Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  Josephine’s engagement was announced the same day as her own. Her affianced, Jack Theisen, was a distinguished look­ing man nearly six inches taller than his bride-to-be. He saw to it she was rarely out of his sight once he arrived in London. Jack loved the townhouse Josephine claimed to have inherited from her mother, but he insisted they needed a larger house in town, one in which they could entertain his business clients and hold balls and host his extended family when they came to visit. Although the hunt was still on for such a dwelling—he was hoping for something in Cavendish Square—the hand­some couple had said their vows before a vicar the day before and were happily ensconced in the townhouse until further notice.

  Elizabeth secretly hoped they would make an appearance at her wedding. She had made sure an invitation was sent, not bothering to tell her mother the identity of Mrs. John Theisen.

  “I think it’s time we make our way to St. James,” George murmured quietly. “Your mother will think I’ve whisked you off to Gretna Green.”

  Elizabeth nodded and quickened her step on the crushed granite path. George had arrived at Carlington House earlier that morning driving his own curricle, the equipage deco­rated with silk streamers and flowers. George requested to see her, sending a note with Alfred asking if she would join him on a ride in the park before heading for the church. Her hair already done in a tumble of curls and ribbons, Elizabeth had just finished donning a gold silk de Naples gown her mother had insisted she wear for the occasion when the note was given to her. Afraid to open it at first, thinking perhaps George had changed his mind and was backing out of the marriage, she read it and nearly wept. My beautiful Elizabeth. Please join me for a ride and a walk in the park. I know it may seem selfish, but I want nothing more than a few moments alone with you this morning so that I may bestow my wedding gifts upon you. Yours for the rest of my life, George.

  Elizabeth had jumped at the chance to take her leave of the chaotic house to spend a few minutes alone with George. “If Gretna Green wasn’t so far away, I would insist we go there instead,” Elizabeth said with a wink.

  Who knew her mother would be able to put together a complete church wedding in just a few days?

  Elizabeth had been secretly glad to spend her days at her office, seeing to new clients, while her mother met with the florists who would decorate the church, and the cooks who would see to the wedding breakfast, and the printer who cre­ated the invitations that were sent with great haste to family and friends.

  Before they were back at the curricle, George stopped and turned to face Elizabeth. He glanced around quickly, wanting to be sure they were in the same place they had been when Elizabeth asked him to pleasure her, the same place where he had kissed her when he promised he wouldn’t, the place where

  he felt as if their courtship had begun.

  “My lady, I was wondering if …”

  “Kiss me, George,” Elizabeth interrupted, her manner suddenly tense.

  George blinked, but knew better than to argue. He lowered his lips to Elizabeth’s, bestowing a light and short kiss before pulling away. Seeing her almost immediate look of disappoint­ment, he whispered, “If I kiss you the way I truly wish to kiss you right now, everyone who comes to our wedding will know I had my way with you this morning.”

  Elizabeth’s lips formed the perfect ‘o’ and she gasped. “Oh. Of course,” she responded, sighing heavily. “So, does this mean you’ll have your way with me … later?”

  Smiling, George nodded. “I should hope so.” If he contin­ued to look into her eyes, he knew he would get lost. “In the meantime, I was wondering if …”

  “May I have my way with you then, too?” Elizabeth inter­rupted, her lips curving up.

  Fighting the flush he felt creeping up his neck and face, George nodded. “Of course, milady,” not adding that she could have her way with him just about whenever she wanted. “I was wondering …”

  “I must admit, I have been quite looking forward to it,” she said, her face taking on the beautiful pink glow that announced her embarrassment.

  George’s smile was as wide as it had ever been. She is ner­vous, he realized. “My sweet, if you don’t stop thinking about later, you’re going to swoon in front of the wedding guests,” he warned in a good-natured voice. When he saw the pink glow darken, he added, “I was wondering …” He stopped, thinking she might interrupt him again. When she merely gazed at him as if she were hanging on his every word, her aquamarine eyes suddenly curious, he continued, “Would it be acceptable for me to give you some of your wedding gifts right now?”

  Elizabeth blinked. Some? She glanced around, her curios­ity increasing when she saw no evidence of a gift. “Yes, I sup­pose, George,” she replied, her voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

  Reaching into his coat pocket, George pulled out a slim pasteboard box and handed it to her. She took it, hesitating briefly as she did so, her eyes locked onto George’s. Removing the lid of the box, she gasped when she saw a black velvet lin­ing surrounded by a necklace of aquamarine gemstones. The stones were strung on a tiny gold chain. “Oh, George!” she breathed. “It’s so … elegant. So beautiful. It’s perfect!”

  He lifted the necklace from the bed of velvet and wrapped it around the column of her neck, moving to stand behind her as he did so. Once the clasp was secure, he returned to stand in front of her, smiling as he confirmed the stones were the same color as her eyes. “When I asked your mother what color gown you would be wearing his morning, she wondered why I would wish to know. I showed her the necklace. She assured me this would be a good match to the gold. She was right, of course,” he explained, reaching out to touch the stone that hung just above the center of her bodice. “Which means this should match as well,” he added with a arched eyebrow as he pulled a smaller box from the other pocket of his topcoat.

  Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open, her gloved hands mov­ing to frame her face. “George!” She reached out with one hand to lift the lid, revealing the matching bracelet, its aquamarine gems smaller versions of those in the necklace, strung on the same tiny gold chain.

  George fastened the bracelet around one of her wrists, kissing the inside of it when he finished. He stood back to regard the jewels. “There are more, of course, but …”

  “More?”

  A mischievous grin passed over his lips as he remembered her saying the same word the night he had pleasured her. Always promise her more, Josephine had said all those weeks ago, before he had begun to even think about finding a wife. George sobered. He nodded. “I thought it best to ply you with jewelry.”

  “But, why?” she replied as she studied the stones on her bracelet.

  “I’m afraid the renovations to the mistress suite at Bost­wick Place are … unfinished. And I’ve been told they won’t be complete until you choose the colors you want.”

  Inhaling sharply, Elizabeth angled her head to one side. “There is a mistress suite?” she repeated. She hadn’t remem­bered seeing evidence of one that night she had been in George’s house. And, as to their living arrangements, she hadn’t even given them a single thought. Anna had packed most of her clothes and slippers in trunks, and helped some footmen to see to it they were carted to Bostwick Place. The maid seemed especially happy to make the move with her mistress.

  It seemed there was a tiger for whom her maid felt a spe­cial fondness.

  “Through the dressing room and bath beyond my room,” George commented. “I do hope you’ll be amenable to sharing my apartment with me until …”

  “If you think we’re sleeping in separate beds anytime soon, George Bennett-Jones, I shall never speak to you again!”

  Eyeing his wife to be as if she had announced she loved him out loud, George stilled himself and then took a deep breath. “I have no intention of allowing you to sleep alone, my sweet,” he countered with a shake of his head. Before Elizabeth could give him any kind of rejoinder, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her hard against his body, hi
s lips capturing hers in a kiss that was as demanding as it was possessive.

  Caught off-guard, Elizabeth could only allow the assault of his lips on hers, returning the kiss only when she had gath­ered her wits. Her arms reached up to his shoulders, her hands to the sides of his neck as a faint hum came from somewhere in her throat.

  When the kiss ended, it was because George pulled away, his forehead left resting on hers. “Now, everyone will know I’ve kissed you this morning,” he murmured with a sigh, seeing her bee-stung lips in their cherry red glory.

  “And not a single person could find fault with that when they see your wedding gifts,” Elizabeth countered, her eyes closed, her long lashes curled atop her cheekbones. “Oh, I do … I do love you, George,” she whispered. “Or, should I be call­ing you ‘Bostwick’ now?” This last question had her eyes open­ing to see a grin replaced with a grimace.

  “You call me ‘Bostwick,’ and I’ll never speak to you again,” George replied in warning. “Which will be very difficult since I love you very much and intend to prove it at my every opportunity.”

  “You can prove it right now by getting my daughter to St. James,” David Carlington, the Marquess of Morganfield, stated in a gruff voice.

  The couple whirled toward the carriage way to find Eliz­abeth’s father on a high-perch phaeton. A bright cherry red phaeton. The black horse in front of it was barely reigned in, as if he had been forced to come to a sudden halt.

  Elizabeth gasped, her astonishment evident in her wide eyes. “Father? Is that … yours?” she wondered as she took in the sight of Marquess of Morganfield sitting high on the rather sporty phaeton. The gleaming metal attested to either its very good care or its newness.

  David Carlington straightened on the seat and regarded his daughter with a cocked eyebrow. “Indeed, it is,” he remarked with just a hint of pride. “And you can be my first passenger if that rake you’re about to marry will provide some assistance in getting you up here,” he added in a tone that suggested he wasn’t necessarily teasing.

  Thinking perhaps the marquess had discovered how he had gone about courting Elizabeth, George decided against confirming any suspicion or gossip. “Ah, the man impugns my honor,” he instead claimed in exaggerated offense, his grin belying his words. Although he could have taken offense at his future fatherin-law’s comment, George thought it better to make light of it. If he protested, it might make his guilt more apparent. He turned to Elizabeth. “Are you game?”

  Elizabeth turned her attention to him, her eyes still wide. “Oh, could I, George? I’ve never been. There’s never any room for a chaperone,” she explained when she saw his look of surprise.

  George smiled at her enthusiasm. “I’ll help you up. And should you decide you enjoy it, we’ll take ours the next time we come to the park.”

  She was halfway up to the bench seat when she paused and looked down at George, balancing with one hand in his while her other was held by her father. “Ours?” she repeated. Her father pulled her onto the seat, the swish of her skirts affording George a tantalizing view of her ankles and petticoats.

  “I apologize for our tardiness, my lord,” George offered as he checked his Breguet and found it was still well before eleven. “She nearly had me talked into taking her to Greta Green,” he added in a teasing voice.

  “George!” Elizabeth countered, the name coming out in far more than the two syllables she usually used to say it. Her mouth formed a rather large ‘O’ when she realized her intended was merely teasing.

  Morganfield grinned at his future son-in-law. “Get thee to the church, Bostwick, or I shall never speak to you again.”

  “Yes, my lord,” George replied with a curt nod, jumping up into his curricle. He pulled out into the lane and was soon following the phaeton as it made its way to St. Paul’s church.

  Chapter 44

  Wedding Night Wonders

  Night had already fallen by the time George maneuvered the curricle to the curb. Elizabeth, her head resting in the small of his shoulder, was asleep. A groom was soon seeing to the horse as George lifted his wife from the seat and carried her up the steps of Bostwick Place. Elkins opened the double doors even before George was on the landing, stepping aside with a poorly suppressed grin curving the corners of his mouth.

  “My lord, my lady,” he spoke quietly, not wanting to waken the new mistress of the house.

  George glowered at his valet’s use of titles but found he couldn’t stay annoyed. “I think breakfast will be late. Very late. We should like to take it in the apartment, of course. And do be sure there’s chocolate for the viscountess,” George said in a quiet voice, his gaze lowering to Elizabeth’s face. Her eyes were open, the aquamarine irises full of mischief, and an impish grin was forming.

  “Chocolate sounds like a perfect way to start my first day as a wife.” She reached out her right hand to Elkins. “I am Eliz­abeth … Bennett-Jones,” she offered, nearly using her maiden name before she caught herself.

  His face coloring up at finding his master’s new wife intro­ducing herself from such an awkward position, Elkins took the proffered hand and shook it. “Elkins, my lady. At your ser­vice. I will see to it the staff is prepared to meet you properly on the morrow, my lady,” the valet said as released her hand.

  Elizabeth nodded. “Thank you, Elkins. You may retire for the evening.”

  The valet’s eyes widened. He glanced up at George, one eyebrow cocking, surprised he was already being dismissed. George grinned. “You heard the lady,” he said as he turned and started up the stairs, giving his new wife a smirk as he did so.

  Elkins stood at the bottom of the stairs and watched his master as George carried his viscountess up the stairs. “Good night, my lord. My lady.” When they had disappeared into the hallway above, he made his way to his quarters. If Viscount Bostwick didn’t require him until—how had he put it? Late, he had said—then perhaps it was time to make the acquain­tance of the new upstairs maid. He was quite sure she had been flirting with him during the servants’ night out at Vauxhall Gardens. Her services wouldn’t be immediately required in the morning, after all.

  “Since you dismissed my valet, I do hope you intend to help me undress,” George said as he allowed Elizabeth to reach down and open the doors to his apartment. When her hand let go of the doorknob, she reached up to put her finger into the knot of his cravat. With a slight jerk, the perfectly tied length of linen loosened from around his neck.

  “Of course, I intend to. In fact, I plan to have you undressed and ready for me before I take off a single item of clothing,” she claimed, her eyebrow once again rising to an arch.

  George paused before taking her into the apartment. “Indeed?’ he replied, carrying her to an upholstered chair. He was about to set her down in front of it when she shook her head.

  “No, George,” she whispered. She used her head to motion towards the cheval mirror.

  “As you wish, my lady,” he replied. Elizabeth could feel his pulse rate increase as he strode toward the mirror, all the while keeping an eye on her. One of her hands was at his back, while the other was wrapped over his shoulder and around his neck. When he reached the space in front of the mirror, the very space where he had held her facing the mirror while he undid the fastenings of her gown that first time, he regarded her for a moment. Lowering his face to hers, he kissed her, a short, sweet kiss that was merely a harbinger of things to come.

  She extricated herself from his hold, her feet barely touch­ing the ground before she pulled the cravat from around his neck. She moved her fingers to undo his topcoat buttons, mak­ing quick work of them. George stood still while she pushed the garment off his body. Then she went to work on the but­tons of his waistcoat. Even before he could pull off the waist­coat, she had started on the fastening of his breeches. Pulling his shirt fabric from around his waist, she splayed her fingers and moved her palms over the warm skin beneath his shirt.

  Having promised he would maintain control f
or at least a while, George found himself succumbing to his wife’s min­istrations. Her deft fingers were making quick work of his clothing, and now, as her hands pushed against his chest and slid over the planes of his body, he found himself wondering how much longer he would be able to maintain any semblance of control. “My lady,” he murmured, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “I cannot keep my hands from you any longer,” he intoned, his lips still pressed against her face.

  Elizabeth giggled. “Then don’t, my lord. I order you to rav­ish me this very minute, or I shall never speak to you again,” she whispered, the hint of seduction lacing her words. Eliza­beth shrieked in delight as her body was suddenly surrounded by his arms, his fingers pulling apart the fastenings of her bod­ice while his lips worked their magic on her earlobe. In only a moment, yards of golden silk hid her from view as George pulled her gown over her head. She felt the ties of her cor­set loosen, and in mere seconds, the offending garment was suddenly open and falling off her body. Her chemise followed in short order so that she was left wearing only her jewelry, gloves, stockings and slippers. Elizabeth gasped as he lifted her body in his arms and laid her out on the bed, where the down­turned linens left a wide expanse in which to place her nearly naked body.

  George kicked off his shoes, jerked his stockings off his legs and pushed his breeches and drawers to the floor as he watched her nudge her slippers from both feet and toss them aside. The sight of her clad in only stockings, gloves and gem­stones was intoxicating. He climbed onto the bed, holding his naked body suspended over hers. “I love you,” he whispered. His lips captured hers, his kiss one of passion and promise. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around his neck, returning the kiss, her body writhing beneath him so that he wanted noth­ing more than to bury himself in her. But he knew he would hurt her in doing so. Better to pleasure her until she was in ecstasy and then take her virtue, he decided.