The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection

by Dorothy McFalls

  He wasn’t jesting. He was actually dreading this evening more than she. And he was looking to her to be his strength.

  Amazing.

  “If you smile like that all evening, I won’t notice anyone in the room but you,” he said. A wolfish gleam appeared in his black gaze. His eyes shimmered with a brooding hunger, the same erotic and almost tempting hunger he’d used against her defenses that afternoon in the garden. And just like in the garden, she couldn’t run away. Not from him…or herself.

  “Thank you, my lord. But I have no need of support. I am perfectly capable of enjoying an evening with my peers.” This time when she turned, she did so with careful precision. Head held high, she marched into the drawing room. Alone. The laughter and giddy chatter abruptly came to a halt. All eyes turned to her.

  She did need his support, damn his teasing ways.

  She didn’t want to face his guests alone. She didn’t want to face them at all. They knew. Because of that horrid painting, they now knew. She could read it in their disapproving gazes. They knew she’d been unfaithful to her husband, the royal hero who’d bravely given his life in battle. Though she hadn’t taken comfort in another man’s arms in his absence—as some now believed—she had broken her marriage vows.

  She’d denied the truth to her uncle. Denied it to herself, too. She hadn’t been a faithful wife. She’d withheld herself from him in the worst possible ways. A wife was bound by duty to love and honor her husband, no matter the hardships. And she’d done neither. The day word of his death reached her ears, she’d breathed a sigh of relief for being released from him, a man she despised.

  Somehow Dionysus had seen through her stiff upper lip and silent nods. Somehow he knew of the dishonor lurking in her heart and was determined to reveal her secret to the world.

  She had to stop him before he dealt another blow to her and her family’s reputation. There were too many secrets hidden beneath the pain. Society would forever shun her if they ever learned the full truth of her marriage.

  With a brave smile that was anything but real, she stepped toward her cousins, who were, unfortunately, sitting on a sofa next to Lady Dashborough’s two daughters. Just as she was about to politely greet the lovely quartette of ladies, her gaze landed on a large painting hanging above her cousins’ heads.

  And she froze.

  Varying shades of purples and crimson had been blended to create a stunning sunset. The paint nearly glowed. The artist’s short bush strokes and heavy use of paint struck Elsbeth immediately.

  Dionysus had painted the scene.

  Even here, far away from the frivolities of London, he plagued her, underscoring the urgency of her task. Naturally, she’d expected it to be the case since Edgeware had baldly admitted to being Dionysus’s keeper. But even so, her heart wasn’t prepared to soak in the heartrending landscape.

  A man, alone, with only his back visible stood on a rocky outcropping, a cape fluttering in the harsh wind. Other than the rocks and the vast expanse of the sunset, the landscape was barren. Utterly barren.

  The raw despair bared in that scene threatened to rip open her heart. How could this be the same artist who wished to ruin her? How could he display such depths of feeling while being cold enough to seek to destroy her bruised and broken heart?

  “Elly,” Olivia said loudly, saving Elsbeth from being completely absorbed into Dionysus’s painting. “I was afraid that you were determined to hide upstairs for the entire week.”

  The younger of Lady Dashborough’s two daughters, a creamy-skinned beauty with soft auburn hair, sniffed haughtily. “One could only have hoped.”

  “That new gown looks lovely on you, Elsbeth,” Lauretta said on the heels of the snide comment.

  “Yes,” Lady Dashborough’s elder daughter said. “The silver threads are simply stunning.”

  Elsbeth held her breath, waiting for the young woman to follow up the compliment with a snide remark of her own. The woman merely batted her pretty long eyelashes and stared up at Elsbeth with a look akin to reverence.

  “Thank you,” Elsbeth said finally. Shock kept her from saying anything more.

  Besides, her attention was drawn back to the painting. It was a self-portrait of course, a man utterly alone in a harsh environment. His shoulders sagged, drawn down with exhaustion from bearing too great a weight for far too long. She recognized his anguish, knew such pain only too well. Here, in the middle of this drawing room, she felt just as alone.

  “Lady Sara, Lady Constance, please permit me to introduce my cousin.” Olivia jumped up from the sofa and pulled her arm around Elsbeth.

  “There is no need,” the younger of the daughters said. She rose from the sofa and walked away.

  “I am Sara,” the elder Dashborough said. “Please forgive my sister. She is…insecure.” Sara edged closer to Elsbeth. “But I am fascinated by you. I would dearly enjoy talking to you sometime this week.”

  “I would be only too happy to—”

  “Please excuse me, ladies.” Lord Edgeware appeared at Elsbeth’s side and deftly captured her arm. “Allow me to introduce Lady Mercer to the other guests before the three of you monopolize all her attentions.” He gave the women such a charming, dimpled smile it would have been impossible to object.

  “A pretty splattering of colors, do you not agree?” he said, not sparing even a passing glance toward the painting she could not seem to ignore. The dark lord stood too close to her. His spicy masculine scent left her breathless, her mind muddled. “I thought it matched the décor of this room.”

  Pretty? She shivered and forced herself to turn away from the haunting image. He couldn’t even begin to understand how Dionysus’s lonely images could sting her heart.

  Just standing next to Edgeware and looking at the “splattering of colors” made her miss the soft emotions she’d long ago abandoned. Gracious, she needed to regain control. Allowing her foolish heart such freedom would prove dangerous.

  It always did.

  “Don’t run from me again,” Edgeware whispered as they strolled across the room, his voice an intimate caress on her ear, making it all the more difficult to steel her nerves against the softening of her resolve.

  “Forgive me, my lord,” she said, her voice as sharp as a fishwife’s.

  “Just don’t do it again,” he replied smoothly. “I would hate to wrack my brain once more in order to come up with a fresh excuse to lure you back to my side.”

  She bit her tongue, stopping herself before she told him that spending the evening in his company was one of the very last things she wished to do. A lie, if there was ever one, too. Perversely, like Dionysus’s paintings, Edgeware fascinated her.

  So, with a smile forming on her lips, she allowed herself to be introduced to the crowded room. Every now and again she caught her gaze straying back to Dionysus’s painting and would have to forcibly return her wandering attentions to the guests being introduced.

  Not all present that evening were staying at the house. Some were Edgeware’s neighbors. And not all of the faces were unfamiliar to her. Lord Ames had the decency to blush as he rubbed his cheek in memory of the slap she had given him the day of the exhibition.

  The famous “Beau” Brummel, the arbiter of taste and refinement, bowed over her hand and complimented her silver sheath of a gown. Stunned by his acceptance, she just barely murmured her gratitude. Mr. Brummel and Edgeware paid her no heed as they talked amicably about courtly affairs.

  Lady Cowper, one of the patronesses of Almack’s and a powerful figure in her own right, greeted Elsbeth with cool civility before turning her charm toward Edgeware. “I have pulled myself away from London during the height of the Season with the sole purpose to recruit you into our ranks, Edgeware. Whenever will you join Almack’s?” She swatted him with her fan. “There are so few eligible, handsome faces attending lately.”

  Lady Cowper’s husband, the Fifth Earl of Cowper, was on the other side of the room, talking politics with several of Edgeware’s ne
ighbors.

  Much to Elsbeth’s surprise, other than Lady Dashborough’s youngest daughter, no one insulted her or tried to spurn her company. Even Lady Dashborough apologized for her earlier behavior. Apparently the Marquess’s social influence hadn’t been overstated.

  After the introductions, she wasn’t given the chance to return to her cousins or to disappear into a corner where she could ponder her unsettling reaction to either Dionysus’s painting or the way the dark lord made her heart race. Instead, she was persuaded, rather doggedly, to partner Edgeware in a game of Whist, a game she was, luckily, able to play with a great deal of skill and confidence. After a while, she found that the evening promised to be a bit better than the utter disaster she’d initially imagined. And much to her surprise, many of her giggles were even genuine.

  * * * *

  Did she realize the effect she had on men when she let her eyes sparkle so?

  Nigel supposed not, since no accompanying coy smile tugged on her artfully shaped lips. Nor did she sneak glances with the other men at the table to read their reactions. Her behavior was as straightforward and honest as a sunrise. The only fleeting glances she’d sneak were toward that damned painting on the wall.

  He cursed his decision to hang that dratted painting in his drawing room. She was clearly repulsed—frightened even—by it, though her gaze seemed drawn to it.

  George and Severin, the whist team Nigel and Elsbeth were pitting their wits against, were playing a sharp hand while talking incessantly about the most nonsensical topics. Elsbeth laughed prettily at a jest George made before laying down the queen of hearts—exactly the card Nigel had been waiting for.

  “I’m tempted to smuggle you into the worst of London’s gaming rooms,” he leaned forward and said as he played his turn, winning the fifth consecutive game point. “I’d say your skills would win me a fortune several times over.”

  “Then you simply must let me have her,” Severin said. “I could make better use of the lady’s skills than you ever could, Edgeware.”

  Severin made the comment in such a lilting manner that no one would have taken him seriously. They were joking, having a bit of fun with the compliments. From the way the color drained from Elsbeth’s face, one would have thought they’d been contemplating selling her into slavery.

  “I say,” Severin said, mirroring her distress. “’Tis a little jest, that’s all. Truly, nothing to get the vapors over.”

  Elsbeth murmured something unintelligible. Since it was her turn again, she drew a card from her stack and dropped it on the pile without even looking at it. Her play stunned Nigel. The card she’d tossed down hadn’t followed the suit of the trick being played nor did it trump the highest card on the table. In fact, she’d revoked. A move only a novice player would make. According to the rules, they’d be penalized three points. Not that he cared about the points. It was her reaction that had him worried.

  He tried to get her attention, to ask her what was wrong, but she refused to look up from the tabletop.

  “Lady Mercer?” he asked softly. “Are you unwell?”

  She blinked up at him for a silent moment before flicking a glance toward the drawing room door. At least she wasn’t sneaking another look at that accursed painting. Her slender hand reached up and clutched the locket hanging around her neck. The color in her cheeks faded further and her lips tightened when her gaze returned again to the drawing room door.

  Something was terribly wrong.

  Nigel rose as he followed her gaze. Charlie, followed by three of his friends, was strolling into the room like a group of well-groomed roosters.

  “Nigel!” his cousin called out. “Surprise!”

  * * * *

  Devils and demons, Elsbeth cursed. She should have suspected a handsome demon like Lord Edgeware would be mixed up with a devil like Charlie.

  “Lady Mercer.” Edgeware had somehow slipped from his chair and made his way to her side without her notice. He placed a steadying hand around her arm and urged her to her feet. “Lady Mercer, allow me to present my cousin, Mr. Charles Purbeck.”

  She stared into Charlie’s dead eyes. A chill direct from hell sailed through her. Charlie and her husband had been two parts of a very close trio. The third, a Captain Pime, was still on the continent with the British army. When the three men had stayed at the estate, she’d felt as if she was their main prey. And it was Charlie, always Charlie, who’d mercilessly tease her husband about his lack of heirs. It was a topic that was a source of endless tension in their marriage, made worse by Charlie. While the men would drink in the parlor after supper, Charlie would whisper in her husband’s ear. She never knew exactly what he was saying to Hubert. But the result was always the same. Her husband’s face would turn a ruddy red and his eyes would harden every time he’d glance in her direction. And then, later—

  Charlie took her hand with brash familiarity, caressing her fingertips before lifting her hand to his lips for a tender kiss.

  “Elly,” he said. The nickname grated her nerves, and he knew it. He also knew how improper it was for him to be addressing her so intimately. “Elly, my dear, it is ever so good to see you again.”

  He paused and licked his lips. “With the rumors of your indiscretion flying, I’d been worried about you. I’m glad to see you have found safety under my cousin’s…um…protection. I look forward to renewing our acquaintance this week.” His gaze held a wealth of promises that churned her stomach. Before she could tell him that she wanted to do nothing of the sort, he turned his back and greeted Lord Ames.

  “Severin,” he said, and gave Ames a good pound on the arm. “Good to see you, man. We’ve missed you in our group. What with the war and all, our numbers have been dwindling. We need you back at our tables to help fill in the void, and our pockets.”

  Charlie’s friends all laughed at the joke.

  Edgeware frowned. “Now Charlie—”

  “Don’t get your indignation all twisted about, cousin. Severin knows I’m just having a bit of fun.”

  At his expense, Elsbeth thought, remembering only too well the times she’d been the target of Charlie’s inappropriate humor…and worse, much worse once her husband and his friends had gotten deep into their cups. She moved to escape the drawing room and bumped into Edgeware’s chest.

  He wrapped a comforting arm around her waist. “Easy,” he whispered. “There is nothing to fear here.”

  She longed to believe him. But with Charlie in the room, she had reason enough to doubt her safety.

  “Donald?”

  Elsbeth glanced up at the sound of Lauretta’s voice. Sure enough, the fickle-hearted Sir Donald Gilforth stood beside Charlie, his fingers playing with a large crested fob hanging from his waistcoat pocket. How could she have missed him before? She was becoming careless, and with so many gentlemen about, that could prove dangerous.

  Sir Donald stared blankly ahead as Lauretta rushed up to greet him. Elsbeth’s heart stopped. She pulled away from Edgeware just as Lauretta, with eyes bright and a pretty smile pursed on her satiny lips, stepped happily into what promised to be a crushing scene.

  “Lord Edgeware,” Lady Waver bustled up and latched onto the Marquess’s arm. “Dinner is ready to be served.”

  “Splendid,” said Charlie while capturing Elsbeth’s hand. “Please allow me to escort you to the dining room, Elly.” She had no time to refuse him. Not when there was a more pressing matter worrying her.

  Lauretta’s fragile heart.

  “Donald, it is wonderful to see you,” Lauretta was saying, her pink cheeks glowing.

  “Yes,” Sir Donald said vaguely, no longer looking in Lauretta’s direction but at someone beyond her shoulder. “Excuse me, my lady.” He brushed past Lauretta and made a beeline to Lady Dashborough’s youngest daughter, the lovely Lady Constance.

  “Oh dear,” Elsbeth muttered, and tried to hurry over to comfort her cousin. But Charlie held her back, squeezing her hand so hard she feared her bones might snap.


  “Come along, Elly. Dawdling is so very unbecoming.” For a moment he sounded exactly like her dead husband, and she suddenly felt as helpless as a rag doll, unable to do anything other than obey. She might have let Charlie lead her away from her cousin and into the dining room if Edgeware hadn’t stepped into their path.

  Anger smoldered deep within the brooding dark lord’s eyes. With a smooth motion, he freed her hand from Charlie’s crushing grip. “George has already claimed the right to escort Lady Mercer this evening,” he said.

  George had done nothing of the sort.

  But no matter, she was grateful for the lie.

  George gave a little start, shook his head, and stepped forward. “Of course, I don’t know where my mind is.”

  “I would have escorted you myself,” Edgeware quickly explained. “But Lady Waver would never forgive me if I were to ignore the convention of personally escorting the highest ranking lady into the dining room. I am the host, after all, and Lady Waver has graciously agreed to play hostess since this household has been woefully without one for over a decade. I will not upset her.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to,” Elsbeth said, perplexed.

  “And Mr. Waver will be crushed if a lady were to turn him away at the last moment.” Edgeware spoke so gently, so calmly. His voice soothed her raw nerves, and she was so very glad to accept his friend’s proffered arm.

  Oh dear. Once free from Charlie, her concerns returned to Lauretta. The girl stood in the middle of the room, alone as a lost lamb. Tears were just starting to well up in her eyes as she stared, disbelieving, after her beloved Donald.

  Olivia, Elsbeth saw, would be no help. She had attached herself to the illustrious “Beau” Brummel, certainly a coup of enormous proportions.

  Elsbeth squeezed her eyes shut. She needed to take care of her cousin. As chaperone, Lauretta’s welfare was her duty and no one else’s.

  “Mr. Waver,” she said and swallowed deeply. There was no hope for it. She’d have to feed herself to the lion in order to keep Lauretta from being stranded and brokenhearted in the middle of the drawing room. “I hope you’ll forgive me for crushing your spirit,” she said, “but, you see—” she cleared her throat “—I did not realize Charlie would be here. And since he was a dear friend of my late husband’s, I feel compelled to accept his company.” That didn’t quite come out as graciously as she’d intended. “Lady Lauretta is without a companion, sir.”