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

  She shook her head. “No, Your Grace,” she mumbled, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

  Leonard didn’t want her to be sorry. And he didn’t want her to be embarrassed. “Miss Wilds,” he said, impulsively pressing a palm to her cheek, “will you look at me?”

  Slowly, she looked up, her eyes meeting his.

  “Look at me,” he had said, but this gaze she had fixed on him was almost too much. There was an intensity in her eyes that made his insides blaze. Her skin was soft and warm beneath his fingers. Leonard’s eyes drifted toward her parted lips. A sudden bolt of desire coursed through him and he ached to kiss her. To feel those soft, full lips against his own. He heard his breath catch.

  He shook the thought away hurriedly. Deborah had not come here to be ravaged. She had come here for answers.

  With great control, he took a step back, letting his fingers slide from her cheek. He cleared his throat. “Is there anyone else in your sister’s circle you could think of who might have written this? Anyone she might have met?”

  She shook her head. “She met many gentlemen, I’m sure. Once, she was so full of life, so friendly and outgoing. But I never knew of anyone who might have cared for her in such a way.” She gave Leonard a tiny smile. “The only person I could think of was you.” She gave him a shy smile. “But I’m glad you weren’t the one who wrote it.”

  Her smile made something warm inside him.

  He thought back to the social events he had attended in which Miss Edith Wilds had been in attendance. He remembered her as Deborah had recounted—friendly and outgoing, with a warm greeting for everyone and a laugh like a silver bell. But when he had been courting her, she had been nothing like that. In the face of their impending marriage, Miss Edith Wilds’ behavior had bordered on brusque. Leonard had struggled not to blame himself.

  He raked through his memories, thinking back to those occasions in which he seen Edith at the balls. Who had she spent her time with? Were there any gentlemen she had been close to? Anyone who might have stolen her heart?

  Perhaps there was someone. He remembered her spending time with Matthew Fryer, the Marquess of Elwood. At the time, Leonard had thought little of it, assuming them no more than friends. But perhaps there had been more to it.

  He shared his thoughts with Miss Wilds.

  She nodded slowly. “Lord Elwood, yes. I know him. He attends the same church as my family.” She wound a stray coil of hair around her finger, clearly deep in thought. “Perhaps I will ask him about the letter when I see him on Sunday. If he cared about my sister in such a way, surely he wouldn’t begrudge me the chance of finding out the truth about her death.”

  Leonard nodded. “Just be careful,” he said gently. The urge to protect Deborah was overwhelming. He wanted to hold her in his arms until all her pain disappeared.

  “Forgive me,” he said hurriedly. “I’ve been a dreadful host. Would you like a little tea, Miss Wilds? Something to eat?”

  She smiled and shook her head faintly. “I’d best be going, Your Grace. If I don’t get back before dinner time my absence will be noticed.” She looked up at him shyly. “I hope I haven’t offended you by arriving on your doorstep like this. I know it is dreadfully improper. I can only assure you this is not the way I usually behave.”

  Offended me?

  How he longed to tell her how her arrival on his doorstep had truly made him feel. How he longed to tell her of the leap in his chest, the shuddering of his breath, the dizzying joy he had felt at the unexpected sight of her.

  He stepped toward her. They were alone. No one knew she was here. He could kiss her now, hold her, feel her, and there would be no repercussions. After all, they were to be married. And that glimmer in her eyes told him she would welcome such a gesture.

  We are to be married.

  For the first time, the reality of it swung at him, leaving him hot and breathless. In a few short weeks, this beautiful creature would be his wife. He would wake every morning beside her, go to sleep every night with her in his arms. Spend enchanting hours in the dark, feeling her move beneath him.

  A hot wave of desire flooded him. He wrestled it away.

  He and Miss Deborah Wilds were to be married, yes, but right now they were doing no more than courting. This house was crawling with staff, not to mention his mother and sister. If he and Deborah were discovered in here with their hands all over each other, it would cause the greatest of scandals. One from which she might never recover. And Leonard was not willing to risk that. However much he might have wanted to.

  He took a step back.

  “No offense taken, Miss Wilds,” he said gently. “I promise you. No offense at all.”

  Deborah dashed down the front steps of the Tarsington manor, her skin burning and her heart fast. She felt jittery, pulsing with energy. The feel of it sent her racing through the streets, her boots thudding against the path on her way back to her father’s mansion.

  The Duke had always had an effect on her. But never before had he left her so full of desire, so breathless with longing. More than once, as they had stood face to face in his parlor, she had been convinced he was going to kiss her. And how she had longed for it. How she had ached to feel his lips against her own. She had to swallow a cry of frustration when he had stepped away without touching her.

  She dug her hand into her pocket and squeezed the letter. Her relief at the Duke not having written it was overwhelming. Now she truly believed those lustful looks were for her and her alone. Now she knew in her heart she was the only person who had ever caused him to feel such a way. And it left her body aching for his touch. She kept running, not knowing what else to do with this storm of energy the Duke had stirred within her.

  What of Edith? Had she too felt such a way about a gentleman? The fact that she had kept his letter suggested his love had been reciprocated. Was it Lord Elwood to whom Edith’s heart had belonged? Deborah was uncertain. But she was determined to find out.

  Chapter 8

  Deborah sat anxiously in the pew, her mind miles away from the vicar’s droning sermon. On the other side of the aisle, she could see the Marquess of Elwood, sitting beside his new wife. The wife was something of an issue, Deborah thought. Was the Marquess less likely to be honest about the love letter with his wife beside him? Was he likely to be honest about the love letter at all?

  That was, if he had been the one to have written it in the first place. Deborah realized she had let herself get carried away.

  When the service finished, she made a beeline for the Marquess. Her mother and father were already heading for the door, and she managed to slip in the opposite direction without them catching sight of her. Deborah glanced over her shoulder at her lady’s maid and shot her a look that clearly told her to remain silent.

  Nervously, she approached the Marquess, walking beside him as he made his way toward the door.

  “Lord Elwood. I’m—”

  “The Viscount of Chilson’s daughter.” His voice was unexpectedly cold and sharp. It made something tighten in Deborah’s stomach.

  She swallowed heavily. “Yes. Edith Wilds’ sister. Deborah Wilds.” She watched the Marquess’s face closely for any reaction to Edith’s name. His face remained unmoved.

  Lord Elwood nodded shortly. “I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Wilds,” he said dutifully. “Your sister was a lovely young lady.” His words were stiff and felt empty of emotion. He gripped his wife’s arm and began to walk faster down the aisle.

  Deborah had to skip to keep up with him. “There’s something I need to ask you, My Lord,” she said hurriedly. “About my sister.”

  The Marquess didn’t look at her. “I had little to do with your sister, Miss Wilds. We danced together once or twice. I’d not seen her for at least a year before she died. I heard of her passing through a mutual acquaintance.” He looked at her pointedly. “Please excuse me.”

  “Wait—” Deborah’s hand shot out and grabbed Lord Elwood’s arm before the thoug
ht had even entered her head. His eyes flashed with a mix of surprise and irritation. She let her hand fall hurriedly.

  “Did you ever write my sister a letter?” she pressed.

  Lord Elwood looked at Deborah, then his eyes flickered to where her father was standing in the church doorway. “No,” he said brusquely. “I never wrote your sister a letter. I can assure you of that. Good day to you, Miss Wilds.” He was gone before Deborah could speak again.

  “Did you speak with Lord Elwood?” asked the Duke. He and Deborah were sitting side by side on the couch in the parlor at the Chilson manor. Rain was dappling the glass, a fire roaring in the grate in front of them. The Duke’s voice was low and secretive, so Deborah’s lady’s maid could not hear him from the other side of the room.

  The sound of it sent a thrill through Deborah’s body. There was something utterly exhilarating about sharing this secret with him.

  “I did,” she said softly. “But it was the strangest thing. He was ever so short. I’d almost go so far as to say he was rude. Couldn’t seem to wait to get away from me.”

  The Duke raised his eyebrows. “How strange. I’ve never known Lord Elwood to be rude like that.”

  Deborah nodded.

  “Do you think he was hiding something?” the Duke asked, a faint frown creasing the bridge of his nose.

  “Perhaps,” Deborah admitted. The Marquess’s sharpness had certainly aroused her suspicions. “The look on his face when I mentioned my sister…” she said. “I can’t help but think he knows something.”

  The Duke shifted on the couch. Their knees were inches from each other’s. “You think he was the one who wrote the letter?”

  “I think it a definite possibility. But whatever his reasons, he certainly was not happy about my speaking to him. About my asking these questions.” She looked into her clasped hands. “He was with his wife. Perhaps that explains his reluctance to speak with me.”

  The Duke nodded. “Perhaps.” He tilted his head, trying to catch Deborah’s eye. “I do hope you’ll be careful, Miss Wilds. The last thing I want is to see you get hurt. You’ve already been through so much.” He leaned forward and pressed a warm hand to her wrist. At the feel of his skin against hers, Deborah felt gooseflesh flood up her arm.

  The door clicked open and the Duke pulled his hand away suddenly. In bustled a maid with a tea tray. She kept her eyes down, as though aware she was interrupting.

  “Tea and cake, Miss Wilds,” she said quickly. “As requested.” She set the tray on the table and hurried back toward the door as Deborah thanked her.

  Deborah filled two cups with tea and handed one to the Duke. The formality of the gesture make her think of her clandestine visit to his manor the week before.

  “I feel I ought to apologize again, Your Grace,” she said, “for turning up the way I did the other night. It was most inappropriate of me.”

  ‘It will never happen again’, she opened her mouth to say, but something stopped her. She didn’t want to make such promises. There was a part of her that longed to make another secretive visit to his manor. A part of her that longed to see if she could entice him not to be so restrained this time.

  The thought made Deborah’s breath catch. The teapot trembled ominously in her hand. She could hardly believe she had entertained such ideas.

  What is this gentleman turning me into?

  She forced herself to focus on pouring their drinks. She was not about to go hurling tea all over the Duke for a second time.

  The Duke smiled, accepting the cup and saucer from her outstretched hand. “Miss Wilds, I assure you, there’s nothing to apologize for. You are most welcome in my home.” His smile broadened. “After all, it is to be your home soon, is it not?”

  Deborah felt warmth blossom in her chest. The night she had sneaked to the Duke’s manor, she had been too jittery over the letter to think about the fact that the mansion would soon be hers. But how wonderful it would be, walking through that beautiful house as its mistress. She imagined herself climbing the wide wooden staircase as the Duchess of Tarsington. Imagined what lavish rooms she might find at the top of that staircase. Rooms she was to share with her husband.

  She felt suddenly hot and disoriented. She took a hurried mouthful of tea. It did little to ease the heat coursing through her, but it do go some way toward steadying her.

  “Does that please you, Your Grace?” she dared to ask, looking up at the Duke, feeling suddenly shy. She could feel that tongue-tied child within her creeping her way back.

  The Duke looked a little surprised at her question. “Yes, Miss Wilds,” he said. “It pleases me very much.” He hesitated. “I hope I have not done anything to make you believe otherwise.”

  Deborah shook her head hurriedly. “Oh no, Your Grace. Of course not. I simply…”

  I simply needed confirmation that the way you look at me is not just a product of my hopeful imagination.

  She shifted in her seat, cursing herself for choosing to sit so close to the fire. Her insides were blazing.

  The Duke set his cup back in its saucer. “Does it please you, Miss Wilds?” he asked. “Our upcoming wedding?”

  She met his eyes. “It pleases me, Your Grace.”

  It pleases me more than you could know.

  And suddenly his lips were on hers, the kiss at once both gentle and forceful, stealing Deborah’s breath. All too quickly, he pulled away, leaving her lips parted and her muscles tense with longing. She felt a gentle ache tugging at her breasts.

  The Duke’s eyes met hers, as though seeking approval, seeking confirmation that he had not crossed a line. There was a hint of shyness in his eyes, the sight of it arousing Deborah almost as much as his kiss had.

  “Perhaps you might do that again, Your Grace,” Deborah said, her voice soft, but her eyes glinting boldly at the challenge. “After all, we are to be married, are we not?”

  The Duke grinned. He moved toward her again. Sarah’s chair creaked noisily behind them, reminding them they were not alone.

  The Duke brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them gently. He held her hand in both of his for a moment. “We are indeed to be married,” he said. “And I consider myself luckier than you could know.”

  Chapter 9

  The coach ride back to the manor passed in a blur, Leonard’s thoughts overflowing with Miss Wilds. He could still feel the warmth of her lips against his, still feel their softness, their fullness. Could still feel the way her mouth had opened so slightly against his, urging him deeper.

  He closed his eyes, feeling his arousal build.

  Hell, I’m so glad I’m alone in this carriage…

  Each time he saw Deborah, his feelings became more and more evident. Leonard knew he was falling in love with her.

  Was he truly to be so lucky to wake up to this lady every morning? So few gentlemen of his class, Leonard knew, were fortunate enough to marry for love. His friends who had taken wives had done so to secure lands, to form alliances. They had never done so for love.

  Leonard found himself wondering what might have happened had Edith lived. Her heart had clearly been with another—perhaps Lord Elwood. She would have spent their marriage wishing she were with another. And Leonard? Would he have found himself drawn to Deborah, even if he were her brother-in-law? The way his body was reacting suggested such a thing was highly likely.

  He wrestled his thoughts of Deborah from his head, and sat in the carriage for a moment, waiting for his arousal to fade.

  Finally, feeling in a fit state to face the interrogation he knew was about to come from his mother, Leonard climbed from the carriage and started toward the house.

  As he had predicted, the Dowager Duchess was waiting in the entrance hall. No doubt she had been listening for the return of the coach.

  His sister, Florentina, was hovering at her side, looking up at Leonard with the same expectant eyes as their mother.

  “How was Miss Wilds today?” The Dowager Duchess pressed, without waiting f
or him to take off his coat and scarf. “Did the two of you enjoy yourself?”

  Leonard began to unbutton his greatcoat. “Why such desperation in your voice, Mother? Why are you so eager for Miss Wilds and I to get along?”

  His mother gave an airy laugh, but it sounded somewhat forced. “You’re my son, Leonard. I simply want to see you happy. I can tell Miss Deborah Wilds is special to you. You’ve a chance to marry for love, and I truly hope this union will be a success.”

  Florentina spun around on her toes. “She wants a grand wedding, Leonard. And she wants this house to be filled with babies. Grandbabies she can knit clothes for and everything.”

  Leonard smiled down at his sister. “Is that so?”