Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  LOVE REGENCY STYLE

  By the dozen is always better…

  Twelve regency romances by best selling authors

  Samantha Holt

  Lauren Royal

  Elisa Braden

  Tarah Scott

  Claudy Conn

  Amy Corwin

  Rose Gordon

  Linda Rae Sande

  Wendy Vella

  Anya Wylde

  The novels in this compilation are works of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues are the creation of each author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  The author of each novel is solely responsible for the content of her work and that content does not necessarily reflect the opinions or ideals of Drakon Press LLC.

  All rights to all stories included in this collection are retained by the individual author. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the individual author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. The unauthorized reproduction, sharing, or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Copyright 2016 Drakon Press LLC

  ISBN-978-0-9972146-0-4

  Produced in the USA

  Cover Art Created by Crosswood Designs

  Images: Hot Damn Designs

  Contents

  Tempting His Mistress by Samantha Holt

  Alexandra by Lauren Royal and Devon Royal

  The Madness of Viscount Atherbourne by Elisa Braden

  To Tame a Highland Earl by Tarah Scott

  Lady Star by Claudy Conn

  The Unwanted Heiress by Amy Corwin

  Secrets of a Viscount Rose Gordon

  The Kiss of a Viscount Linda Rae Sande

  The Grace of a Duke Linda Rae Sande

  The Seduction of an Earl Linda Rae Sande

  Tempting Miss Allender by Wendy Valla

  Penelope by Anya Wylde

  Tempting His Mistress

  Samantha Holt

  Copyright 2014 ©Samantha Holt

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Prologue

  Just a few more moments. Lily opened her eyes and squinted up at the sun. She stretched her arms above her head with a satisfied smile. A few perfectly fluffy clouds broke up the blue sky and she took the time to trace them with her gaze. She huffed at the inadequacy of them when they couldn’t be turned into shapes.

  Grass tickled the backs of her hands and a bee buzzed nearby, forcing her to sit up and appreciate the great expanse of countryside in front of her. The field in which she currently sat rolled gently downward, leading toward a rickety old fence. The crops in the farmer’s field were beginning to grow tall and swayed gently. Lily sucked in lungfuls of fresh air before forcing herself to stand.

  She brushed the grass from her skirts and scooped up her drawing pad and pencil. Shaking her head at the half-finished sketch, she made her way down to the battered fence.

  “Tomorrow,” she promised herself.

  Tomorrow she’d finish her sketch then she could paint it in watercolors as a present for her father. The day had simply been so pleasant that she could not resist a lazy time of lying around and doing very little.

  Hitching up her skirts, she climbed over the fence and followed the grooved path that cut around the field. The house she used to share with her mother before her death peeked over the trees at the end of the field. She could see the little red tiles and the elegant shutters.

  And…she scowled. Lily wasn’t expecting visitors but a horse had arrived at the gates. She picked up her pace, keeping her skirts held high to avoid tripping and likely covering herself in straw and dirt.

  Maybe it was something from her father. He did like to send her presents when he could. It was not easy for him, maintaining his business, and also looking after an illegitimate daughter, but Lily thought he did a fine job of it. After her mother had died, her father ensured she had enough funds to stay comfortably in the home he’d provided for them.

  The rider dismounted and opened the gate before she could reach it. He held no parcel and she didn’t recognize him. Dread churned in her stomach. Something was wrong, she knew it.

  Lily dashed to the gate and pushed through. She caught up with the rider before he could knock on the front door of her house.

  “Can I help you?” she asked breathlessly.

  The man tugged off his hat and tucked it under his arm. “Miss Claremont?”

  “Yes.”

  Sweat shone from his brow. He must have been riding at a fair pace. The young man handed over a letter and Lily’s hands shook as she took it.

  “Your cousin Mr. Henry Claremont bid me to make haste with this news.”

  Lily failed to respond. She eased open the letter and cast her gaze rapidly over the scrawled words. Ink splots marred the paper as if it had been written in haste.

  “No.”

  The word escaped her. The drawing pad and pencil clattered to the ground beside her but Lily had little care for her artwork now. She had to force herself to read again. A great rush of heat burned through her and the scrawled writing blurred in front of her eyes. It was only when the rider dashed forward and gripped her arm did she realize she’d been about to faint.

  Her whole world had changed with one letter. A noose of fear tightened her throat.

  “Did you know of the content of this letter?” she asked the man, her voice thin.

  “Yes, miss. Please accept my condolences.”

  She tried to swallow the knot in her throat before continuing. “My father… he was…” Lily pressed her hands to her breastbone while she continued to fight to draw in breaths, “murdered.”

  “I am sorry, miss.”

  “Will there be an investigation? Is Henry looking into whoever killed him?”

  The dark-haired man lifted a shoulder. “They say it was a random attack. Likely wanted to mug him.”

  Drawing in a shuddery breath, she nodded. “Thank you for coming to me with such haste.” She motioned to the door. “If you would like some food and drink, the housekeeper will be happy to oblige.”

  “Many thanks, miss.”

  Lily hardly heard the words. She dashed around the back of the house to the garden and near collapsed onto the stone bench. Face buried in her hands, she waited for the tears to come but none made themselves known. Instead, a great, empty ache threatened to consume her.

  She was now alone in the world. Alone and penniless. With her cousin inheriting everything, she would be left destitute. There would be no income for the illegitimate daughter of a merchant. Somehow, that did not matter as much as the fact her dear father was dead
—killed by some criminal likely after a few pennies. What a waste.

  Smoothing the paper in her hands, she studied the words once more. Each time she read them, a new stab of pain hit her, but with it a flood of certainty filled her. Whatever happened to her, whoever had killed her father had to pay.

  Chapter One

  Hampshire, England 1869

  Lilly had to resist the urge to swipe her clammy palms down her gown. Today she would come face to face with her father’s murderer—Lord Hawksley, Marquess of Hawksley. Even now, her heart throbbed against her bodice. What would he look like? Sinister? Depraved? Ugly, no doubt, to match his ugly soul. Revenge and greed must have twisted the man to sink to such lows as to hire someone to kill her father.

  “You remind me of your mother,” Lady Stanley said on a sigh, a smile teasing her lips.

  Her imaginings vanished and she turned her attention back to her hostess. Feathers bobbed in her hair, and her austere blue gown matched the shade of the wallpaper. Yet Lady Stanley could never be accused of being a wallflower. Even at the age of eight and sixty, she exuded elegance, and vitality shone from her.

  Lilly eyed the older woman and noted the twinkle in her grey eyes. “Because I look like her?” she asked innocently.

  Lady Stanley arched an eyebrow. “Because you are as stubborn as a mule.”

  Lily smothered a laugh with an inelegant snort. Indeed, her mother had been a willful character in her time. She had long suspected it was one of the reasons her father loved her so dearly.

  “You have been refusing my invitations for far too long. You should not have had to mourn for your father alone.”

  “Lady Stanley—”

  “Violet,” the grey-haired woman corrected.

  “Violet, it has only been eleven months—that is not a lifetime. I came to you no less than a month before Papa’s death, did I not?”

  “Indeed you did, but you would have been far better mourning him with someone who cares for you. I shudder to think of you all alone in that house.”

  “Well you mustn’t fear for me.” She leaned over and rested a hand on Violet’s bony fingers. “I like my solitude and I’m well used to it.” Though she feared it would come to an end soon enough. Her cousin, heir to her father’s fortune and current guardian of her home, had made plenty of noises about needing to rent it out. Which left her, well, homeless.

  Lilly glanced around the drawing room. The old fashioned décor was not to her taste. A few new pieces—a Hepplewhite chair and some Gillows furniture—adorned the room that hadn’t been redecorated in at least fifty years by her reckoning. Her mother’s house had recently been renovated in an oriental style. She loved the modern touch, but goodness knows what her mother would have thought of it.

  “You take too much pride in your independence, Lilly,” Lady Stanley scolded.

  “Should I be dependent on those who would rather not even look upon me?” Lilly asked, a brow arched.

  “I would look upon you. Your mother was my dearest friend and as her daughter, you are as dear to me as she.”

  “Yes, but you, Lady Stanley, are an exception. I shall not see the same warm welcome from your guests.”

  Lilly’s mother had always credited Lady Stanley’s liberal views to her education in Italy. Lilly concluded that the continental lifestyle must be very liberal indeed for Lady Stanley to have remained friends with a woman shunned by society—and her illegitimate daughter.

  “My guests will welcome you or they shall have me to deal with.”

  Chuckling, Lilly smoothed down her lavender skirt and awaited a rebuke but none came. In spite of being ostracized by society, her mother insisted on impeccable manners. Illegitimate or not, she would remind her, you are still the daughter of a lady.

  She swallowed the lump that gathered in her throat. Though grateful to be out of her mourning wear, it only reminded her she was no closer to finding the man who’d killed her father.

  Until now.

  “So will you tell me why, after all this time, you have finally taken up my invitation to stay?”

  Reasons burned in her mind. To find a killer. To confront the man who had taken away a beloved father. She might be no more than a mistress’s daughter but her father had been a good and kind man. He loved her mother and he loved her. He did not deserve such an ending.

  Instead of letting the words spill forth, Lilly smiled. “Because I’ve missed your vibrant company, Lady Stanley.”

  Guilt curled in her stomach, restricting it further than any corset could. Lady Stanley had been a staunch supporter of her mother when her father had taken her as his mistress and given Lilly his name. Even after her mother’s death, Papa had ensured she was taken care of. Few people understood the love and devotion her parents had for each other, not even Lilly. Her mother was a stronger character than she, surely? If her mother’s heart broke every time her lover returned to his wife, she never showed it.

  “I am glad to have your company, dear Lilly.”

  Maybe she should confess she was here for one reason, but what if the lady tried to dissuade her? Lilly shook off the notion. To her mind it was always better to ask for forgiveness than for permission.

  “Lord Hawksley and his companions should be here in a few hours. His hunting lodge is but four miles from here.”

  “How fortunate you are to have him so close by,” Lilly replied.

  “Lilly?”

  “My lady?”

  “Violet,” she corrected again. “I recognize that tone. There is something snide in it. What on earth has Lord Hawksley done to offend you? I don’t recall you ever having met him.”

  “Not a thing,” Lilly lied. “I am sure he is as charming as any other marquess I have met.”

  All of whom dismissed me upon learning I was illegitimate, she thought archly. But being well used to such behavior, she seldom succumbed to self-pity. Once she turned five and twenty—only two short years away—the investment her father left in trust would be hers and she could command her own destiny. She needed no attention from a man.

  In truth, a man would probably hinder her ambitions. Already, women’s rights were garnering more attention. With the opening of the first women’s college but a few years ago, Lilly anticipated that being a woman of independence in such a time could be a great thing indeed. Maybe if she invested wisely, she too could bring education to women or attention to ways the law was so unfavorable to wives.

  “You would do well to be pleasant, Lilly. Lord Hawksley is an influential man. It would do you no harm to speak with him. Maybe you shall learn something. He is a little gruff at times, but I find him to be intelligent and well informed.”

  Lilly eyed Lady Stanley. “I fear you are an optimist, my lady. Few people are as open and hopeful as you.”

  “And you, my dear, are jaded for so young a person. Even your mother held onto hope. People can surprise you.”

  “Mother held onto hope and love, but what did that bring her? A life of being hidden away.”

  “Your mother had love.”

  Lilly released a full snort this time. “Love? I know full well my mother and father were a love match and they had some happy moments but to become a mistress, to withdraw from society and risk such scorn…all for love? I do not think I could ever do such a thing.”

  “Ah, but you have never experienced such love.”

  “And I shall not. No man shall ever look at me and see anything other than the illegitimacy of my birth.” Lady Stanley opened her mouth to protest, but Lilly held up a hand. “Don’t fear, for I am quite content alone. I have plans to lead a full and busy life now that I am out of mourning.” And once she had confronted her father’s murderer and seen him brought to justice. “In the meantime, I shall enjoy your hospitality and I promise to be courteous to your guests.”

  Clamping down on the nerves roiling in her stomach, Lilly offered Lady Stanley a shaky smile. She refused to do anything to embarrass her mother’s friend, but somehow she would
find out what she needed to know about Lord Hawksley’s dealings with her father. One way or another, she would ensure he paid for killing her father.

  Chapter Two

  Her well-appointed room as Lady Stanley’s offered every comfort a woman of much higher rank could expect. Plush bedding, beautiful décor, elegant portraits and landscapes of the local area. It was not that Lily believe that she didn’t deserve any of this, but she was acutely aware of how she would not fit in with her guests.

  She drew in a breath while the maid finished threading blue flowers into the back of her hair and tugged several curls so they spilled down her neck and touched her cheeks. They were simply people, that was all. People who happened to be born into privilege. It was all luck. Nothing more.

  “There you go, my lady.”

  “My thanks, Annette.”

  Lilly put a hand to her chest and waited for the maid to leave before spritzing on some perfume. Jasmine infused the air and she took a deep breath, fingering the ruffles across the low neckline of her pale blue gown. To be free of mourning colors was a relief, for black and dark colors never suited her pale skin or light brown hair. She looked ill in such colors. But her heart panged with sorrow.

  While at times she resented her parents’ love—the sacrifices her mother and herself had made so her father could have the best of both worlds, his wife and his mistress—Lilly acknowledged few children of mistresses would be as blessed with such a doting father. Lilly wanted for little—aside from more time with her father—and Charles Claremont had loved her dearly. An ache gathered in her throat and she curled a fist.

  Voices carried up from the entrance hall and Lilly jolted, snatched her gloves and pushed back the chair. Lord Hawksley and his hunting party had arrived an hour ago while she had been getting ready.

  She had peered past the heavy drapes to view him arriving in his town coach but had been unable to assess the three gentlemen properly as their top hats hid their features—though one was clearly older and more portly. Was that Lord Hawksley? She had heard he was only one and thirty. One of the younger gentlemen had glanced her way, raising his head to latch his gaze onto hers. Her stomach twisted, and she drew back behind the curtains to watch the rest of the party.