The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection

by Dorothy McFalls

  Elsbeth was grateful. Charlie, the devil himself, had saved her from forgetting herself and the painful lessons she’d learned about men and love—at least their protestations of an ability to possess such a tender emotion. How in Heaven’s name had she gotten to the point of wanting to let Edgeware ease his way into her heart?

  Charlie grabbed Edgeware’s shoulders. “I just spoke to George. He told me what happened. Gad, it makes me shiver to think the horrible death you would have suffered if our Elly hadn’t happened along. You are unharmed, aren’t you? Oh, cousin, please tell me you are unharmed!”

  “Don’t get yourself worked up, Charlie. Of course I am well. It was a freak accident. Nothing to worry over.”

  “Not worry? How could I not worry? Wouldn’t you fret after me if I’d been the one in danger? Sometimes I feel as if you are my keeper, Nige,” Charlie said, and smiled a deep smile that narrowed his eyes. Elsbeth had seen that look of sheer satisfaction on him before and knew to be wary of it. Charlie was plotting.

  “Please excuse me, my lord,” she said with a bowed head, wishing to escape the men and, more importantly, her tender feelings that were threatening to betray her. “I believe I should head up to the manor house after all this excitement.”

  Charlie latched onto her arm. “I’ll escort you, Elly.”

  Edgeware stepped into their path and peeled Charlie from her arm. “It’s vastly improper for you to address Lady Mercer in such a familiar manner,” he said.

  “Hubert, her dear late husband, and I were very close. Weren’t we Elly?”

  “Yes, they were close,” she conceded. Charlie had been close to her husband, and he had said it himself: he thought of Lord Edgeware as his keeper.

  Charlie? She felt the blood drain from her cheeks.

  “Almost like brothers, I’d say. Or like you and I, Nige.” Charlie laughed and patted Elsbeth’s hand. It was all she could do to keep herself from bursting into tears.

  Could it be true?

  The air seemed suddenly too thick to breathe. “Please excuse me,” she murmured before picking up her skirts and darting back toward Edgeware’s sprawling estate house.

  What if Charlie was the link?

  Charlie knew both her husband and Lord Edgeware, and with his love of high-stakes gambling he was certainly greedy enough to wish his own cousin dead. With Edgeware out of the way, the title and control of the money would go to his uncle and eventually to Charlie.

  And wasn’t Edgeware responsible for Charlie? As head of the family, Edgeware would naturally be considered his cousin’s keeper, of sorts.

  She dug her nails into her palms, determined to keep a level head. Please, please no. Let me be wrong. But how could she be wrong? As harsh as it seemed, this was most likely the truth she’d traveled all the way to Dorset to learn.

  Charlie was Dionysus.

  Of course she needed proof. There was no need to give up all hope until she knew without doubt that Charlie was in fact Dionysus. No need at all.

  Dionysus would pay for his sins, of that she was certain. Perhaps it would be easier, knowing the rogue was naught but a devil and someone she couldn’t have—should never have—loved.

  “Come now, Elly.” Charlie caught up to her and grabbed hold of her hand. She jerked it away, giving the bounder cause to have a good laugh at her expense. “Now, now, don’t be this way.”

  She took a moment to search Charlie’s face, looking for a clue, a glimmer of Dionysus’s passion, his pain, his genius. She found nothing but emptiness. She saw nothing but mischief in his scheming eyes.

  “I’m sure Hubert would want the two of us to remain close,” he said, and flashed a toothy grin. “He and I shared everything, did we not?”

  “Not everything. And it-it is unkind of you to remind me of such things, sir,” she snapped just as Lord Edgeware caught up to them. “My husband is dead!”

  Thank the good Lord!

  Chapter Ten

  Nigel paced his study. The ladies were in the far field, holding an archery competition, and the gentlemen had left for the afternoon on a hunting excursion. He’d claimed an urgent estate matter demanded his immediate attention and had sent Charlie with the men in his place to serve as a guide.

  What a blasted lie. He couldn’t concentrate on even the simplest of his estate’s concerns even if he’d wanted to.

  Elsbeth. She’d filled his mind, overwhelmed him in a way no woman had ever done before.

  What was he to do? He’d barely begun the game of seduction. He’d petted her, paid her lovely complements, and kissed her. That last kiss had been his downfall, turning his desire into a creature stronger than simple lust.

  This was no longer about seduction. He wanted to bed her; that was certain. But he also wanted more. This need ran much deeper than wanting to win her or own her like he owned his estate, or how he owned his horses. He wanted her every breath to be for his sake.

  What madness was this?

  And worse, he didn’t know how to reach her. Her dedication to her departed husband, that bounder Lord Mercer, was visible. She’d paled, nearly swooned, at the mention of his name. I can’t, she’d told him after pulling away from his kiss. Her husband was dead, and yet she believed herself unfaithful?

  Nigel poured himself a second glass of brandy. “I can’t compete with a dead bastard. How he won her heart, how he’d won such devotion, I will never understand.”

  Before rushing off to the Peninsular War, Lord Mercer had made quite a reputation for himself. Debauchery, gambling, rumors of brutality and cruelty would rush through the ton whenever the young earl happened to be in London.

  To Nigel’s knowledge, little was known of Lady Mercer. Though he shunned the parties and the clubs, he kept abreast of the activities and rumors flaring within that tight circle of High Flyers. If Lady Mercer had ever visited London with her bounder of a husband, tongues would have surely wagged, and Nigel would have inevitably heard about it. Which possibly meant that Elsbeth had no idea of the true character of the man she’d married.

  A light knock on the door jarred him out of his thoughts.

  “Come,” he called, after swallowing a healthy dose of his drink.

  George entered and closed the door behind him.

  “I thought you went hunting with the rest of the men,” Nigel said.

  “Begged off. Never had a taste for the sport. Besides, I’ve been meaning to catch a private word with you. But what with the morning’s excitement and your obligations as host, there hasn’t been an opportunity.”

  Nigel shrugged as he offered George a drink.

  “No, thank you,” George said. He took a chair by the fire. “Stop pacing and sit, Edgeware. I won’t talk to you otherwise.”

  Nigel sank into the leather chair next to George’s. “I’m listening.”

  George steepled his fingers in front of his pursed lips and stared at Nigel for several long minutes. “I have been wondering about Lady Mercer,” he said at last.

  “What about her?” She was the last person Nigel wanted to talk about. Not with George, and not now.

  “I know you too well. We’ve been friends since before your father died. I’ve seen that obsessive look in your eyes before, though never for a woman.”

  “I cannot imagine what you’re talking about. I have engineered this house party for no other reason than to repair her reputation. It’s only natural I show an interest in her activities.”

  “Indeed?” George said wryly. “And if I were to pursue the lady’s attentions? She is a stunning beauty, is she not? That long blond hair of hers, the delicate structure, and those crystal blue eyes are quite memorable. Yes, Edgeware, I do believe I should try to win her favor. What do you think?”

  Nigel’s jaw tightened. “Go ahead, though I’d recommend you pursue an heiress for a wife. What, with the volatility of your shipping business, I’d think a woman who could fill your coffers would suit you much better than the penniless Lady Mercer.”

  “
I wasn’t suggesting I was looking for a wife.”

  Nigel slowly rose from his chair and walked back over to his liquor cabinet. George was bluffing. He had to be bluffing. His friend couldn’t possibly be suggesting he’d take Elsbeth for a mistress.

  “Before you shoot me, Edgeware, let me just say I noticed—as I’m sure every bloody person in the drawing room did last night—that your gaze never left Lady Mercer and that you scowled all through dinner while you were forced to watch your cousin flirt with her.”

  “As I already explained, my attention to her is more than warranted. I fear she might inadvertently thwart my efforts to repair her reputation,” Nigel said.

  “So you’re afraid her morals are indeed as warped as her husband’s were purported to be?”

  “No, damn it! Not that. Just—just she doesn’t feel comfortable here. And I have to keep a close watch on her because she has vowed mischief. She’s determined to expose Dionysus.”

  “She is?” George perked up. “Perhaps I should help her. That cove takes advantage of your protection. He deserves to be exposed and ridiculed. What hold does he have over you, anyhow?”

  “Enough,” Nigel said. “Enough that his destruction would be mine as well.”

  George lapsed back into silence. The tension in the room was palpable. Nigel hated this wall building between them.

  “Tell me—” Nigel hoped to turn the subject “—did you find anything of interest on the beach?”

  “No, nothing of import. Did you see anyone when you escorted Lady Mercer back to the house?”

  “Just Charlie.” Nigel saw red for a moment as he remembered the familiar way his cousin had behaved toward Elsbeth, taking her arm, speaking too freely with her, shamelessly calling her Elly. “But Charlie’s harmless,” he said. But for the first time in his life, he questioned just how harmless his younger cousin really was.

  “Then, I suppose we need to dig deeper,” George said as he rose from the chair. “I won’t waste any more of your time.” He paused at the door. “Just indulge me once more and answer this question— When this week is over, will you be able to set aside your affection for Lady Mercer and return to your hermit-like lifestyle?”

  Nigel tried to imagine his life returning to normalcy. Would he be tempted to attend the horrendous balls if he thought he’d have a chance to dance with Elsbeth? Would he be tempted to accept invitations to those dratted teas if there was the hope he’d have a chance to sit next to her and speak with her for a moment or two? Would he be able to return to his lonely life?

  “Honestly? I don’t know.”

  * * * *

  At that very moment on a far field, the ladies had all gathered to partake in a friendly archery competition. With the pressing puzzle of Dionysus and what appeared to be an attack on Lord Edgeware, Elsbeth had claimed a headache and had excused herself from the excitement. Lady Waver had graciously volunteered to chaperone Olivia and Lauretta to the field so the girls wouldn’t miss out on the fun. Even more surprisingly, Lady Cowper had cheerfully joined in, volunteering to watch over the young ladies as well. It seemed that Edgeware’s efforts were beginning to change the beau monde’s opinion of her and her cousins.

  Which was amazing, simply amazing.

  Perhaps he wasn’t quite the villain she initially believed him to be. If he were a rotter like Charlie and her husband, certainly he wouldn’t have come to her defense after Dionysus’s painting went public. Which meant there had to be a good heart hidden somewhere inside the dark lord’s seductively broad chest, making what she was determined to do all the more difficult.

  She tightened a gray cashmere shawl around her shoulders and followed one of Edgeware’s footmen into the manor’s dank buttery, a small storeroom off the kitchen where bottles of wine and other liquors were stored on shelves and casks of ale were stacked against the walls.

  She was dressed in a gown purchased specifically for the house party. The fashionable pale pink walking dress with a muslin skirt flowed with almost indecent ease. Madame Bossier must have made a mistake with the design. Nearly all of her new gowns revealed far too much skin and seemed too sheer, hinting only too well at the shape hidden beneath the material. She gave her shawl another tug.

  “I do beg your pardon,” she called out to the servant she was following, “but may I trouble you for a moment of your time?”

  The footman, a giant of a man, stopped and turned toward her. His heavy brows furrowed and his thick lips sank into a deep frown. “Yes, m’lady?” he growled.

  “What is your name?” she asked, briskly. This one footman, she’d noticed, tended to skulk through the halls at the most unusual hours and listen in on conversations he had no business hearing.

  “Guthrie,” he said, the creases in his brow deepened. “What can I do for you? I’m busy.”

  “Well, Guthrie,” she said slowly. “With the number of guests at the house party I can imagine you are sorely overtaxed. If you will allow me to take but a moment, I have a question for you.”

  “I don’t see how I could—” he started to say when Elsbeth raised her hand.

  “You appear to be a clever chap. I’ve noticed you have the opportunity to see things that go on in this house that perhaps his lordship wouldn’t want you to know about.”

  “I don’t know what you—”

  She raised her gloved hand again. “I would be willing to pay a pretty coin for some information.”

  “How pretty a coin, ma’am?”

  “A gold sovereign.” She held out the heavy coin. His muddy brown eyes lit up at the sight of it. “Two, if you can provide proof of what you know.”

  He wiped his hand on his trousers several times and looked eager to snatch the coin out of her grasp. “What do you need to know, ma’am?”

  “The Marquess is protecting a gentleman. This gentleman may be his cousin or friend. Whoever he is, he hides behind the name Dionysus. Have you ever heard anyone refer to this man?”

  “Dial…nay…what-sus, ma’am?”

  “Dio-ny-sus,” she pronounced with care. “He is an artist. I believe he might be Mr. Charles Purbeck.”

  Guthrie guffawed at that. It was a crackly, rumbling sound. “Mr. Purbeck an artist?” He laughed some more. “I ain’t heard anyone use a fancy Dial…ny…sus name around here. And Mr. Purbeck ain’t ever expressed an interest in art, not like his lordship. I was a young lad and so was his lordship when I first came to work in this house. I’d been told his mother breathed her last a few days after his lordship was born. And his father, too, dropped short when the lordship was just a young tot, no more than three or four. It’s common knowledge in the village that the Edgeware men leave this world at a young age.”

  Elsbeth gasped. “The family is prone to sickness?”

  “Nay, my lady. Duels, fox hunting, carriage races, and the like are to blame. Shortly after his father’s death, the lordship’s uncle moved into the household with his wife and son in order to care for the estates and to mold his lordship into a sober and rather grim gentleman like himself, or so I’ve been told. I came to work here years later.” The footman sighed. “Hadn’t been here for much longer than a fortnight when I watched his lordship’s uncle fly into a rage and toss all of the Marquess’s artwork into the parlor’s fireplace. He then dragged his lordship by the scruff of his hair out to the barn and horsewhipped the lad something fierce.”

  “So the Marquess is something of an artist?” she mused. It would be so easy to believe Edgeware, with his expressive but dark and foreboding eyes, brooding moods, and impossibly romantic notions of being a knight-in-shining-armor, was her devil, Dionysus. But that would be quite impossible. How could a man be his own keeper?

  She chewed her bottom lip, thinking. No…no, it would be quite impossible. The bounder had to be Charlie.

  “There has been an attempt against the Marquess’s life. Do you know anything about this?” she asked, determined to stay focused on the puzzle she needed to unravel.

&nbs
p; “Aye, ma’am. His lordship was nearly killed when someone slipped a metal spur under his horse’s saddle a little more than a week ago.”

  So the boulder hadn’t been the first attempt on Edgeware’s life? Elsbeth struggled to keep her surprise hidden. “And who do you think was behind this dastardly trick? Was Mr. Purbeck in residence at the time?”

  “He was, ma’am,” he said, his eyes growing wide. “Are you suggesting Mr. Purbeck had something to do with—?”

  “That is quite enough. Guthrie, return to your duties.” Edgeware, looking as dashing as a carefree London Corinthian in a pair of tight fawn-colored pantaloons, gleaming white waistcoat, and hunter green riding coat appeared in the buttery doorway…glowering.

  “Yes, m’lord, of course m’lord.” Guthrie gave one last yearning glance at the sovereign Elsbeth still held in her hand before he hoisted a cask of ale onto his broad shoulder and hurried from the room.

  “Pray excuse me,” Elsbeth said, as if she hadn’t just been caught asking one of Edgeware’s servants questions concerning him. “I should attend to my cousins.”

  When she tried to sidestep him and slip out the door, he blocked her and drew the door closed behind him. She hadn’t noticed before how dark the room was. There was a heavy coating of dust on the arched window at the far end of the room, and with the door closed, very little light seeped into the chilly interior. Lord Edgeware’s expression was completely hidden in the shadows. She heard, rather than saw, the material of his clothes rustle as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

  “I will not kiss you again,” she said with considerable more bravado than she was feeling. “And it is highly improper for you to be alone with me in here…with the door closed.”

  “Indeed?” he said.

  The silence that followed had a dangerous air attached to it.

  “Move out of the way, sir,” she said, giving him a healthy shove with the hopes of getting to the door before something truly shocking happened. It wasn’t exactly that she didn’t trust him. After this morning she wasn’t sure how things stood between them. And worse, she feared she shouldn’t dare trust herself around him. In a panic, she gave him a second shove when the first failed to move him.