An Earl for the desperate bride (Regency Romance) (Regency Tales Book 1) by Regina Darcy Page B
Authors: Regina Darcy
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replied with mirth, “then you can see how long it takes for one of you to throw the other in the lake.” Both men chuckled ruefully. “Right, I best be on my way. I am due in London in a week,” the Earl, exclaimed.
“Rushing off? Do not tell me it is the lovely Phoebe Alexander that is your urgent business,” Nathaniel replied with a knowing smirk. “When are you going to get the courage to tell her, she has stolen your heart?”
“Right after you get married and produce an heir, old chap,” Alden retorted without missing a beat.
“So never then?”
The Earl laughed, bid his friend goodbye and set his horse to a gallop across the manor drive and on to the road towards London.
Nathaniel watched him race on with a wistful smile. He was loath to turn back towards the house. On an impulse, he decided to explore the surrounding landscape instead. This would be a great opportunity to take a break from his nieces. He urged his horse into a trot and was soon deep into the Gloucestershire countryside. The peace of his surroundings, was surprisingly working wonders on his nerves. As he reached the outskirts of the Crown Forest of Dean, he dismounted, tied his horse and continued on foot.
He thought of Lady Anne Smithey, the most treacherous woman he had ever met. An incomparable beauty. Her skin flawlessly pale, her visage a vision of innocence and her heart as dark as charcoal.
It had been five years and still the invisible wound she had inflicted upon him had not yet healed. He knew full well that his reputation as a lover, was only gained after Lady Anne crushed his young heart. He had set out to conquer every beauty, learn every trick, so as to never be at the mercy of a woman again. And he had succeeded. He had vast experience of women and his expertise had gained him the reputation of the best lover in London. Nathaniel took a deep breath. Why am I so restless?
Irritated he walked past a configuration of trees and then stopped dead in his track. Somewhere a woman was singing.
Intrigued he parted the bushed and walked into a clearing. In front of the clearing, there was a small lake and on the other side was a woman. She was blissfully unaware that she was being watched. With her eyes closed, she sang her heart out. It was Sir. Thomas Moore’s The Last Rose of Summer . She wasn’t the best songstress he had ever heard, but her voice vibrated with the joy and innocence of youth.
Bewitched, the Viscount slowly dropped to his knees, tucked his legs underneath him and drank in the scene before him.
'Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.
I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter,
Thy leaves o'er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.’
As she sang the last word, she seemed to feel that she was being watched and turned around. Time stopped. Nathaniel was transfixed.
Hers was not a classical beauty; her features were too strong for that. But, fire burned fiercely in her eyes. Her softly curved lips looked like they were made to be kissed.
The young woman looked startled and made to dash off. Hurriedly, Nathaniel rose and stretched out his hand besieging.
“Wait!” She stopped dead in her tracks. Slowly she turned around and looked at him. Her eyes were bright with curiosity.
“Surely you would not run away from a man separated from you by a stream?” he asked soothingly. The mischievous lady smiled, and he felt his heart turn. Not again .
“Only if such a man is not a gentleman ,” she replied.
“And what makes you think I am not a gentleman?” he asked with a roguish smile. “Although I must admit you are as beautiful as any English rose.”
The young lady blushed. Then she bit her lower lip and
“Rushing off? Do not tell me it is the lovely Phoebe Alexander that is your urgent business,” Nathaniel replied with a knowing smirk. “When are you going to get the courage to tell her, she has stolen your heart?”
“Right after you get married and produce an heir, old chap,” Alden retorted without missing a beat.
“So never then?”
The Earl laughed, bid his friend goodbye and set his horse to a gallop across the manor drive and on to the road towards London.
Nathaniel watched him race on with a wistful smile. He was loath to turn back towards the house. On an impulse, he decided to explore the surrounding landscape instead. This would be a great opportunity to take a break from his nieces. He urged his horse into a trot and was soon deep into the Gloucestershire countryside. The peace of his surroundings, was surprisingly working wonders on his nerves. As he reached the outskirts of the Crown Forest of Dean, he dismounted, tied his horse and continued on foot.
He thought of Lady Anne Smithey, the most treacherous woman he had ever met. An incomparable beauty. Her skin flawlessly pale, her visage a vision of innocence and her heart as dark as charcoal.
It had been five years and still the invisible wound she had inflicted upon him had not yet healed. He knew full well that his reputation as a lover, was only gained after Lady Anne crushed his young heart. He had set out to conquer every beauty, learn every trick, so as to never be at the mercy of a woman again. And he had succeeded. He had vast experience of women and his expertise had gained him the reputation of the best lover in London. Nathaniel took a deep breath. Why am I so restless?
Irritated he walked past a configuration of trees and then stopped dead in his track. Somewhere a woman was singing.
Intrigued he parted the bushed and walked into a clearing. In front of the clearing, there was a small lake and on the other side was a woman. She was blissfully unaware that she was being watched. With her eyes closed, she sang her heart out. It was Sir. Thomas Moore’s The Last Rose of Summer . She wasn’t the best songstress he had ever heard, but her voice vibrated with the joy and innocence of youth.
Bewitched, the Viscount slowly dropped to his knees, tucked his legs underneath him and drank in the scene before him.
'Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.
I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter,
Thy leaves o'er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.’
As she sang the last word, she seemed to feel that she was being watched and turned around. Time stopped. Nathaniel was transfixed.
Hers was not a classical beauty; her features were too strong for that. But, fire burned fiercely in her eyes. Her softly curved lips looked like they were made to be kissed.
The young woman looked startled and made to dash off. Hurriedly, Nathaniel rose and stretched out his hand besieging.
“Wait!” She stopped dead in her tracks. Slowly she turned around and looked at him. Her eyes were bright with curiosity.
“Surely you would not run away from a man separated from you by a stream?” he asked soothingly. The mischievous lady smiled, and he felt his heart turn. Not again .
“Only if such a man is not a gentleman ,” she replied.
“And what makes you think I am not a gentleman?” he asked with a roguish smile. “Although I must admit you are as beautiful as any English rose.”
The young lady blushed. Then she bit her lower lip and
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