Beastly Lords Collection Books 1 - 3: A Regency Historical Romance Collection

by Sydney Jane Baily

  He kept on walking, still holding her arm, striding directly through the foyer, taking a quick right down the first hallway until they reached her usual side door and kept going. They finally arrived at the very back of the house.

  To her utter amazement, Mr. Binkley was there to open the door for his master. She noted he was breathing hard. He must have run like the hounds of hell were at his back, down a different route, in order to appear there exactly as they reached the door.

  Bravo, she cheered him silently for his devotion to duty.

  The earl appeared not to notice but only because he was focused on this difficult adventure. His grip on her arm had tightened and, glancing at his profile, she could see a muscle jumping in his jaw.

  They took a few steps onto the spacious veranda. He halted and breathed deeply, then they took a few more steps.

  “Shall we stop here?” he asked, sounding wary.

  There was a table with a large umbrella set up.

  “Let us keep walking,” Jenny suggested. “Don’t you think?”

  He nodded. “That is the point, I suppose.”

  “Yes.”

  They lapsed into silence again as they descended a wide granite staircase to a large brick patio. This was surrounded by arbors, each one arched over a different path leading to a different garden enclosed by yew hedges.

  “It’s lovely,” she told him, hoping to make him really see the place that he now inhabited.

  “I know,” he said. “I spent many, many hours out here as a boy, pretending it was a different world from Sheffield. That one on the right, I imagined led to Europe, and that one straight ahead led to the wilds of the African continent.”

  “And this one?” she asked, as they headed under a clematis-covered arbor and down a path on the left of the patio.

  “This one went to an entirely magical world of sword fights and buccaneers, and nothing real at all. Sprites, fairies, witches.”

  “Fairies,” she repeated.

  He shrugged sheepishly. “I suppose I have always had a vivid imagination. It doesn’t serve me well now, but as a boy, it kept me amused.”

  “I would have spent my childhood counting the number of bricks on these paths and hoping they were all equal, one to the other.”

  He laughed, yet not like the hysterical laughter that had turned into despair. This time, the sound was rich and full of actual joy. Merely a momentary laugh, quite normal, and her heart that had jumped with unease calmed.

  “Practical Jenny, even as a child?” he asked.

  “I suppose. Eleanor, my youngest sister, would absolutely adore this.” Indeed, it was a fanciful garden with lush, large fragrant blush roses, clumps of sweet William, and towering foxglove.

  “She sketches and finds much pleasure in sitting outdoors in nature, drawing what she sees.”

  “Invite her to come with you next time. The more exotic plants are in my pretend Africa. I’m sure she would see some there she has never before seen.”

  “I will. Thank you.” That they were planning a next time seemed a tad premature when Jenny still had the unpleasant duty of telling him about his father’s death.

  They had reached a central area with a small fish pond, stone benches, and a birdbath. With comfortable like-mindedness, they headed to a bench and sat.

  “I should have told Binkley where I was taking you. If I’d known myself, that is. Then, no doubt, he would already be here with refreshments.”

  Picturing him rushing between the tall plants and crawling under the hedges to beat them to the spot made her laugh.

  “That’s a lovely sound,” the earl said, and her laughter died in her throat. At the same time, heat bloomed in her cheeks.

  If they were courting, their current situation would be utterly beyond the pale, to have walked deep into the secluded garden and to be sitting alone together. She could only guess what the members of high society would have to say. What would her mother say, for that matter?

  “One should install a very long pull cord in the center of each garden,” Jenny suggested. “Then you could summon a servant whenever you wished. I’m surprised no one has thought of that.”

  Simon Devere’s eyebrows rose. “That’s a rather unusual and brilliant idea, Miss Blackwood. However, it does rather remove the feeling of remoteness and solitude that one often seeks deep in a country garden, not to mention the tranquility being disturbed by servants scurrying hither and yon with refreshments.”

  “Only think of the added work for the staff, too,” she pointed out.

  “They might like getting outside more,” he considered. “I will look into your proposal. Perhaps long ropes could be laid out or strung from the trees.”

  She was sure her face expressed her shock.

  “I was only speaking in jest, my lord.”

  The earl grinned. “As was I.”

  Her breath caught. Who could believe the man sitting in the dark a week ago could now be making jokes? “You fooled me.”

  He nodded slightly. “I very much like spending time with you.”

  Before she could say anything, he added, “I cannot quite believe I am sitting out here in this garden. And with you.”

  Picking up her gloved hand from where it rested on her lap, his fingers touched her lap briefly, brushing across her inner thigh. She felt a tremor of shock rush through her. The earl didn’t seem to notice.

  “This is precisely one of the places I used to imagine while I was captive. In precise detail, with my eyes shut.” He closed his eyes while she looked up into his face, feeling off balance by his mercurial change of topic and interest.

  Moreover, she was dealing with the strange sensation of a man holding her hand tightly in his. The viscount had certainly never done more than tuck her forearm under his and promenade around the veranda of whatever ballroom they were attending. Nothing before in her limited experience had ever felt as intimate as the earl’s touch.

  “I would reconstruct this place in my mind. Exactly. The feel of this cold stone bench seeping into my trousers no matter how hot the day. The scent of roses and how the garden’s fragrance changes with the seasons. The appearance of the honeysuckle to our right and the pear tree arching overhead.”

  He was right in each instance.

  “Go on, close your eyes and smell the various flora, and see if you can picture the plants in your mind.”

  She hesitated, but his eyes were still closed, so she did as he asked. As soon as her sight was shut off, she became overly aware of their joined hands. His thumb caressed her gloved palm, sending tingling sensations up her arm. Squirming a little, she stilled when he squeezed her hand encouragingly.

  “Are your eyes closed?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Can you smell everything more strongly now?”

  “Yes.”

  “When I was in the cell, I swear I could smell the flowers if I tried hard enough. And I did try. Every day. I hoped if I recalled each detail of my home, that eventually, I’d be able to stand up from the imaginary bench and not only walk around the garden but make it all the way into the house.”

  “That’s an understandable hope,” she said, her heart aching for the idea of him in confinement.

  “If I’d known you, Genevieve, I would have envisioned sitting with you, exactly as we are now.”

  Hearing the earl say her name with her eyes closed, with her hand clasped in his, caused another tremor through her. When he said her name, it didn’t sound silly, it sounded romantic, even sensual.

  Snapping open her eyes, she leaned away from him. What was she doing? Even someone as occasionally eccentric as herself, who often flouted the conventional boundaries, knew this was going too far. She yanked her hand from his grasp, expecting him to open his eyes, but he didn’t.

  The earl gasped, squeezed his eyes shut more tightly, and then, with an anguished howl, he covered his face with his hands.

  Dear God, what was wrong? Jumping up, Jenny stood before h
im, her knees nearly touching his.

  “My lord?”

  “No, no, no,” he groaned. “You are not real. None of this is real.”

  “Please,” she begged, crouching down. “Open your eyes. It is all real. I am here.”

  He moaned loudly. “I don’t want to go back.” He lifted his hands from his face, his eyes still closed.

  “Demon, are you still here? Were you ever here?” His breathing was erratic and he was shaking his head.

  Realizing he had slipped back into his former hysteria only after she’d broken their contact, Jenny quickly grabbed hold of his hands with both of her own.

  He stilled and almost instantly his breathing became more regular.

  “I am afraid,” he whispered, and her heart melted.

  “Simon,” she said his Christian name for the first time out loud. “I am real.” She squeezed his large hands. “You are home. I promise you. Please open your eyes.”

  The earl said nothing more, but became visibly calmer. His face relaxed, and finally, answering her silent prayer, he opened his eyes.

  Such beautiful, yet troubled blue eyes, she thought.

  Looking directly at her, sadness emanated from him like the rich fragrances from the flowers he had vividly recalled while in captivity.

  All at once, the earl yanked her forward, turning her so she landed firmly on his lap. He released her hands only to bury his own in her hair, tangling his fingers on either side of her head and destroying the carefully styled ringlets.

  “You are real!” He lowered his head and claimed her lips.

  Jenny tried to protest, but her words were muffled against his mouth. Then, when he moved against her, slanting his mouth to fit more perfectly with her own, she decided there was nothing to complain about.

  His kiss was divine. Its effect sizzled through her from her head to her toes that were now curling inside her boots while he continued his sensual assault. What’s more, the heat from his thighs penetrated her day gown, warming the areas that had been chilled by the unyielding marble bench.

  “You taste like sunshine,” Simon murmured against her mouth before claiming it again.

  It was her turn to keep her eyes firmly closed, for Jenny found she could not lift her lids while the earl practiced his skilled kissing upon her.

  When he lowered his hands from cradling her head to encircle her waist and hold her firmly, she found it only natural to slip her arms up the front of his coat and clasp her hands behind his neck, feeling the silkiness of his dark hair. Their kiss continued, and she could not think of any reason why it should ever end.

  And then she heard the sound of children’s laughter, and it was coming closer.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jenny’s bemused brain didn’t seem to know what to tell her body. It was Simon who lifted her from his lap to her former place on the bench before he jumped up and moved away from her. In seconds, Alice and Peter appeared.

  It was the first time Jenny had seen his lordship in the presence of the children. She hoped he didn’t scare them. For her part, she resisted the impulse to lift a hand to her hair and draw attention to her disheveled appearance.

  Maude Devere’s offspring came to a crashing halt when they entered the circular center of the garden and saw it already occupied.

  “Oh,” squealed Alice.

  Peter said nothing but stared from Jenny, whom he recognized, to the earl, who momentarily kept his back to all three of them.

  “This flower is the one I meant, Miss Blackwood,” Simon said loudly, plucking a pink hollyhock in full bloom before turning to her, appearing startled by the children’s appearance.

  Not a bad actor, she thought. Though he would have to be quite hard of hearing to be sincerely surprised at seeing them when he turned around.

  His pretense gave way to genuine wonder. She could see it in his face. He looked, in fact, fascinated by them.

  “How you’ve grown! Why, you were only up to here,” he said to Peter, holding his hand at waist level. “And you,” he said, looking at Alice, “still had leading strings.”

  “Did I?” she asked. “Who are you?”

  “I am Simon Devere.”

  “I’m Peter Devere,” the little boy said before giving a grown-up bow.

  “That’s not necessary. We’re family,” Simon insisted. “Your father …” He looked uncertainly at Jenny, and she nodded encouragingly. “Your father was my cousin and great friend.”

  “I don’t remember you or him,” Alice stated and went over to sit with Jenny.

  Peter, however, stood staring at the earl. “Were you with our father when he died?”

  “I was.”

  Jenny could see a play of emotions cross the earl’s face. Doubtless, memories were assaulting him unwillingly. Would merely thinking of Tobias Devere cause the earl to have another episode? She sent up a silent prayer for his sake that he didn’t.

  Peter still stared at this unexpected man in the garden. Simon walked closer to the boy and stared down into his face.

  “You are the very spit and image of your father.”

  At that, the boy fairly beamed.

  “He spoke about you often and with great pride,” Simon added.

  “What about me?” Alice asked from where she leaned against Jenny’s side.

  The earl turned to her. “You were his little angel. I’m sorry you don’t remember your father, but he thought of both of you all the time.”

  Jenny’s heart ached for them. And then she remembered all at once that she had not yet told Lord Lindsey about his own father. Thankfully, the children had not said anything untoward regarding the old earl.

  “Isn’t my sister here today?” she asked the children, wishing to change the topic of fathers.

  “Master Cheeseface just left,” Alice said.

  Jenny heard the earl softly repeat “Cheeseface?”

  Peter spoke up. “Miss Margaret was here this morning.”

  “Oh, yes,” Jenny should have remembered that, but she had lost all track of time being with Simon. Talking with him, touching him, being kissed by him! “Still, you shouldn’t call the man such a thing, Miss Alice.”

  The little girl only giggled.

  “What do you call my sister when she is not within hearing?”

  Alice smiled, “Miss Pretty.”

  Jenny glanced at Simon, wondering what he thought of that. After all, he had mere minutes earlier been kissing her, and she was the plainest of the Blackwoods. How much more suited to such a handsome, powerful man was Maggie? Yet, the idea of her sister forming an association with Lord Lindsey caused her distinct uneasiness. More than that.

  She stood, grasping Alice’s hand as she did.

  “I suppose we ought to head back to the house,” Jenny said. “I should take my leave.” She could hardly linger in the garden until the children went in and then pounce on him with news of his father’s death. Perhaps she could visit again on the pretense of telling him about his accounts.

  Unable to offer Jenny his arm whilst she held Alice’s hand, Simon could only draw close on her other side and ask, “May I show you the rest of the gardens another day?”

  “Yes. I would like that. To see Africa and Europe. And I will fill you in on everything I learned from the estate ledgers.”

  She offered him a smile. Truthfully, she would like him to kiss her again, but that was definitely asking for trouble. Besides, it had occurred not through a genuine passion between them but due to his mental state. The poor man had only needed reassurance that he was truly in this world and not another.

  With Peter and the earl falling into step behind them, Jenny and Alice led the way back along the path. They had nearly reached the veranda when she saw Ned appear from around the corner of the house. He was half walking, half trotting toward them.

  “Jenny,” he called. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  She felt her cheeks grow warm at his use of her given name, a man that the children and th
e earl did not know. So forward of her cousin. So embarrassing! Yet, by his tone, something was amiss.

  “What has happened?”

  Ned paused to bow to the earl, then he looked directly at her. “It’s Thunder. That wretched animal. He got spooked and practically killed George—”

  Little Alice gasped, and Jenny dropped the girl’s hand, stepping forward as the earl did the same.

  “Who is this George?” Simon demanded.

  She glanced at him. “Our stable boy.”

  Realizing she had yet to introduce the earl to her cousin, she began, but before she could say anything more, Ned added, “Your mother wants you to come home at once. I’ve brought my carriage to collect you.”

  “Has the doctor been sent for?”

  “Henry was dispatched there directly.”

  “Our manservant,” she told Simon before he asked. Then to Ned, she said, “I need only collect my reticule from the front foyer on our way out.”

  “If there is anything I can do,” Simon offered.

  “That is kind of you, my lord. I’m sure we can handle it.”

  Ned reached for her arm, and she let him take it.

  “Also, the damned horse has gone missing,” he added.

  Poor Thunder. If he had truly injured George and then run off, what would become of him? And Cook must be in a state of panic as any mother would over her son.

  “Come, Ned, let us hurry.” With a nod over her shoulder toward Simon and the children, Jenny rushed away, directing him toward the back entrance rather than going around the entire house.

  As soon as her cousin’s driver helped her into the brougham and secured the door behind Ned who climbed in after, he urged the horses into a fast trot. To Jenny’s dismay, her cousin remained close by her side, too close with his boney thigh and shoulder touching her own.

  Sighing inwardly, she didn’t reprimand him, too grateful that between Ned and Henry, the situation that otherwise would have fallen squarely on her shoulders was already well in hand.