Seduced by a Marquis (Regency Unlaced 8) Read online

  “Did I suggest that you might?” he mused.

  “You were behaving in a—a lascivious manner just now.”

  “I was?”

  She gave him a glare. “You know that you were.”

  “Are you sure it is not you who wishes to kiss me?”

  Bella gasped. “Certainly not,” she denied, while inside her body heated, melted with longing for more than kisses, as she heard that other lady’s groans grow to a sobbing crescendo indicating a completion of some kind. A completion and pleasure Bella longed to know for herself.

  The marquis eased his grip but did not release her completely. “You are mistaken as to my intentions. I brought you out here because I wished to talk with you away from the noise and crush of the ballroom.”

  “Why?”

  His brows rose at the directness of her question. “It is not unusual for a man to wish to converse privately with a beautiful woman.”

  “Even if that woman has made it clear she does not wish to converse privately with you?” she challenged, regaining some of her equilibrium now that those ecstatic groans had ceased.

  Lysander scowled his irritation with her outspoken and continued disinterest. “Have I done something to offend you that you should feel this way?”

  Bella’s eyes became glacial and her expression even colder, if that was possible. “Not every woman you meet will find you attractive or entertaining, Lord Falkner.”

  He knew that, damn it.

  Much as it galled him to be dismissed by this beautiful woman, he knew he could not force her to like him simply because he desired her. “I apologize for imposing upon your time, Miss Reynolds.” He bowed. “I will escort you back to the ballroom now if that is your wish.” He held out his arm for her to place her gloved hand upon.

  Of course Bella wished to return to the ballroom. It was only… Once they had done so, she knew the chances of Lysander pursuing her again were negligible. Much as she knew that would be the best thing for both of them, it still caused a heaviness to settle in her chest. “Before we leave, I wish it to be clearly understood you have not offended me.”

  “Of course.”

  “You do not sound as if you believe me.”

  “It is hard to do so when you seem set on avoiding my company,” he acknowledged.

  Her sigh was frustrated. “I am not set on avoiding your company. You simply do not understand. Can have no idea of what you are—”

  “I say, old chap, it really is not the thing to take a lady off alone like this!”

  Bella’s heart sank at the jovial sound of her brother’s voice. A genuine joviality, because Arthur believed she had done as he asked and begun the entrapment of the marquis? Or a forced one because he had heard her about to discourage Lysander, if not with the truth, at least with enough of it to ensure Lysander did not single her out in this way again.

  She drew in a deep breath before turning to face Arthur, a forced smile curving her lips. “But the marquis and I are not alone, Arthur.” She bowed her head to indicate the two people who had now risen from the chaise to hurry back inside, still straightening their clothing as they went.

  Her brother spared the young couple a brief glance. “They are hardly chaperone enough for the two of you.”

  “Lord Falkner very kindly brought me out here when the heated crush in the ballroom resulted in my having a headache,” Bella dismissed lightly. “In fact, if it is not too much trouble, Arthur, I believe I should like to leave now.” She crossed the gallery to her brother’s side.

  He scowled his displeasure. “It is still early.”

  “And my headache is not dissipating. Please, Arthur.” She gave him an imploring look.

  “Of course.” He nodded abruptly as he once again grasped her arm. Tightly, and very deliberately, holding the same arm where she was already bruised, letting Bella know this was one of those nights she would not be able to escape his wrath. “Trent.” He bowed stiffly to the other man.

  Lysander did not at all like the manner in which Reynolds had interrupted them, or his implication he had caught the two of them behaving indiscreetly. It might not have been the wisest course of action on his part to bring Bella out here to the gallery alone, but nothing untoward had happened between the two of them.

  Which was not to say Bella had not been correct in her surmise it had originally been Lysander’s intention to steal a kiss or two. To see if her lips tasted as delicious as they looked. But he had accepted, once Bella had shown her aversion was genuine and not an inducement to his interest, that such a thing was not possible. He was not a man who would ever force his attentions where they were so obviously not welcome.

  “Perhaps I might send a note tomorrow inquiring after your health?” Politeness, in view of her claim of a having a headache, compelled him to make the suggestion.

  “I—”

  “Why not call upon us, as I invited earlier?” Reynolds spoke over his sister. “I am sure you can manage to free up an hour or so from those other commitments you mentioned, and Bella will be fully recovered by tomorrow.”

  Lysander glanced at the pale-faced Bella, her gaze once again refusing to meet his. “If Miss Reynolds has no objections.”

  “Bella receives visitors between two and four in the afternoons,” Reynolds answered for his sister. “I will ensure I am there too, and perhaps we might even have time for a game of cards while the ladies enjoy their tea.”

  “I do not care for gambling,” Lysander refused with a tight smile. “But I shall look forward to seeing you both again tomorrow.”

  The usual bowing and curtseying took place, Bella continuing to keep her lashes lowered demurely as she accompanied her brother back to the ballroom.

  Lysander followed the brother and sister inside, wishing to observe them together once more before they left. There was something…disquieting, a tension in Bella toward her brother, which did not sit well with Lysander. The same disquiet Tia had mentioned she also felt in regard to Arthur Reynolds.

  He had observed that some men in Society ruled their households with an iron will, sometimes an iron fist. In particular, they treated the women in their family as nothing more than chattel, kept in the nursery most of their lives and then expected to make an advantageous marriage once old enough to do so.

  Yet Bella was now several years beyond that age, so perhaps in this case it was as he had thought earlier: Reynolds was displeased with his sister because she had not yet made the expected advantageous marriage.

  “Pretty gel, what?”

  Lysander turned to see he had been joined by his father’s younger brother, Lord Jonathan Spenser. A man Lysander had also met for the first time three months ago.

  He had inherited several other Spenser relatives after his father openly recognized him as his heir. Not all those relatives had welcomed him as readily as this man had. Jonathan’s son, William, for example, treated Lysander with a certain amount of resentment and disdain.

  Not that he could exactly blame the other man when, without Lysander’s sudden appearance, he might one day have inherited the dukedom himself on the demise of his uncle and father.

  “Uncle Spenser,” Lysander greeted warmly, more at ease with the older man than he had yet managed to be with the man who was his father.

  “Always thought the Reynolds girl was a beauty.” Jonathan smiled roguishly. “Not so keen on that brother of hers, though. Bit of a bounder, if you ask me.”

  As this was the second person this evening to make such a comment, Lysander did want to ask him. “In what way?”

  “Not sure.” The older man frowned. “Just something about him, don’t you know.”

  Yes, Lysander did know, but he couldn’t say exactly what it was about Arthur Reynolds that disturbed him either.

  Only that it did.

  Chapter 3

  “I am afraid Miss Reynolds is indisposed today, my lord,” the Reynolds butler, a man about Lysander’s own age, informed him when he called the follow
ing afternoon.

  Considering Bella’s coolness toward him yesterday evening, Lysander could not help but wonder if she was genuinely indisposed today or merely using last night’s headache as an excuse not to have to see him again.

  He instantly berated himself for having the arrogance to think such a thing. The Reynolds butler would obviously have been instructed to turn away all visitors, not just Lysander.

  He was not feeling his best today, having spent most of the previous night thinking about Bella. Her golden hair. Those eyes the color of violets. Her deliciously plump breasts. His thoughts always came to an appreciative halt as he thought of her breasts, tipped by tight little nipples. Nipples he easily imagined baring and taking into his mouth, as that other gentleman had with his own lover yesterday evening in the Masefields’ gallery.

  What would Bella look like in the throes of her arousal? Would those eyes darken and glitter with fever? Her cheeks become flushed? Would her nipples plump and swell in his mouth?

  He impatiently dismissed his imaginings as he took out one of his calling cards and wrote on the back of it. One night’s disturbed sleep over Bella Reynolds was quite enough for any man. “Would you please see that this is delivered to Miss Reynolds, along with my best wishes for her speedy recovery?”

  “Of course, my lord.” The butler took the card before closing the door.

  Not quite in Lysander’s face, but he nevertheless remained nonplussed for several seconds at the abruptness of his dismissal.

  He shook his head in disgust as he went back down the steps, along the pathway, and out onto the pavement, where he could not resist turning and giving one last glance up at the façade of Winslow House. He thought he saw a pale face briefly in one of the windows on the third floor, before it disappeared again. Merely a curious servant? Or could it be Bella herself?

  The face did not appear again even though Lysander continued to stare up at the house for several minutes longer.

  Bella stood out of sight of the street below, but not so far back she could not observe as Lysander Falkner gave one last impatient glance at the house before climbing into the back of his carriage and, seconds later, the groom moved the horses forward.

  Her breath left her in a shuddering sob as she staggered back to sit gingerly on the edge of her bed, the backs of her thighs too tender from last night’s beating for her to sit comfortably.

  Arthur had praised her for going out into the Masefields’ gallery with Lysander, but remonstrated with her for not encouraging him to do more. Thankfully, Arthur did not seem to have heard her aborted attempt to warn Lysander against pursuing her any further. Arthur told her the beating she received was to remind her to do better the next time she and the marquis met.

  A meeting Bella intended to avoid for Lysander’s sake, even knowing it would raise her brother’s ire for a second time.

  There appeared to be some urgency to her brother’s entrapment this time, Arthur’s behavior not as subtle as it usually was. Bella wondered if her brother had not already incurred serious gambling debts, which would be something of a feat, even for him, after spending only five nights in London. But she knew it was not beyond the realm of possibility.

  She did not wish to be a party to Lysander’s downfall. She liked him. More than liking him, she found his company thrilling, would have liked nothing better than to have been kissed by him the previous evening. She had ached for that kiss. It was Arthur’s machinations which had held her back from giving in to that desire.

  Nor did she believe, as Arthur did, that Lysander would meekly accept being blackmailed as those other gentlemen had in the past. There was a steeliness to Lysander, possibly from the years of growing up knowing he was illegitimate; Bella doubted that had always been easy. His comments last night said his sudden inclusion into Society had not been particularly comfortable either. He was also the younger brother of a man known for his ruthlessness, and a wrathful Lysander was not something Bella wished to see or be on the receiving end of.

  “Is your headache any better, darling Bella?”

  She forced her tension to ease as her sister stepped into her bedchamber. At fifteen, Esther was already beautiful, with golden hair and big blue eyes dominating a face of delicate loveliness. Her sister was also totally ignorant of the beatings Arthur gave Bella whenever the mood took him. It was her dearest wish for it to remain that way, which was why Esther had also been told the fabrication of Bella’s headache was the reason she kept to her bedchamber today.

  “I am feeling much better, thank you, darling.” She smiled warmly.

  Esther sat beside her, totally unaware of how the tilting of the bed caused Bella further discomfort. “A very handsome gentleman called at the house just now.”

  “Did he?” Bella smoothed the hair at her sister’s temple.

  Esther nodded. “Steene was very rude when he sent him away.”

  She would not be at all surprised. Steene was not at all her idea of a butler. “I am sure you are mistaken, darling.”

  “No, I am not. He all but slammed the door in the gentleman’s face.”

  Bella chewed on her bottom lip. The butler employed by her father had retired three years ago. The much younger Steene had been employed by Arthur in his stead, and he now accompanied them to whichever house they were residing in at the time.

  Bella had never taken to him. What’s more, she was sure the butler reported directly to Arthur if he considered any behavior on her part to be a transgression. Either that or her brother was clairvoyant, which Bella knew he could not be when he habitually lost so badly at cards.

  “Never mind, darling,” she cajoled Esther. “I am sure if the matter is urgent, the gentleman will call again.” Although she sincerely hoped Lysander would not trouble himself again on her behalf.

  Her head rose sharply as there was a knock on the door before Steene entered her bedchamber, noticeably without being invited to do so. Which he seemed to do a lot.

  Perhaps he hoped to find her in a state of undress.

  Bella gave a shiver of revulsion at the thought of Arthur’s sycophant ogling her half-naked body. “Yes, Steene?” Her tone was deliberately cool.

  “A gentleman called. He left this for you.” The butler presented the silver tray, upon which resided a pale cream card.

  Her fingers shook slightly as she removed the calling card before dismissing the butler. No doubt he would report the incident to Arthur as soon as her brother returned from the afternoon he had decided to spend at his club, as Bella was not well enough to receive visitors. Even Arthur had conceded that she could not spend several hours sitting and conversing with her callers when the backs of her thighs felt as if they were on fire.

  “Lord Lysander Falkner, Marquis of Trent.” Esther had plucked the card from Bella’s unresisting fingers. “Oh look, Bella, he has written something on the back of it!” she announced excitedly, having turned the card over. “He hopes you are feeling better soon and looks forward to seeing you at the Forsters’ musical soiree this evening.”

  A message Steene had no doubt read too, and would duly report to Arthur.

  “—more scintillating conversation from the chair you’re sitting in!”

  “Sorry?” Lysander forced himself to focus his attention on his brother rather than the troubled thoughts of Bella, which had dogged him since he had left the Reynolds’s home. The two brothers reclined in comfortable armchairs beside the lit fireplace in Sebastian’s library.

  “That is just what I mean.” Sebastian eyed him exasperatedly. “I was looking forward to having an afternoon…rest with Tia, when you arrived so unexpectedly. My wife has now retired alone, and you have barely spoken a word since you sat down and started throwing my best whisky down your throat.”

  Lysander bit his lip to hold back a grin, knowing exactly what sort of rest Sebastian had been looking forward to with Tia. The couple were very much in love and made no secret of it or how often they demonstrated those feelings for and to
each other.

  Lysander felt a pang of jealousy at his brother’s obvious happiness. Oh, not because he wanted Tia himself; he had put that infatuation aside months ago. No, it was Sebastian’s insufferable air of contentment in the union, the same contentment now shared by their mother and Lysander’s father, which now caused Lysander to wonder if he would ever know such happiness himself.

  An unbidden image of Bella Reynolds entered his head.

  Causing him to give a self-derisive snort. Bella had made it clear she was the last woman he should think of finding lasting happiness with. Or anything else.

  “Something amusing you?” Sebastian arched curious brows.

  Lysander sat up straighter in his chair. “What do you know of Arthur Reynolds?”

  His brother pursed his lips. “Not sure I know anything about him.”

  “Sir Arthur Reynolds. He has a sister called Isabella,” he added as Sebastian continued to look at him blankly.

  “Oh yes.” His brother’s brow cleared. “The lovely Isabella.” He sipped his own whisky. “I thought of offering for her once, you know. Long before I met Tia, of course. Don’t remember much about the brother, though.”

  Lysander was still digesting the fact that his brother had once considered taking Bella as his wife. He had no doubt that had Sebastian gone ahead with his offer, then Bella would now be his sister-in-law and not Tia. The thought of that left a sour taste in his mouth. “Why didn’t you?”

  “Offer for her?” Sebastian considered the question. “It was only a passing thought, to be truthful, when it occurred to me I was going to need an heir one day. Isabella is a beauty, admittedly, but rather…”

  “Cold?” Lysander suggested.

  “I was going to say tense and nervy.”

  Bella was? That did not sound at all like the coolly controlled lady Lysander had met and spent time with the previous evening.