The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection

by Dorothy McFalls

  “Newbury, you say, m’lord?” the man said with a tone akin to reverence and took a long hard stare at Iona, his mouth gaping. She lowered the hood on the black cape over her head while stepping back into the shadows.

  “You heard me. And there isn’t time to delay,” Lord Nathan said rather crossly.

  “No, m’lord.” The man tugged on his tweed cap and took off in a hard run down the carriage-lined York Street.

  After making certain the man was running in the right direction, Lord Nathan tossed his evening coat over his shoulders and tugged on his shiny beaver hat until it sat low on his head. Even though he was soggier than Iona, he looked quite the dangerous rogue, which made her long to feel his hands on her body again. Lord, he had touched her shamelessly and in a manner only a rogue would dare, which meant his looks weren’t the least bit deceiving.

  “Come along,” he said and rushed her toward his curricle that was waiting for them a few streets away, his boots and her pink stockings sloshing with every step.

  The chimes of Bath Abbey began to herald the midnight hour as he lifted her up onto his carriage.

  “We must hurry,” he said and climbed up onto the seat behind her. He clicked his tongue and snapped the reins, setting his pair of horses into a hard run.

  While he steered his team with an expert hand, he argued with her that she should let him do the right thing. He seemed determined to go with her to the front door and demand an audience with her father. An idea she was adamantly opposed to. She held firm and so, instead of taking Brock Street to the Royal Crescent, he turned and made his way to Crescent Lane, the street that ran along the back property of the townhouses. Rows of long and narrow private gardens, stables and coaching houses lined the way.

  Her heart picked up an excited beat as they neared the Newbury residence. It was the only summer home she’d ever really known. Excitement rather than fear bubbled in her gut.

  In a few moments, he would help her sneak in the back door. Soon she would be tucked safely in her bed and no one would be the wiser. And wasn’t that, after all, the allure of any adventure?

  Danger—whether to her safety, her virtue, or of discovery—was an integral ingredient to the thrill she’d been experiencing. If it had been otherwise, her late-night swim in the King’s Bath wouldn’t have been any more exciting than a stroll through Sydney Gardens.

  And it was this surge of danger she definitely wished to experience again—and soon. How and when would she get a chance to taste such a delicious thrill again? She would simply have to convince Lord Nathan that she needed another lesson.

  But how?

  Her racing heart slammed to an abrupt stop.

  She was getting ahead of herself. Before planning any future escapades, she’d have to survive this night first. Iona blinked, unable to believe what she was seeing—or her rotten luck.

  Two grooms were guiding her father’s ducal carriage into the rubble-stone coaching house.

  “My parents came home early,” she whispered, a lump in her throat.

  “So it appears,” Lord Nathan replied.

  “Without me…”

  The kernel of excitement she’d been relishing flared into a very real throb of panic.

  “They returned home without me.” She turned in the seat just as he pulled the curricle to a stop at the gate. “Whatever shall I tell them?”

  He heaved a deep sigh before setting the reins on the seat. Stepping over her, he jumped down. His boots sloshed as he landed on the ground. He then reached up to hand her down.

  “You will tell them nothing. I shall come inside with you and speak to your father,” he said as his hands settled around her waist, “and do my best to explain.”

  “And propose marriage?” she asked, resisting his attempts to help her down from his curricle.

  “If necessary… Please, let’s not have this conversation with you shouting down at me. Let me help you to the ground.”

  “No,” she said. “I am firm on my decision. I do not agree that you need to offer your hand in marriage over this. Nothing that shocking happened. Besides, despite your reputation, I consider you my friend…and nothing more.”

  He winced at the wording but she plodded on. “You are simply a friend who has given me quite a lesson this evening. I’ll not reward you by looping the matrimonial noose around your neck.”

  Again, she fended off his attempts to lift her down from his curricle. She’d rather tower over him while having this conversation. He was too tall and too headstrong for her to wage battle on equal footing.

  And she hadn’t been shouting. In fact, she never shouted. A forced whisper, a little louder than necessary, was how she’d describe her tone.

  “I could run away,” she suggested, lowering her voice even further. “Never return home.”

  “Family banishment is never much of an option, Lady Iona.”

  “No, I suppose not,” she said and chewed on the inside of her cheek. “You may as well lift me down now.”

  Without another word, he lifted her down to the pavement and then led her through the neighboring garden and helped her climb over a small brick wall. Thanks to his keen eye, they made it to the back entrance without attracting any of the servants’ notice.

  She supposed she should be pleased that he went along with her charade. She might still be able to pull the wool over her family’s eyes about her evening’s adventure. Yet, the likelihood of her actually doing so was dimming at an alarming speed.

  Several lights glowed through the windows of the first floor rooms. Iona tried not to imagine what might be taking place in the parlor or her father’s study, both appeared to be brightly lit. Was her father pacing the study floor? Were his hands locked behind his back in a stance he often took when he wished to hide his emotions? Or was he venting a spurt of anger by upbraiding a hapless servant for some minor infraction?

  And her mother, what would she be doing in the midst of this crisis? Iona didn’t have to tax her imagination in order to picture her mother collapsed on the parlor’s settee, howling with tears and on the verge of a full display of histrionics.

  Simply imagining the stresses she must be putting her parents through made Iona want to curl up and hide in the nearest rain barrel. But she couldn’t. She was the Duke’s daughter and had been trained to behave accordingly. After bracing herself for the worst, she turned the knob and eased the wooden back door open.

  Lord Nathan gave her hand a squeeze. “Don’t worry overmuch. I’ll be by your side throughout.”

  That was her biggest worry. She didn’t want him by her side. The only silver lining in this debacle was the slight chance she might so shock her family with her behavior that her father would call off her upcoming engagement with her cousin.

  And not give her hand to a different gentleman.

  Before Lord Nathan could push his way inside the back foyer of the townhouse, she planted a quick, grateful kiss on his lips that sparked a flock of butterflies fluttering in her stomach and gave his chest a great shove.

  “I thank you for everything,” she said in a rush. “You are a dear friend to offer to stand by me but this is my problem and something I must do alone.”

  She swung the door closed on his surprised expression and drove the lock’s bolt home.

  Chapter Five

  Nathan gaped at the door. She’d locked him out. He couldn’t believe it. Despite what most thought of him, he was capable of doing the right and honorable thing. But in order to do that, Lady Iona would have to let him inside the house.

  He called her name several times and rattled the door handle. The door was indeed locked. He called her name again, louder this time. He was sure she could hear him. The wooden door didn’t appear to be that heavy.

  “Please, just go away,” she whispered rather frantically through the keyhole.

  Although a gentleman should abide by a lady’s wishes, this was one gentleman who had no intention of going anywhere. And it was more than simple
honor that compelled him to protect her. He knew firsthand the crushing pain an ugly scandal could bring. He knew what it was like to have a mother look straight through him as if he no longer existed. A father who cursed vilely at the mere sight of him, wishing he had never been born. And an older brother who had no right to join in with the rest of his family in turning his back on him.

  No matter what, he was determined to shield Iona from suffering any similar anguish from this fool’s outing. He even felt a great desire to soothe her throbbing temples.

  The fact that he would win her hand in marriage in a most disgraceful manner, but nonetheless win her hand, was curiously the last thing on his mind.

  He raised his fist to bang the door down if need be when the lock’s bolt clicked and the knob turned. The door opened just wide enough for Iona’s younger sister to slide through.

  Lady Lillian was dressed in a high-waisted watered silk cream-colored gown with long, tapering sleeves. Her hair, a touch blonder than Lady Iona’s, was styled in a profusion of ringlets and creamy ribbons. She was unquestionably a diamond of the first water. She also had the most unpleasant disposition Nathan had ever encountered.

  With a petulant pout, pursing her lips, she tossed her head and set her hands on her hips. “Lord Nathan Wynter,” she said in a withering voice. “What have you done to my sister?”

  “I have done nothing to her,” he protested.

  “Is that so? And you expect me to believe that my dreadfully proper sister willingly spirited herself away from this evening’s ball in order to spend time, sans chaperon, with a notorious rake like you? I would sooner believe your horse was the Prince Regent!”

  “Believe what you wish, my lady,” he said as he tried to skirt around her. “I have no intention of explaining myself to you. That explanation is reserved for the Duke.”

  Lillian gave a cry of alarm. She lunged for the door, slamming it closed before he could reach the handle and splayed herself, with her arms spread wide, across the expanse of the door. “Are you dicked in the nob? You will do no such thing!”

  “I am quite sane, thank you very much, and you shouldn’t be using such coarse language, Lady Lillian.” He tugged on his soggy waistcoat. A stream of water dripped on the flagstone pavers. “I am doing my duty to your sister. Now step aside.”

  “You are making a fuss for no purpose and will cause Iona a great deal more trouble than she has right now if you do not leave immediately.”

  From past experience, he had trouble taking Lillian’s sisterly concern seriously. The silly girl was rarely concerned about anything unless it benefited herself in some way. “Stand aside, my lady, or I will move you myself.”

  “No! I have the matter well in hand,” she said throwing her arms in the air. “Miss Amelia Harlow, a friend of mine and my summer houseguest, saw Iona leaving the ball with a gentleman—you, I suppose. She came straight to me and I went straight to Mama and told her that Iona went home with a headache.”

  “You did?” he could barely believe his—and Iona’s—luck, or Lillian’s seemingly altruistic behavior.

  “I’ve spent the last hour keeping my mother and father from sticking their concerned noses into Iona’s bedchamber while Miss Harlow sat at the parlor window and watched for Iona to return home.” She huffed. “You should have fetched her home sooner. I was beginning to worry that my fool sister had gotten herself abducted.”

  “And Lady Iona understands that she needn’t confess why she disappeared from the ball?” He wasn’t planning on going anywhere until he was confident that her reputation was indeed safe.

  “Of course she does.” Lillian rolled her pretty pale blue eyes. “Miss Harlow was busy explaining all of that to her as she bustled my sister up the back stairs to her bedchamber.”

  “Good.” The tight bands of tension pulling on his shoulders loosened considerably. He very properly tipped his beaver hat. “Then I will bid you a good evening, my lady.”

  “You still haven’t explained how you pressured Iona into creeping away with you into the Bath night. What manner of blackmail do you hold over her? What power could you possibly wield to sway an avowed prig as my sister to act so uncharacteristically?” she called after him.

  Nathan walked away, shaking his head. Lillian was asking the absolute wrong question. What power did he hold over Iona?

  Seemingly, very little.

  Despite the coil they had gotten themselves into, Iona had remained firm. She’d called him a friend. Nothing more than a friend. And because of their friendship, she’d abjectly refused to let him march through the front door and demand to pay his formal addresses to her father.

  Considering how Lillian had neatly covered up Iona’s failure to return to the ball, he was vastly relieved he hadn’t done just that. Doing so would have only further damaged his reputation, a reputation he specifically came to Bath to repair.

  How had he gotten himself into such a sticky situation in the first place?

  He glanced back at the Newbury townhouse and saw that the lights shining in the first floor windows were in the process of being doused as if this were a normal evening and nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

  Of course nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, except for the Duke’s virginal daughter’s late-night dip in the King’s Bath while dressed in nothing but a white chemise and a pair of pink stockings. He glanced down at his own ruined suit, water still dripping from the hem of his waistcoat, and chuckled. This had been a most uncommon evening. One that nearly ended with a trip to the altar. He couldn’t have set up a situation riper for scandal even if he’d tried.

  Perhaps scandal came to him so naturally now that he didn’t have to try anymore.

  Instead of listening to his own instincts and sense of honor, he’d let Iona drag him into this madcap scheme and had let her countermand all of his honorable decisions.

  Which begged the question, what power did Iona hold over him?

  Mere friendship?

  Good Lord, no. But if not friendship, then what?

  Certainly not love…

  * * * *

  The next morning, Nathan prowled within his stuffy apartment feeling more and more cramped and uncomfortable with each step. And his ears were fast growing sore from listening to his valet fret and scold, all because Nathan had returned home late last night with his clothes and boots ruined.

  He had told his valet to toss the damned garments out. It wasn’t as if he wanted to keep around reminders of having seen a nearly naked Lady Iona. Freddie had insisted he could salvage them. But not apparently without uttering a score of complaints first.

  Which was sorely trying Nathan’s patience. Overnight, the weather had turned blaring hot and humid. With all this blasted heat and his sleepless night—thanks to his recalling only too well how perfectly Iona’s plump little breasts fit in the palm of his hands—his first inclination was to escape from these cramped rooms and go to the Pump Room, a popular morning social venue.

  Many of the summer residents visited the Pump Room to drink the medicinal sulfur waters that bubbled out of an ornate marble vase, after being pumped in from one of the many hot springs located in and around the town. Others came to promenade within the handsome portico, listen to the musicians set up on the southern side of the room and socialize with friends.

  Iona often accompanied her mother and sister to the Pump Room. And Nathan was most anxious to discover how her nerves were faring after last evening’s adventure. Not that it would be proper to approach her, considering how he’d so thoroughly fondled and kissed her. If he were any kind of gentleman, he would do well to stay far, far away from her.

  She probably didn’t wish to see him again. He imagined that his plan to suitably frighten her back to her safe, albeit dull, lifestyle might have worked only too well. She was likely cursing his name and vowing to never again traipse off alone with a notorious rake.

  But to never see Lady Iona again? A pit of dread sank into his stomach. Nev
er? That wouldn’t suit his plans at all.

  If he were going to use a prim and proper marriage to the paragon of grace and propriety to get back into his family’s good books, he would have to woo Iona in a very public and staid manner. So why wasn’t he rushing over to the Pump Room to do just that?

  Because of his father, that’s why. The old goad would be marching around the marble interior, barking commands at the attendants while downing six glasses of the sulfur waters, instead of the recommended three, for good measure.

  And his father would try to block Nathan’s interest in any respectable lady, fearing that Nathan might sully the Wynter family name yet again.

  If Nathan had any hope of winning Iona’s hand and society’s nod of approval, he would be wise to act without his father’s knowledge. Which made visits to the Pump Room quite off-limits. Still, he couldn’t stay in this sweltering heat and listen to his valet’s complaints a moment longer.

  “I believe I will take breakfast at Sydney Hotel this morning,” he said abruptly, interrupting Freddie’s grousing mid-sentence. He stopped his pacing, took a peek in the gilded mirror that hung beside the front door and adjusted the Gordian knot of his cravat.

  Mercifully, Freddie remained silent long enough to help him don a snug-fitting olive-colored single-breasted frock on over a sky blue-and-white-striped waistcoat. The round little valet then stepped back and inspected his employer with a critical eye before diving back into his complaints, listing the amount of extra work Nathan had caused him, clucking on and on like an underfed hen, his voice trailing after Nathan as he escaped to the street and made his way toward the center of town.

  Twenty minutes later, Nathan had settled at a small table that looked out onto the gardens on the ground floor of the Sydney Hotel. He’d finished eating a couple of Sally Lunn’s teacakes and was sipping on a coffee while reading a newspaper when two gentlemen with red-rimmed eyes crowded around his chair.

  “You are a wretchedly difficult gent to find, Wynter,” Talbot said and dragged a chair over from another table and sat himself into it without invitation. “We were looking for you for over half the night. The stakes in Goldsmith’s back rooms were running fast and high. We had a smashing time of it, didn’t we, Harlow?”