A Seductive Lady For The Scarred Earl (Steamy Regency Romance)

by Olivia Bennet

  But of course, she simply couldn’t accept it. He must have made a mistake.

  When they arrived at the address on the paper, Barbara gazed up at the house. It was stately, but not overly large. She imagined that he did not chose to invest in a sprawling estate likely because he was rarely home, and when he was, he lived alone save for what servants he had need of.

  She lifted her skirts and climbed the stairs, knocking on the heavy door before she could allow herself to get cold feet.

  The butler opened the door and peered down at her with casual interest.

  “Good morning,” she said. “I am Lady Barbara Cluett. I’d like to speak with Captain Pemberton. Is he in?” She fished around in her reticule for a calling card. She’d not anticipated making visits this morning but was relieved to feel one in her bag and she pulled it out to hand to the butler.

  “Right this way,” the man said, and led her to a small parlor just inside.

  Right away her suspicions that he lived alone seemed to be confirmed. The parlor had no trace of a lady’s influence. The furniture was dark and heavy, the only decorations nautical in theme. An enormous globe sat in the corner of the room and she wandered toward it. She spun it gently, watching as seas and oceans and faraway lands twirled before her eyes.

  How much of this world has he seen with his own eyes?

  “Lady Barbara.”

  Barbara jumped at the voice, whirling around to find him standing in the doorway. She had underestimated his height. As he stood there, he seemed to fill the entire doorway. He wore no hat, and his hair was combed neatly to the side, not covering his forehead as he had done before.

  Somehow, things felt different here. In his domain, she felt less at ease with him. The energy that flowed between them took on a different tone here in this dark, quiet room. It felt dangerous. For the first time, Barbara wished that she was in the habit of bringing Rosie with her to the orphanage. She didn’t realize until that moment, with him standing in the doorway, that she was blatantly unchaperoned.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, coming into the room. He crossed to a window, throwing the heavy curtain aside to let in the light. He grumbled something under his breath, something about the butler being out of practice. Sunlight streamed into the room and illuminated the motes of dust that drifted through the stagnant air.

  Barbara raised her chin. What did it matter if she was alone? This was a business call, not a personal one.

  “Mister Bradley has informed me of your generous donation to the orphanage,” she said.

  Captain Pemberton’s lip curled into a smile over his shoulder as he looked back at her. “Oh, that.”

  “Of course, I cannot accept.”

  He turned to face her and Barbara’s breath caught at the sight of him.

  It’s his eyes. Something about them is different today.

  They were darker, more guarded. He seemed…not angry, but not as timid and easy-going as he had been at the ball and the orphanage. Barbara had the distinct feeling that she had intruded on his space, as if she had profaned his sanctuary.

  “Why?” he asked simply. There was a challenge in his tone. The huskiness of his voice made her tremble and her knees felt weak. She remembered her nightmare, the intoxicating elixir of fear and desire. She shifted her weight and forced her mind back on the matter at hand.

  “It’s too much.”

  “Use what you need on the orphanage. The extra can be distributed among your other charitable foundations,” he said. Looking down, his fingertips grazed the top of the globe. Barbara felt guilty, as though she should not have touched it.

  “But how can you afford—?”

  “Lady Barbara,” he interrupted. “You take an eager interest in my finances, but I assure you that I’ve not gone broke after my visit to the orphanage yesterday. You see, there’s not much to buy when you’re at sea for months on end. And throwing my money at a house I rarely see when there’s no family beneath its roof is a waste. I’ve more than I need, and you have ways of doing good works with it.”

  “I…” Barbara didn’t know how to respond.

  “Don’t let your modesty get in the way of charity.” He stepped closer to her, and Barbara swallowed thickly.

  “Th—thank you,” she murmured. “As a…such an important patron, of course I will see that you are kept abreast of how the money is spent. And you can come any time to speak to Mister Bradley or myself and make suggestions as you see fit.”

  “I trust you to use it wisely,” He said, taking yet another step closer.

  “All the same.”

  His lip twitched into a smile momentarily. “I will keep it in mind.”

  A moment of silence passed, but the silence was so thick that it was deafening to Barbara’s ears. He was standing close enough that, if she raised out her arm, she could touch his face.

  “I can’t stay,” she said.

  “No,” he agreed, shaking his head. “The children will wonder what’s happened to you.”

  “Yes, I— I’ll be going now.”

  He smiled then, an actual smile. “It was a pleasure to see you again, Lady Barbara.”

  “The pleasure, of course, was mine, Captain.” The words rolled off her tongue as she dipped into a curtsy before heading to the door.

  As she rode back to the orphanage, she replayed the scene again and again in her mind, wondering where she had gone wrong. Her own determination to refuse the money had been like nothing against the power of his dark silences and his few words. Her heart thudded like mad all the way back to the orphanage, and she could not get the image of him in the doorway out of her mind.

  She had never once felt impertinent or improper while going about her business alone. She often called upon her donors, visiting them in their homes and making herself a friendly face to them. She’d never considered the need of a chaperone while making such calls. But something about Captain Pemberton struck a different chord in her.

  To be alone with him was not merely to be in a business conference with a patron. No. To be alone with him was to be alone with a gentleman. A man, whose strength and masculinity coursed through every purposeful movement of his body. She grew flush in his presence, no matter what it was that he was saying or doing. Although her interaction with him was as impersonal and businesslike as it could have been, it was her own instinctive reaction to him that condemned her conscience. If she felt forward or scandalous in calling upon him at home, it was not because the visit was improper, but rather that her arousal at his presence was.

  Most improper, indeed.

  She squeezed her thighs together as she crossed one leg over the other in an effort to stifle the wave of strange heat that had threatened to consume her in his parlor.

  She shoved those thoughts down as they approached the orphanage once more. She couldn’t continue to think about him and still go about her business. Sucking down a deep breath, she exited the carriage and returned to her day.

  Chapter 13

  Jeffrey leaned against the door jamb and heaved a sigh.

  God damn it all.

  He’d frightened her. He knew it. She’d scampered out of his home as though fleeing from a cursed castle in a Gothic novel. And why wouldn’t she? She’d been ushered into a darkened room all by herself, left to stand there and shiver until he arrived.

  The short exchange had drained him of more energy than seemed reasonable, but he mustered up his strength and sought out his butler.

  “Alfred!” he roared.

  The small man appeared around a corner with his eyes turned downward. Jeffrey, his energy bolstered by anger, stormed over to him.

  “Why must I tell you to open the God-forsaken curtains in the parlor when you bring a lady inside? Are you so incompetent that you can’t even put yourself in another’s shoes for a moment to find out how to make them more comfortable in my home?” Jeffrey was yelling. Even as he did it he knew that he was merely taking out his frustration at his interac
tion with Lady Barbara out on the hapless man, but he couldn’t stop himself.

  “Apologies, My Lord,” Alfred said.

  “Do not let it happen again. From now on, the front parlor will be kept warm and aired. And the whole place needs dusting. I’m surprised at the poor state of this place. If my servants cannot be trusted to keep up on the maintenance of my house I’ll have to find better employees.”

  Alfred winced before bowing, and guilt surged in Jeffrey’s chest. It was his own standards that were not up to scratch when it came to entertaining society ladies. His staff couldn’t be expected to follow procedures they’d never been held to before. He dragged his hand down his face.

  “I’m sorry, Alfred. Just…I need to be left alone today. Have the fire in the parlor built back up and then instruct the rest of you lot to steer clear of me. I’m in a heinous mood.”

  “Yes, My Lord.”

  Alfred turned on his heel and Jeffrey stalked back into the parlor. The room that he was so familiar with felt bereft and foreign without her in it. After only being there for a few minutes, it was as if the room had been irrevocably altered.

  He stood in the middle of the room and closed his eyes. He fooled himself that he could still smell the scent of her perfume, lingering on the stagnant air.

  He hadn’t expected her. He hadn’t had the chance to go through his customary routine of building up his nerve before meeting with someone. She’d caught him off guard, and he’d been knocked thoroughly off balance. His veneer of gentility had been thin, and his true nature had scared her off.

  The memory of her face, so pale and lovely in the thin light, accosted him. She’d been afraid of him. For the first time, he’d seen that all too familiar twist in her expression. He’d noticed the hitching of her breath, the way her chest rose and fell with each shallow inhale.

  His muscles tightened, and desire washed over him at the thought. How he’d wanted her then. The look of titillation and exhilaration on her face was the same regardless of it was brought on by fear or arousal. If only he could fool himself into believing that it was the latter that had gripped her, rather than the former.

  His body thrummed with need. He needed to distract himself before he was driven mad. He sank into a chair in front of the last embers of the fire that’d been lit in the parlor after breakfast and left to die.

  He tried not to, he made a valiant effort, but he could not prevent his mind from conjuring up images of how that meeting could have been different. He imagined her eyes widening as he stepped closer to her, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of her body, close enough to envelop himself in the scent of her perfume. He imagined her pink lips parting as he placed a hand at the sensuous curve at the small of her back. She would gasp, not in fear, but in excitement as he lowered over her and claimed her lips in a kiss.

  God, but she would be sweet.

  He imagined her mouth tasting of strawberry, or the faint sweetness of milk tea. How soft she would be, so petite and yearning to be shown all the myriad ways that a man could express his love for a woman. Those pert breasts would press softly against his chest and she would sigh, purring like a kitten when his hands wandered to her chest. He would cup one of those warm breasts in his hand, dragging his thumb over a tightening nipple and she would squirm sinuously against him.

  This doomed train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of an elderly maid to stoke the fire, as he had asked for. Jeffrey adjusted his posture in the seat, slouching down and draping his arm over his lap to conceal the potentially embarrassing evidence of his lustful thoughts.

  Control yourself, man. She does not want you. She finds you not just ugly as others do, but rude, pushy, and presumptuous.

  “There you are, m’Lord. Is there anything else you’re needing?” The old woman asked.

  Jeffrey shook his head. “No, that’s all.”

  When the housemaid left, he was determined to stop this fruitless fantasizing and rose to his feet. He had meant to expend some of this energy in pacing the room, but he was only drawn inexorably toward the globe. The one thing he was certain that she had actually touched. He dragged his fingers across the cold surface of the globe.

  She had never traveled beyond the continent. It was difficult to imagine a lady of such energy and determination sitting placidly beneath a flowering tree in the south of France, doing nothing and seeing nothing.

  Oh Lady Barbara. I could show you such sights as you’ve never even dreamed of.

  He imagined her in India, wrapped in silks, her wide eyes bright with fascination. He imagined her in Virginia, mixing with the locals and shopping happily in a market. She would like it. She was the adventurous type, not too fragile of a lady. This town was too small for her.

  As he gazed down at the globe, he thought of the open sea, the scent of sea air and the briny salt that clung to his skin and seemed to cleanse him of his past. At sea, there were no young ladies to torment him with their loveliness. At sea, things were simple, yet rugged and difficult enough to prevent just this sort of self-flagellating daydreaming. Indulging in fantasies about Lady Barbara was a treacherous road that leads to nothing but refreshed heartbreak.

  Have you learned nothing in all these years?

  He longed to go back to sea. He knew he was still weak, the night at the ball had left him utterly exhausted. And yet the thought of tarrying in this town for an entire season or longer seemed absolutely outrageous to him. If he needed to regain his strength, what better place to rebuild it than in the bracing environs of the navy? Parlors and garden parties were not known to be atmospheres conducive to building muscle.

  The muscles in question, weakened as they were, twitched with frustration. Leaving the now warmed parlor, he skulked toward the back of the house and the small garden out the back. It was not the sprawling lawn and winding garden paths of the Cluett estate, but out in the fresh air he felt that he could breathe more easily. He closed his eyes underneath a silver birch tree and listened to the wind rush through the still bare branches. The coolness of the air almost convinced him that, if he tried, he could catch the scent of the sea carried on the wind.

  “My Lord?” A man’s voice came to his ears and Jeffrey cracked open an eyelid. It was Alfred.

  “Yes?”

  The butler held out the little dish and, for a moment, Jeffrey’s heart thudded thinking that Lady Barbara had returned. But it was not a calling card this time, but a letter sealed with the stamp of the Royal Navy. Eagerly, Jeffrey ripped the letter from the dish and took to cracking open the wax seal.

  He remembered the letter he had sent to his superior, almost as soon as he had heard that he would be put on leave until the summer. He had certainly embellished the state of his health, saying that he was feeling almost fully recovered after only a few days. This was not true. Even mild exertion still exhausted him. But he didn’t consider it a true lie, since he really did believe that he could regain his strength better at sea than at home.

  Perhaps this would be the letter detailing that they’d been mistaken and that he could return as soon as he wanted. That would solve his little problem about Lady Barbara quite neatly. She could not haunt his thoughts so well from so far away.

  His eyes scanned over the precise, slanting hand of the Admiral, and immediately his hopes were dashed. Couched in such polite and flowery terms of phrase as could be summoned in order to assuage Captain Pemberton’s evident displeasure was an unmistakable refusal of his request.

  At the end of May your health will be re-evaluated. During the interim, it is suggested that you do everything within your power to regain the strength lost during your illness at sea.

  Jeffrey read, murmuring the words under his breath.

  He groaned, gritting his teeth as he folded the letter sloppily in half and ripped it down the center. In a fit of impotent anger he threw the pieces to the ground with as much force as he could muster, only to be mocked by the way the paper fluttered delicately down to the damp gr
ass.

  You’ll be closer to Lady Barbara. You can see her whenever you want.

  Some stubborn part of him was determined to be happy about this, despite his rational mind revolting against it.

  The happier she makes you, the worse it will feel when you are ultimately rejected. Which you will be, make no mistake.

  He reminded himself of this truth as firmly as he could, but elsewhere in his mind he was already planning his next trip to the orphanage. He was wondering what she would be wearing. How would she greet him after what had happened in the parlor that morning? Would she still be afraid of him? Or would she smile, the way she had at their first meeting?

  Feeling foolish for his outburst, he crouched down to collect the pieces of the letter before walking back inside and dropping them into the wastebasket. One thing was certain, if he was ever to win back the smile of Lady Barbara, he would have to better control his distemper. If the meeting in the parlor proved anything, it was that in order to even make an attempt at counterbalancing the disaster that was his face, he would have to be otherwise the very picture of propriety and gentility.