Regency High Society Vol 6: The Enigmatic Rake / The Lord And The Mystery Lady / The Wagering Widow / An Unconventional Widow

‘Well, my lady? Are you satisfied?’

‘Oh, yes.’ For once the new Lady Faringdon answered without hesitation, straight from the heart, without thought or pretence. ‘I think it must be the happiest day of my life.’

Joshua was entranced.

‘Then it is my wish to give you many more such days. Why do you suppose that my family presume that I will bring you nothing but pain and heartbreak?’

Sarah tried to hide her amusement, having seen Lady Beatrice’s censorious expression when in conversation with her son, but failed. ‘I cannot understand where they got that idea!’

He laughed. ‘You are very loyal. I think we shall deal well together.’

‘As do I.’

‘And if I do not, you can wave the contract under my nose at the breakfast table.’

‘As I will, my lord, without doubt.’

‘Joshua.’

Sarah laughed in response, unable to repress the bubbles that positively glittered through her veins as if she had drunk more than a single glass of champagne at her wedding breakfast. ‘Yes, Joshua.’

‘Why did I not realise that my housekeeper was so beautiful?’

‘It is the dress.’ Suddenly sober again, as if she would deny the evidence of his own eyes. ‘It is all Thea’s and Judith’s doing.’

‘No. It is definitely you.’ Because today you are happy. It made his heart turn over. ‘Thea is a remarkable woman. But so, I believe, are you.’

Sarah flushed under his gaze, a comforting warmth stealing around her heart. She had never been called remarkable in her life.

Joshua bent his head to kiss her hand and then her cheek, where the skin was satin-smooth, and then her lips. They were warm and soft and trembled a little under the easy pressure of his own. But she did not pull away. And when he lifted his head she smiled up into his face with unclouded joy.

It stopped his breath. If the occasion had not been so public, he would have claimed her lips again, in a sudden heat of desire that no longer took him completely by surprise. It was so easy to be seduced by her sweetness.

Whilst for Sarah, his kiss painted a gloss of crystal-bright happiness over her whole world. She loved him. And perhaps he did not find her totally unattractive.

And those who saw them together wished them well and noticed his care of her.

The deed was done. She had married him. Sarah sat at her dressing table. Her maid—she had a maid now and a sumptuous bedchamber—had left her after folding away her wedding finery. Now she sat in a dream of cream silk and lace, more delicate than any garment she had ever owned.

She sat quietly, her hands clasped loosely on her lap, and thought back to her first wedding night. A long time ago now. And tried to call to mind the first time that she had stepped into the arms of her husband John as his wife. How sad, she thought, a little melancholy that she could remember so little. It was difficult to bring his precise features to mind now beyond a fair complexion and eyes of a deeper blue than her own, although there were echoes of his face in their son, in the angle of his jaw, the line of his nose, the flat planes becoming clearer as he lost the chubby contours of babyhood.

As for intimate relations, they were even more hazy and indistinct. There had been so few. A short time together after the wedding—of necessity, dependent on shore leave and the prosecution of the war. Then war and John’s untimely death had robbed her of his comforting presence. She remembered more than anything that he had been kind to her. Understanding and careful of her shyness and innocence. He had never hurt her. But, if honest, she could recall little pleasure of a physical nature except for the warmth of curling into his arms. The safety and comfort. Had that been love? Sarah supposed it had.

Then her fingers entwined in her lap with a fierce grip. If it was love, it was nothing in comparison with her feelings for this man whose name she now bore and whose ring encircled her finger as a mark of his possession. A ripple of heat shot down her spine to centre in her loins and her mouth was suddenly dry. She had no previous experience of this emotion. Or the sensations that overwhelmed her when his mouth claimed hers.

Sarah looked at her reflection in the glass and began to take the pins from her hair. The soft waves and curls, released in a cloud of perfume, drifted to her shoulders. She suddenly looked so much younger, so unsophisticated without her fashionable garments. What would her lord expect from her? If he hoped for the experience and knowledge of the Countess of Wexford, he would be severely disappointed. She had little experience and no knowledge of how to bring pleasure to a man. Nerves shivered in her belly. What if he did not like her? What if he did not desire her physically? A flush stained her cheeks and she turned her eyes from her reflection. There was nothing in her contract—or his—to cover that embarrassing eventuality.

What did she have to offer to an experienced man of the world compared with Olivia? Her eyes flew once again to her image before her, eyes wide, lips a little tremulous. Or an opera dancer. She had neither the face nor the figure to entice a man. Insipid was the word that came to mind. And perhaps the cream lace did nothing for her colouring. How lowering it was. Her confidence, built up through the day through the power of good wishes and kind words, drained away along with her finery. What had she done?

Joshua opened the door quietly from his dressing room to see her sitting there.

As a doe facing the hunters, was his first thought. Apprehension was winding her nerves into tight coils, although he could see that she tried to hide it. The gentle blue of her eyes, the pale fragility of her skin, both were enhanced by the flattering candlelight, giving her a glow comparable with his pearls, which banded her finger. Not the hard glitter of a diamond or an emerald, to be sure, but definitely the deep glimmer of a pearl or an opal. She had unpinned her hair, was his second thought. He had never seen her with her hair down. It curled around her face in little drifts of pale gold, lay on her breast in a shimmer of softness. It increased her vulnerability, as if she had handed over control of her life with her ordered and restrained ringlets. The thought moved him, but cast him into a quandary of indecision. How much did she remember of her previous wedding night, her previous marriage? What had been her experience there, and what would she expect from him? He could, of course, simply consummate the legality of their marriage, take her physically as his wife and get it over with. A bleak prospect indeed. Perhaps that is all she required from him. But, as he watched her, he thought not, felt that she deserved more consideration at his hands. There should be pleasure in this relationship for her. And for himself.

‘Sarah.’

Her nerves jumped a little. She dropped her comb onto the floor. It almost made him smile, except that she pushed herself to her feet and took a nervous step back. It determined his next move.

‘Talk to me.’ He held out his hand.

‘Talk?’ She was horrified to hear the uncontrolled squeak in her voice. Any remaining confidence evaporated entirely as she became aware of the man standing before her. The man to whom she now belonged. Impossibly handsome, clad in a rich satin dressing gown. She swallowed as her heart tripped and she found herself frozen to the spot.

‘Yes, Sarah. Talk.’ He smiled. ‘Did you expect me to pull you to the floor and ravish you?’

‘I do not know.’ Still she could not move.

‘I will not do that. I promise you.’ She continued to ignore his outstretched hand.

‘No. It is a marriage of convenience, after all.’

‘You think I do not find you attractive.’

‘I do not know that either. But there is no reason that you should. I have looked in my mirror and I am not blind.’

This would go nowhere. Nothing he could say would persuade her otherwise. So he must show her. But first he must overcome her reserve.

‘Come and sit.’ He reached to take hold of her wrist and led her to a chair beside the fireplace where the fire still burned with comforting warmth and pushed her to sit. He took a chair opposite. Far enough away not to intimidate, near enough to get her used to the idea of intimacy. ‘Tell me about your first marriage. Your husband. Your life before I knew you.’ A safe topic, he thought, that would allow her to select and discard at her own discretion, and speak without self-consciousness.

So Sarah found herself doing exactly as he intended, her nerves gradually dissipating, her voice becoming soft and relaxed. Her hands rested easily against the cream lace of her lap. She was able to smile and meet his eyes as her memories unfolded.

And he listened. To a picture of youth, inexperience, an escape from a troubled home, a brief but affectionate relationship with a man who was kind and loving. Joshua felt the sharp spur of jealousy as she spoke wistfully of Captain Russell, but this drained away when she told of her sad loss and then loneliness with a child and no security. She told him of her journey to New York, her life with Eleanor and Henry, her return and her first meeting with Theodora and the deep friendship that had grown between her and Judith. But all in a broad sweep. She filled in little detail, made light of much that must have caused her concern and unhappiness, and, most telling of all, made no mention of her brother Edward. As if she had cut him out of her life, out of her very existence, which was by all accounts true. But also out of her mind, which Joshua knew was not so.

He experienced a surge of pity for the young woman who sat before him, but he would never tell her that. His instinct to protect her and give her all the contentment she had lacked in her life grew stronger than ever.

‘Were you happy here as my housekeeper?’ he eventually asked with a smile as her ramblings came to a halt.

‘Why, yes.’ She found herself amused by his question and allowed it to show. ‘Except for my employer, a difficult gentleman, who sometimes was arbitrary in his decisions.’

He laughed. ‘Only sometimes?’ Delicate colour had returned to her cheeks, animation to her face. It pleased him that she could smile without reserve. And made the decision at last.

‘Come to bed, my wife. You have talked enough for one night.’ He rose to his feet.

Sarah mirrored his actions. ‘You have told me nothing of yourself. Whilst I have so little to tell, but have burdened you with all my past history. I feel like Scheherazade and her stories to fill a thousand and one nights.’

‘Fortunately you do not have to tell a new tale every night and your life is not at stake, dependent on my enjoyment. Besides, the beautiful Scheherazade enchanted her royal master, did she not?’ He touched her cheek with light fingers, savouring the silken texture of her skin. ‘I shall enjoy you, my own Scheherazade. And I swear that I will do all in my life to make you happy.’ Easy words to say, he realised, easy vows to make, but it was suddenly important that he keep that promise.

He led her to the bed. Blew out the candles, knowing instinctively that she would want the reassurance of the dark. Ever practical, Sarah drew back the fragrant linen and removed her own lace négligé. A prosaic little action, he thought, a calm acceptance of the situation as she turned to face him. Without a word he stooped to lift her, to place her against the soft pillows. Cushioned by the near dark, illuminated only be the warm glow from the dying fire, he could sense nothing but a composed acquiescence. She had married him and so would come to his bed. No fear, no denial, but neither was there any anticipation. She would give her body to him because it was a legal necessity and therefore he would require it.

It became for him a matter of some urgency to change that.