A Regency Seduction Pt. 01

A/N: This story is a light hearted spin-off to A Regency Ravishment, featuring the brooding Sir Phillip and his rebellious lady love. Like the last book, this one takes its time getting to the sexy stuff, probably even more time. Unlike the last one, this "hero" is not as cruel. (Thanks to your feedback!) Sir Phillip was the silly younger brother-figure in the last story, but the years since have changed him. Hopefully, you like his transformation, as well as the impertinent bluestocking he falls in love with. Please, please leave comments and feedback because they help me improve and keep me going. x

***

Dear Reader

As the nation mourns Princess Charlotte's death, it feels wrong to dabble in gossip, but this writer is compelled to share the latest on-dit, for it has also proven a death knell to many a young miss with her hopes set on bagging herself one of London's worst, and wealthiest, rakehells.

Amidst the subdued air, Captain Wentworth, the defiler of innocents and destroyer of reputations, has returned victorious to town, bringing with him a mysterious woman and child. Given that Sir Phillip Musgrave - who has not stopped brooding since 1813 - immediately marched to his townhouse, we can only presume that the mysterious lady is in fact Miss Anne Musgrave, except she is now Mrs Wentworth.

You will remember, Dear Reader, that the ton had speculated that Sir Phillip had murdered his cousin in cold blood to get his hands on her inheritance. But while he had been dubbed "The Murderous Baronet" by most, this author did not believe him capable of such an act. After all, he had challenged the captain to a duel in her honour, and, on cold days, can be found limping still from the injuries he sustained at the hands of that once heartless rake.

It seems that all's well that ends well, however. The newlyweds - and they are newlyweds, despite the age of the boy who calls Wentworth "Papa" - seem to be isolating themselves for now. All though whether that is due to their marital bliss, or the fact that all of society is giving them the cut direct, remains to be seen.

Lady Vivian Applefield stared at her words. They were mean-spirited. There was no other way around it. But she was also London's prominent gossip columnist, and it would be amiss for her to not mention the latest development in the Musgrave-Wentworth saga. Besides, the funds from her writing were helping the suffragist movement and that alone was worth more than the petty scandals of two reunited lovers. All though ... perhaps she should remove the line about them being newlyweds. That was simply highlighting the boy's illegitimacy, except no one who saw his face could doubt who his father was.

With her tongue sticking out the way it always did when she wrote, she crossed out a few lines and rewrote them, until she was pleased with the effort. She addressed her letter to her fellow suffragette, Mrs Lawrence, who would pass it on to her husband, who, as Vivian's secret solicitor, would send it to the publisher. It was all a bit convoluted and, not for the first time, she wished she were a man. Then she would live separately from her overbearing parents as a bachelor and not have to get up to this cloak and dagger business.

A mild clearing of the throat announced Reeves, their butler.

She stuffed the crumpled drafts of previous efforts out of sight. "Yes, Reeves?"

"A ... gentleman caller is here, my lady."

She forgave the normally unfathomable man for looking gobsmacked as he said these words. Lord, after years of lying low and making herself out to be the biggest bore of town, how had she even gained an admirer? What did this mean for her? Would she have to write and illustrate gossip columns about herself?

She shuddered. "I am not at home to anyone, Reeves."

Reeves cleared his throat again, handing her a calling card. "He was most insistent, Madam."

There, engraved on the ivory card, were the letters, "Sir Phillip Musgrave."

The Murderous Baronet was calling upon her? Quickly getting up, she took her discarded drafts and threw them into the flames, carefully tucking the finished letter in her reticule. Then she smiled graciously. "Please show him in."

It was not long before the man himself was at her doorstep, his black eyebrows slanting down to form a mighty V. He really did not have a face suited to brooding, but did he listen to reason?

"My lady," he said, bowing stiffly.

"Sir Phillip! It's, ah, nice to see you. Please be seated. I'll ring for tea."

"Thank you, but there is a private matter I wish to discuss with you. Perhaps we could take a walk about the greenhouse instead?" His tone was quite forceful. He was clearly a man on a mission.

Confused, she got up. "Let us go, then. But be warned, if my father finds a single tulip out of place, he will call you out."

And then she blushed, remembering the infamous duel between Sir Phillip and Captain Wentworth, the one she had literally just been writing about.

His scowl worsened but he did not say anything as he followed her to the greenhouse. He was a scant few inches taller than her, and his gait, while not as pleasantly light as it had been when they had been young, was still very graceful. For not the first time in her life, she wondered why he had completely stopped dancing after his injury, for he would have made for a perfect dance partner for someone of her height. Not that she wanted to dance with him, mind; she was only wondering.

"Here we are," she said, still a bit nonplussed at the turn of events. "The famous greenhouse of Lord Applefield."

There was no one there at that time of day, and once they were inside, he gripped her arm painfully and began to lead her out of sight.

"Oww, what are you doing? Unhand me this instant!"

"I will not," he snapped.

Vivian's serenity was starting to shake. "I might be inexperienced, but surely gentlemen callers bring flowers and speak pretty words to ladies, not ... whatever this is. What is the meaning of this?"

He scowled at her. "The meaning, my dear Mrs Pennyworth, is that I know your secret."

Her heart started to thump at his words.

"That's right," he continued in accusing tones. "I know you are Mrs Pennyworth, London's famous gossip columnist and the scourge of my family!"

For an instant, the world swam before her. She had been so very careful! How had he managed-?

No, it did not matter. She would betray nothing. She put on her haughtiest expression, the one she had learnt as the daughter of an Earl. "You must be mistaken, Sir. And you have quite overstayed your welcome. I must bid you adieu."

But as she moved to walk past him, he pulled her back and shoved her onto the bench. Looming over her, the harmless Sir Phillip, who had lovingly been called a chucklehead by friends and family, oozed menace. "Guess what? Your lawyer may have been bound by confidentiality, but his wife was happy to tell me everything once the ... right motivation was applied."

"You threatened Mrs Lawrence?" She was outraged.

"I did not; Wentworth did, a few days ago, over something unrelated, and before she fled town, she decided to visit me and come clean. Said she didn't want him finding out about this other secret and making her a widow."

This was all getting very confusing for Vivian, so she held up a hand. "Why was Captain Wentworth harassing my lawyer a few days before his marriage?"

"You fool, did you not know that he is also my cousin's lawyer?"

Oh.

"Of all the hare-brained plots in the world," he continued, "yours was the worst."

How dare he belittle her like this? She bristled. "Listen, you self-important nodcock. Do not presume to stand in my father's house and lecture me on what I can and cannot do. I have been going easy on your family, but the right words from my parents, and you will never show your face in society again."

He was thunderous. "You dare?"

"Yes! Now get out of my way!" So saying, she kicked him in the knee, right where Wentworth had shot him four years ago.

He groaned and fell, but as she tried to run, he tugged her skirts and made her fall on top of him.

"Get away from me, you brute!" She tried to punch him, but he grabbed her hands and flipped her so that she was on the floor and he, atop her. Somehow, he was now pressing against her, his hand on her breast.

For a second neither party moved, and then with a vicious smile, he squeezed hard.

Pain and surprise shot through her body, but also something else. A tingle inside her, ranging from her belly to her core. She squirmed, unconsciously rubbing her pelvis against his, and she felt something hard.

Vivian knew what sex was. She knew a woman's core was her cunt. She knew a man's tool was his cock. She had peeked at all the fascinating drawings in the Kama Sutra that her brother had brought back from India and flipped through the other erotic books he kept hidden in his desk. But knowing and experiencing were two very different things. And right now, she felt very unprepared to actually experience this.

Almost like he knew what she was thinking, Sir Phillip's smile widened. "Don't worry, that's a knife in my pocket. But I am happy to see you." And then he grinded himself against her, making her squeal. "Consider this your only warning, Lady Vivian. Come after my family again and I will ensure you experience every humiliation we have done. Who knows? Perhaps it will be my turn to ravish an innocent and shoot her outraged brother."

Thus saying, he got up and extended a hand towards her, all gentlemanly.

Ignoring it, she scrambled up, her face splotched with fury, at him and at herself, for having enjoyed ... whatever that was. Squaring her shoulders and looking him straight in the eye, she said, "If you touch me again, I will shoot you myself."

And then she kneed him in the groin, just as her brother had taught her, and ran before he could catch her. She dashed straight to her room, breathing heavily. She felt more alive than she had in all her six and twenty years. She could still feel his touch on her body.

Sir Phillip. Sir Phillip! The man of the slight build and clean-shaven face. The very man who tried very hard to hide his limp after his brave attempt to avenge his cousin, and who, despite being surrounded by jovial people, did not smile. A long-forgotten memory of him sitting beside her at supper came to mind, back when her parents had not given up all hope of her ever marrying and used to throw as many bachelors at her as they possibly could. He had made several attempts to make polite conversation, but she had shut each one down in order to maintain her reputation as the Terrible Bore. And then he had taken to making that sullen, brooding face.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she looked at the time. Her weekly meeting with the club was to happen soon. And this bounder's visit had completely thrown her brain into a whirl. She rang for Agatha, her lady's maid, to dress her.

As Agatha unpeeled her morning dress, both women's attention went to her breast, which was showing early signs of bruising. Her eyes met Vivian's in the mirror, and then she hastily resumed dressing her.

Feathers thoroughly ruffled, Vivian strode towards the square where she could hail a hack, the hapless Agatha trailing behind her to lend her an air of suitability. The ride in the cab was silent and tense, but by the time they reached the café, anticipation had overridden discomfort.

As she stepped into the coffeehouse, the familiar smell of her favourite beverage and the crush of people comforted her. She located the table where her battalion in the war for women's rights sat. Mrs Lawrence was nowhere to be seen, which made sense.

She smiled at the others. "Ladies, it gives me great pleasure to announce that I have a fourteen-step plan to once and for all vindicate the rights of wom-"

"Shh," her best friend and comrade in arms, the unfortunately named Millicent St Vincent, interceded, "hold off on the major announcements until our newest member arrives."

"We have new members?" Vivian gaped.

"Well, just one, but he's so special, Viv!"

"Why, because he's a man?" It took every ounce of her good breeding to not scoff.

"Well, yes," Millicent admitted. "But he's also nobility!"

"Millie!" Vivian was exasperated. "I am the daughter of an Earl and you, the niece of a Viscount."

"Yes, but he's a very handsome man and a Baronet, to boot!"

Wait a minute.

"Baronet?" Vivian asked suspiciously. "Handsome?"

"Oh, there he is," Millicent trilled. "Yoo hoo, Sir Phillip!"

And to her horror, the man she had very recently had an altercation with strolled in, and with a carefree smile, sat beside her. "Good afternoon, ladies. Miss St Vincent, you are a vision as always. Lady Vivian, you are ... here too, I suppose."

She may not have been a great beauty, or a wonderful dancer, or even as fashionable as other young ladies of her set. But if nothing else, she had the ability to stay calm and take control of every situation, and this had not changed. Vivian took a few deep breaths and then turned to address him. "Hello, Sir Phillip. I must say, while we are flattered by your notice and condescension, we are currently not accepting members of the male variety."

"Ah, but surely you can make an exception for me, now that I have made a generous donation." The man's grin was maddening. It made her realise that she far preferred him when he was trying to browbeat her into submission with his scowling.

"We would be happy to return your donation," she replied through gritted teeth. Behind her, Millicent groaned.

"No, no," he said, waving a hand in the air as if to brush away her imaginary concerns, "please know that I am a man of my word. Any promises made will be kept." And then he waggled his magnificent brows at her, as if to remind her of his threat earlier. He might as well have winked; he was being so obvious.

"Then we gratefully accept your contribution to our cause," she said frostily. "Regardless, our cause is a delicate one and as such, we take pains to avoid scandal."

There, that wiped the smile off his face! But it also had the effect of quieting the whole table, as well as some of the ones nearby. Lady Swinton, the dowager Baroness, turned around to gape at them. Her notoriously fastidious friend, Mrs Smythe, clutched her pearls in anticipation. Clearly, they had an audience.

"Lady Vivian," he said slowly, placing his hand on hers, "you were not so concerned of the scandal when you were alone with me in the greenhouse this morning." His last few words were very soft, but the intent in his eyes was clear, and the heat from his touch almost burned her.

Lady Swinton gasped. Millicent gripped the table and started to fan herself. And the fastidious Mrs Smythe crossed herself and said, in an audible whisper, "How gauche of them to hold hands, and without being affianced too!"

There would be no point in denying it. In one fell swoop, he had ruined her reputation without needing to out her as Mrs Pennyworth.

Vivian closed her eyes and tried to count to ten. It would not do for her to murder him in front of everyone. Polite society frowned upon such displays of passion. Mrs Smythe would surely faint. In spite of herself, she started to map out the scene in her mind, making sure to give that odious Sir Phillip a giant wart when she sent in her caricature. The thought calmed her. Her eyes fluttered open to meet Sir Phillip's. His grin widened and, in spite of herself, she smiled at his audacity.

"All right, that is enough!" A voice snapped her out of the moment. It was the dowager Baroness, looking very disapproving. "You, Sir Phillip, move away from the chit and keep your hands to yourself. You, gel, come with me. I will escort you to your parents' home."

Vivian allowed Lady Swinton to lead her away, but not before looking back once.

"My fellow suffragists," she called mournfully over her shoulder, "the fourteen-point plan will have to wait, I am afraid."

Sir Phillip sat there smugly until Mrs Smythe rounded on him. "And what do you think you are doing, young man?"

His brows formed an angry V again. "Attending a meeting for women's liberation."

"Oh no, you're not." She whacked him with her cane. "You will go to Lord Applefield straightaway and do the honourable thing by asking for his daughter's hand in marriage."

His scowl worsened. "Oof, I say, Mrs Smythe, there's no need to hit a fellow."

Vivian's last view of him was a look of panic as he dodged another hit of the cane. Bless you, Mrs Smythe.

***

The Earl of Applefield's house was in uproar. Lady Applefield had fainted and would not stir no matter the amount of smelling salts waved under her nose. Lord Applefield, a usually mild-mannered gentleman, could be heard shouting at his daughter in the library, while Sir Phillip waited patiently in the parlour.

"What were you thinking, Vivian? To associate with that man, that family!"

"I suppose there is no point in me telling you he lied, Papa." Vivian's voice was small.

Lord Applefield turned apoplectic. "That bast- err..." He trailed away, looking slightly sheepish. "If he lied, daughter, I will call him out myself and finish the job Wentworth started."

"You will do no such thing!" Lady Applewood strode in, nostrils flaring.

"Mama, you're awake!"

"And good thing too," her Ladyship said, "for it seems my husband is intent on making me a widow, or worse - forcing us into exile on the Continent for murdering a man."

"Now, look here, dear-" her father started, but one look from his wife quelled him.

Lady Applefield turned to address her daughter. "I care not if it is true or false. You have not had a single offer of marriage your entire life, respectable or otherwise. Sir Phillip's family has been involved in rather ... distasteful scandals," here she paused to give Vivian a dirty look as though they were all of her doing, "but his own reputation is blameless, and his cousin is finally married now. Perhaps the distractions of running a household and the demands of motherhood will finally put a stop to that movement of yours."

"Mama!" Vivian's calm mask was cracking. "Father, tell her that she cannot possibly..."

But her father was shaking his head. "Your mother speaks true, Vivian. And your activities do make it awkward for me at the gentleman's club, you see. Just yesterday, Viscount Huntley attempted to place a bet on whether you would finally be arrested for seditious behaviour or not. My own daughter!"

"It is decided then," her mother said. "We will say that you have been engaged, with our blessing, for a month, but the business with his cousin and the death of Princess Charlotte forced us to keep quiet about it all. The banns will be read, and you will marry in three months' time at our estate. In a small, private ceremony."

And here, her mother gave her another dirty look, as if blaming Vivian for her inability to celebrate her daughter's forced marriage with great fanfare.

"I'm sorry, but I cannot marry him," Vivian responded with as much equanimity as she could muster. "I do not wish to be a man's slave, his ... property, beholden to his every command."

Her father finally laughed. "My dear child, you are very much your mother's daughter. If anyone will be a slave in your marriage, it will be that poor boy, mark my words."

***

Vivian anxiously paced the hallway outside the parlour, waiting for the moment that would harken the death of her independence. She knew her father was not the type to get straight to the point, so he would surely be offering that fool some whisky and discussing the day's news. Oh, how she wished to heaven that an angel could come and save her from this plight!