The Book of Love (Books 1-3): A Regency Romance Collection

by Meara Platt

  He followed her gaze but said nothing.

  “Give it a try. What do you see?” She stared at him in expectation.

  “This is a silly game. The others are getting too far ahead of us. Let’s walk on.”

  She sighed. “Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?”

  An arse? “No.”

  “A tall, nicely-built man with dark hair and silvery-green eyes… and worries that he’s trying to hide from his family.”

  “I am not worried.” He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at her, but he knew she still saw through his lie. When had she become so perceptive? And how much could she tell simply by looking at him?

  “I also see intelligence in your eyes. Strength of purpose. Kindness. Honor.” She blushed, no doubt realizing she’d said too much.

  He liked her flattering description of him. After all, he prided himself on doing his best for his family and those who worked for him. He cared about his neighbors and the residents of Wellesford. That Poppy realized it and admired him for it was quite satisfying. But she didn’t know the rest of it and would be quite scandalized once she did.

  “What do you see when you look at me?” she asked.

  He was about to say a moppet with unruly dark curls and big blue eyes, but there was a thoughtful intelligence about her that he’d never noticed before.

  He eyed her from top to toe, and didn’t like the way his heart began to thud within his chest.

  “What do you think, Nathaniel?”

  Think? He wasn’t thinking. He was suddenly caught off guard. Poppy was beautiful.

  Stunning, actually.

  Why hadn’t he realized it before? “The sun’s in my eyes. I can’t see you clearly. Let’s put it off for later.”

  “Very well.” She shrugged her shoulders and resumed walking into town. “It is amazing what one sees when one bothers to look closely. Or rather, what one misses when one isn’t really looking carefully. I think that is the strength of The Book of Love. It makes you aware of things. It makes you feel sensations you’ve overlooked for most of your life.”

  “Right.” He’d known the girl for ages and was now taking notice of her for the very first time.

  Perhaps there was something to this book.

  Poppy placed a hand on his arm, her touch soft and gentle, for the blasted girl did not know how to be any other way. He wanted to find her cloying and dull, but she wasn’t. She was just nice. And apparently more perceptive than he’d given her credit for. “You’re looking a little tense, Nathaniel. Are you not feeling well?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She shook her head and laughed. “No, you’re not. And don’t shake your head and insist I’m wrong. We both know I’m not.”

  “What’s your point?”

  She turned thoughtful once more. “I’m a quiet person by nature. An observer of the life going on around me. Sometimes, I observe too much. So, I know you are anything but fine. However, I also expect you are not ready to talk about whatever it is that is troubling you.”

  “I’m not troubled.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to persist in denying it, especially since Poppy did not believe him.

  “I think we would both benefit by The Book of Love. I have a proposition for you, Nathaniel.”

  He groaned inwardly, knowing it could only be more trouble. “What is it?”

  “I need to experience more of life. You’re the perfect one to help me do it safely. I trust you and know you will always protect me. As for you… well, you need to look at your problems differently in order to find a solution. It is obvious you’re stuck and don’t know where else to turn. So, why don’t we work together toward our mutual goals? The Book of Love will help us both.”

  “Or lead us both to ruin,” he said dryly.

  “No, it isn’t possible. This book is about the power of love to make things right. And where’s the harm in that? At worst, it will leave you right where you started. At best, it will fix your problem.”

  He ran a hand through his hair in consternation. He would move heaven and earth to make his problem go away, but there was no solution to this mess. “No.”

  She sighed. “Very well, suit yourself. But I shall be reading that book tomorrow morning by the pond. Join me or don’t. It is entirely up to you.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then I shall kiss Andrew Gordon.”

  “He’s a horse’s arse. Blast it, Poppy…” He could do nothing for himself, but he wasn’t about to allow Poppy to be ruined by that scoundrel.

  Not his Poppy.

  Well, she wasn’t really his.

  “Very well, I’ll join you. I’ll give you four days to work whatever mischief you intend on me. Four days and no more. We’re done with those stupid spells in The Book of Love once Lady Charlotte arrives. Agreed?”

  She nodded reluctantly. “Agreed.”

  Nathaniel groaned inwardly. Why did he feel as though he’d just struck the worst bargain in his life?

  Chapter Two

  Nathaniel. Test frog. Day One.

  Goal: Low brain connection

  Poppy walked to the Sherbourne pond after breakfast the following morning with The Book of Love tucked under her arm. She absently nibbled her lip, worried that Nathaniel had changed his mind since he’d been missing from breakfast and was nowhere to be found in the house either.

  Her concern was for his sake, not hers. His worries were eating at his insides, although he’d managed to maintain a calm and unperturbed facade whenever in the company of family and friends.

  What was he hiding?

  She would figure it out in time, for this was her curse, to be able to sense when things were amiss. Observation was her strength. Never actively participating was her weakness. But she had to act now. Penelope Sherbourne was her best friend. She would never allow anything bad to happen to her or her brother. “Nathaniel, you’re here. I’m so glad.”

  He was bent down on one knee, lost in thought while gazing out over the water. He had crouched low so that she did not immediately notice him behind a row of shrubs along the bank of the pond. When he rose and strode toward her, she noticed his casual attire. Buff breeches, a white cotton shirt, brown leather vest, and weathered brown boots. “I said I would join you.”

  “And you never break a promise.”

  The flash of pain in his eyes was unmistakable. Ah, he’d broken a promise or was about to do so, and this was the root of his anguish. What had he promised? And to whom?

  He avoided her gaze and glanced at his clothes. “The gristmill needed repair. My workers did the hard part. I merely supervised.”

  She nodded. “Is that how you got those blisters on your hands? By supervising?”

  He laughed softly and shook his head. “I may have helped a little.”

  She smiled at him as she took a seat on the fallen log beside the pond. A majestic oak towered over it and offered plenty of shade to keep them cool under the heat of the summer sun. The grass still carried the scent of dew, although most of it had dried off. “More than a little, I suspect. You seem to enjoy physical labor.”

  As he drew closer, she noticed that his shirt was damp in spots and sticking to his body. It outlined the contours of his hard muscles and the taper of his trim waist. Beads of perspiration had formed across his brow. Perhaps it was water that he’d splashed across his face and neck to cool himself down. “I’ll ride back later to make certain it’s properly working.”

  Poppy nodded.

  Whatever this important promise he’d made, it had nothing to do with his estate. Sherbourne Manor was a beautiful home nestled in the Cotswolds, just outside the town of Wellesford. He was the Earl of Welles, and as such, owned the charming town and most of the surrounding land. The farms and mills were thriving, and Wellesford was a bustling hive of activity. “Sit next to me, Nathaniel. We can alternate reading the chapters. I’ll start.”

  He cast her a bored, sacrificial look and relucta
ntly settled his large frame beside her. Indeed, seated close to her as he was now, she noticed the solid breadth of his chest and the muscled strength of his arms.

  “Don’t breathe too deeply,” he joked. “I’m sweating and still have corn grist in my hair.”

  “I think I’ll survive.” Although her heart was suddenly pounding and there was an odd fluttering in her stomach.

  She ran her hand lightly over his hair and felt that it was still a little damp. His thick, auburn mane felt soft to the touch. Not at all bristly. It was forward of her to touch him like this, but they’d known each other forever and he did not seem to mind.

  And yet, despite having known him for so many years, she suddenly felt the intimacy of the gesture. She suddenly noticed the size and strength of him, and the heat of his body so near to hers. “You’ve washed most of it off. There’s only a speck of grist here or there.”

  She tried not to make a fool of herself as she moved her hand away and fixed her attention on The Book of Love, opening it to the first page and taking a deep breath. But she did not immediately begin to read. “Nathaniel, did you notice how we were using our senses just now? Four of them. The sense of smell.” She grinned at him. “And don’t cringe. There is nothing wrong with the scent of male exertion, especially when mingled with the sandalwood soap you must have used to wash yourself earlier when you awoke. It’s a pleasant, clean smell.”

  He surprised her by leaning close and inhaling along her neck. “Yours is cinnamon buns.”

  She laughed. “That isn’t me, you dolt. Mrs. Soames made some for breakfast this morning. They were fresh out of the oven and deliciously warm. I couldn’t resist, so I brought along two for us to share. That transporting aroma is the buns.”

  “Then what’s your scent?” His lips were achingly close to her skin as he breathed her in again. “Roses. No, lavender. And apples. Sweet. Just ripening. That’s you.” He arched an eyebrow and grinned. “You’re making me hungry.”

  She handed him one of the buns. “Here. Have both, if you like. I’ve had my breakfast and won’t require more any time soon.”

  He devoured one and set the other aside, then turned back to her. “You mentioned the sense of smell. Tell me the rest.”

  “We’ve covered all five senses now that you’ve attacked the bun like a ravenous wolf in desperate need of a meal. The aroma of cinnamon aroused your appetite. That’s the sense of smell. You ate the bun and obviously enjoyed it. That’s the sense of taste. As for the senses of sight and hearing, that’s what we are exercising while we sit here, looking at each other as we speak.”

  He shrugged. “What is so unusual about that? We do it all the time.”

  She nodded. “But we never think about what we’re doing or the significance of the bonds we form whenever we engage each other in conversation. This is what the book is all about.”

  “You’ve only spoken of four senses so far. What’s the fifth?”

  “The sense of touch,” she said, struggling to find her voice, for his shoulder had just grazed hers as he’d leaned closer to peer at the pages. Her heart shot into her throat, the unexpected sensation catching her by surprise and sending a thrill through her body. “The touch which happened when I ran my fingers through your hair to brush away the last few flecks of grain. How did you feel when I touched you?”

  She hoped he would not turn the question back on her. Mother in heaven. Her fingers had tingled the moment she’d felt his damp hair and had yet to stop tingling.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t think about it.” He frowned and turned away to gaze at the pond. “It felt natural. It felt comfortable. But I suppose it is to be expected. We’ve known each other for as long as I can remember. You’re like a second sister to me.”

  He rose and moved away from her.

  Was he suddenly uncomfortable around her? Or was she reading too much into the gesture? She hoped it meant that he was having unbrotherly thoughts about her, but the answer would be revealed in its own good time.

  “Read the first chapter, Poppy. I don’t have all day to spend on this nonsense.”

  He was obviously unsettled, now pacing.

  Good.

  She hadn’t read a word from the book yet. She couldn’t wait to see how he’d respond when she began reading to him. She cleared her throat. “Love does not come from the heart but from the brain. It is the brain that sends signals throughout the body, telling you what to feel. Therefore, to stimulate a man’s arousal–”

  “Hellfire!” Nathaniel returned to her side, his scowl revealing his intention to rip the book from her hands and toss it into the pond. “And Beast actually bought this lewd book for Olivia?”

  “It’s mine now. Olivia gave it to me.” She clasped it protectively to her bosom. “It isn’t lewd, it’s scientific.”

  “Since when is arousing a man’s… blast it, Poppy! Scientific, my arse. How explicit is this book? What utter nonsense. Hand it over.”

  “No, I will not. Do stop spouting off like a deranged lizard and let me finish the paragraph. Are you always this intolerant? Do you always jump to the wrong conclusions?”

  “I am in complete control of myself. I want that book.”

  “Are you aware that you growl whenever you are irritated? There, you growled again. Stop it. And I will not give you the book.” She kept a tight hold on it. If she could have stuffed it down her bodice, she would have. But the book was too big to fit. In any event, she knew that she was going to win this round, for Nathaniel was not going to grope her to wrestle it away from her.

  She stifled a smile, noting his frustration. “Sit down and behave, Nathaniel. If Beast wasn’t offended by it, why should you be? Or are you afraid of what it will reveal about you?”

  The book remained clutched in her hands, but since she’d already memorized the interesting parts, she began to recite from it, picking up where she’d left off. “Therefore, to stimulate a man’s arousal response, one must arouse his sense receptacles in a pleasing way. By touch, taste, sight, smell, and hearing.” She glanced up at him. “Do you know what sense receptacles are?”

  He sank onto the log beside her, still scowling. “Dare I ask?”

  “They are those little parts of our body that make us tingle whenever we are excited about something or someone. But a man’s sense receptacles do not operate in quite the same way as those of a female. Nor does a man’s brain. It is very different from our own. The author suggests that a man’s brain functions on two levels. The low and the high. Or said another way, the simple and complex. When a man’s brain is at its lowest functioning level, he is only thinking of sex.”

  She waited for Nathaniel to explode out of his seat. Three. Two. One.

  He shot to his feet. “Damn it, Poppy!” His eyes were bulging, the soft, silvery green now mixed with red veins of anger.

  She ignored his ranting and pacing and continued to recite, although she wasn’t certain he was listening to a single word. “It is his simple brain at work, the one formed thousands and thousands of years ago when creatures first crawled out of the primeval ooze. Very little thought occurs when the man’s sexual urges are aroused. Perhaps, no thought at all. But that is the simple brain’s purpose. Not to think, but to compel him to breed heirs with any fertile female he comes across.”

  Nathaniel turned away and sank down onto his haunches as he stared at the water. Tense. Silent. Angry.

  Curiously, she thought his anger was directed at himself.

  Why would he be angry with himself?

  The author suggested that spreading his seed was good.

  Nathaniel did not seem to agree, for he had a murderous look in his eyes.

  Was that it? Had he spread his seed unwisely and was now agonizing over what to do about it? When had it happened? Who… She suddenly knew. Lady Charlotte Winthrow! The Duke of Winthrow’s daughter. That’s why he’d invited them here along with a large party of his elegant London friends.

  “Why have you stopped?�
�� He was still turned away and his voice was shaking with anger. “Go on. Let’s hear more pearls of wisdom from this ancient tome whose author was too much of a coward to put his name to it.”

  “Simply because the author remains anonymous doesn’t mean the words are less important.”

  “Fine. Then read on. I’m listening.”

  She wanted to cry. Is it possible? Lady Charlotte was carrying his child and he now had to marry her. There was no question that he would, even though he did not love her. No, no, no! She had to be wrong.

  “Love,” she said, emitting a ragged breath before continuing, “is a higher function of the brain. The important function that makes a man feel the need to protect his family. Wife and offspring. Otherwise, he’d merely spill his seed and then move on, leaving them to be eaten by wolves.”

  She looked up from the page, unable to hold back her anguish. “Oh, Nathaniel! You needn’t hide the truth from me. I know what has happened.”

  *

  Poppy knows about Aunt Lavinia?

  No, it isn’t possible. Yet, how could he dismiss her statement as nonsense? The news had the potential to destroy his family. “Nothing has happened,” he insisted.

  She eyed him skeptically. “I’m not an idiot.”

  No, she never had been, not even as a little girl.

  “What happened isn’t anyone’s business.” And now Poppy of all people claimed to be aware. Damn it. How much did she know?

  She gazed at him, no sign of indignation or recrimination. Just softness and sadness for his aunt’s situation. “You needn’t worry that I’ll tell anyone,” she said gently. “I’d never break a confidence. I give you my promise it will remain a secret between us until you are ready to reveal it. You’ll have to tell your family soon. Please, promise me you will before the Winthrows and your other guests arrive.”