Madcap Miss

by Claudy Conn

  When he pulled away he said on a hushed note, “I don’t want to think what my life would have been without you in it.”

  “Then don’t,” she said simply.

  “I have never felt this way before. Do you understand, my love? Bloody hell … am I doing this right?”

  “I love you, Glen Ashton, Duke of Somerset,” she whispered.

  He dropped to one knee and produced an exquisite ring of diamonds. “Will you be my bride?”

  She pulled him up and said, “Took you long enough!”

  He laughed and placed the ring on her finger, and she pressed herself into his body. “I don’t want a long engagement. Are we clear?” He laughed and kissed her long.

  When he let her up for air, she told him in a low and sensual voice, “No … that would never do.”

  ~ * ~

  In the mood for another Risqué Regency?

  Try a taste of

  Courting Kit (unedited)

  ~ One ~

  THE EARL OF HALLOWAY stood, his hands clasped at his broad back, as he stared out the large panoramic window of his grandmother’s drawing room.

  Its central location afforded a lovely view of the Grange’s extensive gardens. Halloway Grange was only one of four Halloway establishments, but it was the only estate that did not belong to the present, young earl.

  This was because his late grandfather had purchased the estate and deeded it to his bride as a wedding gift all those years ago. It reposed in elegant state only forty minutes out of London, and it was where the dowager had come to stay permanently when her beloved husband died.

  The earl smiled ruefully to himself, as it was most certainly, every square foot, all hers and yet also the earl’s very special, very favorite haven.

  He adored his grandmother, and her personality was entrenched in the Grange. He brushed this sentiment aside, however, as it had no place at that moment in his active, frenzied mind. He was frustrated and irritated with his grandmother and not quite certain just what he could do about it all.

  A good ten months had passed since Shawna and Roland had been married. He had thought that, by now, his grandmother would be at ease with it and gotten over what she could not change. However, something untoward must have ruffled her feathers. She was tighter than ever about his monthly spending and walked about as though she was on the warpath about something.

  He had received a brief and somewhat curt note from her at his bachelor’s lodgings that had made it quite clear she required him at the Grange to attend her at once.

  The earl was never one to take orders, even if it meant spiting himself, so he put the note aside, much inclined to ignore her command. His heart, though, that was another thing altogether. He loved her and told himself she was getting on in years. In the end, he allowed guilt and conscience to dictate his plans.

  A string of mumbled curses escaped his lips. Frenzied pacing took over his steps, and he found himself requesting his man to put together an overnight portmanteau. No more than a few hours later, feeling reduced to schoolboy status, he stood in his grandmother’s drawing room, facing her.

  One bloody look at her and a sure wariness tickled warning signals in his brain. Damn, but he was in for it, really in for it, and there was no escape. Hell and Brimstone! She had the power to reduce him to a child with one look. Absurd.

  He fancied he saw a whirlwind in her eyes and a storm about to erupt from her lips. She dashed well meant to throw everything she had at him fast and hard, and he took a step back and warily considered her.

  Diving right in, she wagged her bony finger at him and got right to the point. “I’ll not have your errant spending, do you hear me, young man? You are on the road to hell, and I won’t stand by and allow it to happen. No … this will not go on.”

  Her voice became a buzz in his ears and a pounding hammer in his head.

  She continued to rant at him for several minutes during which he found his mind wandering elsewhere. He had heard all this before.

  Sadly, he was in a difficult position. His pockets were to let, and there was another three weeks before his trust fund would release his next quarterly payment. He was heartily bored with everything and everyone and damned sure he was, as she pointed out, on the road to hell.

  When she paused for breath, he put up his hand and gave her a wry smile. “When you are done berating me, perhaps you will tell me what it is you want.”

  “Marriage. You will get married, and soon!” His grandmother’s voice told him she meant to be implacable on this. “I will not have you diddling about gaming parlors with harlots and paramours. I will not have our name dragged through the mud as it is being done here and now and because of you!”

  “A bit too—” he started to object before she cut him off. Why did she always over exaggerate? He gritted his teeth, and suffered in silence.

  “Because of YOU!” she reiterated and made a clucking sound before she continued. “You will marry, because you don’t have a choice about that. However, I will allow you this: find someone who you could be comfortable with … for I have given up hope that you will fall in love. You don’t seem to have it in you,” she ended on a wistful note.

  “Marriage is not for me. I can’t see myself doing the polite to the same woman day in and day out for the rest of my life. It wouldn’t be fair to some poor girl to marry me, expecting me to attend her. No, she would be bound in a loveless marriage, and I don’t think I could live with a woman who would be calculating enough to want to marry for my wealth or name.”

  “You wealth is something I can keep from you. Your name won’t be worth much if you continue on your present road,” she snapped back at him.

  He studied her from the top of her gray hair piled high with its silver lacey scarf draped handsomely over her head, over her gray and mauve simple gown, down further to her feet. He didn’t want to meet her faded blue eyes. She was right, on both counts, but … marriage? Ah no, she expected too much, and he was too young to saddle himself with a missish bride.

  However, his pockets were to let. It was damned annoying to be so wealthy and yet not be able to draw on his inheritance. He sighed heavily and looked out the window. He was in a bind, yes, but he would not marry unless his heart was in it.

  On the other hand, a respectable life was what he owed his name.

  Still, he would not foist himself onto some young maid. How could he hurt some young thing who would expect him to escort her about, do the polite, and end by falling madly in love with her? Indeed, he wasn’t about to shatter some young maid’s dreams, and if he entered into such an alliance, that was precisely what would happen, for he was sure he had no heart to give.

  He tried to explain his situation to his grandmother, but she waved him off and would not listen. “You will marry,” she told him, and her eyes didn’t give him an inch.

  “Not going to make such a despicable arrangement—a marriage of convenience? No, my dear heart, no.” He tore through his black hair with a frenzied movement of his hand. Such an arrangement did not suit his sense of self. Somewhere in the recesses of his brain—the part that belonged to his youth—he wished he was other than who he was. He wished he did not have such a jaded opinion about love.

  Thus, it was, after a long and hard conversation, he and his grandmother bade one another a very cool good night before he managed to escape to his room.

  He was definitely in trouble. She had the legal right to withhold his funds. The blasted will did not give him control until he either married or turned thirty. Of all the bloody damn things to do to a man …

  ~ Two ~

  CHRISTINA KIGSLEY, KNOWN to all as simply Kitty, was in a sorry frame of mind. Her guardian, who had been father, mother, friend, and dear confidant to her since the day she had come to him, thirteen years ago, had passed away.

  Death was too well known to Kitty. She had learned the word’s meaning when she was only seven years old. Death had no grays. Death was final. Death took … and left one fe
eling empty and lost. Death had all the control.

  Her guardian, who she had learned to call Uncle Edwin, had created a safe and happy world for her, but now … he was gone and that world had tumbled into confusion. The process had left her feeling helpless.

  She had watched him grow weak with an illness that had been so very drawn-out. She had been witness to his bravery when he had been in pain, always hiding it behind a fond smile.

  He had told her once not to grieve for him when he was finally given release. He told her that death was something he welcomed. It had made her so angry … but she understood.

  She roamed the house and grounds for weeks after his passing. She grieved his loss and missed his company, but she understood why he had wanted to go.

  She had ridden through her beloved New Forest in an unhappy daze during those early days. Nothing at that moment in time had made any sense. Now, she had come to terms. Now that weeks had turned into months, she had accepted his passing.

  Dismounting, she tethered her horse and plopped down at her favorite spot, deep in the woods. Her chestnut mare grazed contentedly within the confines of her lead line.

  Kitty bent her head and rubbed her dirt-smudged face against her arm as she hugged her knees. Today, for the first time, she had struggled to recall his voice.

  She finally recalled the first day she met him, the first time he had jovially called out her name, “Kitty!”

  She had been so small and he had been so large, so robust. He had taken her hand in his and said, “Kitty! My own Kitty … you needn’t be afraid. I shall look after you.” And after that, he had become her hero.

  He had told her once, “Kitty, you have the look of your father, and you know he was my dearest friend.” She had liked that, and he often told her stories about her parents, brought them to life for her as she got older.

  Another time, when she was missing her parents and sitting by herself, he had picked her up and spun her around until she giggled. He told her, “My own little Kitty … my daughter of the heart.”

  So it had been, but now, he was gone. She hugged herself and fell onto her back and stared up at the blue sky. Thank goodness for Nanny, although her dear Nanny had never approved of the way her Uncle Edwin had spoiled her. Odd really, for he had been a frugal man in all things except in the lavish way he had treated her, both with affection and his easy way about her breaking rules.

  She smiled as she remembered how her dear guardian, whom the servants would call tight-fisted, had never been so with her. He had taught her to ride, hunt, and enjoy a great deal of what he enjoyed. He had taken her with him on estate business, keeping her abreast of things most men would only teach their sons.

  He took her fishing and sailing and allowed her every freedom—including the use of breeches when she rode. They were the best of friends.

  She had asked him once why he wasn’t married, and he had sighed. “Long story, pet.”

  “Tell me,” she asked curiously.

  He flicked her nose and said, “It was for the best, and now I have you.”

  When the time came for her to attend school, Nanny nearly went down on her knees to beg him to send her to a select ladies seminary. He had adamantly refused, bringing in tutor after tutor instead.

  When she became of age, he had planned to take residence in London for the season and introduce her to the beau monde, but his illness prevented this, and so it was Kitty had never had a London season.

  Nanny had clucked her tongue and said, more often than not, that it was a shame that such a beauty, such a dear, sweet young lady, was buried in the country.

  “But I can ride to hounds as well as any man and I can—”

  “Never mind.” Nanny had cut her off. “I wanted more for you, my darling.”

  “I know, Nanny, and I love you, but … I am happy,” she’d said, but at that moment in time she hadn’t been sure she was completely happy. At that moment in time she’d thought she might like to go to London and see what she could see, share a season while her dear friend, Henrietta, was being brought out. Fate, however, had other plans for her.

  Now, all she wanted was for time to go backwards so she could have Uncle Edwin once again in her life.

  She sat up and looked at the sun, attempting to judge the time. “Blast, no doubt I am late,” she said to herself as she got to her feet and brushed off the leaves and twigs clinging to her high boots and breeches.

  With a quiet lament she remounted and rode the distance to the stables, where she found Nanny with her arms folded across her middle and clucking her tongue.

  “Look at you. A veritable hoyden, and at your age. You are twenty years old, my dear. You can’t go about in breeches and dirt.”

  “Uncle did not mind,” Kitty said, flinging her long hair out of her face.

  Nanny took a clump of her hair in her hands and said, “Look at this. Most young ladies would simply die to have these yellow locks, this silky, thick hair, and you allow it to become a tangled mess around your head.”

  Kitty laughed. “I will brush it when I go in and wash, Nanny.”

  “Your Uncle Edwin didn’t want this for you … he wanted—”

  Kitty’s brows rose and she interrupted. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Kitty, dear, he knew he didn’t have long, and it dawned on him that he hadn’t done the right thing by you because of his illness. He began making arrangements. In fact, he was obsessed with making those arrangements.”

  “What arrangements?”

  “You wouldn’t remember him, but his nephew visited, oh, I think twice … maybe three times in the past, and they got along quite well. At any rate, he gave his solicitor instructions regarding you … and it all had to do with the earl—his nephew, you see, and the earl’s grandmother, though I am not privy to what those instructions were. I only know of them, because he had me attend him and made me promise to make certain it all worked out.”

  “No … I don’t believe it.”

  “Indeed, it is the truth.” She pursed her lips. “The thing is, apparently he wrote them both again and left the letters in his drawer. We did not discover them until two weeks ago. Of course, they were mailed. Two letters, one for the dowager countess and the other for the earl.” She clucked her tongue and folded her hands into each other at her middle. “You were so distraught when we first lost him that Mr. Harkins did not want to intrude on your grief, but he sent a note around earlier saying that he can no longer put off the reading of the will … my dear, it has been months.” She eyed Kitty. “Well, we shall learn what your uncle’s wishes are when Mr. Harkins arrives this afternoon, but I think you must be prepared. He may have appointed the dowager your legal guardian until you come of age, which won’t be until you turn twenty-one.”

  Kitty turned on her heel, and Nanny called after her, “Darling … what are you doing?”

  “Another ride … I must go for another ride. I have to think.”

  Mounted and once again allowing the breeze to wash over her, she slowed her horse from a lope to an easy trot when a familiar voice snapped her out of her daze and confusion.

  “Kitty! I say—Kitty!”

  She turned sharply and saw a welcome and handsome face. “Harry!” Kitty stopped her horse and waited for him to ride up alongside. “Well,” she said, eying him. “Don’t we look dapper?” She giggled and leaned over to take his gloved hand and give it a squeeze.

  “Come on … sit with me a bit,” he said, dismounting with a light step before he led her to a shady spot beneath a large oak.

  She followed suit, and he grinned, reached over, and pulled one of her long tresses to say, “I may look dapper, but you look a mess—a beautiful mess, though.” He laughed and put up defensive hands. “Put down your fists, do!”

  She grinned ruefully. “Yes, sadly, I think you are right. I am a bit of a mess.”

  “A bit?” he teased.

  She managed to punch his shoulder, he cried out in mock pain, and she laughed
and said, “Indeed, but I should go back, wash, and put on a pretty dress … wait, what should I do then? Stare at the walls? Embroider? Me with my clumsy fingers? No, I think I would rather be a mess.”

  He chuckled and nodded. “Egad, no, not you, you couldn’t sit still long enough to draw a line let alone do intricate embroidery. I can’t imagine you could stand still long enough to be of any use in any of those very estimable female occupations. But blister it, Kitty, you shouldn’t be running around in breeches and looking like a ragamuffin, either. You should be in a lovely gown, receiving suitors.”

  She made an unintelligible sound.

  He said, “And this past Sunday, you should have put on a gown and presented yourself with Nanny at church.”

  Kitty put up a brow. “Should have, could have, and didn’t.”

  He pulled a face. “Incorrigible child.”

  “Child? You speak as though you have a decade of years over me, and you do not!”

  He grinned. “I have a few over you, though, and besides, Kit, I would be remiss if I didn’t make a push to put a real smile on your face.”

  She did smile then, from the heart, and threw her arms around him. “Oh Harry, you are my dearest friend, and you must know I am trying.”

  “I do, I do know, but, Kit, you can’t go on grieving forever. You must call on one of your relatives to visit and give you countenance. You can’t go on alone here at Wharton Place. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I am not alone. I have Nanny,” she answered, surprised.

  “Nanny is a dear, but you ride roughshod over her, always have, and it won’t do. You need a chaperone still.”

  “Nonsense. I am nearly twenty-one,” Kitty said, genuinely shocked.

  “Are not, and won’t be for another seven months! People always blamed your guardian for allowing you to run amok … and now, look at you, twenty and alone here at Wharton without a chaperone and fellows like me, coming and going …” He grinned wickedly at her and wiggled his eyebrows.