Seducing The Perfectly Enchanting Marquess (Steamy Historical Regency Romance)

by Scarlett Osborne

  His hands traveled up her body, starting at her hips, which he grabbed roughly and pulled against himself. She sighed, tilting her head back as his touch moved to her waist and then her chest. His lips were on her neck when he tugged down the sleeves of her dress, again freeing her breasts. The chilled air hardened her nipples to tight peaks, which he soon covered with the warmth of his tongue.

  Amanda gasped, then held her breath in an attempt to keep from crying out at the sudden desire that pooled low in her belly like molten honey. All worries about propriety or chastity went out the window, and she felt herself surrendering to his will.

  When he lifted his head from her chest to kiss up the side of her neck, the wetness on her breasts chilled suddenly in the night air, and she pressed herself wantonly against his chest to warm herself. She felt his lips curl into a smile against her neck.

  “I’m wondering…” he whispered in a low, gravelly tone. She noticed that he was bunching up her dress in his hand, the hem rising up by inches over her legs. “How best to be sure that, when you climb into your bed tonight, it’s not Dear Kelly who you are thinking of, Amanda.”

  She tried to answer, but the higher he pulled up the hem of her dress, the more her mind seemed to go fuzzy and blank. Her sex throbbed as his warm hand came to rest against the bare skin of her thigh above her stocking.

  “Who?” she asked.

  He chuckled darkly. “That’s better.”

  He dropped her dress; with a faint swishing sound, the hem fell back to her ankles and her legs were once again encased in the warmth of the sturdy fabric. He took his hand away from her thigh, and she heaved a sigh. Whether it was of disappointment or relief, she couldn’t say. She tried to catch her breath, but his hand came up to her chin, and he held her firmly but not unkindly, not allowing her to break away from the kiss he met her with.

  Amanda tossed her arms around his neck, tilting her head to the side to meet the enthusiasm of his kiss.

  All for the better that he dropped my skirt. I mustn’t get carried away.

  She told herself this, but really her body was crying out in disappointment.

  “You ought to go to bed,” he said, breaking the kiss. He seemed to be restraining himself, reining it all back in. Amanda realized that he must have more control than she did, because she was ready to throw caution to the wind and be carried off by him that night.

  “You’re right,” she said. She leaned back, falling back onto her heels and straightening up. As she did so, he repositioned the sleeves of her dress, covering her back up. “Thank you.”

  “Forgive me,” he said. “I find that I am having a difficult time of…denying my impulses around you. I hope you understand that I mean you no harm. No…dishonor.”

  A shiver went down her shoulders. “I don’t feel dishonored, Joseph. I know I ought to, but—” she whispered it like a confession.

  He closed his eyes slowly, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers and trail his knuckle down the side of her cheek.

  “Perhaps you oughtn’t to tease me. I have been alone for a long time, and I am out of practice at not taking these things too far.” He smiled, chagrined. “You quite unman me, Miss O’Neil.”

  Amanda shifted her chin up to kiss him, gently pressing her lips against his. “Goodnight.”

  He kissed her back, then wrapped his arms warmly around her and buried his face against her neck. He inhaled deeply and Amanda had the impression that he was memorizing the scent of her. There was something desperate and heartrending about it. Perhaps she had been reckless to awaken the need of a man who had been quietly starving for affection for so long. She wished that she were more experienced, that she knew what to do to comfort a man like this.

  “Goodnight, Amanda,” he said. And with that, he straightened and left her parlor, shutting the door silently behind him.

  * * *

  Joseph’s heart was racing so fast that he felt lightheaded as he crossed the hallway to his own rooms. Stepping into the cold, dark room, he closed the door behind him before collapsing back against it. He tilted his face toward the ceiling and closed his eyes.

  If Amanda knew how close I came just now to ruining her, she would hate me.

  He took several slow, deep breaths, attempting in vain to calm the processes of his body and his racing thoughts. She said that she did not feel dishonored, but he couldn’t believe her. And at any rate, the dishonor was not dependent on her feelings about it. She was young and couldn’t be held responsible for her actions in these circumstances in the same way that he was. He was older, once married, and should have known better.

  The scent of her skin lingered in his mind, casting even his most frantic and despondent thoughts in a pale pink glow.

  Rosewater.

  He recognized the scent of it. Come to think of it; it was probably all she wore. As unfussed as she was about costly things, she likely had no real perfume.

  He straightened up and tore unceremoniously at the buttons of his jacket, tossing it over the arm of a hard-backed chair. It felt as if all the air in the world had been sucked into the void, and his body was panicking at the sudden lack. He shivered as he went to the edge of his bed and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He stared down at the floor.

  I must control myself better. I am a better man than this. I won’t take advantage of her innocence. I won’t. I won’t.

  He turned his mind purposefully away from the radiating heat of her thigh. He thought instead of Lord Brubrun. Lord Brubrun, who was closer in age to Amanda. Lord Brubrun with the sparkling eyes and the bright, easy smile.

  Even I, who have cause to dislike him on principle, can’t help but like him.

  Lord Brubrun and Amanda were similar in the ways that he and she were so different. Where Joseph was shy and rather reclusive, Lord Brubrun was energetic and adventurous. Where Joseph was serious, Lord Brubrun was light and amiable.

  He remembered the way Lord Brubrun had made Amanda smile so easily. How he made her laugh. True, that part of it might have been her saucy attempt to get a rise out of him, but it wasn’t all an act. Their personalities complimented one another. While it had taken him and Amanda weeks to fully come to understand each other, it had happened in moments between her and Lord Brubrun.

  Kelly, she calls him.

  After one afternoon, they were on nicknames with each other. It had taken him nearly bedding her in the woods like a ravenous animal to reach that level of informality.

  He groaned and tossed himself backward on the bed.

  Lord Brubrun was a better match for her. The facts were the facts, no matter how his body ached for her and how his heart yearned when he even thought of her. He knew it. The Dowager Marchioness knew it. Amanda likely knew it as well, though he seemed to have done a fairly thorough job of clouding her mind with reckless lust.

  If I truly care for her, isn’t it best to ensure that she ends up with a man who is compatible with her? A man her own age, with no late wife or child holding him down?

  With that thought knocking around in his mind, he fell into a fitful slumber.

  Chapter 23

  By morning, Joseph had decided to take a step back. He would not go so far as to encourage Amanda to pursue marriage with Lord Brubrun in words, but he would distance himself from her. Nature would run its course. She would realize that the feelings she had for him were merely chemical, that she was simply reacting to his own overwhelming craving for affection. She would realize that other men were better suited to her.

  This will come to an end. She will marry. Things will go back to the way things were before.

  As much as he knew this to be true, he still couldn’t fight against the automatic feeling of excitement that sparked in his chest when he woke up and remembered that she was just across the hallway. Knowing that he would see her at breakfast, that he would hear her voice and watch her smile. Her presence in his life gave him a new perspective. Something to look forw
ard to. Something to thrill him and awaken his senses.

  He attempted a hopeful thought.

  Perhaps it is true that she is not my destiny, but merely a catalyst. Maybe things won’t simply return to the way they were before.

  For, as comfortable as he had thought himself in his life of isolation and stagnant grief, the thought of returning to it now, after Amanda, was disheartening.

  At that moment, he heard her door across the hallway opening and closing as she went next door to check in Heather.

  No. I can’t fool myself. It’s her or nobody.

  He splashed his face with cool water. It seemed that his mind had raced all through his sleep, and showed no signs of slowing down now. He was exhausted and his head ached.

  His mind flashed back to an image of himself as a young man. He had first laid eyes on his future wife at a ball that he had to be dragged to by a school friend. Even back then, he had always been a solitary sort. As soon as he saw Teresa in her pale green gown, with her shock of red hair and eyes that seemed to laugh at the whole world, he had been in love.

  What followed was a courtship where he struggled to keep her attention, fighting as he was against many other men vying for it. She was beautiful, young, and with a loud, infectious laugh. She was too good for him, a shy, bookish young Marquess with an awkward nature he struggled to shake.

  He had laid up nights thinking about her, unable to shut his mind off to go to sleep. He’d woke up feeling as though he hadn’t slept a wink. His mother had thought he was ill. When Teresa accepted his proposal, he felt almost guilty, as if he had stolen something that had never been meant for him. It had been too good to be true.

  He looked at himself in the glass above the basin of water, stroking his cheek with the back of his hand, judging if he needed to shave. He looked as tired as he felt. The term lovesickness came to mind, and he touched his forehead, vaguely wondering if he had a real fever.

  Lord Brubrun may be a better match for her, but…

  He remembered Teresa lying in bed. Fever had gripped her soon after giving birth, and the physician was not hopeful. He had wept, unable to stay brave in the face of her death. He told her that it was his fault she was dying, bearing his child had killed her.

  She had laughed. Even in her weakened, pale state. She took his hand and held it to her cheek.

  “Your love is the best thing that ever happened to me, Joe. I don’t have any regrets. Not one. Not for a moment.”

  He had been enough for Teresa. His love had been enough. Even though she could have had any man in the county, she had chosen him.

  He could be enough for Amanda too. His love for her could make up for his many shortcomings as a suitor. He could make her happy.

  Buoyed by this thought, he finished dressing and crossed to Heather’s room as well. When he came in, Heather was seated on a stool, and Amanda was behind her, twisting her tight red curls into some semblance of order. Amanda was mid-laugh over something Heather had apparently said.

  See? She doesn’t see Heather as mere baggage from a past wife. She could raise her as her own daughter.

  “Good Morning, ladies,” he said.

  Amanda looked over her shoulder at him, a slight flush rising to her cheeks as she seemed to remember their last meeting.

  “Good Morning, My Lord.”

  His gut clenched. Hearing her call him Lord had taken on a new illicitly erotic meaning in the past few weeks.

  “Have you told Heather?” he asked, coming toward them.

  “T…told her what?” Amanda asked, her eyes widening and her blush deepening.

  Joseph chuckled. “About the opera.”

  “Oh! Right, of course. No, I hadn’t yet.”

  “Opera? What opera?” Heather asked, twisting in the stool so that she yanked her own hair in Amanda’s hands. “Ouch!” she protested.

  “If it hurts then stop doing it,” Amanda replied. The morning sun streamed into the room. To Joseph, Amanda and Heather seemed to be enshrined in pure light.

  “The Dowager Marchioness wants to take us all to see the opera tonight. Do you think you can keep awake through it?” he asked, bending at the knees to lower himself to his daughter’s eye level.

  “Oh, yes!” Heather claimed with unearned confidence.

  Joseph glanced up at Amanda, who smiled knowingly down at him. They both knew without doubt that the little girl, whose eyelids began to droop punctually at eight o’clock each evening, would be unconscious in the theater seat before the third act.

  Once Heather’s hair was tamed, the three of them descended the staircase to meet the Dowager Marchioness for breakfast. The old lady was already in her finery, waiting for them when they appeared.

  “Here they are,” she said, announcing them to Lord Brubrun, who was seated next to her. Joseph’s mood dropped at the sight of the young man. He wore a tan waistcoat and breeches which complimented the golden sheen of his hair. He was the very picture of youth and vitality. When he smiled, there was no hint of guile in it.

  After breakfast, they all followed Lord Brubrun out to the garden. He had told Heather that he’d spotted an impressive bird’s nest in the garden that was low enough for her to see the little blue eggs if she wanted.

  Of course, he would be a natural friend of children…

  Joseph glanced at Amanda, wondering if she too was noticing what a fine father Lord Brubrun would surely make.

  “Lord Ethelred,” the Dowager Marchioness called gently. When he turned to look at her, she waved her fingers at him, silently beckoning him closer as the others went on ahead. “I feel that there is something we must discuss,” she said in a low tone when the others couldn’t hear her.

  “Is there?” he asked, growing anxious.

  “Yes, and I think you know what it is. I never intended to send Miss O’Neil to you as a candidate for marriage, you know. She was merely hiding herself away in Ethelred Manor until she could put away her grief and return to society.”

  Joseph felt his ears growing hot and he straightened his spine to hide his embarrassment.

  Are my feelings about Amanda so transparent?

  “Of course, My Lady. I know that.” His voice sounded odd to his own ears as if he were hearing himself from far away.

  “Good. I merely remind you because I don’t want any silly rivalry getting in the way of my plans for Miss O’Neil and my son. She’s been like a daughter to me, and it only seems natural that she should become my daughter fully. As you can see, she and Edan have a remarkable connection already. I am confident that, as long as nothing,” here she glanced at Joseph meaningfully, “or no one comes between them, a proposal will be nigh inevitable.”

  Joseph looked ahead, watching Amanda and Lord Brubrun walking side by side, laughing about something.

  “Yes. I can see that,” he said.

  “And you can agree that she and my son make a good match. Their dispositions are so similar. So complimentary. I merely want what’s best for her. You understand.”

  “Yes. I understand,” Joseph said.

  “As such,” the Dowager Marchioness continued, “I think it would be prudent for you to keep an eye open for a replacement governess.”

  His optimism died away and a cloud crossed in front of the sun, casting the garden in a gray dullness. No one else seemed to notice the sudden change in light or the heaviness that abruptly came over the scene. He watched Amanda lift Heather onto her hip to peer over the edge of a bird’s nest. As they approached, he heard Lord Brubrun explaining the parenting rituals of robins.

  Both Amanda and Heather were listening to him with rapt attention. Joseph wished that he could hate the man. If only there were some glaring default in his character. If only he could come up with some excuse for keeping Amanda to himself when she had the genial Lord Brubrun as a competing option.

  She said that Ethelred Manor felt like home to her. But perhaps she merely appreciated it as a remote escape from the bustle of real life. Would she not be
happier here in London? Or traveling the world with Lord Brubrun? Even if she was happy with him now, could he keep her happy for the rest of her life? Or would she grow tired of his simple, quiet ways?

  Amanda glanced over Heather’s head toward him. He smiled gently, automatically, when her eyes landed on him. She returned the slight, contented smile.

  When she looked away again to the robins’ eggs, his smile melted away. He knew what he had to do. The Dowager Marchioness was right. Although even he could not deny that apparent attraction Amanda had toward him, he would have to let it die. He wouldn’t hurt her in the process. He wouldn’t say anything to wound her. He would merely back away. The spark between them would dull to a glowing ember from lack of encouragement, then to die a natural, painless death as her affections were turned to Lord Brubrun.