A Seductive Lady Rescued From Flames (Historical Regency Romance)

by Emily Honeyfield

  Ernest marched alongside Grace, trying to keep his eyes away from her. Trying to yank him back into her world, she drew her fingers along his bicep, speaking in light tones. “Wasn’t it kind of me to invite your guests to the party, darling? I hadn’t a clue if they were high society enough for the sorts of people we ordinarily sit with. However, they seem to be accepting the customs grandly.”

  “You speak as though they’re country bumpkins,” Ernest retorted.

  Grace tossed her head, her laughter tinkling. “Well, darling, I know their mansion was really quite large—but it exists so far outside the bounds of proper people. They’re the very bumpkins that you lord over, I understand. But that doesn’t mean we’re meant to treat them like equals.”

  Ernest wrapped his thick hands around two glasses of wine, while Grace did the same. He spun quickly, making heavy eye contact with his sister. Rose lingered alongside Diana, tugging at her hair.

  Grace clucked her tongue, seeming to see the same. “She really must understand how she’s seen. At fifteen, she must learn to keep her hands tight behind her or at her sides. She looks like a monstrous child who can’t sit still.”

  “She’s a bit anxious in situations such as this,” Ernest explained, his best attempt at standing up to Grace, perhaps.

  Grace guffawed. “If she’s meant to live in our world, darling, then she must try harder than that.”

  When Grace and Ernest arrived back to the tiny circle, Diana and Rose had completely disbanded, collecting themselves into their own cosy conversation. Ernest’s ears craned to hear, yet he couldn’t make anything out. Again, he and Diana exchanged longing glances—which they immediately cut off. It was clear, now, that they were both avoiding one another, for the purpose of moving on.

  Yet, of course, Ernest wanted nothing more than to remain in those moments.

  Before long, Grace announced that it was time for dinner. Two enormous tables, set with pristine white tablecloths, candlesticks, flowers from the garden, and shining plates, were laid out in the garden next to the one they currently drank in. Grace and Ernest led the charge to the table. Behind them, the party tittered and joked, falling into casual and easy drunken conversation.

  Lady and Lord Bragg sat on either side of the larger table, at the heads of the table, while the rest of them filled in the gaps in between. Ernest was both grateful and not that Rose and Diana found seats at his table. Diana was located three seats down, on the opposite side of the table. As she sat, her breasts bulged from the top of her gown, shimmering in the light from the setting sun. She flashed her eyes back toward him for another horrific, emotional moment before returning her eyes to her empty plate.

  Rose caught his eyes next. She delivered an almost menacing smile, as Grace tilted her head toward him, whispering, “Darling, I hope it’s quite all right, but Father has proposed that you deliver the grace. Is that all right?”

  Ernest fumbled through the words, sensing that he sounded idiotic and ill-suited for such a task. Although he was the new earl, he still struggled speaking in front of people, and preferred one-on-one encounters. When he finished, he heard slight murmuring behind him, at the other table, and knew that they were remarking on his inappropriate prayers.

  He couldn’t allow himself to linger on these failures. There was too much else swirling in his mind.

  The food arrived not long after: decadent lamb, with potatoes and other roasted vegetables, bread pudding and freshly baked breads with jams and butters. Ernest watched as Grace slathered a tiny piece of bread with butter and blinked at it several times, as though it might walk up and smash her in the face. Across the table, Diana burst into laughter at something Rose had said.

  Although he knew he shouldn’t, Ernest heard himself ask, “What’s the commotion?”

  Rose’s laughter grew louder. She drew her napkin across her lips, her shoulders quaking. Diana turned her eyes to her plate, her own body quivering.

  “You wouldn’t understand it, brother,” Rose assured him. “It’s one of those jokes that’s above your intelligence.”

  “Oh-ho!” Lord Bragg cut in, laughing. “I suppose that’s the sort of banter customary between a brother and sister. What a rare thing, to see an earl belittled by his much younger sister.”

  “Much younger, certainly. But no less intelligent,” Rose promised, biting her lip.

  Ernest allowed himself to laugh alongside the others. Grace, of course, seemed not to find any humour in it. Ernest’s eyes again skated down Diana’s neck, revelling in the beauty of her glowing skin, the crack between her breasts.

  He remembered his face upon those enormous bulges, his lips hungry over the fabric of her nightgown. Now, his member swelled again, hungry to dig into her. How he yearned to tear the gown she now wore to the ground and reveal her to the evening sky. He would place his lips, his tongue over her skin; he would know what every inch of her tasted like.

  “Darling, I don’t suppose I can steal you from whatever it is you’re busy with in that skull of yours—” Grace interjected. She dug a sharp elbow into his bicep, forcing his head toward hers. He blinked at her several times, for a moment entirely unsure he recognized her. His brain had certainly crafted a far different reality.

  “What is it?” he asked. His tone was far ruder than he’d planned for.

  Beside Grace was a surly-looking man, with almost the precise face of Lord Bragg. Ernest had probably met him before, yet couldn’t fully note the time. He reasoned that he was Lord Bragg’s brother, or perhaps a cousin.

  “You must have met my uncle,” Grace said, finalizing this unsure thought.

  “Of course. Remarkable to see you again,” Ernest uttered.

  “Good evening,” the other Lord Bragg said, bowing his hairy chin toward his chest. “We’re just weeks before the wedding. Good to see you during your final single days, my lord.”

  “Yes. I do hope you’ll be in attendance?” Ernest wondered. Where had he read this script he now spoke from? It seemed as though his tongue had a mind of its own.

  “Unfortunately not,” Grace’s uncle returned. His eyes flashed toward Grace, seemingly allowing her to pick up the rest of it.

  “That’s precisely why I called for you, darling,” Grace said. “You see, my uncle is about to embark on a very long trip.”

  “That’s quite exciting. Where are you off to?” asked Ernest.

  “The colonies,” Grace’s uncle explained. “And then perhaps a round in the United States, although I can’t be sure. It’s all for a new business venture. I would go into the specifics, but I do not wish to bore you over dinner.”

  “No, no, Uncle. Nothing you say could ever be boring,” Grace said reassuringly. “Regardless, Ernest, I do wish you’d listen to my uncle’s proposal. You see, he’ll be leaving an enormous mansion, with only his staff. It got both of us thinking about your new house guests.”

  Ernest arched his brow. He sensed they were marching down a corridor of reason that he didn’t necessarily wish to know. He pressed his teeth hard into his lower lip and waited for the axe to fall.

  “You see,” the uncle continued, as though they were actors trading off lines, “I would really feel better that someone stay within the estate, live in it, rather than leaving it so empty. I never quite know what my staff will get up to in the wake of my absence. I always imagine the worst, of course.”

  “Right,” Ernest responded, allowing his eyebrows to stitch tighter together over his nose. He sensed that if someone had painted him just now, the title of the portrait would be something like, “Angry, Confused Man at Garden Party.”

  “Which means that it would be remarkable for all parties if the Harringtons moved into my uncle’s home,” chirped Grace.

  “Oh, I don’t know if that’s necessary,” Ernest said quickly. “Really, our estate is entirely too large for just Rose and me. We’ve enjoyed the company.”

  “But, darling,” Grace insisted, her voice heavy, “it won’t be just you and Rose
and the Harringtons soon. You remember that, don’t you?”

  “Look at him. It’s as though he’s forgotten completely that he’s on the brink of becoming a husband!” Grace’s uncle teased.

  “No, no, I didn’t forget.” Ernest’s nostrils flared. How had time moved so quickly?

  “I only think it to be the best solution, to ensure that the two of us can enjoy our upcoming marital bliss as much as we can,” Grace said. She yanked her head around to look at Diana. “Of course, it’s always lovely to have new friends around. But you must understand, Diana. Don’t you? I’m poised to become a wife. I’m on the brink of the rest of my life. And—”

  “Of course,” Diana interrupted, her face open, calm. “It’s only proper, really.” She turned to look at her father and Aunt Renata, both of whom were seated to her right. “What do you suppose, Father?”

  “It really would give you the independence that you so deserve,” Grace continued, choosing to direct these words to Lord Harrington and Aunt Renata. Really, the presentation was far more than Ernest could bear. “It must be such a struggle to operate on someone else’s schedule. I know Ernest is quite easy to live with, but everyone needs his own space. It would only have to be until your estate is completely rebuilt.”

  Lord Harrington’s lips formed a round O. His eyes grew bright. “What a remarkable opportunity!” he cried.

  Ernest’s heart dipped into his stomach.

  “Really, I couldn’t imagine a better option for us,” Lord Harrington continued. “You must imagine, Lord Bannerman, every night I pray to God above and thank him for your appearance in our lives. For where would we be without you? We’d be completely homeless, relying on the kindness of far different strangers—certainly strangers without the sort of commitment to generosity that you have. But relying on that kindness much longer could very well destroy me.”

  “Oh, you’re far too proud, Brother,” Aunt Renata said, tittering.

  “It’s not only that,” Lord Harrington continued. “What Grace speaks is entirely true. You’re embarking on your life as husband and wife. You shouldn’t have others around to muss with that. I always say that the beginning sets the tone for everything else. The first few months with my own wife—God rest her soul—were the most blissful of my life. Afterwards, when we had our daughters, when we toiled with aging, that was when things grew more difficult. More shadowed. Of course, we were happy, but we always harkened back to those first few months to remind ourselves why we should press forward. Every day, you must choose to love your spouse. Every day, you must choose to find happiness.”

  Ernest’s eyes flickered toward Diana. Now, her face revealed something far different than before. Before, she’d been serene, almost hopeful. But she seemed nearly heartbroken, suddenly: her eyes dipping deep into her skull, her lips downturned. She still looked entirely beautiful, stunning even, with her eyes glowing with sparkling tears.

  “What do you suppose, Diana?” her father asked, assuredly without any sort of reason to believe that she had experienced any sort of heartbreak.

  Although, of course, he had mentioned very confusing sentiments within the carriage on the route to the Bragg estate. Ernest marvelled at this, wondering at how long this simulation could possibly continue before everything shattered.

  “Oh, Father, everything you say is entirely correct,” Diana replied. Her voice was glossy. “I know I would feel just the same as you, Grace.” At this, she turned her attention to Ernest’s fiancée, her cheeks rosy red. “As much as I’ve adored our time at the Bannerman estate, I know it would behove us to have our space alone.” She reached to the side and drew her hand across the veiny one of her aunt, smoothing out the wrinkles. “It’s been such a dramatic story, hasn’t it? As if we needed more story in our lives.”

  “Certainly, it’s been a trial,” agreed Aunt Renata, pushing another level of drama into her voice.

  “I’m so glad that all of you understand,” Grace said. She sounded as though she was apologetic, although Ernest knew for sure she wasn’t.

  “Of course we are,” Lord Harrington said. “And this offering from your uncle. Good sir! How very generous of you. Who knew London was filled with such goodwill?”

  Throughout this, Ernest found it difficult to look at anyone else besides Diana. Increasingly, her face grew scrunched, tight. Her eyes shined with tears. She spread her hands across the white tablecloth, having eaten very little on her plate, and shoved her chair back. It squeaked slightly, drawing everyone’s attention.

  “I’m terribly sorry, but I need to step away for a moment,” she announced, flashing a too-bright smile. “I do hope you’ll forgive me. It’s been a marvellous dinner.”

  Everything in Ernest’s body quaked with the desire to follow after her. Even his feet seemed to jump up and down, aching to walk. But he felt Grace’s eyes upon him, watching his every move. He couldn’t possibly leap away without drawing attention to the situation. Drawing attention to it—this would be the greatest crime. He had a sense that Grace already knew the intensity of his lust for Diana.

  Why else had she gone so far out of her way to break Diana out of his home?

  Rose burst up from her seat, flashing her brother a scowl. “I think I’ll check on Diana, if that’s quite all right. She mentioned she was feeling rather ill earlier.”

  “Oh? She shouldn’t have come!” Grace said, giving a shrug to the table. “She shouldn’t have felt obligated. I only sent the invitation as a nicety.”

  “And truly, it was such a kind gesture,” Lord Harrington confirmed, ever exhibiting himself as an airhead.

  Ernest struggled to rid this thought from his mind. He couldn’t possibly think of Lord Harrington as an airhead; it certainly wasn’t his fault that Ernest was in such a wretched situation.

  Rose rolled her eyes at Grace and then turned toward the garden gate, yanking her skirts above her feet and rushing toward Diana. Ernest’s ears craned for any sort of indication of what was going on outside. Perhaps he was looking for laughter, for crying, whispered words. But nothing but the birds echoed back.

  Now, Ernest turned his full attention to Grace. She’d begun to eat heartily, as though she’d been waiting for Diana to exit before allowing herself more sustenance. She slathered another pat of butter on the side of a piece of bread and shoved it between her ruby lips, turning her eyes toward Ernest.

  He forced himself to develop the most rueful gaze he could possibly muster. He blinked at her as though she was the devil himself, manning the gates of hell. He looked at her, because she knew exactly what she’d done. She’d come between him and the woman who could have been the love of his life.

  Grace was far too impassioned about her current position to give it up.

  And, in the wake of his wretched stare, she gave him the most blissful, beautiful, triumphant smile. She looked like a child who’d just destroyed something in the kitchen in the midst of baking. She looked like a dog who’d just committed something wretched inside and was rather proud of himself. She was playing a game, and Ernest was one of her pawns.

  The other pawn had felt forced away from the table and was surely crying somewhere alongside Rose. Ernest wanted nothing more, now, than to retreat and cry, as well.

  Of course, those tears would be all the better if he could share them with Diana. He imagined kissing her cheeks, drawing his fingers across her hair, bringing his lips across her neck. He would whisper into her ear, saying, “It’s okay. We’re going to find a way to be together. No matter what. Do you hear me?”

  She wouldn’t need to answer. Their hearts would beat as one animal. Since he’d first found her in the burning hallway of her estate, he’d sensed them to be two parts of a greater whole. How could he possibly translate this fact to her? How could he ever explain?