The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance

by Trisha Telep

  “I want you,” he growled.

  Her heart lurched. “I . . . I don’t understand.”

  He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “If you consent to be with me, I will extend Edmund’s loans until such time he can afford to pay me back. You have my word on it.”

  She gaped at him. “You’re saying you want to marry me?”

  He laughed so harshly she cringed.

  “You’re such a romantic, Marissa. Why would I want to leg-shackle myself to you for the rest our lives? No. I want you in my bed – for as long as I want, and in any way I want. Do that, and the Joslins are safe.”

  Her stomach cramped and, for a moment, she thought she would be sick. She tried to think, but her mind was stuffed with cotton batting. “You’re not making sense,” she finally managed.

  “It’s quite simple. You live with me as my mistress, and I will not call in your brother’s debts.”

  “But . . . but everyone will know,” she stuttered. “Think of the gossip. We couldn’t possibly keep such an arrangement a secret.”

  He snorted. “Of course not. That’s the point. I will escort you to the theatre, the opera, the Royal Academy . . . whatever amuses me. You will be my companion, both in public and private. I’m rich now. Very few doors are closed to me, and with you by my side I might be able to open a few more.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she blurted out. “The scandal will ruin me.”

  He shrugged, as if he didn’t care.

  She could barely speak past the panic and anger clutching at her throat. “I have a child. If I’m ruined, I won’t be able to provide for her.”

  “You can’t provide for her now. That’s why you moved back to Edmund’s house after your husband died, isn’t it? You were Paget’s second wife. His estate was almost entirely entailed to his oldest son, leaving only a small widow’s portion to support you and your daughter.”

  Anthony didn’t know the half of it. Her husband had drastically reduced her portion after their first year of marriage when he finally realized Antonia wasn’t his child. It left Marissa poor, completely dependent on her brother’s support.

  She closed her eyes, trying to get past the fear, searching to find a way out. If not for Antonia, she might have agreed to Anthony’s demands – if for no other reason than to atone for her family’s sins against him. But she wouldn’t give up on her daughter. Not for him. Not for Edmund. They could both go to hell before she would sacrifice Antonia.

  She opened her eyes. “Yes, that’s true,” she grudgingly acknowledged. “But I must still protect her.”

  He remained grim and silent, his mouth pulled into a tight line. “Very well,” he finally said. “I’ll not make your daughter a victim of your brother’s arrogance. She’ll be provided for. I’ll draw up the necessary contracts, giving her a generous allowance and stipulating that Edmund must always provide a home for her.”

  Marissa gasped. She had to clutch the seat of the chair to keep her balance. “Absolutely not! You will not separate me from my child.”

  “Then she can live with us,” he said impatiently. “You may be certain I will provide for both of you – you have my word. But either way, Marissa, you will come to me, or see your family in ruins.”

  The room spun in a dizzying whirl, dark and cold. She took a deep breath, allowing the rage to clear from her mind. Somehow, she had to fight back. “Tell me, Captain, would you have forced me to be your mistress if my husband were alive?”

  He frowned and slowly shook his head. “No. I may be a devious bastard, Marissa, but I wouldn’t have made you betray him.” His mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. “One betrayal in a lifetime is more than enough. And this is so much better. I’ll have you without the annoyance of any minor scruples, and I get the added benefit of shaming your family. Your brother will be in my debt and, at the same time, he’ll suffer the knowledge that his sister is in my bed. Without the benefit of clergy.”

  Marissa clenched her hands into fists. If she needed any proof that Anthony must be kept away from Antonia, this was it. The loving boy she had known was dead, and a cold-blooded monster had risen in his place. God only knew what he would do if he ever found out he had a daughter.

  “Why must you do this?” she challenged. “You’re successful now. You can have anything you want.”

  All traces of cold-blooded amusement disappeared from his features. His eyes glittered with an anguished fury that wrenched the breath from her body. “Your family forced this on me. They ripped me from the life I was meant to have. The one thing I truly loved and wanted, your father and brother denied me. As did you, Marissa.” He flung the words at her. “But now you have the chance to atone for that by finally giving me what I deserve. If you don’t, I’ll see every last one of the Joslins rot in hell.”

  His words sliced through her like shards of broken glass, his pain so raw and immediate that it became her pain, too. She swallowed a sob and a vital part of her – the one that had never ceased loving him – reached out, yearning to heal the wounds that marked his soul.

  “I never meant to hurt you, Anthony,” she whispered.

  He surged up from the desk with lethal, masculine grace. Big hands curled around her shoulders and he pulled her straight up from her chair.

  “I think you lie,” he growled.

  He looked wild and dangerous as fury blasted through his shell of cynical detachment. But in those golden eyes she saw his grief and longing – saw him, the Anthony who her father had torn away from her, leaving her alone and incomplete.

  She let her hand drift across his tanned cheek. “No, Anthony. You weren’t the only one who was hurt,” she murmured. “I longed to go after you . . . I was desperate to find you. But Father kept me locked away in my room, and he continually threatened to beat me. He said he’d send me to live with strangers if I didn’t marry Richard.” Her voice broke as his fingers dug into her arms and his gold-shot eyes searched her face. “I missed you so much, but I was still a child,” she pleaded. “I didn’t know what to do.”

  A different kind of heat, forbidden and dark, flared in his eyes. His big hands moved down her arms and slid to her waist, pulling her flush against him. She gasped at the feel of his erection pushing hard against her belly.

  “But you’re not a child any more, Marissa. And I’ve waited for this for too damn long.”

  She clutched at his waistcoat as he swooped to capture her mouth in a punishing kiss. Her head fell back and his tongue slipped between her lips to plunder her mouth. She whimpered, giving him everything he demanded. There was no resisting him – no resisting the passion he’d ignited. The passion unleashed for both of them after years in solitary exile.

  His bold tongue tasted her, stroked deep inside to claim her with a searing hunger. Marissa had forgotten the fierce beauty of Anthony’s kiss. But now everything came back in a blazing rush. The heat, the wet slide of a greedy, open-mouthed kiss, the feel of his strong hands moving over her body.

  She stretched up on her toes, winding her arms around his neck. A raw need throbbed deep within as her body came alive to his touch. Her breasts grew full and heavy as she rubbed against him, her nipples pulling tight with a prickling ache.

  Anthony murmured a low growl of approval as his hand drifted down to squeeze her bottom in a kneading grip. Gradually, his kiss grew softer, and his tongue slowly traced her lips before slipping back into her mouth. It was sweet and hot and reckless – just as it had always been.

  As she slid into total surrender, he broke the kiss. Marissa murmured a confused protest, and his hand came up to hold her chin. She panted, struggling to shake off the confining grip, eager to taste him again. His fingers tightened on her jaw.

  “Open your eyes,” he ordered in a husky voice.

  She did. His face was flushed under the bronzing of his complexion, and sexual hunger flickered in his rapacious gaze. But she saw something else in those golden eyes, something wary and very determined.

 
“What is it?” she whispered.

  “I want your decision, Marissa. Of your own free will. Do you agree to be my mistress, or shall I send word to your brother that I intend to collect the fifty thousand pounds he owes me?”

  For a moment she froze, stupefied, then she wrenched herself free of his grasp. Anger and shame flooded her body in equal parts. “Go to hell,” she blurted out.

  His lips curled back in a predatory grin. “Most likely I will, but I don’t care. As long as you do what I ask. You have until tonight to make up your mind. I’ll send my carriage to Joslin House to fetch you. Eight o’clock, shall we say?”

  She snatched up her bonnet and reticule and stumbled to the door.

  “I’ll be waiting,” he said.

  His mocking laugh followed her from the room.

  Berkeley Square, London

  It had taken her thirteen years, but Marissa finally acknowledged how much she hated her brother.

  Edmund lumbered across his richly appointed study, his jowly face red with ill-contained fury. He halted before her, smelling of port, snuff and outraged dignity.

  “I will be ruined, I tell you,” he blustered. “Forced to sell everything if that bloody bastard calls in those loans. This is your fault, Marissa. You should have been able to talk him out of it. He was your lover.”

  “Keep your voice down,” she hissed. “Do you want everyone in the house to know that?”

  He gave her a sizzling glare but his voice subsided to a dull roar. “Father should have killed Barnett years ago, when he had the chance.”

  Marissa dug her nails into her palms. “You almost did. You and Father. And for what? The only sin Anthony ever committed was to love me.”

  “Is that what you call it?” he sneered. “I never understood how you could let him touch you, much less rut on you like a barnyard animal. You, the finest catch in London during your first season. What a fool you were, to have debased yourself with that country bumpkin.”

  She itched to slap him, but refused to sink to his level. “I loved him, and he loved me, Edmund. Anthony was the only person who loved me after Mother died. God knows I never had a tender word from Father or you.”

  “What did you expect after you behaved like a whore? If Father hadn’t acted decisively, no respectable man would have married you. As it was the damage was done, but at least it was too late for Paget to do anything about it.”

  He cast her a black look, then flopped into a leather club chair, which creaked ominously under his weight.

  “Not that it did us any good to marry you off to Paget,” he whined. “I still have to support you and your daughter. And now I stand to be ruined, all because you succumbed to your craven lusts.”

  Marissa thanked God there were no pistols within reach, because she likely would have added murder to her list of sins. Edmund had flung these horrid accusations at her more times than she could count. They had always made her sick with shame and regret, beating her down until she almost believed them herself.

  But not any more. She was done with shame – and with her brother if he didn’t own up to his own failings, and the mess he had made of the family finances.

  “What do you intend to do?” she asked. “Anthony wants an answer by tonight.”

  His jowls actually quivered with indignation. “Not a thing. You created this problem, Marissa. It’s up to you to save the family. If you can’t persuade Barnett to forgive the loan or give me sufficient time to pay it back, then you must give him what he wants. Family honour demands it.”

  His callous words sent anger and shock surging through her body.

  “Family honour! Are you mad? I shall be ruined.”

  “You were ruined long ago, dear sister. It pains me that the world will now be made aware of that fact but, thanks to you, we have no other choice.”

  The taste in her mouth was so foul, she could have spit. Her brother would rather abandon her to a sordid fate than take responsibility for his own foolish mistakes.

  She forced herself to remain calm, though her heart banged against her ribs. “Edmund, there’s always a choice, good or bad. You chose all those years ago to destroy Anthony’s life when he was little more than a boy. Your present situation is of your own making. I am not the person who drove the estate into debt, and I am not the person who should beg for Anthony’s forgiveness. You should.”

  He regarded her with contempt. “Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t soil my good name by going anywhere near the man. But since you’re already damaged goods, I suggest you do whatever you can to avert this disaster. For your family’s sake.”

  He looked over at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece. “You’d better get ready. Barnett’s carriage will be here soon enough.” Edmund heaved himself up from his chair and crossed to his desk. Without giving her a second glance, he began shuffling through some papers.

  A cold disgust settled in her chest. Anthony was right. Edmund had earned his destruction and, if not for Antonia, Marissa wouldn’t have lifted a finger to help her brother.

  “Edmund.”

  He looked up, irritation wrinkling his balding pate. “What now?”

  “I will do as you insist, but let us be clear about my daughter. You and your wife will care for her as if she were your own. Anthony has offered to settle a handsome allowance on her, but Antonia must have a home, is that understood? She cannot come with me.”

  Edmund seemed genuinely shocked. “Of course not. I wouldn’t let the girl anywhere near that bastard. He’s already done enough damage to the family’s good name, as have you. Antonia will be much better off with us.”

  The old shame threatened to creep back into her heart, but she beat it back. Antonia had always been loved and protected, much more than Marissa ever was.

  She turned on her heel and marched from the room, slamming the door behind her with a satisfying bang. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes until she could fold her rage into a neat little bundle and put it aside for later. But, as the anger faded, the implications of what would happen next swept through her like a howling gale, sucking the air from her lungs.

  A small, sharp voice brought her up short. “Mamma, are you ill?”

  She spun around to see Antonia standing in the curve under the entrance hall staircase. Her daughter inspected her, eyes wary and bright with concern.

  “Antonia, what are you doing there?” Marissa asked more sharply than she intended. “You weren’t eavesdropping again, were you?”

  Those golden eyes widened, the picture of offended innocence. “No, Mamma, of course not,” Antonia protested. “I was just coming up from the kitchen. Cook made gingerbread today.”

  Her beautiful girl held up a thick piece of fragrant cake. She looked so pious that Marissa gave a reluctant laugh.

  “Very well, my love. I believe you. This time. But you know very well you shouldn’t be snooping about the entrance hall.”

  Her daughter’s face split into an enchanting grin. She took a healthy bite of the gingerbread, ignoring the motherly reprimand.

  Antonia’s slight figure went fuzzy as Marissa blinked away the tears blurring her vision. How in God’s name could she ever leave her own child behind? The pain of it just might kill her.

  She silently scolded herself for the momentary weakness. What she did, she did for Antonia. To keep her safe, untainted by the mistakes of her family. It was Marissa’s choice, and the only one that made sense.

  “Come along, darling,” she said, forcing a smile. “I must go out soon, but there’s still time for us to read a story together.”

  Antonia slipped a warm hand into hers as they mounted the stairs. “What were you and Uncle Edmund talking about, Mamma?”

  Marissa frowned, trying to look stern. “Nothing you need to know. You’re far too curious, Antonia. It’s not at all ladylike for you to pry into other people’s affairs, especially those of your elders.”

  Antonia looked aggrieved. “But no one ever tells me anything.”
>
  Marissa ran a gentle hand over her daughter’s glossy curls. She would have to tell the child everything, and soon enough. But not tonight.

  The words caught in her throat. “You should be happy that they don’t.”

  Russell Square, London

  Marissa stood quietly before him, garbed in a grey, modestly cut evening dress – a perfect example of an aristocratic widow, so untouchable she might as well have been on the moon. But touch her Anthony would, and soon. In fact, it would be a miracle if he didn’t pull her down on to the carpeted floor of his study and shred every article of expensive clothing from her body.

  Even if it made him feel like the most callous brute in England.

  “There’s no need to stand on ceremony,” he said. “Please have a seat.”

  She frowned and remained where she was, likely because his suggestion came out sounding like a command.

  He sighed. “Marissa, I would rather you not stand there like a disobedient child waiting for a scold.”

  She made a small, scoffing noise but took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the sofa. Her trembling fingers betrayed her nervousness. He thought he should be deriving some satisfaction from that, but he wasn’t.

  Ever since she left his offices that afternoon, he had been struggling with a growing sense of remorse. He didn’t like it. But her outburst had forced him to consider that Marissa probably had been a target of her father’s retribution, just as she claimed. He was a fool for not realizing that sooner, but the wounded boy of thirteen years ago had lacked the understanding that came with being a man.

  Not that Anthony was ready to forgive her – at least not yet. The possibility still existed that she was trying to manipulate him with her tale of woe. Better to wait and hear what she had to say.

  And he hoped to God she said yes. He had been in a painful state of arousal all afternoon, all because of one damn little kiss that hadn’t lasted much more than a minute.

  “Something to drink? A sherry, perhaps,” he offered. Whatever she had to say, alcohol would make it easier for both of them.