Seducing The Vengeful Marquess (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Lucinda Nelson

  After all, she’d raised Loraine up from an orphaned sixteen year old into a young woman who had a reputation for her elegance and intellect.

  And above all, a reputation for her formidability.

  Certainly, Loraine had never had any trouble attracting attention. But her true gift, according to her aunt, was that she was impervious to it.

  She didn’t preen and swoon. She didn’t long for marriage. She was her own woman, and she had no intention of ever allowing that to change.

  Such a notion had been devised by Aunt Esther and had been fed to her throughout her childhood.

  When they played cards, every single evening, Aunt Esther would remind her of the perils of trusting men who call themselves gentlemen.

  When Aunt Esther left England for Louisiana, it wasn’t mere fancy that took her there.

  She’d been running from scorn and derision, and from the memory of a man who’d taken her virtue along with her heart.

  And abandoned her.

  When Loraine had turned up on Aunt Esther’s doorstep, her aunt had vowed that she would not risk her facing the same fate.

  So she nurtured a distrust and contempt for men in her niece. And it was extremely effective.

  So Loraine took no interest in the gentlemen who came knocking at her door. But the prospect of having friends remained an all-consuming one.

  “This is a fresh start,” she’d said to Mrs. Barrow while she was getting ready for the ball.

  “Be sure to make the most of it,” Mrs. Barrow had said, as she pulled her hair back into a bun. “And don’t let your aunt interfere.”

  Mrs. Barrow had always been very forthright with Loraine about her aunt. Aunt Esther worried Mrs. Barrow, because they did not see eye-to-eye on the matter of love and marriage. Over the years, they had become like two distinct forces, looming over Loraine’s shoulders and shouting into her ears.

  “I will,” she’d assured her, in a level voice. But, if she was being honest, she did not feel entirely level. She felt a little nervous, which she did her utmost to hide. Even from Mrs. Barrow.

  Loraine couldn’t even recall the last time she’d felt nervous. But she’d been thinking about this for the longest time. Coming home.

  Returning to England signaled an important change in Aunt Esther. A willingness to go outside which could benefit Loraine hugely.

  Loraine hadn’t been like a princess locked in a tower by any means. She’d had suitors. She’d met people when she went to the gallery. But the liberties Aunt Esther allowed her were not the same as the liberties Loraine took for herself.

  She was much too independent to allow herself to be manacled, but she also did not enjoy upsetting her aunt. And if keeping her aunt happy meant keeping the rest of the world at a distance, she would keep the rest of the world as far away as her sanity could bear.

  But Loraine had seen a change in Esther since they’d come to England. She wanted Loraine to be seen. Because her desire to prove wrong those who’d snubbed her overwhelmed her fear of losing her niece.

  This was the start of something new.

  Then why did she feel so out of her depth?

  At the ball, her aunt was more insufferable than she could have anticipated. She would introduce Loraine to some prestigious lady, then snatch her wrist and haul her over to another before the lady had even finished speaking.

  They left a number of shocked and insulted women in their wake. Sometimes her aunt was so blatant in her attempts to show her niece off that Loraine barely contained a wince.

  “She knows Latin, you know. How many young ladies speak Latin fluently? And she has a tutor in Ancient Greek now. With her mind, I’m certain she’ll be fluent within the year.”

  Many of the ladies, in their goodness, humored Aunt Esther. They’d address Loraine directly and say things like, “My, that’s impressive. Have you visited Rome?”

  But just as Loraine began to indulge in a genuine conversation, her aunt would drag her away again.

  It wasn’t until Esther spotted an old and frayed looking friend of hers that Loraine was afforded a reprieve.

  “My dear Alison!” Aunt Esther cried, much too loudly, and crossed the ballroom in a rush. It was the one time that, in her excitement, she forgot to ensure that Loraine was following her.

  While Aunt Esther’s back was turned, Loraine darted into the foyer and out into the gardens. She took a deep breath of the fresh air and leaned against one of the pillars of the house’s entrance.

  Loraine closed her eyes. “This isn’t going well,” she muttered to herself. She stayed out there for a few minutes, letting the cool air refresh her.

  Then she went back inside, with great reluctance. She felt that perhaps her hope of finding someone to call friend was unrealistic. She tried to tell herself that she didn’t mind this. She’d always managed.

  As she stepped back into the warmth of the foyer, where the lighting was dim, something caught her eye. At the far end of the hallway, two gentleman were speaking in hushed slurs and rifling through the liquor cabinet.

  Very slowly, Loraine quirked her brow.

  Another lady might have turned them in. But all Loraine could think was how very much she’d like to join them.

  It had been a while since she’d done anything reckless, which happened to be one of her favorite pastimes.

  Loraine didn’t speak, because she didn’t want to disturb their mischief. She went back into the ballroom.

  The moment she stepped inside, she was confronted with the back of Aunt Esther’s head, no more than a foot away from her. In a move that was purely instinctual, she ducked to the left and through a curtain to avoid being seen.

  She found herself on a balcony. Back outside. She looked out over the gardens and wondered why she’d come back inside at all.

  Loraine watched the trees in the distance move softly in the breeze. She put her hands in her skirts and swished them, ever so gently, in time with the movement of the trees. It was something she’d only do when entirely alone, because it was pure folly.

  So when she felt someone behind her, she closed her eyes. She should have expected it. There had been several gentlemen watching her. Her solitude was always destined to be momentary.

  “It is not very gentlemanly to sneak up on a woman without announcing yourself,” she reminded him, as she stopped swishing her skirt.

  ***

  Lord Philip Everton, Marquess of Blackhill

  “Who was that?” Philip asked, in a hushed voice. Bradley had just about recovered from the sight of the lady, but Philip had not.

  While Bradley took the cap off a bottle of bourbon, Philip continued to stare at the door she’d gone through.

  Though he’d only seen her for an instant, her image felt branded into his eyes. Her fall of blonde curls had looked soft as satin and her hazel eyes had pierced the darkness like chestnuts on the fire.

  She was a little taller than most women he’d known, with curves that tapered in and out around a lean waist and slim shoulders.

  But it was her face that was most entrancing; the height of her cheekbones, her sun kissed skin, the dusting of freckles and the bow lips. And the way she’d regarded them, with one quirked brow.

  Philip found himself walking back towards the ballroom.

  “Where are you going?” Bradley hissed after him. “We can’t take the bottle in there.”

  He didn’t care about the bottle anymore. Philip disappeared into the ballroom without speaking a word. He wouldn’t have found her, had he not seen the sudden swish of skirt to the left of him, vanishing behind a curtain.

  He followed her out, quietly. At first, he stood behind the curtain. It was sheer white, which allowed him to glimpse her through the material.

  The movement of the curtain in the breeze made the sight of her billow and shift like the seabed viewed through waves.

  It is not very gentlemanly to sneak up on a woman without announcing yourself, she said.

  Her voi
ce wasn’t sweet and high, as he’d expected. It was measured and extremely steady. A woman’s voice, but the care with which she clearly chose her words resembled a politician’s disposition.

  “You’ll have to forgive me,” he said, as he stepped out from behind the curtain. “I was speechless.”

  She didn’t acknowledge what he said, which surprised him. He expected her to blush or smile, or at the very least look at him. But she just continued to stare out over the gardens.

  He’d known women to play coy before, but this didn’t feel like playing coy. In truth, he couldn’t quite figure her out. It was almost as if she hadn’t heard him at all.

  “It isn’t very ladylike to ignore a gentleman,” he reminded her, with a playful and lopsided smile.

  He stepped closer to the balcony, so that he could see part of her face. She didn’t even smile. Was she even aware of him?

  “I had been hoping for a moment of respite,” she said.

  “You do not want company?” He asked, with a quirked brow.

  “Does that surprise you?”

  He stepped closer again, until they were almost shoulder to shoulder. “Not in the least,” he replied. “Most people are poor company.”

  At last, she turned her face and looked at him. She wore a dubious expression. Her hazel eyes lowered, taking in every inch of him, then rose back to his face.

  “Do you not count yourself among most people?”

  He’d never had a woman regard him so openly before. It made him feel a sliver of discomfort, because he wasn’t sure if he could see admiration in her eyes or disinterest.

  He was finding her to be tricky to read. An uncommon experience for him. He’d always been good at reading people. It was what made him such a successful gambler.

  “No, I do not.” His smile turned roguish and he returned her open regard with his own. He looked down between them, taking in the fine lines and curves of her body.

  He stopped when he returned to looking at her eyes. “I have heard that I am quite marvelous company.”

  He saw a little twitch at the corner of her mouth, as if she was resisting a smile. “Do your friends tell you this? They may be protecting your feelings. How can you be sure they’re right?”

  “You must find my company quite abominable for you to think that my friends would go to such lengths to spare my feelings,” he said.

  “As I said,” she replied. “I had hoped for a respite.”

  Chapter 4

  Miss Loraine Beauchamp

  Though Loraine had not been thrilled by the interruption, she had to admit that he was at least mildly entertaining.

  His attempt at making conversation wasn’t like the way other men spoke to her. There was a cleverness to it that she almost admired.

  Loraine had mostly found that the company of men was extremely dull. But she had to concede that there was something about this particular man that drew her attention. Perhaps it was the twinkle of impishness in his stark blue eyes, which resembled the hue of an icy Canadian lake.

  Or his body.

  She slowly looked him up and down, in attempt to make him feel judged and found wanting. But quickly realized that he wasn’t a man who was lacking in handsomeness by any means.

  Loraine had always thought herself to be above shallow regard, but she found herself admiring him in a way that was wholly out of character.

  He had wide and strong shoulders, which tapered down into lean hips and bulky thighs.

  His jawline was angular and sharp, with a deep shadow lurking underneath it. He had thick black hair which had a light spring in it, which curled around his temples and back behind his ears.

  Loraine looked at his lips last of all. They were neither plump nor slim, but looked soft and pliant. When he smiled, they became a little crooked.

  She’d tried to look at him with an expression of disinterest, to wound his pride and prevent him from pursuing this interaction any further. It was a look she’d perfected over the years, but she couldn’t quite manage it this time.

  Because she wasn’t entirely disinterested.

  “Perhaps we can make some sort of deal,” the gentleman said. “To facilitate us both making use of the balcony.”

  “I have nothing to barter with, sir,” she reminded him.

  “You most certainly do.”

  “And what might that be?”

  He smiled, slowly. “Your company.”

  Loraine leaned her hip against the balcony railing and rested the fingertips of her left hand against it. “My company is not for sale.”

  “Everything is for sale,” he responded.

  She looked down at the railing and touched the moisture that had gathered on it. “How predictable,” she said, more to herself than to him.

  “What is?”

  She saw his hand move. He rested it against the rail perhaps two inches from hers. Loraine looked up at his face as she spoke. “That a man would believe in such a sentiment.”

  He quirked his brow. “We men know much of the world.”

  “You think you do,” she answered, with a small and knowing smile pulling at her mouth.

  During her years in Louisiana, she’d learnt an invaluable lesson. That as long as men were confident in their control, it could be taken from them without them ever having to know. “We women have our own secrets.”

  “I would like to know your secrets,” he answered, as he stepped closer to her. She saw his hand move along the rail. Their fingers were almost touching.

  “I am sure you would,” she replied, in an unaffected voice. She didn’t step away from him but tipped her head back so that she could look up at his face.

  She would not be backed up by any man. When men drew nearer, she always took it as a challenge.

  “Perhaps that is something you can barter with,” he said, in a softening, surreptitious voice. She could see his pupils dilating. Had noticed the heaviness of his eyelids.

  She was almost disappointed. Men were too easy, and she’d expected more of him. He’d seemed so clever.

  “Perhaps it is,” she agreed. Once more, her eyes lowered, regarding every inch of him. She shook her head.

  When she returned to his eyes, she offered him a sympathetic look. “But I am finding that you may be the one who has nothing to barter with.”

  Loraine watched the gentleman’s mouth open but he couldn’t muster any words, just as she’d hoped.

  “Goodnight, sir,” Loraine said, as she stepped around him and moved towards the curtain so she could depart.

  As her fingers touched the fabric, he turned suddenly and looked back at her. “Give me your name, at the very least, my Lady. We each have something to barter on that score, do we not?”

  She started to smile and paused with the curtain shrouding the right side of her body. “We do,” she agreed, after a long moment.

  The gentleman put his hand upon his chest and bowed. “Lord Philip Everton,” he said. “The Marquess of Blackhill.”

  Loraine smiled and dropped into a curtsy. “Miss Loraine Beauchamp.”

  ***

  Miss Loraine Beauchamp

  She left the moment she rose out of the curtsy, without sparing him another glance.

  For several moments, Philip felt incapable of moving. He just stared at the curtain, billowing in her wake, feeling like he’d just seen something that wasn’t of this world.

  He blinked, as though shedding the bonds of a spell she’d cast on him. And then he followed her, in a primal instinct to certify that she wouldn’t disappear and be lost to him forever.

  He stepped past the curtain and caught sight of her almost instantaneously, because his gaze was drawn to her.

  Philip took a step towards her, with every intention of asking her to dance. That would trap her against him for at least the duration of a song.

  But before he reached her, another gentleman got there first. Philip was close enough to hear the man say, “Would you care to dance, Miss Beauchamp?” />
  Philip felt certain that before she answered, Loraine stole a glance back at him. She looked back at the gentleman, who was certainly handsome, and accepted his offer with a gracious smile. She took his hand and he led her to the dance floor, away from Philip.

  Philip’s chest deflated and his brows pulled together, making him look rather like a sullen beast. He was still a little drunk, though he wasn’t sure if the dizziness he was feeling right now was a product of the liquor or of Loraine.