A Lady to Desire Read online

  A Lady To Desire

  A Lady To Desire

  A "Tales From Seldon Park" Novel

  By Bethany M. Sefchick

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018

  Bethany M. Sefchick

  All rights reserved

  Dedication

  For my mom…

  Thank you for introducing me to the world of romance novels…

  Even if you didn’t mean to…

  Prologue

  Prologue

  Early May 1820

  Framingham House

  London

  Charlotte watched from a distance as the man she adored comforted his sister, Eliza, as Eliza’s world seemingly crumbled around her. Expressions of horror mixed with confusion and pain were plainly written on both of their faces, though Charlotte doubted her expression was much different just then. After all, she – along with the better part of London’s high society – had just learned that the man they had been calling Lord Stephen (the very same man Charlotte was already half in love with) since his return to London a month ago wasn’t really Lord Stephen at all. Rather, the man with his arm now wrapped tightly around Eliza was actually Lord Francis Deaver, Lord Stephen’s identical twin, and the true first-born son of the Deaver family and heir to the Framingham marquisate. A son believed to have died at birth.

  Except he hadn’t died. Instead, he had been kidnapped by a despicable woman and sold to another couple in the far reaches of England. Now, however, Francis – who had no memory of his past, including his name – had returned. As had the real Stephen. And suddenly, Charlotte’s world was upside down. Though she supposed there were others – like Eliza and Francis, for instance – who were much worse off than her at the moment.

  Finally, Francis (it would take some time for her to adjust to calling him by his proper name, Charlotte supposed) pulled away from his sister and turned back toward Charlotte. His jaw was tight, and she could see hints of raw anger lurking in his gorgeous turquoise eyes. She also noted a bit of worry within those magnificent eyes of his and perhaps a little fear as well.

  But otherwise? He was the same man she had fancied herself in love with not ten minutes before. His handsome face was the same as it had been before the life-changing revelation. His broad, muscular shoulders were just as imposing now as they had been earlier in the day. His well over six-foot frame still towered over her much shorter one. The oddly shaped scar that was just barely visible beneath his right ear was still exactly where it had been yesterday.

  His thick hair – with its peculiar texture that was coarser than anything she had felt before – was still the same strange mix of various blonde hues, though cut shorter now than it had been. The tip of his left pinky finger was still missing, just as it had been that morning when they met in the park. His right hand still clutched his cane tightly for support, his bad leg still obviously paining him, just as he had when he had entered the ballroom that evening.

  In short, the man before her was the exact same man Charlotte had come to know and care for over the past month. Whatever name he was called, nothing could change the man himself.

  Francis – not Stephen – took a tentative step toward her and then stopped, as if he wasn’t quite certain she would welcome his approach. Except that she would. Always. This revelation did not change anything, at least not for her.

  “I…I do not know what to say. Especially to you, I’m afraid.” Around Francis, his family’s ballroom was still engulfed in a large degree of chaos, but he seemed to be looking only at her as if hers was the only opinion that mattered. As if she was the most important person in the room. Lord knew, she wanted to be.

  Francis cleared his throat, seemingly searching for the right words. What were the right words in such a situation anyway? “I am sorry, Charlotte. You cannot know how much,” he finally managed, his voice slow and halting.

  Had it really only been last evening that they had given each other permission to call each other by their Christian names? She supposed so even though it now seemed like another lifetime ago.

  “It is not your fault. None of this is.” Charlotte was certain of that much if nothing else.

  “I am…I am…” He seemed to struggle to find the words he wished to say. She could not say that she blamed him.

  “Francis.” Charlotte finished for him as she said his new name aloud for the first time, testing the sound of it on her lips. It was…awkward, but she knew that in time she would become accustomed to it. After all, it was a perfectly nice name, and somehow, it suited him far more than the name Stephen had. She just hadn’t realized that until now. “You are Lord Francis Deaver. Viscount Underhill. Future Marquess of Framingham. That is who you are.”

  She watched him swallow hard before closing the distance between them, just as she had hoped he would.

  “I suppose that is my name now. Those are and will be my titles.” He closed his eyes and she watched a shudder run through him as he reached for her hand despite the fact that they were in full view of the entire ballroom. “I swear to you, Charlotte, I had no idea. I truly believed that I was Stephen. I had no reason to believe otherwise. I would never lie to you, especially about who I am.” He huffed a bit indignantly. “I can’t even remember who I was a year ago, let alone when I was born. How was I to know that I was believed to be dead?”

  “Shhh.” He was so close to her now that Charlotte could feel the heat of his body and drew comfort from that. It was the same body she had pressed against the previous night when he had kissed her for the first time, his soft yet firm lips demanding passion from her, which she gladly gave in return. A body that still hinted at the pleasure he could give her and all that lay between them, of promises unspoken and yet offered just the same. “Give this nasty situation time to blow over, Francis, for it will. Scandals always do. All will be well in time.”

  “You can’t know that. No one can.” His tone was bleak and he glanced back over his shoulder to where his parents were doing their best to shepherd the assembled guests out of the ballroom, Charlotte’s own extremely judgmental parents among them.

  Charlotte should be with them, of course. That would be proper. It was highly improper for her to still be here with Francis. Alone. However, he was more important to her than a bunch of silly rules.

  She shook her head as she laced her fingers through his briefly in a show of support. “No, I don’t suppose I can. However, I do know that, whatever your name is or was, and whoever you might have been before, you have proven the sort of man truly you are over the last month. Every time you defended your sister and came to her aide. Every time you assisted one of Society’s dragons or danced with a wallflower? Those are actions and feelings innate to you and you alone. They are part of the man you are inside. And your name? While obviously important, a name is still only a label. A name does not change the person you are beneath your skin. That is what is important. And those who care for you? That is all that will matter to them as well, no matter what name you choose to go by. Your heart is true, Francis. The rest is of little consequence.”

  Abruptly, Charlotte fell silent. She hadn’t meant to speak so passionately, especially about something so personal, but once she had begun to talk, the words had sort of tumbled out of their own volition. For each and every word was true, truer than this man likely realized.

  “Thank you, Charlotte. For that and for all the rest.” Francis’ shoulders slumped a bit. “For remaining m
y friend, that is. I have a feeling I may lose a great many friends in the coming days.” He paused and worried his lower lip between his teeth in an uncharacteristic show of indecision. “We are still friends, are we not?”

  Actually, Charlotte believed they were a great deal more than friends, especially after that kiss. After last evening, she had begun to hope that she might soon become his wife. His lover.

  However, she was also well aware they were still in the middle of his family’s ballroom and there were likely several dozen pairs of ears turned in their direction – ears that had already heard them both use each other’s Christian names, which was bad enough. After all, she had learned long ago that many members of the ton had excellent hearing when they wished it. Especially when it came to overhearing even a whiff of scandal.

  “We are.” Charlotte smiled at Francis and witnessed a tiny, answering smile bloom on his face. There was the man she knew and yes, perhaps even loved. “And we always will be.” Deciding to be daring, she reached out and laced her fingers with his again, stepping closer to him in the process. So close that she could feel more of that delicious body heat of his. “I promise you, Francis, I will always be there for you. Always.”

  She squeezed his hand and was thrilled when he returned her squeeze with an even harder one of his own.

  “Then, knowing that, perhaps the coming days shall be easier to tolerate after all.”

  Francis’ eyes glimmered with such banked heat when he made that comment that Charlotte felt a thrill of desire shoot straight to her toes. They could weather this storm. She knew they could. And if all went to plan, they might yet be wed by the end of the Season. If not sooner. She could not wait.

  Chapter One

  Chapter One

  Late April 1821

  Lady Ardenton’s ball

  London

  “Francis, please! Come away with me. Now. Tonight! We can depart for Scotland within the hour. I have been studying maps in my father’s library and have learned of back roads where no one would think to look for us. We can do this! Please do not make me wait any longer!”

  “No, Charlotte. We have been over this. I cannot. You know why we cannot. Your father would have my head on a pike! Not to mention that I would never disgrace you in such a manner. I care for you far too much to bring that sort of scandal down upon you.”

  Crossing her arms over her chest with a mutinous glare, Lady Charlotte Cleary somehow resisted the urge to take one of the nearby lanterns illuminating the terrace and toss it in the general direction of Lord Francis Deaver’s increasingly thick skull. True, she really had no desire to harm the man in front of her for she did care for him, no matter how much he infuriated her at times. She also did not think her old friend Amy, now the Viscountess Ardenton would appreciate the risk of fire such an action would cause. The viscountess was rather fond of her London townhome, after all.

  Charlotte also doubted that she presented as fearsome of a picture as she would have liked since she was dressed in a frothy, icy blue ballgown with so many bits of ribbons and lace that she more resembled an iced puffed pastry than a righteously indignant lady of refinement. Not that Francis would be cowed by her anyway, for he never was, no matter how angry she became. Standing nearly six inches shorter than he did have some decided disadvantages.

  “My father will never agree to sanction a marriage between us,” Charlotte tried again, though she knew her words were futile ones. For reasons she could not understand, the man she cared for with all of her heart was suddenly reluctant to marry her, and nothing she said or did as of late had been able to change his mind. “So if we do not elope to Gretna Green soon, I fear that we will never wed.”

  Actually, Charlotte was all but certain of that particular outcome. She simply hadn’t informed Francis as of yet. But she would. Soon. When it was absolutely necessary. She would have just preferred if he had married her without any sort of pressure. Except she was afraid that was not to be the case. She was now afraid that he would never marry her at all.

  Now it was Francis’ turn to cross his arms over his chest and glare in return. He was a great deal more effective at conveying his annoyance that she was, Charlotte noted sadly.

  “Your father tolerates me more now than he did a year ago,” Francis countered gruffly.

  “That is not saying much!” Charlotte shot back testily. “A year ago, he wished you dead and said that he hoped you drown during the swimming race at Fairhaven last summer!”

  Francis shrugged as if the older man’s wish that he come to harm was of no consequence. “Your father is coming around. He no longer wishes me to be run down by a carriage or suffer a fatal fall from a horse, at any rate. I would say that is progress.”

  Charlotte made a disgusted sound. She could not believe the man was truly this obtuse – or obstinate. “Just because my father no longer wishes you dead by some horrible means does not mean he is amenable to us marrying. Do not be dense!”

  “I am not being dense! I am being practical!” Francis shot back, clearly just as agitated now, though he was doing a much better job at hiding his irritation than she was. “Besides, I am winning over your father! I know it! He will change his mind in time, and then we can wed properly without all of this subterfuge!”

  Actually, Charlotte wasn’t all that certain her father had actually changed his mind about wishing for Francis’ preferably gruesome demise. After all, the Marquess of Waverly was legendary for many things, including his stubbornness. Charlotte was certain her father had simply stopped speaking of his wish for Francis’ death openly. There was a very large part of her that believed that if a hole in the earth opened up and swallowed Francis so that he was never seen again, her father would break out the best French champagne in celebration of the occasion. He was that adamantly opposed to a match between them, drat it all.

  The worst part, however, was that seemingly everyone knew about her father’s feelings regarding the matter.

  The gossip rags joked about his opposition to the marriage, and there were even several bets already on the books at White’s about the subject, with more being added every week. In fact, the possibility of Francis’ passing at the hands of either fate or the wishes of Lord Waverly was one of the most talked about – not to mention debated – subjects in London drawing rooms these days. Even among the ladies. Especially among the ladies.

  Ladies who would be only too happy to step in and take Charlotte’s place by Francis’ side if her father married her off to someone else. Ladies who would have gladly assisted in Charlotte’s demise if it meant that Francis could return free and unfettered to the marriage mart.

  How had they found themselves in this situation anyway?

  And why couldn’t Francis see what everyone else so easily could?

  Until Hell froze over or America was returned to England – neither of which was very likely – her father would never approve of a match between her and Francis. And that was that.

  “My father won’t change his mind,” she grumbled, glaring right back at him. “You know this. We have been over the matter at least a hundred times before.”

  “What would have you me do, Charlotte?” Francis threw up his hands in obvious frustration, though he did take care to lower his voice. They were only on the terrace after all and there was an entire ball still underway on the other side of the thin glass doors. “And do not say debauch you or elope with you, for I shan’t do either of those things. I will not ruin you.”

  Sadly, she knew that all too well. After all, she had all but undressed for him in the library during Lady Mayfield’s Springtime Ball the other week but to no avail.

  Charlotte had scarcely been able to believe it when Francis instructed her to pull her gown back up. She had thought this was what he wanted. They way he kissed her so passionately had indicated as much. The words he whispered so sweetly in her ear told her so – or so she had believed. Had she been wrong? Or, given her lack of experience, had she misunderstood his
intentions?

  Had she been a woman that lacked faith in herself, Charlotte would have thought that Francis no longer desired her. However, she knew he did. His cock had said what his lips refused to. Still, his refusal of her still stung. She did have her pride after all.

  That night, Charlotte had begged Francis to bed her, had bared her breasts to him and fallen to her knees in front of him, ready to offer herself to him, body and soul. For in her heart, she already belonged to him. Why should her body not as well? And if she became with child during their mating? Well, then her father would have to allow them to wed.

  Wasn’t that what both of them wanted? It was what she wanted. She believed he felt the same.

  Except that Francis had seemed to know exactly what she had planned and despite the fact that his cock had swollen so much that she could see its form through his trousers, he had still refused to take her innocence – even though it was clear he wanted to do just that. Or at least his body did. Instead, he had said he respected her too much to defile her that way and that he was certain she would eventually come to hate him for having been forced into a marriage in that fashion.

  His words had shaken Charlotte to her core.

  Until that moment, Francis had repeatedly professed how he could not wait to bed her, to see her naked and flushed beneath him as he took her innocence. He had once told her that he ached for her and desired release, but that he would not bed another woman in her stead. That it was she – Charlotte Cleary – that he wanted. He didn’t want another woman. He desired her and only her.

  During those passionate encounters, it was Charlotte who had hesitated, not trusting her own desires. Now that she was ready to give herself to him? He had turned as virginal as a schoolroom miss – something she knew good and well he was not.