Seven Nights to Forever

Table of Contents

 

 

“Beautifully written, with scorching hot love scenes that push the boundaries of Regency romance in a new and exciting direction.”

—Kate Pearce, author of
Simply Sinful

 

“Ms. Collins has written a very tender and passionate love story that really tugs at your heartstrings.
Her Ladyship’s Companion
is exciting, thrilling, sensual, and pure reading bliss.”

 

“Collins’s carefully crafted story gives readers a different view of the Regency era. She writes about a man and a woman from vastly unconventional backgrounds, and a love that knows no bounds, in this intensely passionate, sexually charged, and deeply touching romance.”

 

“Almost elegantly beautiful . . .
Her Ladyship’s Companion
should leave many historical readers hopeful that a new author might be stepping up to the auto-buy plate.”

HER LADYSHIP’S COMPANION
SEVEN NIGHTS TO FOREVER

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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Copyright © 2010 by Evangeline Collins.

 

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. BERKLEY
^®
SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

PRINTING HISTORY

Berkley Sensation trade paperback edition / November 2010

 

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

 

Collins, Evangeline.

Seven nights to forever / Evangeline Collins. p. cm.

eISBN : 978-1-101-44513-6

1. Brothers and sisters—Fiction. 2. Single women—Social life and customs—19th century—Fiction. 3. London (England)—19th century—Fiction. I. Title. II. Title: 7 nights to forever.

PS3603.O45423S48 2010

813’.6—dc22

2010022759

 

 

CLOAKED
in the midnight shadows, Mr. James Archer shifted against the darkened streetlamp and watched as two gentlemen went up the stone steps of the large white house across the street. The fifth set of visitors over the past half hour. Deliberately tousled hair, strict black evening attire, the slight swagger in their strides . . . young bucks intent on a night of debauchery. The pair knocked on one of the scarlet double doors. The taller of the two let out a bark of laughter and then pushed the other inside when the door opened.

Had he ever been so young and carefree? So unfettered, so untouched by life’s responsibilities? If he had, he certainly couldn’t recall it. He was only five and twenty, but the last three years had taken a heavy toll, aging him far beyond his years.

The door closed behind the two men, shutting out the faint hum of voices from within. James rubbed his tired eyes. Well over fifteen hours at his office today, but he would have willingly stayed through to tomorrow if his secretary hadn’t practically shoved him out the door.

He looked right, up Curzon Street, in the direction that led to his town house. A wince furrowed his brow, his lips compressing in a straight line, dread jabbing into his gut. Then his gaze swept over the large, white painted brick house with its many windows and neat stone portico, settling on those scarlet double doors.

Heaving a sigh, he pushed from the streetlamp he had been leaning against and crossed the street, heading around to the back of that white house.

The night air was cool and thick, holding little promise of the warm spring days ahead. Not one lamp lit the narrow alley. There could be thieves aplenty lurking in the shadows, but he didn’t bother to quicken his pace. He walked most everywhere he went in London and had yet to be accosted, no matter the hour of the day or night. There were some that were not fond of his size—well, one in particular—but it did prove useful at times.

The sound of his double knock echoed in the small courtyard.
Brilliant.
He let out another heavy sigh. He’d been reduced to knocking on the back door of a brothel.

But the loneliness had become too much to bear. It had long since eaten its way into his chest, leaving a hollow ache he knew well. He thought himself well reconciled to his fate. Duty to one’s family came before all else, after all. Yet tonight the prospect of returning home to
her
seemed next to impossible. Perhaps it was the thought of the approaching Season and all it would entail. Donning the mask of polite civility while pretending she did not flaunt her infidelities, enduring one tirade after another . . . it was a wonder he had not become a drunkard.

One night. That was all he needed. One night with a woman who did not despise him, or at the very least would keep such thoughts to herself. A woman who wouldn’t hate him for where he had come from or for who he was. And at this point, he didn’t much care if he had to part with a fold of pound notes to see the task done.

A triangle of light fell into the courtyard as the door opened.

With one dirt-smudged hand on the knob, the maid used her slight form to block the entry into the house.

“Good evening,” he said.

She quickly took him in, from his expertly tailored yet plain bottle green coat to the tan trousers to the dust his shoes had picked up on the long walk from the docks. Her blonde head tilted back to meet his gaze. Her eyes narrowed with puzzlement. “Guests are received around front.”

He ignored her statement of the obvious. “I wish to speak with the proprietor.”

“Madame Rubicon?”

“Yes.” He may have never frequented this particular establishment before—his one foray at a brothel had occurred years ago, while on holiday from Cambridge—but most every man in London was aware of the house with the twin scarlet doors on Curzon Street. Madame Rubicon’s. Lauded for its beautiful women willing to accede to a man’s every whim and renowned for its discretion, a commodity he valued above all. And the reason he currently stood in the back courtyard.

A crease notched the space between her brows. “Why?”

Must he spell it out? That he had asked for the madam should be answer enough. He fought the urge to shift his weight. “To discuss business.”

She opened her mouth. He braced for yet another question. If she asked what type of business he wished to discuss, he would leave rather than admit to this servant that he needed to procure the services of a woman, as if he was unable to find a willing female on his own. His pride had taken enough beatings. It certainly did not need one more. He would simply return to his office. Decker, his secretary, would be long gone by now. There was still a sizable pile of paperwork on his desk. Perhaps he could make a dent in it by dawn, before Decker added to the pile. James kept a change of clothes and a shaving kit at his office for a reason. And if sleep pulled too heavily on his eyes, he’d make use of the leather couch. Not the most comfortable, but better than falling asleep at his desk.

To his surprise, she merely opened the door fully and motioned for him to step inside. The space was small and bare and lit by a plain lantern suspended by a chain in the ceiling. Stairs before him, a closed door on the right, the one on the left open, revealing a glimpse of the kitchen. A rotund, older woman stood at the sink, scrubbing a copper pot. He heard the
clink
of glasses, the shuffle of feet, the murmur of voices. A busy kitchen to match the busy house.

“She’s in the receiving room. Would ye care to meet with her there or in her office?”

If he had wanted to be seen in the receiving room, he would have used the damn front door. Nerves rubbed raw, he had to push aside the surge of irritation. “Her office, please.”

She gave a nod and turned. He followed her up the stairs and along an equally narrow corridor. Obviously the servants’ area of the house. The walls and floors clean but bare. They passed through a door. And this must be the general area of house. Delicate crystal sconces, plush rugs, and a soothing pale taupe silk paper lined the walls.

The girl rounded a corner and opened a heavy oak door. She flicked her fingers toward the interior. “Ye can wait here. She’ll be along shortly.”

With that, she left him standing there in the corridor.

He went into the office to wait, closing the door behind him. Ignoring the two scarlet leather armchairs stationed in front of the desk, he chose to stand. He trailed his fingertips over the edge of the desk. Teakwood. From the Orient, and expertly crafted. Definitely not an inexpensive piece of furniture.

He glanced about the office. White paneled walls, gilt-framed paintings, and furniture similar in quality to the desk. Opulent, but not on a gaudy, grand scale. Enough to make those of the aristocracy feel at home. It matched what little he had seen of the general area of the house. The madam clearly knew her clientele, and if she could afford these surroundings, then she was likely a very adept businesswoman, and one who charged a hefty fee for the use of her employees.

He passed a hand over the back of his neck, his stomach tightening with unease at the blunt reminder of exactly what he planned to do tonight. At least he hoped it was unease and not the first taste of regret, or worst yet, guilt. But now that he was here, inside the house he had walked past many times on his route home, he couldn’t help but wonder if knocking on the back door had been the wisest course of action. The ton didn’t seem to hold much respect for the sanctity of marriage, but he wasn’t one of them. Regardless of the circumstances or of her demands, one-sided though they were, he had entered into his marriage with his eyes open and with every intention of honoring his commitment.