Regency Rogues: Wives Wanted

‘Burwell, twice in one day. What an unexpected pleasure.’

Daniel took a few seconds to compose himself before raising his head to look at Hathaway. The man irritated him and had been unforgivably rude to Amelia, but Daniel knew he needed his old acquaintance to lend him the money to get Annabelle off his back.

‘Hathaway,’ Daniel said, his voice low and not much more than a growl.

‘So delightful to meet the future Lady Burwell earlier. Isn’t she a quiet little thing?’

‘Miss Eastway is a charming young woman.’

‘With a charmingly large dowry.’

Daniel felt the muscles in his hand clench as he formed a fist, but forced himself to relax. He hadn’t let Hathaway goad him when they had been at school or university together and he wasn’t going to start now.

‘Thank you for the offer of a loan. I will send a man to collect it in a few days.’

For a moment Daniel thought Hathaway might stay, that he might want to bait Daniel further, but luckily his old acquaintance didn’t seem in the mood for taunting him tonight. After a few seconds of being ignored by Daniel, Hathaway picked up his drink and moved on.

Daniel nursed his whisky for a few more minutes before gulping down the last of it and standing to leave. He needed some fresh air and he needed to clear his head.

Daniel thought back to the conversation he’d had with Fletcher earlier in the evening. He knew his old friend was right; most men would be ecstatic to desire the woman they were courting, but Daniel wished he felt nothing beyond mild affection for Amelia. He had experienced gut-wrenching passion before, he’d let it cloud his judgement and overtake his life, and now he wasn’t the only one paying for it. It was because of desire that he could never truly know his son and it was because of desire that one day that boy he loved so much would probably find out he was illegitimate and have his world shattered.

The past few years had forced Daniel to become a pragmatist, and as he walked he strived to take his emotions out of the equation. The facts remained: he was broke, he needed money to pay off Annabelle.

There were really only two problems. The first was the way Daniel seemed to lose his head whenever Amelia’s body brushed up against his and the second was the fact that after this afternoon she probably never wanted to see him ever again.

Daniel had been walking absentmindedly for about half an hour when he realised his subconscious had brought him to the house Amelia was staying in with her aunt. He glanced up at the windows, wondering which of them belonged to Amelia’s room. It was far too late to call on her, despite Daniel wanting to try to move on from their disastrous afternoon out in the park. He was just about to turn away when he saw a flicker of orange in one of the windows. Frowning, he stared for a minute before realising what it was.

Chapter Eleven

After her disastrous afternoon Lizzie had fled straight to her room on arriving home. She hadn’t wanted to answer Aunt Mathilda’s questions on how things were going with the dear earl and she hadn’t wanted to endure Harriet’s snide comments. All she did want to do was bury her face in her pillow and cry.

On reaching her room Lizzie allowed herself to sob for five minutes before sitting up and wiping her eyes. Whilst she was growing up there had been hundreds of occasions that had made Lizzie want to shut herself away from the rest of the world and cry until she had no more tears, but she’d learnt to control her sadness. No one comforted her then and no one was going to comfort her now.

As she had many times Lizzie wondered how different things would have been if her parents were still alive. They had died in a coach accident when Lizzie had been very young—all she could really remember was her mother’s warm smile and her father’s hearty laugh. She couldn’t imagine having a mother, someone who would love her unconditionally, who would wipe away her tears and tell her she was worth so much more. Lizzie could never imagine being the centre of someone’s world.

She shook her head. She probably wouldn’t ever be the centre of someone’s world. For odd moments she had fooled herself about Daniel when he looked at her with his wolfish eyes and claimed her with a kiss that was so searing and possessive she had dared to hope he might want her as he wanted no other. She had dared to hope he might be the one who could love her unconditionally.

It had all been nothing more than an illusion. What made it hurt even more was the attraction Lizzie felt for Daniel. She knew nothing could come of their liaison, she knew that once her identity was revealed she would be hounded from London society, but that didn’t stop her heart racing whenever he smiled at her or her skin tingling when he touched her. He was a good-looking man and a seasoned charmer, but it was something more than that. When he touched her it was as if all the jumbled pieces of Lizzie’s life fell into place.

She’d been fooling herself, wanting something that was so far out of her reach, and now it was time to accept reality and move on. When Amelia returned and revealed her identity, Lizzie would have to disappear. Her cousin would beg her to stay, of course, and normally Lizzie would do anything for Amelia, but this time she had tasted how her life could have been if she had been born Amelia’s sister rather than her penniless cousin. She couldn’t go back to being poor, insignificant Lizzie who no one took any notice of. She would leave London, leave the country and seek out a life for herself elsewhere.

Deep down Lizzie knew in reality it wouldn’t be the ton in general she would be running from, but rather a very specific dashing earl with smouldering eyes.

A knock at her door gave her a moment’s panic, but she took a moment to straighten her dress and wipe her eyes before answering.

‘Come in.’

Rosie, a young maid who had been assigned to help Lizzie dress and do her hair whilst she was living with Aunt Mathilda, opened the door and dropped into a little neat curtsy.

‘Begging your pardon for disturbing you, miss, but a letter came for you when you were out.’

Lizzie’s eyes widened with anticipation. It would be from Amelia surely. Lizzie still hadn’t heard a thing from her cousin since they had parted at the dock. She was becoming increasingly worried about Amelia. In the time they had spent together on their voyage Lizzie had tried to talk her cousin out of her foolish plan so many times. She’d tried to explain the scandal that would ensue if anyone found out Amelia had run off to meet a man, but as usual her cousin had just laughed off her concerns.

Lizzie was beginning to wish she had made Amelia realise that it wasn’t only her reputation she was risking, but Lizzie’s, too. At the time she had agreed to Amelia’s reckless plan because she never expected to want to marry, never expected to find someone who wanted to marry her. Now she was getting so worried about her cousin she would use any tactic, including guilt over ruining Lizzie’s reputation, to keep her cousin from disappearing.

‘I’m sure it could have waited until morning, miss, it was just...’ The young maid tailed off.

‘Yes?’ Lizzie asked kindly.

‘It was just that Miss Harriet was poking around it and I was afraid she might read something she shouldn’t,’ Rosie said, dropping her voice.

‘Thank you, Rosie, you are very astute.’

The maid looked confused at the compliment but curtsied again, handed over the letter and backed out of the room.

Lizzie turned the envelope over in her hands and immediately felt disappointment. The handwriting was nothing like her cousin’s. The two girls had taken all their lessons together, so Lizzie could recognise Amelia’s hurried scrawl easily.

Instead the letters were neat and carefully spaced; it was her uncle’s handwriting.

Although the letter was addressed to Amelia, Lizzie slid her finger under the seal and opened it. She needed to know what was so important he’d sent a letter so soon after their departure. For this to have got to London so quickly he must have sent it mere days after they had left India.

Sinking down on her bed to read it, Lizzie felt her eyes widen with shock and her skin start to prickle with dread.

Dear Amelia,

I hope this letter finds you well and that you are closer to securing a suitable husband.

Her uncle, the colonel, always did get straight to the point.

I will not waste time with pleasantries, instead I send instructions.

The colonel didn’t waste time with pleasantries in person, so Lizzie wasn’t surprised he was as direct in his correspondence.

I trust as instructed you will focus on finding a husband with all possible haste. I sent your cousin Elizabeth with you so you would have company on the voyage and for your arrival in London. However, her place is not in London society with you.

At the mention of her name Lizzie sat up straighter and started to read faster.

I have often despaired of what to do with your cousin once you are married, but now I have found a pleasing solution and would like her to return to India as soon as possible.

Lizzie closed her eyes and took a moment to steady herself before she found out what fate her uncle had in store for her.

I had assumed Elizabeth would remain a spinster. She is a plain girl who lacks the necessary attributes to marry well, but I have found a man willing to be her husband.

She gasped in shock. Not at her uncle calling her plain—he’d always made it clear she was much inferior to Amelia or any other girl of the same age—but at the idea of him wanting to marry her off. She’d always assumed Amelia would marry someone rich and she’d become her cousin’s companion.

Taking a deep breath, Lizzie steeled herself to finish the letter.

Colonel Rocher is in need of a wife and is willing to take Elizabeth on. He is eager that the formalities should be taken care of as soon as possible. Please instruct your cousin Elizabeth to arrange passage back to India with all possible haste.

Your Father

Lizzie sat in shock for five whole minutes, reading and rereading the last section of the letter. She couldn’t quite believe her life had changed so much in mere minutes.

She couldn’t marry Colonel Rocher. Of all the men in India he was the very last she would ever want to marry. It wasn’t because he was at least double her age, or that physically he was repulsive. Lizzie wasn’t so naïve to have ever expected an attractive husband and she would certainly not turn down a man just because he didn’t have rippling muscles or a winning smile. It wasn’t even that he leered at every woman under the age of sixty and had wandering hands that were the stuff of legend. All that Lizzie could forgive—after all, it wasn’t as though she was a prize. No, the reason she just couldn’t marry Colonel Rocher was because she knew he would beat her. He had beaten his first wife and he had beaten his second. Both had often been seen sporting bruises or injuries and, far from denying hurting either of the women, he had often boasted about keeping them in line.

She’d always known she was a burden to her uncle, he’d told her often enough, but she’d always hoped that deep down he loved her just a little. Or at least cared enough that he would not send her to endure a lifetime of humiliation and pain.

Lizzie couldn’t stop the image of Daniel flashing before her eyes. He was everything Colonel Rocher was not—young, attractive—and Lizzie knew instinctively he would never beat his wife. However, the main difference, the most heartbreaking difference, was that once Daniel knew her true identity he would never want her as his wife.

She refused to cry any more. This interlude with Daniel had been nothing more than a fantasy. She’d allowed herself to get swept away with it, but now her head had cleared and she saw his attention for what it really was. Lizzie knew she had to stop obsessing about the earl and instead work out what she was going to do about her future.

Of course, she would have to wait until Amelia returned, which should be any day now, but then she had to decide whether to obey her uncle and return to India or whether she was brave enough to try to survive on her own.

Lizzie knew she was far too shocked to make a rational decision, so instead she busied herself getting ready for bed, placed the letter on her bedside table and blew out her candle.

It was unbearably hot. Lizzie tossed and turned in her bed, throwing off her covers as she transitioned from a deep sleep to a light state of drowsiness. Her eyes slowly opened and at first she couldn’t quite make sense of what she was seeing. There was light in the room, not the piercing clarity of sunlight, but a dull flickering. She was covered in sweat and she could feel beads of water running between her shoulder blades.

Groggily Lizzie pushed herself up into a sitting position and forced her brain to engage with her surroundings.

She tried not to scream, knowing panicking would only make things worse. The room was on fire. The curtains had already been consumed by flames and every second that passed the fire was creeping closer to her bed. Black smoke billowed as furniture caught light and the room became a blazing inferno.

For a second Lizzie was paralysed with fear, then her survival instincts kicked in. She jumped from the bed, knowing if she didn’t get out of this room in the next thirty seconds she would die in it. In her haste her feet caught in her nightgown and she felt herself falling to the floor. She cursed her clumsiness but caught herself on her hands and knees and pushed back up to her feet. The pain from her injured ankle shot up her leg as she stood, but she managed to stumble on. Coughing as the smoke irritated her lungs, Lizzie felt her eyes also begin to water and the outline of the door, just a few feet away, became hazy.

She staggered forward, clutching at pieces of furniture that weren’t alight to try to guide herself out of the room. It was almost impossible to see anything now and as her breathing became more and more laboured Lizzie began to feel the darkness descend. She struggled on for a few more steps, dragging red-hot air into her burning lungs. Her vision, previously obscured by smoke, now was hazy from lack of oxygen and she knew she was never going to find her way to the door.

Refusing to give up, Lizzie collapsed to her knees and dragged herself a few more paces before her strength deserted her. Just before she slipped from consciousness Daniel’s face flashed before her eyes and his strong, confident voice sounded in her ears. Lizzie felt herself smile; at least she’d experienced a divinely pleasurable kiss before she’d died.

Chapter Twelve

She was smiling. The crazy woman was smiling. She was seconds from death and there was no mistaking the smile that danced over her lips as she collapsed on to her front.

Daniel surged into the room, trying to ignore the fiery heat and the black clouds of smoke that obscured almost everything. Three short strides took him to Amelia’s side and without pausing he scooped her up into his arms and retreated from the room.

Even though he’d only been in the burning room for seconds he felt the strain from the smoke on his chest and his skin still prickled as if the flames were licking at it. The hallway, which had been relatively clear when he’d bounded into the house, was now filled with smoke and Daniel knew it was only a matter of minutes before the whole house was consumed by flames.

As he raced through the house he glanced down at Amelia. She was a dead weight in his arms, completely unconscious. There had been no flicker of recognition as he’d picked her up, nor any stirring since. Her face was blackened with soot and her nightgown, which he assumed was normally a standard white, was singed at the edges and grey all over. He couldn’t see any obvious burns on her body, but he doubted she had escaped unscathed; no one could last more than a minute in a room that was burning at that intensity and not suffer from any permanent injury.

The thought of a burn on her lovely flawless skin made Daniel feel angry at whoever had been careless enough to allow the fire to start. No doubt a candle had been left burning or a fire left smouldering when it should have been put out. Fires didn’t occur spontaneously.

Daniel reached the stairs and descended quickly. As he reached the ground floor the air was a little clearer and he felt the smoke begin to leave his lungs. He resisted the almost overwhelming urge to cough and instead pressed on towards the door.

It was less than a minute after Daniel had swept Amelia into his arms that he burst through the open door and into the night. He didn’t stop walking until he was a good fifty feet from the house, well clear from the billowing black smoke that was now coming from every window. When he reached the crowd of assembled family, staff and curious onlookers he sank to his knees and placed Amelia gently on the ground.

‘Amelia, Amelia!’ Immediately Amelia’s aunt Mathilda was at their side.

Daniel ignored the frantic older woman and quickly inspected the woman lying unconscious in front of him. The first thing he noticed with relief was that her chest was rising and falling regularly; whatever other damage she had sustained at least she was still breathing.

As he bent lower to wipe some of the grime from her face he tried to block out the crowd of curious onlookers who were surging closer. He needed to focus on Amelia. He had no idea how long she had been in the room with the fire burning around her, but he was sure she needed space and a doctor.

Decisively he stood.

‘Move back,’ he shouted, his voice commanding despite the croak from the smoke inhalation.

The crowd obeyed.

‘I need a carriage.’

A smartly dressed man caught Daniel’s eye and nodded, before disappearing at speed to find one.

‘And I need someone to fetch a doctor.’

A young lad who Daniel had seen emerge from a neighbouring house stepped up.

‘I’ll fetch a doctor for you, sir,’ he said.

Daniel reckoned this boy was a servant or stable boy for Amelia’s aunt’s neighbours and was grateful for his volunteering.

‘Send him to Twenty-Three Burton Street.’

The boy scampered off, no doubt to find the doctor his employers used whenever they were unwell.

‘I’m taking Amelia to my house to be seen to,’ Daniel said, turning to Aunt Mathilda.

She nodded, not really taking in what Daniel was saying. He supposed there wasn’t much more distracting than watching your family home burn to the ground.

‘Is anyone else still unaccounted for?’

Aunt Mathilda looked around desperately as if she hadn’t considered anyone else might be left in the house.

‘Everyone is here,’ the butler said, stepping forward.

Daniel appraised him and saw he was shaken but able to take charge of this crisis.

‘Arrange for Mrs Hunter and Miss Hunter to follow me to my town house,’ he said. ‘If any of the servants are injured or suffering from the smoke, send them quickly, too. After Miss Eastway has been seen to the doctor can check them over.’

The butler nodded. ‘I’ll keep any healthy, uninjured men with me here to supervise things and help fight the fire.’

Already the street was alive with people hauling buckets of water ready to fight the fire. Luckily the Hunters’ house was detached and had a little land surrounding it, but it took only a gentle breeze to lift some embers and the whole street could be ablaze.

Satisfied things were under control, Daniel turned his attention back to Amelia. She was still unconscious—in fact, she hadn’t once even stirred—and the depth of her insensibility worried Daniel.

At that moment a carriage clattered round the corner and the crowd parted obligingly. Daniel quickly gave his address to the driver, impressed on the man how important it was that they got there with all possible haste and swept Amelia back into his arms. Carefully he stepped up into the carriage and held her tightly across his lap as they set off through the streets of London.

He only lived a ten-minute carriage ride away, but those ten minutes seemed the longest of Daniel’s life. In the darkness he couldn’t see Amelia and he kept laying a hand on her chest to check she was still breathing. As London sped by outside the carriage window Daniel knew there was a very real chance Amelia wouldn’t make it to his house alive. He choked back the emotion that overcame him, not wanting to examine his feelings as well as cope with everything else that was occurring.

Eventually the carriage slowed to a stop and Daniel hurriedly jumped down. As he strode towards his front door he called back to the carriage driver telling him someone would come out and pay him in a few minutes.

Daniel’s front door opened as he reached the top of the steps and the face of his worried, elderly butler looked at him with amazement.

‘Wake the household,’ Daniel instructed. ‘Miss Eastway has been in a fire and is gravely injured. A doctor will be arriving shortly but I need plenty of clean water and send Mrs Greystone to my room.’

Daniel hurried up the stairs and into his bedroom, placing Amelia down on top of his four-poster bed. He’d just straightened and was about to start checking Amelia over for external injuries when he heard his very capable housekeeper bustle into the room.

‘Dearie me,’ she said. ‘What on earth happened to this poor lamb?’

Mrs Greystone took one look at Amelia and immediately began issuing orders to the two maids who trailed behind her.

‘You look a state,’ she said, appraising Daniel.

He grinned for the first time that evening. Mrs Greystone had known him since he was a baby and the older woman never minced her words around her young master. In a world where most servants were too respectful to meet their employers’ eye as they went about their daily chores, it was refreshing to have someone like Mrs Greystone around.

‘I should send you out, but I’m guessing nothing will make you leave the room until you know this lass is all right, so go and sit down in that chair and keep out of the way.’

Daniel knew it was pointless arguing with his housekeeper. He crossed the room and sank into a high-backed chair. Immediately he felt exhausted. For the past hour his body had been filled with energy as he’d rushed to rescue Amelia and then hurry her to a place where she could be best looked after. Now he’d stopped moving he felt physically drained and mentally fatigued. All he could think about was Amelia, lying on the floor of her bedroom, the life slowly draining from her body.

He watched as Mrs Greystone supervised the maids who were bringing bowls of warmed water and towels. Gently they dabbed the soot from Amelia’s face before turning to the rest of her body.

Daniel knew the curves of her body, he knew them more than he should. From that first time he’d skimmed his hands over her hips and encircled her waist with his arm Daniel had memorised her contours. As she lay on the bed, draped in the shapeless soot-stained nightgown, Daniel wanted to run his hands over her body again. He wanted to assure himself no inch of her body went unchecked, that there were no hidden wounds and every single bit of skin was intact.

Instead Mrs Greystone turned to him and raised an eyebrow.

At first he didn’t move, wondering if he could insist on staying and supervising, but even though this was his house and the women in the room were his staff, he knew they would band together to protect Amelia’s virtue and privacy, despite never having met her before.

Wearily Daniel rose from the chair, pleased to hear a male voice in the hallway. The doctor must have arrived.

‘Go and rest, Master Daniel,’ Mrs Greystone said kindly. ‘I’ll send the doctor to see to your wounds once he’s finished with this poor lass.’