The Complete Regency Surrender Collection

He took her silence for assent and reached into the tumbled pile of jewels, slowly drawing forth a string of pearls and draping it around her neck. It was a long rope with a gold and diamond clasp in the shape of joined hands. It was beautiful, of course, but it did not suit her. Even when wrapped three or more times about her neck it would still be too long for the modest gown she was wearing.

‘Where is the lace?’ he said with a slight frown, tracing the neckline with a finger.

He meant Justine’s fichu, she supposed. ‘I left it at the shop. It was in the way.’

‘It was lovely.’ He shrugged. ‘Not as lovely as you, of course.’ Then he took her by the hand and pulled her to her feet, to stand before a full-length mirror beside his bed.

And so it was to begin. She had convinced herself that she was not nervous. It had been a lie. A few compliments and a touch of his hand, and her pulse was racing. Knowing what was to come had removed the fear from her wedding night. But dread had been replaced with eager anticipation.

He stood behind her now, loosening the back of her gown, until her shoulders and throat were bare and the pearls could rest against them.

‘Luminous, like moonlight,’ he said, tracing them with his finger. ‘But they are no match for your skin.’ He placed his palm flat on the beads, rolling them against her bare throat.

Despite her unwillingness to wear them, she enjoyed the feel of the pearls pressing into her flesh and the roll against her tired shoulders. He released the loop he had been holding and let it slither under the bodice until it swayed between her breasts. Then his hands were behind her again, undoing more hooks and laces until she stood bare before the mirror with her bodice, stays and shift bunched at her waist.

He took up the pearls again, rolling them up the slope of one of her breasts, sliding them back and forth across her nipple. ‘Now tell me, how do you like your own work?’

They were not really her work at all. Though she had made the clasp, the oyster had supplied the majority of this perfection. She had but given them order. But words failed her. Her reflection showed a ring of pearls about her breast. As he tugged on it and as the loop tightened, the skin around her nipple tightened as well. His hand cupped the other breast from beneath, the tip of it pinched firmly between ring and last finger.

He pressed kisses into her shoulder, until his lips rested warm against her ear. ‘I want to take you wearing nothing but pearls.’

He had not stuttered. How strange. But everything about this was strange. She was staring at her own body in a mirror, watching him touch it, hardly daring to breathe for fear he would stop. Now she was helping him as he pushed the skirts to the floor. He settled her own hand to the wet place between her legs so that she could touch herself as she watched the pearls sway against her belly.

It was wicked. It was decadent. And she loved it. She rubbed her back against the wool of his coat for it seemed to heighten the sensation of her own hand to know he was there, hungry eyed, watching her pleasure herself. Her breath caught in her throat as the first tremors of arousal began.

Suddenly, he released her to fumble with the buttons of his breeches. Then he thrust into her hard, over and over. His hands came back to her breasts to hold her so tight to his body that her feet barely touched the floor.

Her self-control snapped, and she reached behind her to clutch at the back of his thighs. Her body tightened to grip his shaft, as if she could draw him into her very soul and keep him there for ever.

It was over too soon. His fingers relaxed their grip on her and his head lolled forward so that his hair brushed against her arm. Then he gave a final sigh of satisfaction and scooped her up in his arms to carry her into the other room and drop her on the satin coverlet.

Without a second thought, she held out an arm to welcome him into her bed.

He shook his head. ‘Only one time left. I must be careful.’ But he did not leave. And then he smiled.

She had been angry with him this morning. In turn, he had been furious with her. It was possible, once they regained their senses, that they would be right back to sniping at each other.

But that did not alter the fact that she wanted more.

She ran a finger along the rope of pearls, tracing them from her neck to the low point where they settled on her belly. Then, she spread her legs.

He stared at her for a moment, doubtful. ‘I suppose I could stay. For a while.’

She nodded. Then she smiled as he began to remove his clothing. He looked rather undignified, standing over her with his breeches hanging open. But it would not last. The Marquess of Fanworth was never without his dignity. She would cherish the brief loss of control, for she might not see it again.

Now he was fully nude. The sight of him made her forget that she longed for vulnerability. Like this, he was invincible. The long smooth flanks, narrow waist and strange ridges of muscle made her long to touch and to submit. If she could capture such fluid power in gold, she would worship at it, like a pagan.

She smiled to herself at the ridiculousness of the idea. But the sight of him stirred something in her, other than simple lust. It was the strange, creative rush she got, right before a new idea. Tomorrow, when she got to the shop, she would take up her sketch pad and see what resulted.

But for tonight?

He was climbing up on to the bed with her, lying on his side, his head leaning against his bent arm. Then, he leaned forward and kissed her. It was more tender than passionate and his smile was achingly familiar. It belonged to Stephen Standish: the man she loved.

His free hand reached to brush the hair from her face. ‘Lady Fanworth,’ he said softly, ‘you are temptation incarnate.’

If that was so, then for a change he was at her mercy and she could do as she wished with him. So she slipped the pearls from about her neck, wrapped them loosely around his manhood and stroked.

Chapter Fourteen

Stephen awoke the next morning to the smell of lavender and the feel of satin against his cheek. It took him a moment to realise that he was face-down in the pillows of his wife’s bed. He had requested the linen be pressed with flowers and chosen the coverlet himself. It was to be the sort of gentle bower his beloved deserved.

Despite his careful planning, she had left him again, to go to that damnable shop. It had never occurred to him that, when offered wealth, title and a life of ease, the woman he married might continue to work. It was a nice enough shop, he supposed. He had found his visits to the white-velvet salon to be relaxing and pleasant.

But then the place had not been his rival. When he thought of it, he felt something very like jealousy. It was clear that she loved it more than she did him. And she gave no indication of changing her mind on that point.

The current situation could not continue. He had no real wish to command her to give up her work and stay in his home. If she chose to do so of her own accord, life would be better for both of them. But to achieve that, he must give her a reason to stay.

His intent had been to wake before she did and be ready to stop her as she passed by his bed on her way to the door. If she could be tempted with the pleasures of the marital bed, she might forget all about the desire to rush away from him, just to stand behind a glass-topped counter, smiling at strangers.

He had intended to do that. Instead, he had overslept. To be fair, she had exhausted him. One of her silk stockings was tied about his wrist in remembrance of a point during the previous evening when he had tried to leave her. His other hand clutched those infernal pearls.

He set them gently on the pillow, as if they were a dangerous weapon that could discharge at any moment. He had thought to tease her with them. But she had turned the tables upon him, binding him with them until excitement made the tightness a mix of pleasure and pain. Then she’d released him and he’d surged into her, desperate for relief.

At least she seemed to have forgotten her threat to hold him to their earlier agreement. If she meant to set a strict limit of four encounters, they would need to reason like Jesuits to explain last night. At the very least, he would insist that some of the things they had done to celebrate their wedding could count for a half, or perhaps a quarter of a whole.

Of course, some had been so delightful they should be counted twice. If some creativity was not used in the accounting, the rest of his marriage would be had on credit.

He hoped that her ardour was a sign that her resolve was weakening. If she would warm to him enough to listen, he was more than willing to apologise for the trouble he had caused her. She would be more likely to believe him if he could have got Pratchet to retract his slander. But there was no hope of that. Stephen had taken too much pleasure in frightening him and, as expected, the little man had bolted.

The alternative was to force Arthur to explain himself. But if his brother wanted revenge for his damaged nose, it would be most unwise to introduce him to Margot.

He’d find another way, then. But damned if he knew what.

* * *

It had been an interesting night.

Margot stood behind the counter, staring off into space, unwilling to wipe the small, secret smile from her face. It was clear that marriage had advantages. She had filled several pages of her sketchbook with ideas for new designs, including a fob chain with links that reminded her of the crook in her husband’s elbow.

Then she set Miss Ross up with the form and the heaviest gauge of gold wire, teaching her how to twist as she wrapped it to add character to a plain chain. It was a simple enough construction and it would be a useful skill for the girl to form and cut links and solder them back together.

Perhaps some new designs in the front window would help to draw trade. She had been an object of curiosity when she was Fanworth’s mistress. People came to the shop so they might gossip about her. Many of them made purchases so their motives might be less obvious.

But the moment that it was announced she was to be his wife, the crowds had dispersed. The world could not decide what to do with a marchioness who was in trade. Were they to scrape and bow to her, or should she do it to them? So far, society had decided she was neither fish nor fowl, therefore, it was best to push her to the side of the plate and ignore her.

But just now, there was a fashionable lady, passing by on the other side of the street. Perhaps she was in need of a gift for a lover or a husband? Then the woman passed from shade into sunlight and adjusted the angle of her parasol so Margot could see her face.

Not her.

She needed customers. But of all the women in Bath, this one must just keep walking. It was the beautiful woman who had been speaking with Fanworth, the week before their marriage. More importantly, she was the one to whom Stephen had had been speaking.

Even during last night’s intimacy, when speaking to her he’d seemed to navigate with caution. He had spoken little, but when he’d smiled, he’d seemed almost like his old self. It had been going so well that she hoped, just maybe, he might relax and be the man she once loved.

But at the sight of this woman, Margot’s confidence slipped. He might have married her, but that did not mean that he intended to open his heart to her. If there was to be a relationship between this woman and Stephen, it was not her place to comment on it. Perhaps, if he was distracted, he would be less likely to interfere in the shop. Perhaps he would forget about her, and it, and things could go back to the way they had been.

Suddenly, that prospect did not seem nearly as inviting as it would have, before last night.

And now the last woman in the world whom Margot wished to see had crossed the street and was passing by the shop again, pausing at the front window to stare directly in at her.

Margot offered a polite smile in response. It would not do to scowl at a potential customer. Nor would it help either of them if she admitted recognition of the woman who was likely to steal her husband’s attention, just as she realised she still wanted it.

The young lady came very near to passing by again before turning back, as though she wished the nerve to enter, but hadn’t quite mustered it. She was young enough to be unsure of herself. Now that Margot could see her clearly, it was plain that this girl was no older than herself. Young and lovely, with smooth brown hair, large clear eyes and the limbs of a colt.

The maid following patiently behind her spoke of a family rich enough to make sure there was money in her pocket for frivolity.

Margot forced another, even brighter smile through the glass, holding her breath. Go, Margot willed silently. Or come, if you must. But do not linger in the street, staring at me. You will embarrass us both.

The girl smiled as well. She hesitated for a moment longer, then made her decision and reached for the shop door, giving it a sharp pull. The brass bell clanked and she looked up in alarm, as though fearing she’d caused an affront.

‘Welcome,’ Margot said softly. ‘May I be of assistance?’

‘Are you Lady Fanworth?’ the girl asked hopefully.

Margot took care to hide the chagrin at hearing the unfamiliar title. Then she offered a brief nod.

‘I attempted to call on you at home, but they told me that you would be here.’ She pulled a card case from her reticule and searched around her for some servant who she might hand it to. Then she put it away again, still torn between etiquette and the simpler rules that should preside here. ‘I am Louisa,’ she said. When the name had no effect, she added, ‘Standish. Fanworth’s sister.’

Of course. It was why they had been so well suited, when they had stood on the street together. And why he had talked easily and laughed with her.

But it did not explain why he’d said nothing of the meeting. And why had she not come to the wedding if she had been here in Bath, all along? The hurt came back, fresh and sharp.

She swallowed it and put on her most neutral smile. Louisa Standish was here, now. The least Margot could do was pretend that it was a normal meeting. ‘Come in Lady Louisa. Please. Sit down with me. Perhaps a glass of lemonade, or perhaps a ratafia, in the back salon.’

Lady Louisa gave her a hopeful smile. ‘You have the time?’

‘For you? For family?’ Margot added, the words thick on her tongue. ‘Of course.’ She held back the drapery and escorted the girl to the same chaise that her brother had so often enjoyed, and snapped her fingers to an idle clerk, indicating that refreshments must be brought.

Then she stared at Lady Louisa for a moment, trying to clear the haze from her brain. What was she to make of this visit? It was too late for the girl to upbraid her for angling after a man so far above her station. But there was nothing in her manner that suggested that was the reason for the visit. Still, it was strange that their first meeting was here and not in the Abbey.

Louisa looked at her with an equally dazed expression. ‘We are all very curious about the new member of the family, but rather at a loss as to how to proceed,’ she said, with the shyest of smiles. ‘Well, Mother is. She very much wants to meet you. But without my brother’s permission, she cannot. And, of course, he will not give that.’ She gave a little shake of her head, to indicate that there was nothing to be done with some people. ‘In my opinion, Fanworth can hardly be blamed for any of it. But, since they have all but forgotten about me, I decided to take matters into my own hands.’ She extended her hands outward in a gesture that said, ‘Here we are’.

‘Blamed for any of what?’ Margot gave up trying to pretend that any of it made sense to her.

‘Why, not inviting the family to your wedding,’ she said, as though it must be totally apparent.

Margot sniffed. ‘I understand that your family is probably mortified. But if he was so embarrassed by me, he really needn’t have bothered with the wedding.’

Louisa’s eyes grew wide. ‘Is that what you thought? Oh, dear.’ She shook her head. ‘And he allowed you to labour under this misapprehension.’ She shook her head again. ‘Stephen is my favourite brother, Lady Fanworth. In fact, he is my favourite person in the entire world. But you must have noticed how stubborn he is and how proud.’

‘It is why he does not speak,’ Margot agreed.

‘I had hoped he would, at least, speak to the woman he chose to marry.’

He had. Once. What could she tell her husband’s sister that did not make it sound as if she did not know the man at all? For she was beginning to think, perhaps she didn’t. ‘It was all very rushed,’ she said, striking a path between explanation and apology. ‘And certainly not the wedding that either of us expected to have.’ She glanced around the shop, angry that they might expect her to be ashamed of all that she had accomplished. ‘But I am sure I am not the woman that Lord Fanworth expected to present to his family.’

‘On the contrary,’ Louisa insisted. ‘He spoke most highly of you and was eager for us to meet, even though he did not wish me to attend the wedding. He extolled your beauty, your wit and your talent. He said we would get on famously, once he had found a way to introduce us.’ She smiled. ‘It was a great relief to know that his heart was engaged. I have never seen him so effusive.’

‘He was effusive?’ It explained the animated conversation she had witnessed in the street. But it had never occurred to her that she might have been the topic discussed. It was even more surprising that he had been numbering her many good qualities. Given that, it made no sense that he should prohibit his sister from attending, if he was so very fond of the pair of them. ‘I am afraid I still do not understand. If I am such a catch, then why did you not at least take breakfast with us yesterday?’

Lady Louisa gave her a sad smile. ‘It is simple. He is not ashamed of you, Lady Fanworth. He is ashamed of us.’

‘Of you?’

‘Well not me, perhaps,’ Louisa admitted. ‘We really do get along brilliantly. But I could not come without Mother. Mother would have insisted that Father be invited, before she was willing to attend. She still hopes there is a way to mend this breach between the duke and his heir.’ Louisa shook her head as though contemplating the impossible.

‘My husband does not get on with his father? If anything, society seems to think they are two of a kind.’

‘Heavens, no. They are both proud, of course. But that is because of Father’s continual reminders that the Larchmont title is one of the oldest and most respectable in Britain. Nothing must be done to embarrass the family.’ Louisa frowned. ‘Although he claims to want the best for his heir, he actually wants the best from him as well. Nothing less than perfection will do.’

‘And Stephen is not perfect,’ Margot said, hating even to mention a thing which did not really matter.

‘When Father is disappointed...’ Louisa gave her a tight, little smile ‘...it is best to just avoid him. Since he is frequently disappointed in Stephen, my brother refuses to have anything to do with him.’ She whispered the next, as though it were part of some shameful secret. ‘The stammering is really so much better than he used to be, now that they do not talk. When Stephen was at home, if he made even the smallest mistake, Father would badger him until he could not talk at all.’

It was a horrible story. But it explained why the church had stood empty on their wedding day. ‘So there could be no duchess without a duke, and no you without the duchess.’ She thought for a moment. ‘But I understand you have a second brother, as well?’

Louisa nodded. ‘At the moment, there is a disagreement of some kind between my brothers. Fanworth was adamant that he did not want to see Arthur at his wedding. And Arthur does not want to be seen by anyone until the bruises have fully healed.’

‘Bruises,’ Margot repeated, still confused.

‘Stephen struck him,’ Louisa said with a little giggle. ‘I think his nose is broken. And both eyes...’ She gulped back a full laugh and took a ladylike sip of her drink to clear her throat. ‘I do not know exactly why. But I am sure that there was a good reason for it. Fanworth likes to pretend that he is gruff and imposing. But he is not usually moved to violence. And Arthur?’ Louisa sighed. ‘Arthur frequently deserves to be hit. At one time or another, we are all disappointed in him. Yet, Father seems to like him best of all. There is no pleasing some people and that is that.’

‘You seem to have a most unusual family,’ Margot said, as politely as possible.

‘Perhaps that is true. Some say the upper classes are prone to eccentricity. If so, there are few houses that can compete with Larchmont.’

‘If your father is so set on perfection, I suspect it makes your brother’s choice of wife all the more unacceptable,’ Margot said, resigned to her role.

‘Perhaps you did not understand my meaning,’ Louisa said with another little sigh. ‘There is no woman likely to find acceptance in a family led by my father. The fact that she was chosen by Stephen would be reason enough for him to find fault.’ Then she smiled. ‘For my part, I love my brother very much. If he loves you, that is reason enough for me to love you, as well.’

Now Margot should explain that it was not a love match at all. Despite what Louisa had told her of their conversation, she suspected her husband barely tolerated her when she was not in his bed. But when she was? Her skin grew hot at the thought of the previous night’s sport.

Perhaps that was a solid basis for a marriage and the rest did not matter. And to see this lovely young woman smiling before her and holding out the family olive branch was too tempting. ‘If you welcome me, of course we will be friends,’ Margot said cautiously.

‘Or sisters, if you wish,’ Louisa said, with a hopeful smile.

‘I already have a sister,’ Margot responded, then noticed the other woman’s smile falter. ‘But that is no reason that I cannot have another one.’

Louisa smiled again. ‘I have never had one. And few friends because...Father,’ she said as if that explained it all. ‘Mother is a dear, of course. But there are times it would be nice to have someone nearer my own age.’ She glanced around her. ‘Even if you are so often here.’

‘I work here,’ Margot said, testing her reaction to the word. ‘But since I am the owner, I could be a bit more free with my time.’ Hadn’t Jasper suggested such a thing just yesterday? Perhaps the world would not end if she was not here from dawn to dusk. ‘When your brother used to visit here, I spent many happy hours talking with him.’

‘Talking. With. Fanworth.’ Louisa’s first expression was one of incredulity. Then it settled into a warm smile. ‘Of course. I think this makes everything much clearer. When Mother heard how beautiful you were, she was rather worried.’ She stood, ready to take her leave. ‘But I will tell Mother that you have talked with Fanworth, for hours at a time. It will set her mind at rest.’

Margot stood as well and returned a smile to this rather cryptic remark, not wanting to think too hard on what the duchess had assumed about her character. ‘Thank you for your visit. And your kind words.’

‘And thank you, for the sake of my brother.’ Louisa smiled again. ‘I will come again, soon. If that is all right.’

‘Of course.’ Margot escorted her to the door. As she waved goodbye and watched Louisa and her maid stroll down the street, she felt more hopeful about her future than before, but no less confused.