London Temptations: Historical Regency Romance Collection Read online

  Hurrying up the staircase so that she might escape to the privacy of her bedchamber, Susanna tried hard not to recall that day but the thoughts came to her, nonetheless. She had been caught by a man she did not know or recognize, who had held her arm tightly and, in his other hand, wielded a sharp dagger which had glinted in the light. Her breath had caught and she had tried to scramble back, only for the man to laugh and wave his dagger toward her as she fell to the ground.

  Ever since then, she had been forced to do as this man, this vagabond, had wanted. Notes would be left for her in the garden arbor, notes that were written in poor English, in a barely legible hand. Sometimes it would take her hours to decipher the few short words that had been written but it was her task to write the note out again, in perfect handwriting, and to send it on to Lord Knightsbridge, without seal or stamp. Most likely, she presumed, those in question wanted to make it appear as though a member of the gentry was behind this scheme, whatever it was, and Susanna had no other choice but to obey. In order to keep herself from being recognized, she would use a boy from the village—a different one every time—to send the letter to the gentleman, doing all she could to hide her identity from him. And thus far, it appeared as though he had no understanding that it was she who sent him these notes.

  “I do not wish to attend,” Susanna whispered to herself, her expression tight as she shut her bedchamber door tightly and pressed back against it. “If only Father…” Closing her eyes, she let herself slide to the floor, tears burning in her eyes. She would not cry, she told herself sternly. She would not let herself give in to tears, not when she had even a modicum of strength. Recalling how she had refused to send the first note, how she had crumpled it up and thrown it away, Susanna felt the tears dampen her cheeks as she remembered the consequences that had followed. Her own beloved mare had been discovered freed from her stable, blood matting one side of her neck. Susanna had feared that they would be too late, that her horse would not recover, but the stable hands had promised to do all they could for the creature. And whilst the mare had recovered in health and strength, she had never been quite the same again. Susanna had found a note waiting for her in the arbor and, with it, a blood-stained section of her mare’s mane.

  Sniffing hard, Susanna forced herself to her feet and strode across the room, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her gown as she did so. It was most improper and not at all ladylike but in her present state of mind, Susanna did not care. Sitting down with a thump in a wooden chair, she closed her eyes and tried to breathe at a steady pace.

  Letting out her breath slowly, Susanna set her gaze to the writing table. She had insisted on having one in her bedchamber, much to her father’s amusement, but it meant that neither he nor any of the staff would ever be able to discover what she was writing when she was copying the notes for Lord Knightsbridge. Picking up the quill, she thought for a moment before dipping it in the ink and beginning to write.

  I am to attend a house party and will be gone for at least a fortnight.

  That was something of an exaggeration, of course, but Susanna did not care. It might give her a little relief, especially if her aunt were to stay a little longer after the house party. She did not write anything more, sanding the note before folding it carefully. Having never left a note before, she did not know whether or not it would be read but feared the consequences that would occur should she leave without the man’s knowledge of her whereabouts. They might think her no longer compliant, believing her to be without willingness any longer—and she could not risk that.

  With a heavy sigh, Susanna rose to her feet and, the note now firmly in her pocket, walked across the floor to the door and then made her way to the staircase. The house was very quiet indeed, but it was a quietness that Susanna had become used to, a silence that lent a great air of peace to her otherwise disquieted soul.

  Hurrying toward the door, Susanna stepped outside and began to make her way across the gardens. Slowing her steps, she meandered slowly through the beautiful flowers, shrubs, and bushes that welcomed her further into the gardens. Forcing a gentle smile to her lips, she made her way toward the arbor, her heart in her throat and a sense of panic rising within her. There were no gardeners or stable hands here at present, for no one would wish to disturb her on her stroll through the estate grounds. Taking a few tentative steps nearer and fearing that there would already be a note waiting for her, Susanna pressed her lips together and moved carefully—only to discover that the arbor was empty. Letting out a breath of relief, she pulled the note from her pocket and set it down carefully, precisely in the place where she herself found the notes for her attention.

  “You leaving one for me?”

  Susanna caught her breath and spun around, staggering back as a man, his cap pulled low over his eyes, seemed to fill up the space around her.

  “You know what will happen if you try to free yourself from this.”

  “I—I do not…” Susanna trailed off, her fear seeming to grasp tightly at her throat, choking the air from her lungs. She could barely breathe, grasping onto the sides of the arbor for support as her note fell to the ground.

  “You do not want to do this any longer?” the man asked, chuckling darkly as he loomed over her, one hand rubbing at his stubbled chin. “That isn’t something I can grant you as yet, Miss Susanna.”

  “I-I am going away, to a house party,” Susanna managed to say hoarsely. “That is all.”

  The man’s grin faded in an instant, his eyes darkening all the more. Susanna tried to take him in, tried to remember his features, but found herself lost in fear and distress all over again. The man had a square jaw but a thin nose, with black hair curling about his ears as he tugged his cap a little more closely over his eyes. Susanna was quite certain he could break her in two, should he ever place his hands on her.

  “You can’t go away,” he grated, taking a step closer as Susanna tried to move back, only to feel the wood of the arbor digging into her all over again. “You have a job to do.”

  “I must,” she squeaked, closing her eyes tightly as though hiding her face from him would make him disappear entirely. “My father demands it.”

  The man became silent, his eyes calculating as he studied Susanna carefully. Susanna struggled to keep her breath even and relaxed, her hands curled into fists as she fought against the panic that was rising up within her. She realized just how vulnerable she was, alone here in the arbor. It was now the second time he had confronted her, the second time she had felt entirely alone and, from the expression on the man’s cruel face, he knew full well the effect his presence had on her.

  “Might you tell me who is hosting this particular house party?” he asked, a sudden grin spreading across his face as his dark eyes flickered. “You have not told me so far, Miss Susanna.”

  She shuddered at the brutal smile. “I do not think that is of any importance.”

  “I think it is,” he answered, taking a small step forward and pressing one finger to her chin, forcing her head up. “You seem reluctant to tell me, Miss Susanna, which is why I am eager now to know.”

  Susanna bit her lip, wishing she had possessed the foresight to realize what her unwillingness would show him. “I do not think—”

  His hand flared outwards before striking her hard on the cheek. Susanna gasped and pressed one hand to her burning skin, sagging back against the arbor wall.

  “Tell me.”

  His voice brooked no argument and after the shock of his striking her, Susanna knew she could not hide the truth from him any longer.

  “It is Lord Knightsbridge,” she said hoarsely, her eyes dropping to the floor, her hands trembling at her sides. “His mother sent the invitation to my father only today.”

  The man stared at her for a moment and then began to laugh, his eyes roving over her as though she were a prized filly that he could now claim. “And did you really think you could hide that truth from me?” he said starkly, although his grin still remained in place. “
I would have found out sooner or later. To Lord Knightsbridge’s house you are to go, then!” He laughed, reaching out again toward her.

  Susanna shied away but her back was pressed against the wall and she could not shield herself any further. The man laughed and tilted her chin again with one cold finger.

  “You will go to Lord Knightsbridge’s home,” he told her, his voice hard. “You will behave well and ensure that he does not suspect you. But the notes will be given to you as before.”

  She turned her head and stared at him, her eyes wide, unwilling to challenge him but yet wondering just how she was to send notes to Lord Knightsbridge when she was within his own house.

  “And,” the man continued, dropping his finger from her chin but reaching up to trace her now red cheek, “perhaps you will be asked to do a little more. You know what will happen if you do not.”

  Drawing in a shuddering breath, Susanna chose not to say a single word, although she feared what it was that the man was now suggesting. To have her do more, to upset Lord Knightsbridge further, seemed, to her, to be an even worse horror than what she was doing at present. But all the same, she dared not challenge the man, dared not suggest that she be spared this torment. Instead, she waited, trembling, until he had dropped his hand from her cheek and turned around to walk away.

  It was only when he slipped out of sight, in between the large bushes that grew alongside the garden wall, that Susanna finally allowed herself to breathe. Slipping down until she sat on the hard wooden bench, she took in great, heaving breaths in an attempt to steady herself and settle her nerves. But she could not hold back the tears that filled her eyes, nor could she stop them from falling down her cheeks until, finally, she broke into deep, painful sobs that shook her frame until she was left feeling weak, broken, and entirely alone.

  2

  Benedict closed his eyes tightly and tried not to rail against his mother as she told him, for what was the third time, what she hoped to gain from this house party. Or, rather, what he would gain from this house party.

  “I have made certain that there are at least five eligible young ladies,” she told him firmly. “And one of them is your neighbor!”

  “I do not have any neighbors,” Benedict grumbled, not turning away from the window. “The next estate is twenty miles away.”

  Lady Knightsbridge tutted but Benedict ignored her. He had received another note only this morning and it had turned his stomach, sending a sliver of fear into his heart. He had been told, in no uncertain terms, that he was to ensure that none of his guests made their way to the cellar during the week of his house party. In addition, he was to make quite certain that the bedchambers that faced the sea were only occupied by those of poor sight or by somewhat ignorant young ladies who would only look in the mirror rather than out to the sea. Quite how these people would know that such arrangements were made, Benedict did not know, and the question of it had sent his thoughts into a flurry. But, of course, out of fear and despite his anger and confusion, he had done all that had been asked of him without hesitation.

  “They are due to arrive this very afternoon,” his mother complained, “and you do not appear to be at all pleased! Instead, you go about with a thunderous expression and you—”

  “Mother, if you might recall for a moment, I did not want this particular house party,” he said, turning around to look at her. “I have not been pleased with your arrangements and I am not looking forward to the guests arriving. I have no intention of allowing any of the ladies to capture my interest either, for I have no wish to do so!”

  He had not intended to explode in such a fashion, but it seemed to suddenly pour from him like water from a fountain. His mother’s eyes grew wider and wider as he continued to remind her of his lack of interest in all that she had planned, his unwillingness to be cajoled into some sort of attachment with any young lady, and his frustration that all this had been planned without his express agreement.

  When he had finished, his mother sat in silence for some moments, her mouth a little ajar and her eyes wide and fixed upon him. Benedict felt a swirl of guilt nudge at his heart, but he dismissed it quickly, telling himself that he had no need to feel any such thing. He had expressed his heart and, whilst it had been perhaps a rather blunt way to do so, at least his mother could not expect him now to behave as though he was a willing and eager participant in all that she had planned.

  With a heavy sigh, he turned back toward the window and leaned heavily on the windowsill, looking out at the grounds beyond. He did not want guests here due to the struggle that he faced at present—a struggle that he could not share with his mother. It was not her fault that she could not understand his unwillingness to host a house party and his disinclination to meet any young lady that might seek to capture his attentions. She was doing her best to involve him in society in some way and he could not deny her the right to eagerly hope for an heir to the family title. With no other siblings to speak of, he was the only hope of keeping the title within their bloodline. And yet he still railed against what he felt was a rather heavy-handed approach to what she had desired.

  “Well, Benedict.” The chair scraped as she pushed it back and Benedict closed his eyes, hearing the tightness of his mother’s voice. “You have made yourself quite clear.” She sniffed and something tore in Benedict’s heart. “I just wish that you would have done so a good deal earlier, so that I would have known not to put such a great effort into organizing this house party on your behalf.”

  Benedict gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to tell her that he had not asked her to arrange a house party on his behalf, but instead held his tongue, hearing the hurt in his mother’s voice.

  “But, such as it is, you are going to play the dutiful host and you are going to do all you can to ensure that your guests feel welcomed and that they have an enjoyable sennight,” Lady Knightsbridge finished, her voice gaining more determination with each word she spoke. “And whether or not you intend to have any young lady catch your eye, you will treat them with the respect and the consideration that they deserve.”

  Benedict turned his head to glance at his mother and did not miss the hopeful spark in her eye. Sighing to himself, he merely nodded but said nothing to her, understanding that, even though she had not said anything particular on the subject, there was still a flicker of hope that he might find himself intrigued by a young lady regardless of his intention.

  “I did not mean to upset you, Mother,” he told her, knowing that he had to resign himself to this particular situation. “And you need have no doubt. I will, of course, behave just as you expect.” Ending this remark with a rather flourished bow, he excused himself and left his mother’s company, wanting suddenly to walk about the grounds so that he might escape what suddenly felt like a very oppressive house. Hurrying down the staircase, he strode to the front door and threw it open, dismissing the footman who had hurried toward him in order to open it on his behalf. Drawing in a long breath of fresh air, Benedict set his shoulders and made his way outside, his steps hurried as though he were trying to escape from something terrible. The gardens beckoned him and he went willingly, making certain to stay away from the side of the house which faced the sea. He dared not go there for fear that someone would see him or that he might see something that would then cause him yet more trouble.

  The wind was not warm and despite the sun shining with all its strength, Benedict shuddered. The thought of guests arriving when he was battling against the fear that seemed to capture him almost every day was quite onerous. At times, Benedict thought he might try to protect his mother and refuse to do whatever was asked of him, but whenever such a thought met him, he was then instantly reminded of his mother’s injury. That had been his doing, for he had not done as he had been instructed and thus, his mother had shouldered the consequences, albeit without being aware that she was doing so.

  Sighing heavily, Benedict ran one hand through his hair and allowed the wind to pull at his locks, messing t
hem completely. No doubt his mother would have something to say about what he had done but Benedict did not care. There were a good few hours before the guests arrived and he had ample opportunity to prepare himself.

  “My lord?”

  Benedict turned to see one of the newly appointed gardeners approaching him. To his horror, he saw the man was limping, leaning heavily on a stick that appeared to have been cut from a tree only a short time ago. He also had a black eye and a cut across his other cheek. His shirt was torn and his face white and drawn.

  “Good gracious!” Benedict exclaimed, coming over to the man and quickly taking his arm. Servant or not, the man was clearly injured and required Benedict’s assistance. “Whatever happened?” Seeing the arbor nearby, he helped the man toward it and encouraged him to sit down carefully on the bench within.

  “You are very kind, my lord,” the man said, wincing as he took the weight off his injured leg. “I must ask your permission to seek new employment, however.”

  Benedict frowned, seeing how the man avoided his gaze by turning his head away. Servants never looked the master directly in the face, save for his butler and housekeeper who had been a part of his household for many years, but this man’s behavior was very different. It was as though he could not bring himself to even glance in Benedict’s direction.

  “Might I ask why?” Benedict said slowly, taking in the man’s injuries and feeling a great weight drop into the pit of his stomach. “Has something occurred? You have only just started work here, have you not?”

  The man nodded miserably. “It has been a month, my lord.”

  “And do you dislike your employment?” Benedict struggled to recall the fellow’s name. “Is there something about my estate that displeases you, Taylor?”