The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance

by Trisha Telep

  “Sylvester,” Amelia said softly.

  “Yes?”

  “If you ever again suggest that I barter my body to acquire the approval of society you may consider yourself an unwelcome guest in my home.”

  “Forgive me, my lady.” The blue gaze slowly returned to her face. “You are quite correct to reprimand me. It is all too common among ladies of the ton to take lovers. Your mysterious refusal to discuss your current paramour only makes you more intriguing.”

  Sensing the man was in need of a more crushing set-down, Amelia was abruptly distracted by the sound of raised voices echoing from the foyer below.

  “What the devil?”

  “It sounds as if an uninvited intruder is attempting to force his way past your rather terrifying butler. How very ill-bred,” Sylvester twittered, his brows lifting as Amelia turned to leave the drawing room. “My dear, where are you going?”

  “To put an end to this foolishness.”

  “But, he might be dangerous. God knows the streets are no longer safe for decent folk.”

  “Do not be absurd.” Amelia waved a hand towards the milling guests who had yet to notice the disturbance. “See to the guests. I do not wish them to be bothered.”

  “But of course, my dear.”

  Slipping into the hallway, Amelia hurried down the corridor to the marble staircase, startled to see her uniformed butler standing on the formal landing, his arms lifted as if he were holding back an intruder.

  Not that she could see anything beyond his hulking form. She had specifically chosen several large male servants to ensure her safety. Her butler in particular had once been a famed boxer who was capable of felling the most determined opponent.

  “Is there a problem, Boris?”

  “This here gentleman claims to be your husband,” the man growled, then he abruptly bent double, as if he had taken a brutal blow to the stomach.

  Amelia stumbled, her back slamming into the wall of the corridor as the tall, raven-haired gentleman shoved aside her cursing butler and prowled forwards.

  Her heart beat painfully against her chest as she studied the man who she had once been convinced she loved with all her soul.

  He was not conventionally handsome. His features were strong rather than refined, and his skin bronzed from the hours he spent on his estate. He had a broad, intelligent forehead and a noble nose. His mouth was carved with a sensuous fullness and his eyes a stunning gold that could shimmer with humour or smoulder with passion. And, as always, his raven hair was in need of a cut, making her fingers ache to run through the satin length.

  A shiver raced through her body, stealing away her arrogant belief that she was immune to the man who had crushed her youthful dreams.

  “Good evening, Amelia.”

  Her mouth went dry as her gaze lowered to his large, muscular body attired in a fawn jacket and buff breeches, his cravat tied in a simple knot. The Earl of Spaulding had no need of lace and fripperies to attract female attention. He possessed an innate male arrogance that was annoyingly captivating.

  “Justin,” she breathed.

  His lips curled in a humourless smile, his hooded gaze sliding down her stiff form with an unnerving intensity.

  “I suppose I should take comfort in the fact that my wife is capable of recognizing me, even if my staff does not,” he drawled.

  There was a movement behind him and Amelia hastily lifted her hand to halt her butler from attacking. “That will be all, Boris,” she commanded.

  The servant scowled, obviously smarting from being bested by a nob. “Are you certain?”

  Justin paused to glance over his shoulder. “Lady Spaulding gave you an order.”

  “I will handle this,” she snapped, bristling at his interference. She had become accustomed to being the lady of the manor, and she had no intention of handing over her authority to anyone. Especially not her treacherous husband. “Please return to your duties, Boris.”

  Boris shot the wryly amused nobleman a venomous glare before offering her a deep bow. “Yes, my lady.”

  Waiting until the servant had made his way back to the foyer, Amelia returned her attention to her unwanted companion, her stomach clenching with a bittersweet awareness as he moved to stand close enough for her to feel the heat from his large body and catch the tempting scent of sandalwood.

  Her hands clenched at her side. Damn him. She hated him, so how could he still stir her most primitive desires?

  “What are you doing here?” she rasped.

  “The last I knew this was the Spaulding townhouse, a home that has belonged to my family for the past century, is it not?”

  Her chin tilted at his mocking tone. “If you would have possessed the courtesy to inform me of your intention to travel to London I would have taken rooms in a hotel and ensured that you would have your privacy.”

  Without warning Justin shifted to place his hands flat on the wall on either side of her shoulders, effectively trapping her. “You mean that you would have cowardly fled as you did on our wedding day?” he demanded, his head slowly lowering. “That is precisely why I did not inform you of my impending arrival.”

  She flinched, the memory of that day seared into her mind.

  The brief, impersonal marriage ceremony before the Bishop. The long, silent carriage ride to the small inn where they were meant to spend their wedding night before travelling on to Rosemount, Justin’s estate in Hampshire. And then her impulsive flight back to London when she noticed the mail coach waiting in the stable yard.

  She could still feel the sick dread in the pit of her stomach as she had arrived at this townhouse and the hours she had paced through the shabby, dark rooms, expecting Justin to arrive at any moment.

  But he hadn’t arrived.

  Not that evening. Or the following evening. Or the one after that.

  Eventually she had accepted that her husband was content to have her in London while he settled at his beloved Rosemount. And why not? He had only taken her as his wife to salvage his heavily mortgaged estates. He was no doubt deeply relieved not to be burdened with his awkward, inconvenient wife.

  But no more relieved than she had been, she sternly assured herself. Why would she desire him to chase after her, pretending that she was anything more than a means to replenish his family coffers?

  Burying her pain and disillusionment deep inside her, Amelia had concentrated on building a new life for herself. First, she had overseen the renovations to the townhouse, ignoring any guilt at the vast changes she was making without regards to whether or not Justin would approve. The feckless Spauldings had allowed the place to fall into ruin. It was her money that had restored it to a habitable home. Why should she not choose what pleased her?

  Next, she had set about renovating herself. Without the oppressive yoke of her mother’s overbearing presence, Amelia had slowly emerged from her cocoon. She bought a new wardrobe and hired a French maid who was an artist with her hair. She slowly and carefully began opening her home to a select collection of friends, deliberately ignoring those in society who had treated her with such disdain over the years.

  She had been ironically aware that her hasty marriage to an earl, combined with her presence in London while her newly wed husband remained in Hampshire, had made her the source of avid interest among the ton. And the very fact that she refused to accept the piles of invitations that arrived with the post each morning only increased the fevered desire by London hostesses to secure her as a guest.

  Absurd dolts.

  Briefly lost in her thoughts, Amelia was jolted back to the present as she felt the brush of Justin’s warm lips over her mouth.

  Shocking pleasure exploded through her body, reminding her of those dazzling days before she had discovered the truth of this man. Amelia had never comprehended passion until she had first felt the brush of Justin’s slender fingers and the heat of his hard body as he had swept her across the dance floor. From that moment he had only to be near for her body to shiver with ac
hing need.

  She had blamed that shivering awareness for why she had been so easily deceived. If she hadn’t been so blinded by his sweet seduction, she might have been wise enough to realize his seeming affection was no more than a cruel ploy.

  Ridiculously, she had assumed discovering the truth of her husband’s treachery would destroy her vulnerability to his raw masculinity. Now she realized she had been a naïve fool.

  She hastily turned her head to the side, shuddering as his lips skimmed over her cheek and down the curve of her throat.

  “Halt that,” she husked, infuriated by the pleasure searing through her.

  “Halt what?” He pulled back to study her flushed features. “Greeting you as any husband would after being parted from his wife for the past year?”

  “We may possess a marriage licence, but that does not make me your wife,” she snapped.

  “No, I have yet to claim you as my true bride, but that is about to change.” The golden eyes smouldered with a wicked amusement. “Tonight.”

  Her heart came to a precise halt. “Justin—”

  “Do you know what today is?” he asked, overriding her protest.

  “No.”

  “Yes you do, my love.” His hand shifted to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing her lower lip. “It is the anniversary of our wedding.”

  She had known, of course. The thought had plagued her the entire day. Not that she was about to admit as much to her aggravating husband.

  Thankfully the sound of approaching footsteps had Justin stepping away from her, his handsome face tightening with anger as Sylvester appeared on the landing.

  “Is everything well, my dear?” Sylvester asked, his avid gaze taking careful note of Amelia’s obvious discomfort.

  “Leave us,” Justin barked.

  “Really, sir. There is no need to behave as a savage—”

  Sylvester’s words were cut short as Justin moved with astonishing speed to grasp the smaller man’s elaborate cravat. “I said, leave us.”

  Sylvester paled at the threat, intelligent enough to realize that Justin could crush him without effort. “Yes. Of course.” He held up his hands and backed away. “So sorry to have intruded.”

  Once again alone with her husband, Amelia slammed her hands on to her hips and glared at him with a rising fury. “Have you taken leave of your senses?” she hissed. “You cannot force your way into my home and embarrass me before my friends.”

  A feral smile curved his lips as he abruptly turned and, without warning, swept her off her feet. “Never underestimate what I can or cannot do, my love,” he growled, heading for the stairs.

  “No.” She slammed her fist against his chest. “Put me down at once. Damn you, Justin.”

  Climbing the marble steps to the upper floor, Justin glanced down at her with a lift of his dark brows. “Such language from the lips of a lady.”

  Amelia trembled, telling herself it was pure outrage that made her pulse race and her breath so oddly elusive. “But I am not a lady, at least not as far as you are concerned, am I?” she gritted.

  “I presume that has some deep, philosophical meaning?”

  “So far as you are concerned I am no more than a means to an end. You were in desperate need of wealth and I was a convenient means of acquiring a ready fortune.”

  “Convenient?” His humourless laugh echoed through the silence as he made his way unerringly down the hall to the master bedchamber. “Not even you can be that naïve, Amelia. You have haunted and tortured me for the past year.”

  “Liar.” She blinked back her ridiculous tears. She had sworn a year ago that this man would never hurt her again. “You have ignored me since you were given the rights to my dowry. I do not doubt you forgot you even possessed a wife.”

  A dangerous emotion darkened the golden eyes. “I was not the one to turn my back on our marriage.”

  Amelia nervously licked her dry lips, barely aware of Justin reaching down to shove open the door to her private rooms.

  “You made no effort to halt me from leaving,” she accused.

  His mouth tightened, as if she had struck a nerve. “I was stupid enough to hope that with time and distance your wounds would heal and we could begin again.”

  “You thought I would forget you seduced and tricked me into marriage?”

  “Do not pretend you were without your own selfish motives.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I was not alone in desiring what our marriage offered,” he drawled. “You were frantic to be independent of your mother.”

  Heat flooded her cheeks. She should have known he would have been perceptive enough to realize it would take more than the humiliation of being caught in a compromising position to force her into marriage once she discovered he was no more than a fortune-hunter.

  In truth, she had been determined to call an end to the hasty wedding once her supposed friends had arrived at her home to reveal that the gossips were busy whispering that Lord Spaulding had been quite cunning in acquiring the funds he so desperately needed. She would rather have withdrawn from society in shame than wed a man she hated.

  But, at the last moment, the thought of being forever trapped with her mother had halted her impetuous need to be rid of Justin. Mrs Uhlmeyer was not an evil woman. But as the daughter of a wealthy merchant who had managed to capture a husband who could move along the fringes of the ton, she had been obsessively consumed with her desire to see Amelia married to an aristocrat. She would have made her daughter’s life a misery if she were to decline a proposal from the Earl of Spaulding.

  “Fine,” she gritted. “We both have what we needed from our unholy union. So why are you here?”

  “Because I do not yet have everything I want from this marriage.”

  She frowned, a strange chill inching down her spine. “You have my money, I have nothing else to offer.”

  “You could not be more mistaken.”

  His smug expression made her wish she had the small pistol she carried in her reticule. Her frustration would be considerably eased by lodging a bullet in his arse.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “It is quite simple, Amelia,” he murmured. “I want a son.”

  Two

  Taking advantage of Amelia’s momentary shock, Justin carried her over the threshold and headed directly towards the canopied bed in the centre of the vast room.

  Laying her on the mattress, he briefly savoured the sight of his wife’s lustrous skin, which possessed the sheen of the finest pearl in the candlelight. Bloody hell, she was a tempting minx with her fiery curls tumbled about her delicate face and her green eyes filled with fury. Even when his wife had been a shy wallflower attired in the hideous gowns her mother had insisted upon, Justin had been acutely aware of her hidden beauty. It had caused more than one sleepless night. Now . . .

  Now her beauty had ripened, becoming even more breathtaking with the air of confidence she had acquired since he last caught sight of her.

  He swallowed a groan as desire slammed into him with the force of a kicking mule.

  Damn it. When he had made the decision to travel to London it had been with the full intention of taking his place as Amelia’s husband. In her life. And in her bed.

  But he had not intended to fall on her like a ravaging beast the moment he entered the house.

  Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, he forced himself to turn his attention to the connecting rooms that had once belonged to his parents. He was prepared for the lavender satin wall panels and delicate rosewood furnishings that had replaced the dark, decidedly ugly furniture preferred by his ancestors. He had, after all, been aware of every alteration made to the townhouse. A rueful smile found his lips. He might have been willing to give Amelia the time and distance needed to heal her wounds, but he hadn’t been prepared to leave her unprotected. Which was precisely why he had ensured that several members of her staff happened to be his own loyal serva
nts.

  “Lovely,” he murmured in genuine appreciation. “I knew that I could leave the renovations of this house in your capable hands. You have always possessed exquisite taste when not being ridden roughshod by your mother. I am anxious for you to turn your talents to Rosemount.” He turned back to watch Amelia scramble to sit upright, her eyes dark with an awareness she was clearly determined to deny. “Unlike my relatives I find little to be admired in shabby medieval furnishings and dour portraits of long-dead Spauldings. I wish you to make the manor house a home.” He paused, giving her a smile of anticipation. “Our home.”

  “I did not refurbish the townhouse to please you.”

  “And yet I am pleased.” His smile widened as his gaze lowered to the enticing curve of her breasts. “Very pleased.”

  Her chin tilted, but Justin did not miss her tiny shiver. “I want you to leave.”

  He reached to thread his fingers through her satin curls, which shimmered like flames against the pure ivory of her skin, his arousal pressing painfully against his breeches.

  “Not until I have what I have come for,” he said, huskily.

  “Are you batty?”

  His lips twisted. “There are many gentlemen who would consider me mad to have waited so long to take what is rightfully mine.”

  “Rightfully yours? I am not your property.”

  “No, you are my wife.” Barely aware he was moving, Justin settled next to her on the mattress, his fingers fisting in her hair as he was besieged by a surge of sheer male possession. He had waited for months to claim this woman as his own. He would wait no longer. “And soon to be the mother of my children.”

  He heard her breath catch. “So, that’s the devil’s bargain, is it? Never.”

  “Come, Amelia. You knew that we could not continue to live estranged.”

  “Why not? There are any number of couples who choose to live separate lives.”

  Justin bit back his instinctive words. He had known when he travelled to London that Amelia still harboured her bitter resentment. And that she was not yet prepared to accept what he had to say. He would have to tread with care.