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

by Sydney Jane Baily

  *

  Jenny awakened to sunlight and birds chirping and smiled, feeling like a princess. No, she corrected herself, she felt like a countess.

  Glancing over to where her husband slept beside her, she frowned. Gone! He moved very quietly for a large man. She’d not heard or felt him rise from the bed.

  Recalling the night before, she had planned to lie awake, keeping alert. If Simon began to move and thrash about, perhaps due to a disturbing dream, then she was going to go to the large, threadbare chair by the window.

  However, after all the travelling and the meal—as well as the glorious lovemaking—she’d dropped off to sleep very quickly. And nothing bad had happened. So, she’d been correct. The events of the previous night had been an aberration. They had slept peacefully together.

  Smiling to herself, she dressed quickly, making sure to apply more arnica from the pot Tilda had given her before wrapping a pretty, lightweight shawl around her neck.

  Jenny found her husband in the dining room, breaking his fast with Lady Devere. His uncle was absent, perhaps simply sleeping in.

  “I hope you slept well,” Lettie said, as Simon pulled Jenny’s chair out for her. “I’m sure if you’d given us more notice, we could have had the sheets aired longer and the carpets cleaned. Maybe the windows needed repointing,” she trailed off and bit a piece of dry toast.

  Jenny nearly rolled her eyes. Glancing at her husband, his enigmatic expression gave no clue as to his thoughts. Perhaps he was thinking of their lovemaking. For certainly, that was the only memory she would hold onto when recalling her stay in James Devere’s home.

  “Perfectly well,” Jenny said pointedly, hoping Simon realized they had passed a night without incident. “The bed was quite comfortable. Wasn’t it, my lord?”

  “Quite,” he agreed. “Tea?”

  *

  When they left mid-morning for the Devere coal mine, Simon’s uncle had not appeared. Given the man’s disposition, Simon would not have asked him anything about his son’s potential thievery in any case. Jenny could see broaching the topic of Tobias and the ledgers would have gained nothing but potentially James Devere having an apoplectic fit.

  “Still, if he’d come to say goodbye, you could have asked him if he’d given Maude leave to sell the hall,” Jenny pointed out. “Though I guess now we know why he advised her to move into Belton Manor. If you had died, Tobias would be next in line and his family would already be installed at the seat of the earldom.”

  Simon stared out the window. “But Toby died, and his father seemed to think I should have picked up the pieces of his family.”

  “I’m sorry if this visit was a disappointment to you.”

  Simon shrugged. “I merely wanted to see my uncle after all this time. It had been years, as you know. He’s bitter, but it looks like his house has been long-neglected. If Toby were skimming funds, why would he let his father live in squalor? I guess I should simply be relieved my uncle didn’t ask me for any details of Toby’s death.”

  Jenny patted his knee, and he imprisoned her hand under his.

  “I wish I could forget the bloody details.”

  “I know.” Reaching up, she stroked his cheek with her other hand. “In time.”

  The next stop, at a lead mine, went as the previous two, and they procured a room at an inn in the late afternoon, with only a brewery to attend the following day.

  When the innkeeper led them to a spacious suite, Simon told him they would take dinner alone in their room.

  “I always stayed here when I went around to visit the accounts. I never dreamed I’d be in this room with my lovely wife.”

  Considering his words, Jenny didn’t particularly care for the flash of jealousy that sizzled through her.

  “Were you ever in this room with another woman?”

  An expression of surprise crossed his face, and Jenny felt her cheeks warm. In truth, the forward question surprised even her. It was none of her business, and no good could come from knowing the answer if he had.

  Instead of looking uncomfortable or guilty, however, Simon’s face stretched into a smile.

  “You cannot know how very pleased I am to be able to say unequivocally that, no, I never had a woman with me. You are the first and only I shall ever bring to this inn or on my estate travels. For you are a rare gem, Lady Genevieve Lindsey. And I still cannot believe I plucked you from a garden so close to my own home. Proof the bon ton with their tedious rounds of the Season haven’t a clue how to find a proper mate.”

  Was she glowing? If not, it would be a crime against nature, for Jenny felt happiness in every fiber of her being.

  Crossing the room on eager steps, she tossed her arms around her husband.

  “I am grateful I was blessed with a gift for mathematics.”

  He laughed at her statement and held her close.

  “However,” she added, leaning back and looking him in the eyes, “my sisters cannot rely on our good fortune. I cannot believe that luck, like lightning, will strike again in our little village. Thus, a Season each, they must have.”

  “I have not forgotten my promise, wife.”

  And then they spoke no more for a long time. In fact, Simon had to get up and don his banyan hurriedly, allowing his countess to hide absolutely naked under the bed covers, when a knock on the door heralded their evening meal.

  Sitting on the bed, unclothed, they ate cold chicken, bread, and pickled onions. Talking and laughing together, Jenny couldn’t imagine a better repast had she been at court dining with Queen Victoria herself.

  However, all too soon, the earl grew hesitant as bedtime approached.

  “I shall ask you every night to come lie down with me and hold me in your arms.”

  He smiled tentatively. “And every night, I shall not refuse you.”

  *

  Simon saw the filthy jailer approaching. What did he want? Surprised to find himself back in his cell after such a long dream of happiness, a dream in which he’d not only been back at Belton, he’d even fallen in love, Simon knew if he could get his hands on the bastard’s throat, he could choke the life out of him and possibly escape.

  He had someone at home to whom he desperately wished to return.

  No. Shaking his head, he knew that was an idiotic fantasy. He had no ladylove. Yet he knew he must kill the guard. Only then could he save Toby, who sat against the cell wall staring at him.

  Something niggled at him. Some reason why he felt a new sense of dread. Not the rats. Not the cold. Not the hunger. If he could remember what was bothering him …

  No matter. Strangely, as if not understanding the peril he was in, the jailer walked close by the enclosure and even stood where Simon could reach him. Fool. Dead man!

  Reaching for him, Simon felt his hand touch warm flesh, but then the jailer dodged just out of reach. Once, twice, and then too far to touch.

  Disappointed, Simon lay back down on the cell floor. It felt far more comfortable than it had before, and he realized he could most likely sleep easily. Even the rats had disappeared for the time being.

  *

  Jenny’s heart was in her mouth. That was what it felt like anyway, ever since Simon had reached for her, his fingers grasping for her neck. Quickly, she had scooted to the edge of the bed. He’d tried twice more until, as quietly as possible, she’d slipped from the covers to huddle beside the bed, trying to see him in the dark.

  His visage was tense, thunderous, not peaceful as it should be.

  Thank goodness she’d stayed awake, or had reawakened, she wasn’t sure which. For certainly, if Simon hurt her again, he would be devastated.

  Snatching up the robe her husband had discarded, she snuggled into it and sat down in the chair by the dying embers of the fire, tucking her feet up underneath her. She would stay until morning, and then get back into bed when he started to stir, with Simon none the wiser.

  *

  “What is the meaning of this?”

  Jenny jerked aw
ake, her neck cricked uncomfortably and, oh dear, was she drooling slightly while sleeping sitting up?

  Wiping her cheek upon her own shoulder, she tried to clear the web of sleep from her brain.

  Simon stood before her, stark naked. And apparently livid.

  Recalling what had driven her from their bed, she cursed herself for not waking up in time to return to it.

  Even worse, she’d neglected to come up with a credible reason for sleeping in the chair.

  “Don’t bother,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “Any tale you tell, I already know is a fib. I know exactly what happened because I had the cursed dream.”

  Hanging her head, Jenny hoped he would let her stay silent on the events of the night before.

  Alas, he was not going to let it rest, even in the nippy morning air and him without a stitch of clothing.

  In fact, as she tried to come up with something less damning than what had actually happened, her brain became distracted by the sight of him in daylight, his muscular frame, his long limbs, his impressive …

  “Tell me,” Simon ground out, turning to pace to the other side of the room giving her a superb view of his magnificent rear.

  He spun around, giving her the other view again. Her mouth went dry, for it seemed with the slight agitation, he was becoming aroused in other ways.

  “I …,” she trailed off and stared.

  “Yes?” he prompted. Then he glanced down. “Christ! Where is my banyan?”

  Realizing Jenny was wearing it, he grabbed his discarded drawers and yanked them on.

  Feeling slightly disappointed when everything interesting disappeared from sight, she sighed. Then in order to ease his mind, she gave lying a try.

  “I thought you seemed a tad restless, so I decided to let you have the bed to yourself.”

  “Restless?” Simon demanded.

  Her gaze slid from his to a point over his shoulder.

  He waited.

  When she said nothing more, he crossed his arms.

  “Did I touch you?”

  “Not really.”

  “Damnit! You were afraid of me, weren’t you?”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said quickly. “But I know better than to stand in front of a runaway carriage, even if the horse means me no harm.”

  “Not the bloody metaphorical horse and carriage again!”

  Jumping up, she ran to his warm body and slipped her arms around his waist.

  “I’m not afraid of you, and I never will be. This will work itself out. Maybe if we talk about—”

  Instead of enclosing her in an embrace, he turned away.

  “There is nothing to talk about. I cannot control what happens in my sleep.”

  “But maybe if you discussed your dreams. Is it one in particular, did you say?”

  “No.”

  “No, it’s more than one?”

  “No, I don’t want to discuss it.” Simon’s mouth tightened. “I suggest we dress, break our fast, and go to the last account.”

  “Very well.” What could she say? Every night, it seemed, and perhaps every morning, too, would be a new battle. Looking at her troubled husband, Jenny vowed to fight—with him and for him—in order to keep him.

  *

  “I am glad we’ll be home by tomorrow night,” Jenny said as Simon assisted her into the carriage after their last stop. “Though clearly it has been well worth these days of traveling.”

  “It has been an enlightening trip, and at least we have a name and address.”

  Her husband should have been content knowing they could easily hunt down Mr. H. Keeble in London, but his brow held the hint of a frown as it had all day.

  It didn’t take an intellectual bluestocking to know what was troubling him.

  “I’m sure you look forward to seeing your mother and your sisters again,” Simon added.

  “Truthfully, I’m most looking forward to starting in my role as countess and helping you run Belton. I want to build a life with you, and, if you’ll let me, make our house feel like my home as well.”

  At last, she elicited a smile from her earl.

  “Of course. You may redecorate or renovate as you see fit. I trust since you know what is in our coffers, better than anyone, you won’t bankrupt the house of Devere.”

  She grinned. “No, my lord. That would hardly be in our best interest.”

  “Just so.”

  After, he’d seemed in better spirits. They returned full circle to spend another night at the Devere home in Wirksworth, with the watchful Tilda and the round-faced cook.

  As she expected, Jenny awakened alone with clear signs Simon had slept in the chair. What would happen when they returned to Belton?

  In the comfortable clarence, they at least could celebrate the triumph of having successfully redirected Simon’s rightful income back into his own coffers. Yet, when the familiar stone wall and black gates of Belton Manor came into view, her husband’s eyes took on a look of uncertainty.

  Picking up her gloves from her lap, Jenny tugged them on, flashed him an encouraging smile, and vowed to herself to help Simon become quite certain of his decision to marry her.

  *

  It would be Jenny’s first night in her new home, her first evening as Countess Lindsey, and the servants had gone over the top to make her feel welcome. She nearly pointed out to Simon the absolute opposite reception they were receiving from that of his uncle’s home. Then she thought better of it. No need to pick at a wound.

  The admiral was front and center to greet them with other staff lined up according to rank. Fresh flowers decorated the front hall, a scrumptious dinner had been planned, and, if Jenny wasn’t mistaken, every window had been cleaned. She’d warrant they were completely out of vinegar, there were so many sparkling panes winking in the last rays of the late afternoon sun.

  Feeling an immediate bonding with these people with whom she would spend the rest of her life, she sent up a silent prayer of gratitude. Things could be terribly different. As the staff bustled about to bring in their bags, get the lord and lady seated in the parlor, and bring them refreshments, it seemed as if blind Fortuna had spun her wheel and bestowed upon Jenny the greatest of good luck.

  Suddenly, instead of someone else’s efficient and happy staff, they were hers. She added the burden quite happily to her load as mistress of Belton.

  Even Peter and Alice appeared, showing up as the sugared orange slices and ladyfingers also arrived. Watching as her new husband spoke animatedly to his young cousins, it wasn’t difficult to imagine him with their own children.

  “What are you thinking, Lady Lindsey?”

  She felt her cheeks grow warm.

  “Ah,” he said.

  “I don’t understand,” Alice said.

  “What are you thinking?” Peter asked the same question.

  Smiling at them, Jenny said, “Only what lovely children you are and how pleased I am you are living here. Where is your mother?”

  Peter shrugged and grabbed for a second ladyfinger.

  Alice, sucking on an orange segment, spoke around the juicy morsel, “In our parlor.”

  Lord Lindsey raised an eyebrow. The woman had been hiding out, it was his contention, in order that no one could ask her any more questions. Sir Agravain indeed!

  Thinking of her husband and their staff, who all depended upon the solvency of the estate, Jenny was determined to get to the bottom of any disreputable dealings, even if it meant storming the widow’s private rooms.

  At bedtime, Simon saw her to the door of her own chamber, which now contained all her personal things from the Blackwood cottage along with a very large bed.

  When he paused at the threshold, Jenny clenched her fists at her sides. Would she have to convince her husband each and every night? For though she knew it was the fashion to have their own rooms, she had no desire to spend her married life sleeping alone in a four-poster bed with only occasional visits from her husband.

  Not giving him
the option to abandon her, she asked, “Which room shall we take tonight, yours or mine?”

  “Well played, wife.”

  “What do you mean?” She blinked her eyes.

  “Both options ultimately are the same.”

  She wanted to stamp her foot. Didn’t he want to hold her, caress her, make love to her? They’d been married merely a week.

  “Don’t you want to sleep with me?” she demanded.

  “Frankly, no.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Jenny took a step back into her room, feeling as if he’d struck her.

  Simon followed her, grabbing both her hands.

  “Don’t misunderstand me, Jenny. I want to lie with you. I certainly want to give you pleasure and watch you spend in my arms. And I wish to hold you, every night and every morning if it were possible. However, the part in between, the sleeping? No, I tell you without lying, I don’t want to sleep with you. In fact, the idea terrifies me.”

  “Nothing more has happened,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt at this turn of events, a lifetime of separate beds.

  “It has actually. The nights you slept safely, I got out of bed and sat in a damned chair.”

  “The same way I found you when I first entered your room.” As it turned out, she had not really helped him at all.

  He let her hands drop. “I stayed in a chair for a far different reason then. To keep from sleeping.”

  “And when you did drift off in the chair, did you have the same violent dreams?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he insisted to her dismay. “We shall compromise. Get ready for bed here, and I shall do the same in there,” he pointed toward the door that separated their bedrooms. “Then I shall come back and …”

  “Yes?”

  “Spend time with you until you fall asleep,” he finished, the glint in his eye bespeaking of how they would spend their first night together at Belton.

  She supposed that was the only arrangement with which he would feel comfortable, and she had no choice but to agree. For now.

  *

  The next day, when Lady Tobias Devere had still not put in an appearance, Jenny decided to take matters into her own hands. She wandered through her new home to the apartment on the second floor in the east wing that somehow the widow had commandeered for herself and her children when she’d moved in uninvited.