- Book info
- Sample
- Media
- Author updates
- Lists
Synopsis
Will A Rake's wicked ways
Andrew Carrington, Earl of Bellingham, believes in being a gentleman, whether it's fishing a soggy stranger out of the Thames or assisting a fetching lady into his bed. If the stranger becomes a friend and the lady a mistress, all the better. He certainly welcomes the opportunity to help Laura Davenport, a dazzling young widow with a rebellious stepson. Her gratitude, he hopes, will take an amorous form. But from the moment he sets foot in her drawing room, he gets far more than he bargained for ...Lead the Lady astray?
It was a moment of desperation. On the brink of losing her stepson, Laura turned to the notorious Lord Bellingham for help. Suddenly she, a vicar's daughter, is in the precarious position of resisting his tantalizing advances. How Bell earned his wicked reputation is clear; the surprise is how much more there is to him than the gossip sheets could possibly reveal. Now every moment with this dangerously desirable man puts Laura's good name at risk-and promises pleasure unlike any she has ever known ...
Release date: May 28, 2013
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Print pages: 448
* BingeBooks earns revenue from qualifying purchases as an Amazon Associate as well as from other retail partners.
Reader buzz
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
Author updates
Close
What a Wicked Earl Wants
Vicky Dreiling
Chapter One
Lady Atherton’s ball, London 1819
Andrew Carrington, the Earl of Bellingham, was on the hunt for a new mistress.
He stepped inside the elegant foyer, having timed his late arrival to avoid the ubiquitous receiving line in the ballroom. As he relinquished his greatcoat, hat, and gloves to the butler, he thought about the type of mistress he wanted. Beauty was a must, but equally important was cleverness. He couldn’t abide foolishness in a woman, no matter how comely her appearance. Naturally he avoided married women and virgins. The former could cost him his life, and the latter could cost him his bachelorhood.
He straightened the stickpin in his cravat and strode into the great hall. A statue of Augustus stood at the base of the stairwell. The stone founder of the Roman Empire helpfully pointed the way upstairs.
Bell walked up one side of the U-shaped staircase, with its ornate iron balustrade. A dull roar sounded from the ballroom as a handful of guests spilled out onto the landing, no doubt to escape the heat generated by one too many bodies packed inside.
He gained the landing and entered the ballroom. The orchestra struck up a lively tune, and the voices grew louder. He pressed through the crowd in search of his friends, but he’d taken only a few steps when a stout matron glanced at him, grabbed the arm of a pencil-thin young lady, presumably her daughter, and hurried toward him. Bell turned and strode off in the opposite direction.
Hell. Five minutes into the ball and he was dodging a matchmaking mama and her daughter. The temptation to quit the place gripped him, but as he broke through the worst of the crowd, he saw his friends Harry and Colin standing by the sideboard.
When Bell reached them, he tugged on his cravat and said, “I need a drink.”
Harry Norcliffe, Viscount Evermore, handed Bell a brandy. “Narrow escape, old boy.”
Colin Brockhurst, Earl of Ravenshire, laughed. “We saw Lady Coburn and her daughter chasing after you.”
Bell scowled. “I don’t know her.”
“She is Sir Harold Coburn’s wife,” Harry said. “Her daughter is Miss Anne Coburn, first season.”
Bell downed the brandy in two swallows. “Intelligence from your girl cousins, no doubt.”
“My aunt’s drawing room is famous for the best gossip,” Harry said.
Bell frowned. “I’ve had enough already. I say we quit the ball and go to my town house to play billiards.”
“Wait,” Harry said. “Last night you said you were looking for a mistress.”
Bell set his glass on the sideboard. “The only available woman I’m likely to find here is a bored married lady, and I don’t poach in other men’s territory.”
“You’re in luck,” Harry said. “There’s a new widow in town.”
Colin snorted. “Right. More news from the drawing room.”
Harry nodded. “Yes. She’s rumored to be quite mysterious.”
Colin poured himself a brandy. “Harry, how can you take them seriously? Your cousins bamboozle you on a regular basis.”
“They said she is beautiful and young.”
“More likely old and ugly,” Bell muttered.
“Always the optimist,” Colin said.
Bell shook his head. “I’m a realist.”
Harry shrugged. “I’ve yet to meet her, but she could be right beneath our noses.”
“On the floor, you mean?” Colin quipped.
Harry pulled a face. “It’s a bloody expression. Must you be so literal?”
Bell rolled his eyes. He’d only met his friends recently, but already he knew they argued over anything ridiculous. “In other words, Harry has no idea what her name is or what she looks like. At this point, I think the odds of meeting her are nonexistent.”
“Because she doesn’t exist,” Colin said.
“Ha.” Harry downed the rest of his brandy and poured another glass. “Her name is Lady Chesfield, and she hails from Hampshire. She’s new to town and a particular friend of Lady Atherton.”
“A close friend of Lady Atherton?” Colin’s dark eyes gleamed in the candlelight. “I daresay Bell will be delighted…despite the thirty-year age difference.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “You’re wrong. I wager you a tenner he’ll make her his mistress in a fortnight or sooner.”
“You don’t have ten pounds,” Colin said.
Harry shrugged. “I will when you lose the wager.”
The orchestra struck up the opening bars of a country dance. Harry and Colin left to find their dance partners. Bell poured himself another brandy and turned to watch the crowd. A circle of guests disbanded, and then he saw his former mistress, Barbara. He set his glass aside and strolled over to her.
“Bellingham, you are as handsome as ever,” she said.
He bowed over her hand. “How is married life?”
“You know it was for convenience,” she said. A sly smile touched her lips. “I couldn’t wait for you.”
There was something in her expression that made him suspect she wasn’t jesting. “You have security.” It was no small thing for a woman.
“Security is dull,” she said.
He examined the diamond-studded ruby ring on her finger. “You also gained a title and wealth.”
“I made a bad bargain.”
He released her hand and didn’t bother to mention the obvious. Marriage was forever—until death do them part.
She lifted her frank gaze to him. “I’m doomed to unhappiness in marriage for a second time,” she said.
It wasn’t the first time she’d revealed her fatalistic outlook on life. Perhaps it had started when her first husband had died in the war. Yet, she’d taken advantage of her freedom as a widow and had more than a few protectors. She’d likely spent every penny of her pensions and accepted Norris’s marriage proposal out of desperation.
“I loathe Norris,” she said. “I try to pretend it’s you, but there is no comparison. I stare at the canopy and—”
“No tales from the boudoir.” He remembered how she’d always worn her feelings on her sleeve like a naïve girl.
She twirled a dark curl by her cheek. “I miss you.”
It had been nothing more than a short-lived liaison. He’d made the terms clear, but when she’d said she loved him, he’d ended it immediately.
She closed the distance between them and walked her gloved fingers down the front of his waistcoat. “Perhaps we could meet later tonight—for old time’s sake.”
Bell caught her hand, lifted it for the requisite air kiss, and released her. “Norris would object.”
“He doesn’t have to know.”
“Your husband is staring daggers as we speak.”
“I don’t care,” she said.
“You will if you’re not careful,” he said. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”
“I regret letting you get away.”
“There is nothing to regret.” He gave her a cynical smile. “I never stay.”
“I’d almost forgotten what a heartless bastard you are,” she said with a brittle laugh.
“You’ve got the heartless part right,” he said, “but I was born on the right side of the blanket.” He paused and added, “In all seriousness, you are courting trouble the longer you speak to me.”
“Let me come to you tonight,” she said.
She was foolish to even consider such a risk, but she seemed determined to enact her own tragedy. “Sorry, I won’t be the instrument of your downfall.” He walked away, fearing that sooner or later Norris would catch her in an indiscretion. Some men overlooked it, but by law Norris could beat her and sue her lover in civil court. He hoped for her sake that she would be cautious.
Bell returned to the sideboard and thrust Barbara out of his thoughts. He poured two fingers of brandy and turned, only to find a petite blonde looking over her shoulder. She had a flawless, creamy complexion and a button nose. As she met his gaze, her eyes widened.
He expected her to look away, but she seemed almost mesmerized. Bell frowned, wondering if he’d met her before. No, he would have remembered the way her lips turned up slightly at the corners, even though she wasn’t really smiling, at least not full on. Any moment now, she would remember herself and avert her eyes.
Her lips parted a bit as she continued to stare. Over the years, more than a few women had given him second glances as they walked past, but this one was ogling him in a rather blatant manner. A wicked grin tugged at his mouth. He decided to see what she would do when he inspected her.
Bell let his gaze slide ever so slowly from her eyes down past her long neck to her plump breasts. He continued in a leisurely fashion to her slim waist and slender hips. As he inspected her skirts, he figured she had slender legs to match her slender arms. Then he slowly reversed his gaze until he lingered over her breasts. Devil that he was, he imagined pale pink nipples. When he met her eyes, his heart beat a bit faster. He was in the middle of a ballroom and had made no effort to hide the fact that he was mentally undressing her. Obviously the blonde was issuing an invitation. Or was she? There was only one way to find out.
He winked at her.
A rosy flush spread over her face. She spun around, her airy overskirt floating a bit. Then she shook out her fan with a hand as diminutive as the rest of her and covered the lower half of her face. He half expected her to peek slyly above the ivory sticks, but instead she pressed through the crowd as if trying to escape. A moment later, Lady Atherton tapped the blonde on the shoulder, startling her.
Could she be the mysterious widow?
Lady Atherton led the blonde a few paces forward, and the two engaged in a tête-à-tête. The blonde woman shook her head vigorously, causing her sapphire earrings to bobble a bit. For some odd reason, he found it alluring.
Obviously she’d never intended to flirt, and somehow that left him feeling a bit deflated, which was ridiculous. He’d been more than a little intrigued, but he should keep his distance. Lady Atherton was a well-known high stickler and would have put a flea in his ear if she’d seen him visually stripping the clothes off the younger woman.
Harry returned and poured himself a brandy. “Did you meet the new widow yet?”
“No.” They hadn’t met, but she’d intrigued him, and he couldn’t recall the last time a woman had done that.
Harry sighed. “I think my cousins are leading me on a merry chase.”
“Probably,” Bell said.
“I’m to dance the next set with Miss Martindale,” Harry said. “I’d better find her.”
As Bell made his way through the crowd, he noticed that Lady Atherton was strolling with the petite blonde again. In all likelihood, she was too respectable to be any man’s mistress. For all he knew, she was some man’s wife.
He’d had enough of the noise and decided to walk out to the gardens to smoke a cheroot. Though he wasn’t familiar with the layout of the house, he managed to find his way to the door leading outside. There were lanterns in the trees, but he detected no one about. The wind was a bit chilly as it whipped the tails of his coat, but he welcomed the cold as he used one of the lanterns to light a cheroot. The wind riffled the leaves in the tall trees. He inhaled the smoke from the cheroot and enjoyed the relative silence.
He blew a smoke ring and wondered about the best way to secure a new mistress. The Cyprians were giving another entertainment next week. He would see if anyone caught his fancy there.
For some odd reason, he couldn’t get his visual encounter with the blond lady out of his mind. She was obviously Lady Atherton’s protégé, but that didn’t mean she was a widow available for dalliance. Lord only knew where or how these rumors got started, but he thought a widow might suit him, provided she understood that marriage was not in the offing. It would be a tricky business, trying to figure out whether the widow was amenable to an intimate relationship or not. If he made a mistake, he would cause a grievous insult. His lips curved a bit. Since when had he ever missed an opportunity to persuade a lady to loosen her morals?
He ground out the cheroot and lit up another. The low rumble of masculine laughter made Bell frown. Patches of misty fog made it difficult to see, but three young men emerged on the other side of the path. They halted and passed something around. Bell wagered it was a flask.
When the trio disappeared from his sight, he shrugged. They were safe from thieves and pickpockets in the garden. How they would fare guzzling whatever liquor was in the flask was another matter altogether, but they likely would pay for it with the bottle ache on the morrow.
A few minutes later, he ground out his cheroot. He thought of returning to the house but decided to indulge in one more cheroot first. Periodically, Bell heard the low laughter of the three young bucks. At one point, he was absolutely certain that one of them was pissing in the garden. By now, Bell was weary of the entire ball and the foolish young men. He inhaled from his cheroot one last time and put it out.
Then the door to the back of the house creaked open and shut.
Bell wondered if a pair of lovers meant to sneak out for a few kisses or more when he heard a feminine voice call out.
“Justin?”
The three bucks suddenly grew silent. Bell couldn’t decide if he ought to expose them or not. In the end, he kept quiet. They weren’t his responsibility.
The unknown lady’s slippers crunched on the gravel path. A misty fog settled near the ground, obscuring the objects in the garden.
“Justin? If you’re out here, please let me know.”
She was nearing Bell, but he wasn’t sure if she could see him or not.
Then she stepped out of the shadowy mist, right before him. In the flash of a lantern, he recognized her as the blond lady. God, even in this dim light, she was stunning.
She gazed right at him and gasped.
“Wait,” he said. “Allow me to assist you.”
“No.” She backed up. Then she lifted her skirts, whirled around, and took off running as if she’d seen Lucifer waiting to snatch her.
He started after her, but his footsteps slowed. She’d said the one word every man should respect. No.
The low rumble of masculine voices sounded again. Bell released a long sigh as he watched the trio creep back toward the house like thieves in the night. They paused about five feet from the door and passed the flask around. Good Lord, they were brazen.
Eventually they stumbled inside the mansion and made no attempt to hide their laughter.
Bell wiped the dampness off the shoulders of his coat and strolled back to the house. He might as well return home, since he’d struck out on finding a mistress. Tomorrow he would think of a new plan.
He strode through the corridor, noting someone had lit a candle branch. When he emerged, he heard a cacophony of voices coming from the dining room. He had no wish to make himself agreeable to anyone else this evening.
Bell strode toward the foyer but halted beside the stairwell upon hearing a feminine voice from the staircase. “Justin?”
He couldn’t see her from this vantage point.
He heard an odd sound beneath the stairwell. Bell looked underneath in time to see a man pushing a flask beneath it with his heel. Then footsteps clipped on the marble floor. “I’m here,” the man said, walking to the bottom of the staircase.
Bell noted he was the young man with a shock of wheat-colored hair.
“Where have you been?” a woman said in a stern tone. “I’ve looked everywhere for you.”
“Oh, we just moved about the ballroom and the adjoining rooms,” he said.
What an accomplished liar he was, Bell thought.
“Your face is flushed,” the woman said as she descended. Now Bell could see her. She was the blond woman he’d seen in the garden.
“I hope you haven’t been drinking with your friends again,” she said.
“Always suspicious,” the young man said.
“It’s late, and I wish to return home,” the blonde said.
A few minutes later, their voices receded.
Approaching footsteps alerted Bell. He turned as Lady Atherton regarded him with a knowing smile. “Are you in the habit of listening to others’ conversations, Bellingham?” she asked.
“Not if I can help it. And you?”
“I’m just the hostess of this grand squeeze,” she said.
“Who is she?” he asked.
Lady Atherton took a deep breath and slowly released it. “She’s not for the likes of you, Bell.”
He recalled the way the blonde had stared at him earlier with parted lips. “I didn’t ask if she was for me. I asked for her name.”
Lady Atherton shook her head. “Leave her be, Bellingham. She’s a widow with a boy to rear. You want no part of her life.”
“I’m afraid I am part of it, unwillingly,” he said. The blonde must be the widow his friends had mentioned, but he said nothing of that to Lady Atherton. He reached beneath the stairwell and retrieved the flask. “You see, I believe she needs to know her son is lying through his teeth.”
“Oh dear. She did say he was at a trying age.”
“That, I believe, is an understatement.”
Lady Atherton sighed and held out her hand. “Give the flask to me, and I’ll see that it’s returned.”
This was an opportunity to find out if she had meant to issue him an invitation when she’d stared at him earlier. He told himself he only wanted to warn her about her son. He told himself she had every right to know. He told himself that the boy might find himself in serious straits if he didn’t alert her. But ultimately, he knew he wouldn’t be able to get her out of his head until he spoke to her. “He’s taking advantage of her. Someone needs to put the fear of the devil in that boy.”
Lady Atherton’s eyes widened. “And you think you’re the one to do it? Hah!”
“I’m an eyewitness.” He paused and added, “I want her name.”
“Only if you swear this is about the boy and nothing else,” she said.
He felt victorious, but he hid it. “Her name and address, please.”
Lady Atherton hesitated again. “Her name is Laura Davenport. That’s Lady Chesfield to you,” she said, her expression sharp. “Her address is number ten, Grosvenor Square. And, Bellingham, I meant what I said. She’s a respectable widow and not for the likes of a rakehell like you.”
Perhaps, but he meant to find out. “She’s incredibly naïve where that boy is concerned.”
Lady Atherton clasped her hands. “Well, I agree he ought to have more respect for his stepmother.”
Bell bowed. “Thank you for an interesting evening.” Then he strode out the door.
The next afternoon
After dismissing his secretary, Bell opened the desk drawer where he’d stowed the flask last night. After retrieving it, he thought about his plans to return the flask to Lady Chesfield and reconsidered. What the devil did he expect to gain? The last thing he wanted was to become involved in the lady’s problems.
She was a stranger to him. They had not been introduced, and yet, he’d pried her name and address from Lady Atherton, who was very strict about the proprieties. He ought to have left well enough alone. Now he was obliged to return the blasted flask.
Out of curiosity, he opened the flask, expecting to find cheap gin, but one sniff proved the liquor was brandy. Bell sipped it and realized it was of top-notch quality. Most likely the young buck had purloined the brandy from a decanter at home.
The wayward young man wasn’t his responsibility. He could send a footman to deliver the flask, but Lady Chesfield wouldn’t know why he’d sent it. With a sigh, he drew out paper, pen, and ink, thinking he would describe what he’d seen last night. No, that was too much trouble. He would simply state in his message that he’d found her son’s flask. Whatever transpired afterward was none of his affair.
Bell started to shut the drawer when he saw the small leather sketchbook inside that had belonged to his mother. His heart drummed in his ears. A new maid had recently found it in the attic. That day, he’d looked at one page and shoved it inside the desk drawer. Bell ought to have told the maid to return it to the attic the day the sketchbook was discovered. Then it would have been out of his sight and mind forever. He walked over to the bell, intending to ring for the housekeeper. He meant to ask her to return the sketchbook to the attic. But he hesitated, because he didn’t want her to touch it.
After four years, he ought to have put the past behind him. Most of the time, he managed to shove it to the far corners of his brain, but the periodic nightmares served as a reminder of all that he’d loved and lost.
He returned to the desk, determined to shut the drawer. But something beckoned him. His ears thudded as he retrieved the sketchbook and opened it to a random page. A small boy sat on a sofa with a bundled infant. He gritted his teeth at the inscription near the bottom of the page. Andrew, age two, holding Steven one month after birth. His heart thumped at the sketch of him and his younger brother.
Damn it all to hell. He’d known nothing good could come of resurrecting the memories. They were gone forever.
He’d been too late all those years ago.
Bell shut the sketchbook and shoved it back inside the cubbyhole in the desk. The past no longer existed. There was only the here and now.
Gritting his teeth, he strode over to the bell rope and pulled it. When Griffith, the butler, appeared, Bell made arrangements to have his carriage brought round. He would deliver the flask to Lady Chesfield and have done with the matter once and for all.
Laura Davenport, Lady Chesfield, sat with her new lap desk and drew out paper, pen, and ink. She tried to think of what to tell her sister Rachel about her “London adventure,” as her sister called it. Thus far, they had attended only one ball—the one last night that her friend Lady Atherton had hosted.
She dared not say a word to Rachel about Justin’s rebellion. From the moment they had arrived, Justin had taken up with his friends from school and his attitude had grown surly. Worse, he’d taken to leaving with his friends at night and arriving home after midnight. He’d told her he was attending parties given by his friends’ parents, but she didn’t know them and was never invited.
Rachel had always been her confidant, but Laura knew Rachel would read the letter to her family. She didn’t want to alarm them, but she was worried.
Last night, Justin had disappeared from the ball for a long time. She’d even gone out into the garden to look for him and encountered that rake Bellingham again, but he was the least of her problems.
She’d finally found Justin at the stairwell. After smelling liquor on her son’s breath, she’d rebuked him soundly in the carriage for lying and drinking. Of course, he’d sworn never to do it again, but she had a bad feeling about his friends and the influence they had on him.
Laura put away the writing instruments and shoved the drawer closed. She was furious with her son. He’d begged to go to London with his friends, but she’d refused because she didn’t know their parents. Justin had pleaded with her day after day, and she’d finally made a compromise by offering to take him so that she could keep a close eye on him.
A knock sounded. “Come in,” she said, hoping it was her son.
Reed, the butler, entered. “The mail arrived, my lady.”
She took the letters and dismissed Reed. The first few were from the estate manager at Hollwood Abbey. She read them quickly, satisfied that all was running well in her absence. Then she slit the seal on one and looked at the signature. It was from Montclief, her son’s guardian. In the past four years, Montclief had never responded to her letters. Her chest tightened as she started reading from the beginning. His tone was so insulting it stunned her.
You ought to have consulted me prior to taking my nephew on a journey. I certainly hope you’ve the funds to pay for all the expenses, because I refuse to release his quarterly allowance for a trip that I did not approve. In the future, you will consult me before making travel arrangements for my nephew. He is my ward, and your role is only to follow my instructions.
She stood and fisted her hands. How dare he suddenly decide to intervene in their lives when he’d not lifted a hand to help Justin for years? He’d actually told her that he was too busy with his own children to bother with Justin. Now Montclief had suddenly decided to mount a high horse and start issuing commands. He was awfully late in establishing his authority.
Laura started to tear the letter and then thought better of it. Someday she might require it as proof of his neglect to his own nephew, though she doubted any court would side with a woman.
Fortunately, she did have the means to pay for all of their expenses. She had never intended to make use of Justin’s quarterly allowance, even though she had every right to use it to pay for his clothing, food, and lodgings.
She took a deep breath and blew it out. Well, she supposed the only reason Montclief had even responded was because she’d felt obliged to inform him about their activities. In the future, she would simply ignore Montclief, the same way he’d ignored Justin and her.
Reed arrived at the door. “Lord Chesfield left a few minutes ago.”
“Did he say where he was going?” she asked. He’d been home only twenty minutes.
“No, my lady. He left with his friends in a curricle.”
Her temples ached. He’d not bothered to ask her permission. “Thank you, Reed.”
After the butler left, she paced the drawing room. She regretted bringing her son to London, but she had not foreseen that Justin’s behavior would take a dramatic turn for the worse. He was seventeen years old and thought himself worldly. It frightened her to think of the seedy places he might go with his friends. In this enormous city, any manner of awful things could happen to him. She had to make him understand that he could get hurt if he encountered ruffians.
The moment he returned home, she would confront him again. He needed to know she would not tolerate his insubordination.
She sat on the sofa and picked up her cup. Unfortunately the tea had grown cold. She started to get up and ring the bell when a light tap sounded at the door. Reed entered and said, “My lady, you have a caller.”
“Is it Lady Atherton?”
“No, my lady.” He held out a silver salver. Laura picked up the card. Upon seeing the name, she dropped it.
Reed retrieved it. “My lady, shall I show Lord Bellingham upstairs?”
Good heavens no. “Reed, please inform the earl that I am not at home,” Laura said.
“Yes, my lady.”
After her butler quit the drawing room, Laura exhaled. Doubtless she was the only woman in London who had the temerity to refuse admittance to the Earl of Bellingham. Indeed, she suspected even the most genteel of ladies would flutter their fans and flirt outrageously with him. Since she was a vicar’s daughter, Laura liked to think she was made of sterner stuff. Unfortunately, she’d discovered last night that she was more than a little susceptible to the uncommonly handsome earl.
She would not think about the way he’d let his gaze travel over her body last evening at the ball. Most certainly she would not dwell on the way her skin had heated while he’d perused her with his astonishingly blue eyes. Above all, she would banish the naughty fantasies that had danced in her head while she’d tossed and turned in bed last night.
Even if she wanted to dally with the notorious earl, she would not dare, especially after receiving Montclief’s scathing letter. Yesterday, she would not have worried a jot about Justin’s uncle. Today, his letter had left her fearful that Montclief would take Justin away if he heard there was even a hint of a problem.
Laura inhaled and exhaled slowly to steady her nerves. She would write a short letter to Montclief to reassure him that all was well in London. It would be an outrageous lie, for Justin had turned quite rebellious recently. She must impress upon Justin the necessity of steering clear of trouble. If he did not cooperate, she would have no choice but to remove him from London.
Another knock startled her. “Come in,” she said.
“My lady, Lord Bellingham asked me to convey this flask to you,” Reed said. “His lordship said it was imperative that he speak to you.”
Laura rose and frowned. How had he discovered her name and address? The thought bothered her more than a little. She had no idea why he’d sent up a flask of all things, but regardless, it did not signify. “Reed, I assume this is Lord Bellingham’s idea of a jest, but I will not accept his gift nor will I see him.”
“Yes, my lady,” Reed said. “I will inform him that you are not accepting callers.”
“Thank you, Reed.”
After her butler left, Laura released a shaky breath. They had not been formally introduced, and Lady Atherton had made it clear last night that Lord Bellingham was a rake. She most certainly did not wish to make his acquaintance.
Laura walked over to the window. The day was gray and cloudy, promising rain. She fingered the gold, silken ropes and tassels that tied the draperies. The wavy glass distorted the view somewhat, but that shiny black carriage below obviously belonged to the Earl of Bellingham. Any moment now, he would emerge from her town house. All she wanted was to see the back of him retreating.
Another carriage drew up along the street. Laura surmised that it was her new friend Lady Atherton, because outside of making the acquaintance of several peop
Lady Atherton’s ball, London 1819
Andrew Carrington, the Earl of Bellingham, was on the hunt for a new mistress.
He stepped inside the elegant foyer, having timed his late arrival to avoid the ubiquitous receiving line in the ballroom. As he relinquished his greatcoat, hat, and gloves to the butler, he thought about the type of mistress he wanted. Beauty was a must, but equally important was cleverness. He couldn’t abide foolishness in a woman, no matter how comely her appearance. Naturally he avoided married women and virgins. The former could cost him his life, and the latter could cost him his bachelorhood.
He straightened the stickpin in his cravat and strode into the great hall. A statue of Augustus stood at the base of the stairwell. The stone founder of the Roman Empire helpfully pointed the way upstairs.
Bell walked up one side of the U-shaped staircase, with its ornate iron balustrade. A dull roar sounded from the ballroom as a handful of guests spilled out onto the landing, no doubt to escape the heat generated by one too many bodies packed inside.
He gained the landing and entered the ballroom. The orchestra struck up a lively tune, and the voices grew louder. He pressed through the crowd in search of his friends, but he’d taken only a few steps when a stout matron glanced at him, grabbed the arm of a pencil-thin young lady, presumably her daughter, and hurried toward him. Bell turned and strode off in the opposite direction.
Hell. Five minutes into the ball and he was dodging a matchmaking mama and her daughter. The temptation to quit the place gripped him, but as he broke through the worst of the crowd, he saw his friends Harry and Colin standing by the sideboard.
When Bell reached them, he tugged on his cravat and said, “I need a drink.”
Harry Norcliffe, Viscount Evermore, handed Bell a brandy. “Narrow escape, old boy.”
Colin Brockhurst, Earl of Ravenshire, laughed. “We saw Lady Coburn and her daughter chasing after you.”
Bell scowled. “I don’t know her.”
“She is Sir Harold Coburn’s wife,” Harry said. “Her daughter is Miss Anne Coburn, first season.”
Bell downed the brandy in two swallows. “Intelligence from your girl cousins, no doubt.”
“My aunt’s drawing room is famous for the best gossip,” Harry said.
Bell frowned. “I’ve had enough already. I say we quit the ball and go to my town house to play billiards.”
“Wait,” Harry said. “Last night you said you were looking for a mistress.”
Bell set his glass on the sideboard. “The only available woman I’m likely to find here is a bored married lady, and I don’t poach in other men’s territory.”
“You’re in luck,” Harry said. “There’s a new widow in town.”
Colin snorted. “Right. More news from the drawing room.”
Harry nodded. “Yes. She’s rumored to be quite mysterious.”
Colin poured himself a brandy. “Harry, how can you take them seriously? Your cousins bamboozle you on a regular basis.”
“They said she is beautiful and young.”
“More likely old and ugly,” Bell muttered.
“Always the optimist,” Colin said.
Bell shook his head. “I’m a realist.”
Harry shrugged. “I’ve yet to meet her, but she could be right beneath our noses.”
“On the floor, you mean?” Colin quipped.
Harry pulled a face. “It’s a bloody expression. Must you be so literal?”
Bell rolled his eyes. He’d only met his friends recently, but already he knew they argued over anything ridiculous. “In other words, Harry has no idea what her name is or what she looks like. At this point, I think the odds of meeting her are nonexistent.”
“Because she doesn’t exist,” Colin said.
“Ha.” Harry downed the rest of his brandy and poured another glass. “Her name is Lady Chesfield, and she hails from Hampshire. She’s new to town and a particular friend of Lady Atherton.”
“A close friend of Lady Atherton?” Colin’s dark eyes gleamed in the candlelight. “I daresay Bell will be delighted…despite the thirty-year age difference.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “You’re wrong. I wager you a tenner he’ll make her his mistress in a fortnight or sooner.”
“You don’t have ten pounds,” Colin said.
Harry shrugged. “I will when you lose the wager.”
The orchestra struck up the opening bars of a country dance. Harry and Colin left to find their dance partners. Bell poured himself another brandy and turned to watch the crowd. A circle of guests disbanded, and then he saw his former mistress, Barbara. He set his glass aside and strolled over to her.
“Bellingham, you are as handsome as ever,” she said.
He bowed over her hand. “How is married life?”
“You know it was for convenience,” she said. A sly smile touched her lips. “I couldn’t wait for you.”
There was something in her expression that made him suspect she wasn’t jesting. “You have security.” It was no small thing for a woman.
“Security is dull,” she said.
He examined the diamond-studded ruby ring on her finger. “You also gained a title and wealth.”
“I made a bad bargain.”
He released her hand and didn’t bother to mention the obvious. Marriage was forever—until death do them part.
She lifted her frank gaze to him. “I’m doomed to unhappiness in marriage for a second time,” she said.
It wasn’t the first time she’d revealed her fatalistic outlook on life. Perhaps it had started when her first husband had died in the war. Yet, she’d taken advantage of her freedom as a widow and had more than a few protectors. She’d likely spent every penny of her pensions and accepted Norris’s marriage proposal out of desperation.
“I loathe Norris,” she said. “I try to pretend it’s you, but there is no comparison. I stare at the canopy and—”
“No tales from the boudoir.” He remembered how she’d always worn her feelings on her sleeve like a naïve girl.
She twirled a dark curl by her cheek. “I miss you.”
It had been nothing more than a short-lived liaison. He’d made the terms clear, but when she’d said she loved him, he’d ended it immediately.
She closed the distance between them and walked her gloved fingers down the front of his waistcoat. “Perhaps we could meet later tonight—for old time’s sake.”
Bell caught her hand, lifted it for the requisite air kiss, and released her. “Norris would object.”
“He doesn’t have to know.”
“Your husband is staring daggers as we speak.”
“I don’t care,” she said.
“You will if you’re not careful,” he said. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”
“I regret letting you get away.”
“There is nothing to regret.” He gave her a cynical smile. “I never stay.”
“I’d almost forgotten what a heartless bastard you are,” she said with a brittle laugh.
“You’ve got the heartless part right,” he said, “but I was born on the right side of the blanket.” He paused and added, “In all seriousness, you are courting trouble the longer you speak to me.”
“Let me come to you tonight,” she said.
She was foolish to even consider such a risk, but she seemed determined to enact her own tragedy. “Sorry, I won’t be the instrument of your downfall.” He walked away, fearing that sooner or later Norris would catch her in an indiscretion. Some men overlooked it, but by law Norris could beat her and sue her lover in civil court. He hoped for her sake that she would be cautious.
Bell returned to the sideboard and thrust Barbara out of his thoughts. He poured two fingers of brandy and turned, only to find a petite blonde looking over her shoulder. She had a flawless, creamy complexion and a button nose. As she met his gaze, her eyes widened.
He expected her to look away, but she seemed almost mesmerized. Bell frowned, wondering if he’d met her before. No, he would have remembered the way her lips turned up slightly at the corners, even though she wasn’t really smiling, at least not full on. Any moment now, she would remember herself and avert her eyes.
Her lips parted a bit as she continued to stare. Over the years, more than a few women had given him second glances as they walked past, but this one was ogling him in a rather blatant manner. A wicked grin tugged at his mouth. He decided to see what she would do when he inspected her.
Bell let his gaze slide ever so slowly from her eyes down past her long neck to her plump breasts. He continued in a leisurely fashion to her slim waist and slender hips. As he inspected her skirts, he figured she had slender legs to match her slender arms. Then he slowly reversed his gaze until he lingered over her breasts. Devil that he was, he imagined pale pink nipples. When he met her eyes, his heart beat a bit faster. He was in the middle of a ballroom and had made no effort to hide the fact that he was mentally undressing her. Obviously the blonde was issuing an invitation. Or was she? There was only one way to find out.
He winked at her.
A rosy flush spread over her face. She spun around, her airy overskirt floating a bit. Then she shook out her fan with a hand as diminutive as the rest of her and covered the lower half of her face. He half expected her to peek slyly above the ivory sticks, but instead she pressed through the crowd as if trying to escape. A moment later, Lady Atherton tapped the blonde on the shoulder, startling her.
Could she be the mysterious widow?
Lady Atherton led the blonde a few paces forward, and the two engaged in a tête-à-tête. The blonde woman shook her head vigorously, causing her sapphire earrings to bobble a bit. For some odd reason, he found it alluring.
Obviously she’d never intended to flirt, and somehow that left him feeling a bit deflated, which was ridiculous. He’d been more than a little intrigued, but he should keep his distance. Lady Atherton was a well-known high stickler and would have put a flea in his ear if she’d seen him visually stripping the clothes off the younger woman.
Harry returned and poured himself a brandy. “Did you meet the new widow yet?”
“No.” They hadn’t met, but she’d intrigued him, and he couldn’t recall the last time a woman had done that.
Harry sighed. “I think my cousins are leading me on a merry chase.”
“Probably,” Bell said.
“I’m to dance the next set with Miss Martindale,” Harry said. “I’d better find her.”
As Bell made his way through the crowd, he noticed that Lady Atherton was strolling with the petite blonde again. In all likelihood, she was too respectable to be any man’s mistress. For all he knew, she was some man’s wife.
He’d had enough of the noise and decided to walk out to the gardens to smoke a cheroot. Though he wasn’t familiar with the layout of the house, he managed to find his way to the door leading outside. There were lanterns in the trees, but he detected no one about. The wind was a bit chilly as it whipped the tails of his coat, but he welcomed the cold as he used one of the lanterns to light a cheroot. The wind riffled the leaves in the tall trees. He inhaled the smoke from the cheroot and enjoyed the relative silence.
He blew a smoke ring and wondered about the best way to secure a new mistress. The Cyprians were giving another entertainment next week. He would see if anyone caught his fancy there.
For some odd reason, he couldn’t get his visual encounter with the blond lady out of his mind. She was obviously Lady Atherton’s protégé, but that didn’t mean she was a widow available for dalliance. Lord only knew where or how these rumors got started, but he thought a widow might suit him, provided she understood that marriage was not in the offing. It would be a tricky business, trying to figure out whether the widow was amenable to an intimate relationship or not. If he made a mistake, he would cause a grievous insult. His lips curved a bit. Since when had he ever missed an opportunity to persuade a lady to loosen her morals?
He ground out the cheroot and lit up another. The low rumble of masculine laughter made Bell frown. Patches of misty fog made it difficult to see, but three young men emerged on the other side of the path. They halted and passed something around. Bell wagered it was a flask.
When the trio disappeared from his sight, he shrugged. They were safe from thieves and pickpockets in the garden. How they would fare guzzling whatever liquor was in the flask was another matter altogether, but they likely would pay for it with the bottle ache on the morrow.
A few minutes later, he ground out his cheroot. He thought of returning to the house but decided to indulge in one more cheroot first. Periodically, Bell heard the low laughter of the three young bucks. At one point, he was absolutely certain that one of them was pissing in the garden. By now, Bell was weary of the entire ball and the foolish young men. He inhaled from his cheroot one last time and put it out.
Then the door to the back of the house creaked open and shut.
Bell wondered if a pair of lovers meant to sneak out for a few kisses or more when he heard a feminine voice call out.
“Justin?”
The three bucks suddenly grew silent. Bell couldn’t decide if he ought to expose them or not. In the end, he kept quiet. They weren’t his responsibility.
The unknown lady’s slippers crunched on the gravel path. A misty fog settled near the ground, obscuring the objects in the garden.
“Justin? If you’re out here, please let me know.”
She was nearing Bell, but he wasn’t sure if she could see him or not.
Then she stepped out of the shadowy mist, right before him. In the flash of a lantern, he recognized her as the blond lady. God, even in this dim light, she was stunning.
She gazed right at him and gasped.
“Wait,” he said. “Allow me to assist you.”
“No.” She backed up. Then she lifted her skirts, whirled around, and took off running as if she’d seen Lucifer waiting to snatch her.
He started after her, but his footsteps slowed. She’d said the one word every man should respect. No.
The low rumble of masculine voices sounded again. Bell released a long sigh as he watched the trio creep back toward the house like thieves in the night. They paused about five feet from the door and passed the flask around. Good Lord, they were brazen.
Eventually they stumbled inside the mansion and made no attempt to hide their laughter.
Bell wiped the dampness off the shoulders of his coat and strolled back to the house. He might as well return home, since he’d struck out on finding a mistress. Tomorrow he would think of a new plan.
He strode through the corridor, noting someone had lit a candle branch. When he emerged, he heard a cacophony of voices coming from the dining room. He had no wish to make himself agreeable to anyone else this evening.
Bell strode toward the foyer but halted beside the stairwell upon hearing a feminine voice from the staircase. “Justin?”
He couldn’t see her from this vantage point.
He heard an odd sound beneath the stairwell. Bell looked underneath in time to see a man pushing a flask beneath it with his heel. Then footsteps clipped on the marble floor. “I’m here,” the man said, walking to the bottom of the staircase.
Bell noted he was the young man with a shock of wheat-colored hair.
“Where have you been?” a woman said in a stern tone. “I’ve looked everywhere for you.”
“Oh, we just moved about the ballroom and the adjoining rooms,” he said.
What an accomplished liar he was, Bell thought.
“Your face is flushed,” the woman said as she descended. Now Bell could see her. She was the blond woman he’d seen in the garden.
“I hope you haven’t been drinking with your friends again,” she said.
“Always suspicious,” the young man said.
“It’s late, and I wish to return home,” the blonde said.
A few minutes later, their voices receded.
Approaching footsteps alerted Bell. He turned as Lady Atherton regarded him with a knowing smile. “Are you in the habit of listening to others’ conversations, Bellingham?” she asked.
“Not if I can help it. And you?”
“I’m just the hostess of this grand squeeze,” she said.
“Who is she?” he asked.
Lady Atherton took a deep breath and slowly released it. “She’s not for the likes of you, Bell.”
He recalled the way the blonde had stared at him earlier with parted lips. “I didn’t ask if she was for me. I asked for her name.”
Lady Atherton shook her head. “Leave her be, Bellingham. She’s a widow with a boy to rear. You want no part of her life.”
“I’m afraid I am part of it, unwillingly,” he said. The blonde must be the widow his friends had mentioned, but he said nothing of that to Lady Atherton. He reached beneath the stairwell and retrieved the flask. “You see, I believe she needs to know her son is lying through his teeth.”
“Oh dear. She did say he was at a trying age.”
“That, I believe, is an understatement.”
Lady Atherton sighed and held out her hand. “Give the flask to me, and I’ll see that it’s returned.”
This was an opportunity to find out if she had meant to issue him an invitation when she’d stared at him earlier. He told himself he only wanted to warn her about her son. He told himself she had every right to know. He told himself that the boy might find himself in serious straits if he didn’t alert her. But ultimately, he knew he wouldn’t be able to get her out of his head until he spoke to her. “He’s taking advantage of her. Someone needs to put the fear of the devil in that boy.”
Lady Atherton’s eyes widened. “And you think you’re the one to do it? Hah!”
“I’m an eyewitness.” He paused and added, “I want her name.”
“Only if you swear this is about the boy and nothing else,” she said.
He felt victorious, but he hid it. “Her name and address, please.”
Lady Atherton hesitated again. “Her name is Laura Davenport. That’s Lady Chesfield to you,” she said, her expression sharp. “Her address is number ten, Grosvenor Square. And, Bellingham, I meant what I said. She’s a respectable widow and not for the likes of a rakehell like you.”
Perhaps, but he meant to find out. “She’s incredibly naïve where that boy is concerned.”
Lady Atherton clasped her hands. “Well, I agree he ought to have more respect for his stepmother.”
Bell bowed. “Thank you for an interesting evening.” Then he strode out the door.
The next afternoon
After dismissing his secretary, Bell opened the desk drawer where he’d stowed the flask last night. After retrieving it, he thought about his plans to return the flask to Lady Chesfield and reconsidered. What the devil did he expect to gain? The last thing he wanted was to become involved in the lady’s problems.
She was a stranger to him. They had not been introduced, and yet, he’d pried her name and address from Lady Atherton, who was very strict about the proprieties. He ought to have left well enough alone. Now he was obliged to return the blasted flask.
Out of curiosity, he opened the flask, expecting to find cheap gin, but one sniff proved the liquor was brandy. Bell sipped it and realized it was of top-notch quality. Most likely the young buck had purloined the brandy from a decanter at home.
The wayward young man wasn’t his responsibility. He could send a footman to deliver the flask, but Lady Chesfield wouldn’t know why he’d sent it. With a sigh, he drew out paper, pen, and ink, thinking he would describe what he’d seen last night. No, that was too much trouble. He would simply state in his message that he’d found her son’s flask. Whatever transpired afterward was none of his affair.
Bell started to shut the drawer when he saw the small leather sketchbook inside that had belonged to his mother. His heart drummed in his ears. A new maid had recently found it in the attic. That day, he’d looked at one page and shoved it inside the desk drawer. Bell ought to have told the maid to return it to the attic the day the sketchbook was discovered. Then it would have been out of his sight and mind forever. He walked over to the bell, intending to ring for the housekeeper. He meant to ask her to return the sketchbook to the attic. But he hesitated, because he didn’t want her to touch it.
After four years, he ought to have put the past behind him. Most of the time, he managed to shove it to the far corners of his brain, but the periodic nightmares served as a reminder of all that he’d loved and lost.
He returned to the desk, determined to shut the drawer. But something beckoned him. His ears thudded as he retrieved the sketchbook and opened it to a random page. A small boy sat on a sofa with a bundled infant. He gritted his teeth at the inscription near the bottom of the page. Andrew, age two, holding Steven one month after birth. His heart thumped at the sketch of him and his younger brother.
Damn it all to hell. He’d known nothing good could come of resurrecting the memories. They were gone forever.
He’d been too late all those years ago.
Bell shut the sketchbook and shoved it back inside the cubbyhole in the desk. The past no longer existed. There was only the here and now.
Gritting his teeth, he strode over to the bell rope and pulled it. When Griffith, the butler, appeared, Bell made arrangements to have his carriage brought round. He would deliver the flask to Lady Chesfield and have done with the matter once and for all.
Laura Davenport, Lady Chesfield, sat with her new lap desk and drew out paper, pen, and ink. She tried to think of what to tell her sister Rachel about her “London adventure,” as her sister called it. Thus far, they had attended only one ball—the one last night that her friend Lady Atherton had hosted.
She dared not say a word to Rachel about Justin’s rebellion. From the moment they had arrived, Justin had taken up with his friends from school and his attitude had grown surly. Worse, he’d taken to leaving with his friends at night and arriving home after midnight. He’d told her he was attending parties given by his friends’ parents, but she didn’t know them and was never invited.
Rachel had always been her confidant, but Laura knew Rachel would read the letter to her family. She didn’t want to alarm them, but she was worried.
Last night, Justin had disappeared from the ball for a long time. She’d even gone out into the garden to look for him and encountered that rake Bellingham again, but he was the least of her problems.
She’d finally found Justin at the stairwell. After smelling liquor on her son’s breath, she’d rebuked him soundly in the carriage for lying and drinking. Of course, he’d sworn never to do it again, but she had a bad feeling about his friends and the influence they had on him.
Laura put away the writing instruments and shoved the drawer closed. She was furious with her son. He’d begged to go to London with his friends, but she’d refused because she didn’t know their parents. Justin had pleaded with her day after day, and she’d finally made a compromise by offering to take him so that she could keep a close eye on him.
A knock sounded. “Come in,” she said, hoping it was her son.
Reed, the butler, entered. “The mail arrived, my lady.”
She took the letters and dismissed Reed. The first few were from the estate manager at Hollwood Abbey. She read them quickly, satisfied that all was running well in her absence. Then she slit the seal on one and looked at the signature. It was from Montclief, her son’s guardian. In the past four years, Montclief had never responded to her letters. Her chest tightened as she started reading from the beginning. His tone was so insulting it stunned her.
You ought to have consulted me prior to taking my nephew on a journey. I certainly hope you’ve the funds to pay for all the expenses, because I refuse to release his quarterly allowance for a trip that I did not approve. In the future, you will consult me before making travel arrangements for my nephew. He is my ward, and your role is only to follow my instructions.
She stood and fisted her hands. How dare he suddenly decide to intervene in their lives when he’d not lifted a hand to help Justin for years? He’d actually told her that he was too busy with his own children to bother with Justin. Now Montclief had suddenly decided to mount a high horse and start issuing commands. He was awfully late in establishing his authority.
Laura started to tear the letter and then thought better of it. Someday she might require it as proof of his neglect to his own nephew, though she doubted any court would side with a woman.
Fortunately, she did have the means to pay for all of their expenses. She had never intended to make use of Justin’s quarterly allowance, even though she had every right to use it to pay for his clothing, food, and lodgings.
She took a deep breath and blew it out. Well, she supposed the only reason Montclief had even responded was because she’d felt obliged to inform him about their activities. In the future, she would simply ignore Montclief, the same way he’d ignored Justin and her.
Reed arrived at the door. “Lord Chesfield left a few minutes ago.”
“Did he say where he was going?” she asked. He’d been home only twenty minutes.
“No, my lady. He left with his friends in a curricle.”
Her temples ached. He’d not bothered to ask her permission. “Thank you, Reed.”
After the butler left, she paced the drawing room. She regretted bringing her son to London, but she had not foreseen that Justin’s behavior would take a dramatic turn for the worse. He was seventeen years old and thought himself worldly. It frightened her to think of the seedy places he might go with his friends. In this enormous city, any manner of awful things could happen to him. She had to make him understand that he could get hurt if he encountered ruffians.
The moment he returned home, she would confront him again. He needed to know she would not tolerate his insubordination.
She sat on the sofa and picked up her cup. Unfortunately the tea had grown cold. She started to get up and ring the bell when a light tap sounded at the door. Reed entered and said, “My lady, you have a caller.”
“Is it Lady Atherton?”
“No, my lady.” He held out a silver salver. Laura picked up the card. Upon seeing the name, she dropped it.
Reed retrieved it. “My lady, shall I show Lord Bellingham upstairs?”
Good heavens no. “Reed, please inform the earl that I am not at home,” Laura said.
“Yes, my lady.”
After her butler quit the drawing room, Laura exhaled. Doubtless she was the only woman in London who had the temerity to refuse admittance to the Earl of Bellingham. Indeed, she suspected even the most genteel of ladies would flutter their fans and flirt outrageously with him. Since she was a vicar’s daughter, Laura liked to think she was made of sterner stuff. Unfortunately, she’d discovered last night that she was more than a little susceptible to the uncommonly handsome earl.
She would not think about the way he’d let his gaze travel over her body last evening at the ball. Most certainly she would not dwell on the way her skin had heated while he’d perused her with his astonishingly blue eyes. Above all, she would banish the naughty fantasies that had danced in her head while she’d tossed and turned in bed last night.
Even if she wanted to dally with the notorious earl, she would not dare, especially after receiving Montclief’s scathing letter. Yesterday, she would not have worried a jot about Justin’s uncle. Today, his letter had left her fearful that Montclief would take Justin away if he heard there was even a hint of a problem.
Laura inhaled and exhaled slowly to steady her nerves. She would write a short letter to Montclief to reassure him that all was well in London. It would be an outrageous lie, for Justin had turned quite rebellious recently. She must impress upon Justin the necessity of steering clear of trouble. If he did not cooperate, she would have no choice but to remove him from London.
Another knock startled her. “Come in,” she said.
“My lady, Lord Bellingham asked me to convey this flask to you,” Reed said. “His lordship said it was imperative that he speak to you.”
Laura rose and frowned. How had he discovered her name and address? The thought bothered her more than a little. She had no idea why he’d sent up a flask of all things, but regardless, it did not signify. “Reed, I assume this is Lord Bellingham’s idea of a jest, but I will not accept his gift nor will I see him.”
“Yes, my lady,” Reed said. “I will inform him that you are not accepting callers.”
“Thank you, Reed.”
After her butler left, Laura released a shaky breath. They had not been formally introduced, and Lady Atherton had made it clear last night that Lord Bellingham was a rake. She most certainly did not wish to make his acquaintance.
Laura walked over to the window. The day was gray and cloudy, promising rain. She fingered the gold, silken ropes and tassels that tied the draperies. The wavy glass distorted the view somewhat, but that shiny black carriage below obviously belonged to the Earl of Bellingham. Any moment now, he would emerge from her town house. All she wanted was to see the back of him retreating.
Another carriage drew up along the street. Laura surmised that it was her new friend Lady Atherton, because outside of making the acquaintance of several peop
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
What a Wicked Earl Wants
Vicky Dreiling
Copyright © 2024 All Rights Reserved
