Regency Romance Omnibus 2018: Dominate Dukes & Tenacious Women Page 5

  "E... Eugenius," she hissed. "My estate... you know, how truly my father loved the people of Upton - how much he would do anything to help them," Isobel smiled as a bowl of soup was set before her. The scent of slow-roasted vegetables stewed in stock and freshly-picked herbs de Provence struck her strong; she took in a deep whiff, and it smelled so truly heavenly. Having eaten little save an apple plucked from a roadside stand all day, she wanted so badly to devour the food, but she kept her sense of propriety intact, as best she could. The Lord Brighton could act so crass, and the Duke of Thrushmore could overstep his bounds, but she, at least, would make her father proud.

  "Your father, as I understand it, took on quite a lot of debt in the furtherance of the estate - owed to that malcontent, Lord Brighton, in Norbury," the duke spat, taking a loud slurp of his soup.

  "You... you knew?" Lady Isobel remarked in faint surprise. "You knew of my father's situation? And of... of the duke?"

  "Did you think I would have listened to you had I not known you needed my help?" the duke smiled a sickening smile bright and wide. "Please, enjoy your soup, won't you?"

  "Did... did you do nothing to help my father while he was still alive, duke? I had thought you to be a friend of his," she exhaled, fiery.

  "Your father had little interest in asking me for my assistance, lovely Isobel. I'm not certain why - but, it is as it is, and now..." the duke's smile grew dark and devious; she suddenly felt his hand on her leg, and she recoiled, taking in a sharp breath at the man's gross actions.

  "D-duke! I'm..." she stilled her nerves. "I... yes, I need... I need help, the Lord Brighton, he sought to take advantage of me, in exchange for forgiveness of the debts my father left to him. I had hoped to have a good discussion, with a gentleman—"

  "Lovely Isobel," the duke purred, a wretched noise that wrenched Isobel's stomach. "I lost my wife, as you may have heard... she was such a lovely young thing. And since she's been gone..." Isobel felt the duke's fingers sliding, heedlessly up her leg, and she shuddered, her breaths halting. "...I've felt so alone, here in the manor. I've needed someone here, in the manor... to keep me company..." he drew closer, and Isobel felt her leg begin to shudder hard; when he dared to grasp her thigh, she shrieked, shuddering and pulling away from the man who had been made out to be such a gentleman by so many woman across northern England. The chair groaned as its legs skidded across the wooden floor.

  "M-m'lord!" she exclaimed.

  "Lovely Isobel, come to me," he growled, a severe look in his eyes. "I'll make the debts with Lord Brighton go away. I'll even take your hand in marriage," he offered, as Isobel should beg him for the opportunity. She recoiled, surprise setting in to her bones. If this is the way that the man all of north England took to be a fine gentleman conducted himself - what could she expect from the rest of high society?

  "M'lord, I... I simply hoped we could come to a business accord—" Isobel took a step back, but the duke persisted; feeling cornered, she shook as he came closer, sniffing her scent loudly and biting at her jaw with a feral aggression.

  "I've needed you for years, little Isobel," he hissed into her ear. "And now I can have you. You need me, don't you?" he asked, his voice full of kink and lust. "You need me to fix your problems. Don't worry. I can make it all go away, if you'll be mine," he snarled, and without warning, he pressed his lips to hers. Isobel's eyes opened wide and she groaned, huffing and pulling herself away from his embrace.

  "M'lord! This..." Isobel stammered in disbelief. "I th-thought you were a gentleman!"

  "I am a man, and I'm the best chance you've got," the duke reminded her harshly. "Come, stay at my manor. Stay with me—"

  "You're no different than that dissolute creature in Norbury," Isobel scolded. "I thought you a gentleman. I'll be taking my leave," she said, flustered. The Duke strutted after Isobel as she stormed towards the end of the dining hall, the pretense of her manners faded.

  "You'll never make it alone, not in this world, lovely Isobel," the duke's voice rose to a shout, a voice much bigger than his aging, shrinking body. "Not with that monster, Brighton, at your heels. Do you think you can get past him without my help?" he called after her. Isobel flung the doors open, her cheeks bright with barely-concealed fury.

  "I'll be very relieved to prove you wrong, Lord Miller," she shouted, clacking her way to the front doors.

  "You'll be back! You've no choice!" the duke said, a dark laugh in his throat. She heard it echo into a muffle as she stormed into the last dying strands of sunset, her eyes downcast, the stress heavy on her shoulders again. She heard the rickety cart rounding the corner, Mr. Trevingham's face twisted in mild befuddlement.

  "M'lady, that didn't last quite long for a dinner, I must say," he commented wryly. "Your dinner dates are quite the fiascoes of late, it seems."

  "That's quite accurate," Isobel sighed in a frustrated bluster. "I know you'll... perhaps be quite put off by this request, Mr. Trevingham, but..."

  "Another ride, back to Lord Brighton's estate?" he queried knowingly. Lady Duskwood's shoulders slumped.

  "Perhaps we could stop for food beforehand. My dinner plans keep coming up short," she said.

  CHAPTER SIX

  It had been the most harrowing few days of her life, but at least on her ride back across the countryside, through Upton and the stormy hills, through sunset and twilight and another romp across rocky byways, she had managed to finally have a dinner worth eating. Boiled potatoes and beef - simple, perhaps, but the roadside inn she and Mr. Trevingham had spent the evening at were acquaintances of her father's, and they seemed quite overjoyed to serve her.

  Now, the fleeting joy of the night's stay had disappeared - noontime approached, and with it crept closer the knowledge that she would have to face him again - the lout, Lord Brighton. She felt awkwardly at peace with her decision to see him again. She would bargain with him, she had decided - she would not simply give herself to the man who wanted her so much. No, she would fight for herself - at least put up a fight, try to keep her dignity together, for her late father. Somehow, her encounter with the Duke of Thrushmore had reminded her of something Lord Brighton had said before they'd parted ways -

  "Marriage is an illusion, just like all of these other foolish, trite institutions we conjure up."

  She had not thought much on his words when he spoke them; her mind was too busy revolting against the very idea of him, even as she admired the handsome gall of the young lord. She hadn't thought on what he meant - not until this morning, when she set herself once more on the bench of Mr. Trevingham's ramshackle carriage. She remembered all the women fawning over the Duke of Thrushmore at her father's wedding - all the talk of his lovely wife, of the tragedy; of how lovely and gentlemanly he had always been.

  And yet her own experiences with the ostentatious, possessive, manipulative duke had turned out quite differently. He had not at all been the gentleman she had expected - nor did he have in mind the needs of her as a woman, or the suffering people of Upton. He cared only for her body - for her flesh, just as the Lord Brighton had expressed to her. The two were not nearly as different as she had thought, and this troubled her. Perhaps Ellery had been right - perhaps so much of the world she had built her whole life upon, was a simple lie the nobility told one another. But why?

  She didn't want to let the thought trouble her any longer; the more she thought on it, the more it put fear into her that so much of her life had been a lie. These traditions existed for a reason - and she knew, now, that this had been why her father had warned her away from the younger Lord Brighton. Yet the thought perplexed her - why had he taken on so much debt from the young lord, if there had been a falling out between their parents? Why had he not gone to the Duke of Thrushmore, a foul man - but at the time, the most beloved in the land? Perhaps her father had known something she did not. Perhaps he knew a lot more of these men than she had.

  Perhaps he knew that so much of the gentlemanly charm had been a lie... and that the Duke of Thrushmor
e would certainly have used the debt against her.

  "Mighty lucky we haven't happened upon those Merry Bandits, the sort what the folks back in Upton and Harshire have been talking on, m'lady," Mr. Trevingham tried to calm his clearly unnerved passenger's disquiet with idle chatter. "I take it from the rumors running 'midst the hills that they prefer ta target the wealthy and the nobility traveling 'cross the roadways." Isobel blushed; she didn't want to tell dear Mr. Trevingham that the rather shabby appearance of his carriage - and its driver - no doubt deterred any malfeasance on the part of Robin Hood-minded bandits looking for wealth to plunder.

  "I'm quite fortunate to have you here to protect me, then, am I not?" she commented with a faint smile.

  "Protect? You think the sight of me sends any bandits scrambling in fear, m'lady? I'm flattered," Mr. Trevingham joked. The ride continued along quietly, and the lady melted against Mr. Trevingham's hobbling cart, drifting away from consciousness slowly, her mind straying to a thousand different thoughts. She saw the Lord Brighton in her mind again, distaste frothing through her at the gross proposition he had made regarding her debts. She would bargain with him, she insisted - she insisted to herself, quietly, before drifting into rest.

  "M'lady, brace yourself, the hill up to Norbury Manor's just ahead, it'll be bumpy," Mr. Trevingham reminded her, shaking her free from troubling dreams plaguing her nerve-wracked mind. She groggily braced herself against the sides of the carriage and felt gravity work against her as the horses made their way up the nearly vertical hill in a slow and steady trod.

  The steady trod came to a slowed stop, and Isobel exhaled deeply, watching the sun looming high atop the facade of dark wealth before her. The Lord Brighton, no doubt savoring the situations he would soon put her in, lay somewhere within the manor, his eyes gleaming in devilish delight at the misfortune fallen on his young, beautiful, demure debtor. A breath rattled through her lungs; she tried to still her jittering hands, before thrusting herself out of the carriage and into the sunlight, the horses whinnying as her weight lifted out from Mr. Trevingham's vehicle.

  "Ought I introduce you, m'lady?" he asked, grinning his crooked grin.

  "No, no... I'm expected. He knows I'm here, certainly," the lady grimaced.

  "Ought I wait, then? D'you expect another... ahem, dinner cut rather short?" Mr. Trevingham commented wryly. Isobel sighed. She had no idea how the 'negotiation' would go - or if she would end up giving in to the man her family estate owed everything to. She had resolved not to give an inch - but her heart sunk at learning the Duke of Thrushmore to be an animal beneath the wolfish disguise of a gentleman, and she did not know if she could stand to refuse the Lord Brighton's lascivious proposal.

  "Stay just down the road. Watch out for the bandits for us, won't you? There's no telling how bold they've grown," Lady Isobel requested, the subtle suggestion responded to with a coy tip of the hat from Mr. Trevingham.

  "I'll be waiting and watching for you, m'lady," he offered, the horse hooves clop-clopping along the roadway behind Lady Duskwood. She gathered what courage she could, stepping towards the front door of the foreboding estate. Before she could even rap upon the aged wood, the doors swung open, and in the shadows of the foyer she caught the eye of a wizened old man in a black suit, his head bald and his eyes bulging.

  "You've been expected," the old man dictated harshly; she winced at the sound of his voice. "The Lord Brighton awaits in the dining hall."

  "Do you always have to be so dour?" the crack came from a young dark-haired woman dusting a small table near the landing.

  "I do my job," the suit-wearing old man growled. "'Tis my job to deliver the messages of our master. As he expects them to be delivered."

  "Don't mind Werner. He's stodgy, but well-meaning," the sassy maid in her black dress scoffed. "I'm Lilian. Suppose we'll be seeing more of you 'round here now, m'lady?" she asked. Isobel cleared her throat, a confused look on her face.

  "I... I'm not certain... how do you mean?" she stammered.

  "Oh, hasn't the Lord Brighton asked for your hand in marriage, yet? I know his father always wanted you two to marry. You're the Lady Duskwood, aren't you?" Lilian queried.

  "You're... you're quite knowledgeable, for a maidservant," Isobel chuckled anxiously.

  "Maybe I am," Lilian returned haughtily. "Or maybe I'm just good at guesses. Werner, you want to show her to the dining hall?"

  "I'm certain I can find my way," Isobel trumpeted defiantly, carrying herself standoffish through the room, along the stairwell, until she stood once again in front of a familiar doorway. Her nerves ran like fire. She couldn't believe she had to resort to this, but her mind flowed once again back to Upton - to old Gudheim, and the ramshackle taverns her father had kept going in the worst of times. With them on her mind, she pulled open the doors.

  "Had to say, I'm not surprised you're back, love," the voice interrupted her peaceful calm the moment the doors opened. Basking in rays of sun shimmering through plates of tall glass, Lord Ellery Brighton stood in his perfectly-tailored suit, his young, athletic body painted with daylight's glow of white-yellow, his face as defiantly youthful and clean-shaven as she had recalled. She entered silently, her face downcast, her expression mired in slithering anger.

  "I'm here to negotiate the nature and terms of the debt between our respective estates, m'lord," she said, undeterred by the flippant nature of him. "It's critical we have this matter resolved soon. The estate and people of Upton are reliant upon it."

  "They're in a difficult spot, it'd seem, eh love?" he steps away from the window and she glimpses his eyes, gripped in a silent, smoldering satisfaction. She cannot deny in her mind how gorgeous he is - but lacking the fundamental qualities one would seek in any decent man, much less a husband, leaves him with so much to yet be desired.

  "Please. We can discuss this, professionally," Lady Isobel insisted, shaking, looking away; anywhere, other than his face.

  "You went off to see old Eugenius, didn't you, love?" he chuckled, circling her now like a starved creature eyeing its prey. "You wouldn't be the first t' think he's some sort of respectable... something, anything, other than the filthy lecher he is. I could've warned you about that bloody old pervert, darling," he shook his head, looming in closer to catch a whiff of Lady Duskwood's scent.

  "I've sim... simply tried, what I know, to resolve the matter of the debt between our estates. Now, I've come to you to try to negotiate the terms," she said, quaking under the feeling of him; his powerful and rebellious presence made it hard for her to keep her composure.

  "It's okay, love. I forgive you," he whispered into her ear. She felt the tickle of his breath on her neck and she thought about how much better he felt, in so many ways, than the Duke of Thrushmore - the man so many had taken to be a true 'gentleman'. Instead, this filthy rogue now held her fate in his hands, but she couldn't deny that his presence made her melt; made her legs shiver, her thighs blush warm and red.

  "Please don't call me that," she protested meekly.

  "What?" he pressed her, his lips dancing so feverishly close to her neck.

  "If... if it's my hand in... in marriage you want, m'lord, I've come to... negotiate, a courtship, to..."

  "Courtship? Don't you remember the terms we talked about, hm?" he taunted. "It's not marriage I'm after."

  "Wh... what?" she asked, her voice a ghostly whisper.

  "Marriage means nothing, love. I told you - there's something a lot more useful to me than a fake marriage, a fake ceremony, and the fake esteem it brings to the fake people who call themselves nobility," Ellery breathed hotly into her ear.

  "What do you want, then?..." she asks, tremors shaking her spine.

  "I want you. Completely. Your body, your inhibitions, your dreams - your desires. The ones I know you have, the ones you pretend not to notice, because in polite company you'd be ostracized forever for vocalizing them. The dirty ones, the dark ones, the filthy ones," he prods at her. She feels his hands on her hips, and though
her first desire is to pull away from so brash a man, something about it feels so perfect - his strong, handsome body against her back giving her a divine sense of warmth.

  "I don't... have those... kinds of things. I don't think about that... I'm not an animal, like you," she defies him weakly.

  "Everyone has desires... and it won't be long before I find yours. Consider it a part of our bargain," he smirked against her earlobe, nibbling at the skin and breathing hard into her ear, and suddenly she felt her own heart pounding hard and fast, her hands shaking; her cheeks bright red. She tilted her head towards his lips; they felt warm, inviting, and she found some sick sense of comfort in a man so willing to embrace parts of him that a man like the Duke of Thrushmore kept hidden, deceiving women with his status as a 'gentleman'.

  "I... will let you court me, if..." she couldn't complete her sentence; his gorgeous face pressed to hers and they met in a kiss, one that had her heart set alight and her lungs heaving for breath; the kiss ignited passion like a flame to a wick, and she sizzled at his touch, his strong hand flowing possessively along her cheek.

  "Come with me. The first part of our agreement," he exhales hotly. He grasps at her wrist and leads her towards the hallway.

  She follows - hesitant at first. But she follows.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  "I'll do things to you in this bedroom that you'll not have even thought of - things that a woman like you could never imagine. And I want you to give yourself up to me - and you'll learn more about yourself than you could ever have guessed," Lord Brighton promised teasingly into her ear as the door to his bedchamber swung open under his forceful grasp. Wind gusted against Lady Duskwood's skin and he pulled her in to the room, power in his arms as he pulled her towards the bed. She resisted - she had not imagined this to be the setting of this particular moment in her life.