Second Chance Love: A Regency Romance Set

by Wendy Lacapra

  The air was thick with the smell of beeswax candles and floor polish as they entered the already crowded room. Before they had progressed five feet, Lord Carstairs was before them, bowing over Clarissa’s gloved hand. “I hope you will do me the honor of standing up with me for the first set,” he said.

  “Of course.”

  When the dancers gathered for the first set, Clarissa saw that Mr. Kendrick was standing up with Emma. She tried to stifle the pinch of jealousy at the sight of her glowing friend with their handsome boarder, and she wondered again how it was that Emma had never married. Even without money, she was pretty enough to have attracted at least a younger son, or even a well-to-do businessman in search of a woman of good breeding. It had always seemed to Clarissa that Emma was holding herself apart, waiting for something—someone – better that what was available to her.

  The music began and she was forced to focus her attention on the steps. At a larger assembly, she would not have danced, considering herself too old for such things. But at this smaller country party, every woman was expected to help make up the sets, and she had to admit, she was grateful for it. She had always loved to dance, exhilarated by whirling around the floor to the lively music.

  She had hoped Mr. Kendrick would ask her for the next dance, but when she looked around the room for him, she could not find him. Instead, she stood up with Mr. Hendricks, a prosperous farmer from the neighborhood, who made up for in enthusiasm what he lacked in grace.

  She avoided partnering for the third dance by pleading a need to retire for a moment, then went in search of Mr. Kendrick. She could not have imagined why he would have disappeared so early in the ball. Had he been struck by a particularly debilitating headache? Had he decided to leave without even saying good-bye? Was there a card room he had chosen to visit instead of partake of more dancing?

  And why did any of it matter to her anyway, she scolded herself, even as she slipped into the passageway and began to search the rooms along it.

  He was not in the card room, and the footman in the cloak room had not seen him. The other rooms she looked into were empty. Feeling foolish, she turned back toward the ballroom. If he was ill and did not have enough sense to send for help, there was nothing she could do about it.

  She was halfway down the hallway when she caught a glimpse of a figure in black in the mirror ahead of her. She whirled around in time to catch him disappearing into a side room. She was not even sure the man had been Mr. Kendrick, but she hurried after him, heart pounding.

  The room turned out to be a study. It was pitch black when she entered, then a match flared and a candle flame bathed the area around the desk in a rosy glow. “Shut the door, Lady Delaware,” Mr. Kendrick said softly. “Unless you want someone to find us alone in Lord Carstairs’ study in the dark.”

  She flinched, but shut the door. “What are you doing in here?” she asked.

  “Why did you follow me?” He set the candlestick on a corner of the desk and began opening drawers, rifling through the papers there.

  She moved to join him at the desk. “What are you looking for?” she asked, ignoring his question to her.

  “Did it not occur to you that all that fine liquor Lord Carstairs is always gifting you with might be smuggled?”

  “Many people avail themselves of smuggled goods,” she said. “That doesn’t mean they’re smugglers themselves.”

  “It doesn’t make them upstanding citizens, either.” He held a paper to the light, squinting at it, then shoved it back into the drawer.

  “I thought you believed Lord Delaware was behind the smuggling,” she said.

  “Lord Carstairs may be assisting him.”

  Voices in the passage outside made them both freeze. Mr. Kendrick took hold of her wrist, then blew out the candle, just as the door to the study opened. Before she could so much as cry out, he crushed her to him and covered her mouth with his own, pivoting to turn her away from the door, his body shielding her own from view.

  She was dimly aware of a woman’s laughter, then the door shutting once more. Mr. Kendrick raised his head. She could not see him in the darkness, but felt the brush of his breath across her cheek when he spoke. “I don’t think they could have recognized us. They’ll think it was just an unknown couple having an assignation in an otherwise unoccupied room.”

  She brought her hand up to stroke his cheek. Being so close to him in the cloaking darkness made her feel wanton, free to act on her feelings, away from the world’s judgment. “Kiss me again,” she whispered.

  His lips crushed against hers, flooding her with sensation. She arched to him, and he slid his hands down to cup her bottom, to firmly press her to his arousal, the hard length of it making her throb with need. “Mr. Kendrick,” she breathed when he released her mouth, trailing kisses down the column of her neck.

  “Adam,” he said, and nipped at her throat, a sensation she felt to her core.

  “Adam,” she whispered, and gripped his shoulders.

  “Clarissa.” He lowered his head, kissing the tops of her breasts, slipping his tongue beneath the ribbon along her bodice. She gasped, and stood on tiptoe, striving to afford him more access, wishing he could rip the garment away altogether. She wanted – needed – to feel him against her.

  More voices in the corridor made him stiffen, and brought her to her senses. Aware at last of what she was doing – of how it would look if anyone found them—she jerked away from him. “I must go,” she said, tugging at the neck of her dress.

  “Yes.” His voice was ragged with longing, but he made no move to hold her back as she groped her way blindly to the door. She waited only a moment, until she was sure she would not be seen, then slipped from the door, and away to the retiring room, where she sat a long time in a curtained alcove, fighting to hold back tears.

  Adam spent the rest of the evening in the card room, losing at whist and avoiding even the sight of Clarissa. He didn’t trust himself yet not to show the depth of his feelings for her. Whatever he thought of her husband, her kisses proved the passion he had glimpsed in her letter to Delaware was not a paper sham.

  He wanted her, dammit! After a lifetime of loneliness, he had found the woman who could make him feel truly loved, yet she was completely out of reach. She was shackled to another man for life, with two children and a respectable name to protect.

  The three of them rode home in silence that evening, each departing to their separate rooms after a brief good night. Adam has removed his neckcloth and was unfastening his waistcoat when a rustle near the door drew his attention. A folded paper lay on the floor in front of the door. He retrieved it and read the message penned in an unfamiliar hand. Pls come to the library at once. Urgent I speak to you.

  The missive was not signed. Curious, Adam slipped on his coat and picked up a candle. At the door, he turned and retrieved a pistol from his trunk and slipped it into his pocket. He had no reason to fear harm in this house, but it never hurt to take precautions.

  Light shone from beneath the library door. He entered to find a fire lit in the hearth, a small table before it set with a decanter of sherry and two glasses. Frowning, he approached the table, searching for a note, or some indication of who had summoned him.

  The library door opened and he heard a small gasp. Clarissa, her hair unbound and tumbling around her shoulders, stood in the doorway. “What is the meaning of this?” she asked.

  “Someone pushed a note under my door, instructing me to come to the library for an urgent meeting,” he said.

  “I received a similar note.” She stared at the lit fire, flames flickering on the cut crystal decanter and glasses.

  “It doesn’t look particularly sinister,” Adam said, coming to stand beside her.

  “No.” Her eyes met his, resignation in her expression. “I fear we are the victims of well-intentioned meddling.”

  He arched one eyebrow in question. “Explain yourself, please.”

  She sighed. “I think this is an attempt by
the old dears to force us together.” She nodded toward the fire and the sherry. “This is their idea of romance.”

  Adam couldn’t hold back a smile, and was pleased when she smiled also. “What happens now?” he asked. “Does an angry father – or in this case, an elderly gentleman filling that role – burst in to announce that you are compromised and we must wed, poste-haste.”

  “Except that I’m already married, and I daresay every one of the old dears are sleeping most soundly at this late hour.”

  He walked to the table and removed the stopper from the decanter. “As long as we are here, may I offer you a glass of sherry?”

  Her instinct was to say no; he saw it clearly in her face. Anxious to forestall her objection, he filled two glasses. “I don’t think I would be able to sleep just yet.”

  “All right.” She accepted the glass he offered, and they stood by the fire. She looked particularly beautiful in the soft light, her hair a dark waterfall down her back, a few strands of silver glittering among the auburn.

  “This is a much nicer room than Lord Carstairs’ study,” he said, purposely recalling her to the scene of their earlier passion. He felt like being reckless tonight, the sensation as intoxicating as any liquor.

  “How do you know?” she asked. “It’s not as if you could see much in the darkness.”

  “Then maybe it’s merely the fire that makes it nicer.” He set aside his glass and drew her to him. “Or the company.”

  She didn’t even feign protest when he kissed her, merely swayed toward him. He set her glass on the table beside his and wrapped his arms around her, gathering her firmly against him, wanting her to know the full measure of his desire for her.

  She kissed him without hesitation, open-mouthed and eager, and when he gathered her skirts and slid his hand up her thigh, she lifted her leg to wrap around him, and her eagerness stirred him almost beyond bearing. He shifted his lips to her ear and whispered. “I’m going to lock the door so we won’t be disturbed.”

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  Somewhat stiffly, he walked to the door and turned the key in the lock, as much for their privacy as to give her time to reconsider if this was what she really wanted.

  “Hurry,” she called, and the need behind the word made him want to run to her. He made himself move more slowly, and found her seated on the sofa by the fire, eyes fixed on him, face flushed with a beautiful desire. He sat and gathered her to him once more.

  Tomorrow, Clarissa would have to think of her position, and of her children. Tonight would be for her. She had felt empty for so long. Tonight, she would have her fill of love, enough, she hoped, to sustain her in the long years to come.

  Adam Kendrick was all she might have hoped for and more – strong, yet tender, considerate yet not overly delicate. He lay her back against the cushions of the sofa and made love to her with the devotion of one determined to wring every mite of satisfaction from the encounter. With his lips he traced the neckline of her gown, every feathered touch setting her senses alive. While his lips worshiped her flesh, his hands caressed the softness of her inner thighs, parting them to explore her most sensitive folds, plunging into her with the teasing intimation of the act to come. She arched against him, aching to be closer still, longing for so much more.

  Moving only a little away from her, he stripped himself of his clothing, until he stood before her, naked, more magnificent than any of the Elgin marbles. Divested of his gentlemanly garments, he had an animal strength that stirred something deep within her. She reached for him and together they freed her from her own garments. She pressed her face to his shoulder, breathing in the male scent of him, caressing the smooth muscles of his arms, then lying back to gather him fully into her, the sensation of being so completely filled delighting her almost to the point of tears.

  Then she was lost to self and sense, all her awareness focused only on the tension building within her, the exquisite agony of waiting, of being caressed and coaxed and teased to release. When her climax came, he smothered her cries with his kisses, then withdrew himself from her and at the point of his own release, spilling his seed across her belly. Then he lay against her, his face pressed against her breast, the fabric of his eye patch a gentle distraction.

  She threaded her fingers in his hair and held her to him, breathing in the scent of him, memorizing the feel of him. She blinked back tears, touched by the consideration he had shown in not finishing inside of her, though that might merely have been as much from his own desire not to create a bastard as from thoughtfulness for her.

  She sat up, and reached for her discarded clothing. “I should go now.”

  He did not protest, but helped her to dress. Only when she turned to go did he hold her back, taking her hand and kissing the palm, the sensation making her light-headed. “You are the most magnificent woman,” he said. “I am the most privileged of men.”

  She fled then, before she weakened and threw herself at him. Before she also threw away pride and station and her children’s future, all sacrifices her heart was trying to convince her would be worth it to have the love of a man such as Adam Kendrick.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  While his thoughts might lead Adam to fantasies of keeping Clarissa as his secret mistress, his desires were no match for the lady’s resolve. Barring a fleeting longing in her eyes, quickly masked by coolness, she behaved toward him with perfect politeness, but no more. He had expected no less. She was not a woman who would sacrifice her children’s future on the altar of her own desires. Her very honor was one of the things that drew him to her, though the memory of her lying beneath him, wild with passion, would haunt him until his dying day.

  At luncheon the day after Lord Carstairs’ ball, as everyone else was leaving, Clarissa surprised him by saying, “Mr. Kendrick, might I have a word with you? I’d like to discuss your treatments.”

  “Of course.” He stood aside to allow Miss Freed to pass, not missing the curious look she gave him as she did so.

  When they were alone, he started to go to Clarissa, but she held up a warning hand. “I understand that my behavior last night may have led you to believe…to think that certain things might be possible between us,” she said. “But we live in a real world, not one of fantasy. I am a married woman. A mother with two children to protect and bring up to take their rightful place in society. Whatever the feelings between us, I cannot allow them to overtake that responsibility.”

  “So you made clear last night. And I understand.”

  Her eyes met his, surprise – and was that hurt – in their clear depths. “You do?”

  “Your husband is the worst sort of scoundrel, who has left you in an untenable position,” he said. “But it is your position, nonetheless. My regard for you – my sincere affection – prevents me from ever doing anything to harm you.”

  Her cheeks flushed with warmth. “You are most honorable.”

  “I am not honorable, dammit.” He allowed himself two steps closer to her, keeping his voice low lest anyone – Emma? – might be listening at the door. “My fondest wish is to see Delaware hanged for his crimes, and when he is, and you are a widow, free to wed again, nothing in this world will stop me from making you mine.”

  He turned and left before she could answer, not trusting himself in her presence a moment longer.

  Adam had noticed that Miss Freed took the children most afternoons, so he waited until they left the house the next day and followed them, contriving to have his path intersect theirs when they were some distance from the house. “Mr. Kendrick!” Harry waved wildly when he spotted Adam. “You must come walk with us.”

  “Mr. Kendrick, what are you doing out on this blustery afternoon?” Emma asked, when he greeted them.

  “I’m not one to stay cooped up inside too long,” he said. “May I walk with you?”

  “Of course.”

  He fell into step beside her, Fannie on her other side and Harry clinging to Adam’s hand alongside him. “Miss Freed
told us you danced with her at the ball,” Harry said.

  “Yes I did,” Adam said, aware of Emma studying him beneath the brim of her bonnet.

  “I was disappointed you did not dance more,” Emma said. “Do you not enjoy dancing?”

  “I can dance,” Harry said, letting go of Adam’s hand and whirling around in an impromptu jig.

  “I enjoy it well enough.” Adam smiled at the boy.

  “Then I find it a curious thing you did not dance more,” she said.

  He said nothing, enjoying her obvious curiosity and frustration with him. Though he surmised that she and Clarissa were roughly the same age, the differences between them were striking. Clarissa was a fine looking woman, but Emma, even at her mature age, had the kind of beauty that captured attention. That she was a governess spoke of financial hardship, the lack of a dowry, or perhaps some scandal that had made her ineligible to wed. Still, he was surprised she had not found a husband somewhere. Even now, she had the face and figure to attract a man, and potential partners had lined up to request dances when he had relinquished her last night.

  Where Clarissa was soft and trusting – too trusting—Emma had a knowing brittleness about her. She struck him as one who judged harshly, who often found the world failing to meet her high standards. Yet, the children and Clarissa clearly loved her, so perhaps it was only his own cynicism that colored his view.

  “I was wondering if I might ask a favor of you, Miss Freed,” he said.

  “What is that, Mr. Kendrick?”

  “The children mentioned that there are tunnels beneath Waverley House that run all the way to the sea,” he said. “I should very much like to see them. Would you show them to me?”

  She did not hide her surprise at this request. “Why would you wish to see the tunnels?” she asked. “I’m quite sure they are dark and dirty and probably in ill repair.”