Seducing The Perfectly Enchanting Marquess (Steamy Historical Regency Romance)

by Scarlett Osborne

  * * *

  He had that strange heat in his eyes again. Amanda was feeling breathless, and she couldn’t quite blame the lacing of her stays nor the rigors of the dance. All the while that she had been fretting over this night, she had never imagined that the Marquess himself would be her dance partner. She had prepared herself for a night full of insipid conversation and awkward dancing with whichever gentlemen the Dowager Marchioness deemed suitable.

  She remembered Lord Ethelred in the drawing room, and how the blaze in the fireplace had reflected in his eyes. The flickering shadows and gleaming flashes of light had been natural enough in that setting. But now, in the full light of the ballroom, she didn’t know how to account for the heat in his gaze. She only knew that she did not wish to dance with anyone else.

  “Your necklace…” he said, nodding toward her chest. Amanda’s heart thudded, an odd sensation of warmth settling onto her breasts when he seemed to glance at them. But no, he was looking at the chain of the pendant which was hidden between her breasts and under the neckline of the dress. “I’ve noticed the chain before. What is it, if I may ask?”

  “It’s nothing valuable,” she said, pulling the pendant out so that it hung over the front of the gown. “At least, not to anyone but me.”

  As she began to explain the pendant, a simple religious medal bearing the image of Saint Lazarus, they continued dancing.

  “My parents, that is, Patrick and Siobhan O’Neil, are not my natural parents. When they adopted me, I had been found wandering around Dublin by myself, with no memory of who I was or where I had come from. Some sailors explained to the O’Neil’s that there had been a shipwreck just off-shore and that I must have been one of the few survivors.”

  She glanced up at the Marquess. His eyes were not heated as they had been a moment ago, but were now filled with horror and sympathy. She averted her gaze. She’d never been comfortable with receiving pity for a tragedy she could not even remember.

  “Well, if it weren’t for this necklace, I wouldn’t have even known my name. You see?” She lifted the pendant up so that he could see it. Interrupting the dance for just a moment, he bent slightly to squint at the facing side of the Lazarus image.

  “Amanda,” he said, reading the simple inscription.

  Hearing him say her given name made her stomach flip strangely. He murmured it, and the moment felt so intimate that, when they began dancing again, it felt like being jolted back into place.

  “St. Lazarus…” he said, his gaze softening as he looked over her shoulder, then back at her, “how fitting.”

  “Yes,” she smiled. “Mother and Father often said that I must have been risen from the dead just to come to them.”

  “Well, Miss Amanda O’Neil, for a simple governess, I must say you have led a most extraordinary life thus far.”

  She laughed lightly. “I suppose so. Though, I believe I’m rather due for some ordinariness.”

  The next step in the dance required them to stand very close, his hand came to rest at the small of her back, and Amanda felt that she couldn’t breathe. His gaze was intense, insistent, and yet soft. She couldn’t look away, and for a moment as they circled each other, the rest of the world seemed to melt away. She could swear that she felt his thumb gently stroke the small of her back as his hand rested there, but she almost couldn’t allow herself to believe it.

  Then, the music ended. The bubble burst and the world came rushing back. His hands fell away from her, and she felt cold in their absence.

  Chapter 12

  Joseph was reluctant to bring Miss O’Neil back to her chaperone. He lingered there for a moment, missing the subtle warmth of her body close to his.

  The revelation of her childhood shook him. He’d had no idea that she had been through such an ordeal. He remembered what the Dowager Marchioness had said about her, how she could weather the storms of life with grace and that was what set her apart.

  He agreed.

  He offered his arm to her again, and she took it more readily this time. It seemed that revealing this story to him had softened her regard toward him. This melding of their professional relationship with a burgeoning friendship, even intimacy, both thrilled and alarmed him.

  “You looked lovely, dear. Simply enchanting!” the Dowager Marchioness exclaimed from her seat when Miss O’Neil was returned to her.

  “Oh,” Miss O’Neil flushed, “thank you.”

  “I most heartily agree, My Lady,” a male voice came from behind him and Joseph whirled around to see Forester Bently, the Earl of Pemperose. The Earl bowed courteously to the Dowager Marchioness, then pivoted toward Joseph.

  “Lord Ethelred, how good to see you again. I must thank you for your invitation and pray that you will introduce me to this charming young lady.”

  The evident appreciation in the Earl’s gaze as his eyes seemed to drink in the sight of Miss O’Neil raised Joseph’s hackles. He reminded himself that he had no right to the woman and that she was not his to defend or hoard away from the attentions of other men. Even so, his jaw clenched.

  Glancing at the Dowager Marchioness, he saw a similar hardened set to her jaw. Her disapproval of the Earl gratified him, even though he assumed it was his rank that she took issue with. He halfway suspected that she would not be content with anyone less than a prince courting her protégé.

  “This is Miss O’Neil,” Joseph said. “She is the protégé of the Dowager Marchioness and currently a governess in my household. Miss O’Neil, this is Forester Bently, the Earl of Pemperose.”

  The Earl looked startled. “A governess! Well! You certainly do not look like any governess I’ve ever seen!”

  Miss O’Neil flushed and stammered.

  “What a charming ornament she must make in this glum old fortress, eh? If you will excuse my frankness.”

  Poor Miss O’Neil looked ready to crawl out of her skin. Her modesty, which so beguiled him on most days, seemed to be torturing her just then. She squirmed under the Earl’s overly appreciative gaze. When he saw the man’s eyes flit down to her bosom, Joseph stood up straighter. It was ridiculous and immature, but he felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to sock the Earl in the jaw.

  “Far more than a mere ornament, I’m sure,” he said.

  “Of course! I meant no offense, surely. Miss O’Neil,” he bowed to her, extending his hand. “Permit me to make my apologies with a dance?”

  Miss O’Neil opened her mouth as if to speak but was prevented from doing so by the Dowager Marchioness.

  “I’m afraid I’ve already promised her to the Duke of Clairmont for the next dance.”

  A rather chagrined looking young Duke stood apologetically behind the Dowager Marchioness.

  “Assuming, of course, that the Lady has no objections,” the Duke of Clairmont said respectfully.

  Miss O’Neil glanced at him, and Joseph wished he could claim her for another dance himself. He knew that to do so would inspire gossip, so even though there was a faint look of pleading in her eyes, he didn’t offer.

  “Of course, I have no objections,” she said lightly, looking at the Duke.

  Joseph watched jealously as the slender, young-faced Duke led her away.

  “A governess, eh?” Joseph’s study of Miss O’Neil was interrupted by the Earl. Lord Pemperose was not what Joseph would consider a friend. He was obsessed with a vineyard on the south side of Joseph’s estate and wanted it badly. It was rare that Joseph would see Lord Pemperose even in passing without some mention of wanting to buy the vineyard.

  Joseph didn’t even particularly care for the vineyard, except the sentiment that was due to it being in his family for generations. However, he thought that he might have sold the blasted vines if only Lord Pemperose hasn’t been so persistent and irritating in his requests.

  Well, he wasn’t talking about vineyards now. As Joseph watched Lord Pemperose’s gaze travel lasciviously down the line of Miss O’Neil’s silhouette, he felt that he would much prefer to hear another propo
sition about his vineyard.

  “Yes. She came highly recommended by the Dowager Marchioness.” Joseph said tightly.

  “Strange for a governess to have such a coming out like this, is it not? You must have some designs on her.”

  “I’ll thank you not to speak of my child’s governess in that way,” Joseph said sternly, turning around to face the Earl fully. “And mind your eyes. They are wandering in a way most unbecoming of an Earl.”

  Lord Pemperose laughed, slapping Joseph on the shoulder as if they were old friends.

  “Your jealousy says it all, my good Lord!”

  Joseph balled his fingers into fists at his sides. This gentleman was truly insufferable. His reputation as a rake and a seducer of married women had always cast him in a rather unfavorable light in Joseph’s eyes but never had he reacted so viscerally to his proclivities before. Was it really jealousy?

  No. She is merely a dependent in my household, and as such, I feel a paternal obligation to protect her from boudoir snakes like Lord Pemperose.

  His excuse rang hollow even to himself.

  Of course, it’s jealousy. I want her for myself. It’s as simple and as foolish as that.

  “Oh, Lord Ethelred!” The shrill voice of the Dowager Marchioness broke into the tense exchange between himself and Lord Pemperose. He had never been so grateful for her butting in. He turned around and strode toward her seat, offering her his full attention and hoping that Lord Pemperose would take the hint and find some other way to amuse himself.

  “After this dance, I want you to arrange for Miss O’Neil to play the pianoforte for us all,” she commanded.

  Joseph hesitated, looking up and finding Miss O’Neil among the other dancers. She was smiling politely, but he noticed that she and the Duke were not conversing much, if at all. He tried not to feel gratified by that fact.

  “Are you certain that she would appreciate that?” he asked. “In the time that I have known the young lady, she seems to be to be a rather demure sort. She may find such a performance to be…disagreeable.”

  “Oh, nonsense. Ladies must overcome their shyness if they are ever to find their way in society. She’s a brilliant pianist and society should know it.” She said this with an imperious raise of her nose.

  Joseph sighed. Glancing back at Miss O’Neil, he felt certain that she would not relish becoming the center of attention. The Dowager Marchioness suffered no disagreement, however. And Joseph had to admit a growing curiosity himself to hear her play.

  As the music ended, he steeled himself and approached Miss O’Neil. She was thanking the Duke for the dance, bobbing in a quick, polite curtsy. The Duke looked perfectly entranced by her, but Joseph saw no hint of reciprocation in her expression. She certainly was not blushing and grinning as she had been with himself.

  “Miss O’Neil,” Joseph said, gently placing his fingers on her bare upper arm. She turned to look at where he touched her, and then her gaze flitted up to his eyes.

  “The Dowager Marchioness insists that you play for the assembly. Pianoforte.”

  Miss O’Neil’s jaw dropped slightly. “Oh, dear.”

  “Will you?” he asked, keeping his voice low and formulating possible excuses he could make for her to the Dowager Marchioness should she refuse.

  He watched her glance over at the Dowager Marchioness and seemed to weigh her options.

  “I feel that I can admit to you, My Lord, that I get no pleasure in performing for large audiences. But if the Dowager Marchioness insists…I owe her so much, you see. And it does please me to make her happy.”

  “Good,” he gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

  The smile she gave him in return was nervous and strained. He offered her his arm and led her toward the pianoforte. She sat down timidly, clearing her throat. Right away, people noticed her being seated and conversation died down gradually as the guests waited for her to begin playing.

  He stayed close, leaning against the pianoforte and hoping that his silent support might encourage her. He noticed her hands shaking as she placed her fingertips gently on the keys.

  She hit a few notes, then faltered. A sour chord rang out. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then began again. This time, as she kept her eyes gently shut, her pale fingers glided effortlessly over the keys. Beautiful music filled the now-silent ballroom; it was a tune that Joseph faintly recognized but could not quite name. As she hit her stride, he saw her shoulders relax, and she let her eyes flutter open. She kept her gaze on her fingers, though, apparently not daring to look up toward the crowd of people watching her.

  Deep concentration suits her.

  Her lips were slightly pursed, her eyebrows lifting slightly when the melody swelled. With time, her body began to sway ever so softly with the music, her head tilting to the side. He was beguiled once more by the elegant slope of her neck.

  Miss O’Neil, would you hate me if I kissed your neck? Just once?

  He imagined them in this room alone. She would be playing at the piano, unaware of him listening at the door. Then he would step in, silently coming to stand before her. Bending down, he would trail his fingers over her slim, sloping shoulders. She would jump slightly, her fingers faltering on the keys. He would press his lips to the quickened pulse that beat in her neck, and her fingers would still. She would sigh, tilting her head as he trailed his tongue to her earlobe.

  She stopped playing. The song had ended. The people clapped and Miss O’Neil seemed relieved to be done with it as she stood up and curtsied toward the guests.

  You play beautifully. You are perfectly enchanting. You look and sound like an angel.

  All these compliments rushed through his mind, but it all felt too gauche and awkward to say aloud. He smiled at her. “Well done.”

  “Thank you.”

  She returned to her chaperone and for the rest of the evening, Joseph was obliged to watch her dance with an array of suitable gentlemen at the behest of the Dowager Marchioness. He longed to dance with her again, though to do so repeatedly would surely cause gossip to swirl about the nature of their relationship.

  So instead, he spent the rest of the night with his back to the wall, wishing he had his house to himself again.

  Chapter 13

  Amanda awoke to the sound of Lady Heather playing with her dollhouse in the nursery. She jolted awake, horrified to see the sun already well above the horizon. Still, half-dazed by sleep, she bolted out of bed and dressed hastily.

  When she emerged into the nursery, still with hairpins in her mouth and her hands twisting her plaits into a knot, she was relieved to find Lady Heather pleasantly occupied.

  “My Lady, forgive me for oversleeping. It won’t happen again,” Amanda said.

  “I will forgive you as long as you tell me absolutely every detail of what happened at the ball last night. How long did it go?”

  Amanda slid the last pin along her scalp and sighed, coming to sit down on the floor next to the child. “Oh, ages and ages. I thought I would fall over on my way up the stairs when it was finally over. I nearly went to bed in my ballgown.”

  She took up one of the small dolls, a dark-haired lady wearing a satin gown. She brushed out the doll’s hair with her fingers and placed her in one of the bedrooms of the dollhouse.

  “Did you dance with gentlemen?” Lady Heather asked.

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Did you fall in love?”

  Amanda laughed. “You have very romantic notions about balls. I think I was rather too preoccupied with my sore feet to fall in love last night.” As she said it, though, her mind flashed back to the moment when Lord Ethelred had rested his hand at the small of her back. She remembered the pleasurable shiver that went down her spine at his touch and the warm feeling of drowsiness that had enveloped her in his arms.

  She was not foolish enough to think that such sensations could be love, though. The fact that the sight of Lord Ethelred now reminded her constantly of the thwarted wedding night onl
y meant that she was naturally frustrated. Grief could mask her sexual disappointment for a time, but the feelings remained underneath.

  The fact that the Marquess’ voice made her innermost parts tremble meant only that she was a healthy, normal woman of marriageable age. Nothing more. She merely had to be on guard now, to not let any gentleman take advantage of her natural desire and inexperience.

  She remembered the way that the Earl of Pemperose had leered at her breasts and shuddered.

  At least I am not vulnerable to the attentions of just any gentleman. As long as there is only one gentleman who I need to be careful around, I can manage.