The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection

by Dorothy McFalls

  Needless trouble, duels were, foolish endeavors all too often pursued by cuckolded husbands.

  “You have no claim on Lady Iona,” Nathan said. “You have no right to champion her.”

  “Enough of this idiocy,” she ordered just as Talbot opened his mouth to argue. “I hear Lillian approaching. I’ll not have her involved in a scene.” She took Talbot’s arm, swung him around and gave his back a goodly shove toward her sister.

  “I will hold you to your word,” she tossed over her shoulder as she followed Talbot, her slender hips swaying.

  Nathan remained in the alcove. He closed his suddenly gaping mouth.

  “Was that Lord Nathan?” he heard Lillian ask, as the trio turned a corner. “Please vow to me he didn’t turn wild and try to ravish you.”

  Nathan groaned. It seemed he’d let society paint a sordid picture of his character for far too long. With all the members of the ton wary of him, winning Iona as a bride promised to prove much more difficult than he initially imagined.

  * * * *

  Several hours later, Nathan tossed back a shot of whiskey and nearly toppled out of the wobbly wooden chair. Or perhaps it was the floor that wobbled? No matter, he didn’t plan on going much further than the rug at his feet anyhow. The young Mr. James Harlow had already collapsed onto the deep-hued Aubusson rug and was snoring loudly.

  “Drink up,” Lord Grainger Talbot slurred. He splashed more single malt whiskey into both their glasses. Quite an obliging chap, that Talbot.

  Not more than an hour ago, Talbot and Harlow had showed up at the small apartment Nathan had rented. The two men had barged inside without a by-your-leave, fully prepared to bash Nathan’s head into the floorboards.

  He would have been a bloody lump of bones and flesh if the two hadn’t gotten themselves into an argument over which one had the right to defend Lady Iona’s honor. Harlow insisted Iona harbored a secret passion for him, which had sent Talbot into a rage.

  Thanks to Nathan’s quick thinking and the bottle of fifteen-year-old whiskey he’d produced from his private stash of smuggled spirits, all violence had been averted.

  Nathan raised his cup and studied the distorted setting sunlight as it streamed through his cramped parlor’s spotless window and curled like a colorful rainbow of orange and red hues through his finely cut crystal glass. “Lady Iona needs to marry,” he said.

  “Yyyess,” Talbot drawled. “The gel is too damned stubborn for her own good.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Nathan slammed his glass onto the table. A goodly portion of his drink sloshed onto the already sticky desktop. “A woman with her partenagg…partenshash…umm…pedigree could serve a man well.”

  “A man like you, I suppose?”

  “She could do worse,” Nathan said.

  “Next you’ll tell me you believe in the wee fairies. Too drunk to know what’s real, you are. Perhaps you should go ahead and pass out.” Talbot gave Nathan’s shoulder a nudge.

  Instead of falling on his face, Nathan launched out of his chair. “A bloody nuisance,” he shouted. “That’s what we bloody are. You and you—” He gestured toward the unconscious James Harlow on the floor. “And me. Second sons. What good are we? Alive only because our older brothers might kick off this mortal coil before producing heirs. My father splits his time between wishing me to the devil and pretending I was never born. And my damned brother already has a son of his own. So what use can I be to him? I’m a bloody nuisance, that’s what.”

  “Speak for yourself, Wynter,” Talbot said after draining his glass of whiskey. “My father is pressuring me to complete my studies and take up a position in the blasted clergy. Wants me to become a damned productive citizen. Can you imagine me—me delivering a sermon on the evils of vice? I’d pay a year’s allowance just to get my father to ignore me.”

  Harlow snorted from the floor.

  “You’re lucky,” Nathan grumbled. “I came to Bath thinking I might be able to—” He waved a hand in the air and nearly lost his balance. “Never mind. I can’t gain entry into any of Bath society’s dull functions thanks to his—” He batted away the angry thought as the room spun around him. “Never mind. Who would want to go to a damned tea or ball anyhow? Drink up. This is a fine whiskey and the beginnings of a fine night. Neither should be wasted.”

  Talbot grunted his agreement and drained his cup.

  Nathan reached for his own glass but ended up grabbing his head to ward off the loud, painful sound that was pounding on his ears. Perhaps some mischievous goblin had crawled inside his head and was banging on his skull from the inside out. Damn and drat. He’d pay a pretty coin to get that thumping to stop.

  “Someone’s knocking on the door,” Talbot said. “Don’t you have a valet to chase unwelcome guests away, Wynter? This bottle is nearly drained as it is. Send them away! Send them away!” He tossed an arm in the air. “We haven’t enough to share!”

  “My valet has the day off.” Truth was, Nathan sent his efficient servant away. Freddie would scold like a fishwife if he were to witness his master in such a sorry condition.

  The cursed knocking resumed.

  “Well, someone needs to send them away,” Talbot said.

  Harlow groaned and tossed an arm over his head.

  “Very well.” With the help of the top of his sturdy desk, Nathan managed to stand. He tugged on his coat to straighten it. There was no hope for his cravat. The starched muslin was wrinkled beyond any hope of repair. No matter, he planned to open the door only long enough to send the cove with the relentless knuckles on his way.

  “Please,” he barked as he tossed open the door, “stop that infernal knocking.”

  A ragged street urchin quickly lowered the fist he’d been using to practically pound the blasted door down. “Would you ‘appen to be Lord Nathan Wynter, sir?” the lad drawled.

  Nathan nodded, which set the world to wobbling again. “Damn and blast, who the devil wants to bother me right now?”

  The lad didn’t answer. His eyes grew to the size of a pair of wide saucers as he dug around in a deep trouser pocket. After a moment of frantic searching, the boy produced a crumpled piece of foolscap. He pressed the grimy note into Nathan’s fingers and scampered away.

  Nathan pushed the door closed, leaning against it while he stared at the paper sitting in the palm of his hand.

  “Who the bugger was that?” Talbot shouted the question.

  Nathan unfolded the note and read the flowery scroll. Tonight. Eleven o’clock, outside the Lower Assembly Rooms a feminine hand had written. It was signed with a flourish Your eager pupil.

  “A bloody heap of trouble, that’s who,” he said.

  Chapter Three

  He was late.

  Iona moved deeper into the shadows, keeping to the far corner of the grand portico fronting the entrance of the Lower Assembly Rooms. She tapped the glass of her dainty pocket watch. Six minutes after eleven.

  A couple of the lower gentry were leaving the dress ball early. Their laughter tinkled through the cool night air. Iona pressed her back against the marble wall, worried someone might notice her. She’d slipped away from her family a few minutes before eleven o’clock, thinking she’d be able to return before the night’s final dance at midnight. If Lord Nathan delayed much longer, he wouldn’t have enough time to teach her much of anything.

  Visions of him shamelessly enjoying a liaison with another woman sprang to her all-too-vivid imagination. She kicked the tip of her pink satin slipper against the pavement.

  The rogue. If he didn’t intend to come, he could at least have had the decency to send a note.

  Did he care so little for her good name? What if she were discovered lurking in the shadows without a proper escort? Eyebrows would be raised. People would whisper behind their hands.

  A shadow moved beside her. She caught a distinctive whiff of honey and pine.

  “You are unforgivably late,” she whispered.

  “A thousand pardons, my lady.” He m
oved closer and draped a dark cloak over her white crepe pelisse. “In this particular instance, I felt discretion was vastly more important than timeliness. Shall we go?”

  He offered her his arm. He’d dressed the part of a dangerous rogue. His clothes were black from head to foot. Even his cravat was fashioned from the darkest muslin. His hat sat low on his head and was tilted forward toward his nose. A person would have to take a long, close look to recognize him.

  Under different circumstances, she’d surely mistake him for a highwayman or a smuggler.

  A thrill of fear surged in her gut. What did she truly know about him? She fingered the heavy cloak he’d laid over her shoulders. The dark color was necessary to serve as a disguise, she supposed.

  “I won’t tease you if you wish to change your mind,” he said, staring down his long aristocratic nose at her. His blue eyes looked as dark and vast as the night sky. “It’s a considerable leap of faith on your part to put your reputation in my hands like this.”

  “My mind is set.” She lowered the cloak’s hood over her head, careful not to disturb the throng of pink daisies threaded through her hair. She placed her hand on his arm. “Please, lead on.”

  A look of mischief danced in his eyes. His lips curled into a thoroughly wicked grin that sent her heart tripping.

  Iona licked her lips. “I have less than an hour before I am missed. I hope that will not be a problem.”

  “This first lesson in debauchery shouldn’t take very long at all, my lady,” Nathan replied. She could have sworn she heard a soft laugh hiding under his curiously formal tone.

  She gripped his arm tightly as he led her in silence through the Bath streets. He kept them cloaked in the darkest shadows near the buildings as they hurried past several familiar faces. She hadn’t realized how many people promenaded the streets after dark. She lowered her head and touched her hand to the brim of the hood. Her heart thundered in her chest.

  This was madness. She would be caught. Her father would glower in silence. Her mother would shriek. And she would forever lose her status as their dear, obedient daughter.

  Cecile, her older sister, was the lucky one, happily married and producing heirs for her husband. Lillian, her younger sister, was the beauty of the family. Stuck in the middle, Iona had forever been relegated to playing the part of the good child, the quiet child and later, the pliable young lady.

  Lord Nathan pressed a finger to her lips as he led her past Abbey Street and toward the King’s Bath. Light reflected from the streetlamps sparkled in his eyes like stars. A smile tugged on the corner of his lips.

  “In a moment we shall test your mettle,” he whispered. He clamped his warm, gloved hand over hers.

  They came upon a man with a tweed cap atop his greasy head slumped at the King’s Bath entrance. He perked up at their approach. Without a word, Lord Nathan slid a handful of coins into the man’s outstretched palm.

  “I ‘ad the place opened up, just as you requested, my lord,” the stranger drawled.

  Lord Nathan gave the man a friendly pound on the back as he passed into the front room of the King’s Bath. His grip on Iona’s hand tightened. He led her into a dimly lit passageway.

  “Have you ever taken a dip in the waters?” he asked.

  “Not in a public bath.” She had once dipped her toes in Bath’s sulfuric waters when keeping her mother company at one of the private bathing facilities.

  The King’s Bath however was open to all who could pay the fee and the bathers were on display for anyone strolling on the terrace or visiting the Pump Room.

  He guided her down a few steps and opened a door. Moonlight poured into the corridor. The fine mist rising off the green waters appeared to glow.

  “You don’t expect me to actually step into the water?” Panic fluttered in her belly. “I-I would be dripping when you returned me to my family at the Assembly Rooms. And I would ruin my evening gown.”

  He chuckled and then removed the cloak from her shoulders. “I don’t expect you to wear your gown in the water, my lady.”

  A scorching blush pricked her cheeks.

  “You-you expect me to strip in front of you?”

  “It is what any rogue would do.” He proved his words by shrugging out of his evening coat and pulling off his cravat. When he started to unbutton his shirt, she whirled around.

  “This isn’t proper.” Her legs suddenly turned watery.

  “No, it isn’t,” he agreed. He lightly touched her arm. “Teaching you to be more like me is more than improper, Lady Iona. It is wrong.”

  She drew an unsteady breath. Her gaze latched onto the dark waters. Was her freedom waiting for her in the bath’s shadowy depths? Tossing off her dress and diving into the steaming puddle wasn’t something she’d ever dreamed of doing. Perhaps that was the problem in her life.

  “Very well,” she said.

  He breathed a deep sigh. “I will escort you back to the Assembly Rooms then.”

  She spun around. “No.” She grabbed his hand before he could button up his shirt. Her gloved fingers brushed against the hard plain of his broad chest. Touching him so intimately nearly unraveled her resolve.

  “I will do as you instruct.”

  “You’re not serious.” He peeled her fingers from his hand. “You fail to understand what you seek to learn.” His nimble fingers worked the buttons on his shirt.

  She blinked. Had he chosen this task knowing she’d be too shocked to try it? Did he truly believe she lacked the spirit to…to…

  Jumping in the King’s Bath in the middle of the night was foolhardy. Her heart pounded as if it was about to burst from her chest. She closed her eyes. Drew a deep breath. Then peeled off her gloves. And with several quick twists and turns, managed to untie her pink ribbons, kick off her slippers and wiggle out of her gown and corset.

  “Iona, wait!” he shouted a moment before she charged down the steps into the bath wearing nothing more than a thin linen chemise that hung no lower than her knees and a pair of pink stockings.

  The blistering water stung every inch of her body.

  She couldn’t remember ever feeling more alive.

  Nathan had expected the reserved Lady Iona to blush and stammer in the face of his outrageous suggestion. Not even in his world of fantasies did he expect her to tear off her virginal white gown and…

  Heavens above, a deep blush heated his cheeks!

  He’d chosen this late-night dip in the bath with full confidence that she would refuse. He wanted her for a wife, not a partner in debauchery. This path she’d set herself on was fraught with danger and ruin—not freedom. He knew the truth of a rogue’s lifestyle only too well.

  His plan was to push her into seeing, really seeing, the harm she was asking him to do to her. He’d been confident that he’d chosen a task that would send her rushing back to her delightfully proper life.

  That confidence had been bolstered when he’d met her outside the Lower Assembly Rooms. She appeared as pure as a girl fresh out of the schoolroom. She wore a proper white crepe gown that was banded just under her pert breasts with a pale pink satin. Miniature daisies trimmed the sleeves and hem. The pink daisies adorning her blonde hair matched the flowers on her gown and were the same shade as the slippers on her dainty feet.

  If he hadn’t known better, he would have taken her for a chit experiencing her first turn on the marriage mart. It was out of the bounds of reality to picture her splashing into the steaming water like an unschooled hoyden.

  Lust kicked low in his gut. He watched as she floated on the surface like an exotic water lily. Her icy blonde locks and short white shift glistened in stark contrast to the dark green waters.

  The strangely erotic scene struck him as surreal. He rubbed his eyes, losing himself in the sight of how her chemise clung to her delightfully plump breasts. He’d never seen anyone play the part of seductress better. And he doubted she even understood how her display could affect a man.

  If anyone else were to happen
by and see her displayed thusly, there would be hell to pay.

  And ruin.

  His reputation was already pitted with so many chinks he doubted it could look any worse. Any member of the ton would merely shake their head, muttering how they would expect no better from the likes of him. But sending her down the very same path he’d taken into hell two years earlier ran cross-purposes to the reason he’d returned to this frightfully dull town in the first place.

  His visit to Bath was his first step in his return to society. He had come in humble supplication, hoping to repair his name, not drive the last nail into his own coffin.

  Ruin the untouchable Lady Iona, daughter of the highly respected Duke of Newbury, and he’d be lucky if the worst he suffered was lifetime banishment from England.

  More likely, he’d be shot.

  Why in the devil did she jump into the water in the first place? He had to get her out of that damned bath and back into her family’s care as soon as possible.

  “No, don’t thank me. I am only too happy to show you the late-night sights the town has to offer, ma’am,” a young dandy drawled. A group of women tittered with answering giggles. “This here is the famed King’s Bath.”

  Nathan’s gaze flew to the terrace that overlooked the bath. Three gentlemen and four ladies were fast approaching the railing. They’d take one glance and it would be all over for him.

  Hell and damnation.

  Without a whit of hesitation, Nathan dove, fully clothed, into the water.

  “Take a deep breath,” he warned Iona and pushed her head under.

  She struggled against him. Water bubbled all around him like an angry tempest. Her foot slammed his side with enough force to make him grunt an oath.

  “Ho, there,” one of the men in the small group leaned over the railing and called out just as Iona emerged, sputtering for breath, from under the water. “What’s going on down there?”

  “Are you trying to murder me?” Iona’s raspy voice was hardly more than a whisper.