Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  Elizabeth waited patiently as George regarded her, his fin­gers gently kneading hers as he held her hands.

  “God, yes,” he answered suddenly, pulling on her hands so she pitched forward. His arms were around her then, pulling her up and onto his lap and into his embrace that left his head planted against one breast and her arms wrapped about his neck. “By special license. I have it here somewhere,” he mur­mured, holding her hard against him.

  By special license!

  “I don’t suppose it could be today?” she wondered, her voice barely audible as a sob shook her body.

  Her mother would never forgive her.

  She felt more than heard George’s quick inhalation of breath, felt his arms tense as he tightened his hold on her.

  “I would like nothing more,” he whispered, his head turn­ing so his words could be heard despite his head still being pressed against her bosom. “But I would like to remain in your mother’s good graces, and I rather doubt she would ever for­give me for depriving her of seeing you properly wed.”

  Adeline Carlington hadn’t exactly voiced specific plans for her daughter’s wedding; at least, if she had, Elizabeth hadn’t been present. Other than her dowry, she couldn’t remember her parents mentioning anything having to do with her even­tual marriage. “Perhaps we can do it twice then,” Elizabeth murmured, a good deal of mischief evident in her aquama­rine eyes. Then her brows furrowed, forcing a little wrinkle to appear between them. “You said you would ask for my hand. What made you change your mind?” she wondered, a bit indignant with her query.

  George was attempting to shake his head as he gazed up at her, but her hold on either side of his face made doing so a bit difficult. “I assure you, my lady, I never changed my mind about wanting to marry you,” he whispered, his voice sound­ing hoarse. “But I saw Trenton leave your home earlier this afternoon, and from the smile on his face, I took it to mean you had accepted his offer.”

  Her eyebrows going from concern to shock, Elizabeth considered the terms under which the earl had left the house that afternoon.

  First, he was probably fearful for his life. Had there been a pistol available, she would have shot him. Not so much now, of course, as she gave it some more consideration.

  It would have been a waste of a bullet.

  Second, Trenton was no doubt shocked at her behavior. He had every right to be surprised by her pointed questions about his mistresses. It’s just not done, her father had said. Well, perhaps not, but it sure gave her a good deal of satisfac­tion to see the earl so … discomfited.

  Some of those blond curls probably popped out of place!

  And last, Trenton was probably feeling relief at her hav­ing dismissed him before he could ask for her hand; indeed, he was most certainly relieved he wasn’t going to marry the daughter of a political opponent.

  Or he was just relieved he wasn’t going to marry me, she considered.

  Then Elizabeth remembered something from earlier that afternoon; she had told him to smile.

  “I told him to smile,” she announced in a loud whisper. “Because he was lucky he wasn’t going to be married to me.”

  George’s brow furrowed at her comment. He thought back to earlier that afternoon when the young earl had left Car­lington House. He had seen the earl from across the street. Watched as the pompous, overdressed peacock made his way to his high-perch phaeton. Frowned as the earl set the horses to a run straight from the curb.

  Now that George gave it some more thought, despite the pearly whites put on display by the smiling Butter Blond, the Earl of Trenton wasn’t the least bit happy as he descended the steps and made his way to that sporty phaeton parked in front of Carlington House. What a fool he had been not to imme­diately appear on the steps and offer for Elizabeth’s hand! All the grief—yes, it had been grief he had felt, thinking he had lost the woman he had loved from first sight—could have been avoided had he just had faith enough in Elizabeth to know she would choose him over Butter Blond.

  “Oh, but I am lucky because I am going to be married to you,” George sighed, burying his face into the space between her breasts. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of jas­mine and listening to the beat of her heart. She is going to marry me. “May we marry tomorrow, perhaps?” he asked, his voice suddenly quite clear.

  Elizabeth gave him one of her brilliant smiles. “I … sup­pose. Oh, we will be the on-dit for weeks to come, you realize,” she scolded him. “Everyone will think I had to marry you,” she teased, kissing his forehead and moving her hands to either side of his face.

  “I do not really care about Society at the moment,” George said as his lips took purchase on one of her collarbones.

  The sound of a throat clearing brought them both to their senses. “Really, George. You’re behaving like a libertine,” Jose­phine announced from her side of the coach.

  Having forgotten Josephine was even in the coach and suddenly quite embarrassed, Elizabeth took the opportunity to slide off of George’s lap and sit next to him, her hands mov­ing back to grasp his. “I beg forgiveness. I am just as much at fault as he,” Elizabeth admitted as she noticed Josephine’s amused expression.

  The older woman didn’t truly mean to admonish the cou­ple it seemed. But it was awfully rude to be kissing and paw­ing at one another in front of a third party. Even if she was George’s ex-mistress. “Will you be a witness at our wedding?” Elizabeth asked then. “You are George’s very best friend.”

  Josephine gave a wan smile, tears pricking the edges of her eyes. “Of course,” she murmured quietly, wondering how she would tell Jack when he arrived that their first order of busi­ness as a betrothed couple would be to attend a wedding. And then attend their own. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she added before she allowed her own tears to flow freely.

  Chapter 42

  Love Among the Feathers

  David Carlington stared at the silk fabric canopy above his head. His wife, Adeline, lay nestled against him, her head resting in the small of his shoulder while one satin and feather clad arm lay draped over his bare chest. Her hand still gripped a small ostrich feather whose tendrils of fluff caressed his other shoulder. Some of her undressing gown lay haphazardly across his body. At the moment, the feather trim was tickling a certain body part into remembering what he had been doing just moments before.

  And what Adeline had been doing with that ostrich feather before that.

  With any luck, she would be doing it again in short order.

  Having a wife like Adeline was like having a mistress, he mused, thinking of how enthusiastic she was in their marriage bed, how imaginative she was when it came to pleasuring him, and how agreeable she was in most every other matter.

  Which had him suddenly wondering how she had thought to use an ostrich feather to tease him on this occasion. “Sweet­ing,” his whispered, moving the hand that was wrapped around her waist lower so it cupped her bottom.

  “Hmm?”

  “From where did you get the idea to bring this,” he moved his other hand to touch the hand that held the feather, “To bed?” he wondered, his voice kept to barely a whisper.

  He felt more than heard a giggle burble up from his wife. “Miss Wentworth,” she whispered back. David’s eyes widened, although Adeline’s face was still nestled into his shoulder so she couldn’t see his reaction. She felt his body stiffen though, and she giggled again. “Really, David. I wondered how long it would be before you finally asked. I might have been born in Italy, but it doesn’t mean I was born knowing how to do these things to you.”

  Her husband’s body remained taut. “How … how long have you and Miss Wentworth ..?”

  “Ever since she started coming to the house to meet with you,” she murmured, finally raising her head and resting it on his chest.

  His body still ready for flight, David took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “She’s been … giving you lessons?” he que­ried, his face screwed up in a comical express
ion that made his wife giggle again.

  “My, but you have an active imagination, my darling,” she purred, enjoying his nervousness. “Lessons is not what I would call her … suggestions,” she said with a small shake of her head. “She merely tells me a thing or two, or if I’m not here, she writes a note before she leaves the house. She’s very creative.”

  Finally relaxing back into the mattress, David took another deep breath. “Why?” he asked, realizing this had been going on for… for eight years!

  Adeline lowered her head back into the small of his shoul­der, wondering how to explain she wanted her husband all to herself, that she never wanted to discover or be told by a gos­siping hag he had taken another mistress ever again.

  Especially after what had happened with his last mistress.

  “I will not share you with another,” she stated firmly. “So I will do what I must to keep you in my bed.”

  David’s hold on her tightened as he raised his head from the pillow. Her words had come out as a threat of sorts, and yet it was she who was willing to do what was necessary to ensure his fidelity.

  As long as he didn’t keep a separate mistress, Adeline Car­lington was the perfect wife.

  “If you didn’t already know, please take my word that I have not bedded another woman since …” He allowed the statement to trail off, not wanting to say the name of the mistress who had betrayed him, and certainly not wanting his wife to know she had been Josephine Wentworth’s sister. “Nor will I, Addy,” he added as he cupped the side of her face with a hand. Lean­ing down, he kissed her eyelids and lips to seal his promise.

  Adeline returned the brief kiss. “I know, David,” she replied with a nod. Perhaps there was a bit of relief in her words, as if she had suspected what he said to be true but wanted to hear the assurance aloud. She rolled back against him, returning her face to rest against his chest and kissing the space between two ribs.

  David could feel her smile against his skin. “I suppose we could go to the theatre tonight,” he murmured as he drew two fingers through her thick, dark auburn hair. He didn’t really want to go to the theatre, but there was a price to be paid for being pleasured to within an inch of your life.

  “Oh, let’s not,” Adeline whispered, her head barely mov­ing. Her arm moved down his body, though, so the ostrich feather ended up covering most of his abdomen and the tops of his thighs.

  David felt her lips kiss the side of his chest again as her words sank in. “Really?” he replied in disbelief.

  This was a first.

  “Are you … feeling all right?” he wondered, his brows fur­rowing as he moved to lift his upper body from the bed.

  “I am fine,” Adeline answered lazily, pressing her hand into his belly so the feather tickled him in several places and forced him to fall back into the mattress. “I just want to spend an evening here at home. And I think our daughter may wish to talk a bit about whatever has happened with Gabriel. And George.” This last was said with a hint of surprise, as if the marchioness hadn’t known there was another suitor for her daughter’s hand.

  The marquess cocked an eyebrow, his thoughts reluctantly returning to Elizabeth. With any luck, she was at this very moment a betrothed woman. Hell, if George had already pro­cured a special license, as he expected the viscount would do the moment he had been given permission to court Elizabeth, the couple might be standing before a magistrate at this very moment.

  He could only hope.

  “I know you had your heart set on her marrying an earl, but do you suppose you could be alright with a viscount as a son-in-law?” he asked carefully, his fingers moving from her hair to her jaw.

  Adeline yawned. “I suppose. If it’s George,” she added sleepily. “He’s an excellent dancer. And I’ve been dying to get into Bostwick Place to see how the renovations turned out. I heard he spent a fortune.”

  David rolled his eyes. “He had to. I don’t think his uncle spent a pence on that place the entire time he was alive. Some­what of a miser he was after his wife died,” he murmured.

  “A molly and a miser?” Adeline countered, a grin appear­ing as she wiggled the ostrich feather and watched as her hus­band’s hardening cock appeared between the tendrils.

  “You minx!” He captured the hand that held the feather and took it from her. Then he turned the frond onto his gig­gling wife’s well-endowed front as she rolled away from his side, dragging the undressing gown from the front of his body. The feather trim tickled his torso, reminding him of why he thought his wife a perfect mistress. Lifting himself over her, he leaned down to kiss her. “Will you be heartbroken if our daughter forgoes the big church wedding?” he wondered. And saves me the expense while she’s at it. Somehow he knew that even if he could get her to agree to forego a formal wedding, she would change her mind once the afterglow of lovemaking had dimmed.

  He felt Adeline’s legs open for him and all thoughts of a wedding and its associated costs left his head.

  “I’m a mother. Of course, I will be heartbroken,” Adeline replied with a pout. But then her devilish grin made David realize she wouldn’t be too heartbroken. “As long as you con­sole me often, I think I shan’t mind too much,” she added, first wrapping one leg and then the other around his thighs. Her chest lifted from the bed as he impaled her.

  “How about if I just tickle you?” her husband replied, the words coming out as a growl.

  In only a few moments, she was giggling and gasping for air.

  Chapter 43

  A Walk in the Park

  As they strolled along the familiar path in Hyde Park, it became very evident to Elizabeth that George was smiling, his lips apart just a bit so his straight teeth showed, the crinkles on either side of his eyes deepening but at the same time lifting his lids so his eyes were more open.

  “You’re smiling,” Elizabeth commented as they took a turn along the path they had walked just the week before, the one on which she had asked him if he would accommodate her wish to know more. Most of the trees had begun to display their autumn colors, the leaves turning gold and red under the cooler blue sky. There was no sign of rain clouds nor did the air smell as if there would be showers anytime that day. It was a perfect day for a wedding.

  “I am,” George replied, his smile broadening. “I have it on very good authority I am handsome when I smile,” he stated, patting the gloved hand she had looped through his arm and giving her a wink as he did so.

  “You look … happy,” she replied hesitantly.

  George’s lips were on her forehead in an instant. “That’s because I am,” he replied, his grin broadening. He tamped down the bit of nervousness he felt when he thought of what was to come at eleven o’ clock that morning.

  “You’re about to be leg shackled. How can you be happy?” she asked, an eyebrow angled into an elegant arch. There wasn’t a hint of amusement in the query, but her aquamarine eyes gave her away.

  He laughed loudly at her comment, causing Elizabeth to finally smile.

  He should be nervous.

  He should be panicked.

  He should be running from the park as fast as his long legs would carry him.

  But a sense of calm settled over him as he considered his fiancée’s question. “You see, there is this gorgeous woman I saw at a ball last week who was literally thrown into my arms, and then she asked me to kiss her, and then begged me to bed her, and then pleaded for my hand in marriage. Any man in his right mind would be smiling given those circumstances,” he claimed with a good deal of amusement.

  “I didn’t beg you to bed me!” Elizabeth countered indig­nantly, realizing with a bit of embarrassment that everything else he mentioned had indeed happened. She covered her mouth with her free hand as she looked about them, hoping no one was within hearing distance.

  George leaned over, removed the hand from her mouth, and kissed her quite thoroughly. “Ah, but you will. I hope,” he added as a look of doubt suddenly crossed his face.

 
Elizabeth smiled. “Tonight, I will. When all the wedding guests have gone home and we’re back at your house.”

  “Our house,” George interrupted, his forehead touching hers as he closed his eyes. Despite Elizabeth’s desire to get mar­ried the very day she had proposed, they had agreed to wait a few days.

  Her father was sure he had convinced Adeline Carlington to accept a quick marriage by a vicar, but once she had dressed for dinner after their tryst, she begged him to allow her to arrange a simple church wedding. David Carlington reluc­tantly agreed, gave her a five-day deadline, and dispatched a footman to Bostwick Place with a note.

  Since Elizabeth had to maintain longer office hours— her burgeoning charity experienced an increase in clients as well as patrons over those next few days—she was happy to have the distraction, and she allowed her mother to make all the wedding arrangements. She and the two men she had employed from the start—the “bees”, she called them, since both their names ended in ‘by’—simply couldn’t keep up with the number of applicants, locate enough positions, and meet with all the employers they needed. The increased workload made it necessary for her to hire two more of her clients— a negotiator experienced in employment contracts as well as another clerk. Word of her charity had reached The Times. An article praising her work had appeared the day before—not in the Society pages, as a lady of the ton might expect her charity to be mentioned, but as part of the London news. Elizabeth wondered if perhaps her father was behind the story, and then thought it was more likely Josephine would have had a hand in its appearance.