Steamy Regency (Fiction)

He was deliciously desirable... there was no other definition for the roguish delectable man standing in front of her.

Ever since she'd seen him resting by the pillar across from her, a glass of sherry in hand and looking on with a half-bored, half-amused look in his eyes, she hadn't been able to help the giddy rush through her body.

“You look possibly agog my lady; like a naughty, naughty girl. Now that you've managed to corner me successfully, what do you propose we do?”

Gina stared into his cocky, sinfully blue eyes and everything inside her merged into a whirlpool of arousal.

This was madness; standing just a hair's breadth from a total stranger on the balcony of a crowded ballroom without a chaperone.

Anybody could wander outside for a breath of air and find them together. She would be totally ruined and her parents would have a conniption.

But she didn't care, not when his eyes willed and challenged her, and his lips looked like they could take her to the edge of a pleasurable paradise and back.

Besides, she was Gina. She never balked at challenges and tried all she could to best anyone who felt they could do better than her.

She wasn't a weak woman, even if right then, all she wanted to do was to melt into his arms and stay there forever.

It was exactly what she needed.

She had to do something fast that would fit perfectly into her plans.

She couldn't end up with that dastardly oily Duke of Devonshire. She just couldn't.

“I want... I want to kiss you...” Gina managed through a passion-clogged throat.

“Do you now?”

Gina could only nod as his magnetic eyes raked over her, igniting sparks all over the bare skin exposed above her lace fichu.

She was suddenly nervous and unsure, standing slowly on tiptoes when he gently pulled her close and pressed her lips in a fiery kiss.

Pleasurable sensation exploded inside her head as he deepened the kiss, and without thinking, she wrapped her gloved arms around his neck, surrendering it all …

Gloucestershire, England

April 1839

Regina Penelope Winston sat by the window of her mother's intricately decorated dressing room at their country home in Gloucestershire, feeling particularly perturbed and unhappy despite the sunny cheery day outside.

The subjects of her unhappiness at the moment were her mother and sisters a few feet away, chatting animatedly with the most renowned dressmaker of the county; Madame Clairmont made fashionable gowns and dresses for the gentry only.

Regina’s mother, Virginia Winston, had announced that morning that they were to leave in a fortnight for the start of the season in London, and her tone had brooked no argument.

That hadn’t stopped Regina from arguing and complaining at any opportunity she got. There was no way she could possibly go to London now.

After a long chilly winter, it was finally spring and the flowers were blooming colorfully and brightly; just looking at them through the window filled her with a sudden sense of delight and happiness and she wanted nothing but to be outside instead of in the dressing room for a fitting she didn't need.

She wanted to run her hands through the colorful sweet petals, whilst basking in the warmth of the afternoon breeze.

She wanted to ride free and wild with her horse, Peaches; thick, curly red hair unbound in the wind, and no care in the world as her excited screams echoed through the trees.

But she was stuck in the dressing room, waiting for her turn as her sister, Lucretia, primped in a dark blue, silk dress that molded around her curves seductively.

Regina loved the gown.

It had white lace trim around the hem and bodice, highlighting it all beautifully, and Lucretia's excitement was almost infectious but Regina just didn't care about all the fuss.

She didn't want to go to London. Period.

Smoothing down her pale blue silk dress, Regina looked outside, just in time to see her father galloping past with his best friend, Lord Sutherland.

With avid interest, and unmasked fire in her emerald green eyes, she watched them ride as the horses ate through the distance, with their sinewy strong limbs; bending, curving, and dipping ran swiftly through the open green and gold grassland.

When they disappeared over a knoll, she looked away, returning her attention to her mother and sisters with an unmistakable shadow of dissatisfaction resting on her pale creamy features.

“Gina, what do you think of the dress? Does it flatter my eyes or are you still in too foul a mood to care?” Lucretia turned from the mirror, prompting everyone else to face her after they'd all pointedly ignored her a while ago, mid-complaint.

“You know, if you're clad in flimsy rags, you'd still look amazing, Lucretia,” Regina said, unable to help a satisfied smile as her curly blonde-haired sister colored prettily and looked into the mirror once more to study her appearance.

Lucretia wasn't only infatuated with her looks, she also loved receiving compliments. It was exactly the right medicine to get her out of any funk and bad mood.

There hadn't been any fib in Regina's words though, for Lucretia was stunningly beautiful with fine curls artfully arranged at the nape of her neck.

She was taller than Regina and their other sister, Amelia; with a slim graceful elegance that came as naturally as breathing to her.

She was the one who looked and behaved more like their mother, followed closely by Amelia who still had the occasional tantrums of a child.

“Yes, well, I think it's my turn now, Lucretia. I'll never have my fitting if you keep gawking at the mirror now, will I?” Amelia, the last born said with a petulant frown as she assumed a stance before Madame Clairmont.

With one final flounce and a smile of approval from their mother, Lucretia headed for a plush satin stool, sat down daintily, and resumed admiring herself fastidiously in a gold-framed hand mirror.

The dressmaker picked up a pink creation of silk and lace from a table nearby to try on Amelia, and Regina used the chance to study her sister who was younger by four years and a few months.

Amelia was the most rounded of them. She had full blossoming curves on her hips and bust, along with chubby rosy cheeks framed by long, straight, pale blonde hair.

Her cornflower blue eyes constantly shone with merriment and mischief, just as they did at that moment in the floor-length dressing mirror.

Regina was closest to her because, despite their differences in clothing style and social appreciation, Amelia's heart was tender and similar to hers.

They both shared a fondness for animals and going off into the woods; although the easily bored girl returned to the house as soon as her feet began to tire, or she lost interest in their communing with nature.

Amelia loved playing dress up and had the makings of a wonderful hostess one day; she loved to entertain and had wonderful social etiquette and skills even though her trademark temper reared its ugly head sometimes.

“Regina, dear?”

Regina was distracted from her twirling sister by their mother who wore a patient smile on her smooth ageless face.

It seemed as the year passed, Virginia Winston grew more beautiful and graceful.

Regina admired her mother so much, even if she couldn't understand why she was so settled and not bored by the mundane routine of a baroness.

“I've implored Madame Clairmont’s good graces, and she can still fit you for a couple of dresses. You should forget all that staying back in the country business, I simply wouldn't allow it.”

“But I don't want to go to London, Mother,” Regina replied, her anger returning as she got up and walked towards her mother.

“I am needed here and I don't see the reason why I should have to endure pretentious parties and fake conversations when I could be perfectly content here.”

Ignoring her outburst, her mother said, “This is your third season and you are likely to make a match finally. Just take a look at your sister, Lucretia. She has a throng of willing admirers and suitors coming to visit with her. Why do you have to be so disagreeable?”

“Because I have no interest in all that business, at least not yet.” Regina tucked a stray red lock behind her ear, not missing the look of disapproval the dressmaker gave her.

“I have to help with the horses and organizing the spring dance for the tenants, and I'd prefer that to parading myself around and waiting for a stodgy lord to take notice and deign to choose me for a broodmare.” Regina bit her tongue at her last words as her sisters gasped and mother's eyes darkened in anger.

She hadn't meant to let that slip but felt such frustration and disgruntlement at leaving for the season in London, when she could enjoy spring in the country with the commoners and spend time around the horses, filling her diary with daily life routines and flights of fancies.

Virginia Winston's face held a quiet yet firm tautness. “You are leaving for the season in London with everyone else, and you're going to have your fitting done right now. I don't care to hear any more arguments!”

Regina watched her mother cross her arms, a firm closed-off look in her eyes, and knew she'd overstepped her bounds.

She returned to the chair by the window, a heavy scowl on her face.

“I really don't understand why you're not excited about going to London. It's the start of the season and everyone would be there,” Amelia said, her tone ringing with excitement.

“Yes, Gina,” Lucretia seconded reasonably. “You might be so lucky and snag a husband and needn't even return here for too long.”

Regina had a sharp retort at the tip of her tongue, but she stilled it, not because of the warning look on her mother's face but because her sisters weren't the root of her problems and reservations.

She loved her dear sisters even if they could be too much sometimes, but they had absolutely nothing to do with her feelings.

Her reluctance to go to London was because of who she was.

Someone… different, and she had always felt so ever since she was a little girl.

Different from everyone else in her family, different from all the noble girls she knew, and yet different from the other girls on the estate whom she loved spending time with.

She had always stood out like a sore thumb in her family, not only because of her fiery red hair and sharp emerald green eyes—her coloring so different than that of her blonde-haired sisters and brunette mother—but because of her strong ideologies and interests in matters that weren't considered feminine and necessary.

Ever since her first riding lesson, Regina had taken to it like a fish to water and enjoyed riding almost every day.

It was a great form of stimulation and gave her an opportunity to show off her competitive side.

If there was anything she was, it was competitive, adventurous, and in constant need of stimulation; both mentally and physically. It was the main reason why her favorite part of the house was the library where she spent a good portion of her time.

Her mother was constantly at a loss for what to do with her, and despite her preference for books, had made it mandatory for her to learn needlework and embroidery with her sisters even if she always found ways to get out of it.

The only person she remotely resembled was her father, Baron Jeffrey Winston.

They had similar distinct features, although not overly emphasized; the slight angular tilt of the nose and an oriental slant in the eyes.

That wasn't just all, for Regina shared a passion for politics and affairs of the country with her father, and spent most of her time debating in his study when there weren't any visitors.

He allowed and indulged her in her opinions but not in the company of others and Regina really couldn't fault him. She had a tendency to get carried away sometimes and fly off the handle.

That was the crux of the entire problem: her quirks, habits, and difference.

Her family members were conservative and sticklers for rules and societal restrictions, but she saw all that as plain balderdash.

She hated the restrictions, the regulations, and the hypocritical discrimination between people based on social position, and tried to blur the lines at every opportunity she got.

She preferred spending time with the working girls whose families had no title to their name, the maidservants, and the farmers who tilled her parents' lands rather than boring, prejudiced nobles whom she was required to socialize and associate with.

Which was the main reason for her aversion towards London and all it represented.

Granted, she always managed to get away from soirees, balls, and afternoon parties hosted on the neighboring estates, but she wouldn't get the opportunity to do so in London.

After her coming out two seasons ago, her mother was eager for her to make a match and would throw her right into the center of things once they got to London.

She wished there was something she could do, like fake an illness but her sharp-eyed, quick-witted mother would never fall for that ruse a second time.

She could instigate an accident while riding her horse, except that might confine her to bed with a true injury, and scare poor Peaches to death.

She couldn't possibly do that to her beloved horse.

Regina sighed deeply, frustrated beyond words as she was beckoned by the dressmaker who didn't look happy with her unenthusiastic countenance.

After being poked and prodded for a couple of minutes, she almost sighed in relief when a maid came to announce that lunch had been served in the dining room.

Regina supposed she had to resign herself to traveling for the season in London.

Hopefully, her mother would be distracted and preoccupied with her more eager sisters and leave her be.

Hopefully….

★★★★★★★

Damn!

Hunter Sherrington, Earl of Devonshire, swore through gritted teeth as he landed on the grass for the third time that morning, wincing in pain.

He managed to roll on his back and saw the blasted horse which had thrown him cantering around a few yards away, and neighing almost as though in disgust.

“Are you unharmed, my Lord? Fergus seems to be in a mood today,” William Moore, his Native American stable hand said as he approached from the house, stretching out his hand to help Hunter off the ground.

“Quite right, he seems to be issuing a challenge and I think I'm done for today,” Hunter said, unable to help a tight grimace as he stretched his cramped, sore legs.

He'd been trying to break the stubborn stallion for almost a week now, and just when he'd thought they were making considerable progress, the equine had turned feisty again.

Fergus had been bought as the stallion, Magpie, at a sale a few months ago in America, and Hunter was still trying to earn the animal's trust after he had arrived from his long sea voyage.

Hunter was determined to get through to Magpie though. The stallion was a prime piebald beauty with a shining coat, patterned with pure white and deep black. His strong pedigree would be excellent when the time came for breeding.

Hunter and the horse shared something in common—grit, and he couldn't wait for them to go riding without any mishaps.

“Sir, a letter and an invitation came for you a while ago. I left it on your study desk.”

“Thank you,” Hunter said to the dark-haired man as he handed the reins to a waiting groom who would lead Magpie away to the stables.

Hunter returned to the two-story country house which he'd inherited as part of the earldom from his father, limping slightly. His thoughts were running back and forth as to whom the letter had come from, and he had the sinking suspicion that he did already know.

Instead of heading upstairs to have a much-needed bath, he went straight to the study.

Settling into the fine oak chair behind his desk, he picked up the brown envelope and broke the seal.

I'll be waiting outside the Gentleman's Pub by seven on the dot. See that you don't tarry long. I can't afford to be seen around yet.

C.

Hunter felt a mixture of emotion, but the most evident was excitement and great anticipation.

Finally.

After almost four months since his return from America, where he'd lived for the past three years, his mission suddenly seemed to be gaining a foothold.

Hunter tapped his fingers on the dark brown oak desk, his thoughts singling out things and trying to put them in their appropriate places.

Since he'd returned to England, he'd been quietly chasing after the elusive spy who went by the initial C.

No one had ever met the person, and there was no certainty of the gender, but C had been the major source of information on his investigations and had been referred to him by his superior back in America, Charles Goodwin.

They'd been communicating through letters, missives, and random people who'd all claimed never to have seen the enigma, except as a dark figure lounging behind a lamppost and in the shadows of trees.

All in all, Hunter couldn't wait to meet up with C and gain the major piece to the huge puzzle he'd returned to England to solve; maybe afterward he'd journey again to the Americas which he missed already, but that unfortunately depended on his superiors.

There was a large secret conspiracy in London to betray Queen Elizabeth the third and sell out the entirety of England over to France

The information had been passed on to the investigative agency, which Hunter worked for, by the Grand Duke of Galveston, Leonard Coleman, who'd been expected to meet and relay further information to the agency on his visit to the colonies but had been found instead with a knife embedded in his gut.

Hunter's superiors had begun actively investigating the information secretly, after concluding the duke had been killed to bury the secret.

He'd been asked to re-enter society in England to gain more information about the conspiracy and the people involved in the plot.

There had been names of suspects, but there wasn't any concrete proof, and it was Hunter's job to find the proof in time to save the throne from being hijacked by unpatriotic swine only concerned with dismantling the entire country instead of uniting it.

He knew it wasn't going to be an easy feat to accomplish, and he'd have to seek the counsel and trust of some people, but he relied solely on his strong intuition and almost infallible abilities of deduction.

His attributes would be tested in the coming months and he could barely wait for it all to begin unfolding.

Hunter's eyes fell distractedly on the gold embossed invitation resting beside the empty envelope on the desk and, at the sight of the familiar heron crest, he sighed heavily and picked it up.

It was from his mother, and she was requesting his presence at the family estate for an afternoon luncheon in his honor.

He scratched his thick brown hair which he wore long and unbound, thinking furiously of a way to get out of the social obligation.

This was the third invitation from his mother, demanding his presence at the family seat, and Hunter knew if he failed to honor it this time, it would only mean her presence at his estate.

He supposed he should go and get the visit over and done with. He hadn't seen anyone from his family since his return, with the exception of his younger brother, James, who'd, unfortunately, let it slip to their mother, despite assuring Hunter of secrecy.

He didn't fault James, who was the most sociable of both of them, and closer to their mother as the last child.

His brother knew just how to use words to his will, but lacked tact and ingenuity. This lack sometimes made it hard to trust him with any delicate matter.

Hunter was not avoiding his family; he just didn't know how to handle their company for an extended period of time.

They were the typical society family who spent much time in London except during winter months when they returned to their country home.

They were active in the affairs of the town, and both his mother and sister were members of the queen's court.

His family was one of the reasons why he'd taken up with the investigative agency in America shortly after the death of his father, the Duke of Wilshire.

He was a second son and hadn't needed to deal with the burden of dukedom which had automatically gone to his older brother, Marcus, who was perfectly suited for it.

That hadn’t stopped their mother from sending Hunter countless letters, begging him to return to England, resume his earlship[1] and settle down with a wife.

The most surprising thing had been his brother, Marcus, helping to find him an estate manager to hire and to run his estate while he was away. Hunter had been in such an urgency to leave England he hadn't bothered with crucial matters of the sort.

Although he and Marcus rarely agreed on many matters, he was grateful for the act of assistance.

Hunter had returned to the estate and the manager, Mister Harrison Stodges; a pleasant-faced man in his mid-forties who'd done an amazing job in maintaining the place, and keeping the tenants happy and content.

There really was no cause for complaint and he'd retained the man, confident he could trust him should he himself decide to return to the colonies.

The truth was that Hunter could not have cared less for his title, privileges, and wealth.

He'd never had to be concerned about it in America, whereas at home in England, he was fixed rigidly in his social position.

He'd never liked the order of things; the rich treating the poor with disdain, and the affluent members of society looking down on the lower peerage.

It was annoying enough to get his blood boiling, and he had little patience with society or the know-it-all ton.

Apart from trying to get away from his suffocating family, he'd wanted to drop the weight of his status and live like an unknown person, which he'd done and enjoyed tremendously in the colonies.

He'd interacted with men of massive intelligence with nothing more than an honorable name and a hardworking spirit.

Those men were in stark contrast to most of the entitled and privileged gentlemen in England who were only concerned with gambling, balls, spending money, and living off the sweat of their workers and a vast array of servants.

If Hunter was to ever remain in England after his business was concluded, he planned to shun the activities in London and focus mainly on the land and making sure his tenants were happy and content.

His concern would only be with the people who depended heavily on him and doing everything he could to create a just balance, at least around him.

With the season just a few weeks away, Hunter was sure his mother expected him to pick a wife from the parade of ladies who would be all decked out in every manner of finery.

He was sure he'd have little to no interest in any of the debutantes and unmarried chits who would be eager to snag themselves a rich titled husband.

Most of them lacked any depth of thought or interests, and these were qualities he'd require in a wife when the time was right.

Hunter really didn't want a loveless empty marriage like his parents had, but he knew how cold and hard he'd gotten over the years.

He didn't think himself capable of tender emotions anymore and had grown too guarded to even try to simulate them.

Although he expected to marry someone who had all the qualities he liked in a woman—beauty, humor, and a penchant for maintaining witty conversation—he wouldn't be promising or offering love as part of the arrangement.

He didn't think he had that in him after his countless past mishaps.

Hunter left the study for his bedroom, ringing for maids to draw him a bath. He still ached and thought a soak in the tub would do him a world of good while he contemplated the results of the rendezvous with C later that evening.

He'd attend the luncheon at his parent's estate—there was no way he could get out of it without enduring his mother's dramatics anyway.

She'd stated it was just for families but he knew his mother well enough and was expecting a handful of guests and neighbors.

If there was one thing she went out of her way for, it was hosting parties and soirees.

She was almost unmatchable in that respect.

He'd stick around for as long as was appropriate, before leaving to attend to more important business.

He could manage to get through the afternoon with the promise of a fulfilling evening ahead.

It was nothing a glass of sherry and a little conversation wouldn't ease him through.

An Earlship is the status or rank of an Earl.

Also second sons of dukes who don't get the Duke title, can earn the courtesy title of an Earl, especially if there is an earldom bequeathed to them.

“You are going to drape a shawl over your shoulders, I presume?”

Regina stopped by the doorway to the dressing room and turned to her mother who gave her a look full of disapproval, gesturing to the plunging neckline of her mauve evening gown.

She looked down at the beautifully sewn gown of satin and organdy and found absolutely nothing wrong with it.

“It's warm out for a shawl, Mother, and I'm covered quite respectably. This is the style Felicity Fenton is wearing these days.”

“Felicity Fenton? That woman is a courtesan and I wonder why you read any of her filthy rags. You are the daughter of a baron and without a great dowry. How do you think you'd make a good match if you're constantly prancing about looking like that?”

Regina felt her face flood with color and her temper rise. She was ready to leap to her suffragette idol's defense when Virginia Winston's next words silenced her.

“I will withdraw all privileges to those magazines if you don't find a shawl for your shoulders, dear. And I mean it this time!”

Regina returned to her room reluctantly and fetched a sheer purple shawl that complimented the gown perfectly.

Although they weren't attending a formal evening dinner, and it wouldn’t have mattered if she was covered from her hair to her toes, still she supposed it was a good enough sacrifice to make to retain reading rights of her Felicity Fenton's women magazines.

Despite the number of times her mother had threatened to stop her from reading them, she had never come around to doing it, which Regina suspected was deliberate.

There was no point risking Virginia Winston's good graces, no matter how abundant they seemed to be.

“Do you think we'll meet the Haversham brothers?” Lucretia bent and whispered just as she got into the carriage.

“I'm sure we will. They are deplorable rakes and are constantly everywhere. One would think that with the vast duties of their earldom they'd stay put and attend to their businesses rather than cavorting around the entire country.”

“Regina!” Lucretia and Amelia exclaimed, staring at her in shock despite the fact that they should be used to her free speech by now.

“But I'm right!” Regina defended herself. There was no lie in anything she'd just said, and she could see the telltale ghost of a smile on her father's lips before it disappeared quickly at a glare from her mother.

“You need to restrain those opinions of yourself to this carriage and mind your tongue tonight. The Haversham brothers might be rakes but they own the biggest estates in the entirety of northern England,” her mother cautioned with a huff.

Regina refrained from speaking again and listened half-heartedly to Lucretia talking about a letter she'd received from the Earl of Lancashire, and how she was sure he'd seek her out in London.

When the carriage finally stopped, she sighed in relief and peered through the curtains at Wyndham Manor where the dinner party was to be held.

She was the first to alight the carriage after her father, eager to be away from her talkative sisters.

They were escorted at the door by the butler who ushered them to the front room, where their hosts; Lord and Lady Wyndham, waited to welcome them into their stately, gaudily decorated home.

Regina had lost count of the number of times she'd been at the manor but her opinion of it still remained the same.

Less was sometimes just perfect…

Wyndham Manor was decorated in rich gold and wine colors, and heavily adorned with thick Persian rugs and rich silk curtains.

There were Italian sculptures of ladies and exotic animals taking up space everywhere one turned, and the satin brocade on the walls were too much for her taste.

Lady Winona Wyndham loved nothing more than showing off the house every chance she got, which resulted in a biweekly dinner or luncheon, and there was always something new to show off.

“Come through here,” Lady Wyndham said as they crossed the foyer into the front room.

“Frederic has recently acquired a new sculpture, cast at his request by the sweet Oscar Bernardino. He is truly a wonderful artist, don't you agree?”

Regina stared doubtfully at the bronze sculpture which portrayed both a man in a loin cloth, holding a pail above his head and a scantily dressed woman.

“My! This looks wonderful. I think I should contract him to do a sculpture of me soon,” her mother said, aiming a complimentary smile at Mrs. Wyndham, who preened with pleasure.

Regina bit down hard on her tongue.

She'd almost blurted out her opinion and was thankful she'd managed to restrain herself from ruining the evening.

It wouldn't have been the first time.

Thankfully, her father didn't utter a single word, nodding slightly at Lady Wyndham with nothing but a confused smile before escaping quickly with Lord Wyndham.

Regina laughed softly. She knew for a fact that if her father wasn't scared of her mother, he wouldn't allow himself to be dragged into tiresome affairs like this one.

As if the demons from Hades had been summoned, the Haversham brothers appeared suddenly from an adjourning alcove, along with Mr. and Mrs. Edward Sutton, who lived west of the Wyndham property.

Regina had known them forever and was quite fond of the sweet elderly couple who hadn't been blessed with a child of their own but loved each other dearly.

“Miss Winston, you look stunning as usual; would you oblige me with the presence of your company for a few minutes? With a chaperone of course.” Oliver Haversham, the older of the Haversham brothers, spoke to her with a pompous cockiness.

Regina could almost swear he was baiting her. They'd engaged in sparring of words on multiple occasions, and compared to his obnoxious brother, Christopher; he was more aware of himself and the smooth slick charm he oozed on occasions.

She didn't miss the warning look on her mother's face a few feet away, and instead of the caustic reply on the tip of her tongue, she gave the rakish Lord a smile.

“Certainly, Lord Haversham. I trust you've been well, and haven't found all the traveling too grueling?”

Lord Haversham's grin grew broader as he recognized the barb in her words. “Certainly. I try to rest when I can, as it isn't easy meeting all the demands of an active social life, but we do what we can.”

“I'm sure you do. All that effort never does show on you. You look dashing as usual.”

Lord Haversham shook his head, unable to help the laughter that escaped.

“Miss Winston, I never get bored with you around. It's always a delight speaking with you. I'm sure we'd find enough to talk about at the upcoming season.”

As he spoke, Arianna Wyndham appeared behind them.

“Oliver, I've been looking everywhere for you.” The Wyndham's only daughter pouted seductively, deliberately ignoring and dismissing Regina.

It was exactly what Regina wanted, and she used the opportunity to escape the rapidly- crowding front room, heading for the drawing room.

Just like the other rooms in the manor, the drawing room was heavily decorated in maroon, deep blue, and gold, with plush thick cushions scattered around.

It was demarcated in the middle by a thick burgundy curtain, to give the men on the other side some privacy for their discussions and games.

Regina settled on a plush cushion, grateful for the privacy at last as she listened to the men talk about politics.

She was so engrossed in the discussion of a secret conspiracy in London, which could fast become the main topic of conversation in the coming Season, that she didn't hear anyone come into the room.

“Listening in on conversations again, are you?”

Regina whirred around to see Anthony Haversham, the only son and sole heir to the Haversham estate, leaning by the door.

His sandy brown hair was cropped around his face in the latest fashion, but that wasn't what drew her to him.

Anthony had the bluest eyes she'd ever seen.

They shone like the sky on a particularly beautiful summer day and always warmed her considerably.

He was breathtakingly handsome and seemed more so each time she saw him.

She could only muster a smile as butterflies flitted about inside her.

Since his return from France, he seemed so different from the boy she’d known as a child, and it always felt deliriously good to see him again.

She'd admired him growing up, and her admiration had developed into something she couldn't quite understand ever since his return.

She didn't miss the light in his eyes when he gazed at her. It was different from the way he'd looked at her when they were much younger.

Regina managed to gather herself, dismissing the flights of fanciful thoughts in her head to answer his question regarding her snooping.

“How am I supposed to learn anything if I don't listen?” she asked with a shrug that belied how she felt at that moment.

“I thought you'd left for France again. I didn't see you at the last dinner party your parents hosted.”

“I came up with a faux emergency and escaped,” he confessed with a grin. “I couldn’t stand one more party and needed some time to myself.”

Regina understood that quite well. She constantly grew tired of social functions but didn't have much choice but to attend, lest she risk her mother's wrath.

“Will you be returning to France very soon?”

Before Anthony could respond, both their mothers came into the room, along with Regina’s sisters and the other women.

He flashed her a smile that promised a continuation of their talk before leaving to join the men at the other side of the drawing room.