Miss Fellingham's Rebellion

by Lynn Messina - Miss Fellingham's Rebellion

  He looked at her from beneath hooded eyes glinting with desire. “Ask me if that is all in that cold, indifferent voice you used last night. Because this time I can feel you trembling in my arms and because this time I won’t believe that you feel nothing at all. And I won’t walk off in a huff and resolve never to speak to you again. I know better now.”

  Recalling the scene at the Rivington ball, Catherine closed her eyes as the humiliation washed over her anew. How could this have happened again? Why did she have to dissolve uselessly every time he came within two feet of her?

  Deverill felt her tense in his arms and shook her quite violently. “Open your eyes,” he demanded, “and look at me, damn you.”

  She complied, responding reluctantly to the anger she heard in his voice.

  “We’re going to have this out once and for all,” he said, tightening his hold on her, “and neither one of us is leaving this carriage until we are well and truly engaged.”

  Catherine was so shocked by this announcement that she would later swear that her heart stopped beating for an entire minute. “Engaged?” she whispered. “But that’s madness.”

  “I don’t care. We will stay here all night if we have to. Of course,” he said, considering his plan, “such a development would leave you horribly compromised and you’d have to marry me anyway, but if you agree now, you will at least be able to pass a comfortable night in your own bed.” He pressed himself against her. “Not that this is such an awful alternative.”

  Catherine’s body responded to this closeness of his, but she refused to let desire cloud her thinking. ”I don’t want to marry you.”

  “Yes, you do. You are so in love with me that you can’t bear the thought of living without me,” he said confidently, “and yet you are going to give it a try because you think that I think that you’re the veriest quiz.”

  This was so close to the truth that Catherine shuddered. “’Twas you who said it,” she reminded him with considerable asperity.

  “Stop being so damn hen-witted,” he demanded. “If I did say that—and I’m not quite convinced that I did—it was months and months ago.”

  Amazed, she looked at him. “Months ago? My lord, it was only two weeks ago.”

  “Was it?” he asked unconcerned. “Well, it feels like a lifetime ago, which is all that signifies. And it’s completely unfair of you to hold that against me. What did I know then? How could I have known? I hadn’t a clue that Bella’s new project was the thoroughly charming woman I’d just met at the British Museum. When we did finally meet formally, in the park, if you recollect, while you were out for a drive with that puppy Pearson, I was most surprised to discover the truth. I’d already intended to pay you a call, you know. I’d given your direction to the driver and as such knew exactly where to find you.”

  Catherine’s heart tripped as she realized that he had felt it, too—that sense of connection that had struck her so strongly at the museum, though it was a mere shadow of what she felt now.

  “Really?” she asked, afraid to believe in what still felt to her like a fairy tale too wonderful to be true.

  “My dear remarkable, beautiful girl, what do I have to do to convince you that I love you?” he asked gently. “I have already saved your sister from a wretched marriage and your family from public disgrace. I have asked you to marry me. I have even agreed to ask Halsey who his tailor is as a favor to your brother. Surely, if that isn’t a sign of a besotted suitor, I don’t know what is.”

  She laughed softly at the last, for it did strike her as a rather extreme measure, and she recalled what Lady Courtland had said about the ladies he usually courted. Perhaps in his experience, she really was remarkable. “But this afternoon when I tried to broach the subject, you interrupted me,” she said, recalling the painful scene. “I screwed up my courage to declare my love for you right there in Lady Courtland’s drawing room and you told me to go home.”

  “My love,” he answered foolishly before enveloping her in another consuming kiss. “You must forgive me,” he said, when at last his lips were free. “I was still smarting from the insults you had dealt me the night before, and I am afraid my pride got in the way.” He hugged her tightly. “Really, to tell me that you were using me to meet other men! Neither my ego nor my heart could easily get over such a setdown. I will have to tread very carefully with you, my dear, for you are far too skilled at punishing me.”

  “I didn’t know I could hurt you,” she said, marveling that it was possible. “And what about you, my lord? What terrible things you said to me this morning. Calling me an ape leader to my face and stating outright that I should welcome an offer from Finchly. How could you believe that of me?”

  “I trust you’re not going to hold me accountable for the mad ravings of a jealous man. You cannot know what it’s like to see the woman you love coming out of the apartments of another man at an indecently early hour,” he told her, laying soft kisses along the nape of her neck until she could no longer think of a reason why he shouldn’t.

  Catherine thought in retrospect that it was a very likely possibility that they would have passed the entire night in the carriage after all had Evelyn not come pounding on the door. The two barely had a moment to separate before the door opened and Evelyn’s blond head popped in. But even though they managed to put a respectable distance between them, what they had been doing was readily apparent from their flushed faces and labored breathing.

  “Oh,” said Evelyn, momentarily taken aback but then forging on carelessly. “I just couldn’t wait any longer. Freddy told me the marvelous news, and I wanted to thank you both.” She leaped into the carriage and threw her arms around Catherine. “You are the finest sister in the world, and I am so horribly sorry for all the mean things I’ve said to you.”

  Despite her sister’s poor timing, Catherine was happy to see her. She had wanted to break the good news to Evelyn herself, but she should have known Freddy wouldn’t be able to wait. “I always knew you never meant it.”

  Evelyn kissed her on the cheek before releasing her. “And I know that’s bouncer, but thank you, dearest, for saying it.” Then she gave similar treatment to Lord Deverill. At first he was stiff with surprise, but after an almost comically helpless look at Catherine, he relaxed in Evelyn’s arms. After a few seconds, she let go. “I know it is not at all the thing for me to go around hugging strange lords, but since you are going to be my brother, I don’t think it at all exceptional.” Evelyn clapped her hands happily. “Oh, what a perfect evening. I am given an eleventh-hour pardon from a horrible life sentence—the details of which you will have to tell me yourselves since I don’t think Freddy quite understands all that happened—and you, my dearest sister, are proposed to by the handsomest peer of the realm. Mama is going to be so happy. Speaking of which, you have five more minutes alone in the carriage before Freddy comes out. He’s awfully worried about Catherine’s reputation and he was all set to come out here, but I insisted he let me. Freddy doesn’t have the deep understanding of matters of the heart that I do,” she explained confidentially before jumping out of the carriage.

  “Well, my lord,” said Catherine once her little sister had closed the door and restored their privacy—at least temporarily.

  “Well what, my love?” he asked softly, rejoining her on the cushion.

  “Five minutes isn’t a very large amount of time, and I am still not fully convinced that you want to marry me,” she said slyly.

  With a soft laugh, he gathered her close. “Don’t worry. By the time Freddy gets the bottom to come out here and pull you forcefully from my arms, you will be.”

  About the Author

  Lynn Messina is author of ten novels, including the best-selling Fashionistas, which has been translated into sixteen languages. Her essays have appeared in Self, American Baby and the New York Times Modern Love column, and she’s a regular contributor to the Times Motherlode blog. She lives in New York City with her husband and sons.

  The Ha
rlow Hoyden

  What good is a libertine if

  he won’t seduce your sister?

  Book One in the

  Love in Bloom series

  Available now!

  “[The Harlow Hoyden] was not only well paced but also well written. The dialog was witty, both internal and external, and there was no chance for dust to land on anything.…Though the novel has a breathless feel, the romance was not rushed.” —Romance Reviews Magazine

  “Messina’s skillful understanding of the genre, character development and the Reg Readers’ favorite tropes (a feisty hoyden heroine and a reluctant, terribly attractive rogue hero) are matched only by delicious action, funny scenes, and a satisfying ending.” —Regency Reader

  “If you are looking for a light read with tons of romance, humor (Messina really knows how to make you laugh), and a little Napoleonic intrigue, this is the book for you!” —Silver Petticoat Review

  “There’s a slew of fun in this book.” —Satisfaction for Insatiable Readers

  “Fans of historical romance will enjoy this offering and if you are not a fan of historical romance, but enjoy a fun and adventurous story with strong characters and witty dialogue, where villains are vanquished and good triumphs over bad, give this one a try.” —The Bookworm News and Reviews

  “The writing is fresh and descriptive. There are neat turns of phrase and witty groupings of words that will bring out a chuckle or two if not an outright laugh in places.…This is a well-known theme delivered in an entertaining and very original way.” —Toni V. Sweeney

  “I want the romance and [The Harlow Hoyden] delivers that in spades. It’s fun and humorous and love wins out, so who could ask for anything more!” —Romantic Reads and Such

  “The Harlow Hoyden by Lynn Messina is very well-written, contains interesting and convincing characters and is authentic enough to appeal to all lovers of Regency romance. The reader is quickly drawn in by the headstrong heroine, the fast-moving plot and the fabulous, scintillating dialogue. I smiled a lot when reading this book and there was never a boring moment or a moment I felt inclined to criticise. I read a lot of romance from this period and I would definitely recommend this book as being among the best that I have read.” —The Romance Reviews

  “This is a pleasant and refreshing story.…If you enjoy an unconventional, carefree, and very spirited heroine who takes responsbility for her own life and actions, then you will enjoy this engaging story.” —Romantic Historical Reviews

  Harlow Hoyden Chapter One

  CHAPTER ONE

  Miss Emma Harlow was so intent on her task that she did not notice the gentleman in the leather armchair. She didn’t see him lower his book, cock his head to the side and examine her with interest.

  “I say, is that the best way to do that?” the gentleman asked after a moment.

  Emma, whose feathers were never the sort to ruffle easily, even when she was behaving improperly in a place she didn’t belong—in this case, with her fingers around the stem of a prize Rhyncholaelia digbyana in the Duke of Trent’s conservatory—calmly turned around. Her blue-eyed gaze, steady and sometimes intimidating, met with an amused brown one. “Excuse me?”

  The gentleman closed the leather-bound edition, taking care to mark the page, and stood up. “Snapping the stem will ill serve your purpose,” he said, approaching.

  Emma watched him stride across the room, taking in his handsome features—the long, straight nose, the chiseled jawline, the full lips—and neat appearance. The unknown gentleman was tall, lean and given to easy grace. She liked the way he was dressed, simply and without affectation in buckskin breeches, shiny Hessians and white lawn. His shirt points were without starch and his shoulders without padding. Of course, she readily noted, his broad shoulders precluded the necessity of such foppish enhancements. His hair, a deep rich brown color that well suited his dark complexion, was cut short in the fashionable mode. “My purpose?” she asked when he was within a few inches of her.

  “Given the situation, I can only assume that you were overcome with admiration for this lovely and rare flower and sought to take it home with you to show off to all your friends in the Horticultural Society.” He didn’t wait for her to confirm or deny his theory but continued in the same conversational tone. “Surely as a member of that esteemed institution, you know that the only way to ensure that the flower lives is to cut it at the bulb through the rhizome.”

  At these words, Emma dissolved into delighted, unguarded laughter, and several seconds passed before she could respond intelligibly. “You must be the visiting country cousin the duchess spoke of!”

  A faint curve touched the gentleman’s lips. “I must?”

  “Yes, of course,” she insisted. “Who else in town would bandy about the word rhizome?”

  “Your logic is irrefutable. Indeed I must be the visiting country cousin. And who are you?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Come! You are standing here in the conservatory with me, as corporeal as I am. You’re hardly a ghost. Surely you wouldn’t have me believe such a whisker.”

  “No, not that sort of nobody,” she explained. “I’m nobody of importance. You needn’t bother asking my name because you will only forget it in a minute or so and then I will have to remind you, which will be a dreadful embarrassment for the both of us. Now do show me where the rhizome is so I may return to the party. I told Mama I would be gone only a minute and now it has stretched into five. Mama brought me here as a favor—she and I rarely socialize together—and I’d hate to do anything that would distress her.”

  Unaccustomed to orders and amused by the novelty, the gentleman complied. “The rhizome, my dear, is the stem usually under the—”

  “Sir, you are very kind to try to edify me on the topic of rhizomes, but I assure you I have little interest in learning about plants.”

  Feigning a look of disappointment, he said, “Very well. We will need a knife for the operation. I don’t suppose you brought one with you?”

  Emma laughed, a pleasant trilling sound that made the gentleman smile in appreciation. “Sir, I did consider smuggling a knife out of the kitchens, but a gently bred lady cannot wander the streets of London with a knife in her reticule. It’s just as well, of course, since my sister-in-law keeps very close watch over the family silver and I couldn’t bear it if a scullery maid was turned off because of my lack of resourcefulness.” Emma examined the room, considering the situation. Her gaze settled on the desk. “Perhaps you should search the drawers for a letter opener. Yes, that would be just the thing!”

  “Rifling through my host’s drawers is a very sad sack way of repaying his hospitality,” he observed.

  Emma stared at him for a moment before saying, “You make an excellent point, sir, and far be it for me to corrupt the newly arrived country cousin. Since I’m the one lacking in any sense of propriety, it’s best that I do my own dirty work.” The drawer was unlocked and glided easily open. “There,” she said, taking the long silver object in hand, “now we shall cut the rhizome and return to our separate occupations. No doubt Mama is wondering what happened to me.”

  The gentleman accepted the letter opener and was about to apply it to the plant when his hand halted in midair. “You know, Miss Nobody, I am suddenly struck with a vulgar bout of curiosity. What do you plan to do with this lovely flower after I finish cutting it?”

  “I will stick it in my reticule and return to the party,” she answered.

  The gentleman smiled. “And then?”

  Emma stared at the gentleman’s hand and tried to think of a convincing fiction. However, even as she closed her eyes and told herself to concentrate, nothing came to mind. “Then I will hand it over to my sister, who’s a great cultivator of orchids.”

  “If your sister is so great a cultivator of orchids, I wonder why she sent her sister to steal one of the Duke of Trent’s Rhyncholaelia digbyana.”

  Emma laughed at the thought of Lavinia sending anyone to do her evil
bidding. It was almost too ridiculous. “You misunderstand the situation, sir. My sister has no idea I’m here. Indeed, if she did, I imagine she’d be quite horrified.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “It is a sordid tale of malice and spite, which I think I had best keep to myself. We are new acquaintances, and I would loath to earn your disgust so quickly. It usually takes me a day or two to offend a man of your stature.”

  “Now you must tell me. I’m a curious fellow, and your speech has whet my appetite for the truth. We will not leave this room until I know the whole of it.”

  Miss Harlow sighed deeply and said, “The truth of it is that my sister is engaged to marry a man who does not approve of her pastime of raising orchids. Why not, I cannot fathom, since it is a genteel hobby and not at all down in the dirt like raising horses or chickens. If that were the case, then perhaps I could sympathize with his aversion. However, the wretched man is trying to make her withdraw from the Horticultural Society’s annual orchid show. My sister earned honorable mention in last year’s show, and she’s sure to win the blue ribbon this year. Alas, I fear her resolve is slipping under Sir—” Emma broke off her speech abruptly. It would not do to muddy the waters with names. “Under her betrothed’s constant disapproval. I merely wished to supply her with such an excellent example of an orchid that she won’t be able to resist participating. Everyone knows that the Duke of Trent grows the finest orchids in all of England.”

  “I suspect the duke would be much gratified by the compliment.”

  “I do not know. I’ve never met the duke. I know only his mother, the lovely and good-hearted dowager duchess. She was at school with my mother and was kind enough not to mind my coming today.” She looked toward the doorway, where the sound of chattering ladies could be heard drifting in. “Now, sir, can we please get on with it? It would be an awful embarrassment if anyone else were to find me in the conservatory with an ill-gotten letter opener in my hand. Mama would no doubt ring a peal over my head and send me to bed without supper. Then I would be tossed back to Derbyshire in disgrace.”