My Lady Series Bundle (1-5)

by Anders, Shirl

  It appeared that Lady Nia O'Shea had used her proper name to book the room for two nights. If it was her real name? And she traveled alone with no one else staying at the Inn with her. It was meager information about the still completely and mysterious lady. However, he could surmise, with the two night booking of the Inn that within the next twenty-four hours he would be in the company of his Lady Fire once again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nia shut the door to her room at the Boars Head Inn and she wobbled to the bed, falling face down upon it. She would order a hot bath and food, she thought dismally, surely that would help? Then, she burst into tears, immediately disgusted that she had any left to shed, which upset her even more.

  "Oh, you kissed him," she mumbled tearily, wadding part of the bed quilt beneath her face. "Never! Never, kiss them!" And, she'd done it twice now, with both kisses combined more like a thousand kisses between them. She was blubbering and completely avoiding the real reasons she was crying, by using small distracting excuses. "Kissing is the least of your offense, you daft girl." Nia hiccupped. "I will never get paid," she sobbed, burying her face into the quilt. She knew it was much worse than getting paid. Much, much worse than that. She'd never felt like this before. It nearly frightened her. It did frighten her. "Oh, you blimey idiot. You've gone and fallen in love with him, you fool."

  Her weeping was pathetic and a small part of her mind was annoyed with her weakness. She had not cried this much since her parents were lost at sea, three short years ago, when she was but twenty. She'd cried then for nearly a full day. Yet, her younger siblings had needed her strength so badly that she'd forced herself to stop. She had not cried since, until her near rape, and now this.

  "Radford!" Nia pounded the bed with her fists a few good times as though she could somehow pound him out of her system. It wouldn't work. Love was love. She rolled over onto her back staring at the bed canopy overhead, with a blurry gaze through her tears. "What will I do now?" There was no one to answer her. There had not been for a long time, she thought, curling her fingers into fists. She hiccupped, "You must just pick yourself up and go on," she announced bravely. "Get about the proper business you are going to be paid for."

  Oh, but she felt so badly about that. Being paid. Love should not be so tainted! "Oh blimey, you're a whore. That's bloody worse!" A sob caught her throat along with a hiccup.

  A Duke and a whore! It was nearly laughable. But the passion still lingered on her body and in her mind. The ardor and the flame. She could smell Radford on her, and she never wanted to wash. Extraordinary things had occurred in his arms. Things she could never imagine. Her passions had become wholly unbound and completely consumed. Just the thought of him now made her ravenous with desires and deep hopeful longings. Oh lord, she loved him. She had no clue, how it could have happened so quickly. Yet each time they met, their bodies wildly spoke of it, even if their minds had not spoken the reason yet.

  "What will I do?"

  Nia sat upright looking about the room in an abysmal manner, seeking answers that were hiding fearfully in her heart. Love or money? She could never be with a Duke such as Radford was, once he found out. She'd already made the impossibly hard choice between love and money once before. She loved her brothers and sisters. She needed them and they needed her. All she'd wanted to do was cling to them, and yet she'd had to set that aside for practical reasons. She'd never regretted it, because what she was doing was born of love. Just a different way of giving it, and she'd also sworn to herself that she would never be ashamed. She liked men, they liked her. It was fun, until now. Now it hurt and it had the chance of making her feel shame.

  Suddenly, she had to know what the next directions of Benny's instructions were, so she snatched up the vermilion envelope off her nightstand. There were only two more envelopes inside that remained unopened, but she could not stand to wait and do each one of them at a time. She had to know the entirety and what the ending was. At once! Her fingers shook as she tore open each envelope, then she absently wiped the tears out of her eyes as she began to read the second to the last set of instructions.

  A part of her mind was incredulous that there still were no specific instructions that she bed Radford. "Oh, if you only knew, Benny," she muttered.

  She'd always assumed that bedding Radford was an eventuality of Benny's entire scheme. But this letter instructed her to yet another daring meeting of teasing and sexual torture, while saying specifically that she was not to allow Radford to do more than touch her. Nia chewed on her bottom lip. Well, Benny surely could not have envisioned how quickly and wildly Radford and she would be attracted to each other. "This must be Benny's way of building romance," she reasoned. Then, she looked at the final envelope. "And the coup de grace must be here in the final envelope."

  Nia quickly pulled the one page out of the envelope with her heart skipping on the fact that there was only one page. Her fingers shook as she read the four small lines written there.

  "Disappear now. Go back to your home in Dublin. You have completed my services and the money will be deposited in your name at the Bank of Dublin, within one week of your return. Regards for your services, Madame."

  The paper fell from Nia's fingers as a hard sob caught in her chest. "Oh no," she moaned. That was it! That was all! She was never to have tupped Radford, and now if she were still going to try to take the money she must play out this last escapade, and then never see Radford again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "Where have you been, Radford? There are six ladies arrived as we speak. Two without an escort and all are ravenous for the sight of you. I could have been a pickled herring for all they cared to speak to me," Saxonhurst said.

  "Damnation," Radford replied, raking a hand through his hair in irritation. He had managed to arrive in the rear of his estate and clandestinely come up the back way to his master suite, only to find Saxon reclined in a chair by the fire with a glass of scotch in hand. "What are you doing here, Saxon?" Radford understood his tone was rather exasperated.

  "Truthfully, the ladies look at me so distastefully, when they discover I am not, 'the Duke,' I'd rather thought to hide. Yet, I imagine you mean here, now so early. I really thought it might be a pip actually, Rad."

  "A pip?" Radford pursed his lips. "Dandified, Saxon?" After releasing this scathing remark upon Saxon's character, Radford strode to the side bar and poured himself a scotch as well.

  Saxon laughed, throwing his head back with his damnably long hair loose once again. "You are in rare form, Rad. Arrogant as hell, which means that something, somewhere is not going to your fine tuning. I will wager it has beautifully flowing red hair and places bets on White's books."

  "Touche." Radford saluted Saxon with his drink aloft and a sneer.

  "And, Rad, the word, 'pip' by the way was used by a simpering and gallant Miss of the ripe old age of barely sixteen with the name of Lady Jane Oakmore. She used the word no less than a dozen times, in as many harried sentences. So that I can only imagine it is a new word among the youngsters."

  "Sixteen?" Radford questioned nearly choking on a swallow of his scotch.

  "Why yes," Saxon chuckled. "There are two sixteen year olds and one seventeen," he sputtered, apparently trying to contain his laughter. "Had you a clue?"

  "Hell no!" Radford exclaimed. "Is that not illegal, or an unspoken law among the mothers?"

  "Apparently not, for so treasured a prize as a Duke." Saxon burst out laughing again, seemingly giving up his less than valiant effort not to. "Has your plan gone a bit awry for once, Rad?" he asked through his laughter.

  "Please, tell me the sixteen year olds are chaperoned," Radford exclaimed.

  Saxon, with his tanned face ruddy from suppressed laughter, shook his head chuckling harder.

  "Judas priest," Radford cursed.

  "A pip!" Saxon chortled, slapping his knee. "I would not have missed this, Radford, never, never!"

  There was nothing for it, no other cunning approach Radford could t
ake upon the matter. He was at a loss.

  So he hid.

  It was decidedly cowardly, incredibly rude, yet if anyone had known, it was quite honorable on his part. He sent excuses to his guests that he was temporally ill and he urged them to carry on without him. Saxon behaved similarly sending his regrets that he was not feeling well also. Both of them shuddered at even the slightest chance of getting caught en flagrant delicato with a sixteen year old Miss.

  The thought still caused Radford to shudder in the late hours as he lay in his bed unable to sleep. Wisely, he'd locked his bedchamber door, because already after dark he had received three bold scratches upon it. It was the ever, tried and true, way of a lady requesting amorous entrance to a gentleman's bedchamber.

  "I should be shot," he growled, throwing his arm up over his forehead. He'd never had one of his schemes melt down into such chaotic disarray. He even found himself praying that a horde of motherly inclined matrons had this evening or would in the morning descent upon his estate with their daughters in tow. The more of them around the less likely he would be thrown in jail for stepping out of his bedchamber in his own home. He'd even broken down and sent off urgent messages to Drummond's wife, Ravenscar's wife, and Wyndham's wife to come early, please, and save his worthless hide. They had been set to arrive by Sunday evening as it was for the last night's masquerade ball. Surely they could take pity on him and come earlier? Or he was determined to hide in his bedchamber for the duration.

  Yet, besides feeling like an incredible fool, he was upset because each sound outside his door, every discreetly laid scratch, could be Nia, without his knowing it. The love sick agony that caused him was simply embarrassing. Yet, by two in the morning with his bed linens thrashed asunder by his body's heaving in remembrance, he admitted that it was love. It was illogical love and love without a reasoned backbone to stand on, but it was love, fast, wild, and furious. Nevertheless, his reasoning mind wondered how he could love so quickly. But his heart knew the answer.

  So with little sleep the night before and after a morning bath and shave, he was edgy. He had asked his butler the details of who was in residence and it appeared that it might be safe to attend the scheduled brunch, but he would disappear for a ride shortly after. Perhaps to ride out his bad temperament, he thought.

  From his butler he'd found out that in the course of his excused absence last evening and this morning that a much more well-rounded group of guests had arrived. Lady mothers in abundance and gentlemen attached to them or a healthy group of single ones up for the festivities. Or rather, Radford thought, they were hoping to gain advantage on the ripe pickings this misbegotten weekend soirée promised.

  It appeared his friends, the other Archangels, and their wives might let him rot in the pot of his own makings. Knowing them as well as he did, he was quite certain that they were all beside themselves in laughter on his plight. "Good friends are like that," he grumbled, as he left his bedchamber to find Saxon, another misbegotten ally, who smirked at him to no end.

  "Just this brunch to show my face because I must. Then a ride. Perhaps, for the rest of the day!" Radford exclaimed. Although, in his mind, Radford knew that he would not go the whole day, for one illogical reason. Nia. He had the indescribable need to be available so that she could come to him. It was a weak, but an inescapable feeling inside him. And with the other ladies present, it really put him in a more difficult place. He would be in a sense allowing himself to be available to the many, all for the hope of the one.

  "Then we shall brave the amorous masses as one!" Saxonhurst declared, chuckling. "Just like partner fencing, I shall watch your back old man!"

  "Posh!" Radford expelled in irritation as they started forward.

  "Now is that word not more dandified than pip?" Saxon asked.

  "I am practicing not to foully curse, which will be my inclination," Radford replied.

  Saxon laughed from the top of the stairs to the bottom. Then, it was rather like a partnership fencing match, only he was the only one without a sword. He supposed, for his sins of arrogance, he deserved every agonizing second of it. He rallied forth his aloofness and arrogance as a shield, while pretending, and not too far off course, ennui and boredom. The ladies in attendance were put off their delicate feet, but by no means discouraged. He was a bloody fool.

  One adventurous young Miss by the name of Lady Jane Oakmore, and yes a virgin but sixteen years old, went so far as to accost him in the stables and were it not for Saxon's timely arrival, he shuddered to think what might have come of it. He swore he would repent all his wicked sins and take God unto his breast, because at the moment that Saxon strode whistling into the stables, he was so heart-fully grateful that he did not deride Saxon for his poorly lacking show of watching his back.

  He'd gone ahead to the stables, his nervous energy pulling him into movement. His mind was so full of churning thoughts that he did not realize that someone was lurking in the shadows just inside the stable door so he did not break his stride, but continued to his horse's stall. So immersed in thought he did not hear the soft footfalls directly behind him, until a hand settled on his shoulder and he swiftly swung around, in his usual quick response with arms raised to confront the attacker. But fortunately, he was in complete control, for his attacker was a sixteen-year-old Miss, so recently knocking upon his bedchamber door.

  My God, he thought, where was the child's mother? He was just about to speak, when a voice broke the stalemate. "Jane, you infantile child! What are you doing here? His grace does not have time for children."

  It appeared to Radford that the two aggressive ladies were about to confront each other over him and he could feel a red flush, rushing over his face. "Lady Paddington," he said. "It seems this young lady is lost. Could you help her find her way back to the house?"

  "Yes, she is very definitely lost. It seems she is trying to seduce you, your grace. Her mother has set her to it."

  Lady Jane having apparently recovered her voice, quipped, "And I suppose you did not have the same thing in mind, you–you, old woman! I saw you scratching on his door."

  "And were you waiting in line, you silly chit?"

  "Child! Silly chit! Just who do you think you are? No gentleman would have you, you used up old cow!"

  Radford watched in stunned silence as the two women moved toward each other and at the word 'old cow,' Lady Paddington suddenly screeched, and then out of nowhere, she launched herself at Lady Jane grabbing her with both hands by the hair to swing her around. He was dumbfounded. The momentum carried them both over and down onto the straw strewn floor. Speechless, Radford could only watch as the two women rolled on the floor screaming and clawing at each other. Never is his life, had he seen such a display of irrational behavior. And, he was the cause. Surely not!

  By now the commotion had gathered a crowd of stable hands and to his chagrin they were making bets on the winner. So far, it seemed none of them was aware of why the women were fighting, because their screaming and screeching was unintelligible. But he did not want to take a chance they might find out and he was about to try and part the two combatants, when Saxon strode up.

  Stopping next to him, Saxon whispered in his ear, "Two of your future brides, Rad. My, my, you do have an exciting life to look forward to, old boy!"

  "Stuff it, Saxon. Do something, before everyone realizes they are fighting over me." Radford lowered himself into pleading.

  "Certainly, dear friend. But remember that you will owe me."

  "Anything, Saxon, just stop this fiasco."

  With that, Saxon strode to the side of the stable and picked up a wooden bucket and proceeded to fill it from the horse trough. Then, he strode toward the two struggling women, and with deliberate timing at the peak of their screeching, he poured the water over their heads and stood back to watch them sputter.

  "Works with dogs every time," he commented calmly. The mischievous sparkle in his brown eyes hidden by his full face grin. "James!" Saxon called toward the older sta
ble man. "Take these two lovely ladies into the house by the kitchen door. We wouldn't want anyone else to see their dishabille, now would we?"

  "That is without a doubt the most hilarious solution to a very volatile situation that I have ever seen, Saxon," Radford said, while trying not to laugh.

  "Nothing to it, Rad, just a bit of experience."

  Radford just looked at Saxonhurst unable to ask the obvious of how Saxon had gotten such experience, as they both turned to retrieve their stallions and make hasty retreats.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nia came to make love to Radford. One last time. She came because she was weak and she would be stronger beside him for what she must do. She came because she was helpless, and she came in the end, to tell him the truth.

  Nia wondered what people were, if they were not selfish, as she adjusted the black-haired wig that she wore. Then she smoothed the apron to the chambermaid's outfit that she had on. Yet, any more guilt that she felt was winningly overwhelmed by her elation of seeing Radford again. Being in his arms. Loving him.

  She'd made a devil's pact with herself. Irrevocable. She would allow herself the final lovemaking in payment for four words that she must speak. She made her vow in the Lord's name. But more importantly, she made her vow to Radford. She cared for him too well to simply disappear from him without a word or explanation to him about what had occurred.

  Truly, she had no measure of his feelings for her. For all she knew, she was simply a mysterious diversion to him. Sorely, she wanted to believe that in her arms he had experienced the same earth-shattering emotions that she had. Yet, she was simply not naive enough where men were concerned to place any certainty in that. Men loved women, and many men loved many women.

  So her need to tell him some of the truth and not leave him in a vast limbo was as much for herself, or more. To her, love in part meant compassion and trying your very best not to hurt the one you loved. She had already failed dismally in the not hurting part; yet, she was determined to offer him what she could in the way of understanding the fullness of what had happened to him.