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

by Sydney Jane Baily

  Regrettably, even in the remedy for pain, there was more pain. His stomach bothered him nearly as soon as the laudanum went down his throat, or so it seemed. On the other hand, if he took a little more of the tincture, he would drift off to sleep easily despite his stomach, though he risked the possibility of nightmares.

  Never mind. He would bear the stomach cramps. Enraptured with the memory of pleasuring Margaret and of how she enthusiastically touched him in return, he was sure he would sleep well.

  Unfortunately, when he awakened, sweating and breathing hard a few hours later, it was from a terrible dream with carriages racing too quickly toward treacherously high cliffs, like those he’d visited in Dover a few years back with Beryl and her family.

  What he wouldn’t give if Margaret were beside him! Barring that, he wished he could jump out of bed and take a walk instead of lying there, feeling trapped, with no choice but to drift back off to another troubled slumber.

  Irritation sliced through him again. If the man who’d been driving the other carriage hadn’t been killed, Cam could easily have hunted him down and wrung his sorry neck.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Beryl, her five siblings, and parents, Cam’s uncle and his wife, arrived early the next day, after a breakfast during which every time Margaret glanced at him, her cheeks erupted in a rosy blush.

  If her sister or his mother didn’t guess something had happened between them, Cam would eat his hat. Or perhaps Eleanor was too young to think of what might have occurred, and his mother … Well, she wasn’t too old. No, that was certain. Luckily, she was preoccupied with her in-laws’ arrival.

  “I have a grand time planned,” Lady Cambrey told the visitors as soon as they’d arrived, but before she could say anything else, Eleanor grabbed Beryl’s hand and they disappeared amongst a cloud of giggles and whispers.

  Both Margaret and Beryl’s mother, Catherine Angsley, apologized for the girls’ behavior.

  Cam’s mother began again. “Much later, we shall play parlor games, and I’m sure those young misses will enjoy them. Meanwhile, my son gave me a good idea the other day. We have found some fishing poles, and we shall take my nieces and nephews to the river to see what they can catch.”

  Three boys and two girls of various ages squealed in delight.

  Cam noticed Margaret looked at him with concern. And no wonder. She didn’t want a repeat of the previous outing’s events. To reassure her, he smiled.

  “Let’s get everything prepared,” Lady Cambrey suggested, “and then we’ll see if Beryl and Eleanor wish to join us. I believe the youngest Blackwood sister likes to fish.”

  Not too many hours later, Cam found himself once more at the River Great Ouse, this time surrounded by children. It seemed as if there were sixty, not six, of his cousins.

  How strange, he considered. At his age, he could have fathered the younger ones.

  Watching Margaret as she chatted with the other women, looking youthful, with her hair in a long braid down her back, he knew she would bear him beautiful and strong children of their own. Moreover, the previous night indicated they would enjoy making each and every one of them.

  Watching his own relations next, he found himself looking forward to stopping what now seemed to have been an endless bachelorhood.

  Yes, he was eager to take up the mantle of husband and father. A life that had grown a tad dull seemed exciting again. It would expand past duties of Parliament and idle pleasures of the ton. As soon as the dratted cast came off!

  With the sun shining, they’d gathered at the bend in the river where there was a little sandy deposit, which they had loosely called “a beach” all his life. Here, the water slowed and the fish pooled nearby. It was idyllic.

  Margaret seemed a natural with the wee ones, though he noted she did not put bait on a hook. Eleanor, who had very much wanted to come and dragged Beryl with her, was a crack at baiting hooks and showing the children how to toss the line and to angle. Margaret, it seemed, was better with adjusting bonnets, wiping grubby hands, and generally encouraging everyone toward happiness.

  Even he could take a turn at the rod. Letting Eleanor cast his line for him, he sat near the water’s edge and fished as he hadn’t in years. It was pleasant, especially with Margaret standing close and chatting amiably. Then he felt the familiar tug on his line. Wonderful!

  When he drew a large perch from the river, lauded by everyone around him, his own happiness would have been complete if he weren’t trapped in his pushchair and wondering how long it would be until he could be alone for his next sip of laudanum. Only if he needed it, of course.

  Having let his Uncle Harold push him to the river’s edge, at that moment, Cam was in no pain except the constant ache of his body being in the same position.

  However, he was determined to wheel himself back to the house to work his arm muscles. By the time he did, he knew he would need a little opium tincture to get him through the evening until bedtime.

  “Time to eat,” his mother called out, calling them all to a picnic already laid out, this time on wooden tables she made the staff carry to the river’s edge. He had to smile. As hostess, she was in her element. And to his surprise, he’d worked up a little appetite.

  When everyone had eaten their fill, it was time to return to Turvey House for his mother’s next entertainment. Having two aging ponies in their stables, Lady Cambrey thought the children who were old enough would be delighted to ride them around the paddock.

  Cam thought it would be more fun for them to ride a properly trained mount with a child seated in front of an adult. Of course, no one had asked him since he couldn’t ride anyway. Even more frustration in his day! For there wasn’t much more pleasurable a thing to do in the country than have a good ride and give a horse its head.

  Looking at Margaret, who happened to capture his glance and return it with quizzically raised eyebrows, he smiled thinking of one or two more pleasurable things.

  With everything packed up, suddenly, Lady Angsley screamed.

  “George is in the river! Help!”

  Everyone began scrambling, running to the water’s edge. With his heart pounding, Cam was half out of his chair before he realized he could neither stand, nor swim. It was torture to sit there powerlessly, barely able to see past the gaggle of his relations, whilst his uncle jumped in the river after the toddler.

  Luckily, his aunt had seen the incident as it happened, standing mere feet from her child, who’d taken a step too many and been sucked in by the slope and then the current. Neither the boy’s mother nor the other women could safely go in the water to save the tot, knowing their dresses would weigh them down to a quick drowning if they lost their footing. Cam’s Uncle Harold, though, only in his forties, was a strong swimmer. As the boy was only a few yards from the shore, in a brief amount of time, the father had his son in his arms.

  Back upon the bank, Harold held the boy upside down by his feet and whacked his back to get out any water he might have inhaled or swallowed. Thankfully, it had happened so quickly, young George was declared perfectly fine, except for being wet, scared, and wrong side up.

  “Stop it, Harold. Let him down,” ordered Lady Angsley, reaching her hands out, obviously desperate to hold her son in her arms.

  As Harold righted him, Margaret moved quickly to wrap up the boy in the picnic blanket and hand him to the grateful mother.

  Like a flash of oil on flames, Cam’s anger flared as he watched the scene unfold, surprised to see smiles already returning to his family’s faces and how calm everyone seemed. The whole event, in fact, set off his irritable temper, which seemed always close at hand lately. Infuriated, he gripped the handles of his chair.

  “Someone should have been watching the child more carefully,” he stated. “The boy could have died, drowned right next to you, and the blame would have been easy to place.”

  Catherine Angsley, who had seemed relatively calm, started to cry, and Harold Angsley looked daggers at his nephew bef
ore snatching his son back from his wife. Hoisting him high upon his wet shoulders to carry him back to Turvey House, he set off without another word.

  Lady Cambrey pursed her lips at her own son, while Eleanor and Beryl gathered up the rest of the children to begin the short trek back.

  However, it was Margaret to whom Cam looked. Her reaction was to shake her head, as if disappointed in him, cutting him to the quick. Unable to get his plaster cast wet and help rescue the boy, or even stand for that matter, he had done nothing but sit like an old man and fish, and when faced with an emergency, he could do naught but sit some more.

  No wonder she wore an expression of disappointment.

  He ought to go into solitary convalescence until the cast could be removed. Perhaps he would begin writing that book he’d considered before, or take up painting. Or maybe he would sit staring out a window and go stark, raving mad. It seemed the most likely of the scenarios. This long lesson of patience and humility had worn extremely thin. And he was displeased with how easily irritated he became.

  A melancholy group, except for the youngest, they returned to the manor with Cam breathing hard to keep up. By the time the veranda rolled under his wheels, he felt no qualms in asking Cyril to help him upstairs to rest until dinner.

  And he was well within the bounds of reason for needing some tincture of opium to ease the agony in his arm muscles. He didn’t see how anyone could blame him for that.

  *

  Sitting in the library, penning a letter to her mother while the Angsley family visited in the drawing room, Maggie tapped the pen to her lower lip and considered her words. About to write to Anne Blackwood how happy she was to be back with her betrothed, for the most part, it was true. The previous night had been beyond what she’d expected from relations with a man. She truly had not understood how awkwardness and fear would fall away when faced with love and desire.

  Nevertheless, she was wary of John’s occasional strange behavior. Nor had Maggie forgotten how greatly changed he had seemed when first she arrived. True, after a bath, haircut, and shave, he was more like his old self. Combined with how quickly she’d come to accept the small differences, such as his pallor and his thinness, she was indeed happy to still call him her fiancé.

  However, only the day before, he had sworn a rude oath and left her and Eleanor without a backward glance. When she’d confronted him later, he’d seemed a completely different individual, contrite and calm. What’s more, he’d instantly promised to stop taking opium.

  Then today, out of the blue, he said something unnecessarily harsh, greatly disturbing Lord and Lady Angsley.

  Neither incident would seem strange if John were not the Earl of Cambrey, a man who had been in society for a decade and bred to the title, which he had now held for four years since his father’s untimely passing. He knew better in both instances than to behave like a brute.

  Sighing, she wrote to her mother John’s arm was well-mended except for its slightness. She added the story of fishing and of Eleanor’s great pleasure in visiting with Beryl. Naturally, Maggie left out the near-disaster that befell George, as well as any doubts she felt about marrying a man who was showing a new and unpleasant side of himself.

  Sealing her letter, she went to find Cyril or Mrs. Mackle to ask about getting it sent with the early morning post. As she crossed the domed hallway, she heard the front door open.

  “The lovely Miss Blackwood, soon to be the Countess of Cambrey.”

  Grayson had entered the front hall, still wearing a long traveling coat.

  “Are you recently back from London?”

  “I am.” Ambling toward her, he took her free hand and offered her a polite bow over it. “I dropped my trunk at my own dwelling and came directly here to see how his lordship is faring.”

  Frowning, Maggie asked, “Why? Were you worried about him?”

  Tilting his head, he gave her a wry smile. “How long have you been here?”

  “A few days.”

  “Then you have seen him?”

  “Of course!” Maggie recalled the prior evening. She’d done a great deal more than see John Angsley. Then Grayson’s meaning dawned on her.

  “You refer to his appearance. I think you will find him greatly changed for the better.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Really?”

  “Yes, but I’ll let you see him for yourself. Was there anything besides his hair and beard that worried you?”

  “I don’t like to tell tales out of school, Miss Blackwood. If he has improved as you say, then I shall be extremely pleased.”

  “Won’t you call me Maggie, or at least Margaret?”

  “Yes, I will, if you’ll call me Grayson.”

  “All right, I will.” With enough worries of her own, she decided not to press him on the matter of his concerns regarding John. “If you’ll excuse me, I will let you go visit with John while I find the butler.”

  He bowed again. “Good day, Margaret.”

  “And to you, Grayson.”

  She had to admit she was relieved the estate manager was back. She couldn’t speak to any of the staff about her apprehensions over their master, nor could she express her fears to Lady Cambrey. She’d certainly learned that lesson. While Grayson was also in John’s employ, like Cyril or Peter, they were friends before anything else. If the man was concerned, she hoped he would speak up.

  By seven at night, except for the five youngest children, everyone was gathered in the main dining room, including Grayson. John appeared relaxed again, and his relatives had seemingly forgiven him for his unfortunate statement, causing his aunt to cry.

  Maggie knew, in all likelihood, a long evening of charades and whist or loo was in their future. She hoped John would keep an even temper throughout, and she planned on visiting him again in his room. If not for a repeat of the previous evening’s pleasure, then at least to ask him in private how he felt since stopping the opium.

  *

  Without a moment’s privacy, Cam hadn’t been able to invite Margaret to another late-night tryst except with his eyes. Still, he knew she would come, and he was ready for her when she slipped into his room after everyone else had gone to bed.

  “Are you asleep?” she whispered.

  “No,” he whispered back, “are you?”

  Laughing, she ran across his thick Persian carpet and launched herself onto the bed beside him.

  “Oof!” He expelled a breath.

  “Did I hurt you?” she asked.

  “No.” Though somehow her elbow had ended up in his stomach as she’d settled beside him. He didn’t care. She could batter him blue and black and he would still love her.

  Realizing she had put herself in the same position as the night before, as if entirely ready for lovemaking, he bent low to kiss her. Unexpectedly, she placed her delicate hands on his chest and held him at bay.

  “I didn’t come here for this. Or even expecting it. You understand? We may converse, if you like.”

  Grinning, he untied her belt to find her entirely bare. At once, his body reacted, and his brain seemed to empty itself of any intelligent thought.

  “Oof,” he said again, making her giggle. “It seems to me, my lady, you came here ready for me to do precisely this.” And he claimed her mouth before trailing kisses down her neck and over each of her breasts.

  When he slid his hand into her feather-soft curls and started to stroke her as had done the night before, they spoke no more except for sighs and moans and guttural groaning.

  It was a long-time later, after much teasing and kissing, more caresses and stroking, and some perfectly learned handiwork on Margaret’s part, when he spent upon the counterpane. It was easy to imagine a time when he might do the same inside her.

  Cuddling together, he wondered if tonight they might drift off to sleep and let the consequences happen, until he recalled he hadn’t had the necessary last dose of laudanum. Perhaps if she fell asleep quickly, he could reach over her. Or maybe, he should tell her it
was time to return to her own room.

  However, he needn’t have worried, for instead of closing her lovely, gold-flecked eyes, she fixed her gaze upon him.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Smiling, he squeezed her closer. “Need you ask after what we just did?”

  “No, my love, I meant since you stopped taking any opium tincture. You said before it made you grumpy. Undoubtedly why you snapped at your aunt and uncle this afternoon. By dinner, though, after you came upstairs to rest, you seemed your normal, amiable self. And what about now? Are you in any pain?”

  Lying to her was the absolute last thing Cam wanted to do, but he couldn’t put the burden of worry upon her, not when he knew he was doing the right thing. Eventually, he would stop taking laudanum, and then his words would no longer be a lie.

  “I feel at times a little irritable as you witnessed at the river, but then I feel better, especially when you are with me. At this moment,” he paused to brush his hand along her bare arm, “I feel no pain.”

  Goosebumps rose upon her skin, and he thought they could most likely pleasure each other again before she left.

  “And are you pleased Grayson is back?”

  He blinked.

  “Grayson is it now? Not Mr. O’Connor? Should I be jealous?”

  She made a fist and punched him softly in the stomach.

  “I’m lying naked in your arms after we have touched each other in the most intimate fashion. Do you feel jealous?”

  “Not at present. But I could easily tear a man limb for limb if he ever touches you. And I will scowl fiercely at anyone who so much as lets his gaze linger upon you too long.”

  “It could end up being rather a scowl-filled marriage then.”

  He rolled her atop him. “I think it will be a marriage of laughter and love.”

  “As do I,” she agreed.

  “As soon as the damnable cast comes off, I will stand before God and before witnesses and make you my wife. I cannot wait.”