The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection

by Dorothy McFalls

  Nigel let go of George and tried to straighten his friend’s crumpled lapel. “Can I count on your support?”

  “Of course you have my support. You always do. I will kiss her hand and speak pretty words to her. And I will use my influence to sway my friends to do the same.” He frowned. “But Edgeware, Lady Mercer? Are you certain of her innocence? I mean, she was married to that bastard Mercer, after all.”

  Nigel shuddered at the thought. Before a few days ago he hadn’t known of the Earl of Mercer’s marriage to Elsbeth. Sure, he’d known that the dastardly earl had married. All of the beau monde pitied his poor, nearly invisible wife. But Elsbeth? She’d been married to that monster? Worse, he suspected that the marriage was, at least in some part, Dionysus’s fault.

  “The lady is above reproach,” he said.

  “Even so, I cannot believe your sponsorship at a house party will repair the damage done by the painting. Over half the beau monde turned up at the exhibition.”

  “If one party is not enough, I will have more. I have a duty to fulfill.”

  “What is this connection to Dionysus? Is he a bastard sibling?”

  “You know I cannot tell you, George.”

  “I don’t know anything.” The matter had grown to be a sticking point between the two men. “Pardon me, I’m going to fetch a brandy.”

  Nigel returned his attentions to the paper he’d been reading. But his mind wouldn’t focus on its articles. Instead, he spent the time alone cursing himself for not trusting his closest friend with this secret and cursing Dionysus for ruining Elsbeth’s reputation.

  “I’m glad to see you’ve finally decided to make a presence for yourself in Society, my boy. It took you long enough.”

  Nigel glanced up from the paper. Lord Charles Purbeck’s thick lips were pursed with the same sour expression he seemed to always wear. “Good morning, Uncle. I didn’t realize you made a regular haunt of White’s. I would have suspected Brookes’s more to your political tastes.” He motioned to the empty chair beside him. “Please take a seat, sir.”

  “Brookes’s. White’s. Bah! I keep membership in all the clubs, just as you should, boy. Wise men keep close tabs on both sides of the political fence.” His uncle settled in the chair and dug his hand into an interior pocket of his coat. “You cannot imagine the pleasure and surprise I felt when I received notice of your upcoming house party. I hope you have invited the right sort.” A strange gleam grew in Uncle Charles’s eyes. He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket. “It’s not too late to amend the invitation list.”

  Nigel accepted the paper and unfolded it. He quickly read the names of three of the most influential families of the ton. Luckily, the families had been invited. His efforts to secure Lady Mercer’s return to society would be a waste of time without the cooperation of powerful families.

  “These families boast some of the most eligible young women on the Marriage Mart. I would most assuredly approve of such a match for you, boy.”

  Nigel fought an urge to bury his head in his hands. His uncle despised such behavior, deeming any show of emotion to be below their class. “I’m not yet in search of a wife. This is nothing more than a simple house party,” he said very calmly, though the panic welling deep within him was anything but calm. His uncle had played the role of matchmaker four times. Each time ending in utter disaster.

  “Bah!” Uncle Charles leaned forward and thumped Nigel on the chest. “It’s past time you to beget an heir, boy. You have a duty to your title, to our family line. And don’t think I haven’t heard of your accident at the estate. You’re lucky to be alive after being thrown from a horse like that.”

  “But I am alive. And I fully intend to enjoy living a bit longer before I shackle myself to some simpering milksop or fishwife.”

  “Nonsense! You only need to stay with a wife long enough to get her with child. An heir and a spare. That’s all that’s required of you. Find a wife who enjoys the country and keep her at the estate while you continue to pursue your business here in London. Nothing needs to change in your life. Nothing at all. You can even keep your doxies, and after your wife has produced your brood, she can do the same.” Uncle Charles sighed and smiled. “That’s how it went between your aunt and myself.”

  And look how happy their lives had been. Nigel remembered grimly a terrifying summer morning. He was probably no older than six or seven at the time. He entered the breakfast parlor just as his aunt tossed a pretty blue and white flowered butter dish at Uncle Charles. Uncle Charles had ducked and the dish had shattered against the door mere inches above Nigel’s head.

  “I’ll consider the notion of marriage, Uncle.” It took much less energy to agree with the man who’d raised him than to engage in what would inevitably turn into a heated argument.

  As much as his uncle resented the truth of it, Nigel’s hands were now firmly on the reins of his fortune, his title, his estate, and yes, even his life. He doubted the world had ever experienced such a battle of wills such as the one he’d waged to wrest control from his well-intentioned uncle.

  Charles had made his home at Purbeck Manor shortly after the death of Nigel’s father, which bestowed the title of the sixth Marquess of Edgeware on Nigel’s head at the tender age of three. Lady Purbeck, and their infant son, Charlie, naturally accompanied him in this move.

  “See that you do, boy. Life, especially yours, is too short to delay on such important matters as begetting an heir.” Charles heaved out of the chair and bustled away, leaving Nigel to wonder if his uncle knew how his recent brush with death had not been an accident.

  “Gawd, Edgeware, you look as if you need this brandy more than me. Your jaw’s as long as an old nag’s.” George returned, chipper as ever. It was a wonder how George never held a grudge for long.

  Nigel waved away his friend’s comment with a negligent flip of his wrist. “Just a brief encounter with my uncle, who was only too happy to provide recommendations of whom to invite to my house party.”

  “Sounds like you’ll be sleeping guests in shifts at Purbeck. I don’t remember the old place having enough bedchambers to house the bulk of London.”

  “It doesn’t, and I have been a trifle more exclusive than that in my invitations.” He leaned forward in his chair. George, though projecting his usual lazy demeanor, was acting anything but normal. The deep lines underscoring his eyes hinted at several nights of lost sleep. “I know what my worries are. Why do you require a brandy fortifier?”

  George flustered for a moment, a most unusual behavior for the businessman. “I? Did I say something was wrong?” He swallowed nearly half his drink. “You must be mistaken.”

  “Come now,” Nigel urged.

  “Just a bit of trouble with the shipping business. Nothing that wouldn’t bore the ears off a true aristocrat such as yourself.” George took another sip. “By-the-bye, I want to thank you for involving my mother with this grand event of yours. She’s bubbling over with excitement, chattering on and on about how delighted she is to have been asked to play hostess at your house party.”

  “I’m only too pleased she’d agreed. With a household filled with men, I required the services of a respectable matron to fill the role.” He let the matter of George’s business problems fade to the background, though he wasn’t quite ready to let the matter drop completely. If his friend needed assistance, he wanted to help.

  “Let me ask you an impertinent question, Edgeware.” George’s natural smile returned. “Why a house party? A series of balls hosted by yourself and some of your most powerful friends would do just as well in repairing Lady Mercer’s good name.”

  “Time,” Nigel muttered. “I’m short of it. I was at Purbeck when Lady Mercer’s disaster erupted.” He glanced around the room to make sure no one could overhear them. “No one other than my head groom knows this,” he said. “I expect you’ll be able to keep your mouth shut regarding what I am about to tell you.”

  “Have you ever known my lips to run unfettered?”<
br />
  “No, I haven’t. And don’t pick up the habit now. A few days ago I was riding the borders of the estate in search of fresh evidence of smuggling operations when Zeus bolted. He tossed me headlong to the ground.”

  “Zounds, you’re lucky to be alive! That stallion of yours is a mammoth.”

  “That’s not the half of it. I took a pretty bad crack on the head and suffer from various pains ever since.”

  “Zounds,” George breathed through his teeth.

  “It wasn’t Zeus’s fault. Someone placed a metal burr beneath his saddle. My weight caused him considerable pain.”

  “A murder attempt? You cannot be serious.”

  “Considering how I was mistaken for dead for several minutes after the accident, I have to be serious about this.” Nigel pulled a hand through his hair. “Since I can’t imagine having any enemies among the locals in the village, I’m wondering if I hadn’t stumbled into the middle of a crime ring. Smuggling is growing again in the area. You’ve been to your estate in Dorset recently. Have you heard any talk about illegal activities?”

  George paled. “Gad no. If I had, I would have come straight to you. You’re the highest ranking landowner in the village, after all.”

  Nigel eyed his friend carefully. There was something in the way George’s mouth twitched and in the tone of his quick answer that didn’t sit right.

  “Of course you would,” he said slowly. “Why wouldn’t you?”

  “There is no reason I wouldn’t, so put that out of your mind,” George said a little too vehemently. “So you’re sitting on pins, anxious to get back to your problems at Purbeck? Certainly you’re not actually considering conducting an investigation while a house party is underway in your own home?”

  “That is precisely what I’m planning.”

  “And you suspect an attempt against your life is connected to some errant smuggling operation?” George paled further.

  “What else am I to think?”

  “Then you must not return. Not with the confusion of a house party. There will be too many new faces on the estate for you to properly protect yourself. Not only the guests, but you’ll have to bring in extra servants to care for all those demanding sops residing under your roof.”

  “I know, I know all that. But I can’t let this trouble with Lady Mercer simmer. I have a responsibility to take care of Dionysus’s messes. You know that.”

  “No, I don’t know anything. And what good will you serve Dionysus if you are bloody well dead?”

  “Don’t get flustered, George. I have a plan all worked out. But I do need help. If your business can spare you for the week, I would be delighted if you attended my party as an honored guest.”

  “You can always rely on me.” George laughed then, though it lacked its usual warmth. “Another adventure, eh Edgeware? What a change this will be. I’m usually the one who’s dragging you down into stews. It’ll be a treat to be pulled up into the bright world of high society.”

  “Don’t put yourself down. Your family is perfectly accepted in the ton.”

  This time when George laughed, the rumbling sound was genuine. He stood and drained the last of his brandy. “I work for my fortune; you inherited yours. There’s a world of difference in that statement, Edgeware. A damned world of difference.”

  Chapter Seven

  A gentle breeze rustled through the crisp, brown fronds hanging limply from the ailing palms encircling Purbeck Manor in the southeastern end of Dorset. Despite the ill-chosen tree species, the manor house itself was impressive in both size and architectural style. Adorned with the local Purbeck white marble, a stone commonly found on many of the estates and homes in the region, there was nothing common about Purbeck Manor. The pale marble blocks that had been quarried from the estate grounds had been finely polished and intricately carved in the 17th century to form fanciful details such as sweeping arched lintels and spiraling columns. The work had been directed by an ancestor Nigel had always thought of as a bit mad.

  Who else but a madman would have built such a sprawling manor? Fashioned to mimic a palatial Italian villa, the colossal structure held no less than ten guest apartments, a master suite, a grand ballroom, and an adjoining dining room with a table large enough to seat fifty people. Why anyone would willingly want to feed and entertain so many had been beyond Nigel’s understanding until now.

  Fashionably dressed for the upcoming country affair in a long coat and tailored breeches, he stood outside the front entrance and leaned against one of the fifteen marble columns flanking the front exterior while a line of carriages rolled up the lane and past the estate’s neatly-scythed front lawn.

  The first of the guests were arriving as scheduled. The plan promised to be a challenge. But Nigel felt ready. He had to be, for Elsbeth’s sake. His thoughts strayed to that steely flower. Her strength had startled him. She refused to be cowed. And her determination to expose Dionysus appeared unbendable. Yes, he’d do well to restore her reputation before she could unravel the mystery behind Dionysus.

  If only he didn’t have other distractions—like an attempted murder—to deal with. He was going to need all his concentration to seduce Elsbeth in order to keep her mind off Dionysus. He was contemplating the delightful task of enticing the intriguing lady into his bed when the hair on the back of his neck rose.

  He caught a glimpse of movement in the dark grove just north of the manor.

  Damnation, what now? His nerves were frayed to begin with. The entire household was excited and noisy and in his way. He could hear Lady Waver, George’s mother, rushing about, giving last-minute instructions to the servants. Certainly his imagination was joining in the excitement, creating villains where none existed and seeing shadows of men in the home wood. His nerves must surely be undone.

  But again, out the corner of his eye, he fancied he saw a clear outline of a man. His senses alert, Nigel gazed out into the dark grove.

  An unmistakable pair of eyes flashed from within the shadows of the wood. Someone was definitely out there watching him.

  “Lady Waver!” he called out. He paced the portico, eager to track the intruder. A round woman with bright eyes and flushed cheeks joined him on the front steps.

  “Ah, carriages are approaching,” she said cheerfully. “The house will soon be filled with activity.”

  If he went through the house and out the back way, he might be able to sneak up on whoever was hiding in the woods. Perhaps those eyes belonged to the cove who’d put that burr in Zeus’s saddle.

  “My lord?” Lady Waver said, her cheerful smile fading. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes.” He started toward the front door. “Please greet the incoming guests and give them my apologies.”

  Lady Waver caught his arm. “My lord!” she cried. “You don’t plan to greet them yourself? Surely your guests are expecting—”

  He slipped free from her grasp and gave a brisk bow. “I trust you will manage well enough without me, madam.”

  The guests would have to make do without him. He had a shadow to catch.

  * * * *

  Nigel returned from his search of the woods to find that the carriages had already emptied of their passengers. Other than the ripped piece of wool he’d found hanging on a tree branch, there were no other signs to suggest there had been an intruder on the property, no other evidence to prove he hadn’t imagined his being watched.

  Just to be safe, he sent Guthrie, a rather burly footman, to thoroughly search the woods and report anything suspicious.

  Perhaps he should also find George and—

  “I will not have it!” a round tone sang out just as he entered the front hall.

  Damn and blast. The guests.

  Nigel forced a grin and forged forward, prepared to play the friendly host.

  Lady Waver stood in the middle of the entrance hall, her face red as a cherry. “But—but Lady Dashborough, you cannot mean to leave.” She waved her stout hands in the air while blocking the path of t
hree ladies who were trying to push their way out the front door.

  Nigel drew a deep breath. He’d expected trouble, and though the prospect of confronting the formidable Lady Dashborough frayed his nerves, he was not unprepared.

  “Ladies,” he said, as he strode quickly across the hall to greet the unhappy women.

  Lady Dashborough was the first to turn around. “Lord Edgeware, how dare you?” She punctuated each word and then thrust her chin in the air. “We are leaving.”

  “Leaving?” he echoed. He leaned against an interior column and let a crooked grin form. “Why ever for, my lady? You’ve only just arrived.” He knew the picture he created, the untamed bachelor with a gleaming smile.

  Lady Dashborough, still a beautiful woman in her own right and one of the most influential gossips in the ton, stepped toward him. Her hunched shoulders relaxed a good three inches.

  “There has to be a mistake,” she said, her voice softening to almost a whisper. “Your hostess has shown that Mercer creature to one of your guest rooms. We cannot be expected to consort with a woman of…of…that sort. I cannot imagine how the Baneshires manage to allow that thing to live in their home, much less allow it to act as chaperone for their daughters. I, for one, would have swiftly kicked it out and let it fend for itself in the stews where it assuredly belongs.”

  Nigel gave a quick nod to Lady Dashborough’s two daughters before taking the grand lady’s hand in his. “I am sure you would have done just that. I can understand why you’d feel offended by her presence.” He led her to the far end of the hall and lowered his voice. “But then if Lady Mercer knew of the secret liaisons you and a certain married duke, a married duke who has openly sworn his devotion to his lovely wife, have been carrying on for nigh three years now, she might feel just as offended to be included on the same guest list as you.”

  Lady Dashborough sucked in a great deal of air. “I have never broadcast that relationship. There is no scandal.”

  “No?” he said smoothly. “No, I suppose not. At least, there won’t be one as long as a certain influential wife of a certain duke remains ignorant.”