Seducing The Perfectly Enchanting Marquess (Steamy Historical Regency Romance)

by Scarlett Osborne

  “But look at him! We must do something right away. The poor dear can’t even stand.”

  With her heart still pounding in her chest and her breathing still labored, Amanda approached the squirrel.

  “It looks like he’s broken his leg,” Lady Heather said.

  The poor little animal was clearly frightened of the two humans looming over him but was too hurt to scamper away. His beady black eyes were wide and round and his tiny chest rose and fell rapidly.

  “I don’t know how to care for him,” Amanda said. She did feel sorry for the little animal. Already she was pulling a handkerchief from where it was tucked into her bodice and wrapping the squirrel in it. He didn’t struggle, but when she lifted him, she could feel how fast his tiny heart was beating. “The poor thing is terrified.”

  “It’s all right, darling. We are looking after you,” Lady Heather said as if the woodland creature could understand English.

  “But what shall we do?” Amanda asked.

  “Father will know. We must bring him home.”

  Amanda clicked her tongue. On the one hand, she wasn’t sure that the Marquess would appreciate being dragged into this little pastoral drama. On the other hand, the animal was so pitiful that she had to do something.

  “Oh, all right. We will see what he says. We must pack up our things, though. I will carry him.”

  Chapter 15

  Amanda was not confident that the Marquess would have a favorable reaction to being interrupted in his day by a wounded squirrel. But Lady Heather seemed sure that he would know what to do, so Amanda followed her lead.

  “Father loves animals. More often than not, we have some wild creature in the barn being nursed back to health. There’s nothing he hates more than seeing a creature in pain,” Lady Heather said when Amanda expressed her concerns once more.

  They were coming through the garden now. Amanda had the squirrel wrapped warmly and held against her bosom. Its heart was still beating rapidly, but it did not make any attempt to get away or to scratch or bite her. It must have been quite hurt indeed to submit to abduction by strange people.

  “Is that so?” Amanda asked. It was difficult to imagine the taciturn Marquess having such a soft heart for wildlife. Men in his position were much more likely to enjoy going out and shooting animals than caring for them.

  “Oh, yes. You’ll see.”

  Amanda’s fears about displeasing him abated at this startling information, and when they arrived at the study where he spent most of his days, Lady Heather knocked softly before stepping in.

  He looked up from the papers on his desk, squinting slightly as his eyes adjusted from reading to peering across the room. His hair was somewhat disheveled as if he had just run his fingers through it. A pen was poised in his hand, and she noticed a stain of dark blue ink on the side of his middle finger.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked. His voice was cooler than his expression.

  “We found a wounded squirrel, My Lord,” Amanda said, coming forward to show him the creature she held. “The young Lady told me that you would want to know.”

  “We must help him, Father. His leg is broken, and he can’t walk. He’ll starve.”

  Lord Ethelred rose to his feet and came around the desk. He peeled back the handkerchief that was wrapped around the animal tenderly. Amanda was entranced by the soft movements of his long fingers as he stroked his index and ink-stained middle fingers down the back of the squirrel’s head. It closed its eyes.

  “All right. Come with me,” he said, his voice quiet.

  He led Lady Heather and herself down the corridors to a small room that, when they entered, seemed to have been a guest bedroom. At one point, at least. Now, the bed was bare and pushed against a wall and the only other furnishing was a large chest. When he opened it, Amanda saw that it was full of bandages and various dark liquids and salves in glass containers.

  Upon a closer look, Amanda could see the tell-tale marks of animals being kept in this room. The windowsill was chewed on in the corners, and the carpet was looking rather worse for wear.

  “An animal hospital?” Amanda asked as the Marquess gathered up the supplies he needed and closed the lid of the trunk.

  “I wouldn’t go do far as to call it that. Just a place out of the elements for them to recover.”

  She wanted to say how surprised she was. How kind it was of him to care so for wild creatures. How it endeared him to her. But she held her tongue as he carefully took the squirrel from her and sat him on top of the chest. The squirrel stirred in fright but was apparently too weak to attempt to run.

  “It looks as though it’s been broken for a while. He’s very hungry. Heather?” The Marquess said as he very gently inspected the injured leg.

  “I’ll run to the kitchen and bring up some nuts,” she said. Apparently, she was no stranger to helping him in these situations, and she scampered off with confidence.

  “Do you suppose he will be all right?” Amanda asked, coming closer to peer down at it.

  He tilted his head minutely. “I don’t see why not. Unless there’s some infection. We will just have to wait and see.”

  She stayed out of his way as he prepared the smallest splint she’d ever seen. It was difficult to stifle a grin that would have exposed her growing fondness for him. Seeing him so fastidiously and gently care for the tiny animal filled Amanda with fresh admiration.

  He is not like other gentlemen.

  Her gaze softened as she looked up from the tiny patient to the caring concentration on Lord Ethelred’s face.

  “You have experience with this sort of thing,” she said. Not as a question, but as a statement. An invitation for him to share more or not, according to his desire.

  “It started with a dove Heather and I came across in the garden when she was just learning to walk. Well, I couldn’t just let it die and have her grieving over a bird. She’s a sensitive child.”

  “Ah,” Amanda said, not believing that his motivation was merely to assuage his daughter. Clearly, he had some sensitivity as well.

  When he glanced up at her, she must have had some sort of wry expression on her face because he grinned somewhat, confirming her suspicions.

  “How many animals?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I haven’t kept count. Sometimes it takes months for them to rehabilitate enough to be set free. In the garden, you may have noticed a starling that hops about on its own with no flock. Sometimes they never fully leave. There’s a mink around here someplace too that won’t stray far from the manor, actually.”

  “Do you name them?”

  “I try not to. I’m always afraid that, should the animal die despite our efforts, having named it would make it even more difficult for Heather. She always does, though,” he said, fondness clear in his voice.

  “You’re a wonderful father, My Lord,” she said. Affection was welling up inside of her for the silent, somber man with such depths of compassion hidden away inside of him.

  It’s not for a governess to remark upon a Marquess’ parenting.

  She bit her lip, but let it go immediately when she noticed his gaze drawn down to her lips.

  “Miss O’Neil—”

  Lady Heather came bounding back into the room. She had a crystal bowl full of various nuts.

  “Have you bandaged him?” she asked, placing the bowl on the tall chest.

  Lord Ethelred hummed in affirmation. Wrapping the squirrel back up in the handkerchief, he carried it tenderly to the bare bed where he laid it in the center. Crossing back to the chest, he retrieved a blanket with which he made a small nest around the animal.

  “We will leave him with food and water nearby. He won’t be able to calm down and rest until we leave,” he said.

  “Animals don’t always know when you’re trying to look after them, they get scared.” Lady Heather explained, looking up at Amanda.

  “Ah. I see.”

  “Bye-bye, Lord Acornshire,” Lady Heather said, curtsyi
ng to the squirrel.

  Amanda couldn’t contain a snort of laughter, glancing at Lord Ethelred. He grinned and shook his head.

  “Lord Acornshire?” Amanda asked as the three of them quietly left the room.

  “Yes. Don’t you think he has a noble mien? He must be a Lord.”

  “Well, now that you mention it, yes. I suppose he does have a rather aristocratic brow,” Amanda said, laughing. When she glanced over the girl’s head to her father, he was watching her with an oddly tender look in his eyes. At least before he looked away. He rolled his shoulders back, straightening as he gazed down the hallway. How he shifted so effortlessly between his typical stiff demeanor and the latent softness that she had now seen come to the surface several times, astounded her.

  I wonder what he was like before his wife died.

  Lady Heather was chattering excitedly about Lord Acornshire as they walked back toward the Marquess’ study. Amanda wondered if his rigidity was a lingering effect of grief, much like the dark, habitual mourning of the clothing he wore. It seemed unlikely that a man with such a sensitive nature could have always been so coolly decorous.

  To have had such a man for a husband, even if only for a relatively short amount of time, must have been a gift. It is better to have a short life filled with love and gentleness than a long one that is empty.

  Lord Ethelred looked down at his daughter, the corner of his mouth turning up almost imperceptibly. His eyes flashed up to hers once more as they approached his study.

  Having seen firsthand how tender he could be, yet how concentrated and absorbed in a task, raised the question of what it would be like to be kissed by the Marquess. Amanda turned her gaze to the floor, feeling her pulse quicken at the images flashing through her mind.

  Lady Heather was reluctant to leave her father to his work after the excitement. She asked twice whether he could quit his work early for the day and come out with her and Miss O’Neil.

  “If I don’t finish what I was writing, I will forget what I was going to say,” he said. “We will have supper together, though. Now be good for Miss O’Neil.”

  “Thank you, My Lord,” Amanda said, bobbing in a short curtsy. “I am much relieved that the squirrel is being looked after.”

  He nodded his acceptance of her thanks but said no more.

  “Lord Acornshire,” Lady Heather corrected as the two females left the Lord to his paperwork.

  “Lord Acornshire, yes. I forgot.”

  * * *

  In the days that followed, Lady Heather was driven to distraction by the lordly squirrel. She insisted on checking in on him twice a day, and Amanda had to often remind her charge that the animal was hurt and needed peace and quiet. Or that he would not feel better if she pushed him around the garden in a baby doll’s perambulator.

  “But fresh air!” the little girl protested.

  “But the humiliation for a Lord Squirrel to be carted about in a pram.” Amanda clicked her tongue.

  Lady Heather sighed theatrically but gave up her begging for a while at least.

  Lord Ethelred looked after the patient with the care and attention that any human invalid would have received. Amanda couldn’t help but imagine him in the early days of Lady Heather’s life. Surely she would have had a wet nurse after the death of her mother. But Amanda held no doubt in her mind that, even mired in the worst possible grief, the Marquess would not have shied away from the minutiae of infant care.

  It was easy to imagine him with the tiny babe in his arms, pacing to and fro and cooing gently to get her to sleep. In Amanda’s mind’s eye, she imagined his hair grown out slightly and a bit messy. He would be in his shirtsleeves, his waistcoat draped over a chair.

  I’m falling for the Marquess.

  The thought, or accusation, popped into her mind as clearly as a bell one night as she laid in her bed. Amanda shook her head.

  My fondness for Lord Ethelred is merely a recognition of facts. He’s a good man. It doesn’t mean I must have him for my own.

  She sat up to fluff her pillow. From the high bed, she could gaze right out the window to the lake. A watery reflection of the moon wavered and shimmered on the water’s surface.

  He likes me too. His gaze lingers longer than can be explained in any other way.

  She flopped back down onto the pillow.

  What a vain thought. Why should he care for a governess?

  Chapter 16

  Lord Ethelred was restless in bed. His shirt twisted uncomfortably around him as he rolled onto his side. Normally, when he was plagued with a racing mind, he would have padded silently across the manor to peek in on Heather and be sure that she was sleeping soundly.

  There was no need to do that anymore. For one thing, she had been sleeping soundly through the night for weeks now. But also, even if she wasn’t, she had Miss O’Neil right there to help her.

  Still, his skin crawled with an insistent need to get out of bed and do…something. He forced his eyes shut but sleep eluded him. He stood up and looked at the moon’s reflection in the lake behind the house. The moon was full and round that night, casting a milky blue glow over the gardens and the fields beyond. Joseph sighed and went to the basin on his dresser to splash his face with cool water. The droplets dripped down to his shirt as he pulled on his breeches, halfheartedly tucking his shirt into them before lighting a candle and heading out into the corridor. Silently, he passed through the halls until he got to the animal room.

  Faint scratching sounds could be heard from inside as he softly pushed the door open. He was greeted by the sight of the squirrel exploring the perimeter of the room, doing a rather humorous three-legged walk with its bandaged leg dragging behind him.

  Joseph chuckled quietly, closing the door behind him and setting his candle on the large trunk. He sat down, content to merely watch the animal for a while and hope that it would calm his mind.

  It’s been years since a woman has kept me up at night.

  With a resolute tightening of his jaw, he went through the basic facts. He was infatuated with his daughter’s governess. He was lonely and susceptible to the charms of women in general. He did not want to in any way injure the position of Miss O’Neil. He did not want her to stop being the governess. He still mourned his wife. He could no longer look at Miss O’Neil or even think of her without unconsciously entering a heightened state of arousal. The racing of his heart and the awakening of his sexual appetite felt like being alive for the first time in a long time.

  He’d been a widower for seven years now, and it was only after the first that debutantes and spinsters alike had begun to look at him differently. Fluttering their eyelashes more and offering him their simpering smiles of pity and interest.

  If he had ever become desperate for the brief satisfaction of a carnal affair, he’d never been without recourse to such an arrangement. The fact was that the death of Teresa had been such a shock to his psyche that nearly all sexual desire had seemed to die with her. She had been the only object of his lust, and against her, no other woman had compared.

  He had lived like a monk and had been mostly comfortable in that lifestyle.

  It was Miss O’Neil, specifically, that had reanimated a feeling in him that he’d thought was dead. It was more than a mere lustful instinct toward a beautiful woman. He knew this because his fantasies of her never stopped at bedding her. No, his mind wandered to thoughts of getting her with child, with entwining his life with hers in a way that was lasting and important. He could admit to himself openly and without shame or anxiety that he deeply desired for her to remain Heather’s governess until his daughter came of age. It was clear from the outset that she and Heather had a pleasant rapport that would make the raising of the child healthier and simpler.

  Harder to admit, and fraught with more trepidation, was the mounting realization that he never wanted Miss O’Neil to leave Ethelred Manor. Not when Heather came of age. Not when Heather married and moved into her husband’s home. Not ever.

&nbs
p; Her presence in his home had, somehow, made the thought of continuing to live the way he had been for seven years repugnant to him. His peace in solitude had been soured by her light voice and the way she failed at stifling her frequent, easy laughter.

  He gazed at the flame of his candle. Having Miss O’Neil in his home was like stepping into a bright room after being kept in a dark one. The eyes’ adjustment to darkness was spoiled by a single dazzling moment in the sun, and he knew instinctively that he would be blind without her now.

  The door handle jiggled, and then the door was gliding open. Joseph jumped, rising to his feet as the sudden movement, his heart leaping to his throat.