Historical Romance: Christin's Splendid Spinster's Society A Lady's Club Regency Romance: The Spinster's Society, #7

By Charlotte Stone

Book 07 in The Spinster's Society series - A Historical Romance Book

Christin Potter has always been a friend to the wealthy and upper-class.

As a woman who runs one of London's more prominent employment agencies, she's well versed in giving members of Society exactly what they want.

 

But her life becomes more than a little complicated when she becomes the object of a dashingly handsome—yet very secretive—earl's desire.

Christin finds herself trapped in a battle of wills that is sure to leave her a changed woman in the end.

 

All Aaron Welsh wanted was a governess for the two little girls he'd inherited after their father's death.

With the assistance of his Brotherhood, their slightly unhinged wives, and the adoration of two girls, the Earl of Jeanshire is sure his life is full. 

 

Until he meets Christin.

 

With one gaze, his every goal is changed. 

 

Like most of the women in his acquaintance, Christin is strong willed and won't fall easily. 

But who can resist falling into the arms of one of the Men of Nashwood?

 

The book is a full-length regency romance novel. The full book is a romance collection which contains one connected regency romance novella.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charlotte Stone
• Release date: Apr 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393471004

Charlotte Stone

In a near cynical world which we are currently living in, Charlotte finds comfort in the readings of Regency Romance writings, one of her favourite would be Laura Kinsale’s Flowers from the storm where the female character loves and saves the male lead character who is a stroke victim. It was such writings which inspired her to be an author herself. In Charlotte’s writings, the characters are able to see beyond the imperfections of each other and to accept and love one another, just the way one is. Isn’t this true of our inner self? To be able to find someone who is able to see the beauty in us, in spite of all imperfections we might have. Isn’t this true of what love really should be? Ever accepting, ever loving, ever seeking. May you find love and acceptance in Charlotte’s writings.

Book preview

chapter 1

*   *   *

Christin Potter pulled in a breath and held it as Lord Jeanshire leaned forward, reached out across the table between them, and wrapped long fingers around his china tea cup. Then slowly, as if not to startle her, he receded back into his chair, the only sound in the room being the seat giving way for his comfort. She watched in fascination as he extended the cup to his lips, then jerked her gaze up to meet his eyes.

His startling blue eyes had remained on her through the entire process, and Christin was sure she’d never experienced a more intense moment in her life. Lungs burning, she released her breath and licked suddenly dry lips. She’d become aware of him the moment she’d walked into her sitting room. The elegantly furnished blue space was used for all Potter Agency’s interviews with potential employees and patrons of both the middle and upper class. She’d met both titled and untitled gentlemen, yet had never seen a man fill and command the very air in the room like the Earl of Jeanshire.

Potter Agency was known in London for the talent and discipline of its servants. Men and women were trained for positions in wealthy homes. The business had been started by her mother-in-law and on the death of both Mary Potter and Christin’s husband, she’d taken on the responsibilities, seeing to every part of the business from hiring the teachers, accepting apprenticeships, and seeing that her employees were placed in the best homes throughout the empire.

She’d wondered why Patsy, one of her housekeepers-in-training, had looked slightly unsettled after showing her latest patron to the sitting room and retreating.

But the man she’d found in her sitting room had not been what she’d expressed at all.

Where did one start when they wished to describe the Earl of Jeanshire?

Christin closed her eyes as she sipped her own tea.

There was no need to look at the man further. He’d become engraved in her mind the moment she’d walked through the door.

When one thought of a lord, Jeanshire was not what came to mind. While he was extremely handsome, his hard features were not aristocratic. His bone structure was more primitive than genteel. And so, instead of comparing him to the statues of gods, her mind envisioned ancient warriors, men who gained their power though strength and not birthright.

His hair was like fine gold but cut unfashionably short, leaving only a hint of a wave that made his face all the more impressive.

She couldn’t picture this lord as an idle god or even a lazy peer. Had she seen him on the road dressed any other way, she’d have thought him a builder, capable of lifting and breaking both stone and man. A leader who’d shed blood on his climb to the top, giving nothing for free yet taking whatever he wished, no matter the consequences.

In a word, he was far too manly to be a god.

He looked more like a god killer, as though he were the reason the deities no longer roamed the earth, fearful of what this man could do, hiding in the heavens while the rest of the world was forced to yield to Jeanshire’s every command. The bones in his cheeks and wide jaw were resilient... as was the rest of his body.

He was large, his shoulders exceeding the width of the wingback chair he’d been shown to. He'd been forced to sit with his legs wide for fear of them running into the table between them.

A matter that had never risen before with anyone else.

The muscles in the thighs that lay under his dark silk breeches flexed with his every move, and her body became inflamed whenever she caught sight of it.

Dear God.

Christin had never experienced anything like this in her life, and at seven and twenty, she thought herself well past the years of senseless infatuations and the wiles of attractive men.

She’d not even been this way when she was sixteen.

Not even with her departed husband. 

Though why she would compare a simple, yet lovely man like John Potter to this... beastly robust man, she didn’t know. The only thing her husband and Lord Jeanshire had in common was their sex. 

What do you think? The deep rumble of his voice gave her a start.

Hmm? What was wrong with her?

She pulled in another breath and dared to settle her gaze on his.

Unsurprisingly, her thoughts fled her once again, but she was aware she made a sound of some sort. She only hoped it had been appropriate as her eyes moved over him again.

His arms, which rested on the chair, looked like twin columns of solid stone. One hand held her china cup. How it didn’t crumble to dust in his grasp she didn’t know. A single gloved finger rubbed leisurely against the porcelain edge, and Christin struggled to keep her mind from imagining those fingers on her person, undoing the buttons at the front of her dress and idly stroking an exposed nipple until it bloomed.

Heat shot through her core with such strength that her vision blurred.

Mrs. Potter? He had the sort of voice one would pay great money to listen to, a baritone so low that anything he said sounded far too arousing. The sound of it was like being wrapped in a warm blanket or held against skin.

His would be warm, she readily decided.

She jumped when she heard the tea cup hit the table. Oh, I... Her voice trailed off as his eyes caught hers again and then his gaze moved lower, his irises becoming warmer before his nostrils flared. He clenched his fist, and Christin clenched the muscles between her thighs.

The pleasure of it nearly knocked her over and the truth flew through her mind.

She wanted him.

It had been so long since she’d wanted a man and even longer since she’d allowed one to touch her.

Five years. Five lonely and pleasureless years.

She gripped her skirts as their stares collided. Once more, Christin was lost.

He moved, and she jumped to her feet at the same time, but instead of moving toward him, she circled the chair and placed it between them. She almost screamed when she found him on the other side. He’d moved so quickly. She stared up at him, the chair poor protection against whatever was happening between them. 

Uh... I... She swallowed and looked down at the red paisley design of the chair, fixating on it until she could right her mind and the world stopped shifting underneath her feet.

Forgive me. I—

His hand cupped her shoulder, and she sucked in a breath to find him beside her. His expression was one of confusion that drew his dark brows in and formed creases on his otherwise flawless tan skin.

But then that wasn’t true. On closer inspection, she noticed a flat pale line that went across the width of his nose. It had been broken before. She wondered how.

She didn’t know why every detail about him struck her so greatly, but it did.

His mouth was full and wide, and she was stuck dumb when the blacks of his eyes widened, engulfing much of the blue, even though the confusion hadn’t left their depths.

His confusion called to her as well.

This man didn’t seem the sort to be confused often. He seemed certain, willing, and able to take on any test he came across with ease. She didn’t know him, they’d barely spoken since she’d walked into the room, but if she had only three words to describe him, she’d have said hard, masculine, and certain.

She released the breath she’d been holding and became enchanted as an expression she thought suited him far better cleared his brows.

Certainty.

It took her another moment to realize that that look might be associated with her.

Finally, her brain turned back on. My lord—

He leaned forward, and Christin gasped as he turned and settled his nose at the side of her neck. He inhaled, and she shivered at its release. His breath was warm and sank into her skin. Only the hands that held her shoulders kept her from tumbling to the ground.

This can’t be happening, he moaned deeply against her, and a sound she didn’t think could come from human lips left Jeanshire as though it were ripped from his chest. Then he lifted her head, and Christin froze as the feeling of standing on the edge of something great took hold of her. Behind her was everything she knew and was familiar with, and before her was the plunge into the unknown.

You, he whispered as a soft smile touched his lips.

Me? she asked in answer to a question she wasn’t entirely sure she wished to know.

With his response came an expression she couldn’t recognize. Yes.

She had a fear of heights, yet she held Jeanshire’s eyes and allowed herself to fall.

She thought his kiss would be hard but discovered it was something far more dangerous. He was slow and thorough and seemed to leave no part of her mouth untouched.

He tasted delicious, like coffee and sugar. She licked his lips, and he groaned before pulling her closer. Her thoughts became more lucid as he intoxicated her with the most stunning kiss she’d ever received.

You, he whispered again, the sound made with great breath, working as an irresistible lull. Did he not know he already had her? She had no idea who he thought her to be, but in that second, she didn’t want to be anyone else. She wanted to be his ‘you,’ no matter what it cost.

Yes, she replied.

His hands moved down to her waist and dragged her the final inches that separated them, and still, it wasn’t close enough to satisfy her. Her hands went around his neck, and she opened her mouth just before his tongue swept in.

Another shot of raging heat hit her, and her body shuddered violently at the brush of the first strands of pleasure. Oh!

Never had it come from just a kiss.

A dark urgency compelled her to capture his tongue and suck it lightly.

It was all the encouragement he needed.

His hold tightened at her waist, and she jumped into his arms, locking her legs around his narrowed hips. Hunger blinded her, nearly muting the sounds of something crashing to the floor before her bottom settled on a hard and cold surface.

His hands bunched up her skirts, and she slipped a hand down his shoulder, over his chest, and further down until she cupped his manhood. She found it hard and thick and felt him gasp against her mouth.

Fuck, he groaned.

She bit his lip. Yes. Could she say anything else?

He growled. I plan to have you.

Yes, yes. He could have anything he wanted so long as he took it now.

Their eager gazes locked as air hit her inner thighs. She thought she might die if he wasn’t inside her in the next minute. She fumbled to release him.

A louder crash slapped across her mind and stilled her senses. She blinked and looked over to find Patsy at the sitting room entrance. Her hands covered her mouth, and a tray with small cakes was scattered across the floor.

Christin also realized that she herself was sitting on her sideboard. Her candelabra, tray, and other decorative pieces that usually sat where she did had been flung everywhere in her and Jeanshire’s beastly haste.

She fumbled to right her dress but couldn’t seem to make the hem go down. She looked down and realized that Jeanshire still held it in his tight fist.

Their gazes locked again.

Patsy ran from the room without a word, her feet clattering down the hall.

I need to fix my dress, Christin finally managed.

Since this was the first full sentence to leave her mouth since they’d met, it seemed such a silly thing to say, but there it was. She wasn’t sure what had come over her. She’d nearly had sex with a man she knew nothing about and, lord or not, this was highly out of character for her. She’d only ever been with one man, her husband.

But instead of feeling shame for acting like one of the doxies who lived next door, she felt guilt at nearly taking advantage of this man. With her lustfulness, she’d all but climbed into his lap. What he must think of her...

The urge to apologize struck her. I’m sorry. I—

Don’t. Jeanshire didn’t move his hands from her skirts nor his eyes from hers. Don’t regret this. I don’t.

*   *   *

chapter 2

*   *   *

Aaron Welsh regretted many moments in his life, but a taste of the sweetness that flowed from Mrs. Christin Potter’s lips would never be one of them. His only regret was that he’d not closed the door before he’d proceeded to ravage her mouth. He hadn’t turned to look at whoever had come into the room and interrupted their tryst.

He hadn’t cared.

All that mattered was the woman on the sideboard before him.

The enchantress.

From the moment she’d walked into the room, everything Aaron had been sure of came into question, the first being that there was no such thing as love at first sight.

Women were captivating creatures as a whole, and he’d always enjoyed their offerings, but unlike many of his friends, he had always been selective with his taste. He liked his women tall and busting with curves.

Mrs. Potter hit those marks with ease.

But it had been more than just her body that had called to him. It was the way she’d walked into the room. One could have easily believed her to be the daughter of a lord. She had regal grace. But it had been her alluring face that sealed it for him. Heart-shaped with dark tilted eyes, a small nose, and pleasure-promising pink lips. Her hair was black, as were her thick lashes.

He’d taken one look at her, and his every intention had vanished, his mind forcibly remapping itself with one goal in mind. Her. Any objectives he’d walked into the room with had vanished in a blink and all that was left of the limited function that remained of his mind had chanted things like take, consume.

Mine.

How he’d managed to get a single word out since the moment she’d taken her seat, he wasn’t sure.

He’d suspected from the beginning that this was a setup.

He’d come to Potter Agency after failing to find a suitable governess for his charges. The suggestion had come from Alice Lockwood, the wife of one of Aaron’s many friends. Calvin Lockwood’s wife had made it known that Christin Potter could deliver whatever he needed, yet after raising two little girls for the last year, he’d come to understand female expressions quite easily and had not missed the mischief that had set Alice’s blue eyes ablaze. 

She’d wanted Aaron to find Christin, and damn if he wasn’t thankful.

In the last year, out of the ten men who formed the Men of Nashwood, a brotherhood that had begun when they were but lads at Eton, six of the men had wed and each of them were blissfully happy. Last Season, the wives, who could also be now counted as friends of Aaron’s, made it very clear that they had every intention of seeing the final four bachelors married as well, but as the months had passed, his doubt had grown.

And while a year ago he’d have shuddered at the thought of marriage, the idea had started to grow on him when he considered the two people in his life who mattered most to him—Mary and Lily. Mary had turned seven last November, and Lily would be six in a week’s time. Aaron was sure there had never been more beautiful girls in existence. They had dark eyes and dark hair and though they enjoyed testing the limits of his anger, he couldn’t imagine life without them.

He simply needed help.

Aaron appreciated the help of his friends and their wives, but he was beginning to believe that what the girls needed was a mother.

So Aaron had actively started looking, accepting invites to parties he would usually turn down and calling on a few ladies he’d thought might be good examples to the girls, but none of the ladies had struck Aaron as good choices, so he’d started to look outside of his class.

Of his six friends who had married, only three of the women were ladies. Alice had been the daughter of a club owner. Taygete, who’d married Hugh, the Marquess of Edvoy, was the daughter of a businessman. Rollo, whose family was powerful gentry, had married a lady’s maid.

And though he’d expanded his search, no one had become elevated to more than simple bed sport.

And then Alice had suggested Potter Agency, and for the first time, Aaron felt hope.

Christin looked slightly puzzled, and her mouth twitched as she studied him. That mouth had set an inferno in his gut, and he wanted nothing more than to light her fires again and watch her glow.

She’d been like a vibrant sun in his hands. Aaron was surprised he’d not been burned by her touch. And she’d smelled amazing, like cream and vanilla. He’d wanted to devour her. He would have if they’d not been stopped.

He still could.

He would.

He smiled. She had no idea what she was in for.

Her eyes fell to his mouth before sliding away. She cleared her throat but didn’t meet his eyes as she summoned her voice. Lord Jeanshire, would you be so kind as to remove your hands from my dress?

His fingers worked to straighten her skirts but then he grabbed her waist and helped her back onto the floor, liking the sound of her sharp intake of breath.

He kept his hold on her and watched her hands hesitate before settling on his arms. She eyed him warily.

You can let me go, she whispered.

He could, but he didn’t want to. He could sense her retreat and had no plans of letting her escape. I need your help.

Her gaze turned away, and she spoke to his shoulder. Yes, I know, but perhaps it would be best if you found another agency.

I was informed that you are the best, he said. I won’t accept anything less.

She caught his eyes, and he could see her nervousness. She’d worn something of that expression when she’d sat across from him as he drank tea. There’d been anxiety and hunger in her gaze, but it had been the flashes of color that had spread up her throat to her cheeks that had finally broken him, calling to him, forcing him to cross the room and take her.

Mine.

Perhaps we should set another appointment for a later date? She tried for a smile, but it fell short, and then she was looking away once more.

Well, Aaron had every intention of seeing the woman later. Of that, he had no doubt,