Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  “Hold the position and let him help you shoot.” The thickness in his voice sent a measure of pride through her. Not a lot, but just enough to assure her she wouldn’t fall to pieces when he let go.

  Which she didn’t a moment later when he did let go.

  “Shall we try it again?”

  ***

  What had he just said? Did he intend to torture himself?

  “A-all right.”

  Sebastian regained his former position behind her, praying she wouldn’t notice the bulge in his trousers and ask questions. “Put your hands up.”

  She did and waited for him to cover hers with his before leaning her left shoulder toward him. She cocked her head as if she were looking down the end of her arrow which put the creamy expanse of her neck within an inch of his lips. He forced his eyes away from her skin before he gave into the temptation to kiss her neck again. He had no idea what he’d been thinking before when he’d kissed her, but he couldn’t do so again.

  “Sebastian?”

  He started. “Sorry.” He moved their hands back. A task not so easily done by a man with an overwhelming desire for his own wife. His desire doubled a moment later when she not only pressed her shoulders against him, but moved in a way that pressed her bottom against his groin. He didn’t think it was possible to get any harder, but he did. “Too much.”

  “Hmmm?”

  He’d have wondered how innocent her action was if he’d had any ability to think. Knowing her and her horrible attempts at flirting today, it was a completely innocent gesture with a not-so-innocent consequence. “Don’t lean so much.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Well, do you want to interest him in what’s to come or have him ravish you on the lawn?”

  She gasped and jerked her entire body forward.

  He tightened his hold on her to keep her there. “You don’t need to move that far forward.” He lowered his left hand and guided her to lean back against him. “There. That’s perfect.”

  “No. It’s not.” She pulled away from his embrace again and rubbed her hands over her face. “I don’t think I should do this.”

  “Why not?”

  “I didn’t intend to move so far back.”

  “I know.”

  “You don’t understand.” She sank onto the edge of her bed. “I’m not good at this, Sebastian.”

  If only she knew just how good she was. He crossed one leg in front of the other to conceal his erection. “You just need to practice.”

  She shook her head. “It won’t help. I’m hopeless.”

  “No, you’re not. Now, come back over here and we’ll keep practicing until you’re just as good at pretending you don’t know how to shoot an arrow as you are at actually shooting one.” Even if that meant he’d have to suffer the whole time.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It wasn’t until the following afternoon that Sebastian learned what real suffering was. No, it hadn’t been overly enjoyable to have his wife in his arms and unable to do anything about it except help her practice for how to charm another man, but that paled in comparison to the suffering that came with watching his wife use her newfound skill.

  He knew he should go back home to London. He’d decided that’d be for the best the night before, but something had compelled him to go see Belle one final time before leaving, no matter how painful the experience might be.

  Being an official guest as of yesterday, he could have just walked out to the archery field and pretended to shoot arrows while he observed. But he didn’t want to risk anyone seeing him and decided instead to hang back and observe from a safe distance.

  At first glance, he didn’t see either Belle or Simon. Odd. He moved further down the wall, perhaps they were further down.

  A door no more than three feet away swung open and a couple emerged: Belle and Simon. He didn’t know whether to sigh with relief or beat the sense out of the man who was courting his wife. He settled for clenching his fists, pressing his back against the wall and praying they didn’t see him.

  That was an unfounded fear. He had no idea what the man had just said, but the peals of laughter that came from Belle filled the air. It was forced, he could tell, but as long as Simon couldn’t tell the difference she’d done her job.

  She grinned up at the man—a little too wide, but that was all right, she still looked beautiful, gesturing toward the archery equipment.

  Simon must have hesitated because she cocked her head to the side and batted her lashes. Good girl. Once again, Sebastian could see through her ploy, but if Simon gave in and took her shooting, she’d be well on her way to securing his proposal.

  Sebastian closed his eyes for a moment and released a deep breath. It was for the best. She deserved a husband who’d always treat her right. He opened his eyes and watched them stroll over to collect a bow and quiver full of arrows, then walk to a platform in line with a vacant target.

  Fortunately, they were close enough that Sebastian didn’t have to move. Unfortunately, they were close enough that he could see everything they did perfectly clear. He scowled and shoved his fists into his pockets, clenching them tighter.

  Belle took her stance and just as they’d discussed she’d do, she purposely fumbled with the arrow, pretending to be unable to know what to do. At first Simon didn’t appear to be interested, but she must have said something about requiring help because he set his bow down, pressed his lips together and went to help her. Pressed his lips together? What the devil for? What man didn’t enjoy an invitation to drape himself all over an attractive woman?

  Simon walked up behind her and stood back at a distance.

  As Sebastian had instructed her to, Belle leaned her shoulders back against his chest in just a simple gesture.

  Simon almost lost his grip on the arrow. Recovering it, he stepped awkwardly to the side so he wasn’t squarely behind Belle.

  Sebastian stared in disbelief, his pulse racing. Was the man that inept?

  Belle said something Sebastian couldn’t hear and Simon moved closer to her. Together, they pulled their right hands back that took the arrow back, but instead of leaning into him more like Sebastian had told her to do, she kept her position and let him help her shoot the arrow.

  It flew two feet above the target and came down somewhere in the grass.

  Belle made a show of being disappointed they didn’t hit the target—which didn’t require too much theatrics on her part, she’d always hated missing—and somehow convinced Simon to help her again.

  Nodding, the man came to help her, sliding into place behind her as if it were a punishment worse than death.

  Belle paid him no mind and went about her flirtations. A hard knot formed in Sebastian’s throat and grew until it filled his chest and stomach, too. He wasn’t any better of a friend to her now than he had been six years ago. It might be true that his intentions had been good, but that’s where it stopped. He’d encouraged her to make a total fool of herself by flirting with a man who wasn’t just disinterested, he was completely undeserving.

  If he was calm enough he’d march over there right now and put an end to this idiocy, but he wasn’t. Likely if he went over there, he’d tear Simon’s head from his shoulders or do something equally horrifying and only embarrass Belle more.

  He jerked his eyes away. He couldn’t take another second of it. Not that what his gaze fixed on was any better: Lord Kenton.

  The two exchanged a look.

  “If I were your age, Belgrave. I’d do something about it.”

  Perhaps it was time he did just that.

  ***

  Isabelle squeezed her eyes shut and imagined it was Sebastian who was wrapped around her and helping her shoot the arrow. She knew it was sinful and wicked to do such a thing, not to mention the worst thing for her sanity, and most definitely not the safest thing for her heart. But she couldn’t help it. Simon was so stiff and mechanical, the opposite of Sebastian’s warm and fluid motion. She suppressed her sigh
and leaned in a little more against the body behind her. He was broad and solid, but not the same solid that had been holding her the night before.

  She let out a deep breath and briefly considered pushing things too far and “accidentally” brushing against his groin the way she had with Sebastian. Somehow she doubted that Simon would be very appreciative of such a gesture.

  Sending up a silent prayer that she could feign a dislike for archery soon and spare them both such an uncomfortable situation, she allowed him to help her release the arrow and watched it fly.

  Whooosh! Bfft.

  Inwardly sighing with relief, Isabelle clapped and bounced around, grinning like a simpleton. “We hit the target!” Never mind that it was the white edging that went around the bullseye. They’d hit something and she’d gladly use it as a reprieve. “Why don’t you shoot for a while and I’ll watch you?”

  “Are you sure?”

  Isabelle waved her hand in the air. “Of course.”

  Simon loaded his arrow and sent it down the lane. It hit just outside the center. He actually wasn’t bad—just horrible at teaching.

  He shot another. It hit close to the other.

  Isabelle’s hands itched to try it alone. Perhaps once she hit the center, she could claim it was a fluke. Better not.

  “You’re quite skilled,” she said.

  “Thank you.” Simon reached for another arrow then halted. “This probably isn’t any fun for you, is it?”

  She shrugged. “It’s all right. I don’t mind.”

  He slipped the arrow back into the quiver and set down his bow. “How about a walk?”

  Isabelle placed her hand in the crook of his proffered arm. She wondered if she should give him an encouraging squeeze, but the truth was, she’d encouraged him enough today and he seemed just as disinterested as he had been before. “Do you not like me?” She couldn’t believe she’d just blurted that, but as soon as it was out, she found it humorous that she had no real regrets.

  “Of course I do.” He flashed her a slim smile. “I know I haven’t been showing it as of late, but you must know that I’m interested in you.”

  “I see…”

  He came to a stop and turned to face her, his green eyes full of concern. “Isabelle, is something troubling you?”

  She twisted her lips. There was something they’d never spoken about and perhaps it was time. “The day you came to see me in London, you’d practically proposed in the drawing room—it was me who’d wanted more time. Then we come here and you’re as distant as the moon and more distracted than a puppy.”

  He sighed and reached for her hand, leading her to a nearby bench. “You’re right. I’ve just been distracted. I know that’s no excuse, but I—” He broke off; a distant, wide-eyed expression came over his face. “Everything I’ve ever been told has been nothing but a lie.”

  “You mean about Giles?”

  Simon nodded slowly. “My mother had once mentioned that I’d had a brother who’d been born with something wrong.” He shook his head. “I never asked what that meant. I just assumed by her rarely mentioning his birth and saying that things didn’t go right that he was dead. I had no idea he’d been sent off.”

  “Do you think knowing all of this time would have made much difference to you?”

  Silence hung between them for a while. “I—I don’t know.”

  “Do you think this is even about Giles, but rather your mother and you feeling betrayed?”

  He flinched at her words, telling her all she needed to know. “She’s the one behind this blasted party,” he muttered; then scoffed. “Apparently she thought it best to offer him a bride as a way to mend the separation between them. She’s just using Lord and Lady Cosgrove as a means to manipulate the situation.” He shook his head. “Giles is just too naïve to know the difference between genuine concern for his well-being and manipulations.”

  Isabelle sucked in a harsh breath. That almost seemed cruel. Almost. She wouldn’t claim to be overly familiar with either Simon’s mother or Giles, but considering Giles’ somewhat off-putting mannerism, she could understand why his mother would think she was helping him as a means to mend a rift between them. She could also understand why that might be the worst thing she could do. “Does Giles want help?”

  “How am I to know? Your friend Lord Belgrave knows more about the man than I do.”

  Isabelle didn’t know if the edge to his voice was frustration at the whole situation or if it was irritation specifically aimed at Sebastian for any of his plethora of faults. “Simon, have you considered just talking to Giles?”

  Simon’s head snapped around so he could face her, a dubious expression on his face. “Whatever for?”

  “Well, the two of you do share a mother and—” She closed her mouth with a snap.

  “I noticed the resemblance, too,” Simon muttered. “I’d always wondered if the rumors about my mother were true since I resembled Father so much, but had convinced myself I was just an early baby. Now…” He twisted his lips. “It seems there is nothing left untainted by this.”

  Isabelle had the strangest sensation to wrap him in a hug. Not one that would hopefully lead to more, just a sign of comfort between friends. “Simon, I really think it’d help you both if you talked to him. I know you don’t want to, but I don’t think you’ll be able to make better sense of anything until you at least speak to him.”

  “You’re right.” Simon’s lips formed a tight line and he nodded once then removed his pocket watch. “Dinner will be served in an hour.”

  “Which is just enough time for you to go seek him out and speak to him.” She offered him a smile. “If I’m not mistaken, I imagine he might enjoy some male companionship about now.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Giles Goddard silently contemplated the possibility that someone would literally ‘stuff’ anything, if told to stuff it, the very phrase he heard resounding in his head at the moment.

  He clenched his hands into fists and filled his cheeks with air to keep from putting voice to his words.

  “Are you all right, dear?” Lady Norcourt, or more respectfully known as his mother, asked.

  He nodded his head vigorously, but didn’t dare open his mouth. Over the past four days, his “mother” had become somewhat of an annoyance. She meant well, he knew, but she was dratted annoying with her constant questions—as if she were suddenly very interested in what he’d done in the twenty years that had passed since he’d been sent to Ireland after she and the old baron had learned of Simon’s impending birth.

  He’d give anything short of his right arm to be in almost anyone else’s company at the moment and nearly shouted for joy when he heard the click of the brass doorknob.

  A moment later, he was ready to scream again. Simon Appleton.

  The two locked gazes and either their mother quit speaking or his ears had finally stopped hearing her.

  “Simon,” his mother greeted. “Do come in and join us.”

  Mr. Appleton came into the room and quietly closed the door behind him. “Mother.” He turned to look at Giles. “Lord Norcourt.”

  “What brings you about?” his mother asked.

  Simon’s face took an expression that Giles couldn’t determine. “I’ve come to speak to Lord Norcourt.” When a broad smile took his mother’s lips, Simon added, “Alone.”

  Lady Norcourt’s smile faded and she shot a glance to Giles. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  Irritation bubbled inside of Giles. As much as everyone liked to pretend he was, he wasn’t a child incapable of having thoughts for himself. They might not always come to him quickly or make sense, but he was capable of some things. He scowled at them. “I do.”

  “You do what?” Lady Norcourt asked, her eyebrows drawn together.

  “We’ll talk alone.”

  Lady Norcourt’s lips thinned. “I don’t think—”

  “We’ll be fine, Mother. I don’t plan to eat him,” Simon said, opening the
door to the library for his mother.

  She cast one last glance toward Giles, then gathered her skirts and made her exit. Giles was a hint jealous that it was her and not him who was escaping.

  After she’d crossed the threshold, Simon closed the door. “Have you and my mother become bosom friends yet?”

  “She’s my mother, too,” Giles said quietly.

  “Indeed.” Simon walked to a high backed chair and gripped the wooden frame of the back until his knuckles turned white.

  ***

  If it weren’t for his grip on the chair and his own stubborn pride, Simon would have left the room right behind his mother. Talking to Giles wasn’t going to accomplish anything, he knew that now.

  The infuriating man sat in his chair, tapping his foot. “Come to talk?”

  Simon tightened his hold on the back of the chair as a sudden wave of irritation for the man formed inside of him. “You do know why you were invited here, do you not?” The words were out before he could think better of it, but Giles didn’t seem the least bit disturbed.

  “Yes.”

  “Because Mother thinks to right her wrong by finding you a bride?”

  If his words had any effect on Giles, he didn’t show it. “You’re a fortunate man, then.”

  “Me?” Simon jabbed a finger at his chest. “She didn’t invite those young ladies here for me to peruse, they’re here for you.”

  Giles appeared indifferent. “Not interested. Have your pick.”

  “My pick?” He shook his head. “I don’t need a swarm of ladies to choose from. I’ve already found my bride.”

  “She’s taken.”

  Simon frowned. “Yes, by me.”

  “No. She’s Sebastian’s wife.”

  “Was, Lord Belgrave’s wife,” Simon explained as a small pang of sympathy built in his chest. His mother had once briefly explained that Giles had been born with his life chord wrapped around his neck. She’d mentioned that babies born that way either didn’t live long or would face a lifetime of difficulties at the expense of their minds not working right. Giles clearly fell into the second category.