Seducing The Vengeful Marquess (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Lucinda Nelson

  “Always splendid to hear,” Alfie replied.

  “I wonder,” Philip said. “When do you close tonight? It’s still rather busy.”

  “Oh, yes,” he said. “I imagine we’ll be open quite late tonight, given the gravitas of the event.”

  Philip tried to disguise his displeasure. “What a delight,” he answered. His eyes were fixed on Loraine as he spoke.

  She was talking to a gentleman who had been eyeing her for the last hour. The glint in his eye was all too familiar, and it made Philip sick.

  He couldn’t stand it anymore.

  There was a platform where the newest edition to the gallery had been announced earlier that evening. Behind it, the painting was – he had to admit – glorious. And it served a wonderful purpose; drawing attention.

  Philip finished his whiskey and handed the empty glass to Alfie wordlessly. And then, in a moment of courage, he stepped up onto the platform.

  ***

  Miss Loraine Beauchamp

  Avoiding him was easier that day. Both practically, because of the event and the gallery being busy, and emotionally.

  Knowing that she was going to leave that very night made her feel almost afraid to see him, or interact with him.

  She didn’t want to risk changing her mind about leaving without telling him, which made resisting the temptation to engage one last time almost manageable.

  Loraine always maintained an awareness of where he was at all times, so that she could circulate in such a way as to prevent them from crossing paths.

  And it was highly successful. By the time the evening was in full swing, she hadn’t encountered him once.

  They’d only shared tense glances across the room. She could see his intention in his eyes, see his growing impatience and frustration.

  And she knew that there was a possibility that politeness would not keep him from her forever.

  Eventually, he’d be rude to get what he wanted. He’d interrupt a conversation, block her path, or drag her outside by the hand.

  It was just a matter of time, so she kept a watchful eye on him. So she could be prepared for when he finally lost his temper.

  But when he downed his drink and handed the glass to Alfie, her body tensed. She tried to think of a way to evade him, but he didn’t head towards her as she’d expected.

  Instead, he stepped up onto the platform.

  Loraine’s brows furrowed, and her lips parted slightly. What in God’s name was he doing?

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he called out across the gallery. The chatter faded into silence and everyone turned to look at him. Alfie stuttered, but didn’t manage to form words.

  He looked at Loraine pointedly, as if she might have the answer for what was going on.

  But she had no more idea than Alfie did. She made a gesture to suggest as much, and turned her attention towards Philip. Perhaps he was drunk.

  Perhaps he was about to humiliate her. She took a step towards him, half-inclined to drag him off the platform. But that would make a scene.

  Which meant she was stuck. Loraine bit the inside of her lip… and listened.

  “I have been coming to this gallery for some time now,” he said, in a deep and steady voice.

  He fixed her with his eyes as he spoke. “And Miss Beauchamp, who I am sure you all know, has taught me a great many things about the pieces you see around you.”

  He gestured to the paintings circling the guests, then looked back at her. There was a sudden softness in his countenance that she couldn’t deny.

  That no one would be able to deny. The intensity of his gaze made the hairs on her arms rise, her belly flip and her throat feel dry.

  “And I realized tonight, as I stood amongst these works of genius, that there’s not a single one that I could do without.” Philip looked at Alfie. “Mr. Alfred Roulette,” he said. “If it pleases you… I would like to purchase every painting that is yet unsold tonight.”

  Every person in the room took a breath. And Alfie choked on his drink. He stared at Philip, while Philip stared at Loraine. “I want to do this,” he said, without stealing his eyes from her face. Her jaw was slack, and her eyes were wide and bright. “I want it all.” He murmured, as if they were the only people in the room.

  And she realized that he wasn’t talking about the paintings anymore.

  “There was a time when I didn’t understand…” he said, his voice shaky with feeling. “When I just wanted part of it, and for the wrong reasons. But now I see that anything less than everything wouldn’t be right. And, self-interest aside, I believe that you-”

  He caught himself, and glanced at the crowd.

  “That these paintings,” he corrected himself. “Belong with me. I promise I’ll treat them with care. I promise I’ll love them.” He expelled an audible breath, and she watched his eyes pucker. “I do love them. More than I’ve ever loved anything.”

  Loraine’s eyes pricked with tears, as a heavy silence descended. It felt like the whole world had stopped spinning. Without another word, Philip stepped down off the platform.

  As he walked towards the door, Alfie began to applaud. The guests took their cue from him, and soon the entire room was alive with celebration.

  Loraine pushed through the converging mass of people, who launched into enthusiastic chatter about what Philip had just done. When she finally made it outside, the air felt especially cool on her feverish skin.

  He was waiting for her, by the fountain a stone’s throw from the gallery. He sat on its edge, looking down into the water.

  Loraine walked towards him, her breaths coming fast, as if she’d been running. “Why did you do that?” She whispered to him.

  The sound of the water in the fountain was the only sound. He looked up at her. “To get your attention,” he murmured.

  Loraine laughed in astonishment. “Do you have any idea how much you just agreed to spend?”

  He smiled and looked down at the water again. “It was worth it. You’re here, speaking to me.”

  “Is that all you hoped to gain?” She blurted. “You can’t bribe me, Philip. If you thought I’d change my mind on account of that gesture, then you were wrong.”

  “I didn’t think you’d change your mind,” he admitted. He was speaking so quietly. “But you’re leaving tonight…”

  He let those words hang for a moment, and her heart gave a painful thud at the sound of the sadness and resignation in his voice. “I couldn’t let you leave without speaking to you. Without saying goodbye.”

  He said it so evenly.

  Loraine didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. She sat down beside him on the edge of the fountain, with sunken features. “I didn’t want to say goodbye,” she confessed, after a lengthy silence.

  “I wish you wouldn’t.”

  She felt a tear roll down her cheek. “Wishing won’t turn back time. It can’t make things right.”

  After a moment, Philip stood and took off his jacket. He bent down and took off his shoes. Loraine frowned at him. “What are you doing?”

  “Conducting a study.”

  “Of what?”

  He rolled up his trousers, and looked up at her from beneath his brows as he bent down to do so. He was smiling. “The power of wishes.”

  With those words, Philip stepped into the fountain.

  “Philip!”

  The water reached his knees. Bending down, he lowered his hands into the water and started hunting for coins. “You’ll be arrested!”

  “This one,” he said, as he held up a wet, silver coin. “I imagine a man cast this in, hoping that his wife would fall pregnant.”

  “Get out now!” She exclaimed, now standing beside the fountain and trying to reach for his sleeve so she could pull him out.

  “And this one,” he went on, picking out another. “Wishing on the love of a childhood sweetheart.”

  “Philip!”

  “And this-”

  Before he went on, Loraine stepped into
the fountain. She caught him by the arm and tried to pull him out, but he was stronger than her.

  He caught her about the waist and yanked her closer, which caused the pair of them to lose their footing.

  Gasping, they tumbled into the water and were momentarily submerged.

  They came up laughing and spluttering, with their limbs tangled. She tried to stand, but slipped twice before finally managing to gain her footing. Once she felt steady, she was laughing so much that her stomach hurt.

  She looked down at Philip, who hadn’t risen.

  He was on one knee.

  And instead of a coin… he was holding a ring.

  “Loraine Beauchamp,” he said, in a voice that stopped time, her heart, and the spinning of the world. “I want all of you. I want to spend the rest of my life making amends, making you happy, making you laugh.”

  He held up the ring.

  “Will you marry me?”

  Loraine didn’t know what she meant to say until it was already out of her mouth; “Yes.”

  The Extended Epilogue

  I am so happy you finished reading Seducing the Vengeful Marquess, till the end!

  Are you aching to know what happens to our lovely couple?

  Click on the picture or on the link below to connect to a more personal level and as a BONUS, I will send you the Extended Epilogue of this Book!

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  Book 6 -A Preview

  Chapter 1

  Miss Teresa Wolcott

  “Oh, my. The Devil Duke is at it again.”

  The morning sunlight glimmered through the windows as the two women sat in the reading room, sipping their tea and reading. Teresa Wolcott avidly read the most recent news of the war in France, and barely registered what her sister-in-law just said. “What, dear?”

  Amelia laughed over the top of the scandal sheets she currently perused. “It says here that His Devilish Grace was the last person to see the Baroness Elize Beaulieu alive. Rumors have it that he was her lover and that he pushed her down the stairs when he wanted to break off the affair and she did not.”

  Teresa eyed Amelia sardonically. “Why are you so fascinated with rumors of scandal? If he truly murdered a woman, then he should face justice in the courts not people’s opinion.”

  “Are you that naïve, Teresa? Dukes don’t go to prison, they are not tried in courts. When one has a high title and wealth, one can do pretty much as one pleases.”

  “Even murder?”

  “Of course. Unless there is an eyewitness, someone who has a higher title, Thornehill will never face justice.”

  Teresa shook her head. “In truth, that man is in and out of the scandal sheets so often I hardly believe he is truly the monster the sheets say he is.”

  “How can you say that? You can’t have smoke without a fire, and where that man is concerned, he is burning London society down to the ground.”

  At last setting her newspaper down, Teresa stared out the window. “I met him once,” she said quietly.

  “And you survived the scandal?” Amelia tittered. “How extraordinary.”

  “It was last year, at the market,” Teresa went on, smiling. “A boy of about ten years of age was accused of stealing. There was nothing found on his person, but the shopkeeper was going to whip him anyway. I was right there, arguing with the foolish man and demanding he let the boy go. He refused until Thornehill stepped in.”

  “What did he do?’ Amelia’s eyes had gone round.

  “He ordered the shop owner to release the child, then paid him thrice the value of what had allegedly been stolen, gave the boy some coins and kissed my hand.”

  “No!”

  “Oh, yes.” Teresa’s smile widened into a mischievous grin. “He is alluringly handsome, Amelia. A brooding, sinister look about him, but when he looked into my eyes, I saw nothing but kindness in his.”

  “One act of charity cannot erase years of his terrible deeds, Teresa.”

  “He thanked me for standing up for the boy,” Teresa went on as though Amelia hadn’t spoken. “It was not just a single act, I have also heard rumors of other kind deeds he has performed amid the poorer classes around London.”

  “And you believe them?”

  Teresa scowled. “Just as you are so quick to believe the terrible deeds he has supposed to have committed. I think the world would be a much better place if people ceased talking about one another.”

  Amelia chuckled over the rim of her teacup. “Then where would we get our entertainment?”

  “How about from books of fiction, of walking in the parks, of performing acts of charity, of simply loving one another.”

  “Your outspoken views will get you into the scandal sheets yourself, my dear,” Amelia commented dryly, picking up her paper again.

  “You know I don’t care about that,” Teresa replied with a snort. “If people practiced more charity and forgiveness, those bloody sheets you read would not exist.”

  Amelia stared at her, shocked. “You cursed.”

  “So I did. Are you going to write that into one of your precious scandals and spread them around town?”

  “I just might.”

  Teresa gazed out the window again, thoughtfully combing her fingers through her long dark locks, recalling that she was already often talked about because she refused to wear her hair up as a proper woman should, and never refrained from speaking her opinions. “Why can’t people just mind their own business?” she asked.

  “It’s against human nature,” Amelia replied absently. “The Baron and Baroness of Whittaker are hosting a ball Friday evening. You should go, Teresa. An invitation arrived in this morning’s post.”

  A quiver of unease etched through Teresa’s nerves. “You know I don’t function well in crowds.”

  Amelia set her scandal sheet down and picked up her tea to sip. “I know, sweetheart. I also know you cannot find a husband by lurking in this house day in and day out.”

  “Father left me enough money to live on for the rest of my life,” Teresa replied hotly. “I don’t need a husband.”

  “Perhaps not to support you,” Amelia agreed, “but surely you don’t want to be a spinster all your life.”

  “I already am. I’m three and twenty, too old for marriage.”

  “Nonsense. I know you don’t want to live here with me and Thomas all your life, and please do not think I am trying to rush you out. You know we are trying to have children.”

  Teresa nodded, her guilt overwhelming her unease. “I know my presence here is putting pressure on you both. Believe me, if the opportunity to marry the kind of man I can love were to present itself, I will marry. I just – get anxious at those parties.”

  “As long as you keep your opinions to yourself,” Amelia commented, “you can easily attract a man. Teresa, you are so beautiful. Look at you, your big blue eyes and a figure any woman in London would kill for. I have seen the way men look at you. But no one wants to marry a bluestocking.”

  Blushing, Teresa chuckled. “Yes, well, I can’t seem to help myself. When I have an opinion, I air it.”

  “If you perhaps put a rein on your impulses until after you’re married,” Amelia said with a grin, “then you can turn your tongue on your husband.”

  Laughing, Teresa picked up her tea. “The poor fellow. He’d be in for a surprise.”

  “So will you attend the ball at the Whittaker’s?”

  “Yes, I suppose so. I’ll try the new medicine the doctor gave me. Perhaps that will help the anxiety this time.”

  “He will be here soon to examine me,” Amelia replied with an approving smile. “Perhaps he can talk to you as well.”

  “Actually, he is here.”

  Teresa and Amelia glanced up to see Thomas framed in the doorway. He grinned at the two of them, and crossed his arms over his chest. “I heard you talking about the upcoming ball. I’m glad you agreed to go, little sister.”

  Teresa duc
ked her head. “Yes, I suppose it is past time to husband hunt. I need to get out of your house.”

  “That’s not it at all. I do want to see you married, Teresa, but for your sake, not mine and not Amelia’s.”