His True Treasure: A Steamy Regency Romance Novella

Chapter 1

London , 1811…

At 22, Louisa Browne was a wealthy widow who was importuned — plagued — by men. Louisa lived in Beaumont House, a fashionable mansion in Wimpole St. She enjoyed the luxury of a tidy fortune, and should have been free to enjoy it.

But the men…

They paid calls. They wrote letters. They accosted her in the park. She wasn't fully out of mourning, and didn't attend public balls and routs, but the affairs she did attend were made miserable by circles of men.

They surrounded her like wolves around a plump sheep, she thought resentfully.

Initially, she'd thought that the attraction was her looks. Although small, she knew that she was pretty enough. She had a voluptuous figure, cascades of thick blonde hair, and large blue eyes. When she was finally out of mourning, she might, on a good day, be considered a diamond.

Or perhaps it was her money.

Her companion, Nancy Payneton, was shrewd, and told her it was neither. You're a woman alone, my dear. Widows are very attractive as partners for dalliance for men who can't afford a mistress — or don't want the … well, to be blunt — the expense. Widows are experienced, discreet, and most importantly of all, they're available.

Nancy smiled wickedly. "Also, Lou, men imagine that since a widow has already been under the control of a man, she's easier to coerce into an arrangement than a courtesan. Courtesans make demands. Widows are expected to be grateful."

Louisa didn't want to be under the control of any man. Her husband Edward hadn't been overly controlling. However, she knew that some women were quite cowed by their husbands.

You should take a lover, her companion Nancy Payneton told her, one late summer's day, as they sat in the garden.

Louisa looked up from her drawing. She was sketching Lancelot, her fat ginger cat. He lay sprawled on the flagstones of the path. She'd been trying to capture his arrogance. Lancelot had the poise of a miniature, lazy lion.

Have you taken leave of your senses? Louisa laughed, and erased a couple of lines of the sketch. She couldn't quite capture Lancelet's drowsy attitude as the lord of all he surveyed.

Not at all. Think. It's the sensible thing to do. You're almost out of mourning. Vernon's determined that you'll act as a hostess for him. If you're taken, so to speak, the men won't bother you. Well… Not as much perhaps. You'd need to pick someone who could rout them.

Nancy put down her embroidery hoop, and selected a small cake from the cake stand on the table between her and Louisa. Nancy had a sweet tooth, and Louisa's cook was delighted to cater to it. You're thinking about it, Lou — don't try to tell me that you aren't.

Louisa blushed easily. The heat rose up her neck, and into her face. A lover. She'd enjoyed Edward's attentions, although they were rare. He came to her bed every few weeks, always polite, and apologetic for forcing himself on her.

She'd once asked Nancy how to encourage Edward to visit her more often. The heat of her blushes on that day could have set fire to the curtains. She needed him more often, but no matter how much she flirted with her husband, he never took the hint.

You'd need to be careful, of course, in your selection, Nancy went on. You need someone who's virile, and protective. But not demanding — you don't want a man who will assume control of your life. You're not used to that.

Louisa held her drawing a little away from her, and looked at it critically. It wasn't right. Maybe it was the set of Lancelot's whiskers.

Louisa shaded, added a few lines, and said nothing. But she was thinking. Was it possible? Did she dare?

A lover.

Someone in her bed. Edward had been twice her age, large and stout, with a paunch. A younger man, leaner. With an attractive countenance — Edward had resembled nothing as much as Sugar, her pug, who was currently begging cake from Nancy.

Someone handsome, Nancy said, as if she could read her mind. A Corinthian, who strips to advantage.

Nancy seemed to know a lot about lovers. You're a widow. Did you ever…? Louisa asked.

Indeed I did — I hope you don't think of me as slow, my dear. My own dear love died when I was 38, and for ten years after that, I always had a man in my bed. Even today, I wouldn't say no — so there. Make of that what you like.

A footman approached them, carrying a silver tray. He bowed to the ladies, and extended the tray to Louisa, who took the note, and read it.

She cleared her throat, hoping that her voice would be calm. She hated that she was embarrassed, but — Nancy, and lovers? She couldn't imagine it. There won't be a reply, she told the footman. It's Clayton, she told Nancy. He's bought a new carriage, so he'll be a little late.

Lord Clayton had been one of Edward's closest friends. He was well known as a rake. He'd married for money, and enjoyed his fortune. His wife stayed in the country, and Clayton did what he liked in town.

After Edward's death, he'd importuned Louisa, outright. He'd dragged her into his arms, kissing her enthusiastically.

He wouldn't release her until she slapped him, and then slapped him again. He'd looked startled, and although he still touched her more than she liked, a glare was enough bring him up short.

Clayton called on Louisa several times a week. He'd decided that it was his duty to help Louisa through her widowhood, until she married again. And as Edward's friend, he claimed the right to escort Louisa after Edward's death.

Invitations had started to flow to Louisa again. Tonight, Clayton was escorting her to a large dinner party. He was welcome everywhere, and no one questioned his right to take Louisa about.

Louisa liked Clayton well enough, especially because he protected her from her stepson.

Her stepson, Vernon Browne, wanted her London home, Beaumont House. He informed Louisa that since she was a widow, he should have the house.

At 24, Vernon was like his father in looks, but in nothing else. He was determined that Louisa would help him to marry well — he wanted an heiress, with a large fortune. The Brownes were distantly related to a duke, so in addition to a fortune, Vernon wanted a wife with a title, and connections.

Louisa just wanted Vernon to leave her alone. She couldn't forbid him the house, but she did insist that he let her know when he intended to call.

That night, when Clayton arrived, Nancy ordered the butler to ask him to wait in the small sitting room.

Louisa's maid was threading pearls though her hair, and had almost finished.

I'll do that, Nancy said. Leave us for a moment, she told the maid.

She took the pearls from the maid, and waited until the door had closed behind the woman.

Clayton could be useful, Nancy said.

Louisa met her friend's gaze in the mirror, and lifted her eyebrows.

Clayton knowns everyone, and he's very fond of you. I shall inform him — hint to him, that is, that you're open to a little flirtation. Only with the right man, of course.

Nancy, no — Louisa felt her treacherous blush heating her neck, and then flowing right up her face to her hairline.

How else should you manage it?

I don't intend to take a lover.

No. Of course not. But a little flirtation. Someone strong, who could keep other men at bay — your idiotish Wolf Pack… and keep Vernon Browne at bay too, the horrid little leech.

Vernon isn't a leech.

What else would you call a man who buys his friends? He deliberately lends them money, and then bleeds them slowly. He's a leech. Moreover, he has thin lips, and small, piggy eyes.

Louisa laughed.

He does, Nancy settled the pearl strands to her satisfaction, and stood back to look at the results. You look lovely, as always. Black, with black lace, suits you. You look totally delicious. A very beddable widow… and we need to shop for some new gowns. It's almost a full year since Edward died.

Nancy patted her shoulder. Stay here for a moment. I'll just give Clayton the hint.

Don't — But it was too late.

Nancy gave Louisa's shoulder a final comforting pat, and left the bedroom.

Louisa stared at her reflection in the mirror. Beddable. Was she? Could she? She took a deep breath, and rested a hand underneath her breasts.

She didn't need to bed anyone, she decided. But Nancy was right. A little flirtation with an attractive, and strong man… Someone to champion her. There was nothing to prevent that. It was sensible.

She liked the sound of that. A sensible arrangement.

When Louisa glided down the staircase, Neil Penally, Lord Clayton, stared at her. He bowed over her hand, then circled her.

What are you doing? She asked.

Looking, just looking, Lou Lou. If I'm to find you a lover —

You're not! Nancy, what have you said to him? Louisa was outraged. She felt the heat rising in her face again, and put