Deliciously Hazardous (Regency Four Book 4) Read online

  DELICIOUSLY HAZARDOUS

  BY

  VIRGINIA TAYLOR

  The South Landers Series

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  Copyright Virginia Taylor

  Cover by Lana Perchercyzck

  I would like to thank Georgette Heyer for giving me hours and hours of reading pleasure and the desire to write Regency romances.

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Deliciously Hazardous

  When Lady Hebe Hampton strolls back into society, an extremely rich widow, she can now choose from a long line of fortune hunters to begin the family she craves. Although she had never loved anyone other than Lord Alexander Rydale, the inflexible Marquess has never approved of her unrestrained behavior.

  Knowing his estates are impoverished, she offers him an indecent proposal. Impregnate her within two months and she will endow him with all her worldly goods in marriage.

  Rydale is not aiming for a wife with a fortune but a quiet life with a demure young lady who will not outrage society. However, his lust for Hebe has not died. Gambling on the fact that she remained barren during her nine-year marriage, with nothing to lose, and her luscious body to gain, he snaps up her offer. An affair with a time limit is all he wants.

  However, win or lose, Hebe is willing to bet on love.

  CHAPTER ONE

  1828

  During the past year, newly widowed Lady Hebe Hampton had progressed from wearing all black, to black and gray, and then to gray. Her mourning period now over, this afternoon she wore a dusky pink gown, trimmed with red silk. After a shaky rearrangement of her cashmere shawl, she pattered down the staircase to the drawing room of her hosts, the Earl and Countess of Langsdene.

  Blowing out a nervous breath, and remembering to balance an invisible book on her head, she swept her gaze over blue velvet chairs, gold-framed artworks depicting botanical scenes, marbled wallpaper, and subdued oriental carpets. Lack of ostentation in a room pleased Hebe, mainly because her dearly departed husband, Horace Hampton, esquire, whom she had married eight years ago, had crammed everything new and bright into his houses. Since he counted his money in the upper ten thousands, nothing in her new home had reminded her of her old home; no worn old carpets, no threadbare upholstery. Hebe hadn’t cared. Her life with him was new, and not to be compared with her pre-marital state.

  Society said she had married to gain her filthy lucre. She couldn’t deny this, having had no option when, at the age of twenty, she accepted Horace’s kind hand. Soon after, she voluntarily removed herself from society. No children having been produced during their union, she alone inherited his fortune when he died. Which now made her, she hoped, a merry widow. The hope pertained to the merriness. She was determined to make the most of her first real week out of mourning.

  Spotting her friend and hostess, she took a step forward. At the same moment, Winsome turned, smiled, and hurried over. “Hebe, dearest, I hope my staff have attended to your needs.” Winsome planted a kiss on Hebe’s cheek. A young woman with thick, brown hair, and sparkling light gray eyes, Winsome had been Hebe’s friend and neighbor until Hebe’s father had lost all his money and had to sell their country estate. The two had had been reacquainted during their debuts.

  “I’ve been made very comfortable,” Hebe said, appreciatively. “I would have sent my carriage back to town, but your stable master wouldn’t hear of it.”

  Winsome looked pleased. “You’ll have to promise not to leave us too soon.”

  “I’ll try to bear the company of all my favorite people for a week or two. Your invitation came at the perfect time—my mourning period is finally over. If I’d still been wearing gray, I would have depressed everyone.”

  “It would take more than a dull color for you to depress anyone.” Winsome indicated her husband, the handsome dark-haired earl, who stood behind her. “I’m not sure who you know because I only did the one season in London. You are acquainted with Langsdene, though?”

  “Yes, I certainly know the earl.” Hebe smiled at Langsdene. “Not that he attended as many functions as I did.”

  “You remember rightly. I avoided as many as I could.” The earl offered her a lazy smile. “You will, of course, have met most of my friends. None were as unsociable as I.” He turned and gave a beckoning gesture.

  Her pulse sped up as she watched the approach of Alexander, Earl of Rydale. However, his disappointing lack of interest in merry widows showed in the cool nod he offered her. From his golden brown hair, his amber eyes, and his aquiline nose, his appearance had not changed in the eight years since she had last seen him. Today he wore a burgundy jacket that emphasized the width of his shoulders, and tapered down to his waist.

  “Lady Hebe,” he said in a contained voice, bowing over her hand. “You are looking well.” He stared at her as if he needed to find a reason for her existence.

  “And you.” The sinews in her neck began to ache. She glanced over his shoulder. “Is that Barney Gordon over there? He is now married, I hear. And your wife, Lord Rydale? Is she present?”

  Winsome laughed. “Also past and future. He hasn’t chosen a wife yet. I tell him he is looking more miserable by the year and soon no one will have him, but he doesn’t seem to care. To date, my matchmaking has been a disaster.”

  Lord Rydale’s cynical mouth tilted on one side. “She can’t find anyone who can afford me.”

  Hebe swallowed. She knew he hadn’t married, of course, or she wouldn’t be here. To know that matters were as dire as he indicated, moneywise, somewhat relieved her. “What is your cost, Lord Rydale?” she asked in a smooth voice.

  Nine years ago, she had assumed he wasn’t badly off. He had a noble title, but as a young man, his father, the previous earl, had come into an inheritance that was purportedly a little depleted. Since he had died, all the un-entailed property had been sold, leaving Rydale a dilapidated manor house in Norfolk, although from all accounts, he lived in rooms in the city most of the year.

  He lifted his eyebrows with an indifference she found paralyzing. “Since I haven’t met anyone likely to make me an offer, I can’t say. What did your late husband offer for you?”

  “I’m sure you know what I am worth.” She lifted her chin. Her money gave her the status she hadn’t possessed when younger. “The gossips have been discussing my fortune for the past year. You have a title. That should be worth something to a wealthy man with a spare daughter.”

  She knew, because her title had caught Horace’s interest. Other than him, she could only choose from men who were either too old, or who didn’t appeal to her at all. Had her parents any money, she could have remained on the shelf, but she was expected to provide for her fa
mily, being easy on the eye, and likely to do well for herself. Horace was barely middle-aged, and he delighted in her title. He could also afford to help her parents. He had paid off the debts, assuming his unborn children would inherit her family’s freeholds, and he had given her parents a generous stipend for the upkeep of the estate.

  “I had forgotten that you two always bickered,” Langsdene said, two lines forming between his eyebrows “I could never work out which of you came off best.”

  “Lady Hebe did. She is the one who now has a fortune.” His eyelids lowering to express a stark disinterest in the conversation, Rydale stalked off with his usual lean-hipped arrogance.

  Hebe stared after him. “No wonder he can’t find a woman who can afford him,” she said, tucking an errant ringlet behind her ear. “All that surliness wrapped up in a misleadingly attractive package.”

  Winsome lifted her shoulders. “I agree about the packaging, but I’ve always seen Alex as the epitome of a gentleman.”

  Hebe lifted a casual shoulder. “He informed me years ago that I would try the patience of a saint.”

  “I doubt anyone would call Alex a saint.” Winsome linked her arm with Hebe’s. “Let me re-introduce you to everyone and then I can show you over the gardens. We need to take advantage of this lovely weather.”

  With grace and patience, Winsome walked Hebe around the room, making her known to those she hadn’t met, and encouraging all her former friends hug or kiss her, as if she were a whole brand new person.

  When Hebe had accepted condolences, happy kisses, and discussed her current situation innumerable times, Winsome bore her outside to the parterre garden she had recently re-designed. The spring annuals were in full bloom and lined the edges with pink and blue flowers. Within a year, the hedges would begin to link and the fan shape would be more pronounced.

  Although she would normally be as enthused as her friend, Hebe’s mind focused on everything but Winsome’s plans for the rest of the garden.

  Hebe could now afford Rydale, but could she make him want her?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Rydale stared out of the morning salon window, his hands pressed deep into his trouser pockets, idly watching the guests who had gathered around the adventuress, Lady Hebe, on the side lawn. Like a new toy, she was being gushed over and caught up with the latest gossip. Today, rather than join the crowd, which rarely tempted him, he was more focused on his own problems, mainly money. Being a guest of Langsdene, yet again, only emphasized the fact that he rarely played the role of host himself. Nothing would have pleased him more than to entertain his friends at his country estate, but the place was run down and understaffed. His city accommodation consisted of a few meager rooms. At best, he could only offer to host small card parties for his friends.

  For his closest friends, the little he could offer was enough, but he was ever conscious of not providing others with the generous hospitality lavished on him. Instead, he was known to be on the hunt for a rich young wife. All those who had interested him had about as much money as he, enough to support themselves, but certainly not a sum that could in any way repair his ancestral home or replenish his dwindled income.

  Which brought him to Lady Hebe, whom he had hoped to avoid. No one could have missed the speculation about her return. Did she plan to flaunt her carefully gotten gains? Was she angry that society had shunned her for the past eight years? What did she mean to do with her money? Did she expect to marry again?

  She had landed on her feet, but of course a charmer like Lady Hebe would. The woman he used to know wouldn’t consider settling for mediocrity. No one had ever been rich enough for the young money hunter, who had been brought up in extremely straightened circumstances. She had been very young when her father had made his unwise investments. Other than herself, her only saleable quality had been her title, and she had held out for the highest bidder.

  Today she carelessly wore a ring with a diamond the size of her fingernail, flashing her cash in the way her manufacturer husband would have admired. Though, she herself had never been backward in coming forward. In the opinion of society, ‘forward’ was a tactful description of a lady who had been a wicked tease, if not more. If she went to her husband a virgin, the word would have been purely nominal. At one time, he thought he might have been the only peer not to have shared her favors.

  Thoughts of the past strangely unsettled him. He opened the French doors and wandered outside to join the others, but managed to contribute little to the conversations. Winsome had invited various friends and acquaintances to her house party, a mix of couples and singles. Many a match was made in convivial surroundings, away from the restrictions of the city. He didn’t doubt she was hoping she had invited a woman who might suit him. The persistent creature would never stop trying to organize the life that appeared to be passing him by, while all his friends settled into wedded bliss.

  He couldn’t say he wanted to marry, despite his need for money. Many of the new debutantes on the catch for a husband would have been suitable but he had lost interest in the younger set. Each year, more young ladies were presented, and each year their conversation, enthusiastic and never-ending, interested him less. Finally, he decided if none could capture his notice, he would be better off a crusty old bachelor. An affair always had been a reasonable option, but the lure of other men’s wives had begun to pall on him. He had to face the fact that he was jaded. This week at the country house with most of his old friends might activate in him some enthusiasm for life.

  After moving from one group of people to another, he strolled back into the house and changed for dinner, accepting with resignation that he would be seated beside Lady Hebe, whom he presumed Winsome wanted to drag back into her social circle. Somehow, he would manage to remain polite, but Lady Hebe brought out the worst in him. Always had. She and Winsome seemed an unlikely mix, but he had thought Rose, Lady Temple, Della, Lady Thornton, and Winsome were as well, and the trio was as tight as King George’s purse strings. Each of the three seemed to spend many hours per day trying to match-make. To date, they had failed with him.

  Dressed for the evening in black trousers and a long-tailed jacket, with a green patterned waistcoat, he arrived in the drawing room a little before the others. The butler offered him wine. He accepted, and stood staring out at the same garden he had been staring at not long before. Footsteps alerted him to the presence of another. He turned.

  “Lord Rydale,” Lady Hebe said, offering him a curtsy.

  He bowed. “May I offer you a glass of ...?” He raised his eyebrows at the footman.

  “The sherry, perhaps, my lady?” the man said, glancing at his tray. He poured a drink while Rydale stood silent, not immune to Lady Hebe’s elegance.

  Contrasting with her dark blue gown, her rich auburn hair had been gathered at the crown of her head. Smooth curls trickled like spilt Madeira down to her shoulders. A gauze shawl, embroidered with gold, curled around her elbows. She wore no jewelry other than pearl earrings and her enormous diamond ring. “Did rather well for yourself, didn’t you?” he said, trying to keep his gaze above the smooth roundness of her half exposed breasts.

  “Are you referring to my marriage?”

  “An older man, was he not?”

  She offered him a tight smile. “Slightly older than you, very rich, very considerate, and very experienced.” Her eyebrows lifted as she stared at him. “Perhaps you should be looking for an older wife instead of hoping for one of the freshest prizes.”

  “I gave up hope long ago. Hope of a prize, I mean. Not hope of a wife. That would come under the heading of lack of patience rather than lack of hope.”

  “But I’m sure many a young lady is interested in you.” She swept her gaze from the top of his head to his polished shoes, taking her time in the middle, and causing him an unexpected stirring of desire.

  No wonder he didn’t want to be near her. Or his mind didn’t. His body was more impressionable. Perhaps he ought to contemplate an affair with her.
At least that would finally get her out of his system. “I suspect at least one female has been invited here for my inspection. Winsome never gives up when she has an idea.”

  “I wonder if she needs my help?”

  He sighed. “Your help is the last thing I want.” Her mockery did nothing to ease his physical attraction to her. “Let’s hope your ideal bride is my dinner partner.”

  But, as he knew, Lady Hebe sat beside him as his dinner partner. Miss Primrose Smith, the beauty of the season, had been placed on his other side. She had a short straight nose, large blue eyes, framed with long thick eyelashes, elegant white hands, and a soft laugh. He spotted a dimple, too. He engaged her in conversation as long as his tolerance lasted, serving her with petit pates and a fricassee of veal, until finally her own dinner partner, young Lord Hartley decided to offer her a few words. After that, Rydale sat sipping a mellow burgundy, listening to odd wafts of conversation from the others.

  “Do you enjoy trying to draw out shy young beauties?” Lady Hebe’s breath warmed his ear.

  He turned. “Enjoyment is rarely related to manners.”

  “Except in the case of shy young beauties?”

  After examining her skeptical expression, he took a considering gulp of his wine. “Possibly.”

  She nodded. “Though, I have heard you also like older women. Apparently, you have no problem finding wives, though none are your own. Do as I did. Marry to disoblige society. Or would you find being an outcast too difficult?”