Lady's Temptations: A Winter's Regency Menage Read online

  A Lady’s Temptations: A Winter’s Regency Ménage

  by Kristabel Reed

  Copyright © 2014 by Kristabel Reed

  Smashwords Edition

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  A Wicked ePub® Original Publication

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review.

  This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Formatted by: CyberWitch Press

  Chapter One

  Kingsnorth, England

  February 1814

  Her mind should have been on the wondrous winter masquerade she and her cousins were headed to, but it wasn’t.

  Sarina Hunt could not seem to quash the sadness she carried with her from London to this beautiful little village. A sadness that felt like a heavy trunk brimming with rocks and one of her own doing that should have been resolved long ago.

  Usually, when she thought of Mr. Liam Trevelyan and Mr. Prescott Sinclair, those thoughts were accompanied by very unladylike fantasies. Fantasies that heated her skin even in this cold carriage and ones she only just managed to keep hidden when around them.

  Sarina had acknowledged her feelings to herself some months ago, but if she’d been truly honest, she knew even long before that. The problem was, she should’ve warmed to one over the other by now. She should’ve chosen which man she’d have been better suited for.

  Or which man was better suited to her.

  However, she could not seem to. Sarina had never truly been a butterfly of a girl—flittering from man to man to assess her most advantageous prospect. She didn’t like that, pitting one suitor against another. It was not the game she played; she didn’t like games of this sort at all.

  Through sheer force of will alone, she managed to push those thoughts to one side, not deep enough to ignore, never that, though her skin still felt flushed and her blood hot in her veins. Swallowing hard, she affected as casual an air as possible as she adjusted her deep blue cloak, the fur trim brushing sensuously along her cheek.

  She gazed out the carriage window as Kingsnorth came into view, and red bunting draped over everything. It wound around the evergreen branches heavy with frost and snow, and up the unlit streetlamps.

  In the pale late afternoon sunlight, this small town off the Thames glittered with life and wonder amongst the fallen snow and February wind.

  Sarina shifted closer to the window and breathed of the crisp winter’s air, letting the cold breeze chill her cheeks. Beside her, her cousins chattered on about the event that drew them from London to Kingsnorth: the Duke of Halstow’s masquerade. She strained to see the rows of merchant huts and wagons clustered near the river.

  Of course she did not see either Liam or Prescott from the carriage, but they’d be here. They’d promised. And the anticipation of that promise both excited and concerned her. Her nerves came from more than simply her desire to see them or her deep affection for them; she knew things between the three of them would change after this night.

  With a deep breath, and days and months of practice, she curled her gloved fingers into the window covering and kept her face carefully void of emotion. Her cousins were traditional women who expected her to readily choose between suitors and didn’t understand the difficulty she had in doing so.

  Kingsnorth was quaint and beautiful, almost perfectly decorated for Candlemas, though she doubted very much the Duke of Halstow was a religious man. No, she was certain this four-day masquerade had very little to do with Candlemas and more to do with rivaling the Frost Fair in London. Halstow was a boastful man and it’d be quite the triumph for his exclusive guest list to outshine the London fair. Streams of bunting connected the houses and fluttered in the wind, and Sarina couldn’t help but smile at the bright décor.

  “Sarina, my dear,” Maryanne called to her in her usual haughty tone.

  She dropped the window covering, shutting out the February air and the winter scene, and turned to her cousin. Waiting for the other woman to speak, Sarina smoothed her fingers over her dark hair and brushed back a curl that had fallen over one eye.

  “I’m so excited for you,” Maryanne continued. Her dark eyes, so like Sarina’s own, twinkled in amusement, the only color in her pale face. “The duke always entertains the most prestigious guests. If Lord Strathmore doesn’t prove to be acceptable, then perhaps another might catch your eye.”

  Sarina’s eyes narrowed at Maryanne’s words, but she quickly blinked and regained her composure, folding her hands demurely on her lap and, though it took effort, remained silent. She was wholly unwilling to share her emotions with her cousins. They both were happy and married and while she knew they cared for her, and she for them, Sarina had a different sense as to what made—or would make—her happy.

  She swallowed and did her best to compose her features. Her mind was not on Lord Strathmore but on the men she wanted to enjoy this masquerade fair with.

  Even if doing do was to Maryanne’s chagrin.

  “Since you won’t choose between Sinclair and Trevelyan,” her other cousin said with equal energy.

  Sarina took a moment to put a noncommittal smile on her face before meeting Henrietta’s gaze. And she didn’t miss the look between Maryanne and Henrietta—Maryanne wanted Sarina to marry a titled gentleman and bring just a bit more prestige to the family. Henrietta thought it romantic to marry for love and wanted Sarina to be happy.

  “Though,” Henrietta continued with a patronizing sniff, “I don’t see why you won’t. They’re both quite acceptable.”

  Sarina swore she heard a note of coyness in Henrietta’s voice. “You know why,” she responded firmly.

  “That’s a silly reason,” Henrietta said with a flick of her wrist. “And one that should not be of concern to you.”

  Refusing to be dismissed by a flick of the wrist, Sarina felt her lips twist into a slight smirk. She had perfectly acceptable reasons for not becoming involved with either man. Well, one very important reason. Friendship.

  If she was not to have one or the other, she’d at least not ruin what friendship lay between them all.

  Though it had been more than two years ago, Sarina easily recalled when Liam and Prescott had told her of her brother’s death during the Peninsular War. A day she never forgot, nor could she forget how she’d broken down before two strangers.

  After that day, none of them were strangers. They visited her, cheered her, and advised her in her brother’s absence. It had not escaped her attention that they’d also grown attached to her, as she to them. Each of their desires to court her was clear, but she knew choosing one over the other had become impossible.

  And that the choice, if she ever did make one, could ruin their friendship. But most of all, it’d ruin their business partnership, and she would not chance such a thing.

  “Oh,” Maryanne added, “I don’t know. I think Sarina’s actions are rather”—she tilted her head and smiled—“pragmatic. And, too, there’ll be quite a number of eligible suitors here, which could make a better match for our Sarina. Particularly if that suitor holds a titl
e.”

  She didn’t need this to become a further topic of discussion, though it seemed to be a favorite topic amongst her cousins. Suddenly warm in the closed carriage, Sarina pushed open the window covering again and felt the cold air sting her heated cheeks.

  “Our Sarina can make her own match,” Henrietta said somewhat defiantly. “I have full faith in her.” The other woman argued with her sister as if Sarina didn’t ride in the carriage beside them. She let them; she had no desire to interfere in their argument. “Sinclair’s and Trevelyan’s business shouldn’t be of concern to her. They will have to settle that amongst themselves.”

  “Let’s forget about matchmaking for a moment,” Sarina interrupted and let the covering fall back into place. She resisted rolling her eyes at her cousins. “We’ve arrived.”

  The door opened and Sarina stepped out, letting the air swirl around her, once again cooling her heated cheeks. Makeshift fire pits flickered in the lengthening shadows, and over the scent of burning wood, she smelled the mouthwatering aroma of roasted chestnuts. Even at this early hour, she saw people wandering in costume along the main fares.

  The other carriages pulled into the courtyard of the Crown and Rose and deposited both Maryanne’s and Henrietta’s husbands as well as their servants. Letting the flurry of activity at their arrival cover her anxiousness, Sarina climbed the stairs inside the inn and pushed Prescott and Liam out of her mind. For the moment.

  “You should change quickly, Sarina,” Maryanne said as she walked by to her own room. “That road didn’t help and now we’re running late for the masquerade.”

  They’d meant to arrive the previous day, but her father’s youngest sister, Georgiana, had arrived in London, and Sarina had promised to meet with her. Sarina hadn’t minded; only eighteen months older than her, she and Georgiana had always gotten on well. And her aunt had needed to discuss her impending marriage to Lord Hawksmoor.

  Georgiana had extracted a promised from Sarina for frequent visits once Georgiana was settled at Hawksmoor Manor so far from everything her aunt knew. A promise Sarina had easily agreed to. Yes, Sarina had been pleased to spend the day with her aunt, and talk of the other woman’s forthcoming wedding, but now, with so lovely a village to explore, she wished she could’ve come a day early.

  She’d have loved to simply enjoy the thick snow and brightly decorated buildings. And enjoy a moment of calm to herself.

  Filled to the brim, the Crown and Rose held several faces Sarina recognized from London. She held a hand up in acknowledgement to those acquaintances as one of the inn’s servants showed her and her lady’s maid, Lydia, to her room.

  Once inside, Lydia wasted no time opening the trunk that held her costume for this evening. The way Lydia chatted on, Sarina wondered how she hadn’t noticed the girl’s excitement before. It seemed Lydia was more excited to experience the fair than Sarina.

  “Oh, Miss, it’ll be such a delight to walk along the Thames as it’s frozen!” Lydia said as she held up the golden gown Sarina planned to wear tonight. “And tasting all those treats to be had. Lady Colt’s maid and I have made arrangements to wander about, but I promise to return in plenty of time to undress you this evening.”

  As she chatted about mince pies and roasted chestnuts, a weakness Sarina couldn’t fault her for, Lydia swept her hair up in an imitation of the Greek goddess Athena, and looped heavy golden ribbon through her long, black tresses. Sarina closed her eyes as Lydia placed the pins and tried, futilely, not to think of Prescott and Liam.

  It hadn’t been an easy decision, and one she’d made only after too many nights of trying to think of another way. The pragmatic side of her recognized that; her heart rebelled against it. But what other choice had there been?

  She’d seen it before to devastating effect, the breakup of a close friendship or a thriving business, over a woman. And she cared far too much for both men to do that to either of them. Far too much.

  How did she handle the very complicated fact she’d developed feelings for both Prescott and Liam? How could she choose? It wasn’t until these last few months that it’d become abundantly clear that a choice did, indeed, need to be made between two men she wanted on such a physical level.

  So she had chosen neither. And she knew that had not gone unnoticed in her social circles. Oh, she’d seen the sly looks, heard the suddenly halted conversations whenever she walked by. She detested such idle gossip, particularly when it involved her.

  Sarina sucked in a deep breath and tried to ease the band tightening around her chest. She’d made her decision. It hurt, had cut deeply, nearly strangling the breath out of her. They lived in a world where indecision could be a stain on one’s reputation, and she couldn’t afford the price that indecision might demand.

  She’d do this, choose a husband she did not love—and it’d be to Maryanne’s delight.

  Every time she thought about it, about the fact she’d have to choose an altogether different man from the ones she cared for, that cut sliced deeper. There were times, like this afternoon in the carriage, when she’d searched for Prescott and Liam in the passing village, when she fooled herself into thinking she might have a future with one of them.

  Lydia wove the final gold ribbon through her hair, and Sarina knew the truth. It settled heavily around her heart: this fair was the last time she’d be free around them. After this fair, things would change, once she told them her decision to not accept either of them as suitors.

  Her maid stepped back, lightly chatting about her gown and the fair as she often did, and Sarina was grateful for the distraction and offered a half-smile. Behind her smile, it hurt to breathe, hurt to even move, and hot tears pricked behind her eyes. Not normally so emotional a woman, this decision shook her in the same way her brother’s death had shaken her.

  Sarina swallowed, took long, long moments to calm herself, and finally stood.

  She’d have to find another suitor or accept that Lord Strathmore was her future. She knew that. Had forced herself to accept that. But not today.

  Today, Liam and Prescott were to be here at the fair, and her excitement at seeing both was tempered by the bitter sweetness of knowing this was to be the last time. Sarina didn’t like the confusion and loss of control this situation left her with.

  Swallowing those feelings, Sarina smoothed down her gold cloak and headed for the fair. Today, she’d enjoy the masquerade with two men who were, and always would be, nothing more than dear friends.

  Sarina exited her room, the handle of her half-mask clutched firmly at her side. Maryanne dressed in traditional winter white, her husband matching, while Henrietta and her husband were woodland creatures of some sort, dressed in a deep green with silver threads carefully embroidered throughout.

  The village brimmed with people and Sarina breathed in the excitement. She walked with her cousins for a bit, laughing with them and listening to their comments. Only she heard the strain in her laughter, felt the brittle smile on her lips. That façade was for them—and maybe a little for her as well.

  Her anticipation at knowing she’d see Liam and Prescott was tempered with knowing the difficult discussions she knew she needed to have with them. At least she’d have a short while to enjoy their company as they always had.

  As soon as she could, Sarina wandered away from her family, using the crush to do so, and headed toward a printer’s stall. She needed space, a little air from their hovering. And while she looked through the printer’s wares, Sarina kept an eye out for Prescott and Liam. She didn’t know what they’d come dressed as, and wondered if she’d recognize them.

  Calling herself all sorts of foolish, Sarina returned her attention to the printer’s stall and the postcards of Kingsnorth’s winter festival. She purchased several, amused by the stamp on the bottom left corner of each card: Printed on the Thames. Arranging to have them delivered to the Crown and Rose, Sarina smiled and slowly walked down the street, her boots crunching on the thin layer of snow. Costumes of long-dead kin
gs mixed with brightly dressed harlequins and nobility from another era. She enjoyed the frippery and tried to guess who each person was, always watching for the two she wanted to see most.

  Two men in distinct Norsemen garb walked by her and she smiled, her eyes constantly roaming the crowd, searching for the only two men she wanted to see.

  “Discarded so easily.”

  Chapter Two

  Sarina froze and, with an unsure step, slowly turned. Liam’s voice washed over her, like a warm caress and she tried not to enjoy the prick of lightning along her skin that crackled between them. Embarrassed at her reaction, Sarina felt a flush spread over her face and neck as she watched the two Norsemen flip their hoods back.

  Her heart did a slow turn in her chest, and Sarina suddenly had difficulty breathing.

  “You’re here!” she managed, closing the distance between she and the two men. “I’d never have spotted you with such elaborate attire.”

  Without thinking, Sarina embraced both men. Felt their warm, hard bodies against hers. Shocked at her bold, scandalous actions, she stumbled back slightly on the ice and snow and quickly brought up her mask, hoping to cover her face. And the deepening flame of embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

  They caused her to act far differently than she normally might.

  “We wouldn’t miss an opportunity to see you dressed as a goddess,” Prescott said with a low, rumbling laugh that did strange things to her. Sarina swallowed at the sound and briefly closed her eyes against the oddness warming her body.

  “We wouldn’t miss an opportunity to see you,” Liam added. He took her hand and kissed the gloved back of it. The hazel blue of his eyes watched her with a knowledge she didn’t understand but one that caught her breath.

  Sarina felt her blush deepen even more, her fingers flex around Liam’s. She swallowed and licked her lips as she pulled her hand from his. Her eyes swept up to Prescott, his deep brown gaze sparked with something—more than happiness at seeing her, more than the normal spark of friendship lighted his gaze. Sarina didn’t understand it but it drew her, caught and held.