Unleashed Desires 0f A Noble Lady (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Scarlett Osborne

  “Mother!” Elizabeth exclaimed. She tossed her dresses to the side, nearly knocking her hats off the seat. “I can’t believe you said that!”

  “It had to be said,” her mother said with a shrug. Her eyes were trained out the window, once again the silent lady who was hardly present.

  Matilda was still too much in shock to respond. It had been a while since she last heard her mother speak with such gusto, even if it didn’t last very long. She hardly knew what to say to her. “Thank you,” she said finally. “You said all the things I wish I could say, although I think I might have taken it a little too far if I attempted to.”

  Her mother didn’t answer. She only nodded, not looking away from the window. Matilda knew that was the most she would be getting from her.

  “I wish I had gotten a look at their faces when Mother put them in their place,” Elizabeth gushed. After everything that happened and Matilda’s scandal, Elizabeth took her mother’s withdrawal the hardest.

  Day by day, as the weight of their situation took hold, it seemed to have affected her mother the most. Matilda knew her sister could hardly bear to see it. She saw the way she drew into herself when her mother was brought up, as if she didn’t want to face it.

  “I did,” Matilda told her. “It was priceless. I’m sorry you missed it.”

  “Just as how I’m sorry you missed the dashing Duke during his pursuit.”

  “Oh, here we go again…”

  Elizabeth laughed heartily bringing a laugh out of Matilda herself. They were done with shopping for the day and so the carriage ride home was filled with enthusiastic chatter and laughter. Elizabeth’s fervor seemed to mount as they drew closer to home, as if she was beginning to realize just how close this ball was.

  Matilda fed off her excitement, letting it nourish her soul. There was nothing she wanted more than this Season to go well for Elizabeth.

  It is the least she deserves after everything.

  She went along with her chatter, sticking by her mother’s side despite her quietude. The butler rushed to get everything from the carriage as they made their way into the manor, arm-in-arm. Matilda was so caught up at what her sister was saying about the dashing Marquess that she hadn’t expected the little body that ran into her leg the moment they were through the door.

  “Mommy!”

  It was as if every bit of stress settled on her shoulders lifted instantly. The tiny squeal of the young child by her feet was like fresh breeze rushing into a stuffy house, lightening the hearts of everyone around. Brown curls to match his mother’s, sporting the blue eyes of his father, Jackson Jones bounced on his tiny feet, still barely able to stand perfectly on his own without toppling over ever so often.

  The maids that stood by smiled at the young child, including the governess who had been trying to hold him back. The butler reentered the manor with everything in tow, coming to halt by the door, falling under the spell that Jackson casted. Even her mother reached down to rustle his hair before heading toward the stairway.

  “Jackson, sweetheart, are you giving your governess trouble?” Matilda gathered him into her arms.

  Jackson shook his head vigorously. In her peripherals, Matilda saw her governess shake her head at the motion. She’d been trying fervently to tame Jackson but Matilda could see that it was to no avail. Jackson was slowly growing to be a very rowdy young boy and Matilda loved him for it. It was a lot like her when she was growing up.

  “Mommy!” he squealed again, wriggling in her arms. Matilda soon gave up the struggle and let him loose, allowing him to fall into the arms of the person he was really after.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” Elizabeth cooed. She held the excitable child perfectly in her arms. “Did you miss me?”

  “Yes, Mommy!”

  “I hope you weren’t giving Miss West any problems.”

  Jackson pouted, and peeked over his shoulder at Miss West. The slightly-stern look the governess was wearing melted upon seeing his cute face.

  “He was an angel, Miss Jones,” Miss West said with a smile.

  “I’m happy to hear it. Why don’t we go to your room?” Elizabeth lowered Jackson to the floor and took his tiny hand in hers. She shot Matilda a smile before heading up the stairs, moving slowly to accommodate the very tiny body next to hers.

  Matilda watched them leave. Bit by bit, the maids went about their various business, Miss West following Elizabeth and Jackson in their wake. Soon enough, she was alone, left with her thoughts.

  The months leading up to Jackson’s birth had been filled with chaos and strife. Uncertain about the future, Matilda had sat with her father in their study, prepared to hear what she knew was their only option.

  She was eighteen at the time, already well accustomed with London Season and still husband-less. No one would be surprised to hear that she had gotten pregnant. Her spinster status had already been descending.

  Elizabeth on the other hand was only sixteen at the time. Underage. Her reputation would have been obliterated. She wouldn’t have been able to show her face in public if they found out what happened. It only made sense that Matilda take the fall for everything. It was their only option.

  Elizabeth had been completely against the idea, but in the end, she too knew there was nothing she could do about it. She would never find a husband if they knew she bore a child at her tender age, and finding a husband was one of Elizabeth’s main goals in life.

  She was still so naïve, still so innocent, and Matilda didn’t want the harshness of a public scandal to take that all away from her. She would lay herself on the chopping block for Elizabeth time and time again.

  To the ton, the child was hers. But within the confines of this household, Elizabeth was the true mother.

  Chapter 3

  The first ball of the London Season was the worst ball of them all. Brimming with flirting ladies, fanning themselves incessantly in the aim of looking demure and innocent, the ball was sure to be hours filled of torture.

  On the one hand, there were no shortage of beauties. Done up from head to toe, hair coiffed, cheeks blushed, and dresses fitting them magnificently, Timothy couldn’t help but focus on the other, more negative side to all of this.

  He was a Duke, which meant he was bound to be high on the list of potential husbands. Not to mention his booming wool company, riches and prestige was a plus to being his wife. He knew that and the myriad of looming mothers accommodating their daughters knew it as well.

  It was at times like these he was glad he was already spoken for. It minimized the number of ladies who were likely to approach him, though the bold few never failed to disappoint. He stood to the very back of the ball, watching dancing couples twirl about in the center of the ballroom, the distant boom of introductions being made as more families arrived for the new Season.

  “You look like you ate a lemon,” Jonathan said to his left. They had been standing alone together for a while, enjoying what peace they had before the ladies descended. Jonathan, son to the Earl of Ferbriand, was a legitimate suitor himself, and his handsomeness kept him well within the eyes of many matrons looking for a husband for their daughters. Even now, Timothy could see a pair of eyes on them, though he couldn’t be sure which of them was the object of their attention.

  Perhaps both.

  “You know I dislike balls. Too … stuffy.”

  Jonathan huffed a laugh. “Too stuffy, you say? Does that mean you don’t plan to dance with anyone? It doesn’t get any more stuffy than that.”

  “I don’t think I have much of a choice. It’s expected of me, even though they stand no chance.”

  “Ah, the protection of a betrothal already in the making. How lucky of you.” Jonathan sighed heavily. “While I, on the other hand, will have to contend with Lady Hamer and her twin daughters.”

  Blinking, Timothy followed the direction of his gaze, landing on the busty lady furiously fanning herself, razor-sharp eyes latched on to Jonathan. Though she caught them staring, she didn’t care
to look away.

  On either side of her were her twin daughters, Lady Fiona and Lady Julia Hamer, comely ladies who barely spoke a word to anyone but each other. “You’re right,” Timothy said, humor tickling his throat. “I wish you all the luck, my friend. I doubt you’ll be able to get away from that one very easily.”

  “I doubt it myself. Well,” Jonathan sighed in resignation, “I suppose a dance invitation is in order.”

  “Which one will you ask to dance?”

  “Whichever one is on the left,” Jonathan said. “Or maybe I’ll let Lady Hamer choose.”

  “Again,” Timothy laughed, “I wish you all the luck.”

  Jonathan nodded, pulling his shoulders back before weaving his way through the crowd. Timothy watched him for a moment, then looked away, knowing he would be just fine. Jonathan had a smooth tongue capable of wooing just about anyone. He would match up well against the aggressive Lady Hamer.

  Sometimes, Timothy wished he had half the charm of his friend. He wasn’t very good in crowds, which was why he wasn’t happy to be attending this ball, but he also knew he had little choice in the matter. And soon, now that Jonathan was no longer by his side, he would have to seek other company so as not to look like a recluse.

  His eyes scanned the crowd, skimming over the interested gazes who hoped he would meet with them. Timothy may not be as charming as his friend, but he was perfect at preventing conversation when he could.

  Finally, he caught sight of someone similar. A handsome gentleman, gray hair tickling his ear, he stood next to a beautiful older lady who looked to be his wife. Timothy frowned.

  Where do I know that gentleman from? Is he … oh!

  He was the Viscount of Roburg, the gentleman he met around a week ago when Timothy ran into his daughter. That was perfect. He could pass the time talking to him for a while.

  Timothy set out toward him and, when he was half way there, the Viscount caught sight of him as well. His eyes twinkled with surprise as he approached. “Your Grace, it is a pleasure to see you again.”

  Timothy grabbed hold of his hand in greeting. “The pleasure is all mine, My Lord. I reckon I should come over to greet you properly in order to make up for last time.”

  The Viscount laughed gruffly. His eyes nearly disappeared when he did, his smile so big and wide that it nearly overtook his face. “Believe me, Your Grace, it was certainly a very interesting introduction. I hope you found those robbers?”

  “Alas, they got away. I hope the ladies who had their reticules stolen aren’t worse for wear.”

  “You’re a good man, Your Grace. I don’t think you’ve met my wife?” The Viscount slipped an arm around the waist of the beautiful lady who stood by his side. She smiled at him, but that smile didn’t touch her eyes. “Please, allow me to introduce Lady Roburg.”

  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, My Lady.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” she said softly, then she stepped back. The moment she did, she seemed to blend into the walls, as if wishing to no longer be present.

  The Viscount didn’t seem to notice. His arm found that of another lady who he brought forward. She smiled kindly at him, smiling broadly. The resemblance between her and the Viscount was so uncanny that Timothy didn’t need any introduction. “And you must be the Viscount’s lovely daughter. I hope I didn’t hurt you that last time. Are you all right?”

  She giggled behind her hand. She looked young, her brown curls piled atop her head. Timothy had a feeling the blush on her cheeks was genuine. “I’m afraid that wasn’t me, Your Grace, but my older sister. She is somewhere in the crowd dancing with a young lord, though. You just missed her.”

  “Ah, I see. I’m afraid I’ll have to swallow my apology for when I see her then.” Timothy didn’t miss the intent look the Viscount was giving him. And there was no backing out of it. He had approached Lord Roburg thinking he could use him to prevent the bothersome ladies looking for a dance, but he walked right into one himself. At least, his daughter was a beauty. “May I ask for your name, My Lady?”

  Her blush deepened. “My name is Elizabeth Jones, Your Grace.”

  “Miss Elizabeth Jones. What a lovely name.” Undoubtedly a lovely enough name to match the lovely face. “Would you like to dance, Miss Jones?”

  “I would love to.”

  Timothy took her hand, resignation rushing through him. He supposed one dance wouldn’t hurt and it would look incredibly rude if he hadn’t asked after approaching them. He caught the happy look she shot her father, finding it odd that she paid no mind to the Viscount’s wife, but perhaps she had merely forgotten she was standing there. Timothy certainly had.

  “Are you enjoying the ball, My Lady?”’

  Miss Jones pressed herself to him, a little closer than she should have which surprised him. He didn’t mention it though. He only listened to the soft laugh she let out before saying, “I don’t know. I haven’t been here long. But I do like the atmosphere very much.”

  “I assume this is your first Season then?”

  “It is,” she said with a nod. When she moved her head, her soft floral scent tickled his nose. “Words cannot begin to express how excited I am to attend the ball, not to mention the fact that my first dance is with the Duke of Brentminster.”

  How bold of her to say.

  Timothy nearly smiled. “It’s my pleasure to introduce your first dance of the Season. I hope everything is how you expected it to be?”

  “Even more so. The music is simply lovely. And the ladies I’ve spotted are absolutely gorgeous.”

  This time, Timothy was so surprised that he stumbled for a little. He drew back to look at her. “Many of those ladies are looking for husbands, as well.”

  “They don’t need to look very far,” she said beaming up at him. “With the beauties I’ve been seeing, I have a feeling they won’t be very short of suitors.”

  “And what of you?”

  She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. Then opened it again, “Do you truly want to know the answer to that, Your Grace?”

  That took Timothy off guard and before he knew what was happening, his feet were tangling with hers. He resisted the urge to let out a shout as he tumbled to his feet, bumping into another dancing couple when he did. The gentleman let out a shout himself.

  “My dearest apologies—”

  The words remained stuck in his throat. Timothy knew he should be apologizing. As clumsy as he was, he had built a routine. After every clumsy incident, apologize profusely. But the words wouldn’t pass his lips – it was impossible to when he could only stare at the magnificent beauty looking down at him.

  There was no other way to put it. She was radiant, with eyes the color of honey and brown curls tumbling around her shoulders. She gave him a confused look, but before he could blink, she was being swept away by the gentleman she was dancing with. Within mere seconds, the radiant beauty was gone, disappearing into the crowd.

  “Your Grace?”

  Slightly dazed, Timothy looked up at Miss Jones. She looked concerned, holding a hand out to him. That, in return, also confused him. Any other lady would have been mortified, yet she was standing over him, trying to help him to his feet. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, yes.” He took her hand without thinking, unable to help the embarrassed blush. “My apologies, My Lady. I stumbled for a moment and couldn’t regain my balance.”

  “Oh, there’s no need to apologize,” she said smilingly. “It could happen to anyone. You didn’t injure yourself, I hope?”

  “No, I’m quite fine, My Lady. Thank you for your concern. Please, allow me to escort you back to your father after this dance is over.”

  Her face fell a little at that but brightened back up nearly instantly. “I understand.”

  The dance didn’t last much longer than that and Timothy could barely bear to look her in the face as he escorted her back to the Viscount. Neither him nor his wife must have witnessed what happened, thankfully
. “My Lord, I must return this beauty to you.”

  “I hope you two enjoyed yourselves?” he asked hopefully.

  “I certainly did.” Miss Jones reclaimed her spot by his side, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Timothy hoped that if she planned to tell her father what happened, she wouldn’t do it in front of him. To prevent that from happening, he nodded his farewell.

  “I had a lovely time, thank you. If you’ll excuse me.”

  He walked away before they could say anything else. Timothy knew Lord Roburg was hoping he would stay a little longer to get to know Miss Jones, but Timothy didn’t plan to risk it. He hadn’t even wanted to dance with her in the first place and now look where it got him. Sprawled out on the floor of the ballroom, embarrassing himself in front of the beauty he couldn’t get out of his head.

  Even as he walked away, he scanned the crowd to spot her. But she was truly gone and with the crowd thickening by the minute, he supposed it would take all night for him to find her.

  “By the by, do you need a walking stick of some sort so you can stop tripping over your feet every minute?”

  Timothy didn’t bother to look at Jonathan. He kept up his search, even though he knew there was little chances of him finding her. “The lady I was dancing with surprised me and I tripped. Hardly something a walking stick would have been able to prevent.”

  “I agree,” Jonathan chuckled. “It doesn’t look like anything can stop your clumsy ways. You even bumped into a dancing couple on your way down. I nearly burst out laughing when I saw you take your fall.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time. Though, I doubt Lady Hamer would have appreciated that while you’re dancing with her daughter. Lady Julia?”

  “Lady Fiona. And that doesn’t matter. Do you even know who you bumped into?”

  Timothy looked at him, frowning. “Should I have?”

  Jonathan shook his head. “When will you keep up with the London news, my good man? You were even dancing with her sister. That was Miss Matilda Jones, Timothy. The Viscount of Roburg’s daughter.”