The Regency Season

by Ann Lethbridge

It was his cross to bear.

  How he had managed to hide the jolt of lightning that had coursed through his blood the moment his lips had touched her silky skin, he wasn’t sure. He was still reeling from the effects of their other physical contacts. His body wanted her. Hungered for her. And now she was his. Or would be soon.

  He didn’t deserve her. In the years since he had been Gabe’s apprentice, he’d washed his hands in so much blood he’d become insensitive to death and destruction. He’d become a tool for the use of his country. Of Sceptre in particular. Weeding out spies and traitors without fear or favour. It was his role. His purpose. He needed it or he’d be nothing.

  And now he was to be a husband to a young woman who, while stubborn and reckless, had always seemed to embody what was right and good with the world. The world of youthful hope for the future. A world in which he’d never belonged. She’d always looked at him in a way that made him think she could see right into his darkness. His unworthiness. No wonder she talked of crying off as soon as the dust settled. A kiss in the dark with a dangerous man in the hope of bending him to her will was one thing, but marriage to such a man was a very different matter.

  It was too late for second thoughts.

  Honour required that he offer marriage. Honour required that he see it through no matter what. At least he had that much honour left.

  The glow of the streetlights flickered across her face, her expression changing with each pass of the light so that it was like watching a disjointed progression of thoughts. Thoughts he could only guess at.

  His task was clear. He had to make her want to marry him. Use her passionate nature against her reason. Woo her. Blind her to his faults. Once they were wed, she could do as she pleased.

  He realised his hands had curled into tight fists. Anger. Frustration. Regret. So much emotion, when he usually experienced none. Minette made him feel too much. And feelings hurt. He relaxed his hands, glad of the deep shadows inside the carriage.

  ‘How on earth did you manage to extract an invitation from Lady Craddock?’ Nicky asked her husband. ‘I know she didn’t plan to invite us, because the invitations went out weeks ago and we didn’t receive one.’

  ‘Craddock belongs to my club,’ Gabe said. His teeth flashed white with a smile. ‘I put him in the way of a good investment.’

  ‘I wager Lady Craddock was none too pleased,’ Freddy said. The Craddocks, like Sparshott, were part of his mother’s clique. They and their high-stickler friends saw themselves as the most important in the land because their roots went far back in the annals of England. Above even the royal house of Hanover, which had thrown its full support behind Mooreshead on the occasion of his marriage to a woman who could have been considered an enemy.

  ‘Let us hope she is too well bred to show her displeasure,’ Gabe said, and there was something dangerously protective in his tone. He’d proved before he wouldn’t tolerate any insult to his wife. A word in the right quarters could be very damaging to even the wealthiest family, when power was their preferred form of currency.

  ‘Dommage,’ Minette said. ‘We will dance and talk with our friends. No one will care what the stuffy Craddocks think. Indeed, they will wish they were part of our circle, if they have any sense at all.’

  Nicky laughed.

  Amused despite his better judgement, Freddy mentally shook his head. Spirit. That was the indefinable quality of Minette. The spirit of a goddess of war.

  And that was what made her so damned dangerous.

  * * *

  Freddy didn’t dance. Ever. And everyone knew it.

  Minette wasn’t sure if he didn’t because of his lameness, or because he didn’t want to. His leg, whatever was wrong with it, didn’t stop him from doing anything else, even if he did have a bit of a limp. She’d seen him walk across the deck of a pitching ship without losing his balance or stumbling. She’d seen him play cricket on the lawns at Meak the first summer she’d arrived in England. Then he’d stopped visiting.

  He worked for Sceptre, a secret organisation that carried on the war with Napoleon in the dark world of espionage. She wasn’t supposed to know about it, but she’d been there the day Nicky and Gabe had been carted off to appear before the head of the organisation. To Nicky’s everlasting gratitude, Gabe had been relieved from active duty. Freddy continued to serve. No one said he did, but there could be no other explanation for why he had disappeared from their lives.

  And neither Nicky nor Gabe had ever commented on his absence. It had been as if they had forgotten he existed. Until she’d gone to find him and they’d ended up engaged to be married. She still didn’t quite believe she was betrothed. In some ways it was a dream come true. He was a handsome, if aloof, man to whom she had been instantly attracted. Had he shown interest all those years before, she would have been tempted.

  Tonight, he had encouraged her to dance every dance with any young man who asked, including Granby, who seemed to have recovered from his funk. She was dancing with him now, while her gaze sought out a very different man. A man so cold that sometimes she thought he would chill her to the bone with a look.

  The music came to a close, and Granby walked her back to Nicky, seated among the matrons and chaperones, no doubt having grown tired of standing.

  ‘May I fetch you some refreshment, Miss Rideau? Or you, Lady Mooreshead?’ Granby asked.

  ‘I would love some lemonade,’ Minette answered.

  ‘Not for me,’ Nicky said.

  When the young man was out of hearing, Minette scanned the room. ‘Where is Freddy?’

  ‘He and Gabe went to the card room.’

  Minette frowned. ‘Do you think he gambles as much as everyone says?’

  Nicky sighed. ‘I don’t know. His fortune is vast. I would hate to see him lose at the tables the way so many others have done.’ She glance around and lowered her voice. ‘It may be a front for other activities.’

  Surprise that Nicky would mention such a thing must have shown in her face.

  ‘I don’t want you to think the worst of him,’ Nicky said.

  She didn’t know what to make of him. So often she had felt as if he didn’t like her. At other times she thought he also felt the same wild spark of attraction she did, especially when they kissed. Until he looked at her with that chilly expression. Clearly he was set on this marriage. Except tonight he seemed to be avoiding her. Perhaps he had changed his mind.

  The disappointment that hollowed out a painful space in her chest didn’t make any sense. His changing his mind would make it so much easier to cry off once they found Moreau.

  As if her thoughts had conjured him up, Freddy appeared across the other side of the room, listening to something Gabe was saying, his expression austere, his eyes intense. He looked up and his gaze caught hers. She froze in the intensity of that look, so dark, so cold, until a hint of a smile quirked the corners of his mouth and caused flutters low in her belly.

  ‘There they are,’ Nicky said, and the connection was gone as if it had never existed. Remoteness fell over his expression like a shutter as he and Gabe sauntered over.

  Gabe smiled down at his wife. ‘Are you too tired to dance?’

  ‘Never.’

  He walked her into the set.

  ‘I am surprised to find you not up on the dance floor,’ Freddy said, clearly not caring one way or the other.

  ‘I sat out because I want to know how Nicky was faring.’

  ‘You care for your sister.’

  ‘Of course. She is my family.’

  He looked less than convinced.

  ‘You care for your family, surely?’ Wasn’t that why he undertook deeds society would frown on? To save his country and his family from being crushed beneath the boot of a tyrant?

  ‘It is my duty to care for them.’

  Cold duty. As it was his duty to marry her after they’d been caught in the library. The man seemed to have no heart, no passion. Yet his kisses had been more than passionate. They had been searing.<
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  ‘Would you care to stroll in the gardens?’ he asked. ‘I am told they are something to see.’

  ‘Someone mentioned they were lit up like Vauxhall Gardens.’

  ‘Worse.’ He gave her an odd sort of look. ‘There isn’t a shadow or a dark walk to be found and a footman at every corner.’

  She chuckled. ‘No chance for mischief.’ She grinned up at him. ‘Probably as well in our case. Who knows where temptation would lead?’

  His eyes widened a fraction and again the small flash of the smile she adored made an appearance, much to the consternation of her insides. He held out his arm. ‘Shall we go and see? After all, given the purpose of our attendance tonight, it wouldn’t do for us not to spend any time together.’

  A pang pierced her heart at the coldness in his words. A foolish pang that it wasn’t his desire to spend time with her but his need to make it appear as if he did. ‘Why not?’ She placed her arm on his sleeve and they left the ballroom by way of the French doors.

  ‘Is it too cool out here for you?’ he asked, as if he really cared. ‘Shall I fetch a shawl?’

  It was a beautiful June evening. The scent of lilacs and early roses carried on the warm breeze, the walks sparkling with lights strung from trees.

  ‘No, thank you. It is a relief to get out of the heat.’

  They walked in a square around the formal garden. ‘I am glad for a private moment,’ she said. ‘I have been wanting to speak with you alone. I thought you might have had some news of our quarry.’

  He gave her a considering look. ‘Why would you think that?’

  ‘Because Madame Vitesse says someone has been walking around her neighbourhood, asking questions about her brother. She threatens to refuse to help us.’

  He frowned, and she had the feeling he had caught him by surprise. ‘Not my men. I am keeping to our agreement and so must she or find herself in dire straits.’

  His frown deepened, and he paused to pick a rose. He broke the thorns off the stem and handed it to her in what, under other circumstances, might be seen as a very romantic gesture. She inhaled the delicate fragrance.

  Once more he offered his arm, and they continued strolling. ‘It is not only us looking for Moreau.’

  Her breath caught in her throat. ‘Who else?’

  ‘The Home Office boys would very much to get their hands on him.’

  She understood from the small things Gabe had let fall from time to time that the Home Office and the organisation Freddy worked for were on the same side, working to save England, they were also in competition and their goals did not always align.

  ‘You think it might be them asking questions?’

  ‘Rumours of our man’s imminent arrival in Britain have been circulating for weeks. They might be overly bureaucratic at the Home Office but they are not completely without ability.’

  ‘I should let Madame Vitesse know this. Warn her to be careful.’ She clutched at his sleeve. ‘What if they find him first?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter who finds him as long as he is out of action.’

  Not true. Not true. She had to be first. Everything depended on it. ‘I will see her tomorrow. I have a fitting for the gown I am to wear for the ball at Falconwood. I will impress on her the urgency.’

  He stopped and turned her to face him. ‘Why is it so important that you speak to him?’

  ‘There is unfinished business between us.’ It was all she dared say.

  His mouth tightened. ‘Very well. Keep your secrets. For now.’

  For now. That sounded very much like a threat.

  They had almost arrived back where they had started when he led her down a path leading to a walled garden with a display of fountains, each one in its own pool. He didn’t linger, but he opened a gate hidden behind some creeper. The scent of lavender and thyme and other herbs filled her nostrils.

  And not a lantern in sight.

  ‘I don’t think we are supposed to be in here,’ she said.

  ‘No.’ He closed the gate and shot the bolt. Light from the moon was enough to see by. The party had been deliberately planned to take advantage of the moon for those travelling back to town. They were in a kitchen garden, the house, ablaze with light, only yards away, its top floors visible above the stretch of the wall. But no one inside the house would be able to see them among the shadows.

  Her heart gave a loud thump. Not a warning exactly but definitely excitement tinged with a touch of wariness.

  ‘Why did you bring me here?’ she asked.

  He tucked a hand beneath her chin, tipping her face up and looking down at her. One side of his face was in shadow, the other carved by moonbeams into hard, masculine beauty.

  ‘A chance to talk without interruption.’ He cast her a wicked glance that made her toes curl. Wicked and charming both. She had never seen him look quite so handsome or so devilish. ‘And besides, you look so lovely, so tempting, I couldn’t resist a few minutes on our own.’

  The lovely words took her breath away.

  It would be so easy to let herself believe he’d meant what he’d said. And so utterly foolish.

  But that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy him while it lasted.

  Chapter Six

  ‘How did you know about this particular garden?’ she asked, the hint of breathlessness in her voice calling to his desires.

  ‘I took a walk when I first arrived.’ He always made sure he knew the layout of any place he went. A man never knew when he might need to leave in a hurry. It had also seemed like the perfect spot to begin his campaign of seduction. Passion was the one thing that seemed to go well between them, as evidenced by his simmering lust since their kiss.

  With any other woman, all he needed to do was wave the dukedom about a bit. Not with Minette. While her physical desire battered at him, she kept herself, who she was, at a distance. Intriguing and worrying. He did not intend to let her end this betrothal. Thus, he must woo her. Ceaselessly. Until she gave up any thought of crying off.

  He caged her face within his fingertips, feeling an overwhelming sense of tenderness. Something that was not part of his plan. The urge to taste her again was like the beat of his heart. Unstoppable.

  He lowered his head, slowly, hesitantly, silently asking permission.

  Her hands slid up over his shoulders to rest there. She nipped at his lower lip.

  A hiss of breath left his lips as lust hardened his body. He took her mouth in a wild and ravening kiss. She responded with a hunger that left him close to mindless.

  Her sweet, luscious curves melded with his. A banquet waiting for him to savour it. He couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted a woman as badly as he wanted this one. No other woman but she could slake his need. He pressed his thigh between hers, and she gave a sweet little moan of longing. Heat seared his veins as his blood rushed south. He deepened the kiss, tangling his tongue with hers, feeling her lips so soft and sweet moving against his, while her fingers combed the hair at his nape.

  Desire shuddered through him.

  The urge to lift her skirts and take her against the wall pounded in his blood. She deserved so much more. And, besides, a kiss in the dark between a betrothed couple was acceptable, even expected, but to take her back to the ballroom dishevelled and used hard would be too dishonourable even for him.

  He broke their kiss and pulled her close. Breathing rapidly, she rested her cheek on his chest and he bent to kiss her crown, his own breathing none too steady.

  ‘It wouldn’t do to be caught out again,’ he said gently.

  ‘No,’ she agreed, to his body’s painful disappointment. She placed a hand on his lapel and stroked the fabric.

  Delight with her response to his touch was a wild beat in his blood, despite knowing women were good at pretending things they didn’t feel when it suited. This attraction was a positive sign for their marriage. There was much pleasure to be had between them. As long as he made sure not to let things go too far. Not get too out of control.<
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  Hope blossomed in his chest, a strangely warm and painful feeling that they might indeed have a future. He didn’t want to leave the shelter of this garden. He wanted to run his fingers through her glorious mane of glossy brown hair, rip her gown from her luscious curves. He could barely keep himself leashed. Which showed just how little honour he had left. There would be plenty of time for exploration and enjoyment when she was his wife.

  ‘We really should go, before someone misses us,’ she said, not moving an inch. She sighed. ‘We don’t want to set tongues wagging again.’

  Wagging tongues were the story of his life. He had told himself a long time ago that he didn’t care. But he didn’t want her hurt by their vicious gossip. Neither did he want to break his vow by making the mistake of not being fully prepared. ‘Yes, we should.’ He kissed her forehead and linked his arm through hers, feeling for the first time in a long time a sense of hope.

  They strolled back through the moonlight in comfortable silence, until they reached the dazzle of lights strung through trees.

  Other couples were also walking around the fountains and along the gravel paths amid the shrubs. The air was redolent with the scent of roses. But all he could smell was her fragrance. Jasmine and summer sun. He wanted to pull her close, press his nose to her skin and inhale.

  ‘Shall we return to the ballroom?’ he asked.

  ‘A good idea.’ So matter-of-fact. So calm. Certainly she didn’t feel as he did. The formal touch of her hand on his sleeve was so light he could barely feel the weight of it, though it burnt him like a brand. Whereas another woman might be blushing and fluttering after that kiss, she seemed unaffected by what had happened between them.

  He liked it that she wasn’t missish or prone to giggles.

  He guided her up the terrace steps and into the ballroom, greeting those they passed. There were no suspicious stares but there was curiosity. It wouldn’t take much for the old gossip about him to surface. To send them over the edge of propriety and out onto the fringes of society for evermore. He didn’t want that for her, he realised with a protective surge.

  He would be more careful in future. More in control. More like himself.