Forbidden Desires of a Seductive Duchess: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Violet Hamers

There was pain, in her ribs, where she’d fallen. She winced, her hand going to it. Throbbing. She considered walking back, but then decided to just admit it.

  “I’m hurt,” she said, gesturing. “My ribs. And my pride.”

  “I’ll get you back, on my horse,” he offered. She nodded, ignoring Lord Drysdale, who was watching silently from his horse. Using one hand, he helped her up, onto her feet.

  “She’s hurt,” he said to the others.

  It was like her ribs had a heartbeat. She didn’t think there was a break. Regardless, she would have to see the physician—her parents would insist.

  It was decided that one of the grooms would ride back to alert those in the house. That left Annette and one other groom to chaperone.

  Mr. Conolly mounted his horse, then reached down, helping her up and onto his horse. Though it pained her to do so, she got up behind the saddle, to ride pillion behind him.

  “If you need to lean on me, you may do so,” he said, low enough so that no one else heard.

  She wrapped her arms around his waist, then leaned her cheek against his back. His jacket was rough against her skin. She felt herself melt into his solid warmth. She wasn’t quite as injured as all that. She wasn’t about to let on. She was near to him. She closed her eyes, enjoying the closeness. She might never get another chance to be near him like this.

  She could feel the steady beat of his heart, smell the scent of his skin and his wool jacket. As the horse swayed underneath them, their bodies moved in sync. In her mind, she imagined that he was hopelessly in love with her.

  Her eyes fluttered open—she realized that she was imagining him in love with her. Because she was in love with him. The jolt of it caused her to gasp. There could be no-one else. She was exactly where she was supposed to be, in that moment.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing, nothing at all,” she murmured, honestly.

  “I’ve got you, My Lady.”

  “Yes,” she breathed, her pulse racing. Could he tell? Did he know? She had no idea if it was visible to all. When she looked over at Lord Drysdale, he blinked, looking away.

  Yes. She was being too obvious. Arabella needed to hide it—at least until she’d had a moment to clear things up with Mr. Conolly.

  Chapter Eight

  As soon as they arrived back in front of Tiverwell Manor, Charles dismounted. He reached up, helping Lady Arabella down off of the horse. A groom took the horse as Charles assisted Lady Arabella to the house.

  She was silent, her cheeks flaming bright red. Their eyes met. He presumed that it was because she’d lost control of her horse, in front of Lord Drysdale, who even then, was looking rather smug as he sat on top of his horse. He went to say something to her, but was interrupted.

  “Arabella!” The Duchess was pale, running toward them, her husband close behind her. “We’ve sent for the physician.”

  “Mr. Conolly, we can take her from here,” the Duke said.

  “Thank you for your help, sir,” Arabella said, smiling up at him.

  “Of course, My Lady,” he said, bowing as he gave her over to the care of her parents.

  He remained where he stood. The sound of boots, crunching in the gravel of the drive, caused him to turn. Lord Drysdale stopped beside him.

  “You realize that she’s not as hurt as all of that?” he asked Charles.

  “What?” Charles frowned.

  “She got up on your horse of her own moving,” Lord Drysdale replied. “She landed in a patch of soft, high grass. My guess, Lady Arabella’s posturing. But why?”

  “You don’t mean…” He couldn’t finish the thought. If it were true, then her father would certainly put a stop to it. He thought of their earlier conversation—What if your place was by my side?

  That I should be so lucky.

  “I can see it, as plain as day,” Lord Drysdale said. “I would give my right arm to have a lady like that interested in my suit. However, she’s clearly taken by you.”

  Charles blinked at him. “It can never…” he trailed off.

  “Come. Walk with me,” Lord Drysdale said, kindly. For a gentleman finding out that the lady that he was so ardently pursuing was interested in someone else, Lord Drysdale seemed to be taking it rather well.

  Charles nodded, and the two of them strolled out in the direction of the stables. He buried his hands in his pockets. While many gentlemen had false pockets on their coats, Charles had paid the seamstress extra to give him actual, functioning pockets, instead of sticking them in the coat tails.

  “It’s my intention to marry, and soon,” Lord Drysdale said, at last. “I may have…some indiscretions which need covering. I’ve heard that you did something of the like for Lord Diggar the other night at the ball.” It seemed that, despite Charles’s own discretion, Lord Diggar was not one to keep things secret. No matter—it sounded as though Lord Drysdale wanted to obtain his services.

  “I have,” Charles said. “What manner of indiscretions, My Lord?”

  “That’s the thing, Mr. Conolly—I have no idea.”

  Charles blinked at him in surprise. “I do not follow, My Lord.”

  The Viscount pulled a letter out of his pocket, and handed it to Charles. He unfolded it, reading its contents.

  Dear Lord Drysdale,

  You know who I am, and that you have wronged me.

  You will be dead by winter’s end—though, you will not see me coming.

  Charles read it through twice. It felt like a riddle. The handwriting was well-formed, clearly by someone who had been educated.

  “And you have no idea who this may be?” he asked Lord Drysdale.

  “Not one. There was the seal—now broken—it was black wax, with an odd signet.”

  “Can you draw it for me, from memory?” Charles asked.

  “For certain. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”

  “If my suspicions are correct, then you may not be the only recipient of letters such as this.”

  “Who else?”

  “I was sworn to secrecy. However, I will speak with him and see if he will allow me to see his letter.” He studied the Viscount, who was clearly upset. “Not to worry. We’ll get to the bottom of this. Until we do, it’s best if you do not go anywhere alone.”

  The Viscount nodded. “Good idea, sir.”

  “This person may be looking for his chance to get you on your own,” he went on. “If he doesn’t have the opportunity, then we’ll prevent anything…untoward from occurring.”

  The Viscount nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Conolly.”

  “Of course, My Lord,” he said. “I’m so sorry that this has happened to you. Would it be all right if I keep this? If I show it to others, perhaps it will give them reason to reveal that they’ve received them.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Charles slipped the letter into his pocket. As they walked back toward the house, his mind was moving quickly. If the Duke of Tiverwell had a similar missive, then other gentlemen may have them as well.

  If Charles could prove that a group of gentlemen were being threatened, then he would bring it to the attention of the local constabulary. They would have the means to investigate further.

  The physician had examined Arabella, and declared that there were no broken bones. He had left instructions for her to remain in bed—no fencing, no riding, no strenuous activity for at least a week. Then, he’d left.

  Arabella lay back on her pillows. She would have to forgo her fencing practice for a few days, but she would be back on her feet by the next day. She couldn’t stand being in bed for long—she couldn’t imagine being in bed for a week, when she wasn’t sick.

  It had, of course, been worth it. She recalled the way that her body had seemed to hum with desire—like her veins were on fire. She recalled the hard, flat muscles of Mr. Conolly’s abdomen.

  “My Lady?”

  Arabella opened her eyes. Annette was at the door to the room. She had changed out of her riding habit,
donning her usual gray frock and white lace-edged pinafore.

  “Yes, Annette?” she asked.

  “Do you need anything?”

  “Come, sit down beside me.” She gestured with her chin toward the chair her mother had pulled up beside the bed.

  Crossing the room, Annette sat down, and folded her hands in her lap. “Would you like some tea, My Lady?”

  “No, Annette,” she replied. “Just sit with me.”

  “As you wish, My Lady,” she replied.

  “What is everyone else doing?” she asked. No one knew, but Annette was Arabella’s eyes and ears about the estate. While Annette might have been paid to be there, she and Arabella had a close bond.

  “Mr. Conolly and Lord Drysdale are still out,” Annette replied. “Your parents are in the withdrawing room, taking some tea with the physician.”

  “Where could Mr. Conolly and Lord Drysdale have gone?” Arabella wondered aloud.

  “Not sure, My Lady,” Annette said. “I did overhear Lord Drysdale make an interesting comment to Mr. Conolly about how you weren’t as hurt as you pretended to be.”

  Arabella’s face grew hot. “While true, I had hoped that no one had noticed.”

  Annette smiled at her. “We all noticed, My Lady,” she said. “Do you fancy him, or do you love him, My Lady?”

  “What am I supposed to do, Annette?” she asked. “I have the strongest feeling that he won’t have me because I’m a Duke’s daughter.”

  “My Lady,” Annette replied. “Maybe he’s thinking you won’t have him because you’re the Duke’s daughter.”

  “You’re right.”

  “You won’t know unless you ask him, My Lady,” Annette pointed out sagely.

  “What do I say?” She had never been in love before. She’d assumed that it would never happen. Now that it had, she felt like she was a glowing ball of light—and nerves.

  “The truth, My Lady,” Annette replied. “Always the truth, unless with gentlemen.”

  “Why’s that?” Arabella asked.

  Annette looked her in the eye. “Gentlemen dissemble, My Lady.”

  It was an odd remark. One which Arabella overlooked at the time. She was about to ask more, but Annette changed the subject.

  “What do you mean to do?” she asked. “I can keep watch for you while you speak with him.”

  “I suppose he’ll be in the garden,” she mused.

  “Undoubtedly, My Lady.”

  Charles and the Viscount returned to the house, where they parted ways. The Viscount was staying in the North Wing, while Charles was in the less ostentatious East Wing.

  As he walked the halls, he was deep in thought. He suspected that the Duke had gotten a similar threat. He had been willing to wait, for His Grace to tell him on his own terms. But if he too was threatened, then he might be in grave danger.

  He decided to go and see the Duke, present him with the letter that was sent to the Viscount. At the very least, he could get the Duke’s opinion on the veracity of the threat to the Viscount of Drysdale’s life.

  He knocked on the door to the Duke’s study.

  “Come in,” the Duke called out. Charles entered.

  “Your Grace—how is the Lady Arabella?” Charles asked.

  “She’s going to be just fine,” the Duke said. “I’ve only just spoken to the physician and he says that the worst she’ll have is bruising of the ribs. She’s had worse injuries from riding, quite frankly.”

  “I’m glad she’s well.”

  “Have a seat, Mr. Conolly,” the Duke said, gesturing with a hand. “Can I interest you in a drink?”

  “Yes, please, Your Grace.”

  The Duke produced a cut-crystal decanter, filled with brandy, as well as two glasses. He poured out a few fingers. “What brings you up here?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “I—I wanted to discuss the matter which you alluded to, the other day,” Charles began.

  The Duke stared at him for a long moment before nodding. He took a large gulp of his brandy, sliding the other glass over to Charles. “Very well.”

  Charles took the Viscount of Drysdale’s letter out of his pocket, then passed it over the table.

  The Duke blinked, then picked it up. He unfolded it, then read the direction. All of a sudden, he looked deeply ill. He set it down, pushing it back across the desk. Charles picked it up, putting it back into his pocket.

  “Lord Drysdale, too.” The Duke was deep in thought, his fingers drumming on his desk.

  “Did you get a letter like this, Your Grace?”

  “Yes,” he replied, sitting back in his chair so the leather creaked. “It’s the same hand—the same wording.”

  “Have you received any more?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know who it might be?”

  “I had thought—I’d thought that it was a groom, who I had let go several months ago. He had been drunk, more often than not. He caused quite a scene when he’d left. He’d claimed that I had ruined him, for I sent him off with no letter of recommendation.”

  “He has no ties to Drysdale,” Charles murmured.

  “Not that I know of,” the Duke pointed out. “I had planned to ask you to go to him, smooth things over. I believe he’s living in London now.”

  “I can still go to find him,” Charles said. “It may be worth following up.”

  The Duke nodded. “Yes. I think that might be the best thing to do.”

  “In the meantime, if there’s anyone that you could think of who may send you threatening messages…”

  The Duke seemed hesitant, but then he shook his head. “No one,” he said, sighing. “What concerns me most is that this villain knows that we’re both in the same house.”

  “You may not be safe here,” he pointed out.

  “I’ll have the stable hands set up a watch,” the Duke said. “Make sure that Tiverwell Manor is protected at night.”

  “Good idea, Your Grace,” Charles said. “Perhaps we should question Drysdale, see what he knows of this former stable hand.”

  The Duke nodded, suddenly focusing on Charles. “I should really thank you, Mr. Conolly. If it weren’t for you, and how we all trust you, then this link wouldn’t have been discovered in such a timely manner.”

  “You’re welcome, Your Grace. I’m happy to be of assistance.”

  “I must ask you for your utter secrecy on this matter,” the Duke said. “I do not want to cause my wife or daughter any fear. Not yet.”

  “Of course, Your Grace. You have my word.”

  “Good. Good.” The Duke picked up his glass, raising it to his lips. Charles noted the slight shake of his hand as he did so. The Duke drank down all of the contents, setting the glass aside. “We don’t need all of the ton knowing about it.”

  Charles could tell that the Duke was afraid. Whoever had done this had struck him where it hurt—at his home, where he’d thought himself and his family safe. Charles knew that the Duke was hiding something. He wondered what it could be. Charles had the feeling that whatever reason, the Duke was far more frightened that something secret would come to light.

  Chapter Nine

  Arabella was up and about the next morning. She and Annette agreed—no corset until her ribs were healed. So, she dressed in a comfortable gray muslin with bell sleeves. Annette arranged her hair in a low bun, creating a few loose curls to frame Arabella’s face.

  She wanted to find Mr. Conolly. She had the strongest hunch that he would be found in the garden. Annette trailed after her. When they reached the terrace, Arabella could see him. He was by the amaryllis.

  “Annette,” she said, her heart pounding. “Wait here?”

  “Yes, My Lady.” Annette remained where she was, on the terrace.

  Arabella crossed the garden, walking toward him. She kept her eyes on Mr. Conolly, seeing the moment he turned and saw her.

  His eyes seemed to soften. “My Lady,” he said, bowing.

  She curtsied to him. “Mr. Conolly.”
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  “Are you well?” he asked.

  “I—I am,” she said. Now that she was about to tell him, she found herself nervous.

  “Good, good,” he said, seeming distracted. He ran his fingers through his hair.

  “I think about you, all of the time,” she blurted out.