Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  “My lord,” she whispered. “We shouldn’t do this.”

  “Quite the contrary,” he withdrew his finger and began rubbing her swollen nub again, “this is exactly what we should be doing.”

  “Oh my goodness—” She tensed. What was he doing to her? Faster, he stroked faster, while he flicked his tongue against her nipple, mimicking the action of his finger. Heat rushed through her. “Why-why is this exactly what we should be doing?” She drew a harsh breath.

  “So that you will know no other man will do for you what I can do.”

  He was right. Blane certainly hadn’t made her feel like this.

  Reality washed over her like ice water and she stiffened. “You are not the first man to put the wedding night ahead of our wedding.”

  He stilled. Slowly he straightened, but his finger remained on her sex. “I promise you, the wedding night will be far superior to a little pleasure in an alcove.”

  Gaze locked with hers, he massaged her sex. Her stomach flipped.

  “Did Blane do this for you?” Lord Rushton leaned closer. “Can Somerset please you like I can?”

  Eve closed her eyes, but the ache only engulfed her.

  He pressed close to her hip, rubbing his engorged shaft against her. “Did they want you this badly?” he asked. She didn’t answer and he bent and whispered in her ear. “Did they, Eve?” He stroked faster. “Did you want them?” Faster he stroked. “Did you?”

  She shook her head as much to ward off the need that gripped her as to answer his question.

  He ran his tongue along the shell of her ear. “Do you want me?”

  She wanted him and—Holy God—she wanted him to keep doing what he was doing. Eve moaned.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  He released her wrists and wrapped his arm around her, while stroking her in small circles, tormenting her until her breath caught and light danced across her closed eyelids. Pleasure burst over her, swallowing up her senses and centering on his touch.

  “Yes, love,” he whispered.

  His voice washed over her and she shivered as another wave of pleasure weakened her knees. He caught her to his chest as he slowed his strokes. An echo of pleasure rippled through her, then another followed until she released a slow breath. He removed his hand, pulled down her dress, then held her close. Eve sagged into his warmth.

  It seemed they held one another for hours, until Eve realized that her bare breasts were pressed against Lord Rushton’s shirt—and he hadn’t satisfied his lust, although the bulge in his pants had receded somewhat. She had the unexpected desire to do for him what he’d done for her—had no idea how to go about it—but good sense kept her from asking.

  He drew back. She started to straighten her bodice, but he grasped the fabric and lifted it over her breasts, then released a breath.

  “Are you ready to return to the lion’s den?” he asked.

  “You once told me you would not willingly go into the lion’s den.”

  He traced a finger down her cheek. “For you, madam, I will.”

  She blinked. Then he smiled and her breath caught.

  “We had best return,” he said. “I doubt my threat will keep our families at bay indefinitely.”

  Eve froze. Everyone was sure to know the earl had made love to her while they’d sat chatting in the library.

  *****

  Erroll pulled back the tapestry and stepped from the alcove. “Miss Crenshaw.”

  She joined him, glanced in the direction of his father’s library, then looked up at him. His mouth went dry. Her cheeks were still flushed with the remnants of pleasure. She was stunning. His cock throbbed again. He was going to make her a very rich widow before he’d had a chance to truly take a husband’s pleasure.

  “They will know…” she said, and Erroll feared she might be right. Unless…

  “They already believe it is true,” he said.

  “Believing we have been intimate and finding out we dallied while they waited a few feet away is quite another.”

  That was true, and the distinction that might get him shot. He shrugged. “Do we care what they think?”

  Her brows snapped down. “I am not a woman who allows a man to tumble her anywhere.”

  “Not any man, love. Me. That is a point I will be very particular about.”

  “That doesn’t make it any better,” she retorted.

  He grasped her elbow and started down the hallway. “Of course it makes it better. Our parents can’t fault a man for finding his future bride irresistible.”

  “They would never believe that, and even if they did, it is unseemly.”

  It certainly was and he wanted to do it again, so answered honestly, “What else would anyone expect from me?”

  “I told you, I will not live that sort of life, my lord.”

  He wasn’t sure what she meant by ‘that sort of life.’ Miss Eve Crenshaw was clearly a passionate woman, and she was going to have a devil of a time hiding that fact from him after the way she’d reacted to his touch.

  “You are overwrought, Miss Crenshaw, and not thinking clearly. There is a vast difference between unseemly and completely dissolute. I promised to be a decent husband, but that doesn’t mean I have any intention of becoming a saint.”

  “You, sir,” she said as he opened the door, “are anything but a saint.”

  Her words rang through the room and all eyes turned on her. Silence reigned for a long moment before his mother said, “Come in, Erroll. Miss Crenshaw, come sit with me.” She patted the place beside her on the sofa. Miss Crenshaw didn’t move and Erroll gave her a gentle push. She kept going and reached the couch, then sat beside his mother.

  “I assume everything is settled,” his father said.

  “It is,” Erroll replied.

  “Good, then Miss Crenshaw need only sign the contract and the Registrar will complete the forms.”

  Shock rolled over Erroll.

  “Registrar?” Eve shot to her feet. “You—” her eyes cut to the stranger, then she whirled toward their fathers “—him? He is a Registrar? But that-that means we are to be married now?” She faced Erroll. “You knew.” Her words dripped with accusation.

  “No,” he stated flatly. “I am as surprised as you.”

  “You expect me to believe that you sat here and didn’t ask who the gentleman was?” she demanded.

  “You did the same. My father ordered me to sit and be quiet.” Erroll saw the hurt in her eyes, and his mind snapped from limbo. He quickly added, “I understood that we were to attend church tomorrow to hear the reading of the first of the banns.”

  Her brow furrowed and he could see that she, too, knew they were to attend church tomorrow. Eve still stared, but her expression had gone blank. Was she deciding whether or not he had manipulated her? He had, but not as badly as she might think. He’d seen the way Somerset looked at her sister—not to mention Grace Crenshaw’s reaction to him—and realized the viscount had fallen in love with her. Erroll suspected Eve had observed the same and wouldn’t marry a man who preferred her sister, which meant Eve had no choice but to marry him.

  “You have both missed the mark,” the marquess said.

  Apprehension coiled in Erroll’s gut. “Would you mind explaining, sir?”

  “Technically, you are already married,” Tolland answered. “The promise of marriage along with an intimate relationship constitutes a legal marriage.”

  Good God. So his lie that he had taken Eve’s virginity is what had done him in?

  “Already married?” Eve echoed.

  “There was even a notice in the paper,” Tolland said.

  “I never agreed to any of this,” she said in a whisper.

  “Are you telling me Rushton forced himself on you?” Tolland demanded. “If you tell me that, Eve, I will shoot him here and now.”

  Her cheeks reddened. “No, no, of course not. It is just…”

  She looked at Erroll and he knew she was thinking of the pleasure he
’d given her moments ago. By God, he’d made a mess of that, hadn’t he? He thought he had three weeks to allow her to come to terms with marrying him so he had…had what? Bloody hell, he had no idea anymore.

  “Apparently, all of Gretna Green knows you dueled Halifax because he kidnapped your betrothed,” the marquess said. “That public announcement was simply the confirmation of marriage.”

  It was so ridiculous Erroll wanted to laugh. “You do remember the duel, my dear?”

  “It is burned into my brain.”

  His as well.

  “I told you that duel was a bad idea.” She dropped down on the seat beside his mother. “Just as I told you that coming uninvited into my room was a bad idea.”

  “Indeed, you did.”

  She addressed her father. “If Lord Rushton and I are married, why are we here?”

  “It is best you sign the marriage contract and that the Registrar witness and record the marriage,” he replied.

  “As we are already man and wife, this could have waited until a more reasonable hour,” she said with asperity. Erroll barked a laugh and she shot him a recriminating look, then demanded, “Where are the papers?”

  Erroll’s father rose and retrieved the documents from the desk in the corner. He brought them, along with a pen and book.

  “Please sit down,” he told her.

  She sat on the couch and signed each document as instructed. “I assume you saw to everything in the contract, Papa?”

  “I did.”

  “Then I need not worry for an instant.” She signed the contract with a flourish that told Erroll the wedding night might not be all that smooth, then laid the pen on top of the document, and the marquess took everything to Erroll, who did the same.

  “Is it official?” Erroll’s mother asked the Registrar, once Erroll had signed the last paper and the marquess had handed him the documents.

  The Registrar flipped through the papers, signed one sheet, then looked at her. “It is, my lady. You have Lord and Lady Rushton.”

  Erroll glimpsed the flicker of panic in his new wife’s eyes. He didn’t blame her. Any woman of character would react with shock at hearing herself called by his name—one very good reason he had so determinedly avoided the ladies who had decided they wanted the title: lack of character.

  His mother took Eve’s hand in hers. “We welcome you to the family. We will plan a party for the day after tomorrow.”

  “Do not put yourself to any bother,” Eve said.

  “A party is never trouble for Mother,” Erroll said.

  “Indeed not,” she said. “I adore parties. However, that is for us to worry about tomorrow. It is still the wee hours of the morning, and I think everyone would do well to retire.”

  “Thank you,” Eve said. “It has been a trying day.” She rose and everyone followed suit.

  Her father came to her and grasped her shoulders. “I know this is not what either of us planned, but you could have done far worse.”

  Erroll wondered if Tolland was thinking that Eve could have ended up married to Lord Blane, who Erroll had heard was so deep in gambling debts that it was expected he would turn up dead or disappear on a ship bound for Australia.

  Tolland hugged his daughter and stepped back as Grace Crenshaw offered what appeared to be sincere congratulations. Eve accepted all this with polite acquiescence, then allowed Somerset to bow over her hand as he congratulated her.

  “I will show you to your room,” his mother said at last.

  “Thank you, but I can find my way,” Eve said.

  “No, my dear. We have one of the private suites ready for you and Erroll.”

  Eve’s mouth parted in surprise and for an instant Erroll feared she would cry. He started toward her, but his mother pulled her into a hug and Erroll halted as he glimpsed the shock on Eve’s face. To his surprise, she hugged his mother fiercely, then seemed to recall herself and stepped back.

  “I am ready.”

  Erroll was caught between wanting to laugh and the dawning comprehension that he was married without so much as a kiss or a drink to herald the event. He was also struck with the realization that the next woman he made love to would be his wife. By God, was he ready?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Eve walked beside Lady Rushton as if in a dream. No, not a dream, a nightmare. How bad was the situation? She was married to a man she barely knew, but, heaven help her, she had fallen in love with. His long list of paramours indicated that many women were affected in the same manner—and no doubt many more would be added to his conquests. And that, she realized with painful intensity, was the problem. Well, one of the problems. She wanted him, and he’d made it clear he wanted her. But that was where it always ended for him.

  She and the marchioness climbed the stairs to another story and through a labyrinth of hallways that left Eve dizzy. At last Lady Rushton stopped in front of a room and opened the door. She entered first and Eve followed.

  “This is the parlor,” the marchioness said. A fire burned in the hearth, and the room was furnished with two couches, two chairs, a small desk and sideboard stocked with liquor. She crossed to a door on the left and entered the room. “This is the master bedroom, with the lady’s room here.” She walked past a massive four-poster bed to another door and Eve followed into a smaller, but just as lavishly furnished, room. The burgundy quilt had been turned back on the bed and a settee was located in front of the crackling hearth fire. “There is a tub behind the screen there.” The marchioness pointed to the left corner near the hearth, where stood a magnificent painted Chinese screen with gilded leather. An ornate pedestal work table with a silk workbag sat against the wall to the left of the bed.

  “This is too much, ma’am,” Eve said.

  She laughed. “Not at all. The suite is perfect for you and Erroll. You are welcome to stay as long as you like.”

  How long would that be? Would Lord Rushton keep his promise and not abandon her in Scotland, or would they rush back to Town with all its traps and distractions? Which would be worse, staying here alone, or being with him where she was bound to encounter the women he kept?

  Eve caught sight of a nightdress draped across the chair nearest the bed and realized the garment had been laid out for her. Her stomach somersaulted. How was she going to get through the night? Her mind flashed back to her encounter with Lord Rushton in the alcove half an hour ago and knew very well how she was going to get through the night.

  At the sound of a knock on her bedchamber door, Eve looked up from the floor and shifted on the edge of the mattress where she sat. “Come in.”

  The door opened and Lord Rushton entered. To her surprise, he hadn’t changed into a robe—under which she had expected him to be naked—but wore the breeches and white shirt he’d worn in the library. Eve recalled the marchioness telling her that the marquess had been sensitive to her fears during their wedding night—though Eve suddenly wished she had asked exactly what that meant—and said, “Did your mother have a talk with you?”

  A smile twitched the corner of his mouth. “Was she supposed to have a talk with me?”

  Eve shook her head. “No. But your attire makes me wonder.”

  He closed the door and crossed to the bed. “I am not certain what that means.”

  “It means, my lord, that I am wondering why you are dressed. Do grooms not generally greet their new brides naked?”

  Surprise—and was that delight?—flickered in his eyes. “If you are that anxious, I can oblige.” He tugged his shirttails from the waistband of his britches.

  “Do men use any excuse to get their clothes off while in the presence of a woman?” Eve asked.

  “We need little encouragement.” He dropped the shirttail, but didn’t unbutton the shirt. “A wedding night needs no excuses. You gave me the impression you were receptive.”

  “I asked a simple question,” she replied.

  “Would you rather I spent the night in my room?”

  Why not, she wond
ered? He would doubtless spend most of his nights in his own room—after returning home from his mistress’ bed. But she said, “You implied that your husbandly duties would make marriage to you worthwhile.”

  For the first time in their acquaintance, he looked nonplussed, and Eve couldn’t help laughing.

  He frowned. “I didn’t quite put it that way.”

  “My lord,” she said through a hiccup of nervous laughter, “have I trod upon your masculine sensibilities?”

  “I do not have masculine sensibilities.”

  He actually sounded offended. Eve recalled Grace saying that she had wounded his pride. “But you do, and I have trampled upon them.”

  His eyes narrowed. “If it is masculine sensibilities you want, then it is masculine sensibilities you shall have.” He reached for her, but she scooted back on the bed before he could grab her. Lord Rushton straightened, a gleam in his eye. “Would you like a game of chase in the bargain?”

  He began a slow walk around the foot of the bed, then abruptly dove for her. Eve squealed and leapt from the bed. He landed, face down on the mattress where she’d been, then rolled from the bed onto his feet and advanced on her. Eve retreated until her calves bumped into something. She jumped aside and the worktable she’d bumped into fell onto its side. The top fell off, and a chessboard inside struck the carpet.

  “Oh dear,” Eve cried.

  She dropped to her knees and picked up the chessboard. An instant later, Lord Rushton knelt beside her and grasped her arms.

  Eve twisted in an effort to break free. “Let me go.”

  “No.”

  She snapped her head up and looked into his eyes. She suddenly felt weak as a kitten. This feeling, she decided, was going to be her undoing—and Lord Rushton knew it, and would relish her downfall.

  She gave him a critical look. “If you think I’ll melt every time you look at me like that, you have quite another thing coming, my lord.”