The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance

by Trisha Telep

  Francis opened her mouth to protest that she was fine, when it occurred to her that Jared was offering her the perfect opportunity. “If you think that’s best.” She gave Jared what she hoped was a sickly smile.

  When he went to see the innkeeper, she thought through the details of her scheme and ate every remaining morsel of ham. When Jared returned to the dining room, Francis was ready. He led the way up the stairs to a chamber on the second floor, and she leaned heavily on his arm.

  When the innkeeper unlocked the door for them, Jared startled her by taking her up in his arms. The innkeeper stumped away, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

  Francis wriggled in his arms, trying to get down. “For heaven’s sake, what will he think of us?”

  He winked at her. “Nothing to concern yourself with, Mrs White.” Giving her a teasing smile, he slung Francis on to the narrow bed. Then he strode to the door and closed it. “Can I get you a glass of wine?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Jared leaned over her to unfasten the top clasps at the back of her gown, and then he loosened her hair. “Now you should be more comfortable.” He straightened up. “I’ll go now, and let you sleep a while.”

  Francis stiffened. Jared’s plan must be to escape with the ruby while she was feeling weak, unable to summon any help. She caught his hand. “Oh, no, please stay with me.”

  He gave her a quizzical look. “You need to rest.”

  She mustered the most pitiful expression she could. “I’m scared.” She gave a little shiver, and blinked at him. “Please stay.”

  Jared sank back down on to the bed. “Shhh,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her.

  Francis sighed and nestled against his firm chest, flooded with a delicious sense of well-being. Scoundrel that he was, Jared’s gentle touch had an immediate soothing effect on her. Cuddling closer, Francis felt her cheek brush against a lump in the pocket of his vest. It was time to put her plan into action. She tugged at his shoulders, pulling herself up so her face was level with his. Jared’s sleepy eyes flickered. Encouraged, she brushed the tip of her finger across his lower lip. “Kiss me,” she said.

  He barely touched his mouth to hers, the movement so tender that Francis melted against him.

  “I want you.” Her words came out in a husky whisper.

  Suddenly, they were tangled together on the bed, his hot kisses depriving her of breath. Francis gave in to the wild pleasure of tasting him, letting her senses swim. Jared drew away and gave her a long, serious look. Francis stiffened, remembering her purpose. Whatever it was that Jared seemed to want to say, it could wait.

  “Come, darling,” she murmured, drawing closer and toying with his cravat.

  Jared’s breath came in a hot burst against her cheek. She felt for the buttons of his waistcoat and the top button gave, and then the next. Francis slipped her hand inside, moving her palms in a slow circle against Jared’s chest. He moaned. His nipples were highly sensitive, she had learned. When she continued the sensuous massage of his chest, Jared arched his back. Fighting the impulse to plunder him in a different way, Francis claimed his attention with a kiss. At the same time, her fingers probed the inner pocket of his waistcoat. She moved her lips to his neck, and Jared closed his eyes. Quick as a flash, she curled her fingers around the Panchamaabhuta. Retracting it from his inner pocket, she sealed his mouth with a last, hot kiss, and slipped the ring into her décolletage. Then she levelled an assessing glance at him. Jared’s eyes were still closed, his lashes fluttering against his cheek. A pang of longing shot through her at the sight of his golden beauty. His firm chin, full sensuous lips and dark tan were in stark relief to his tousled blond hair, giving him the look of a dark angel. Francis stared at him for a moment, as if she were memorizing him. Then she refastened the buttons of his waistcoat and pulled away.

  Jared blinked his eyes open.

  “Good heavens, I left my wrap downstairs,” Francis said, wringing her hands.

  “What?” There was a glassy expression in Jared’s wide green eyes as if she had pulled him from a pleasant dream.

  “The woollen wrap, with red flowers on it.”

  Jared’s brow was furrowed. “You don’t have it now?”

  “No. When I was feeling dizzy before, I must have left it on the bench. Do please go down and get it for me.” Francis took his hand and pressed it to her cheek.

  “Later.” Jared lunged forwards, claiming her mouth in a deep, possessive kiss.

  She pulled away from him, breaking the kiss. “Someone might steal it. First my ring, and then my wrap. I couldn’t bear it.”

  Her words seemed to have pricked Jared’s guilty conscience, for he let go of her and rose to his feet. “Very well. But I’ll expect a reward for it when I get back.” His roguish grin flashed at her, then he slipped out of the room. The door closed shut behind him.

  Francis waited for a moment, her heart pounding, and then she cracked the door open and looked out cautiously. The hall was empty. Gathering her courage, she darted to the stairs. She took the stairs two at a time on her way down. It would take Jared time to find the shawl she had hidden beneath the bench in the dining room, but there was always the possibility that he would catch her on the stairs. The thought made her pulse race. Francis breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the foot of the stairs and saw no one at the bottom save a maid carrying a stack of linens. Jared must still be in the dining room. The server had revealed there was a back entrance out of the inn, and Francis scurried towards the back passage of the hostelry. She gave a silent cry of thanks when she reached the wooden door at the end of the hall. It pushed open and she darted through it.

  She took one wild look around her to get her bearings, and then she plunged into the street. It wasn’t until she reached an intersection that she paused to catch her breath. Francis knew Bath fairly well; for it was there that she had met Robert. She had a fair idea of where she was and, looking up, she used the distant clerestory of the Bath Abbey Church as her guide. Anxious to put as much distance between herself and Jared as possible, she plunged down the cobblestone street in the direction of the abbey. The office of Mr Davis was located on York Street, not far from the ancient cloister. Every footfall and call behind Francis seemed to be Jared running after her in hot pursuit, and she pounded down the web of narrow cobbled paths as if her life depended on it.

  A small building on York Street had Mr Davis’ name on the door in gold lettering. Francis burst through the door, panting. A severe-looking man with greying hair rose from his desk, giving her a startled look. Francis knew she must look a sight with her hair half undone and a gap in the back of her dress where Jared had unfastened it. She took a gasping breath. “I read the advertisement in The Times. I am here to sell the Panchamaabhuta.”

  The gentleman gave a curt nod. “Then you have come to the right place.”

  “Thank heavens for that. Are you Mr Davis?”

  “Yes. And you are?”

  “Mrs Spencer.”

  A slow smile spread over Mr Davis’ face. “Where is the ring?”

  Francis looked down at her hand, but there was nothing there. She remembered that the ring was still in her décolletage.

  Mr Davis was looking at her expectantly.

  Francis shifted from one foot to the other. “It is hidden on my person. Please avert your eyes while I retrieve it.”

  Mr Davis raised his eyebrows but obligingly turned his back.

  Her cheeks burning, Francis extracted the ruby from her undergarments. Then she straightened her dress. “Here it is.” Mr Davis had turned round to face her, and she held the Panchamaabhuta out to him. “Is it the ring you were looking for?”

  Mr Davis lifted the star ruby up to the light. He examined it for a long time as Francis watched, her heart in her throat. At length, he handed it back to her. “I believe this is the one. The inscription and the gem are just as my client described. But he will have to judge for himself.”

  “Your clien
t?” Francis gave Mr Davis a bewildered look.

  “I am a solicitor, Mrs Spencer. My client commissioned me to find the ring for him.”

  “Who is this gentleman?”

  Before Mr Davis could answer her question, the door of his office opened, and Jared burst into the room.

  Francis gave a frightened squeak. Jared’s hair was dishevelled, and he was panting. There was a wild look in his eyes. When he caught sight of her, he gave a little cry of triumph. “There you are. What the devil happened to you?”

  Francis backed away from him, trembling.

  Jared strode forwards. “Why did you run away? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” He sounded furious.

  Francis darted an appealing look at Mr Davis, but he stood passively watching her and Jared, a bemused expression on his face.

  Francis gathered her courage and turned to look Jared squarely in the face. “I couldn’t let you keep my ring. I came to Bath to sell it to Mr Davis.”

  Jared’s eyebrows shot up. A snort of incredulity escaped him. Then he hunched over, his shoulders shaking. As Francis watched, perplexed, Jared collapsed in a paroxysm of laughter. His mirth went on for some time.

  Mr Davis cleared his throat. “I was about to send you word that your ring had been found, but it seems you already learned that for yourself.”

  Jared chuckled. “Thank you, Davis. It seems your work is done.”

  The familiar tone of Jared’s voice registered. Francis looked from him to Mr Davis as it dawned on her that the two men were acquainted with each other. Her teeth clicked together, the pieces of the puzzle forming together in her mind. Jared was Mr Davis’ client. Her perilous quest to Bath had been all for nothing. It was Jared who had put the announcement in The Times in the first place and, all this while, he had been making a May-game of her.

  Francis gave a little sob, and rushed to the door.

  “Francis!”

  Heedless of Jared’s cry, Francis plunged into the street, narrowly missing a collision with a hackney. The driver shouted insults at her, but she ran on. It wasn’t until she almost barrelled into a tall gentleman in the square that she realized Jared had overtaken her.

  He grasped her shoulder. “Francis, please.”

  “All right!” Francis pulled the ruby ring off her finger and held it out to him. “Go ahead, take it. Just promise you will leave me alone!”

  But Jared didn’t take the ring. All traces of his former mirth were gone. He stood staring at her, his eyes dark with emotion. “It’s not the Panchamaabhuta I want. It’s you.”

  Francis stiffened. “I don’t believe you.”

  Jared shuffled from one foot to the other. “You make it deuced difficult on a fellow. Every time I try to declare myself, you run away.” He looked down at the ground. His confidence seemed to have deserted him. Francis examined his averted face, suffused with red, and realized with a chill that Jared was in earnest.

  “You want to marry me?” Her voice squeaked in surprise.

  Jared scuffed his shoe on the cobbles. “I’ve made a right mull of this. I don’t blame you for telling me to go hang.” He darted a quick glance at her, and a shudder ran through Francis. Jared’s heart was in his eyes.

  “I thought you only wanted the ruby.”

  “That was true at first.” Jared frowned. “It’s a family heirloom. It drove a wedge between my father and me, when I foolishly let go of it, years ago. Father’s sick now, and I promised him that I would go back to England and try to get the Panchamaabhuta back.”

  Francis crossed her arms. “What do you mean, get it back? Robert didn’t steal it from anyone.”

  “I know that.” Jared grinned. “We roomed together at Oxford. I lost the ring to Robbie in a game of faro. Then I went back to Calcutta to join in my father’s business, and we lost touch.” His grin faded. “I looked Robbie up as soon as I got back here, and learned he had been killed. I tried to see you, but your friends gave out that you had disappeared.” Francis nodded. After her dismissal by Colonel Burroughs, she had been too proud to seem to be begging from her old friends, and had moved from one cheap lodging to another, trying to find employment. Jared pressed her hand. “I am so very sorry for your loss.”

  “Not so sorry that you didn’t try to take advantage of me,” Francis flared up. “You snuck into my room, and stole the ring from me when I was sleeping!”

  Jared shrugged. “I couldn’t get a word out of you at the tap. And there was something furtive about the way you kept looking around, and covering up the ring. You gave your name out as Taylor. I thought you had stolen the ring from Robert, or his widow.”

  Francis glared at him. “You only suspected me of stealing the Panchamaabhuta because that’s what you would have done yourself. I haven’t forgotten your story about the road bandit!”

  Jared gave her a mischievous smile. “Harmendra is my great-uncle, and he was a bandit, as I told you. Kamalakshi scandalized the family by taking on an Indian name when she married him. In return, Harmendra got into a more honourable line of work. In time, my father went out to join him in the business, and then I followed.” Jared’s eyes glittered with amusement. “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m merely a spice importer for a medium-sized British-Indian enterprise. I have to travel a great deal, and the climate where I live is oppressive and unhealthy to say the least.” A wistful look came over his face. “Most British women wilt over there, after a few years, and have to go back home. They can’t take the heat and the strangeness of India.”

  Francis tilted up her chin. “I’m not afraid of a little heat. I climbed the Pyrenees on horseback when we marched on France. And I don’t mind living abroad either. What I don’t like is deceit.”

  “Indeed?” Jared raised his eyebrows, and Francis flushed, remembering how deceitful she had been herself when she stole the ruby back from him earlier. She bit her lip. “I wouldn’t have had to trick you if you hadn’t stolen my ruby again. Why did you do it?”

  Jared fiddled with his cravat. “Because it was the only way I could keep you at my side. I seemed to be incapable of making an impression on you, but the ring drew you to me like a magnet!”

  Francis couldn’t help giggling at this. “You must have realized at least that I was attracted to you. Why didn’t you just tell me what you were about?”

  Jared groaned. “Because I lost my head every time I was with you. Instead of getting out the words, I made love to you, and then you disappeared.” His intent green gaze captured hers. “It cut me to the quick when I woke up this morning and found you had gone. You went off with that farmer, and left me flat.” Jared frowned. “Then I remembered Kamalakshi’s story. When I came of age, she gave me one of the rubies from her comb, telling me that the Panchamaabhuta would lead me to my heart’s desire. It’s a kind of myth in our family.” Jared shrugged. “I thought it was all a load of moonshine until last night.”

  “Now what do you think?” Francis asked, aware that her mouth was suddenly dry.

  Jared drew closer. “I think the Panchamaabhuta brought me a daring, adventurous woman to share my life in India. I want you, Francis.”

  Francis nodded, speechless with emotion. Jared crushed her against his chest. He kissed her for a long, breathless moment, and then let go. A catcall had sounded behind them.

  Francis was suddenly blushingly aware that they were standing in a crowded square. She pulled away from Jared.

  His grip only tightened on her. “Promise me you won’t run away again.”

  “I promise,” Francis removed the ring and slipped it on to Jared’s finger. The square ruby looked perfectly at home there on his firm hand, bronzed by the heat of India.

  He grinned. “Father will be pleased.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting Aunt Kamalakshi.”

  He groaned. “She’ll be insufferable now. Before I left Calcutta, she told me that when I found the Panchamaabhuta, I’d find my bride.”

  “The ring called you to me, answering
my heart’s desire,” Francis said.

  Jared gave her an impish smile. “Well, thank heavens for that.”

  Angelique

  Margo Maguire

  One

  Berkshire – July 1819

  The honourable Miss Angelique Drummond was so furious she could have spit. But ladies did not spit, either in public or in private, no matter how despicable their fathers might be. Even their deceased fathers.

  “I do not understand the rush, Angelique,” said Minerva Drummond, querying her after their maid had fallen asleep. “My brother is not yet cold in his grave and here we are, flying off to Berksh—”

  “’Tis two weeks since Father passed away, Aunt Minerva. And after what he’s done . . .”

  Angelique tamped down the grief that threatened to overwhelm her, and allowed her anger to surface. She refused to grieve for her irresponsible, unfaithful sire who’d written his will so that she would be forced to beg for funds from the one man to whom she had not spoken in two years and refused to speak to now.

  Her father, Viscount Derington, had lived his life frivolously, squandering his wealth so that he was in possession of very little beyond his entailment at his death. The meagre annuity he’d left his only child would be just enough to keep her and Minerva from the streets, but it was an unforgivable insult that he had not put her in charge of it.

  He’d left the funds under the control of the Duke of Heyworth! Angelique ground her teeth in frustration at the thought of dealing with her former fiancé.

  “I do not understand why you are so upset.”

  Angelique looked squarely at her aunt and tried to be patient. Minerva was her father’s elder sister, but never the sharpest needle in the basket. Angelique knew she was still grieving the loss of her younger brother.

  “You remember two years ago,” Angelique said, “when I – well, when Father and I – accepted Heyworth’s marriage offer?”

  Minerva’s brows came together. “You seemed pleased at first. It seemed such a perfect match, and yet you left London before your nuptials. You upset your father . . .”