The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance

by Trisha Telep

  “The bottom left drawer is locked.” Stephen’s voice held an audible sigh. “I’ll do my best, but I think this is all confirmation that I should hold to my chosen profession as a solicitor and help uphold the law rather than break it.”

  “It isn’t theft to take what should be yours,” Sabrina pointed out.

  “Rationalization has its place. I suppose this is one of those occasions.” He bent down and went to work on the drawer. The scrape of the picklock came clearly, the little clicks loud in the otherwise quiet, shrouded room.

  If we are caught . . .

  No, they wouldn’t be, Sabrina assured herself, replacing a small statue of Isis on the mantel. It was a huge house, all the servants were abed, His Lordship had left for London that morning, and this was the perfect time to regain the documents.

  It felt like an hour but was probably only a few minutes before Stephen said, “There it goes. I’ve got it open. You’d best come over here. I am not as confident of recognizing what we’re looking for. Is this it?”

  She crossed the room, handing him the lantern, excitement making her heart beat rapidly. In the bottom of the drawer was a leather pouch, and, sure enough, as she lifted it out with shaking hands, her father’s initials were engraved on the front of it.

  How many times had she watched him tuck away a bit of vellum into that pouch? How many times had he turned to her, his quick, affable smile curving his lips, his face alight as he talked of the latest discovery?

  Tears blurred her eyes and she had to clear her throat as she untied the leather strings that kept it closed and saw his familiar scrawl across the papers inside. “This is it. I knew his notes were here.”

  Stephen touched her shoulder. It was light, just a brush of his fingers, but it was comforting. “Even if this is the most reckless thing I can remember doing since you talked me into trying to fly by jumping out of the top of one the tallest trees on your father’s estate, I’m glad we came. However, in the interest of prudence, I think we shouldn’t linger. An undetected escape would make me feel much better than the broken leg I suffered after the misbegotten flying attempt.”

  Sabrina gave a muffled laugh. “I felt awful. If you remember, I was most contrite and came over every day with sweets I wheedled from our cook while you recovered. I’m surprised you didn’t emerge from that injury as fat as a piglet.”

  “Yes, well, let’s reminisce over our childhood escapades later, shall we? I think we should just go out the window. Either way, His Lordship is going to know he’s been robbed. Going back through the house carries more risk.”

  He was undoubtedly right. Stephen was always right. It was infuriating at times, actually. She was the impulsive one; he was the steady logical antithesis of her personality. Where she had dreams . . . Stephen had plans.

  She followed him to the window. He unfastened and lifted it, a tall, lean form in the dim light. He looked outside and then eased over the sill to drop into the dying autumn garden below. As she sat and swung her legs over, he turned to catch her, the leather case clutched in her arms. Stephen quickly lowered her to the ground. Her hand firmly grasped in his, he practically dragged her across the lawn of the park to the edge of the wooded area where they’d left their horses. In a swift motion he lifted her into the saddle of her mare, swung on to his own horse, and they walked at first back towards the road, where they urged their mounts to a trot. It was a clear evening, but cool, a hint of chimney smoke in the air and a scattering of stars above in the velvet sky.

  “There’s an inn a few miles on.” Stephen glanced over, his face chiselled to planes and hollows in the indistinct illumination. “Bloomfield is in London and so it isn’t as if we have to avoid heated pursuit. At a guess, no one will know anything is amiss until his return. Even then he can’t really raise a hue and cry over what he supposedly never had in the first place.”

  For a man who had been firmly opposed to her plan and had to be coerced into helping, he certainly sounded smug now that the deed was done and the mission successful. Sabrina arched a brow. “True. It’s rather a perfect crime in my opinion.”

  “Humph. No such thing,” Stephen argued, all smugness fading from his voice. “We have the advantage of his lack of desire to make a scandal over this, but on the other hand, he is going to know for certain who invaded his house to take those notes and letters, Sabrina. There still could be retaliation, as this will ruin his career. He’s already proven himself to be underhanded. Let’s not underestimate him.”

  She didn’t. There was no question her father’s former partner was greedy, manipulative and wily.

  But she’d won, she thought in elation as they spotted the lights of the inn down the darkened road. She’d won.

  He was a blackguard. A knave. A lustful fool.

  Stephen Hammond opened the door to the small room at the top of the stairs and motioned his companion inside.

  If you seduce her, you’ll forever know you got what you wanted through coercion. Shouldn’t it be fairly won? The annoyingly chivalrous voice in his head, one he’d heard too many time before, spoke in strident tones.

  Damn that voice.

  Sabrina walked in a few steps, her cheeks looking suspiciously flushed, her eyes holding an accusing look. “You told the innkeeper we were married.”

  So he had. Step one in his diabolical plan. Except really he hadn’t had a plan at all until she’d come to his office in London a few days ago and asked him to help her on tonight’s ridiculous quest, so maybe that excused him at least a little bit. He’d even argued before capitulating and agreeing to take her to Surrey on their nefarious mission. It wasn’t really a surprise he’d given in, because by his recollection he’d never been able to deny her anything his whole life.

  And now they were here. Alone.

  “I had to,” he said smoothly, “if we are going to share a room.”

  A single lamp was lit and shone on her pale, blonde hair. Her face, the features delicate and feminine, drew into a frown. “Good heavens, Stephen, I would be fine by myself. There’s no need for you to watch over me like a mother hen. I’m two and twenty, not some schoolroom miss. This way, there’s only one bed.”

  Exactly.

  “You’ll have to sleep in a chair or on the floor,” she continued.

  Like bloody hell I will.

  “There weren’t any other accommodations,” he lied, committing what was the second sin of the evening but hopefully not the last.

  “Oh.” She looked uncertainly around the plain interior of the little room as if she could conjure another bed miraculously out of thin air. “I see. I suppose it is late and we don’t have much choice. I daresay riding on at this time of night would hardly be safe.”

  “Ah, do I see the aberrant head of practicality rearing?” He strolled casually – or at least he hoped it looked casual, for in fact he was about as nervous as he’d ever been in his life – towards the fireplace and tugged at his cravat, discarding it over the back of a worn chair. “How remarkable. I’ve long maintained you were born without the inclination.”

  “Don’t tease me,” she said with a laugh. “I refuse to be baited. Please admit this evening turned out perfectly.”

  Perfectly? Well, not yet, but he had hopes it would. “We didn’t get caught,” he admitted, “but it isn’t like we are free and clear either. When we are back in London, I’ll feel better.”

  Sabrina sank gracefully down on the edge of the bed. She wore a fitted dark-blue riding habit that exactly matched her eyes, and tendrils of curling golden hair had escaped her chignon and framed her lovely face. “I owe you a great debt.”

  “No, you don’t.” It came out clipped. Whatever happened between them this evening, he didn’t want to look at it that way, as if she was just grateful. He wanted her warm, willing, swept away . . .

  The trouble was that he wasn’t the type of man who swept women away. Yes, he had his share of experience with the other gender, but he wasn’t rakish, wasn’t dashing or
notorious. Instead he was the third son of a baron who had to work for a living because his family fortunes were modest at best. He’d known Sabrina since childhood because he was just three years older and they had grown up as neighbours, but he really wasn’t suitable for the daughter of an illustrious earl. Lord Reed had enjoyed a reputation for academic achievement and a sizeable fortune. At his death, his daughter had become an heiress and independent, not that Sabrina had ever been anything but independent since the day she could walk.

  Still, he loved her. Surely it should count for something.

  In his life, it was everything.

  “No, it’s true.” She sighed. “I might have told myself I could do this without you, but I’m not sure I would have.”

  “Sabrina, surely you know always I’d help you. There is certainly not a chance I’d allow you to attempt tonight’s folly on your own.”

  Her sudden smile was on the mischievous side, lighting her face. “I rather counted on that. I think if you will cast back to our conversation in your office last week, I might have slightly – just marginally, mind you – intimated that I would do this even if you didn’t come along. I suppose that could constitute as blackmail.”

  “You suppose right.” Stephen began to unbutton his shirt.

  “Of the most innocent sort,” she said defensively, her eyes following the motion of his hands, a tinge of incredulity entering her expression as if she just realized what he was doing. She stammered, “You . . . you are my best friend. Of course I’d ask you for help.”

  “Of course,” he echoed, slipping the last shirt button free and tugging the hem of the garment from his breeches.

  Her tone was faint now, her eyes wide. “Stephen! You are undressing.”

  “As I’m your best friend, then you won’t mind if I don’t sleep on the floor.” He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and sat down to take off his boots. “It occurs to me we’ve slept together before. What’s one more night?”

  Would he burn in hell for that one? Maybe.

  In a choked voice, Sabrina protested, “When we were very young children. I don’t think this is proper.”

  “Didn’t we just break into a man’s house and rifle his study? Please excuse me if I point out with all due logic that we are so past proper it makes me wonder at the meaning of the word.” He lay down on the bed and theatrically clasped his hands behind his head. The seeming nonchalance was undoubtedly belied by the telltale growing bulge in his breeches. Just the thought of lying next to her all night had a predictable effect on his libido. It was the curse of being male, for there was simply no hiding sexual arousal.

  Maybe she was too innocent to realize it.

  Only he was mistaken there. Her gaze narrowed in on that hardening part of his anatomy and he heard her take in a sharp breath.

  Two

  Her palms were damp, her breath fluttering in her throat. Sabrina stared at the half-naked man on the bed and felt as if he were suddenly a stranger. Oh, the familiar features of his face were the same: the clean masculine line of nose and jaw, the cheekbones and forehead and, of course, always, always those clear grey eyes under the arch of ebony brows. Stephen had a way of looking right through you if he wished, and his moods were clearly reflected in his striking eyes.

  The way he gazed at her now was not something she recognized and she’d known him her entire life.

  She was not completely naïve. Even after her father’s death, she had travelled fairly extensively: Italy, Greece, India, and several times to his beloved Egypt. Her Aunt Beatrice had been a perfect companion, proper but not stuffy, intellectually curious and equally eager to drink in the antiquities and history of each place. Instead of a London season, Sabrina had visited the catacombs, seen pyramids and ridden donkeys up steep mountain trails. Not all cultures were as proper as the English and during the course of such travels she had seen some indelicate things.

  She did her best to not look at the juncture of his legs, for there did seem to be an indelicate bulge there.

  “I . . .” she began to say but trailed off.

  “You?” he prompted after a moment, one brow lifted quizzically. His chest was muscular and defined as he clasped his hands behind his head and lay there in a relaxed pose. At the moment, he didn’t in the least resemble the staid, respectable solicitor she had visited in London just a few days ago. Nor was he the boy she remembered so well, so much a part of her life she’d simply taken him for granted.

  He was a man.

  And she was supposed to share this small room – and apparently that small bed – with him.

  All night long.

  “I forgot what I was going to say,” Sabrina confessed. “I must admit it didn’t occur to me we would have to stay overnight someplace. I suppose we might have planned better.”

  “Being novices at the art of burglary, I think we can be forgiven for the oversight.” Stephen’s gaze was intense, watchful. “But you are right, we are here now. Together.”

  Together.

  Why had she never noticed how handsome he was? she wondered frantically. Oh, she supposed she had seen that from the gawky boy she’d known as a child had emerged a very nice-looking man, but she really hadn’t ever thought about it. He’d gone to university, she’d embarked on her journeys with Aunt Beatrice while he was still at Cambridge, and they hadn’t seen each other nearly so much in the past few years. She spent the holidays with his family though, as a rule, and they just seemed to naturally pick up their friendship where they’d left it, without any awkwardness at all.

  Until now. This was deuced awkward because she had no idea what to do or even say.

  “Stephen.”

  “Yes?” A faint smile curved his mouth. Unfortunately, it made him look even more attractive.

  Stephen. Attractive. She was attracted to Stephen. It took a moment to assimilate.

  She blurted out, “I will be ruined if anyone finds out I spent the night with you.” It was a desperate stab at trying to sound calm and practical.

  “My dear Sabrina, you will be ruined if anyone finds out about anything we’ve done – or not done yet – this evening. Let’s be practical, you have jumped into possible scandal with both feet. I believe I pointed that out when you suggested this outrageous scheme back in London. You insisted we go ahead with it. For that matter, it will not do my career much good if our activities are discovered either.” She really hadn’t thought of that. He had to make his own living, for the Hammond family fortunes weren’t solid enough for inheritances for the younger sons.

  “It was selfish of me to ask you to help me,” she said, stricken.

  “Not at all. Let’s keep in mind I am a grown man and if I wished to refuse, it was an option all along. Maybe we are both reckless at heart or at least when we are together. Shall we continue the trend?”

  “What do you mean?” she mumbled, though she had a feeling she knew exactly what he meant.

  . . . or not done yet . . .

  A blush swept upwards, the heat climbing up her neck and scalding her cheeks. She stared at him.

  He looked back and didn’t explain.

  Really, there was no need. What was about to happen – yes, about to happen, for she found to her amazement she’d already made up her mind – would change her life and yet she found the decision to be easy; effortless even. Part of it was, as she had gotten older, she found her curiosity about the sexual experience had grown. However, a woman – especially the daughter of an earl – usually needed to marry to discover the answer. This was a rare opportunity. If she had thought of it, she might have propositioned Stephen herself. He was the one man who wouldn’t force her into matrimony if she didn’t wish it. Neither was he after the fortune her father had left her.

  Why hadn’t this occurred to her? If she wanted to discover for herself one of life’s most basic secrets, Stephen would be perfect.

  A certain exhilaration spiked through her, making her catch her breath.

  “Do yo
u remember when I learned to swim?” she asked, her voice sounding off-key, even to her. “I wanted to so much. You and your brothers looked like you had such great fun jumping in the river whenever you wanted while I had to sit on the bank and just watch. You coaxed me just to try it.”

  Stephen nodded. His eyes had gone from steel grey to stormy skies.

  “I believe I said I wasn’t frightened.” Sabrina started to unfasten her jacket. “I lied, you know.”

  “I know. I knew then you were at least a little frightened. Don’t you remember how I was right there, ready to help if you needed it?”

  Sabrina was surprised she could even still breathe. Her heart pounded and she seemed to have forgotten how to unfasten buttons. “You were a good teacher.”

  “I’m not ten now either, I’m twenty-five.” The words were said softly. “I’d like to think my instructional skills have improved.”

  Good heavens, she was really going to do this. Sabrina dropped her jacket on the floor, then she sat down, removed her half-boots and stockings before standing to unfasten her skirt with shaking hands. It slid off her hips, and she went to work on her blouse. In moments all she wore was a flimsy chemise.

  Stephen watched her disrobe, his lashes slightly lowered. When she finished – when she stood there doing her best to not visibly tremble – he extended a hand. “Join me.”

  It was symbolic. Join me. The inference was, of course, he wished to join with her in the oldest way a woman and man could be joined.

  Sabrina walked the few paces to the bed and placed her hand in his. Long strong fingers closed over hers and the matter was settled.

  This moment, the one he’d fantasized over countless times, was like a dream. Maybe, Stephen thought, his breathing was too shallow to supply the right amount of air to his brain so he was hallucinating. Maybe his heart jerking in erratic bursts in his chest made him lightheaded. Maybe all the blood in his body was concentrated in his growing erection and he hadn’t any left circulating in his veins.