Guilty Pleasures of a Bluestocking: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel Read online

  Guilty Pleasures of a Bluestocking

  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

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  Tempting the Ruined Duke

  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

  He is her final wish. She is his new beginning.

  After her sister’s untimely passing, Deborah Wilds is ready to marry the Duke of Tarsington in her place. Despite the circumstances, she can't help the flare of excitement in her belly at the thought of marrying the man she's been secretly in love with for years.

  Though plagued by his intended's sudden death, Leonard Fletcher, Duke of Tarsington, resolves to do his duty and honor his parents' agreement by marrying Edith's younger sister. He never imagined that the younger Miss Wilds would be so easy to fall in love with.

  Deborah's world shifts on its axis when she discovers her sister’s diary. But there's only one problem: important pages with events leading up to her death appear to have been violently torn and taken…

  Determined to discover what really happened to Edith, Leonard and Deborah unwittingly put themselves in grave danger. First, come the letters, then comes the handkerchief. And then Deborah walks in an old house, never to walk out again...

  Chapter 1

  Miss Deborah Wilds founds herself pacing up and down the parlor in her father’s manor. She felt edgy with anticipation. Each time she passed the window, she peeked through the glass, hoping to catch sight of a carriage.

  No sign of him yet.

  All she could see was the long, neatly manicured path at the front of her father’s mansion. Trees shedding orange and red leaves lined the path and stretched their limbs toward the gate, obstructing her view of the road beyond.

  Deborah smoothed the skirts of her sky-blue gown for what felt like the thousandth time and ensured her long blonde hair was still neatly pinned at her neck. She knotted her fingers together as she paced, her heart knocking steadily against her ribs.

  These nerves were not entirely unpleasant. In fact, they were quite the furthest from unpleasant that she could imagine.

  Deborah had been drawn to Leonard Fletcher, the Duke of Tarsington, from the moment she had first caught sight of him three years ago. Back then, she had been a shy young lady of sixteen. The few times she had been in the Duke’s company, she had found herself awestruck and tongue-tied, flustered by her attraction. In those days, the Duke had seemed a distant, untouchable figure. A handsome young gentleman to be admired only from afar.

  And yet, now, three years later, they were to be married.

  Married.

  Deborah could hardly believe it. Each time she rolled the word through her head, it made her heart beat little bit faster.

  She peeked out the window again.

  Still no sign of the Duke.

  Deborah kept pacing.

  She wished she could let the joy of becoming the Duke’s wife fill her completely. If she could have chosen any gentleman to be her husband, it would have been the Duke. A part of her recognized just how lucky she was to find herself in such a situation.

  But the Duke was never supposed to have been her husband. It was her sister, Edith, to whom the Duke had first been betrothed. Her sister Edith who ought to be meeting the Duke of Tarsingon at the altar and returning to his mansion as his Duchess.

  But Edith was gone. She had been lying in her grave for more than two and a half years. And still the sting of it felt raw. Everything Deborah did was done in the shadow of her grief. Everything was done with Edith at the back of her mind.

  As time had passed, the once-striking pain had become a dull ache, but it was an ache Deborah feared would never leave her. And now here she was, about to married to the gentleman intended for her sister. Beneath her attraction to the Duke, Deborah felt a sizeable amount of guilt. It felt as though she were benefitting from her beloved sister’s death.

  Deborah tried to push the thought away.

  Edith would want me to be happy. I know she would.

  And a life as the Duke’s wife, Deborah knew, had the potential to make her happy. Very happy, indeed.

  The clatter of hooves outside the house made her start. She hurried to the window and caught sight of the large black and gold carriage rattling through the front gates. Inside it, she could just determine the broad-shouldered outline of the Duke.

  The sight of him made Deborah momentarily push aside her thoughts of Edith. She hurried to the mirror above the hearth and re-checked her hair, re-smoothed her skirts. She couldn’t remember ever being so fixated on her appearance.

  The knock at the door made her heart speed. She clenched her hand into a fist and forced herself to breathe deeply. Today, she would hold herself together. She would not behave like the foolish, tongue-tied child she had been in her previous, fleeting encounters with the Duke. She had been introduced to him as Edith’s younger sister and had responded to his warm greeting with a garble of unintelligible words. She had raced upstairs to her bedchamber and buried her head beneath her pillow, too embarrassed to face him.

  But things were different now. She was to be his wife. With luck, the Duke had forgotten how much of a fool she had been on the day she had first met him.

  She heard the butler’s murmured words, and then the Duke’s voice, deep and gentle. And here was her father, the Viscount of Chilson, strutting into the entrance hall to greet his future son-in-law.

  Deborah couldn’t make out their words, but she could imagine the smile on her father’s face. Could imagine him puffing his chest out and pushing his shoulders back as he invited the Duke into their home.

  “Do come in, Your Grace, you are most welcome here.”

  Deborah knew it meant a lot to her father that his dau
ghter might be married so well. She couldn’t begin to imagine what her father had done to attract the Duke of Tarsington into their family. After all, she was nothing but a viscount’s daughter. And an awkward, tongue-tied one at that.

  The parlor door clicked open. Deborah froze, standing rigid like a soldier at attention.

  “Miss Wilds,” said her father warmly, “you remember His Grace, The Duke of Tarsington, I’m sure.”

  Deborah swallowed heavily, her mouth suddenly dry. The Duke was even more handsome than she remembered. His dark hair was trimmed neatly at his collar, his angular jaw smoothly shaven. He wore a cream-colored shirt and dark blue coat, a silver cravat tied neatly at his throat. He seemed taller than she remembered.

  Is such a thing possible?

  Perhaps it was just his lofty position that made him look so delightfully imposing.

  “Of course, Your Grace,” Deborah managed, bobbing her head and falling into something half way between a curtsey and a stumble. She straightened hurriedly, cursing herself for her foolishness.

  So much for holding myself together.

  She could feel color rising in her cheeks.

  But His Grace smiled broadly at the sight of her, striding across the parlor with deliberate footsteps. He was clearly feeling far more confident about this meeting than Deborah.

  “Miss Wilds.” He took her outstretched hand and brought it to his lips. Deborah felt a sudden shudder of excitement go through her.

  She heard her father’s footsteps disappear from the parlor. Heard the door click closed. The Duke stood in front of her with a warm smile and expectant eyes. The sight of it half filled her with excitement, and half filled her with dread.

  “Wonderful to see you again, Your Grace,” she managed, her voice coming out softer than she had intended.

  And at her words, she saw the Duke’s confident gaze flicker a little. Saw something else in his eyes. Is he also nervous at the thought of this meeting? Perhaps, but there was something more. Something deeper. Did he too carry guilt over the fact that they had found themselves here? Was he thinking of poor Edith, lying in the earth? Was he thinking about the lady who ought to have been his wife?

  Deborah cleared her throat. “Please, Your Grace. Do sit down.” She gestured an armchair. The Duke sat, Deborah perching on the edge of the chair beside his.

  She knotted her fingers together, glancing nervously around the room. Her lady’s maid, Sarah, was sitting in the corner of the parlor with her hands folded neatly in her lap. Deborah looked hurriedly back at the Duke. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She had spent the morning rehearsing potential topics of conversation—tell me about your lands, are you a hunter? Did you have a pleasant summer?—but as his dark eyes found hers, all logical thought slipped from her mind.

  “I’ve been looking forward to meeting with you again,” he said, his comment doing little to steady Deborah’s nerves.

  “You have?” she garbled.

  “Yes. Very much. I’m rather looking forward to getting to know you better.”

  “Oh,” she said. “I…”

  He is looking forward to getting to know me better? After this pitiful display? How can such a thing be possible?

  Her cheeks felt impossibly hot. She churned through her mind for a suitable response. Came up with nothing.

  She was saved by the click of the parlor door. The butler appeared with a tea tray and set it carefully down on the side table, then vanished from the room almost as quickly as he had appeared.

  Deborah drew in a steadying breath. “Tea, Your Grace?”

  The Duke smiled. “Thank you.”

  Carefully, Deborah filled two cups, her knuckles whitening around the handle of the teapot in an attempt to stop her hand from shaking. She lifted the first cup and saucer and handed it to the Duke. As she did, her hand knocked against his wrist, sending tea slopping down the front of his coat.

  Deborah gasped in horror. “Oh, I’m so dreadfully sorry. Please forgive me. I…” She lowered her glance, unable to look him in the eye. Her stomach rolled over.

  What is he thinking? Is he comparing me to Edith?

  Deborah’s sister had always been so composed, so full of grace. She was certain Edith had never done anything so clumsy as spilling tea all over her future husband.

  But the Duke just smiled, taking the teacup from her hand. “It’s quite all right, Miss Wilds,” he said mildly. “It’s no matter.”

  “I’ll fetch a cloth at once,” Deborah spluttered.

  “It’s not necessary, I assure you. It’s just a drop.” She could feel him trying to catch her eye. “Please don’t fret.” The warmth in his voice made the muscles in her neck begin to relax a little. She felt the edginess inside her begin to dissipate.

  The Duke brought it to his lips. After a moment, he set the cup and saucer back on the side table. “I’ve made you nervous,” he said. “I’m sorry. I hope you know that was not my intention.”

  Deborah managed a faint smile, despite the heat she could feel lingering in her cheeks. She hated the way her fair skin colored so easily. At the slightest hint of discomfort, her cheeks would flame, announcing her embarrassment, her nerves, her desire. Sometimes it felt as though her every thought was on display for the entire world to see.

  “I am rather nervous,” she admitted, peering into her teacup. “This is a rather momentous occasion.”

  And I’ve been dreaming about you since I first met you…

  The Duke nodded. “Yes. I must admit, I was a little nervous this morning, as well.” He shifted in his chair to look at her more squarely. “Perhaps today we might put aside these overwhelming thoughts of the future? Perhaps we might focus on simply getting to know each other a little better?” There was a hint of hesitance, of shyness in his voice, and it made Deborah smile.

  “I would like that, Your Grace,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I would like that very much.”

  Leonard peered out the window of the carriage and watched the neat rows of houses roll by. Bath was beautiful at this time of year; the trees fiery in the autumn, the river high and glistening. A thick bank of clouds had begun to roll across the sun, reminding him that winter was not far away.

  He leaned back against the carriage wall and let out a long breath, feeling a little of the tension drain from his shoulders.

  “I was a little nervous myself this morning,” he had told Miss Wilds. The truth was, he had been far more than a little nervous.

  There had been something unsettling about returning to the Chilson manor. The last time he had been there, he had been dressed in black, mourning the sudden death of Lord Chilson’s oldest daughter.

  The lady to whom Leonard had been betrothed.

  Miss Edith Wilds’ death had been a tragedy that had shaken her family to the core. It had shaken Leonard, too. More than he had admitted at the time. He had never expected to set foot inside the Chilson manor again.

  He had been surprised when his uncle had approached him a month earlier and told him of the letter he had received from the Viscount of Chilson. Leonard’s mother, it seemed, had also received such a missive. A letter outlining the Viscount’s wishes to unite their families in marriage, as they had planned to do when Edith had been alive.

  Miss Deborah Wilds. The younger of the Viscount’s two daughters. Yes, Leonard remembered her. Remembered her well. She had been just sixteen when he had been courting her older sister. With her lively personality and sparkling blue-green eyes, she had been impossible not to notice.

  And so, when they had begun to discuss the plans to renew the union between the Chilsons and the Tarsingtons, Leonard had found himself more than a little intrigued. Intrigued enough to venture back to the Chilson manor, despite the bad memories associated with the place.

  The coach rattled through the front gates of the sprawling Tarsington mansion. Leonard climbed out, nodding his thanks to the coachman.

  At the sound of the front door, his mother, the Dowag
er Duchess, swept down the staircase into the entrance hall, her woolen skirts sighing over the floor.

  “Well?” she pushed. “How was your meeting? How was Miss Wilds? Did she seem happy to see you?” For a fleeting second, Leonard was yanked back in time. He was certain his mother had behaved this very same way, asked these same questions, the day he had arrived home after first meeting Edith Wilds.