The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 1

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  The small party looked up expectantly every time the door to the elegant burgundy dining room opened. They were all exceedingly relieved when Jonathan at last appeared, wind-swept and white with cold, but otherwise very much alive.

  Pamela's heart lurched to look at him. He was alive, but most certainly didn't look fine.

  He reassured them quickly. "Pray do not let me disturb you. I got lost," he lied. "I shall go up and wash and change if I may, Henry, and join you all in a moment."

  "I've laid out a few choices of clothing for you, Jonathan. Take your time," Henry said with a smile which did not quite reach his eyes.

  Jonathan bowed, and vanished once more.

  Pamela assumed he was distressed over the letter from his friend, and sighed. He was a good man, but felt things so deeply. If she was shallow like a ford, he was as deep as the English Channel, with all sorts of currents, eddies and swells she could scarcely fathom.

  She could understand him being worried and upset, perhaps even feeling guilty for having left the Peninsula before the war was over. But he had fought for so long, and his vocation had forbidden him from killing any longer. Perhaps he was sorry that he had not gone back to become an Army chaplain? Was he even now thinking of returning to the Continent?

  The thought was almost crushing in its impact. The prospect of not seeing him, being able to take his arm, his hand during a dance, was almost too much to bear. She put down her knife and fork, suddenly almost queasy.

  "Can I get you something else?" Clifford asked softly.

  She had been seated at his right, with Sarah across from her. The other woman was looking at her fixedly.

  "Er, no. I had so much dinner, I fear I cannot do this exquisite spread justice."

  She sipped her elderflower cordial thirstily to try to swallow the heavy lump that had lodged in her throat.

  "He'll be fine," Sarah said softly.

  If anyone noticed the edge of false hilarity as Jonathan returned twenty minutes later, they said nothing. They lingered at the table, picking at their food for form's sake to keep him company.

  "Oh, come now. Do please cheer up, all of you. I had no idea that going for a little walk would cast such a pall over the whole evening," he said in a jovial tone.

  "Pamela is here as our special guest, my particular friend. We mustn't have a sprightly young lady think we are always so dour. What about some dancing afterwards?"

  "Er, no, really," Pamela said with a shake of her head. "I wouldn't mind you giving me some lessons in chess, however. I know Father enjoyed it, but he said it was beyond most women."

  "Stuff and nonsense," Clifford said spiritedly. "Vanessa often beats me without even trying. And Sarah can most certainly give me a good game."

  "Oh, in that case perhaps she can teach me. Jonathan will want to talk to his friends here and--"

  "You're my friend. I've just said so. If Clifford has no objections to taking out his set, we can begin your lessons directly after supper."

  "Can I carry on knitting at the same time?"

  "Yes, easily."

  Pamela was as good as her word and continued to work on her contributions to the parcel for Michael Avenel in southern France. She studied the movement of each piece, and Jonathan encouraged her, and gave her an easy time of it.

  "You're letting me win," she accused softly at one point, looking up at him with gentle reproach in her eyes.

  He flashed her a dazzling smile that made her weak at the knees even though she was sitting down. "Beginner's luck, my dear. And I have to admit, it's more difficult at times to play with an amateur than a diligent player. The latter sees patterns on the board, standard moves and openings. The former is delightfully unpredictable."

  "Like most women," Henry said with a wink.

  "I've not known that many women, Henry, and neither have you, so I shall thank you not to embarrass Miss Ashton with rakish talk," Jonathan said curtly.

  Henry blinked. "No, indeed, I do apologize. Josephine was my childhood sweetheart, and I never indulged in any woman before marriage."

  "Would I could have been so circumspect."

  Pamela started in shock at his alarming candor.

  Jonathan gave a bitter smile. "There, you see, I have flaws, Miss Ashton. I was careful, there were no consequences, but I have not always lived up to the Christian ideal. That is all the more reason to try to do so now. Thus my quiet existence as a bachelor, and my fondness for chess and books."

  She blushed, wondering why he was making such a point of shocking her and calling attention to his single state again.

  "If it suits you well enough, Mr. Deveril, it is no one's business but yours," she asserted, trying to keep the pique out of her tone.

  What a waste... She found herself wondering what might persuade him to ever marry. A certain kind of woman? Smarter, more devout? Brunette, red-haired? If only she knew what she was lacking.

  Then she pulled herself up short. She was no more lacking that any of the men she was merely indifferent to were lacking. If there was no spark, it could not be forced.

  Except that she was sure there was one. Jonathan leaned forward, laughing and smiling, teasing her when she moved her bishop incorrectly, pointing out various possibilities she needed to consider as the game advanced.

  She certainly felt some sort of unusual heat which made her palms damp and the secret space between her thighs lambently moist.

  Could he possibly be immune to it? But no, when he looked at her, it was almost as if he was willing her to move into his orbit. All the lessons and books, and conversations, were they all not designed to bring them closer to one another? Like Pygmalion with his Galatea, was he creating her into his desired image?

  Yet at the end of the game, Jonathan urged Pamela to join in the general conversation, and always made sure that her point of view was given equal time with that of the others. He allowed her the freedom to express herself, and supported her even when he disagreed. He was trying to help her, but not coerce or force her to change her ways as so many domineering men would.

  Pamela continued to knit and he sat by her and watched, so close that she could feel the warmth radiating from his broad muscular thigh.

  The impression of growing intimacy despite what he had said was reinforced when he apologized quietly some time later. "I'm sorry if I shocked you before, Pamela. I just keep thinking of the problems you've had with Mr. Prine, and some of the other men in the district."

  She blushed, knowing he must have heard the gossip about Timothy Bridges at the last hunt. "I have learnt my lesson amply. Thank you for all your help."

  "I merely wish to see you safe. Married to someone who will be worthy of you."

  She quirked one brow. "According to you, I'm not very worthy. Far too frivolous, in fact."

  He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I have no right to judge. And I have never intended to censure your worth. I merely fear you having your head turned. Many women far more intelligent and seemingly canny have suffered the most dire fates trusting in men's hollow protestations."

  Pamela raised her brows. "And an equal number, I dare say, have been deceived with the opposite approach, that of the poor lonely bachelor pining away for the right woman to change his life."

  Jonathan stared at her almost angrily for a moment, then laughed. "A palpable hit, my dear. It's true. I've seen it work for many men. Their claim that they are dying due to loneliness does seem to pluck rather successfully at many women's heart-strings."

  He rose from his armchair. "I can see I shall have to be more careful about who I'm candid with. The last thing I would wish is for me to become an object of your pity. I've made my decision for a number of sound reasons of principle, and that shall never change."

  She quirked one brow. "Shall never, or will never?"

  Jonathan shook his head, bowed, and stepped away.

  Pamela sat blushing for a time, wondering how she had dared challenge him so. He had as good as warned her off yet again, ye
t still she had pressed him. And still he had stayed. Was it her imagination? Or did his steely gray eyes take on a special gentleness when he looked at her?

  Henry now came over to offer her a game of backgammon, and Pamela had no further time to consider her odd relationship with her vicar before it was time for them all to go upstairs to bed.

  "Jonathan, would you please come see Baby Arthur before you go to bed? For a blessing?" Vanessa asked.

  "Of course, my dear. With pleasure. In fact, I would certainly like to give one to you all. It has been a most happy day, and I hope the beginning of many more like it."

  "Happy despite the letter from Michael?" Clifford asked quietly, his blue eyes never leaving his friend's face.

  "Yes, of course. He's alive and well, even with all that's happened to him. That alone is cause for thanksgiving." He took his friend's hand and his sister's and began to pray aloud. "Heavenly Father, we would like to give you thanks..."

  The others all drew together in a circle, Pamela on the other side of Sarah, with Henry on her left. At the end of the prayer he embraced Clifford, patting him on the back soundly, then kissed his sister.

  Pamela found herself the next recipient of his attentions. He laid his hands on her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes, then moved his touch to the sides of her head. "Every blessing upon you, my dear." He kissed her on the forehead with just the lightest touch, but it was so overwhelming she felt her legs giving way beneath her.

  His warmth, nearness, his clean masculine fragrance, that of a light soap with a whiff of sandalwood, swirled around her like an enveloping cloak. The warmth emanating from him filled her with a drowsy, voluptuous contentment. She found herself moving forward to lean into his body. Their hips brushed lightly, and for a moment he looked as though he would draw her even closer.

  Then with a startled blink he stepped backwards, almost onto Henry's foot. He hugged him and moved on to Josephine, then Vanessa to kiss them in the same way he had Pamela.

  But his kisses were much more perfunctory, and he only laid one hand on each of their bowed heads.

  "Come, my dear," he said, taking Vanessa's arm. "Let's go see your lovely little man."

  Clifford walked out with the pair, leaving Henry to play the host.

  "Time for bed everyone?"

  "Yes, indeed," Sarah agreed. "It's been a wonderful but long day."

  "You'll stay for dinner tomorrow and head back afterwards?"

  "Yes, a good ride, breakfast, and a call over to the Jeromes would be most pleasant if you think your parents are up to a visit, Josephine?"

  "Oh, always. If not, then the siblings are."

  "How is your cousin Martin faring these days?" Sarah inquired.

  "Not well," she admitted with a sigh. "He's still in a lot of pain, and so grim. Two of the Cavendish brothers may have been punished for their part in the highway robberies which took place around here, but the memory of being so close to death, and the loss of his wife in so horrible a manner, has really altered him. But then Jonathan too is so altered. I can remember him being so jolly and happy until--"

  "The war," Sarah interjected smoothly.

  "Oh, yes, quite," Josephine said, blinking.

  "And your cousin Samuel? Is he going overseas at last?"

  She nodded. "Please God he'll be kept safe. But yes, he has his orders. At least we will be spared that where Martin is concerned. The two brothers had hoped to go over together, but now Martin plans to resign his commission, since he is still not fit for duty."

  Sarah shook her head. "And Edmund Cavendish? What is he doing now? I know Martin always blamed him, and said he was the most evil of all of the men involved in that crime ring."

  Josephine sighed. "Still raking from what we hear. His poor brother Gareth was the only decent one amongst the Cavendishes, yet has struggled to make a place for himself in the world. He's shipping out for the Continent this week, apparently."

  Sarah reached the top of the stairs and halted. She looked stricken. "He's so young."

  "Yes, only twenty-one, just qualified as a solicitor," Henry said. "But apparently we need reserve troops, and he was keen to go."

  "Do give him my best if you see him."

  "And it looks like we can have another adoptive brother to write to," Pamela said kindly.

  Sarah patted her on the shoulder. "That's very sweet. I don't know him very well. He's so quiet and bookish, for all he's said to be tainted with the Cavendish blood."

  "Quiet and bookish? Not really my type at all, then," Pamela said with a wry grin.

  Sarah recognized her attempt to cheer the others. "Well, you've made wonderful inroads with a second scarf. If Gareth is going over, perhaps we can give it to him and entrust him with some of our presents for Michael?"

  "Jolly good idea. We shall go call upon him on our way to your parents," Henry proposed.

  "Certainly," Sarah agreed. "If you don't mind stopping at the stores, we shall gather the things together for Michael and have Gareth and Samuel take them over to France."

  "I'll just come get you settled, " Josephine said, taking several steps toward the west wing.

  "No need to come with us. We know the way," Sarah told her. "Go get your, er, what was it, beauty sleep?"

  Josephine grinned. "In that case, good night."

  Henry bowed over their hands, put his arm around his wife, and disappeared into their wing of the house.

  "Have you got everything you need, Pamela?" Sarah asked when they reached the blond woman's door.

  "I do indeed."

  Except a good affectionate husband, she added to herself silently as she thought of the way both pairs of Stones had looked before they had headed off to bed together.

  Pamela had a most shocking image of a man and woman entwined. Only the man's hair was sandy, not blond, and...

  "Yes, they are most excellent hosts. Thank you so much for bringing me."

  "The visit isn't over yet. I warn you, the Jeromes can be quite overwhelmingly jolly."

  "It will make a change from my family, unremittingly stodgy."

  Sarah's dark brows lofted skyward. "Pamela!"

  She sighed. "Oh, I know, it was unkind of me. Step-Mama is a good woman but silly, and far too prone to stand upon ceremony. The only guest for whom I have ever seen her unbend is the Earl of Ferncliffe, and he is so unrelievedly dull."

  "He certainly is. Well, let's not spoil our evening in talking of him. Sweet dreams, Pamela."

  To her surprise, Sarah kissed her on the cheek before disappearing into her own room.

  Pamela went into her chamber and touched her forehead pensively where Jonathan had kissed her. Then she shook her head and began to disrobe. Once again the image of a man's hands lightly brushing her body as he helped removed each garment filled her senses.

  But it was absurd. Jonathan was a vicar. Poor, obscure, even if well educated. It was simply unthinkable. So then why did she keep thinking about it.

  She yanked her night rail over her head pettishly, flung her hairpins on the dresser, and yanked the brush through her thick honey-blond tresses.

  It wasn't possible. There were hundreds of other men eminently more suitable. She just had to stop thinking about Jonathan. It was sheer perversity of spirit. She only wanted him because she knew she couldn't have him, that was it. He had his vocation. She would be no better than the half dozen or so women in the parish who flirted with him, trying to tempt him away from his principles.

  No, with all the men in the district who had paid court to her, she might have reservations, but at least they were free to do as they pleased. Jonathan's duties and principles would always bind him, and she had the feeling they would make for very cold bedfellows indeed.

  Yet all he had to do was smile down at her, and she felt a blaze of sensation which set her to melting. The ripples in her belly and thighs were almost excruciating. What on earth was she to do?

  Aunt Susan always made Bertie take more exercise when he was suff
ering from what she called an excess of high animal spirits. Perhaps she should do the same? She decided to do her best on the ride tomorrow to work out of her system whatever strange mood had gotten into her.

  She settled in bed and blew out the candle with a decided air. She would keep herself so busy that she would never have time to pine for a pair of handsome steel-gray eyes.

  Chapter Twelve

  Pamela tossed and turned most of the night despite her resolve to try to forget all about the stunning vicar who had fast become an integral part of her world.