Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  Incredulous, Erroll lifted his gaze to Tolland’s face.

  “I have arranged for Eve to attend many parties tonight,” the baron went on. “It is the perfect opportunity for you to whisk her off to Scotland.”

  Erroll wondered if insanity ran in the Crenshaw family, and couldn’t help asking, “How would you have me proceed?”

  “Put her in your coach and drive.”

  “You make it sound simple,” Erroll murmured.

  “As I will not be chasing you with a gun, it should be.”

  “I must admit this is the first time I have plotted to get a woman to the altar,” Erroll said. “Usually, I’m running in the opposite direction.”

  The baron’s expression darkened. “There will no running in the opposite direction once you are wed. Eve deserves a good husband.”

  “Then you would do well to choose another man, for I will make a terrible husband.”

  “Should that turn out to be the case, I will shoot you.”

  Erroll gave him a disgruntled look. “I see where your daughter gets her charms. Do you, by chance, have relatives in Newgate?”

  Chapter Three

  Erroll slowed his walk when the object of his ruminations and her sister emerged from a shop up ahead. The younger Miss Crenshaw carried three large packages while the older held a single small bundle. They both wore white muslin dresses, but the elder sister’s breasts strained against the high-waisted bodice. Erroll recalled the lush flesh brushing his chest as he’d leaned over her bed and he released a slow breath in an effort to stop the thickening in his groin.

  Before he allowed his passions to get the better of him, he needed a word with the lady away from the prying eyes of her meddling family. If there was a chance to extricate themselves from the situation, they needed to agree on how best to proceed.

  The ladies turned up the street and strolled away from him. Erroll allowed his gaze to fix upon her rounded derrière, but lifted his eyes again before the sight further incited his mounting lust. She wore no bonnet and the afternoon sunlight glinted off her hair just as the candlelight had done last night in her room. Erroll would wager her hair was as soft as her breasts. An irresistible combination bound to keep him awake tonight contemplating.

  A man walking toward them stopped to greet them. He first bent over Miss Grace Crenshaw’s hand, then took her sister’s hand. Erroll slowed even more. From this distance, he couldn’t see the man’s eyes, but Erroll was sure his head was raised a tad bit too high for his eyes to linger on her hand. Was he ogling her breasts? He confirmed Erroll’s suspicion by pressing his lips to her hand and lingering a second too long before straightening.

  “Hello, Rushton.”

  Erroll recognized the voice behind him and sighed as he turned to face Montgomery Paisley. Encountering his old friend here in Manchester only meant the gossip about him and Miss Crenshaw had reached epic proportions.

  “Paisley, how are you?”

  Montgomery grinned. “Better than you, I suspect. I see your two most recent dalliances up ahead there.”

  Erroll scowled, but cast a quick glance at the ladies, who were once again moving down the street away from the bounder. “They are not my dalliances.”

  Paisley’s brows rose. “There is too much talk for that not to be true.”

  “What are you doing in Manchester?” Erroll asked. “You never leave London.”

  Amusement lit his eyes. “That is not true. I am often in Edinburgh, more often than you, in fact.”

  “The family properties keep me occupied in England,” Erroll said. And since his return from the navy, he’d staunchly avoided the ones in Scotland.

  “I did not know your father held property here in Manchester,” Montgomery said. “Or perhaps it is your mother’s property?”

  His friend knew neither his mother nor father owned property in Manchester, and was purposely egging him on. “Are you hiding from your father again?” Erroll asked.

  His grin widened. “I am. He is being damned unreasonable, as I imagine your father is, too.”

  “He is determined,” Erroll agreed.

  “You cannot fully blame him,” Montgomery said. “You have created quite a stir this time.”

  Erroll grunted. “I am innocent. For once.”

  “You have not been innocent since the schoolroom.”

  “As we met during my university days, you cannot comment.”

  “Quite right,” Montgomery agreed. “I do have a specific reason for seeking you out. Cunningham asked me to give you this.” He pulled a letter from inside his jacket and handed it to him.

  Erroll recognized Lord John Cunningham’s seal and frowned. Parliament was not yet back in session and the young marquess was seeking counsel?

  “Bad news?” Montgomery asked.

  Erroll slipped the letter into his coat pocket unopened. “I imagine it is more along the lines of Cunningham feeling uncertain in regards to some inconsequential detail.”

  “The marquess didn’t strike me as a man prone to nerves.”

  “Sitting in the House of Lords does that to a man.”

  “How is he doing?” Montgomery asked.

  “Quite well. He’s young, but enthusiastic, and smart as the devil.”

  “I would think it might be better to be as cunning as the devil.” Montgomery laughed. “But that is what he has you for. So, what are your plans while in Manchester?”

  Erroll eyed the earl. Montgomery was the only Englishman he’d truly trusted while at Oxford, and one of the few men he trusted at all. “What are you doing tonight?” Erroll asked.

  “Attending a party or two, I suppose. There seems to be a sudden rash of soirees taking place. I cannot imagine why.”

  “How about meeting me tonight?”

  “Am I to run interference?” Paisley asked.

  “Something like that.”

  “You’re mistaken if you think I can be trapped by even those fine specimens of femininity.”

  The sisters had disappeared down the street, but Erroll knew who he referred to. “You might find you like one of them.”

  “I have no doubt I would like both of them.”

  Erroll wasn’t sure he liked that idea.

  “I might take one of them off your hands,” Paisley waggled his brows, “for the evening.”

  “They are not those sorts of ladies.”

  “Really?” Montgomery said. “When have you dallied with any other sort? The more reputable ones can be…complicated.”

  “That is one way of putting it,” Erroll muttered.

  Paisley studied him. “You are not actually smitten with one of them? The last time a lady captured your attention was your final year at university. That was what, five years ago? Not long before you signed up for the navy, if I recall. You navy chaps have a wench in every port. Perhaps there is someone you failed to mention?”

  “There is not,” Erroll said with emphasis. “And there is not anyone now. I am simply intrigued.”

  “Intrigued?” Paisley laughed heartily. “Poor fellow. That is exactly how it starts. You have my sympathy, and my agreement. I will make the rounds with you tonight. That should prove more interesting than hearing third hand accounts of your antics.”

  “There will be nothing of consequence to hear,” Erroll replied.

  But that didn’t mean he might not redirect Miss Grace Crenshaw’s attention onto the Earl of Paisley. If her attentions could be diverted to another man, and the elder Miss Crenshaw remained steadfast in her refusal to marry him, he might escape the ladies’ father with his bollocks intact.

  Erroll was torn between jumping onto the first ship leaving port and the lust that had persisted on his walk back to the hotel. Paisley was right. Being intrigued by a woman could only lead to trouble. Erroll climbed the final flight of stairs to his hotel room. His wound ached just enough to remind him of his folly, and he entered, his mind on the sherry he knew waited on the small table near the parlor window. Erroll stopped
short at sight of his father sitting before the hearth, the sherry decanter on the table beside his chair. He supposed he should be glad the intruder was his father and not another disgruntled paramour. Though he might prefer an angry woman to the marquess.

  Erroll closed the door. “I did not expect you, sir.”

  His father finished the last of the sherry in his glass, then set it on the table. “Then you are a fool.”

  Careful not to favor his leg, Erroll crossed to the table where the glasses sat and picked one up. “Only an hour ago I told Tolland that I was not a fool.” Erroll went to the decanter, refilled his father’s glass, then poured his, and seated himself on the settee to the marquess’ left. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

  “I am here to oversee your marriage settlement.”

  So much for a getaway. Erroll considered telling his father about the marriage contract in his jacket pocket but, instead, finished his sherry in one swig. He would need a second and a third before this conversation concluded. “You are being a little premature. The lady is not cooperating.”

  “Which one?”

  “You heard about last night’s events, I take it?”

  “All of England has heard. Your mother will be none too pleased.”

  “You were not so cruel as to inform her?” Erroll blurted.

  “I did.”

  Of course he did. What better punishment could he have meted out? “I doubt even her energetic persuasion can induce Miss Crenshaw to marry me,” Erroll said.

  His father hmphed. “Which Miss Crenshaw?”

  “The elder.”

  “Then marry the younger.”

  “Tolland is quite adamant that I marry the elder daughter. It seems I tarnished her reputation even more than I did the younger’s—though, I must point out, as I told you in Coventry, I did not sully that lady’s reputation. I never met her until last night at the inn where I, er, caught up with her party.”

  “She lied?” his father asked.

  “Exactly.”

  The marquess shrugged. “You’ve pled innocence too many times in the past to be believed.”

  Erroll poured himself another drink, then lifted the glass in salute. “Quite right.” He took a deep sip.

  His father watched him with a critical eye. “If you insist on being a complete dissolute, the least you could do is dally with Scottish women.”

  And risk falling in love with one as you did? Erroll wondered. He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Scotland is rather a long way to ride for a beautiful woman. As the family properties in England will not run themselves, I must satisfy myself with the willing ladies of London society.”

  “And you think England is too far away for me to set you straight?”

  Erroll held his gaze. “It is my mess, after all.”

  “You should have married a Scottish woman, you fool.”

  Erroll wasn’t married yet, but decided against saying so. “Great Britain has come a long way since The Forty-Five Rebellion, sir, but I would not ask a Scottish wife to live among the lovely female wolves of the ton.”

  “Yet you bed them as if you were Pope John the seventh himself,” he shot back.

  “I think you give me too much credit. After all, I have not bedded your mistress.”

  His father’s features hardened. “I advise you not to try. I made you. I can make another just like you.”

  Erroll had no doubt of that, and the third son would be even better than the second had been and far superior to the first.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised to find you had a dozen bastard sons running about,” the marquess muttered.

  “I am quite careful.”

  “Not careful enough to marry a Scottish woman. That would have made a man of you. But that is of little consequence now. You will marry one of the Crenshaw sisters and settle down. You did not survive war only to drink and whore yourself into an early grave.”

  “No need to worry, sir. I have many good years ahead of me, unlike—” Erroll broke off at the realization of what he’d been about to say. His father had finally managed to rattle him. Erroll suddenly felt very tired. ”You have made the trip for nothing.”

  His father released a heavy sigh. “You must let him go, Erroll. I have.”

  Erroll went cold. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your brother’s death was a blow to all of us, but it has been over a year. What would he think if he saw you now?”

  “He would recognize me as the same man I always was.” Five years his brother’s senior, and not the better of the two to carry on the title.

  “Be that as it may, it is time you set aside your feelings and marry.”

  “And beget an heir, post haste.”

  “That is only part of it,” his father said.

  “The part that most concerns you.”

  “You are the eldest. It is your duty to have sons.”

  “I will no doubt have them.” Then which world would he raise them in?

  “You may care little for your future,” his father said, “but if my property falls to Lydia, she will ruin your sisters and mother.”

  Erroll wished he could argue, but his elder sister was quite capable of wreaking vengeance on his siblings because their father had sired two children with his mistress Moira while married to her mother.

  “As you said, you can produce another son,” Erroll said. “Not to mention, you have provided the ladies an ample dowry and allowance. Mother’s jewels alone will keep her and the girls comfortable, and my mother does have property of her own.”

  “Would you have your mother and sisters rely on her jewels for their livelihood?”

  No, he would not, and said so.

  “I will not have my holdings—not to mention Ravenhall—fall to Lydia and her husband,” the marquess said.

  “I thought you liked Connor.”

  “I do. He deserves better than Lydia. But Ravenhall is not the Douglas ancestral home. Generations of MacLeans have grown up there. Even you, though I wonder if you remember.”

  His father rose and crossed to the hearth where he stared down into the fire, hands clasped behind his back. He was silent for so long, Erroll began to wonder if he had said all he meant to say.

  Then his calm voice broke the silence. “You have cinched the English noose more tightly around our necks.”

  A rare flash of anger flared. “Is that how you see my mother; an English noose strangling you?”

  His father’s blazing eyes snapped onto him. “You are never again to insinuate that I disparage your mother.”

  Shame coursed through him. He’d gone too far. The truth was, it was King George III who had placed the noose around their necks when he’d ordered the marriage of the newly widowed marquess to an English duke’s daughter. The marquess, despite his faults, knew his duty to king and family, and brooked no disrespect against his English wife.

  “My apologies,” Erroll said.

  “I am sorry your duty is such a burden.” His father’s gaze bore into him. “Do you believe Ash is powerful enough to protect your sister Olivia from Lydia’s wrath once we’re gone?”

  No. Sweet Lydia would sacrifice everything to ruin the son and daughter of the marquess’ beloved Moira MacLean.

  *****

  Kidnapping was a crime, but a wedding must take place, and Eve had reconciled herself to the fact that she had to get Lord Rushton married to Grace before their father enforced his will. She slowed as she and her mother entered the ballroom of Lord Grendall’s party. Her mother strolled on without looking back as Eve scanned the crowd. Her gaze caught on a tall man on the dance floor but when he turned, she saw he wasn’t Lord Rushton. Nevertheless, her pulse refused to slow. He shouldn’t be here, but the ballroom was immense and she could easily miss him in the crowd. The time was ten thirty, and she hadn’t encountered him at the other four soirees she had already visited. If all had gone as planned, Lord Rushton had been shanghaied and was on his way to Gretna where Grace wai
ted to marry him.

  “Eve?”

  Eve turned toward her mother, who had stopped a few feet away and was looking at her.

  “Are you coming?”

  “I see Miss Haverly,” Eve said. “I want to say hello to her.” When her mother frowned, Eve said, “Don’t worry, I will join you directly.”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “I will wait with Lady Collins there in that alcove.” She pointed to the right wall where a group of ladies stood, then started in that direction. “Do not be long.”

  Eve angled left toward the first of the two columns on that side of the room. She reached the column and allowed herself to release a slow breath. This night couldn’t end too soon for her liking.

  “Really—” Eve stilled at the sound of Lady Annabelle Quincy’s silky voice leaching around the column “—how did their father decide which of them to saddle Lord Rushton with?”

  “And how did Lord Rushton go from one sister’s bed to the other?” demanded a second woman, Lady Willamina Consworth, if Eve wasn’t mistaken.

  Throughout the evening, she’d overheard women making low comments within her hearing, pretending to be unaware of her presence, but none so rude as this.

  Lady Quincy tittered a laugh. “I can’t imagine his lordship settling for the older sister.”

  Disgust rolled over Eve.

  “Perhaps the younger sister did not prove to be as tasty as he had hoped,” Lady Consworth said.

  “Apparently, Eve Crenshaw was not all that interesting either,” Lady Quincy whispered. “Laura Greenwood was seen leaving Rushton’s hotel room this morning.”

  “No,” Willamina breathed. “It seems the earl has no intention of giving up his pleasures even long enough to wed.”

  Had she heard right? Lady Greenwood visited the earl’s hotel room today?

  “Why should he change simply because he’s marrying?” Lady Quincy said. “After all, they are only daughters of a baron. Getting compromised is the only chance they have of marrying a man like Rushton.” She giggled. “Imagine, if he marries Eve Crenshaw. Why, the three of them might—”

  Fury swept through Eve and she nearly stumbled in her haste to circle the column and confront the women. They took a surprised step backwards toward the wall.