Seductive Scoundrels Series Books 1-3: A Regency Romance

by Collette Cameron

  In a flash, she was in his arms, hugging her father.

  “Of course I forgive you, Papa. Does this mean we can see Althea again?” she asked swiping tears from her cheeks.

  “Yes, if she can forgive a stubborn, foolish old man.” Mr. Brentwood shuffled from the room, a broken man.

  “Please excuse me, Your Grace. My husband needs me.” After a brief curtsy, his wife swiftly followed him.

  Victor turned to James and withdrew a sizable envelope from his pocket. “This is for Leadford. Will you meet him on my behalf? I also want an agreement in writing. I’m taking no chances with that wretch. Can you deal with that as well?”

  “I’d be happy to, just to see the look on his face when I make him sign it.” James rose and stretched. “I must say, I thoroughly enjoyed you taking that rotter down a few pegs.” He reached for Jessica’s hand. “Come, pet. I’m ravenous. Let’s see what we can rummage up in the kitchen, shall we?”

  Jessica smiled at Thea. “We can keep our new gowns after all. We won’t have to attend the ball in our old frocks.”

  She accepted James’s help, and then with a bounce in her step, they departed.

  Thea canted her head, giving him a joyous smile.

  “You’re our hero, Victor. Yesterday, I believed there was no hope and today, you’ve set everything to rights.”

  Once again, his mother had been correct. Women adored heroes.

  Her exquisite face radiated with love for him. It humbled and exhilarated at the same time.

  How he’d resented coming back to Colchester, resented the stipulation in Father’s will. As it turned out, Father had known what was best, even when Victor didn’t.

  Cupping her shoulders, he bent and kissed her petal-soft lips.

  “Not everything, my love.”

  “What else is there?”

  An endearing perplexed frown creased her forehead.

  “There’s the matter of a proper proposal after your father just agreed that I might.” He fingered her tempting lock of reddish blond hair.

  “He did no such thing.”

  “Oh, but he did. I said all of my offers still stood, and he said he accepted all of them.”

  She angled her head.

  “Do you love me, Victor?”

  “I do.” He tweaked her nose. “I love you so much I cannot find adequate words. I told my mother this morning that I realized I did before I left three years ago. I also told her that I would marry no other save you and that if that meant I wasn’t wed by my birthday, dear Cousin Jeffery would suddenly become a wealthy chap.”

  Tears sparkled in her eyes, and she grasped his lapels.

  “Did you truly?” She leaned away, her expression wary. “Was the duchess upset about possibly losing her home?”

  “On the contrary, my love. She ordered me to do whatever I must to save you.” He kissed her nose. “I think she’s already rather fond of you.”

  “Poor Jeffery. He’ll be so very disappointed.”

  Thea twined her arms about Victor’s neck.

  He cocked a brow. “And why is that?”

  “Because we’ll be married by your birthday, silly man.” She raised up on her toes, drawing his head downward. “Now kiss me, my dearest love.”

  “With pleasure, Duchess.”

  Victor grasped her waist and lifted her, sealing their troth with a kiss that branded both their souls.

  Ridgewood Court, Masquerade Fairy-tale Ball

  21 July, 1809

  Searching for her husband of almost ten hours, Theadosia ran her fingers along the gold satin ribbon-covered handle of her masquerade mask. Several gentlemen whose names she couldn’t recall in the flurry of introductions—except for the Dukes of Dandridge, Pennington, Westfall, and Bainbridge—had hustled him off toward the terrace after the first set.

  Grinning, something he’d done most of the day, his hands palm upward and extended in resignation, Victor had winked and allowed his mischievous friends to tow him away.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can escape these rakes, Duchess.”

  Probably sampling a bottle of spirits whilst toasting—or reproving—his stupidity for jumping headlong into the parson’s mousetrap less than a month after he’d returned to Colchester.

  She and Victor hadn’t had a moment alone the entire day. After the ceremony this morning, there’d been an extravagant breakfast, and the rest of the time had been filled with activities for the house party as well as guest after guest wishing them happy. And to think they had nearly a week more of this chaos before leaving for their wedding trip.

  A smile tugged her lips upward.

  Truth to tell, she didn’t mind, for her dearest friends and Jessica were gathered around her, each resplendent in fanciful gowns of silk and satin. Her own fairy-tale confection, a purple and gold creation so divine she’d almost been afraid to wear it, shimmered with thousands of tiny seed pearls.

  Victor had secretly commissioned it and surprised her with the gown this afternoon, along with a pair of golden slippers covered with hundreds of glass beads.

  “For my very own Cendrillon,” he’d said, gathering her into his arms for a spine-tingling kiss. “Have I told you how happy I am, my darling?”

  “No more than I, Victor.” She kissed the corner of his mouth. “It still feels like a dream, and I’m afraid I’m going to wake up.”

  “As long as you wake up beside me every day for the rest of my life.” He gazed longingly at the enormous four-poster bed dominating her bedchamber. “If I wasn’t determined to not rush our first joining, Duchess . . .”

  His voice had gone low and husky, his eyes hooded with desire, and answering passion had warmed her blood.

  She grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the bed. “We’ve hours before—”

  After a short rap on her door, the bubbly lady’s maid assigned to Theadosia barged in. The servant’s eyes rounded in surprise, and a blush scooted up her already ruddy cheeks.

  “Beg your pardon, Your Grace.” She curtsied, her focus glued to the floor. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  Sighing, he’d kissed Theadosia on the nose.

  “I’ve just given my wife a new ball gown. Please see that the wrinkles are removed before tonight, and I want her hair worn down, please.”

  The extraordinary amethyst and diamond parure set Theadosia wore, complete with a tiara fit for a princess, had been another gift from him, delivered as she dressed for the ball. She did feel like royalty, and today had been nothing short of magical.

  She’d been the one to suggest that they wed today to save her mother-in-law additional work preparing for a grand wedding. It also spared Theadosia’s parents a great deal of awkwardness.

  Papa had performed the ceremony, but neither he nor her mother were attending the ball. He’d vowed he didn’t deserve the privilege, but more probably, humiliation kept him away, as well as a renewed oath to avoid gaming of any sort, including cards. The news of his resignation and the reason behind his hasty notice had traveled swiftly through Colchester and the surrounding area.

  Next week her parents would sail to Australia, accompanying a shipload of convicts and soldiers. The Church had magnanimously offered her father a position there as vicar; no one else showed the least interest in such a remote, primitive post. He’d been so grateful not to be defrocked, he’d eagerly accepted, but only after asking if Jessica might live with Theadosia and Victor. He would not risk towing his unmarried daughter halfway across the world, exposing her to dangers unknown.

  Althea and her family were expected in two days. Mama had wanted to see her daughter and grandchildren before sailing to Australia. Especially since she and Papa would be gone for three years; time enough for the gossip to settle.

  Craning her neck, Theadosia searched the ballroom for Victor once more. Silly to miss him so much. Only a few minutes had passed.

  “Thea, I think it was terribly rude of the Duke of Bainbridge to commandeer Sutcliffe the way he did. Su
rely he knows a groom’s place is at his bride’s side on their wedding day.” Jessica slipped her hand into the crook of Thea’s arm. Wide-eyed and excited, she too scrutinized the ballroom, no doubt hopeful her dance card would be filled before evening’s end.

  “Don’t fret, Jessica. It’s just the way of men. They only think of themselves. He meant no offense. They never do.” A tinge of bitterness crept into Nicolette’s voice.

  Her betrothed had tossed her over for an heiress two seasons ago. Ever since, she’d become a consummate flirt, gaining a reputation for crushing any man foolish enough to try to pay his addresses.

  Nicolette brushed her gloved hands down the front of her embroidered white satin gown. The royal blue velvet half coat perfectly matched her eyes, which sparkled with mischief at the moment. “I don’t recall ever being in the company of so many seductive scoundrels, do you, Gabriella and Ophelia? What great fun we’ll have this week.”

  Wearing identical gowns, except for the color, the twins shook their heads.

  “No, not to mention so many devilish dukes,” Ophelia said, a skeptical brow arched.

  Mirroring her twin’s action, Gabriella lifted a matching eloquent eyebrow. “Sutcliffe certainly travels in exclusive circles, Thea.”

  Like Theadosia, the twins had never left Colchester. They lived with their aged grandparents and rarely attended anything more exciting than a tea or church. To liven things up, they were known to switch identities every now and again. Few people, except their family and dearest friends, could tell them apart.

  “Ah, there you all are at last. I almost despaired of finding you in this infernal crush. I suppose that means the ball is a smashing success.” Everleigh Chatterton glided toward them, her silvery gown, trimmed in black satin, accenting her white blonde hair. She’d been widowed almost two years ago but still wore half-mourning colors right down to her jet and diamond locket and earrings, as well as her ebony silk gloves.

  Theadosia suspected Everleigh’s extended mourning period had far more to do with discouraging the attention of besotted men attracted to the stunning beauty like bees to blossoms, rather than any lingering grief she felt for the loss of her much, much older and despised husband.

  Jemmah, the Duchess of Dandridge and Rayne Wellbrook, Everleigh’s step-niece, accompanied her. They smiled in greeting whilst vigorously waving their fans.

  “Lord, but it’s stifling,” the Duchess of Dandridge said. Hers had been a fairy-tale match too.

  Thea glanced from friend to friend, and finally to Jessica. If only they might have their happily-ever-afters as well someday.

  She would pray they did.

  The Duchess of Dandridge had the right of it, nonetheless. The ballroom had grown beastly hot in a short period. If only Thea might slip outdoors for a breath of fresh air, perhaps even run her hands through the fountain bubbling in the garden.

  “Is that tall, dark man still behind me?” Everleigh murmured as she also flicked her horn brisé fan open. Behind her silver mask, her jade green eyes sparked with annoyance.

  An exotic looking gentleman followed her, accompanied by the Dowager Duchess of Sutcliffe and the banker Jerome DuBoise, her nearly constant companion since his arrival four days ago.

  “Yes.” Theadosia nodded, searching for an excuse to whisk her friend away. “Why don’t we get some ratafia? I’m quite parched.”

  “Theadosia my dear, where’s Sutcliffe off to? I thought for certain he’d stick to your side the entire evening.” The dowager duchess fairly glowed under Mr. DuBois’s obvious admiration.

  “A few of his friends wanted to wish him happy.” Thea returned her smile. Her mother-in-law already treated her like a beloved daughter. “I think it was really an excuse to indulge in a tot.”

  The dowager chuckled while gesturing to the tall man. “Do let me introduce Griffin, Duke of Sheffield. He’s nephew to Mr. DuBois and quite the world traveler.”

  She efficiently finished the introductions, and after the women curtsied, Everleigh half-turned away, just short of snubbing the duke. Her marriage truly had been an awful affair and had left hidden wounds she refused to speak about. Even though she was only three and twenty, she’d sworn off men and marriage.

  “Another duke?” Ophelia whispered soto voce to her twin. “How many does that make? Five or six?”

  The Duke of Sheffield flashed a dazzling smile, his teeth white against his tanned face.

  “Actually, there are ten of us. Myself, Dandridge, Sutcliffe, Pennington, Bainbridge, Westfall, Kincade, Asherford, San Sebastian, and Heatherston. The last three aren’t here, however, and Kincade and Heatherston are Scots. We met at Bon Chance several years ago, and have been the greatest of friends since.”

  Bon Chance?

  Wasn’t that the scandalous gaming hell run by Madam Fordyce?

  “Oh my, ten you say?” Ophelia appeared suitably awed, while her unimpressed twin hunched a shoulder.

  “They’re just men, Ophelia,” Gabriella said.

  “I imagine you’ve a great many interesting stories you could tell.” Nicolette batted her eyelashes. She appeared such a coquette, but any man foolish enough to take the bait soon found himself verbally skewered.

  “There’s Sutcliffe now.” A proud smile illuming her face, the dowager pointed her closed fan.

  Theadosia’s gaze tangled with Victor’s across the room, deliciously irresistible in his formal togs, as he strode toward her. Several other gentlemen, including the other dukes, each with varying degrees of disinterest or boredom etched on their aristocratic features, also ambled toward the cluster of women.

  She wasn’t the least surprised the male guests flocked to her exquisite friends. They were in for a surprise though, for none of the women gave a rat’s wiry tail about impressing peers, social position, or how many titles a man held. A rarity to be sure, but that was one of the reasons the women were such close friends.

  After bowing, Victor pulled Theadosia to his side. “I beg your indulgence, but I’m abducting my bride for a waltz on the terrace. You ladies should also dance.”

  He sent a swift, stern look to the other males standing there. “Gentlemen, behave.”

  He didn’t even wait for a response, but whisked Theadosia out a side door. No sooner had they left the ballroom’s noise and heat than he swept her into a secluded corner and into his arms, crushing her to his chest and kissing her like a man long-starved.

  She opened her mouth, welcoming him in. Her hunger grew, desire sluicing through every pore. Pulling her mouth free, she panted against his neck.

  “Darling, do we dare forego the rest of the ball?”

  The temperature inside the ballroom was nothing compared to the scorching need blazing within her.

  “I’m a duke. I would dare anything for you, Duchess.” Victor released a raspy chuckle. “Come. There’s a back entrance.”

  Like naughty children, they clasped hands and ran to the other side of Ridgewood. Less than ten minutes later, after a few stops to indulge in blood sizzling kissing, Victor opened her bedchamber door.

  Theadosia gasped, slowly spinning in a circle.

  Dozens of candles lit the chamber, the glow casting romantic shadows to the farthest corners. A cheery fire burned in the hearth, and on the table near the window, a bottle of champagne chilled in a bucket between plates of sweetmeats and dainties. But it was the bed that commanded her attention. The bedding had been pulled to the foot, and coral and peach rose petals covered the ivory satin sheets.

  “Oh, Victor. Did you arrange this? It’s so romantic.”

  She lifted up on her toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his firm mouth.

  “I did.” He pivoted her to unlace her gown. “And I told your maid she wouldn’t be needed.”

  He made short work of divesting Theadosia of her clothing, but when he reached to pull her chemise over her head, she crossed her arms and backed away.

  “No, you undress now. I want to see you.”

  A l
azy grin curled his mouth.

  “Your every wish is my command.”

  She watched him in the looking glass as she removed the tiara and earrings, and was about to unclasp the necklace when he closed his hand over hers.

  “Leave it on. I want you wearing it when I make love to you.”

  He lifted her hair, pressing hot kisses to her neck, and a low moan escaped her.

  Meeting his searing gaze in the mirror, Theadosia swallowed.

  Wearing only his trousers, he radiated masculine beauty. Hair black as midnight covered his sculpted chest, the fine mat disappearing into the vee at his waist.

  This glorious man was her husband.

  She turned, offering him a siren’s smile. Gazes still locked, she untied the ribbons at her shoulders, allowing her chemise to settle at her feet.

  Victor froze for an instant before he scooped her into his arms and strode to the bed. Reverently, as if she were as fragile as the petals he lay her on, he lowered her to the mattress.

  He shucked his trousers and slid onto the bed. “Let me take you to paradise, darling.”

  “Oh yes, Victor.” She eagerly curled into his side, and sometime later when the heavens burst behind her eyelids and her body quaked with bliss, she cried, “I love you.”

  “And I love you, Thea,” he groaned, finding his own release.

  When their breathing had returned to normal, Victor raised Theadosia’s hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips.

  “For as long as I have breath in my body, Theadosia, I shall love you. You are branded on my spirit. My soul is finally whole.”

  “As is mine.” She traced a finger along his jaw. “I suppose we have Leadford to thank.”

  Victor skewed a brow in astonishment. “And precisely how do you figure that devil is in any way worthy of our thanks?”

  “Because, husband dearest, he forced your hand.” She nuzzled his chest, then giggled when he tickled her ribs.

  “Vixen.”

  “Enough talk.” She climbed atop him, relishing the sensation of his firm, sinewy body beneath hers. “Take me to heaven again.”