An Immoral Dilemma For The Scandalous Lady (Steamy Historical Romance) Read online

  An Immoral Dilemma for the Scandalous Lady

  A Steamy Regency Romance

  Olivia Bennet

  Contents

  A Thank You Gift

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  The Marquess in Her Bed

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Also by Olivia Bennet

  About the Author

  A Thank You Gift

  Thanks a lot for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because this is the best way to show me your love.

  As a Thank You gift I have written a full length novel for you called Daring Fantasies of a Noble Lady. It’s only available to people who have downloaded one of my books and you can get your free copy by tapping this link here.

  Once more, thanks a lot for your love and support.

  With love and appreciation,

  Olivia Bennet

  About the Book

  In the throes of their passion, his soul lay close to hers; he finally had her all to himself...

  Phoebe Elkins, daughter of the Earl of Wycliff, knew from a young age that she would one day marry Evan Boltmon. If an arranged marriage wasn’t enough, her mortification grows even greater when she realizes she is completely infatuated with her betrothed’s younger brother.

  Owen Boltmon, youngest son of the Duke of Bentley, is a dignified and courageous lord...and madly in love with his brother’s intended. When his brother disappears at sea, he is torn between devastation and a twisted sense of relief.

  But when a blessing in disguise knocks on the door, what would have been a dream come true under other circumstances, now feels like the greatest burden to bear: Evan returns and he is not the person they remember...

  Chapter 1

  Duncan Boltmon, The Duke of Bentley, observed the children playing with a proud smile on his face. It was the height of summer, the fleets were on voyage, and finances had never been better.

  His own sons, Evan and Owen, were boisterous but mindful of their learning. Their play fighting included all the noble standards the Duke had worked to instill in them, including honor and virtue.

  “Where is your sword?” Owen asked of his older brother, Evan. He searched around him for the second of the two wooden swords the pair owned. “The opponents of a duel must be equally matched or it is unjust.”

  “Nobody duels anymore.”

  “Not even for the hand of a fair maiden?”

  Phoebe, the daughter of the Earl of Wycliff, giggled at Owen’s remark, her eyes sparkling. She clapped her hands together in delight while watching them play. Her brother, Roger, jumped up to show he was just as noble as the Duke’s sons

  “En Garde!” he yelled, picking up the second sword and thrusting at Owen. The boys laughed and jousted their way around the gardens, their laughter ringing through the air.

  Jacob Elkins, the Earl of Wycliff, turned to look at the Duke. The shade of the parasol cast a shadow across his bearded face but most of the shade covered his wife, the Duchess of Bentley, Tabitha Boltmon. She was reclining in her chair sipping at lemonade from a tall glass.

  She wore white, always white. She liked to demonstrate that she could wear a new batiste or silk dress every day—and she did. Lady Bentley was a great admirer of the latest French fashions. Her long, soft dress cinched tight under her chest and then flowed to her feet. Her dresses were always embellished with lace or ornate stitching and she owned an exceptional array of hats.

  “It seems to me you have something on your mind, Your Grace,” the Earl said.

  The Earl of Wycliff and the Duke of Bentley had a long-standing friendship rooted in their own childhoods which was further solidified by their joint business. It had taken many years for them to acquire their fleet and man it with skilled sailors and merchants, but they were certainly reaping the rewards at present.

  Here they were, basking in the sunlight, each of them with his own glorious properties and staff at his command, their wives and children dressed in their finery, and they had prominent positions in society.

  “Yes, I do,” the Duke of Bentley looked over to his sons, both strapping young boys. Both were dressed in breeches, waistcoats, and matching long grey jackets. They were growing more handsome by the day and he was not unaware of their eligibility as husbands in the near future. “Evan is now thirteen years of age.”

  “Yes. He’s a fine young gentleman.”

  “As his father, it is time I begin to think about his future, to make arrangements. Do you understand?”

  “I believe I do.” The Duke saw Lord Wycliff’s gaze travel to Phoebe, his only daughter.

  At seven-years-old, she was still very much a child, but it would not be long before suitors came to court her. At least, it wouldn’t be long before matches started to be made in preparation a future that would be upon them in the blink of an eye.

  It was hard to tell at that young an age what kind of lady she would become but there were clues as to her nature. Phoebe was a free-spirited and playful child, much to her father’s chagrin although he loved her dearly. No matter how hard the Earl of Wycliff and the staff tried to teach her etiquette and proper behavior, she would often find some way to have her fun when she thought nobody was watching. The Earl would often tell the Duke about the times she’d been caught rolling down hills in her pretty dresses or brandishing swords at her dolls in play. They would laugh at the perils of fatherhood as old friends do.

  Yet she had a profoundly feminine side also. She was completely transparent with her emotions. Everything she found funny drew joyous laughter from her, and every upset brought tears. She was not the sort of child to hold her emotions in or have a stiff upper lip. She laughed, she cried and she expressed herself with complete freedom always.

  She had dark hair like her late mother, Katherine Elkins, the Countess of Wycliff. She had the same deep eyes with thick, dark lashes that pulled at your heartstrings when she fluttered them or made you feel like a monster when they caught her tears after a scolding. She had a small nose and high cheekbones and shapely lips. The Duke believed she would grow up to be beautiful. If she was even half as beautiful as her mother had been, she would make a fine match for his son.

  “It has been a while since we’ve discussed the possibility of a match for our children. Not since Lady Wycliff was with child and we didn’t know whether the birth would bring a boy or a girl. That was when Evan was six years of age. I was considering these things then, so you can only imagine how urgent my concern now that he is reaching adolescence.”

  “Of course,” the Earl nodded, putting his drink down on the little cast-iron side table. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees
and keeping his eyes on the children. The affection he held for Phoebe was evident in his eyes when he looked at her. He had all the natural protectiveness a father should feel, and more so due to the untimely loss of his wife. “It is also in my interest to ensure that Phoebe will be taken care of in the event of my passing and one never knows when that will be. It would allow me to rest easy to know she is spoken for and entrusted to someone I know will treat her kindly.”

  “Evan would be a natural match. I do hope you agree.”

  “You know I do. It has been all but done since the day Phoebe was born. Nothing would make me happier than to tie our families together through the bonds of marriage. May our children find as much success in marriage as we have found in business. You hereby have my word that Phoebe is betrothed to Evan and that they shall be wed when she turns eighteen.”

  The Earl stood then, straightening his coattails as he rose. “Will you excuse me a moment? I’ll return shortly.”

  Lord Wycliff took his exit, heading toward the manor. As soon as he was out of earshot, Lady Bentley sat up and fixed the Duke with the most lethal of glares.

  “You have promised our son in marriage to the Boltmons?”

  “You know better than to question my decisions, my dear. I would trust Lord Wycliff with my life.”

  “A sentiment I simply cannot understand!” Her eyes narrowed to slits, her eyebrows drawing together in the middle of her forehead, making her appear as some kind of solemn bird, not aided in the least by the length and hook of her nose.

  She had all the makings of a handsome woman, but her sternness often made her ugly. The Duke would have chosen for himself a prettier, less temperamental bride had he the choice when he was young. Perhaps that was why he was so keen to secure for his son an amicable bride. Phoebe was an exuberant and lively child who was always quick to smile. The Duke had doubt his wife had ever smiled in her life. If she had been able to, perhaps he would have seen a smile on her face on their wedding day.

  “I have never understood your dislike of Lord Wycliff. He’s my closest confidant and business partner.”

  “Lord Wycliff is irresponsible and selfish. He has lost us half a dozen of our fleet in the last year alone.”

  “Lord Wycliff cannot be held responsible for the weather.”

  “He can certainly be held accountable for choosing to set sail in a storm.”

  “The decision was a joint one. We stood to lose a lot of money if we did not make that shipment on time.”

  “And look at what you lost! All because Lord Wycliff convinced you to set sail against your better judgment. You have always been focused and intelligent, my love, yet you put your faith in a gentleman far less able. Now you want to commit our son to his imbecile daughter?”

  “Enough!” The Duke raised his voice so loudly and so harshly it stopped the children in their tracks. They ceased playing and turned toward their guardians in shock. “You forget your place again, Lady Bentley! You’d best be thankful the Earl was not here to hear you speak to me in that manner or you would be wincing far more than you do at the sound of my voice.”

  She lowered her eyes, twisting the sheer fabric of her dress between her fingers. She withheld her tears in that stoic manner that frustrated the Duke so—he’d have preferred a more fragile, softer lady—and she pursed her lips.

  “As you wish, husband, but on your head be it if our son suffers on account of your faith in Lord Wycliff.”

  “Your boldness will never cease to astound me. Will you ever learn to hold your tongue?”

  He gestured toward Phoebe. She was now sitting beside Owen on a carved stone bench, talking about something with avid interest and trying not to gesticulate too wildly. Every time her hands started to fly into the air in excitement, she remembered herself and returned her hands to rest in her lap.

  The Duke continued, “This child already speaks more French than both of our boys. She has learned to embroider. She plays the violin with the skill of a girl three times her age! She is no imbecile and so help me if I ever hear you suggest such a thing again.”

  “I’ve seen her playing in the pond with frogs! She has none of the graces one would expect of a lady.”

  “She is only a child.”

  “When I was her age, I would never have walked around with grass in my hair and mud on my cheek, chasing after the boys as if I were one of them.”

  “They are the harmless pleasures of childhood. Soon enough she will be forced to leave them behind. Let children play while they are children.”

  “And what of Lord Wycliff? He is no child. He drinks until he is in a stupor and he has a foul mouth when he’s taken liquor.”

  “Then keep in the company of other ladies if the pursuits of men so easily offend your sensibilities. I cannot be held accountable for what you hear when you are eavesdropping. You always forget how fortunate you are, my love. Phoebe is not the only one who fails at being a lady. A lady knows to accept her husband’s decisions without question; she knows how to keep her thoughts to herself. A good lady honors and obeys her spouse unconditionally. Perhaps you need to take up some Bible study to remind you how to keep to your values.”

  “It is dangerous to condescend a smart lady.”

  “I’ll remember that if I should ever meet one.”

  Lady Bentley drew in a sharp breath through her teeth, gathered her skirts and stood. “Excuse me, My Lord. I have matters to attend to inside.”

  The Duke allowed her to leave without objection. It was always a relief when his wife exited a conversation. As a lady she drained him and as a wife she disappointed him. He had always hoped for a meek and affectionate wife, but instead, he found himself married to a stubborn and hostile lady. It was a wonder she bore him any children at all when there seemed to be so little lady in her.

  Yes, Phoebe will be a good wife. Her father was no stranger to merriment and overindulgence and it showed in his daughter, who revelled in entertaining and being entertained. Perhaps if she’d had a mother, she’d have ended up like the Lady Bentley instead; like all ladies of the present time.

  The Duke considered it a blessing that their children had been raised together and Phoebe and Evan had been offered such a rare opportunity to see a friendship become a marriage. They would know and be familiar with each other by the time it came to say their vows. They would have these memories of time spent in summer gardens, of laughter and play. There would be fondness between them.

  It would be deceitful for him to say he had no personal benefit from the arrangement—it made good business sense to align their families—but his fatherliness also played a role.

  Let Evan have a happy, gentle wife. Let him have a lady to love and to give love to in return.

  Chapter 2

  Phoebe sat on the bench between the cedar trees down by the lake in the eastern grounds of her father’s estate. She liked the way the trees shielded her from view. In this little grove, she could take a moment away from prying eyes. It had become her habit to slip away long before even the servants had awoken and to retreat to one of her many hideaways in the estate to be alone.

  Today she turned twelve years of age.

  At twelve-years-old, there were many societal pressures weighing her down and she longed constantly for escape. Today, she should have been indoors receiving lessons from her governess in Greek and Latin. However, this morning, like every morning, she had made her escape to have at least an hour or two outdoors.

  She liked to watch the birds. Sometimes she would attempt to draw them, but she could never get their little faces right. She must have had a hundred sketches of funny little birds with curious eyes.

  “Lady Phoebe! Lady Phoebe!”

  The governess, Miss Bennet, was calling her. Miss Bennet had the most powerful lungs. No matter where Phoebe was on the huge estate, her governess’ cries would never fail to reach her ears.

  She squeezed her eyes shut in annoyance and considered climbing a tree to hide but decided better
of it. Her father would be very disappointed if she ruined her birthday dress. It was white with pink embellishments and a pretty ribbon around the waist. The sleeves ended halfway down her forearms. The material was tight and well-fitted, making Phoebe feel like she was bandaged up from head to toe. She felt she was wearing far too many layers with her frock and puffy undergarments. It reminded her of the time she fell in the river and the material swelling around her in the water had made it hard to kick her legs.