his nose, his granite jaw, and his jet-black hair glistening in the morning sun.

  He seemed eager to meet her each day too.

  Could the illustrious Duke of Sutcliffe truly esteem a humble parson’s daughter?

  Did he enjoy their friendship as much as she?

  Joy bubbled in her chest, and a soft happy noise escaped her.

  A mama duck quacked a warning, and her brood of eight peeping ducklings followed her into deeper waters.

  Victor turned as Theadosia approached, a ready, welcoming smile tipping his strong mouth. However, it was his seductive hooded eyes that never failed to make her stomach quiver, her blood quicken in her veins, and her breath to throttle up her throat.

  My, but he was a splendid specimen of manhood.

  Some woman was going to be very lucky.

  If she hadn’t already been half in love with him before he’d returned, she’d had fallen completely sugar bowl over bum for him now. It probably would only lead to heartache, but each time he asked her to meet him again, she’d agreed.

  Though they dared spend but an hour together each day, they talked about most everything. Parting became more difficult each time she had to say farewell.

  After church last Sunday, he’d lingered outside; she was certain he did so in order to speak with her, but Papa had sent her and Jessica directly home, in Mr. Leadford’s company, no less.

  The annoying man had blathered nonstop about his previous position, his hope to have his own parish soon, and then—the queerest thing, truly—said he’d intended to wed shortly.

  He’d wasted no time in that regard.

  Scarcely in Colchester a week and he had designs on some young woman?

  Which poor maid had he chosen for that dubious honor?

  Or mayhap he was enamored with a woman he’d left behind. Did the poor dear know of his roving eye? Despite his genial smiles and pleasant countenance, something about Mr. Leadford reminded Theadosia of a serpent.

  Straightening to his impressive height, Victor plucked a salmon-colored rose off the rock beside him. Lifting the bud to his nose, he ambled her way, all sinewy grace.

  Could any other man sniff a flower and still appear so wholly masculine?

  “Ridgewood’s rose gardens are in full bloom, Thea. I wish you’d permit me to give you a tour before their blossoms fade.”

  From habit, she scanned the area, searching for anyone else. After confirming they were alone and offering an apologetic smile, she relaxed a touch more.

  “You know I cannot unless Mama or Jessica accompanies me. Even then, we’d have to have a legitimate charitable excuse to call. Papa wouldn’t approve of me visiting just so that you could show me your gardens.”

  “Then let me call at All Saints, and I’ll speak to him—convince him I’ve only honorable intentions.”

  And exactly what were his intentions?

  She longed to ask but also feared his answer. He’d never given the slightest hint he might consider her for his bride. Why would he, when at least a score of women of noble birth lived within an hour’s drive of Ridgewood?

  Naturally, he was expected to pick someone of his own station, to keep that patrician lineage pure.

  Wasn’t that the way of the world?

  “It’s too soon, Victor.”

  She doubted Papa would ever permit him to call. He disapproved of everything about the duke. She’d bite off her tongue before she told him that, however. “Since Althea eloped, he’s become most protective.”

  He held the rose out. “Here. I picked this for you. It’s my favorite color of rose. It makes me think of your hair.”

  “Thank you. It’s lovely.” She accepted the lush blossom and couldn’t resist inhaling the sweet fragrance. “We only have pink and white wild roses at All Saint’s, and they don’t smell half so wonderful as this.”

  As had become their habit, they began walking the pond’s edge. Clouds littered the sky, but the temperature had warmed these past couple of days, so she only wore her spencer. She tucked the rose into the vee of the jacket, where she’d remember to remove it and hide it in the basket before she reached home.

  The sweet aroma wafted upward, and, every now and again, her chin brushed the silky petals. She’d press it between the folds of a heavy book for safekeeping, to take out and look at when the blue devils overcame her.

  By deliberate design on her part, perhaps on his as well, they never discussed his upcoming marriage. He also never touched her, except to help her over a stone, and then he released her the moment she regained her balance.


  Theadosia found herself wishing he wasn’t such a gentleman.

  Papa was wrong about Victor. So wrong.

  He was the most chivalrous, considerate man she’d ever met.

  “You’ve received the invitation to the ball?”

  His question was casual, but the tenor of his voice held a more serious note.

  “Yes, but Papa hasn’t said whether we are permitted to attend.”

  Mama, at Theadosia’s and Jessica’s behest, promised to do her utmost to see that they were allowed to go.

  She edged the basket higher.

  “I brought lemonade and seedcake.” She gave him a coy look. “It’s the Nabity sisters’ recipe. They brought a cake by yesterday.”

  His eyes lit up, and he motioned to a large moss-covered root beneath a trio of giant beech trees.

  “Let me remove my coat, and we can sit on it.”

  A few moments later, they relaxed atop the fine fabric, nibbling the delicious cake and sipping lemonade straight from the bottle. Theadosia couldn’t help but notice the biceps and other muscles straining at the fabric of his fine lawn shirt.

  She also couldn’t help but observe the strong column of his throat or his lips when he put the bottle to his mouth and drank the sweet beverage.

  Closing her eyes, she tilted her face upward, enjoying the sunlight filtering through the gently rustling leaves.

  This was bliss.

  “Thea?”

  How she loved hearing her pet name on his lips. The way he said it, the low burr rolling off his tongue sounded like an endearment.

  “Hmm?”

  “Why did you agree to meet me, and continue to do so when you know your father will disapprove and you risk punishment?”

  His voice came from nearby. Very near, his breath warming her ear and sending the most delicious tremors from her neck to her belly.

  Slowly, as if waking from a deep slumber, she opened her lids, her gaze tangling with his molten stare. He was so close, she could see the silver shards in his eyes and smell his clean, woodsy scent.

  “Because you asked me to.”

  It was much more than that, but even as brash as she’d been to defy Papa, she wasn’t about to confess her most private secrets to Victor.

  He was a man of the world, she an inexperienced parson’s daughter.

  His lazy smile washed over her like warm, fragrant oil.

  “And would you do anything I asked you to?”

  He gave her a raffish wink and waggled his eyebrows.

  She giggled, then notched her chin upward.

  “Certainly not, sir. I’m a reverend’s daughter, the model of modesty and decorum.”

  “If I weren’t a selfish man, I’d not keep asking you to meet me.” He flicked a bit of something off her shoulder. “You risk much, and it’s wrong of me to put you in that position. If only I might go about things the proper way . . .”

  “I know what I’m doing, Victor. There is truth in what you say, and when I think it’s grown too risky, we’ll have to stop. But for now, let’s enjoy each other’s company.”

  He’d marry soon, and no new bride—marriage of convenience or not—wanted her groom meeting with another woman.

  He took her hand and turned it over, running his fingertips across the inside of her wrist.

  “Do you know what I’m most afraid of?”

  This strong, commanding man was afraid of something?

  “No. Tell me.”

  Giving in to the urge to touch him, she leaned into his shoulder, enjoying his firmness pressed against her.

  Staring across the pond, he drew in a lengthy breath. “Cancer. My father was the third person in his lineage to succumb to it. How can I be sure that I or my offspring won’t be cursed with the disease too? Is it even fair for me to have children and subject them to that possibility?”

  Angling her head, she searched his dear face.

  “Victor, we are never sure of anything in this life, nor can we know why good people become ill and die while others who are wicked through-and-through live charmed lives.” She rolled a shoulder as she slipped her fingers between his thick ones. “We either live our lives to the fullest while we can, or we allow fear to steal any chance of joy or happiness from us.”

  His eyes deepened to charcoal as he tipped her chin upward with a crooked finger.

  “Thea, would you ever—?”

  At that moment, two bony-legged boys, following a pair of spaniels, charged from the cover of the trees. When they spied Victor and her, the children skidded to a stop and gawked.

  Drat and double drat.

  She didn’t know the lads, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t recognized her or the duke.

  After elbowing each other and whispering back and forth, they bent into awkward bows.

  “Yer Graces,” the older fellow said.

  Theadosia shook her head. “Oh, I’m not—”

  Barking and yipping, their dogs shot off after a rabbit, and after a hasty salute, the boys followed suit.

  One little chap’s excited voice echoed back to her.

  “Wait ’til Mum hears we saw the duke and duchess close enough to spit upon.”

  Smoothing a hand over the periwinkle satin covering her lap, Theadosia curled her toes into her new beaded slippers. Unfamiliar rebellion tickled her tongue, and it took supreme effort to school her countenance into a compliant expression.

  Papa was simply being impossible.

  Mulish and pig-headed.

  And unfair. So dashed unfair.

  On the opposite carriage seat, legs crossed, his hands folded and resting on his paunch belly, he gave Theadosia and Jessica his sternest look. The darkling scowl he leveled at the worst sort of sinners. A glare neither of them deserved.

  Well, maybe Theadosia merited it, but Papa didn’t know about the duke’s kiss or the secret walks with him, nor would he ever, so he had no call to be severe and cross.

  “You represent our household and All Saints Church tonight, my dears. I expect modest and decorous behavior from you both. You will only answer direct questions from his grace, and as briefly as possible.” Sternness scored deep lines in his face and pleated the corners of his eyes. “Do I make myself clear, daughters?”

  “Yes, Papa, but won’t the duke think that discourteous of us?”

  Theadosia dared challenge him, while Jessica nodded her head and gave her sister a puzzled sideways glance. It wasn’t often that a Brentwood offspring argued with their sire.

  Since coming upon them walking home that afternoon last week, he’d lectured them multiple times regarding the matter. He clearly did not approve of the duke, yet he couldn’t afford to affront All Saint’s most generous benefactor either.

  He was being unfair to Victor. Not once had he attempted to kiss her again or even hold her hand. She’d been the one to hold his.

  She felt far safer with him than the ponce at her side just now.

  Mr. Leadford, staring out the window and seated on Thea’s other side, no doubt by deliberate design, tipped his mouth upward at the exchange, as if privy to some great secret.

  This past week, he’d been a constant, annoying presence. Pulling out her chair for meals—every blasted meal, offering to carry whatever she happened to be holding, and continually appearing when she was alone in the house or gardens.

  Surely Papa wouldn’t approve any more than he’d approve of her secret outings with Victor.

  Three days ago, her father had entered the drawing room as she played the pianoforte and seen Mr. Leadford leaning far too close whilst pretending to study the music. Her skin had practically peeled itself from her flesh and scuttled under the bookshelf to hide.

  Oddly, instead of objecting, Papa offered a peculiar smile and left the room.

  Worse though than that uncomfortable moment, was Mr. Leadford’s touching her the past few days.

  Far beyond the pale.

  First a slight brushing of hands, then boldly skimming her waist or back
. Yesterday, he’d unintentionally walked into her and bumped her behind with his groin.

  If that had been an accident, she was a nun.

  She’d nearly gone straight to Mama and complained.

  Except he was wily, always pretending not to notice the contact or begging her forgiveness for his clumsiness. Every instance could be excused as inadvertent. He didn’t fool her though. The more time she spent with him, the more she became convinced Mr. Leadford’s pious façade hid a lecher’s heart.

  She’d even warned Jessica to avoid him and to never be alone with the curate.

  If Papa thought to play matchmaker, he’d best rethink that notion. Day old porridge—make that moldy, maggoty gruel—ignited more enthusiasm in her than the curate.

  Besides, another had captivated her heart, and she prayed his repeated invitations to walk together meant he found her equally as fascinating, though he’d said nothing of the sort.

  Mama, sitting between James and Papa, gave Theadosia an understanding smile.

  “Oscar, the girls have always been models of propriety.”

  As had Althea before her descent into sin as Papa called it.

  “There’s no reason to expect they will fall short tonight, and I do believe Theadosia is correct. If they aren’t cordial, our hosts may take offense. Then All Saint’s Church might suffer from the Sutcliffe’s displeasure.” Her soft brogue and reassuring words lessened the tension within the vehicle a trifle.

  Nonetheless, Theadosia couldn’t dispel a peculiar sense of foreboding.

  “There will be multiple chaperones present.” Mama tucked her arm into the crook of Papa’s elbow and gave him a cajoling smile. “I don’t think we need to worry about impropriety on anyone’s part.”

  Exactly. Victor had been the epitome of gallant behavior. So much so that she’d wanted to box his ears and demand he kiss her again.

  Guilt plagued Theadosia for deceiving her parents, but the emotion paled in comparison to the love simmering in her heart. If she had to be creative and less than forthright in order to see Victor, so be it.

  Just as Althea had her beau.