The Debutante and the Duke: A Regency Romance (Seductive Scoundrels Book 11) by Collette Cameron

Author:Collette Cameron [Cameron, Collette]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Seductive Scoundrels, Book 11
Publisher: Blue Rose Romance
Published: 2021-01-19T06:00:00+00:00

19 Bedford Square

One week later

The next week passed in a blur of activity as Fletcher’s first ship was outfitted, her crew hired, and the Misty Morning—Florence’s choice for the ship’s name—was readied to sale to India. The ship would return with spices, silk, linen, and tea, and hopefully the next ship—as yet unnamed—would be nearly ready to outfit as well.

He’d also written Greg and Florence, inviting them to come to London. It was too soon for a response, but he informed them that he had no immediate plans to return to Scotland. He would, of course, do so eventually. He wanted to. Just not quite yet.

A wry grin slanted his mouth.

A fortnight ago, he couldn’t wait to shake London’s coal dust from his boots. Now, however, thanks to an endearing, winsome wood nymph, he wasn’t sure when he’d leave. More on point, when he did eventually return home, would Rayne accompany him?

Conflict still raged within him about formally courting her. If he asked to pay his addresses, Sheffield would rightly expect a marriage proposal to be forthcoming.

Truthfully, Fletcher yearned to marry Rayne.

That knowledge horrified and delighted him.

And yet, a genuine terror that he’d make the same mistake his father had and that Rayne might end up as miserable and bitter as his mother kept him mute.

Rayne is nothin’ like Mother. Nothin’.

That inarguable truth was what kept Fletcher seeking Miss Rayne Wellbrook’s charming company. They’d shared three more clandestine garden meetings at the Sheffields’—each instigated by him. Citing her reputation and gossiping servants for her reluctance, Rayne steadfastly refused to come over the wall to his property again.

Though she eagerly responded to his kisses, he sensed she held something back. That she never completely let herself go. Fletcher wanted to ask her about her reservations, but doing so hardly seemed appropriate as they weren’t affianced, and he’d vowed to himself to not go beyond passionate kisses.

His bloody honor and that damnable pledge might be the death of him.

Could a man die of a permanent erection?

Nonetheless, his passion and desire for Rayne had become a raging inferno. He’d summoned Herculean restraint to keep their interludes to kissing and nothing more. By God, he wouldn’t tup her in a cramped garden arbor.

If she became his duchess, he’d go about introducing her to lovemaking properly in an oversized bed covered in yellow satin sheets—because, after all, yellow was her favorite color. He’d fill 19 Bedford Square’s gardens with yellow roses and every other imaginable yellow flower there was.

Sunflowers. Foxgloves. Primroses. Daffodils. Dahlias. Daisies. Marigolds. Hollyhocks…

The current owner of the house had insisted on meeting with Fletcher in person, which meant a trip to Warwick. Elliot Pritchard, a lean, handsome, soft-spoken man at perhaps the end of his sixth decade, desired to know why Fletcher wished to buy the house.

Quite irregular, truth be told.

Typically, sellers only cared about how much they could gain from the sale of their property. Though Pritchard’s request struck Fletcher as unusual and the timing was inconvenient for a long day trip to Warwick, he’d acquiesced.

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