Margaret McPhee - Regency Debutantes - The Captain's Lady / Mistaken Mistress

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MARGARET McPHEEloves to use her imagination—an essential requirement for a trained scientist. However, when she realised that her imagination was inspired more by the historical romances she loves to read rather than by her experiments, she decided to put the ideas down on paper. She has since left her scientific life behind, retaining only the romance—her husband, whom she met in a laboratory. In summer, Margaret enjoys cycling along the coastline overlooking the Firth of Clyde in Scotland, where she lives. In winter, tea, cakes and a good book suffice.

REGENCY Debutantes

The Captain’s Lady

Mistaken Mistress

Margaret McPhee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Captain’s Lady

Margaret McPhee

November 1804

‘Mr Praxton, you’re mistaken in your assumption!’ Georgiana Raithwaite staggered back from the hard thin lips pressed to hers. Her hand scrubbed at her bruised mouth as she attempted to escape.

‘Come now, Miss Raithwaite, don’t play coy with me. We both know the truth of your feelings on the matter.’ Walter Praxton grasped Georgiana’s wrist, the bones of his fingers biting into her. Relentlessly he dragged her closer until she was pressed fully against his frame.

‘No! Let me go! I haven’t encouraged your interest.’ The dark green wool of his finely tailored coat scraped against her cheek, releasing a rush of cologne. ‘We’ve been gone for an age and our party will be here at any moment.’ She struggled harder. ‘Leave me be!’

He sniggered, a harsh and petty sound against the rush of the nearby river, and his ruthless mouth touched the locks of her unbound hair. Her bonnet lay crushed amidst the hawthorn bushes where he had thrown it just moments before. ‘Indeed, they will, my dear. Let them come upon our lovers’ tryst.’ His handsome face cracked with a smile that did not touch the coldness in his ice-blue eyes.

‘How dare you! My papa won’t believe your lies!’ Georgiana wrenched her face away from his. ‘Release me or I swear I’ll scream.’

Even as she sucked the breath in to fulfil her threat, his left hand snaked around the slim column of her throat, crushing with a slow even pressure that ensured her silence.

He stared into her eyes, eyes that were wide and round with fear and loathing, and whispered softly against her ear, ‘I won’t brook such disobedience when we’re married.’

The sound of voices murmured in the distance. ‘Not long now, my dear. To be caught in such a compromising situation…You’re fortunate indeed that I’m a gentleman and can be relied upon to do the honourable thing.’ His mouth contorted into a sweet smile.

It was then that Georgiana understood the exact nature of the trap closing around her. Walter Praxton meant to have her for his wife, despite all of her refusals. It did not matter that he had callously engineered the situation for his own ends. Once Mama, Papa, the Battersby-Browns and Mrs Hoskin had witnessed her in this dishevelled state, with Mr Praxton’s mouth upon hers and his odious hand kneading at her breast, nothing would save her. Her papa had worked hard to achieve a standing in society and nothing, but nothing, would be allowed to sully that, even her claims of assault. And Mr Praxton was so very suitable, the wealthy young owner of several paper mills in the area, respectable, influential. No wonder her family were irritated and incredulous that she saw fit to decline the gentleman’s addresses. But to be forced to wed against her will, and to such a man…Georgiana felt the sensation starting in her toes. It crept slowly up her legs. Once it reached her head she knew that she would pass into the black realms of oblivion…leaving Mr Praxton’s plan to successful fruition.

‘Don’t fight me, Georgiana.’ Mr Praxton’s voice scratched against her ear.

She knew she had but one chance, one hope of escaping this vile man and a life at his mercy. And she must take it now, if at all.

Her knee raised in a violent jerk, landing precisely in Mr Praxton’s closely situated groin.

‘Damnation!’ Walter Praxton’s body convulsed and he bent double, releasing his hold on Georgiana to clutch at the front of his breeches. ‘Hell and damnation, you’ll pay for that, you little bitch!’ His cheeks paled and a scowl twisted his features.

Georgiana did not delay. Immediately his grip had released, she pivoted and ran.

His voice rasped thick, tinged with malice and pain. ‘There’s nowhere to run to. Unless you can walk on water, that is.’ He leaned heavily upon his thighs and managed to straighten a little.

Georgiana looked beyond to the fast-flowing river, swollen from the heavy November rains. He was right. Dear Lord help her, but he was right. The small clearing was surrounded on three sides by dense shrubs. The gap through which Mr Praxton had coerced her was now firmly blocked by his enraged form. Her heart beat fast and furious as her skirts wrapped themselves around her fleeing legs.

‘I fear that you’ve made a very grave error, my dear, and one for which I’ll exact full payment, unless you make yourself amenable to me, Miss Raithwaite.’

In that moment Georgiana made her choice. There could be no other. Before her courage—or foolery, as her papa would term it—deserted her, she leapt from the grass banking straight into the river.

Walter Praxton’s mouth gaped with incredulity. Even the strongest swimmer would be hard pushed to survive such conditions. ‘Stupid girl, you’re going to drown yourself!’ The realisation of just what he stood to lose loomed large in his greedy mind, not to mention Edward Raithwaite’s reaction when he discovered that his stepdaughter had drowned whilst in Mr Praxton’s care. ‘Bloody hell!’ he swore through clenched teeth, and scrambled about to find a branch to hook Miss Raithwaite back to safety.

The plan was not proceeding quite as Mr Praxton had envisaged.

A scream shrilled behind him. Mrs Raithwaite collapsed into a crumpled heap and Mrs Battersby-Brown appeared to be in the throes of hysteria, not helped by Mrs Hoskin’s high-pitched screaming.

‘Good God, man! What the…? Georgiana?’ Mr Raithwaite looked at Mr Praxton, confusion clear upon his face.

Walter Praxton turned to the older man. ‘Against my advice Miss Raithwaite insisted on examining the river at close quarters. Such a wilful girl! Sir, quickly pass me that large stick, and I’ll fish her out.’ Mr Praxton’s fingers raked his perfect golden locks with ill-concealed agitation.

Georgiana’s body submerged beneath the river, its freezing waters rushing to infiltrate the snug warmth of her clothing. Already it clung like a dead weight. Ice-cold water swirled all around, dragging at her skirts, conspiring to pull her beneath its bubbling surface to the dark unknown depths below. Her lungs constricted and would not function save but to gasp for air when there was nothing but water. She tried to scream, but could find no voice. Cold terror prickled at her scalp and her head ached where the freezing water beat her down. Her arms flailed, wildly seeking something, anything, on which to anchor, even as she sank lower. And, just as the darkness closed in upon her so that she could but look up to the lightness of the sky so very far above her head, her hand found purchase. Her fingers closed upon it, clinging for dear life to that saviour. With her heart pumping fit to burst, she pulled herself up and broke the surface, coughing while gasping in air that had never tasted so sweet. She embraced the clump of reeds, unmindful of its sharp-edged leaves lacerating the palms of her hands. Still the river fought to keep her, tugging mercilessly at her grip on that one small patch of vegetation.