Scandalous Regency Nights

CHAPTER SEVEN

“SIT UP STRAIGHT AND do not fidget, Angelina.” Lady Elizabeth Montague instructed brusquely but not unkindly as the two women sat together in the elegance of her town house drawing room, awaiting the arrival of afternoon visitors.

Angel instantly stilled in rearranging the folds of her cream gown, still somewhat at a loss to know how it was she came to be in residence at Lady Montague’s home at all.

The elderly lady had swept into the dining room at St. Claire House the evening before, having been informed by not one acquaintance but several that the Duke of Stourbridge had been seen in his carriage that very morning with a young, unmarried female at his side. An occurrence that she had felt the need to look into personally. “Being seen with a female and having that female stay in his home unaccompanied,” Alexander had been informed disgustedly, “were two completely different things!”

Having taken in the intimacy of their situation at a glance—how could she not when Alexander had only had time to hastily don his shirt and breeches, and Angelina’s own appearance showed signs of their lovemaking in the untidiness of her hair and lips swollen from the force of Alexander’s kisses!—she had ordered Angelina to collect her things immediately as she would be returning home with her instantly.

Such had been the older woman’s force of will that Angelina had felt compelled to comply with the instruction. Quite what had taken place between aunt and nephew in her absence Angelina had no idea, but when she returned down the stairs, her appearance suitably tidied and her belongings duly repacked into her trunk, she had found Alexander to be in complete agreement with his aunt’s arrangements.

Angelina had personally received no word of rebuke from that lady, either last night or this morning, Lady Montague seeming to attribute any and all blame, for the intimacy of the situation she had so obviously interrupted, to her nephew.

Something Angelina knew she must now correct. “Lady Montague, I feel I must tell you—”

“I would rather you did not, my dear,” the older woman assured her hastily. “I saw enough yesterday evening to know the way things are between you and Stourbridge,” she added kindly. “The sooner the two of you are married the happier I shall be!” Angelina’s eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, but—” “The Duke of Stourbridge, my lady,” the butler announced while standing in the doorway, only seconds before Alexander himself strode forcefully into the room.

Angelina was only vaguely aware of the butler withdrawing and closing the door behind him, her attention all on Alexander as he crossed the room to bend and place a kiss upon one of his aunt’s powdered cheeks. He looked every inch the haughty duke this afternoon, his hair tied back meticulously, his dark blue jacket and paler blue waistcoat impeccably tailored above cream silk breeches.

At last, Alexander turned to look at Angelina, frowning darkly as her lashes instantly fanned down onto the paleness of her cheeks and so hiding her expressive blue eyes from his gaze.

“What have you been saying to Angel in order to cause this uncharacteristic demureness, Aunt?” he drawled ruefully, his gaze unrepentant as Angelina’s lashes rose instantly so that she might give him a censorious frown for his levity in the midst of a situation that was obviously causing his aunt some distress.

“I am afraid that your aunt is under the misapprehension that the two of us are to be married, Your Grace,” she informed him worriedly.

“Indeed.” He gave an inclination of his head.

“Yes,” Angelina confirmed breathlessly. “When you arrived I was just about to inform Lady Montague that I am intended as your mistress and not your wife!”

“Stourbridge!” his aunt prompted in alarm at the same moment as Alexander gave an uncontrolled shout of laughter. “I fail to see anything in the least amusing in this situation!” she admonished severely.

Alexander smiled ruefully. “That is because you are you and not me, Aunt.”

She looked scandalized. “Stourbridge—”

“Aunt Elizabeth—” he sobered, his narrowed gaze still fixed intently on the beautiful vision Angelina made in her cream gown “—would you be so kind as to allow Angel and I a few minutes alone in which we might converse privately?”

“Very well. But a few minutes only,” his aunt warned sternly as she rose majestically to her feet. “I am expecting dozens of visitors this afternoon, all of them anxious to meet and gaze upon the young lady who has succeeded in capturing the elusive Duke of Stourbridge’s heart!”

Angelina waited only long enough for the elderly lady to leave the room before rising sharply to her feet, her expression one of alarm as she beseeched. “Xander, you must put a stop to this instantly!”

“Must I?” he drawled mockingly.

“But of course you must!” Angelina chided impatiently. “Your aunt is under the misapprehension that the two of us are to be married. You must go to her and tell her the truth. That I am to be your mistress—”

“I have always found it wiser by far never to lie to my aunt Elizabeth,” he assured softly.

“But you would not be lying in this instance—What on earth do you mean, Xander …?” Angelina now eyed him guardedly.

Alexander’s eyes glowed as he looked across at her. As he took in the glorious gold of her hair. The pale beauty of her face. The depth of her blue eyes, the sprinkling of freckles upon her tiny nose and the full and sensuous curve of her lips. As for the fullness of her breasts …! She really was the most exquisite creature.

St. Claire House, the place Alexander had called home all of his adult life, where he had always been perfectly at his ease, had seemed empty and cold today without Angelina’s warmth and laughter in it. All of which had told Alexander exactly what his future relationship with Angelina must—had—to be!

He drew in a ragged breath. “I mean, my dear Angel, that it is my intention to marry you at the earliest opportunity.”

She gasped. “Xander, you cannot possibly mean to marry me simply because your aunt expects it of you!”

He gave a pained wince. “I do not recall ever saying that was my reason for marrying you.”

“But of course it is the reason—”

“You claim to know my thoughts and emotions so well, then?” he mused.

Angelina frowned her consternation with his behavior. “Of course I do not,” she assured agitatedly. “But I have been … tutored, groomed, these past three years for the role of your mistress—”

“Not at my bidding, I do most fervently assure you!” he rasped. “Not that I am complaining, you understand?” he added gently as Angelina recoiled at his vehemence. “On the contrary—to date I have found your … tutorage more satisfying than anything I have ever before experienced. So much so, that after only a few hours of being apart from you, I find I wish to repeat it every day—and night—for the rest of my life.”

Angelina gave a confused frown. “I fear you must explain yourself better than that, Alexander.”

“You have only been with my aunt Elizabeth a matter of hours and already you are starting to sound like her!” His smile was rueful. “Yes, my dear Angel, I have no doubts whatsoever that you will make a formidable Duchess of Stourbridge,” he added appreciatively.

“Duchess—!” she gasped”—What on earth are you doing, Xander?” she protested as he fell to one knee in front of her.

His eyes glowed darkly gold as he looked up at her. “I believe, Angel, that I am endeavoring to propose to you. If you would be so kind as to allow me to proceed …?”

CHAPTER EIGHT

“PLEASE RISE AND cease this nonsense at once, Alexander,” Angelina told him anxiously.

Not quite the response Alexander had been hoping for to his first attempt at a marriage proposal. His last, too, he hoped! “I assure you it is not nonsense, Angel,” he said gruffly, making no effort to stand. “It is perhaps a little soon in our acquaintance for you to know the state of your own heart—”

“Soon? Soon!” Angelina repeated incredulously. “We have known each other but two and a half days, Alexander.”

He raised dark, slanted brows. “During which time we have come to know each other as well, I believe, if not better, than most betrothed couples of the ton do on their wedding days!”

“Oh, please do get up!” Angelina clasped his arm and attempted to pull him to his feet. Unsuccessfully. “You must rise, Xander! What will your aunt think if she comes back into the room and sees you like this?” She shot a nervous glance toward the closed door. “I do not know her terribly well as yet, but I am sure she would not think it at all the thing for the Duke of Stourbridge to be down on his knees in this undignified manner!”

Alexander tried to hold back his amusement—he really did try—but in the end he failed miserably as a bark of laughter broke free, and then another, followed by yet another.

Angelina stared down at him incredulously. “Xander, have you completely taken leave of your senses?”

“Probably.” He sobered slightly, although he could not seem to prevent the smile that still curved his lips. Something he found he did all too easily when he was in Angelina’s company. “Do you have any idea how adorable you are, Angel? How utterly, utterly unique?”

Angelina ceased trying to force him to his feet to instead stare down at him in wary—if hopeful!—disbelief. Hopeful, because she was very much afraid she had forgotten Miss Bristow’s warning completely and fallen in love with the haughty and aristocratic Duke of Stourbridge the moment he walked into that cavernous hallway two evenings ago and demanded to know what she was about, interrupting his dinner party! And she was very sure that she had fallen in love with the Alexander with whom she had made love with and to the evening before!

Could Alexander really be serious in this marriage proposal? Surely he could not, she instantly rebuked herself. A duke did not marry the daughter of a—a—

“My mother was an actress and a mistress of my father,” she announced with a challenging rise of her chin.

“I am well aware of the fact.” Alexander gave an inclination of his head as he finally rose slowly to his feet and took both of her hands into his own. “Your father, until his death, was one of my closest friends.”

Angelina swallowed hard at this mention of the dear and kind man whom had visited her often whilst he was alive. “He was not married to my mother.”

“No,” Alexander acknowledged softly. “He was unfortunately married very young, an arranged marriage to a cousin, I believe, and so was not free to marry your mother when he met her several years after that marriage had taken place.”

“He would have married my mother if he had been free,” Angel protested fiercely.

“Again, I am well aware of the fact,” Alexander assured her gently. “Angel, your family history is of little matter to me—”

“How can you say such a thing?” she gasped incredulously.

“Quite easily—when it is the truth. I admit, sending you to a school, where you were tutored in subjects most young ladies are never fully made aware of, does not give that impression but … Angel, I had no idea, until you informed me of it two days ago, that you had attended such an academy.” His expression was grim. “I had been the duke only a matter of months at the time of your father’s death, and he made his request to me to see that you were not left alone and destitute now that both your parents were dead. In my preoccupation with my new duties, I foolishly left the details of your education to my then man of business. Obviously I was not clear enough as to my wishes in the matter.” He scowled.

Angelina’s eyes were wide. “It was never your wish that I be—be schooled to become your mistress?”

“Certainly not! At least.” His hands tightened about hers. “Angel, it is now my dearest wish that you do indeed become my mistress—but only if you will first become my wife.”

She gave a quizzical frown. “You wish me to be your mistress, as well as your wife …?”

He smiled roguishly. “In the usual way of the ton, I believe I would be expected to first take a wife and then a mistress. But in you, my darling Angel, I have found both those things in one saucily seductive woman. Of course, it also helps that I love and adore you,” he added matter-of-factly.

Angelina’s eyes became even wider. “You love and adore me …?”

“To distraction,” Alexander confirmed decidedly. “From the moment I first looked at you, it would seem,” he added self-derisively. “I had not realized how empty my home was until after you had left it yesterday evening, Angel. How soulless. You have brought joy and warmth into my life, into my very household, in a way I had never imagined.” His eyes glittered darkly.

“I have …?”

He gave a rueful nod of his head. “All these years, I have thought my inability to love to be some defect in my character. That there must be a blank space where my heart should be. After you left yesterday evening, I discovered I do have a heart, after all. And that, with your going, you had taken it with you. I do love you so very much, Angel. Do you think you might ever come to love me in return?”

“Miss Bristow advised against any of us falling in love with our protectors—”

“And, in the normal course of things, Miss Bristow was wise to issue such a warning.” He nodded abruptly. “But it is my dearest wish to become your husband, Angel, and not your protector. A husband you will hopefully come to love as dearly as he already loves you.”

She shook her head. “It is too late for that, Xander—” “Never say that, Angel!” He groaned. “I will wait to make love to you again until you feel the same way about me, I swear. I will court you. Shower you with diamonds. Angel, I cannot bear it if you do not one day come to love me in the same way that I already love you—”

“By all means, court me and shower me with diamonds if you feel you must, darling Xander,” she acknowledged happily. “But abstinence from our lovemaking is going too far!”

His expression softened slightly. “Then I will make love to and with you day and night until you fall in love with me,” he vowed fiercely.

“Make love to me day and night by all means, my darling, but when I said it was already too late to hope that I might one day come to love you, I simply meant it was too late because I already do love you! From that very first moment, too, I believe,” Angelina assured softly. “I had not expected the Duke of Stourbridge to be so young. So tall. Or so arrogantly, wonderfully handsome. His features and body so—so incredibly and magnificently formed! Or his lovemaking ecstasy beyond my wildest dreams! I already love you so very much, Xander,” she repeated quietly.

“My darling!” Joy lit up the previously austere lines of Alexander’s face.

Angelina placed her hands upon his chest as he would have taken her in his arms. “Xander, a duke cannot marry the daughter of a woman who was both an—an actress and a—”

“This duke can certainly marry whom he damn well pleases!” he stated with all the arrogance of that duke, his expression once again softening as he saw how apprehensive his beloved still looked. “Please say you will marry me, Angel. I cannot bear even the thought of living another day without knowing you are to be mine forever!” he admitted gruffly.

Could she? Could Angelina Hawkins, the illegitimate daughter of an actress and a lord, really marry a duke? No, that was not the question. The question was, how could she not marry Alexander, duke or otherwise, when he asked her, when he proclaimed his love for her, when he said he adored her and could not bear to live without her?

Her eyes glowed and her cheeks felt warm. “I do love you so very much, Xander.”

“And …?”

She smiled up at him lovingly. “And I did so enjoy our lovemaking yesterday evening.”

His eyes glittered with the same remembered enjoyment. “And …?”

“And if you are really sure that you want me—”

“Angel, I have never been surer of anything in my so-far jaded existence!” he vowed fiercely.

“Then, my love, my darling Xander, I wholeheartedly accept your proposal of marriage!”

“Angel!” Alexander drew her into his arms and pulled her down onto the chaise beside him before his mouth claimed hers.

“Your aunt …?” Angelina reminded worriedly as those kisses threatened to spiral into another bout of lovemaking.

Alexander stood to cross the room and turn the key in the lock. “Has plenty of other salons in which she might receive her afternoon guests,” he assured dismissively as he returned to her side.

Clothes were discarded. Murmurs and ecstatic sighs followed. A gasp as Alexander thrust into Angel to claim her. A soft and muffled scream minutes later as Angel’s pleasure reached its satisfying peak. Quickly followed by Alexander’s own achingly ecstatic groans as those inner quakes and spasms caused him to spill himself deep inside her.

“I believe Hawk to be a fitting name for our first son,” Angel murmured sometime later as she lay still naked and deeply sated in Alexander’s arms. “In order that my own name is not lost completely.”

“Whatever you wish, my darl—First son?” Alexander echoed as he sat up slightly in order that he might look down at her. “How many sons are you planning on giving me?” he prompted indulgently, knowing that he could deny this woman nothing. That she did, indeed, hold the whole of his heart in her tiny hands.

“Oh, at least two, possibly three,” his Angel assured him lightly.

“As long as we also have a daughter, or two, with your beauty, golden curls and determined nature,” Alexander murmured with satisfaction. “Although I think I would prefer that they not attend Miss Bristow’s school in Brighton!” he added dryly.

“I have so far heard no complaints from you concerning my own tutelage,” Angelina teased huskily.

“And neither will you,” Alexander assured warmly. “In fact, I am already looking forward to sharing the revelations of your next lesson!”

Angelina laughed softly. “We have only just begun, my darling,” she promised warmly.

Alexander gazed down at her adoringly, utterly sure of his love for this warm and wonderful woman. Knowing that, with her, each day together would be a joy, each night a revelation, to be savored and cherished for as long as the two of them lived….

* * * *

Author’s Note

Welcome to the sensual and exciting world of The Notorious St Claires!

Angelina and Alexander’s love story, as the matriarch and patriarch of the St Claire family, is where the story all began and it was great fun matching wits between these two strong-willed lovers.

Do look out for:

The Notorious St Claires—Historical romances

THE DUKE’S CINDERELLA BRIDE

THE RAKE’S WICKED PROPOSAL

THE ROGUE’S DISGRACED LADY

LADY ARABELLA’S SCANDALOUS MARRIAGE

The Scandalous St Claires—Modern™ romances JORDAN ST CLAIRE: DARK AND DANGEROUS January 2011

THE RELUCTANT DUKE February 2011

TAMING THE LAST ST CLAIRE March 2011

I hope you enjoy the new St Claires!

I dedicate this book to my husband, who is my inspiration

About the Author

ANN LETHBRIDGE has been reading Regency novels for as long as she can remember. She always imagined herself as Lizzie Bennet or one of Georgette Heyer’s heroines and would often recreate the stories in her head with different outcomes or scenes. When she sat down to write her own novel, it was no wonder that she returned to her first love: the Regency.

Ann grew up roaming England with her military father. Her family lived in many towns and villages across the country, from the Outer Hebrides to Hampshire. She spent many memorable family holidays in the West Country and in Dover, where her father was born. She now lives in Canada, with her husband, two beautiful daughters and a Maltese terrier named Teaser, who spends his days on a chair beside the computer, making sure she doesn’t slack off.

Ann visits Britain every year, to undertake research and also to visit family members who are very understanding about her need to poke around old buildings and visit every antiquity within a hundred miles.

CHAPTER ONE

London, 1815

BRUNETTES, BLONDES and even a redhead displayed their mouthwatering attributes while they handled the cards at the green baize-covered tables with the dexterity of Captain Sharps. Tony Darby sauntered ahead of the Evernden brothers into what had once been a ballroom. At each table, fashionable gentlemen leered at their scantily clad banker, or stared at their cards.

Piquet. Whist. Vingt-et-un. Women. All the usual pastimes. Tony sighed as ennui swept through him and then turned to his companions. “This is why you dragged me all the way to Hampstead, Stanford? A gambling hell in a brothel?”

“Indeed,” the fair haired and usually cheerful Christopher Evernden said with a grimace. “You’ve got a lot to answer for, Garth.”

On the other side of Tony, Christopher’s brother, Lord Stanford, grinned, his dark eyes unrepentant. “Lady Falstow will have your head if she hears the word ‘brothel’ in her establishment. The women here are looking for amusement, not money.”

“Good Lord,” Christopher said. “Is that Lady—”

“No names,” Garth murmured. “In this club, discretion is the watchword. One wrong word and we will never darken these hallowed portals again. Look at them. It’s a banquet of female desires.”

Following the direction of Christopher’s stunned gaze, Tony recognized one of London’s foremost hostesses, known for her sumptuous dinners and witty conversation. Tonight, the blonde wore a carnivorous expression and a gown diaphanous enough to shame a courtesan.

She caught his glance. Her gaze ran down his length, obvious and assessing. Clearly liking what she saw, she beckoned.

Tony stifled the urge to flee and pretended he hadn’t noticed.

Christopher groaned. “I have no interest in playing stud for some bored hausfrau. You promised piquet in interesting surroundings.”

“Can it get more interesting than this?” Garth asked. “Look at them. They’ll rip your clothes off, they’re so desperate.”

“The next time I go to White’s I don’t want to shake some fellow’s hand knowing I tupped his wife,” Tony said, speaking from an experience that still gave him nightmares.

“Nor me,” Christopher said.

“You do the ladies no favors,” Garth said. “They are here because their husbands don’t give a damn whether they are happy or not.” Strangely enough, the usually insouciant Garth sounded rather grim. “And besides, many of them are lonely widows.”

“I don’t have the ready to set up an indigent widow with a host of hungry mouths to feed,” Tony said. Tomorrow morning he had an appointment to view a property, which, if he decided to purchase, would empty his pockets.

“I thought you came into some money,” Christopher said.

“Gone.” He wasn’t going to let the cat out of the bag and let them ridicule his decision to give up a life of idleness. Not until he made a success of it. “If you want gambling and a prime article on each arm, I know a great little hell in the Seven Dials—no limit on play and no commitment.”

“Such gratitude,” Garth muttered. “I invite you to London’s most exclusive club and you prefer Haymarket ware. Do as you please. I have someone waiting upstairs, and I never disappoint a lady.”