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

by Sydney Jane Baily

  Luckily, the ladies were too well-bred to pry about her late husband, or she would have had to invent an entire courtship and marriage, which so far, she’d managed to avoid with vague statements. They passed the rest of the afternoon before dinner with a more thorough tour of the estate, including the fastidious parterre gardens and the orchards.

  After Ada saw Harry settled in with Nanny Finn, she found herself again seated in the dining room for the evening meal. It certainly felt strange to be wearing the same clothing, as the other two ladies had changed, but she’d at least washed her face and hands and combed her hair in the bedroom they’d given her.

  Dinner was delicious, and the talk was all of national matters, such as their new conservative prime minister, the Earl of Derby, the terrible Holmfirth Flood causing the fatal collapse of the Bilberry reservoir, and the rather late opening of Parliament.

  When they reconvened in the drawing room, Ada was amazed to discover the Earl of Alder was a natural entertainer. To everyone’s delight, he recited from a Shakespearean comedy doing all the parts, and then gave a rousing rendition of one of the chorus sections of Aristophanes, The Wasps.

  Ada sat transfixed, determined to lay her hands upon some old Greek comedies to read at home.

  “Bravo,” she said, clapping when he was finished.

  Camille played the pianoforte with above average skill. No doubt, she’d been instructed since birth how, in order to catch a husband, a lady must be able to play a parlor tune to amuse him and his guests.

  Ada was glad she could play the stock market instead.

  Then it was time for cards.

  At that point, she began counting the minutes until bedtime, until Lord Vile showed up at her door, inflamed for her, as he’d said. It was inevitable.

  *

  Michael was of two minds, be a saint or a sinner. Pretend to be someone he was not and perhaps disappoint the lady, or be himself, knock upon her door, and enjoy each other immensely. After all, they were protected from repercussions by being ensconced in the bosom of his family.

  He tapped on her door on the stroke of midnight when the house was otherwise silent.

  There was no answer.

  Hmm. Had she fallen asleep waiting for him? Earlier, she’d seemed almost disappointed he hadn’t arranged for this precise situation of being forced to spend the night, which had then been gifted them by his mother.

  Maybe he’d read Ada incorrectly? Her lips, her eyes, her body, each time he touched her, told him she was ready for more.

  He knocked again a little more loudly, his bare feet growing cold in the drafty hallway. He cinched the belt of the robe he’d found in his old room.

  Another excruciatingly long moment and then the door opened a crack. In the dim light, all he could see was one eye looking out at him.

  “Yes?” she inquired, as if there was any doubt why he was there.

  He nearly chortled at the absurdity. He could ask her for a pound of bacon, he supposed, or tell her he was there to muck out the stables.

  “May I come in?”

  She hesitated. Not a good sign. He’d been right. Her mind, perhaps even her morals, warred with her body. In his experience, it was an unnecessary battle. Pleasures of the flesh didn’t hurt anyone and certainly lifted the spirits.

  Trying to be patient, he said nothing more. He didn’t even put his hand to the doorframe. He had never forced a woman to endure his company, never needed to, and couldn’t imagine one would gain any pleasure from an unwilling bed partner. He wanted her panting and open to him.

  Another long moment passed, then she stepped back, pulling the door open until there was room for him to slip inside.

  Surely, that was acquiescence enough. In a heartbeat, he swept her into his arms, closed the door with the sole of his foot, and moved with her toward the bed.

  “I cannot wait a second longer,” he whispered against the skin of her collarbone.

  In answer, he felt her hands creep up his chest to rest behind his neck, her fingers entwining in his hair.

  Yes!

  He let his hands roam over her body, which was finally unencumbered by the fashionable layers of the day, clad in only her shift. Skimming up her sides, roaming over her round bottom, the first thing he noticed was her glorious hair hanging in a braid down her back. He made quick work of removing the ribbon from the end and loosening the skeins so he could run his hands through the long silken gold waves.

  He could feel her pulse where his mouth touched her neck. It was beating an erratic tempo. Normally, the woman he was with would either have begun to remove her garments, or his, or given him leave to do the same.

  She merely remained silent, except for her quickening breath in the darkness.

  Dammit all, he wanted to see her properly. Striding to the window, kicking his toe upon a chair leg, he started to swear violently.

  While hopping in pain, he started to yank at the heavy drapery to let in the moonlight, when incredibly, she began to laugh.

  “I thought the infamous Lord Vile would be more practiced at seduction,” she intoned, her voice throaty, making his groin tighten, even as her use of the despised nickname annoyed him.

  With a final tug, he had one of the panels pulled back and the light shone in, striking her. He put his foot down onto the thick carpet and simply stared at the vision before him. She was a goddess.

  He sucked in a breath. Something in his memory stirred, but before he could grasp it, she moved toward him. As the moonlight gave him an enchanting peek at her dusty nipples through the fine lawn of her shift, all his thoughts were overtaken by her beauty.

  Her blue eyes, lit by the moon, sparkled at him, her hair appeared burnished, and her skin seemed to glow.

  “You are so lovely,” he murmured, thinking even too loud a voice could destroy the moment.

  “I’ve heard that before,” she said.

  A strange answer, as if taunting him with her past—no doubt her devoted husband had worshiped at the same alter Michael was about to show utmost reverence.

  “I’m confident you will hear it again.” Ignoring his throbbing toe, he concentrated instead on his aching staff, approaching her.

  “I’ve longed to see your bare flesh,” he told her.

  She didn’t respond, but she didn’t stop him either, as he pushed her shift off one shoulder, then the other, until it dropped to the floor.

  He groaned, and her nipples puckered. Instantly, he bent low to take one in his mouth while cupping the sweet weight of her breast with one hand and grasping her bottom with the other.

  Feeling her fingers fist in his hair, he didn’t mind the twinge of pain as he sucked and licked, then transferred his attentions to her other nipple. She writhed against him and pressed her lower body against his as if seeking relief.

  His loins were on fire. Sweeping her into his arms, he laid her on the bed and got beside her, resting on his elbow so he could look at her. She stared up at him, and if he didn’t know she was a widow and a mother, he’d say she was the picture of innocence.

  Perhaps it was her clear blue eyes and her pale hair fanned out around him. She looked positively angelic, which only fired his lust further.

  Skimming his hand across her breasts again, marveling at her satiny skin, he was rewarded with her soft moan.

  When he stroked down her gently curved stomach to the treasure between her legs, she raised her hips.

  He simply couldn’t resist the offering. In a quick movement, he situated himself between her legs, gently opened her petals, and blew a breath upon her succulent nubbin.

  “Oh.” It was an entirely sensual sound.

  Dipping lower, he touched her with his tongue, rewarded as she bucked under him and, once more, sunk her fingers into his hair. As he tasted her, she pulled and tugged. He might be bald before the night was over, but it would be worth it. She was so accepting of his ministrations, seemingly so ready and sensitive to each touch.

  When he pulled the
hard bud between his lips, he felt her desire moistening her. In the next instant, she let her hands fall to the sheets as she quivered, ground herself against his mouth, and experienced her release.

  Good God! Had a woman ever spent so quickly in his arms?

  Yes, she had, on her own sofa a few weeks earlier.

  How could the cool, unflappable Mrs. St. Ange hide such a passionate nature?

  For his part, the throbbing between his legs had become nearly unbearable. Shrugging out of his robe, he rose up on his knees between her legs, looking down at her.

  Her eyes were still closed, her lips parted, her body flushed, exactly like a woman ready and willing to be plundered.

  Yet, as he fit the head of his yard to her core, she stiffened, eyes snapping open, boring into his. Twin blue flames, entirely alert, her entire being no longer languid and relaxed.

  “No,” she said, one of her hands laying across her naked breasts, the other going to the curls between her legs to shield herself.

  “No?” What could she mean?

  Then she started to struggle, pressing her thighs against his as she tried to close her legs.

  “No,” she repeated, and he moved to the side, while she sat up and grabbed for the counterpane to cover herself.

  Was she a tease? Had she planned all along to enjoy herself and then leave him with the bluest of balls, aching for release within her?

  Though he knew her to have a spine of ice when she wanted, he had never guessed her to be so cruel.

  What could he say?

  “You want me to stop, correct?” For he had to be sure this nightmare of frustration was truly happening.

  “Yes. Only think of the consequences.”

  He could hardly form a rational thought. “Consequences?”

  He had to adjust how he was sitting so his shaft wasn’t bent painfully against his leg.

  “I already have Harry,” she said after a pause.

  “Oh.” It all came clear. She was concerned she’d have a child out of wedlock.

  He relaxed, confident he could ease her mind, and then finally ease his aching groin.

  “I will not spend inside you. There will be no child.”

  She cocked her head as if she’d never heard of the method.

  “Before I climax, I’ll withdraw entirely,” he clarified in case she truly didn’t know a man could do that.

  Her doubtful expression changed to one of bemusement.

  “Are you saying a man doesn’t have to leave a woman with his seed to grow inside her unless he wants to? Or is utterly careless?”

  Was that a bitter note upon her tongue? Hadn’t she wanted her son? Had her husband forced her to become pregnant?

  Michael reached out to stroke her face, and she flinched, then stilled when he made contact. Touching her skin lightly, he traced the contours of her cheekbones and then her chin. So exquisitely lovely. So young to have already known such sorrow as a dead husband.

  “I want only to please you,” he told her, “and to make you happy.”

  She shrugged. “You often amuse me.”

  Not exactly what he was hoping for. She was resentful, he could tell that much. Would she confide in him, especially after he’d so intimately pleasured her?

  “Will you tell me more of your life?”

  Instantly, he saw he’d erred. Her expression cooled, and with it went his ardor. It wouldn’t take much to bring it back. If he kissed her again and stroked the skin of her bare shoulder—

  “I think you had best be leaving now. I don’t intend to risk all on your withdrawing, as you say. I have no reason to trust you will do so or, even if you do, that it will work.”

  “That’s absurd, I—

  With the sheet still clasped over her breasts, she managed to cross her slender arms, looking formidable despite being bare and sporting tousled hair.

  He sighed. “Let me only kiss you again, my sweet.”

  At his words, she pursed her lips.

  Reaching into his robe, he pulled out his flask and took a sip before offering it to her.

  Another wrong move.

  Holding the sheet with one hand, she pointed her other toward the door. In a tone more ice queen than warm goddess, she uttered simply, “Get out.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  As if Ada had been mesmerized by one of the lauded hypnotists or mystics she’d read about in the London papers, she suddenly snapped out of her trance.

  She wanted to slap his face as soon as she heard him call her “my sweet,” the very same thing he’d said the terrible night he’d ruined her.

  And now, as then, he’d offered her his flagon. She cared not a fig if it were gin or brandy. He drank too much in any case and would end up in a ditch.

  As Alder shrugged into his robe and got off her bed, she thought better of his offer since she was starting to shake.

  Holding out her hand, which he didn’t immediately understand, she pointed at his flask, then crooked a finger.

  He gave it to her. With a quick tip of her head, she took a healthy swallow, letting the warmth of the brandy soothe her. She took another sip before handing it back to him and wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

  He started to speak, and she shook her head. Staring at him, she willed him to leave without another word. Whatever he said could only hurt her more, already terribly disappointed in herself for caving in to her yearnings and to his practiced touch.

  He padded to the door.

  Hurry, she urged, for she wanted to bury her head under her pillow and have a good cry.

  But he turned. “I care very much for you, Ada Kathryn.”

  With that shocking admission, he left.

  *

  “Harry,” Ada snapped at her son for the umpteenth time. “Don’t yank on the leash.”

  Marching up to him, she untied it from her son’s hand and slipped Dash’s leash over her own wrist. The poor dog didn’t need to end up with a broken neck!

  Harry began to cry, but Ada moved away, leaving Nanny Finn to deal with her devastated son. A second later, feeling as if she were wicked Napoleon himself, she returned to his side, dropped to her knees on the grass, and embraced her little boy.

  “I love you so much, dear one.”

  His arms went around her, and she squeezed him tightly.

  “May I please have Dash for a little while?” she asked, looking into his tearful eyes. “That way, you can more easily eat…,” she paused and glanced around the stalls, “a juicy apple?”

  Harry scrunched up his face, his nose flattening slightly in a way she loved.

  “No?” she asked “How about a sultana bun?”

  He beamed his artless smile at her, and she kissed his cheek, straightened up, and took hold of his hand.

  “We’re going to the baker’s stall,” she announced to Lady Alder who was admiring the floral arrangements at another stall. The woman had either not noticed her guest’s agitation all morning or had chosen to ignore it.

  Ada didn’t bother looking for Michael, who had given her a wide berth for which she was exceedingly grateful. After a restless night considering her life, her faults, and her weakness for this one man, she’d awakened feeling testy and uncertain and desperately wishing she were at home.

  When she’d heard his knock the night before, which she’d been dreading and expecting in equal measures, at first, she thought to not even answer. Let him stand in the hall and wonder if she wanted him.

  Yet to move her plan forward, she’d had to engage with him. Truly, she’d meant only to let him kiss her, to tease him a little, to make him want her even more. Instead, she’d behaved like a wanton woman from the moment he’d touched her. Her cheeks heated every time she recalled letting him remove her shift and then lying naked before him. And what he’d done to her.

  Making her way across the small marketplace of the Alder’s closest village of Hadlow, Ada knew Nanny Finn trailed behind. No doubt the woman thought her mistress had quite lost
her marbles for her erratic behavior. Cross and crotchety one minute, sweet as syrup the next. And giving her son a tongue lashing and then a treat.

  Inside her own head, it was equally hurly-burly. She’d barely slept for thinking of Alder’s parting words and of how close she was to his ruin.

  And yet, she’d given in to his touch.

  Pulling out six-pence from her purse, she handed it to the baker in exchange for the bun. Harry was thrilled and tucked into it with gusto.

  At least she’d made things right with her son.

  Glancing around, she spied the Alder men and Camille watching the cricket match on the village green. Lady Alder joined them.

  Sighing, Ada supposed she ought to do the same out of respect to her hosts. Yet it would put her in close quarters with Michael.

  Michael, whose lips and hands had made her…

  She turned away and walked in the other direction. How would she manage in the close confines of the carriage back to London? What if Lord Vile smirked?

  “Mrs. St. Ange.”

  And what would happen when they were back home? Would he expect to enter her bedroom there, as well, as if she were his paramour? How long could she put him off and still keep him coming back to her?

  “Mrs. St. Ange!”

  A few more steps and they were at the other end of the stalls.

  Ada looked to Nanny Finn, struggling on her shorter legs to keep up with her, and next to her was Harry, still eating while having to run.

  “Yes,” she said at last, halting at the relative safety of the table where the butcher and his wife were selling sausages and meat pies, a fair distance from the Alders.

  “Madam, the dog!”

  At the same moment, Harry yelled out, “Dash!”

  Ada looked down at the empty end of the leash. Drats!

  “He went that way,” Nanny Finn said, pointing past the stalls to the cricket field.

  Sure enough, the spaniel was running toward the ball.