Regency Scandals: Touch Me, Tempt Me & Take Me Box Set Read online

  "I have a new favorite historical author and she is Lucy Monroe."

  The Best Reviews

  Praise for Touch Me, Tempt Me & Take Me

  "Emotional, sexy, and romantic. Touch Me is just plain wonderful!" – New York Times bestselling author Lori Foster

  "A light read with many classic touches...highly enjoyable." – Romantic Times Book ClubLangley Family Trilogy

  "Tempt Me is a truly wicked and wonderful temptation for any reader hungry for passion and adventure. Give yourself a treat and read this book. Lucy Monroe will capture your heart."-Susan Wiggs

  "Monroe brings a fresh voice to historical romance." – National bestselling author Stef Ann Holm

  The story you should buy if you love a romance with heart tugging emotion and the excitement of love found…only not where you thought it would be. - Romance Reviews Today

  "Two wounded souls come together in a well-written story showcasing love's healing power. Monroe reaches deep down to pull out all the stops exploring her well-crafted characters' fears and desires." 4.5 Stars Top Pick - RT Book Reviews

  "Take Me by Lucy Monroe is a breathtaking 5-Rose novel and should be at the top of every historical lover’s reading list!" - A Romance Review

  "TAKE ME is an engrossing, thoroughly enjoyable tale from beginning to end and a superb conclusion to Lucy Monroe’s first historical trilogy." - Blue Ribbon Reviews

  REGENCY SCANDALS: Touch Me, Tempt Me & Take Me

  Langley Family Trilogy Box Set

  by

  Lucy Monroe

  © Lucy Monroe 2015

  http://lucymonroe.com

  TOUCH ME, TEMPT ME & TAKE ME

  This electronic re-release has been published by the author upon reversion of all rights to the author from Berkley Publishing Group.

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Sensation mass-market editions September 2005, April 2006 & October 2006

  Electronic Single Title Editions Summer 2014

  COPYRIGHT © 200, 2006, 2014 & 2016 LUCY MONROE

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without express, written permission from the author Lucy Monroe who can be contacted off her website http://lucymonroe.com.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  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.

  Table of Contents

  TOUCH ME

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 20

  Research Bibliography

  TEMPT ME

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 20

  TAKE ME

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 20

  Annabelle's Courtship Excerpt

  More Books by Lucy Monroe

  About the Author

  TOUCH ME

  Langley Family Trilogy - Book One

  by

  Lucy Monroe

  PROLOGUE

  Langley Manor, England

  Fall 1797

  The baby cried.

  Her son. The beauty of the squirming infant hurt in a way she never wanted to stop. She had given birth to life. Wonderful, innocent life.

  She pushed herself up in the huge four-poster bed, ignoring the admonishment of both her maid and the midwife to rest. Pain stabbed through her lower body. She could not give into it. She had to see her son. Each moment with him was a gift. Fear sent tension through her, intensifying the pain in her body. Langley would be here soon to tear the babe from her arms.

  No.

  Surely not.

  Even her cold-hearted husband could not take away the child they had created together.

  The heavy door of the master chamber slammed against the wall. Her gaze flew to the sight of the towering masculine frame outlined in its opening. He had come. His face wore the same icy expression it had every moment since he had accused her of infidelity. He met her eyes and in that brief glance she knew nothing had changed. He hated her. He would take her son.

  Even as he turned to the midwife, Anna cried, “No. Please. No.”

  “Give me the babe.”

  “It is a son. Our son.” Desperation clawed at her. “Do not do this.” She reached out her hands, begging for something he did not have. Mercy. “Do not take him from me. I am his mother.” She did not bother to protest her innocence again. Months of pleading for understanding, for trust, had proven futile.

  He would not believe her.

  “Geoffrey, please.”

  He turned to her, his eyes filled with mocking contempt and an aching sob wracked her body.

  “I must congratulate you madam, on having the good sense to give me a son. I need an heir, but do not know if even that necessity could have forced me back to your bed.”

  His words lanced through her, cutting the final vestige of hope in her heart, but even that pain became overshadowed as her belly tightened with another contraction. She gasped, then bit her lip. She had shown enough weakness to this man she had loved. She would show him no more.

  But the pain. It was intense. Did not the pains stop when the birth was over? She longed to ask the midwife, but Geoffrey had not yet left. She would remain strong.

  Finally, he turned, her son bundled in his arms and left the room. Tears burned a path down her cheeks. She bit her lip on another contraction and tasted blood. She watched the door through which her husband had taken her son until the pain in her lower body became unbearable.

  Turning to the mid-wife she forced words out of her throat, tight from holding in a scream. “Help me.”

  Melly, her maid rushed to her side. “What is it, milady?”

  “The pains. They have returned.” Anna met the eyes of the midwife. “I thought the pain was supposed to stop…aaahh.” The words trailed off into a scream as the contractions grew stronger.

  The luxurious surroundings of her bedchamber receded as terror overshadowed Anna’s mind. Why had the pain not stopped? What was happening to her? She fell back against the bed, panting.

  The midwife touched her stomach and Anna screamed again.

  “Hush, milady. Do not carry on so. You gave birth to your son without all this screaming, will you do less for this babe?”

  As the words penetrated her haze of pain, Anna’s eyes flew open. “This one? There is another babe?”

  Twins. As another contraction tightened Anna’s body almost beyond bearing, she felt a hysterical desire to laugh. Two babies. Geoffrey Selwyn, Earl of Langley, had planted two babies in her womb. Would he take this one too?

  She felt an overwhelming need to push the baby from her womb into the hands of the midwife. Vowing that Langley would have to tear this baby from her lifeless and dead hands, she gave bir
th to her second child.

  Melly cried, “It’s a girl!”

  Anna put her arms out. “Give her to me.”

  The midwife wrapped soft white linens around the crying baby. “She’s a healthy one, she is.” She handed the squalling infant to Anna.

  She looked up from the beautiful face of her daughter at the emotion she heard in the midwife’s voice. “Will you help me?”

  The midwife’s wizened eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “If we don’t do something,” her voice broke and she took a deep breath to control it, “my husband will take this baby from me as well. I have already lost a son. I cannot bear to lose my daughter.”

  She waited, knowing that if she had miscalculated, Langley’s contempt for her would only be made worse when the midwife told him her tale.

  The older woman stared at Anna for what felt like an eternity. Her heart beat faster and she tightened the grip she had on her daughter. The baby cried. She immediately loosened her hold and leant down to whisper soft assurances to her baby. The crying stopped. Anna smiled.

  “I’ll help you milady. A man, even a nobleman, doesn’t have the right to tear an infant from his mother’s arms.”

  Joy burst through Anna like flowers blooming in the spring. She met Melly’s eyes. “You will help me?”

  Melly wiped at the moisture on her cheeks. “Yes, milady.”

  Anna smiled for the second time in the five months since Langley had discovered that blackguard Estcot trying to force himself on her. She gazed into the eyes of her daughter. “I will call you Althea Johanna because you are God’s gift to me in my innocence.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  What would I have done had God not seen fit to grant me the gift of Thea? Her sweet innocence keeps my heart beating when it would have shattered from Langley’s harsh treatment. I pray that Thea never gives her heart to a hard man like her father. How my love for him mocks me now. My own weakness torments me. I will teach her to be both wiser and stronger than her mother.

  November 10, 1797 Journal of Anna Selwyn, Countess of Langley

  British West Indies, twenty-three years later

  The skirts of Thea’s high-waisted gown swished around her ankles allowing welcome air to cool her legs as she strode through the warehouse.

  The tall ceilings and dark interior of the building did little to mute the oppressive Caribbean heat. Beads of sweat trickled between her shoulder blades. She itched to press the muslin of her gown against the moisture, but years of training by her proper English mother prevented her.

  Mama, if you were here, you’d be tempted as well.

  But, Anna Selwyn was not there, nor would she ever be. Thea’s heart constricted. Ten years and she still mourned the loss of the strong and determined woman who had given her birth.

  “Afternoon, Miss Thea.”

  She stopped at the sound of Whiskey Jim’s voice. She looked up and smiled into the old man’s weather-wizened face. “Good afternoon, Captain.”

  His one good eye twinkled merrily at her while the patch that covered his other eye shifted as his face creased into a grin. “See you’re moving with the main sail at full mast like always.”

  She waved the air in front of her face. “Perhaps I should let down some sail and move more slowly. It’s so hot today.”

  “That it is. That it is.” He pulled a large bandana from his pocket and wiped his forehead. “This old man should know better than to try to load his ship on a day like today.”

  Thea smiled. Old man indeed. He looked about a hundred, but he was still one of the fastest captains employed by Merewether Shipping. “When are you sailing?”

  “She looks to be loaded by the day after tomorrow.”

  The timing could not be better. She needed to take action before Uncle Ashby became aware of the pilfering going on in the London office. He would insist on making the trip to England to investigate and his health would suffer for it.

  She owed him more than she could ever repay. When her mother had died of the fever that killed so many Europeans in the West Indies, the Merewethers had insisted on caring for Thea, treating her like their own daughter.

  “When do you expect to arrive in Liverpool?”

  “Don’t.”

  Thea stopped fanning herself. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m up to Charleston and then on to New York this trip.”

  “But I thought you were going to England.”

  He scratched the side of his head. “Nope.”

  They weren’t expecting another ship for weeks. “Sacré bleu.”

  The old man’s eye twinkled. “What did you say?”

  Although the seamen and even Uncle Ashby could turn the air blue with their curses, she would have a peal rung over her for letting the French phrase slip from her lips. “Nothing.”

  There was no hope for it. She would have to sail on someone else’s ship.

  The captain bid farewell and ambled toward the far end of the warehouse where his crew moved without regard to the heat, loading the heavy barrels of sugar and rum onto wagons for transport to his ship.

  She turned and walked toward Uncle Ashby’s office, the problem of finding berth on a ship to England weighing heavily on her mind.

  A droplet of perspiration trickled down her neck and the relative privacy afforded by the opening between two stacks of wooden crates became too strong a temptation to resist.

  Slipping between them, she cast a furtive glance around her. No one was in sight. Reaching behind her back, she awkwardly patted the fabric against her damp skin. Oh, heavenly. She lifted the skirts of her gown just a few inches and flapped the edge to force more air against her legs. She closed her eyes in bliss. Wouldn’t it be lovely to go swimming right now? She could almost feel the refreshing water against her skin.

  “Mademoiselle Thea. Mademoiselle Thea.”

  Her eyes flew open. The sight of Philippe, the warehouse manager, staring at her as if she’d been caught dancing naked on top of the crates, rather than fanning herself behind one of them momentarily froze her wits. The dark contours of his face were formed in lines of rigid disapproval. Well, drat. If she had to get caught couldn’t it have been by someone like Whiskey Jim, and not her self-proclaimed duenna?

  Thea straightened, tossing her skirts back to decorously cover her ankles. “Philippe, I didn’t see you.”

  “That would have been difficult, yes? With your eyes closed and cavorting in such a fashion?”

  How could a mountain-size Black man sound so prissy? “I was not cavorting. I was fanning. There’s a difference.”

  Philippe frowned. “Not for a lady.”

  Everyone took for granted that she wanted to be a lady. Thea was not convinced. It certainly hadn’t done her mother any good and the title carried more restrictions than benefits as far as she could see.

  She much preferred the persona of plain Miss Althea Selwyn, raised in the West Indies with a freedom no London debutante would ever know. Oh, she knew the important strictures of life as a lady. Aunt Ruth and her mother had seen to that, but she was rarely forced to adhere to them. Which did not mean she wasn’t taken to task for her behavior.

  She was. Frequently. And she found it most annoying indeed.

  How could she behave as if she’d been raised to grace a drawing room when in fact she’d spent her entire life around sailors, plantation workers and freed slaves? Despite Mama and Aunt Ruth’s efforts, she’d spent more time learning the shipping business and how to keep an accurate ledger than she had on how to be a lady. And she certainly hadn’t learned life’s basic skills from a tutor or proper English nanny.

  Philippe had taught her French. Whiskey Jim had taught her other things and she’d learned to swim the same way as all the other children on the island, naked in the lagoon. Her mother had about swooned when she’d found out, but the truth was, Thea was better suited and always had been to her life here than she ever would have been to life in England.

 
Deciding that ignoring Phillippe’s outrage was the best way of dealing with it, she asked, “Was there something you needed?”

  “Mr. Drake is looking for Mr. Merewether.”

  Philippe stepped aside, revealing another man standing behind him. A man every bit as tall as the warehouse manager, but there the similarity ended. Drake. The privateer. The name fit. This man could very easily be a pirate. He did not look like a man that balked at danger.

  Although he matched Philippe for height, he was built quite differently. Thea’s gaze snagged on the muscles that pressed against the gentleman’s long pants. Uncle Ashby and the other men of Thea’s acquaintance still wore the breeches popular in the last decade. She had never actually seen a gentleman wearing long pants. They should have hidden his well-developed legs, but they didn’t. His obviously well made clothes were worn in the understated fashion of the English.

  She forced her gaze higher only to be sidetracked again by the fact that the gentleman’s upper torso was every bit as muscled as his legs. When her eyes finally reached his face, she sucked in her breath. He had noticed her perusal. How could he not? His mouth tipped in sardonic humor and brown eyes, the color of dark molasses, mocked her.

  Realizing that her mouth had dropped open, Thea shut it with a snap. Her cheeks felt hotter than the Caribbean sun. “May I help you?”

  “I’m looking for Mr. Merewether.” His voice held all the authority that his posture implied.

  “He’s not here.” Wonderful. Not only had she gawked like a desperate spinster, but now she sounded like a bacon-brained idiot. Obviously Uncle Ashby wasn’t with her. “I mean to say, I don’t know where he is. Perhaps I can help you.”

  There that sounded better, much more appropriate.