The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection

by Dorothy McFalls

  “I cannot imagine what has gotten into our Elsbeth,” her uncle said, his complexion suddenly as pale as the white linen tablecloth.

  “She is obviously suffering from a breakdown of nerves.” Edgeware’s unbreakable black gaze threatened to singe her. “The strain, the suffering from society’s censure must be taking a terrible toll. But you need not fear the outcome of the house party, my lady.”

  Both Elsbeth’s aunt and uncle heartily, and loudly, agreed, both launching into lengthy speeches.

  Edgeware chuckled. “It appears I’ve created some discord here,” he said, not sounding a whit sorry for it. Instead, he leaned in close and lowered his voice so she could barely hear him above her aunt and uncle’s excited speeches. “As I have already explained, I fully intend to restore your reputation…with or without your cooperation, by the way.”

  She tried with little success to ignore him and, for that matter, to ignore the arguments her aunt and uncle were quickly offering up as reasons why she ought to agree to attend the blasted house party. And she found it impossible to ignore the warm hand still curling around her arm.

  A man as self-important as Edgeware, a man so like her husband, could easily lose his temper and justify harming her. Though his grasp was surprisingly gentle, she dared not trust the dark lord. His eyes were as black as the devil’s heart.

  She was barely able to stifle the whimper that tried to escape her quivering lips.

  * * * *

  Lady Mercer stared, fixated on his hand, the hand gripping her slender arm. Her sapphire eyes turned as hard as the gems they resembled. A look of outrage tightened the fine features of her slender face, rushing away the wariness that had frozen her expression a moment before.

  Nigel had to admit his actions bordered on the outrageous. But if he hadn’t grabbed her when he did, she would have dashed from the room, creating an impossible scene that may have trapped him into withdrawing the invitation to the house party altogether.

  No, he could not allow that. Besides, he despised nasty, emotional scenes. They served no purpose other than to play havoc with his digestive system.

  Lady Mercer brought her gaze up to meet his eyes. “Do what you must to serve whatever twisted version of justice you are seeking, but understand this. I vow I won’t stop until I’ve uncovered that demon you hide. Dionysus will not be allowed to continue his charade,” she whispered. A fire sparked between them as a deep flush deepened the pink of her cheeks.

  “Your eyes, my dear lady,” he said, finding himself becoming trapped by her stinging gaze, almost seduced by them. Dionysus’s efforts to capture the life in her vivid blue eyes were but pale imitations when compared to the real things.

  “What about my eyes?”

  “They are not quite a deep blue, are they? But there is an unusual quality that darkens them. That shade of blue is far from what I’d consider dark,” he said, and let his hand slip from her arm. “I believe they are almost a Sardinian blue. But not quite. Like you, they are quite unique. A treasure.”

  Lady Mercer—no, he could not think of her by that cursed name—to him she was simply Elsbeth, and Elsbeth, pretty as a spring flower, didn’t smile at his compliment.

  “Do you not like your eyes?” he asked. “Perhaps you wish they were a pretty shade of green, like emeralds?”

  Elsbeth stiffened her shoulders and sat ramrod straight in the chair. “I, sir, am not at all displeased with the color of my eyes. It is your commenting on them that offends me,” she said, no longer whispering.

  “Indeed?” He sat back in his chair. Most young women were trained to be coy, not straightforward. And she had come back with her set-down as quickly as a seasoned society matron. “Do you care to tell me why?”

  Before she could answer, her uncle broke into their conversation.

  “What nonsense is this?” he asked. “We were discussing the house party. How ever, Elsbeth, did you manage to stray from the topic?”

  Elsbeth glared at Nigel, sputtering with frustration. “I-I-he—”

  “No matter,” Baneshire said smoothly. “I can quickly settle this matter of the house party.”

  That caught Nigel’s attention.

  “Lady Baneshire and I have been more than pleased with your service as lady’s companion to my daughters, Elsbeth.” Baneshire smiled as he spoke, but Nigel recognized an undercurrent of tension in the man’s voice. “And of course you will never be turned away. You may feel free to stay with us as long as you wish.”

  “Thank you,” she said. She lowered her head and appeared to be very interested in the intricate stitching on the tablecloth.

  “I remember when you first came to us, you insisted on making yourself useful. You were the one who begged to assume the duties of Olivia and Lauretta’s companion and chaperone. Do you wish to continue in that role?”

  “Of course I do. I just don’t—”

  “Splendid.” Baneshire clapped his hands once. “Then it is settled. You will accept Edgeware’s generous invitation to his house party and allow his irreproachable reputation to repair yours.”

  “I will have Tallford send for Madame Bossier this afternoon,” Lady Baneshire said. She, too, was clearly delighted. “Olivia, Lauretta, and, of course you, my dear, will simply have to order a new wardrobe.”

  At that, Elsbeth glanced up from the tablecloth with more than a little degree of alarm. “I beg you, Aunt. Please do not go to any bother for me. I am in no need of a new wardrobe. I have barely worn any of the dresses ordered for the Season. They should be sufficient for a country house party.”

  “No, my dear,” Lady Baneshire’s voice was gentle but firm. “As you already know, a house party requires a very specific wardrobe.”

  “Surely my gowns will do.” There was an edge of panic in Elsbeth voice. Nigel wondered at it.

  “No, they won’t do.”

  Her chin tightened. Nigel could only guess why the thought of ordering a new wardrobe would overset a young lady’s nerves. Money, or rather a shortage of it, was most likely at root of her worries.

  “Baneshire,” he said, rising from the table. He gave Elsbeth a warm smile. “I thank you for a delicious breakfast.” Of which he did not eat a bite. A shame, really. The pastries did look very tasty. “Unfortunately, I have another engagement that I cannot delay.”

  Actually, he didn’t have any waiting engagements that morning. He had cleared his schedule so he could focus all his attentions on repairing Elsbeth’s reputation. The reason for the lie was that he suddenly needed a moment alone with Elsbeth, and he would not get one while lounging in the breakfast parlor.

  Baneshire rose from his chair and took Nigel’s hand, thanking him again for inviting them to his house party.

  “I am indeed sorry to hear that your health prevents you from attending, Lady Baneshire,” Nigel said as he bowed over the lady’s limp hand. “It was certainly a pleasure seeing you again.”

  He purposefully ignored Elsbeth and started toward the door. Baneshire, naturally, followed with the intention of walking his guest to the entranceway.

  “Lady Mercer.” He paused at the threshold and turned to face her as if she were an afterthought.

  She looked so untouched in her perfection. He couldn’t picture that this slender beauty had lived as another man’s wife for nearly six years. The thought of her engaged in any sort of carnal act was staggering.

  He quickly cleared his throat. “Perhaps Lady Mercer would be kind enough to show me to the front door?” He posed the question to Baneshire instead of Elsbeth who would have deftly rejected him.

  Her uncle appeared delighted. He stepped back, giving Elsbeth ample room to take Nigel’s arm and no room to refuse.

  She wrinkled her gentle, blond brows and frowned deeply, hesitating a long moment before touching his sleeve. “My lord,” she said briskly, “the front entry is this way.”

  Within a few steps they were alone in the hall. He stopped and turned abruptly to her. Her sapphire eyes darte
d beyond his shoulder, to the ceiling, to his feet, and after a lifetime of breathless moments and a long shuddering on her part, stilled to gaze on his face. He rewarded her with a smile.

  “Very good, my lady. I don’t believe you met my eyes once in the breakfast parlor. A lady of your standing has certainly been trained better.”

  Her gaze hardened, and thanks to his rebuke she appeared to have grown all the more determined to hold his gaze.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked with a huff.

  Splendid. The question surprised him, of course. From what he’d heard from Severin, he’d expected to be singed by her tongue. But the fact that she hadn’t burned him to a crisp made what he wanted to accomplish today seem even more accessible.

  He peeled off a glove and held out his hand.

  Elsbeth, slightly alarmed, flicked a glance at his open palm before locking her gaze with his again. “I don’t understand.”

  “Place your hand in mine, Lady Mercer.”

  Both her hands closed into fists. “Why?”

  At least she had left room for negotiation.

  He glanced up and down the hall. There were no servants about. They were still quite alone, though in a busy London town house he could only expect to remain so for longer than a moment or two.

  He gave her a blazing smile; one he knew could melt even the most jaded woman’s knees. “I promise not to scandalize you. And I also vow that you have no cause to fear me. Please, place your hand in mine. To indulge in a lengthy discussion of why a man would wish to touch a woman’s hand would only destroy the effect, do you not think?”

  “I don’t see this as necessary, my lord.”

  “Indeed, it is not necessary at all.” He kept holding his hand out like a beggar, waiting. This was foolish. She was definitely planning on spurning him. But in spite of his misgivings he did not let his smile waver. “I will not force you.”

  At least she had spent the past several moments looking only upon his face. That was something.

  Chilly fingers brushed his palm. He closed his hand around hers. She flinched but kept her hand within his. Her skin was as cool as the purbeck marble mined from his cliffs. With the pad of his thumb he began tracing a broad circle on the back of her hand.

  “Is this so very terrible?” he asked.

  “I have experienced worse things.” Her chin lifted a good inch and her lips thinned.

  Touching her and believing her to be his, if only for a fleeting moment, filled him with a surprising amount of satisfaction. It was an experience he definitely intended to have repeated and soon.

  “I’m glad to know I do not completely repulse you.” He lowered her hand, and released it.

  Her eyelashes fluttered as she lost her composure for a moment. A deep blush rose to her cheeks. “The door, my lord,” she said with a grand gesture.

  “Just a moment.” He held back from touching her arm. She was as skittish as a kitten when it came to being touched. “Take this.” He held out a banknote he’d fished from his pocket for her. He’d intended to use the note along with several others to pay Severin for his services, but he suspected Elsbeth needed the money even more desperately. “Use it to purchase your gowns.”

  “What is this?” She eyed the banknote as if she thought it might bite her. Her sapphire eyes then flashed to his face. “I will not accept charity.” Her eyes grew even wider. He spied a touch of fear in them as she stumbled back a step and stared at the hand that had touched his. “I may be a destitute widow, but I am no doxy whose favor you can purchase.”

  Nigel laughed. “No, my lady, I never thought you to be a doxy. You are a treasure, and this is a payment.”

  Her nose wrinkled delightfully as she stared at him with some confusion. “A payment? A payment for what?”

  “For the painting, of course. If Dionysus received money for selling The Nude, why ever shouldn’t you share in his bounty? You have certainly suffered its existence.”

  She stared at the banknote again, this time with more curiosity than caution. “Two hundred pounds? Are you sure that is the sum of money the painting had been sold for?”

  “The Nude didn’t sell for two hundred pounds,” he said, a pleased smile spread across his face. She listened to him so eagerly. “The painting was commanding a price more than twice that.” He didn’t tell her that since he took possession of the painting, it never actually sold. If she knew the truth of the matter, she wouldn’t accept the money. “But since you merely acted as the muse to prompt Dionysus to paint the piece, I didn’t think you deserved to keep the full price of the work.”

  “Indeed?” she sniffed. He suspected she was about to demand more money from him before she caught herself and pushed the money into a fold of her skirt.

  He quickly accepted the victory, small that it may have been, and offered her his arm. She took it much more readily this time and politely led him to the door.

  Being a poor relation must be a terribly trying experience for a proud woman. She seemed uncomfortable with the charity the Baneshires no doubt freely gave to her. And the Season’s obligations and events were expensive enough; they were surely straining Elsbeth’s nerves.

  Nigel vowed to change all that.

  For Elsbeth, a woman far more interesting than a seductive image on a canvas, deserved everything he could give her.

  Chapter Six

  “Attend the house party, my lady,” Edgeware said with an imperial air. Before Elsbeth had a chance to respond he signaled his intention to leave with a bow. It was a grand gesture full of romantic flourish, yet tempered with a teasing grin. He then turned on his heel and sauntered away.

  She watched, feeling more than a little stunned as he departed down the long hallway. She should call out to him. She should rebuke him. But the words simply wouldn’t come.

  She pressed her hand to her mouth. Her skin still felt warm from Edgeware’s strong but gentle touch. Like a lover’s caress, his heat spread from the tips of her fingers to her tingling lips.

  “No,” she whispered as tears pooled in her eyes. Even though her feelings were in turmoil, even though her belly quivered with both excitement and fear, she would not lose herself to her emotions.

  And yet, it had been so long, so very long since she’d felt this way. For the first time in more years than she cared to count, she could feel a slight stirring in her heart. This was Edgeware’s doing, of course. He’d blown into her life like a maelstrom. Or like a brave knight atop a white horse with his bold promises to save her. What woman wouldn’t find herself falling prey to his charms?

  Not her. She was no longer a bright-eyed virgin, naively believing in fairytales. Though she didn’t fully understand his motives, she knew exactly what Edgeware was doing. She recognized his heated glances and pretty words for what they were. She also recognized the way her own treacherous body was responding. There was no question in her mind at all about what was happening.

  He was trying to seduce her.

  And, Heaven help her, she was tempted, oh so dearly tempted to let him.

  * * * *

  Nigel sipped his brandy and peered over the top of the Gazette he was reading. White’s was crowded with the influential men of the beau monde, many enjoying the warmth of the blazing fires while London suffered from yet another day of chilly rains. His appearance at the gentleman’s club created a minor disturbance. A self-acknowledged recluse, he rarely graced the private rooms of White’s. But despite how much he hated drawing attention to himself, some matters needed to be handled in full view of the public.

  “Have you lost your marbles, Edgeware? You have the matrons of the ton all twittering.” Mr. George Waver, Sir Justin Waver’s second son and Nigel’s neighbor in Dorset, plopped down in an adjacent leather chair.

  Nigel set his crystal snifter on the small round table between them. He’d nursed the brandy for close to an hour, waiting for George to arrive.

  “It’s rare when I’m not the topic of gossip and specula
tion,” he said wryly.

  “But it’s so out of your nature to be the one creating the gossip, to—I hesitate to say it—to entertain.” George threw his legs over the arm of the chair and crossed his ankles. “Do you realize how much entertaining you’ll be responsible for with a house party? Guests linger, you must know, for longer than the week.”

  “No one will linger. I’ll make certain of that.”

  George shook his head. “For someone who has never hosted a party, you’re certainly jumping into this endeavor with both feet. May I inquire what the blazes you’re up to?”

  Nigel chuckled. He never imagined he could surprise George, the founder of a large, though often beleaguered, shipping company. He lifted a manicured finger to his lips. “You may find the house party’s purpose even more shocking than the fact that I’m hosting it. But it is one of the reasons I’ve asked you to meet me.”

  George lurched forward and swung his feet to the floor. “Really?” His sky-blue eyes sparkled. “It involves danger? And you need me to watch your back?”

  “Danger of another kind, George. And, yes, I do need you to watch my back.” He paused for the sheer joy of watching his friend squirm in his seat. “I’m setting out to restore Lady Mercer to the good graces of society.”

  “Lady Mercer? The Nude?”

  Nigel clenched his teeth. “Yes, Lady Mercer. She’s suffered a great wrong and I intend to make reparations. I hope I can count on your assistance in ensuring my guests treat her with the highest degree of respect.”

  “I say she’s just as guilty as your Dionysus. If she didn’t want to be sneered at like some rantipole, she should have never taken up with the artist. She’s no better than any common light skirt—”

  “No!” He reached over and caught George by his coat’s collar. “She had no knowledge of the painting. She’s had no contact with Dionysus. She is an innocent in this affair.”

  “Very well, Edgeware.” George’s expression darkened. “Release me before you attract the attention of every damned gentleman in the club.”