Regency Scandals and Scoundrels: A Regency Historical Romance Collection

by Scarlett Scott

  Jenny certainly hoped so. She ran a critical eye over the soft satin folds. The bodice was cut square round the bust, and ornamented with white satin roses, a narrow satin sash beneath the bustline. More lace and roses decorated the short full sleeves, and the bottom of the skirt. Bella thought it lovely: the trimming tasteful, and the general effect understated and elegant. Jenny agreed, especially because it was sewn with love.

  At the thought of Andrew’s passionate glances, another frisson of excitement raced through her. After she left this room, her clothes would be taken to the duchess’s apartments. She had viewed the rooms yesterday. The walls of the bedchamber were papered in a floral pattern of rose and green with matching bed hangings and curtains, the overall effect delightfully feminine, a dressing room adjoined, and through another door, there was a sitting room which led to Andrew’s apartments. She stood quietly in the bedchamber, nerves fluttering in her stomach at the thought of sharing his bed. This is where their lives really began. Her love for him was so deeply passionate, he could never disappoint her, she only hoped she would please him.

  Bella and Beth came into the room. “Is it time to dress, Jenny?” Beth said breathlessly.

  Jenny laughed, “No, Bethy. Be patient. Not for a couple of hours yet.”

  *

  Andrew stood before the altar in the Castlebridge chapel with its long arched stained glass windows, barrel ceiling, and dark oak pews, where many of his ancestors had married. It seemed right for them to marry here at Castlebridge, where they had first met and where they would spend a good deal of their lives. He turned to smile at his children, who sat beaming from the front pew beside Aunt Augusta and Raymond. Opposite, were Jenny’s three brothers. Behind them were Andrew’s friends who had made the trip from Ireland, Flynn, and Althea with their blond baby son in her arms. Beside them sat Guy Fortescue and Hetty who had left their brood behind at Rosecroft Hall.

  Castlereagh had remained at his country estate, but sent his best wishes.

  “Nervous, Duke?” Strathairn asked, standing beside him.

  Andrew chuckled. “Rather more eager than nervous.”

  “As it should be. Sibella and I approve of your bride. In fact, Sibella was very taken with her, found her delightfully unaffected.”

  The organist struck up the Wedding March and Andrew turned as two pretty young ladies in white gowns decorated with rows of pink roses, a circlet of roses in their hair, and bouquets from the Castlebridge hothouses, advanced slowly single file down the aisle. Then behind them, the bride. Jenny, a vision in white walking serenely down the aisle with a hand on her father’s arm. He caught his breath. She had never looked more beautiful, in the slim-fitting gown of white satin embellished with white and silver roses and froths of lace. A small veil floating from the Harrow tiara, diamonds at the ears and her throat.

  The music swelled and soared up to the arched ceiling as they advanced down the aisle toward him, the guests turning to view the bride from their pews decorated in white flowers and silver ribbon.

  Jenny stood beside him with that special smile she reserved just for him.

  The sadness he’d always carried in his heart eased away, and he looked forward with joy to the future.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  After Jenny dismissed Susan, she perched on the stool before the mirror in her negligee, a little nervous, as she waited for Andrew. She was a duchess! Did she look different? More confident, perhaps. It had been a small, intimate, and perfect wedding. The ceremony passed in a blur. Andrew, smiling down at her, so handsome and imposing in his superbly cut black and white clothes, a diamond winking from his crisp white cravat. His best man, Strathairn, beside him. The vicar looked nervous and cleared his throat several times before reading from the Book of Common Prayer. Her father, smiling his approval of her at last, gave her away, then the exchange of vows and the wedding ring, and Andrew’s too brief kiss. After signing the register they joined hands to leave the chapel for the wedding breakfast. Her sisters, so lovely in their pink and white dresses, Bella smiling at Glyn, and little Beth flushed with pleasure. Jenny couldn’t wish for more.

  She had warmed to Andrew’s friends. The handsome French-born baron, Guy Fortescue, and his poetess wife, Hetty; the Irish diplomat, Viscount Flynn Montsimon, and the lovely Althea. The guests gathered in the double drawing room where the furniture had been removed to create a dance floor. A trio played Bach until Forrester announced that the breakfast was served. How elegant it all was, and how perfect. The delicious food, and the amusing and uplifting speeches, Andrew’s friends made, toasting them with champagne. The cutting of the cake, a huge white marzipan covered cake rich with brandy. And later, in Andrew’s arms dancing the bridal waltz as he murmured teasing and sensual things in her ear, which made her laugh and yearn for him.

  Jenny smiled into the mirror. Afterward, Andrew had taken her below stairs and introduced her as his duchess to the staff who were enjoying their own party. He thanked them all, and especially Cook for the elegant repast. The servants then toasted them with glasses of champagne. But best of all was when William had allowed Jenny to hug him, and Barbara had called her Mama.

  The door opened, and Jenny’s heart began its wild beating. Andrew walked in dressed in a midnight blue silk dressing gown with gold tassels. She caught her breath. She refused to believe her father’s warning that Andrew had married her for his children’s sake. And she’d dealt with whether he could love her after he’d mourned Catherine so long. It no longer concerned her. She trusted her future to the fine man she had married.

  Jenny rose as he crossed the carpet, trembling a little, to meet him. Her gaze roamed his face from his firm, freshly shaved jaw to his slow smile. She was caught by the passionate fire in his eyes.

  “I am the most fortunate of fellows.” He took hold of her hands. “Such a beautiful bride walking down the aisle on your father’s arm.” The touch of his lips on her palms sent an erotic thrill through her. “It all went well, didn’t it?”

  Filled with an almost painful longing, she smiled, wanting to kiss him. “It was quite perfect,” she murmured.

  “The children are so happy to have you back again.”

  “As am I. I love them dearly.”

  “Yes, I know you do.” One arm slid around her waist. He lifted her chin and lowered his mouth to hers in a long passionate kiss, which left her breathless. “While I am happy for my children’s sake, Jenny,” he said after he’d drawn away, “Please know that I married you for my own selfish reasons.” He tucked a long curly brown lock back over her shoulder and untied the bow at the neck of her negligee. The garment slipped from her shoulders, and he drew it away and tossed it onto a chair.

  She yearned to declare her love for him, the words trembled on her tongue. Might she embarrass him? What if he didn’t wish to hear it?

  “I want you so much, darling,” he said as her nightgown joined her dressing gown on the chair. She stood naked before him. He stroked her arm with the lightest of caresses and just looked at her. “You are very lovely, Jenny,” he said in a husky voice. The raw passion in his eyes made her shiver in anticipation.

  He stripped off his dressing gown and stood naked before her, proud and erect. Rendered breathless by the sight of his strong, muscular body, and the evidence of his desire for her, her senses reeled. Slowly, he drew her against him, a bare touch of skin against skin, and took her mouth in another long, demanding kiss. She breathed in his masculine smell and the beguiling hint of his citrus cologne, the frisson of needy desire making her murmur.

  Beneath her hands, his smooth skin stretched over the taut muscles of his back, tapering to a slender waist and powerful buttocks.

  “Jenny!” He stroked down over her waist and hip to cup her buttocks and pull her hard against his erection and she gasped.

  He pressed kiss after kiss on her lips, and with a soft moan, moved down over her throat. When his mouth covered a nipple, a rush of excitement shot through her and shortened her
breath. Her knees weakened and threatened to give way, and she melted, mindless, clutching onto him.

  Andrew swept her up and carried her to the bed, laying her gently down. He leaned over her. “I’ve wanted you from the first moment I saw you, Jenny. I admit to suffering a measure of guilt. A man doesn’t like to admit he fancies his children’s governess.”

  She grinned. “You did?”

  “Unforgivable lust, Jenny. But it’s not like that now.”

  She gazed at him, surprised. “You don’t feel that way anymore?”

  A devilish look came into his eyes. “Of course I want you. Ah, Jenny. I want your love. I’ve fallen head over heels in love with you.”

  Jenny bit her lip to stop the sob rising in her throat. Her hand at his nape, she drew him down for her to kiss. “I love you, Andrew. So very much.”

  He lay over her on the bed, pulling her closer. His hand cupped her head as he kissed her, easing her lips apart to stroke the inside of her mouth. The taste of him flowed through her, champagne and brandy and something essentially him. At so intimate an act she lost herself, her tongue dancing with his.

  With a soft moan, he explored her with his hands and lips, pressing kisses down over her throat to take a nipple in his mouth. Jenny moaned and wriggled in ecstasy. Blushing furiously she stilled as he turned his attention to the thatch of brown curls at the base of her stomach. She whimpered and gasped while his mouth and skillful fingers aroused her in a way that was beyond her imagining.

  He edged her thighs apart and moved between them. “Jenny, love,” he murmured and entered her.

  With a deep moan, Jenny gave in to the exquisite sensation of being joined with him in this most intimate of acts as she hugged him to her.

  Andrew woke to the sound of knocking. He glanced over at his lovely bride, sleeping soundly beside him. He grinned. They’d had very little sleep. She stirred and opened her eyes. Her gaze settled on him and she smiled. “Good morning.”

  “Someone has knocked at the door. I must say I’m surprised. Anyone who dares disturb us must desire a period spent in the dungeon.”

  Her eyes widened. “I should get up.” She moved to leave the bed, then recalled she was naked beneath the blankets.

  “Pass me my dressing gown, my love.”

  He picked it up and held it out smiling at her. “Here it is.”

  She frowned. “Andrew!”

  Another knock, this time the latch rattled.

  “Good thing we locked the door, isn’t it?” He grinned and walked over to her. “I believe I’ve seen every inch of you, darling, and I have a strong urge to do it again.”

  She giggled.

  He handed the lacy garment to her then pulled on his dressing gown. Tying the sash, he unlocked the door.

  The children scampered in. Barbara lifted her arms to him. “Why are you here, Barbara?” He scooped her up and dangled her squealing over his shoulder, before setting her on the bed, where she immediately crawled over to Jenny.

  “Where is your governess?” he asked William.

  William grinned. “We lost Miss Wagstaff on the stairs, Father.”

  “You lost her? Perhaps we require a governess who is more fleet of foot,” he said to Jenny. Jenny smiled and shook her head.

  “Oh, no, Father, we like her,” William said.

  “Then this will not happen again,” Andrew said, attempting to sound stern.

  “No, sir.” William smiled over at the bed. “But we wanted to make sure Jenny was still here.”

  “She is here, as you see.” Andrew glanced over to his wife who was cuddling his daughter. “And she has promised to stay.”

  Dangerous Lords Series

  The Baron’s Betrothal

  Seducing the Earl

  The Viscount’s Widowed Lady

  Governess to the Duke’s Heir

  Eleanor Fitzherbert’s Christmas Miracle (A Novella)

  Maggi Andersen Amazon Author Page

  The Lost Lord of Castle Black

  The Lost Lords

  Book One

  Chasity Bowlin

  Dedication

  I want to dedicate this book to my wonderful family—my mother and father who were taken too soon, my brothers who still support me and cheer me on every day, my nieces and grandnieces who are the lights of my life, and my wonderful husband, who never lets a day pass that I should feel underappreciated. Thank you all for making my life as glorious as it is, and for understanding when I spend more time with the people in my head than with you.

  Graham, Lord Blakemore, was believed to be lost at sea as a boy. While his mother, Lady Agatha, has never given up hope of finding her son again, others—eager for the title and the wealth that accompanies it—have been conspiring to have him declared dead against Lady Agatha’s wishes. Her only ally in the house is her late husband’s ward, Miss Beatrice Marlowe.

  But when a dark-haired stranger arrives on their doorstep claiming to be the lost heir to Castle Black, the plots and schemes of those who would have the castle for themselves take a dark and even more sinister turn.

  An orphan when she came into the care of the late Lord Blakemore, Castle Black is the only home Beatrice has ever known. Its occupants are her family. This stranger, who claims to have lost his memory of his life there, threatens the order of all that she knows and holds dear. And yet, she is both drawn to him and strangely compelled to believe his claim. Beatrice finds herself torn between her desire for him and her belief that, if he is the lost lord of Castle Black, he is far above her reach.

  Graham is no ordinary gentleman, bound by the rules of a society he has spent his life far removed from. He’s willing to face not just the danger that lurks within the walls of Castle Black, but anyone who stands between him and what he wants. He has returned to claim his destiny and, for him, Beatrice is part of that. While all else has been forgotten, he knows her to the depths of his soul. More than the castle itself, more than the strangely familiar and rugged land it sits upon, she is his home and he means to claim her.

  Prologue

  December 1804

  The sea pitched and the ship rolled upon it, tossed about like a child’s toy. It was a dark day, the morning’s gray leaden sky having grown darker with each passing hour as it threatened to break open at any moment and pelt them with rain. Vicious wind had already made the journey difficult, but it seemed the closer they came to their destination, the more difficult it became. Was it an omen, perhaps, Lady Agatha Blakemore wondered?

  The sky was nearly black with the coming storm and the wind whipped wickedly at the sails, snapping them with such force it seemed impossible that the entire ship would not come apart. It ripped at her skirts and tugged at her carefully pinned hair until long tendrils escaped and danced about her face.

  Lady Agatha bit back a miserable groan as another wave of nausea swamped her. They had fled France in the wake of the vile and self-proclaimed emperor’s plan to invade England with his band of miscreant sailors. It had been one catastrophe after another. The journey had seen them all fall ill, even the most seasoned of sailors. Some aboard the ship whispered that it was not seasickness at all but poison. She had to wonder if that was not the truth. It had been an exercise in misery from the moment they boarded the ship.

  But it wasn’t only that, a traitorous voice in her mind whispered. She missed him. Despite everything she had learned, despite knowing the painful truth about him, she still longed for him. The touch of his hand on hers, the way he had kissed her as if starved for the taste of her lips—those memories haunted her and she imagined that they would for the rest of her life. Nothing would ever measure up to the joy she’d known with him or to the crippling heartbreak when she’d discovered it had all been a lie.

  The ship pitched again on an enormous wave. She gripped the railing and struggled to remain on her feet. Staying above and watching the storm was risking life and limb, but to go below and allow the awful sickness to sweep through her, once more, was beyond he
r.

  “This is interminable,” she said on a breathless gasp.

  “We shall be home soon enough and put all of this foolishness behind us,” Lord Blakemore said.

  He’d approached from behind and she had not heard him until he was upon her due to the raging wind and the creaking of the ship. Agatha’s stomach pitched for another reason entirely. He would never let her forget just as he would never allow her indiscretion to be forgotten. Her once-adoring husband looked at her differently now, as if she’d been sullied beyond redemption, and she supposed that was true enough. Guilt and shame would be her companions forevermore. Nothing shamed her more than the knowledge that she would run back to her lover at the merest provocation if she thought he would have her.

  “Where is Graham?” she asked. Their son was the only topic of conversation that did not result in tension between them. There was little else for them to talk about truly. He despised her now, as he should.

  “He’s below… suffering his own misery of seasickness. We should reach land within a few hours. Once you’re both on dry land, it will all look better,” he answered stiffly.

  “I should go check on him,” she said.

  He scoffed at that. “You wouldn’t make it without tossing up your accounts. You stay here in the air and I’ll go see to the boy.” He paused then and turned back to her. “Be careful, Agatha. The sea is vicious and greedy.”