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

by Meara Platt

  “Over there.” Robbie pointed toward the rose garden.

  Thad rose to his unsteady feet for a better view. “Bollocks.” Malcolm was strolling with Wycke’s sister. The big ox had a stupid grin on his face, while Wycke’s sister gazed up at him with adoring eyes. “Has the world gone mad?”

  Perhaps Monarch had kicked him in the head and he was now unconscious, merely having unsettling dreams.

  But the delectable scents of roasting meat and fresh baked bread emanating from the kitchen, and the pain tearing through his shoulder in hot, intense jolts, suggested he was awake and this was not merely a bad dream that would soon end.

  Was Wycke aware Anne was about to be seduced by a MacLauren?

  He’d deal with Malcolm later.

  Penelope was the more urgent problem. He needed to speak to her. He couldn’t leave things as they were between them, for he’d unwittingly insulted her, and she’d fled to her bedchamber in tears. “I’ll meet ye in Nathaniel’s study in a few minutes,” he told Dr. Carmichael and Robbie. “There’s something I must do first.”

  Ignoring their protests, he marched inside, although some might consider it more stumbling in. He barely made it up the servants’ stairs. By the time he reached the first story landing, he was breathing heavily.

  It had taken quite some effort to maintain his balance and not tumble down the stairs.

  Perhaps this was not his brightest idea.

  He glanced down at himself to conduct a quick assessment of the damage. He already knew his shirt was torn at the spot Monarch’s hooves had struck him. But it was also stained along the front, that deep-ground streak of grass occurring when he fell hard after the blasted beast had done his worst to him.

  His body was now dripping in sweat, for it had been no easy feat to climb those stairs.

  Since he felt no damp ooze down his back, he doubted he was still bleeding. But his shirt was now stuck to his skin, which meant he’d bleed again once the doctor peeled the fabric away.

  He took a deep breath and groaned. Perhaps his nose was off, but between the sweat and blood and grime, his scent was hardly that of a Scottish rose.

  This had to be his stupidest idea ever, but his heart ached with love for Loopy, and he needed to make her understand how he felt before he was put in bed and dosed with enough laudanum to knock him out for the night.

  He started down the hall toward her bedchamber. “Loopy,” he said, quietly knocking at her door.

  “Go away.” Her response was muffled because they were on opposite sides of the heavy wood door, but there was also an irritatingly persistent ringing in his ears and the floor beneath him had now begun to spin.

  “No, lass. I cannot. Let me in.” He knocked again, a little more forcefully this time. “It’s me. Thad.” Of course, she knew exactly who it was. No one else called her Loopy in a deep Scottish brogue. Perhaps he ought to try using her given name. “Penelope. Lass.”

  She still refused to respond.

  Or had she? He simply couldn’t hear, for the bells were no longer quietly ringing between his ears but clanging with the resounding force of Yorkminster church bells.

  He waited another moment and placed his hand on the door latch. “Are ye decent? I’m coming in.”

  “No, Thad! Don’t you dare!”

  Her door was unlocked.

  He marched in.

  And ducked as she hurled a faded, red-leather tome at his head. He recognized it as The Book of Love. It landed with a thud in the hallway. He bent to pick it up, feeling as though every bone in his body was being stretched on a rack. After wobbling to his feet, he wiped off the little dust that had collected on the binding.

  He was surprised she’d chosen this book to fling at him. Until this moment, she’d been toting it under her arm and protecting it as though it were a sacred text. Obviously, her desire to kill him outweighed her desire to find love. “What did ye do that for?”

  He stepped into her room and shut the door behind him. “If ye scream, everyone will hear ye and come running. Then ye’ll have to marry me.”

  “Don’t you dare speak to me of marriage.”

  He smothered a grin, loving the tip of her head and tight line of her spine as she tossed him that familiar look of majestic indignation. She’d also tossed back her shoulders, which only accentuated the lush fullness of her breasts.

  “How could you tell everyone that you’d proposed to me? And I was considering your offer? Did it ever cross your mind to write to me and warn me what you’d done? Perhaps apologize for it, too? And now they think you want to marry me. Coward! You’re using me to avoid having to accept someone else. Did you ever consider my feelings while plotting your diabolical charade?”

  Her cheeks were flushed and her chest was heaving.

  She gave a grunt of exasperation. “Stop staring at my breasts, you oaf.”

  “Can’t help it. Ye’re breathing. Heavily.”

  “I’m angry.”

  “I know, lass. Ye’re also beautiful, and my defenses are down. I can barely stand on my own two feet.” His head began to spin faster than it had been spinning before. “Bollocks.” He grabbed the bed post as the floor suddenly seemed to disappear from under him.

  “Thad!” She put her arms around him. “You’ve turned green again.”

  He was about to cast up this morning’s breakfast, and yet he couldn’t help but think how soft and wonderful she felt against him. That he was now in a position to offer her something, she’d be his countess once he inherited the Hume earldom, was nothing short of a miracle. He wasn’t going to waste this precious gift. “Och, lass. Ye smell as delicious as a raisin scone.”

  He kissed her on the neck. “Ye taste like…”

  He’d meant to tell her that she tasted like heaven, but he never got the words out. He began to topple like a great stone tower under trebuchet siege.

  He collapsed, taking her down with him.

  “Thad! You big oaf!”

  When he opened his eyes sometime later, he realized he was still in Loopy’s bedchamber, but she was no longer beside him. Or shouting in his ear as she tried to shove his dead weight off her.

  Nathaniel, Beast, and Dr. Carmichael were now hovering over him.

  He moaned. “Where am I?”

  But he knew.

  And he also knew that he was naked under the covers. Blessed saints! What had he done to Loopy?

  “Olivia and Poppy came down to fetch us after you fainted.” Nathaniel was frowning, obviously not pleased by his behavior. “You really are a big, dumb Scot. Did you not realize the four of them were in here when you burst in?”

  “Four?”

  “Penelope, Olivia, Poppy, and Poppy’s young and very impressionable sister, Violet,” Beast said with a groaning chuckle. “They heard your every word. From what I gather, you made a monumental arse of yourself.”

  Thad sighed. “So what else is new? Seems I canno’ do anything right around Loopy.”

  “Spectacular fail,” Nathaniel agreed.

  “Where is Penelope now?” He tried to get up, but his friends held him down. Although they were careful not to touch his injured shoulder, he let out a yelp as a stinging burn ran up his side and burst within his shoulder.

  Now his left arm felt numb and his heart was beating so hard, he had to gasp for breath.

  “Lie still,” Dr. Carmichael ordered. “I’m going to give you some laudanum to help you sleep through the night.”

  “Penelope.”

  “You’re not courting her today,” Nathaniel insisted. “You smell like two-day old socks and you can’t string two sentences together. Nor can you stand on your own two feet without heaving up the contents of your stomach.”

  “Where is she?”

  Nathaniel sighed. “The truth?”

  “Always,” Thad said with a nod.

  “She’s strolling by the pond with Wycke.”

  “Damn it. And ye let her?”

  “Of course, I let her. She cas
t me that look. You know that look. I wasn’t about to make matters worse by trying to stop her.” Nathaniel nudged him back onto his pillows when he attempted to roll to his feet. “Stay put. You need to heal before you do anything else stupid.”

  “But Wycke–”

  “Still needs my consent to marry Penelope, which I will not give immediately. So use your bed rest productively.” Nathaniel handed Thad the red, leather-bound book his sister had thrown at him earlier. “If you can keep your eyes open, read The Book of Love. I know we’ve told you much about it, but it isn’t the same as reading it for yourself.”

  Beast nodded. “Most important, you have to understand exactly what it is you feel for Loopy. Are you sure it’s love? Or were you just grasping for the familiar when your kinsmen and Castlereagh began making marriage plans for you?”

  “Be sure, Thad.” Nathaniel frowned at him. “Because I’ll have to kill you if you break my sister’s heart.”

  His friends had raised valid points.

  He would read the book with an open mind. But he knew his feelings for Loopy were sincere. Was it possible his heart had misled him? He didn’t think so.

  But what if Loopy’s heart was misleading her?

  He glanced at the book, clutching it tighter in his hand.

  If Olivia, Poppy, and Penelope were using it to make a man fall in love with them, then why couldn’t he use it make a woman, namely, hard-headed, sinfully delectable Loopy, fall in love with him? “Aye, I’ll read it.”

  It was a simple plan.

  What could go wrong?

  Chapter Ten

  “Is Laird Caithness always so…thick-headed?” Wycke asked Penelope as they strolled down the lane toward the pond on this sunny afternoon.

  The weather could not have turned out more beautiful for Olivia’s birthday party. A bright blue sky. A few tufted, white clouds. Even the wind cooperated, carrying a gentle breeze with a hint of autumn to keep them cool under the blaze of the shining sun.

  The day would have been perfect if not for Pip breaking his arm during his mishap while riding Monarch, and Thad…just being Thad. Big and wonderful and protective, even though he was the most maddening man ever to exist.

  She ignored the question, for speaking of Thad made her heart ache.

  Other guests were walking with them, some a little ahead and others behind, so Penelope did not wish to say too much on the chance they’d be overheard.

  Thad’s cousin Malcolm strode beside Wycke’s sister, a few steps ahead of them. The pair were engaged in their own apparently fascinating conversation, for their gazes were on each other and not on the path in front of them.

  Goose, Poppy, and her sister, Violet, had run ahead and were already seated on the fallen log by the pond. But their gazes kept darting to the manor house, the upper floor, to be precise. Penelope knew they were thinking of poor Pip, who had been left in the capable care of his governess, Addie. His friends had been allowed up to his bedchamber to visit, so she knew Pip was happy, even if he was in a good deal of pain.

  Penelope would have liked to remain by Thad’s side, but her brother would not hear of it. Since there had already been enough excitement for one day, she decided not to argue the matter. She’d look in on Thad later.

  Wycke repeated his question. “Is he always thick-headed?”

  She could have agreed. Was there any doubt Thad was the most irritating, provoking man she’d ever met? Infuriating, too. She wanted to kick him as often as she wanted to kiss him. Although lately, she’d wanted to kiss him an awful lot.

  Well, she couldn’t admit that to Wycke. “Laird Caithness? Oh, he’s…”

  Ugh! Even when not here, Thad managed to rile her.

  But she stopped herself from speaking ill of him. Yes, he’d made a spectacular ass of himself in front of her and her friends, finishing his impassioned bit of theatrics with an ungainly dive to the floor. That dive would have caused him even more damage had she not been there with her arms wrapped around his granite-hard body to cushion his fall. “He’s a decent fellow.”

  Wycke shrugged. “I suppose you won’t speak ill of him after he saved your life.”

  “It would be very rude and unforgivable.” She began to nibble her lip, hoping she hadn’t been too harsh with Thad. After all, he was hurt and yet, he’d followed her up to her bedchamber to apologize for teasing her. “He’s a mix of exasperating and wonderful. He constantly goads me, and yet he won’t hesitate to risk his life to protect me. I suppose I goad him, too. I hope he knows that I would protect him if ever his life was in danger.”

  Wycke clasped his hands behind his back and regarded her thoughtfully. “I’m sure he does know it.”

  She nodded. “I hope so. He and I have been friends for a very long time.”

  “And now he’s heir to an earldom and chosen you as the girl he wishes to marry.”

  Penelope glanced back and frowned at the two Scottish earls, Hume and Caithness, who were following behind them at a languid pace. But they were definitely keeping their hawk eyes on her and Wycke, no doubt irritated that she would deign to stroll with a Sassenach earl instead of remain weeping by Thad’s bedside.

  “I’m familiar to him.” She sighed. “I suppose you could say I’m the devil he knows. Thad doesn’t like surprises. He isn’t keen on change, either. If he’s forced to marry, it may as well be to me. At least, to his way of thinking.”

  “And what about you? How do you feel about his proposal?”

  “I’d rather not speak of it. Shouldn’t we be talking about you? Why do you wish to marry me? You don’t know me at all.”

  Nor did she know him. Indeed, he could be a cruel monster, for all she knew. Yet, he struck her as a good man with a deep caring for his mother and sister. In this way, he was much like Nathaniel, keeping his family close even though he could have shipped them off to one of his many holdings and led a comfortable and carefree bachelor life in town.

  The Book of Love-which she probably shouldn’t have hurled at Thad-spoke of the importance of connections between two people. She and Wycke had almost no connection, yet that didn’t seem to trouble him or make him cautious in his pursuit of her hand in marriage. He was an Englishman. He was an earl, one of substantial worth financially as well as morally, or else Nathaniel would not have allowed him near her. He had a pleasant mother and very sweet sister…not­withstanding, Anne was casting Thad’s cousin some very steamy looks.

  That pair needed watching or there would be a surprise bundle arriving nine months from now.

  She understood the hot look Malcolm was casting Anne. Hadn’t Thad looked at her that way a time or two today?

  But Wycke hadn’t, at least not that she’d noticed.

  She dismissed the thought. Love, not lust, was most important.

  She concentrated her attention on Wycke. Had he been a man of poor character, he would have left Thad writhing on the ground with a dislocated arm hanging off his shoulder bone. But he’d stepped forward at once and been quite careful not to hurt him more than necessary to manipulate the bone back in its proper socket. “Truly, my lord. What is it about me that appeals to you?”

  He shrugged. “You are elegant and refined.”

  Thad would be snorting ale through his nose at the remark, and laughing so hard, his sides would split. To Thad, she was a Harpy. How many times had he complained that she was the most vexing lass ever to exist?

  “You’re a gracious hostess.” He tossed her a slightly wicked grin. “Not to mention, you’re beautiful. I noticed that from the first. Couldn’t stop noticing, truth be told.”

  Ah, low brain function hard at work.

  “So, you found me healthy.”

  He scratched his head and grinned. “Healthy?” She noticed his eyes dart up and down her body. Discretely, of course. But he’d looked at her chest immediately. Goodness, whoever wrote The Book of Love certainly understood the male animal. “I’d say you are appealing. You’re also quite capable of managing a larg
e household. That requires a certain amount of intelligence. You also have a lively wit that I admire.”

  “Would you and I share a bedchamber if we were to marry?”

  His eyes widened and he began to cough in surprise. “Of course not,” he blurted. “I wouldn’t impose on you…that is… What did you just ask me?”

  She shook her head and laughed. “Never mind.” She had her answer. Had he truly loved her, he would have wanted her in his bed, wrapped in his arms as they fell asleep. He would have been aching to claim his husbandly rights.

  But he had yet to kiss her.

  He hadn’t even made an attempt to kiss her.

  Nor did this task appear to be on his mind.

  Perhaps it was, but he hadn’t let on. Some men hid their thoughts better than others. Also, his mother and sister were close by. He may not wish to behave like a hound when in their presence.

  She understood, but he could have whispered something improper. A request to meet her by the pond at midnight?

  Indeed, it seemed Wycke was more in love with the idea of her. Or rather, the idea of having a pretty companion who was raised to be a countess and trained, as he and his sister had been, to make her way comfortably among the elegant ton.

  Penelope supposed it was a sort of connection between them, a shared culture. One of privilege and duty.

  It was something, but not nearly enough for her.

  Wycke would never consider making a fool of himself to win her heart. He wasn’t besotted with her. She changed the subject, and they proceeded to have a lovely conversation about nothing noteworthy or memorable.

  Malcolm, she’d noticed, had disappeared into the copse with Anne on the pretext of chasing tadpoles. Ha! Penelope had done that with Thad when she was younger. Innocently, of course. The only chasing Malcolm intended to do was chase Anne’s skirts. No doubt, he intended to crush his lips to Anne’s and stick his hands all over her body where they had no right to be, the moment they were out of sight.