To Love a Hellion (The London Lords Book 1) Read online

  “Oh. I see,” Flora replied, blushing, and he marveled yet again at her delicate beauty.

  Lifting a hand, he cupped her cheek and leaned in for a kiss. Her lips were cool and rather rigid, after several seconds he sat back. “Relax, Flora.”

  Her cheeks went even redder, but she nodded and tilted her head toward him. This time her lips were softer, and encouraged, he deepened the kiss and gently touched his tongue to her lips.

  “Lord Westleigh!” she gasped, tearing herself away.

  “It’s all right, it’s all right,” he muttered as Flora shoved him away. Not exactly the reaction he’d been hoping for.

  “No, it most certainly isn’t. Your tongue…I’m not someone who permits such…such liberties! Good day to you!” Without even waiting for him or a footman to help her out of the carriage, she burst out onto the footpath and hurried up the front steps of the townhouse.

  Ignoring a sharp twinge of dismay, Stephen tapped the carriage roof to continue on.

  Everything would be fine. Like an overeager idiot, he’d just gone too fast. There was no way on earth his compatibility chart could be wrong.

  No way at all.

  ***

  “Miss Caroline, please do come in. May I take your pelisse?”

  Smiling at the Donovan’s most recent staff acquisition as he held open the wide front door for her, Caroline shrugged off the blue garment and handed it to him. “Thank you. Where is Miss Louisa?”

  The young butler’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “In the kitchens. We believe she is on the verge of a most wondrous scientific discovery.”

  “I see. How many explosions today?”

  “Just the two, which is why we are all mightily encouraged.”

  Caroline smothered a laugh. It was hard to imagine another household in the country where the staff’s regular duties included fire-fighting and chemical management. Her heels clicking loudly on the marble floor, she made her way to the kitchens. It always felt like walking through a maze; the Donovan’s London residence was an absolute rabbit warren of dark-paneled corridors built sometime in the reign of Henry VIII.

  Tentatively she pushed open a door, and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Louisa and two maids lounging against an oak bench and staring intently at a large flask of simmering dark green liquid.

  “Hello!” Caroline called from the doorway. “Am I in time to witness history?”

  “Dearest! Just in time for a truly great event. I am confident on this occasion I have the boiling temperature correct and will thus prove—”

  A loud cracking sound echoed through the kitchen.

  “Oh no,” muttered one of the maids. “Not again.”

  “Hell and damnation,” said Louisa. “Everyone! Down!”

  All four women dropped to the stone floor just as the flask shattered and decorated the far wall and bench with glass and the very thick green concoction. Seconds later the kitchen door burst open and three footmen carrying buckets of water began enthusiastically rinsing the scene.

  “Perhaps not quite there yet,” said Caroline, hastily wiping a green smear from her slipper before a footman could assist.

  “Bah. I shall have to try again tomorrow. There is only a certain window of opportunity to conduct research.”

  “When the sun is at its highest point?”

  “Close. When Father is at the docks and Mother is out visiting friends.”

  “Where is Belinda?”

  “My beloved companion is probably where she normally is when I am experimenting. Hiding in her chamber with a lavender compress. Come along then, let’s have tea.”

  In a remarkably short amount of time considering the state they’d left the kitchens in, Caroline and Louisa were settled in a charming peach and cream parlor with a full tea tray between them.

  “Delicious,” said Caroline, sipping the hot, sweet brew.

  “Well, don’t leave me in suspense. I thought we were meeting tomorrow and yet here you are. This tells me you have news of great import.”

  “Can a young lady not just surprise her oldest and dearest friend?”

  “No. Look, if you don’t start talking you’ll be assisting with a gunpowder experiment. Belinda conceals it in her armoire under a pile of truly ancient corsets so Mother won’t find it. It’ll only take me a minute to fetch.”

  Sighing glumly, she leaned back into a well-padded chair. “No thank you. I would however, be open to trading this tea for a brandy.”

  Louisa raised an eyebrow, her expression turning serious. “Caro? What on earth is the matter? Does it have something to do with you leaving the Bruces so abruptly?”

  “No. Yes. Partly.”

  “Caroline Emily Edwards—”

  “Well,” she said slowly, like something had just popped into her head, “There is one tiny thing.”

  “Which is?”

  “I got engaged yesterday.”

  Her friend let out an ear-splitting shriek. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Ugh. That was an awful sound. As if you haven’t traumatized the staff enough already.”

  “Don’t you dare try and change the subject. You are betrothed? To whom? How could you have gotten engaged without even telling me you were considering it?”

  Wincing, Caroline smoothed her bronze-striped day dress with unusual precision. “It all happened rather suddenly. After George and I got home from the house party, Sir Malcolm sent for me. He said there was a man waiting in the parlor who wanted to marry me. The man turned out to be Lord Bradford Shilton. I said yes to his proposal.”

  Louisa held up a hand. “Halt. Let me get this straight. After turning down half the men in London over a number of years, you run away from a house party and just…whee…decide to marry? And your choice is Bradford Shilton?”

  “Yes. And yes.”

  “Didn’t you reject him a few years back?”

  “I changed my mind. Don’t give me that look, Lulu, Bradford is a very sweet and kind man. Plus he’s titled. Wealthy.”

  “And adores your passionate, all-consuming love for him?”

  Caroline felt her lips tighten. “I hold him in high esteem. I’m sure we will have a very pleasant marriage.”

  “High esteem? Pleasant? Isn’t that what they call damned by faint praise?”

  “Louisa—”

  “Why now?”

  “Because I’m nearly twenty-five years old.”

  “Poppycock. Age never bothered you before. Tell me what happened at the house party. You were happily dancing with Lord Westleigh, next thing you were gone…wait. Did something happen between you two?”

  Laugh. Deny. But not so much as a snort emerged from her mouth, and Louisa’s eyes narrowed further.

  “Caroline?”

  “I discovered something,” she replied reluctantly. “Which changed matters somewhat.”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake, just say it.”

  “Fine. I found Stephen had just gotten engaged to Flora Hartley. There. Happy now?”

  Louisa sucked in a harsh breath and sat forward in her chair. “Oh no. I’m sorry, Caro. So very, very sorry.”

  “Why?” she said, looking away. “It’s not your fault. Nothing can be done, so I have to make the best of it.”

  “By marrying someone you don’t love? Even if Bradford is the nicest man in England, it will be horrible. Face the facts, my dear, you are a romantic. Under those porcupine quills is a soft heart and without someone strong to love, someone who will love you right back whatever you throw at him, you’ll wither to nothing.”

  “Throw? That would require coordination.”

  “Don’t joke, Caroline. Not about this.”

  More words sprung to her lips, but horrifyingly, instead of a witty rejoinder or sarcastic brush off, Caroline burst into tears.

&nbs
p; With a cry of alarm, Louisa jumped up and hurried over to envelope her in a fierce hug. “Listen to me. Please, please don’t marry Lord Shilton. There must be something…I don’t know…Flora Hartley is all wrong for Westleigh anyway, far too quiet and proper. He needs someone with a bit of spark, someone to challenge him. Someone like you…they aren’t married yet, there is still hope!”

  “Oh, do not lecture me on hope. Hope is the reason my heart has been torn to pieces.”

  Louisa pulled back and stared at her. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean I can’t do it anymore. The thinking. The daydreaming. The praying that one day he’ll realize I’m the one he has been waiting for his whole blasted life.”

  “Well, I think anyone could tell you men take far longer to figure these things out than we do—”

  “No,” Caroline interrupted, pulling a never-used lace handkerchief from her reticule and dabbing at her eyes, hoping the rare display of emotion would finally make Louisa understand. “Picturing the two of us together is killing me. I think about him all day and dream about him at night. When I see him dancing with another woman, read the gossip about all his admirers, it hurts like a physical blow. Inch by inch, day by day, I’m dying a little more inside because of damned hope.”

  Louisa sniffled. “There has to be a way. Something I can do.”

  Caroline squared her shoulders and smiled grimly. There was nothing anyone could do. Not with Sir Malcolm’s threats hanging over her head.

  “Yes. Be my bridesmaid when I marry Lord Shilton. Wish me well. My new, contented life must start without delay.”

  Chapter Five

  A picnic with the London Lords —a small circle of the richest, most powerful young noblemen in the entire country—was an invitation the entire ton would joyfully accept then tremble and stammer through, yet Captain Tavistock Martin was remarkably calm.

  Tilting her head, Caroline continued surreptitiously studying the red-haired ex-soldier chatting to Lady Westleigh. George had already mentioned that the Forsyths were treating their special guest like a prince; despite the captain’s apparent protests, he’d been lavished with decanters of brandy and whisky, leather boots and gloves, brand new sets of clothing and piles of invitations from people he’d probably only ever read about in newspapers within minutes of arriving in town. Everyone wanted to meet and congratulate the man who had heroically saved the Earl of Westleigh’s life.

  She wanted to hug Captain Martin until his bones cracked, but refrained. There was a reserve about him, a watchfulness that suggested such an open display of affection would be highly unwelcome. And of course she wouldn’t want to injure him further. His scarred face and hands spoke of a suffering she could scarcely imagine.

  “My dear? Is everything all right?”

  Turning on her low stool, she smiled warmly at Bradford. “Fine! Fine thank you. Just enjoying a little sunshine and pondering over our new friend.”

  “Such a brave chap. I say, you aren’t going to throw me over for him, are you?”

  “Hardly. Although I’d adore another of those apple tarts. Lord Standish’s chef has outdone himself. Would you mind?”

  “Be my pleasure,” Bradford replied, ambling away to the lavish buffet table and allowing her further observation time.

  It was beyond wonderful here. The emerald-green lawns of Hastings House were immaculately manicured, the gardens were a stunning display of tasteful color. Innumerable servants discreetly ensured the bottles of wine and lemonade were plentiful, and that fragrant platters of roasted chicken and beef, freshly baked buttered rolls, cakes, pastries and sliced ripe fruit never depleted.

  To think, she would soon be mistress of such a place. Not nearly as large or as fine as this or Forsyth House of course, but Bradford’s town house was charming, with an enclosed garden she could envisage spending many a happy hour.

  “That’s a rather content smile, Miss Edwards,” drawled a lazy voice with a hint of Highland brogue to her right. “What can you be thinking about?”

  She rolled her eyes at Thomas Reid McLeod, Marquess of Ardmore. He always looked like he’d arrived from some woman’s boudoir, his overlong copper hair slightly rumpled and his dress so casual compared to the other men. But he owned a staggeringly profitable trade and shipping empire that stretched to the ends of the earth, and he ruled it with an iron fist. People who underestimated the lanky Scot did so at their peril. “Never you mind.”

  “A-ha! Secrets!”

  George sat up from where he’d been sprawled on a pile of silk cushions. “Don’t even ask, my lord. What goes on in that particular head would only frighten you.”

  Ardmore snickered. “Even better. Come on, Miss Edwards. Do share.”

  “You might have more luck,” said Stephen from where he sat on a low chaise with the far too beautiful Flora Hartley. “If you at least offered an inducement. Shilton, withhold those tarts until the lady talks.”

  Caroline tensed as Bradford sat down, trying not to wince when he smiled shyly at Flora. Every blasted male here had made calf-eyes at Stephen’s fiancée, even Captain Martin. But pelting the petite young woman with the plump, sugar-dusted pastry treats would be such a waste.

  “I will never tell, Lord Westleigh,” she said a trifle waspishly. “No matter what unscrupulous methods employed.”

  Captain Martin leaned forward in his chair. “You favor bribery and corruption, my lord? Say it’s not so.”

  “My word, yes,” said Lady Westleigh, grinning.

  “Guilty,” added Stephen with good cheer. “Inducements have saved my bacon on more occasions than I can recall.”

  Yet instead of laughing with the rest of the group at Stephen’s comment, the soldier’s expression darkened to thunder and his knuckles whitened as he gripped the arms of his chair.

  “Captain Martin? Are you all right?” Caroline asked, a little unnerved.

  “It’s just Taff, Miss Edwards. And yes, I’m fine. I get the odd wound twinge from time to time, makes my eyes water, but nothing to be worried about.”

  “Oh,” she said, nodding. “I’ve heard old wounds can be troublesome, especially when the weather changes. I think the old soldiers might be the most accurate storm predictors in the country—”

  “Tell me, Captain, er, Taff. Were you injured in a skirmish?” interjected a deep voice to her left, and everyone turned to squirm under the extraordinarily cold, pale-green gaze of Alexander Langley, Duke of Southby. Taff visibly tensed, and she wanted to lean over, pat his arm and reassure him that the reaction was entirely normal. Probably even Napoleon would surrender if he ever came face to face with Southby. But just as quickly the soldier relaxed, no doubt used to frightening authority figures from his time in the army.

  “In a manner of speaking, Your Grace,” said Taff easily. “I underestimated and foolishly engaged with the enemy, he assisted me over a cliff. Not my finest hour,” he finished, a rueful smile touching his lips.

  “Assisted you over a cliff?” gasped Lady Westleigh. “Literally?”

  “Yes, my lady. I didn’t fall all the way down so I survived. Regrettably my…comrade…wasn’t so lucky. Even though it has been a few years, the loss still affects me greatly.”

  “Only natural,” said Southby, his icy gaze almost softening as he sat back in his chair and ran a deliberate hand through his jet-black hair. Never any relaxing on cushions for that rigidly proper man. “Many have died or been injured, but my brother, Colonel Lord Robert Langley, has been fortunate thus far. Perhaps you served together?”

  “I don’t believe I ever had the privilege, Your Grace. But we certainly cheered his astounding bravery in Spain and pray he’ll continue to serve King and country unharmed.”

  Southby didn’t answer, merely inclined his head a fraction of an inch and Caroline hid a smile. Even if you didn’t know he sat at the very pinnacle of society,
you could tell at a glance he was someone important. The duke was always immaculately turned out and totally aloof, not to mention that stare which halted most men at a hundred paces. Fortunately, or unfortunately for her romantic prospects, Southby had gathered her into his lofty circle along with George, and kept a stern brotherly eye on her welfare at all times.

  Not for much longer, thank heavens.

  “For God’s sake, you two, we aren’t here to waste good wine on war talk,” announced Ardmore. “Only too happy futures!”

  “Indeed,” said Lady Westleigh. “I’m so glad you were all able to make it here today with your very busy lives. And a special thank you to darling William for agreeing to host. One simply cannot organize a surprise gathering in one’s own home.”

  Along with the others, Caroline turned and applauded ‘darling William’. The Marquess of Standish was actually Stephen’s foster brother, having been taken in by the Forsyths as a lad after his parents were killed in a carriage accident. It would be easy to dismiss the dark-haired lord as just another too-handsome, too-wealthy bachelor, except those sharp blue eyes were always watching, always assessing. Unsurprising from a man closely connected with a rather shadowy branch of the government.

  Standish shrugged and choirboy grinned back. “Come now, Aunt Jane. Everyone knows you could arrange a party in a powder room if need be.”

  “Well. Perhaps a very small one. But today we are here to celebrate Stephen and Flora’s engagement. I’m sure…” she broke off, looking away for a moment. “I’m sure Andrew and Gregory would have app…approved. And joined me in welcoming Flora to our f…family. So please, let us raise a t…toast to…to…”

  “To Stephen and Flora,” said Standish, leaning sideways to squeeze Lady Westleigh’s hand. “And those absent.”

  “Hear, hear!” toasted George.

  “Stephen and Flora!” chorused the guests again.

  Caroline took a deep breath. Now or never. “Actually,” she said when the din calmed down. “There are two engagements to celebrate. I’m very pleased to announce Lord Shilton and I are also betrothed.”