Marriage to Claire. For a brief moment, Hadley wondered if Evangeline regretted her choice. He shook his head. She had her money and title; that was all she had wanted. What was there for her to regret?
If she thought she could have her title and now also have him, she was very wrong. He’d rather marry a leprous whore—or marry Claire—than succumb to her allure again.
Once he’d drunk the contents of his glass he slammed it on the table. “Come, we should be on our way. We have”— he looked around the room before lowering his voice—“lists to compare, away from prying eyes and eager ears.”
The two men took their leave of White’s and made their way to Christian’s townhouse. On the carriage ride, the discussion turned to the fight at Gentleman Jack’s next week and whom to wager on. An unknown Spaniard had recently arrived, and Arend favored the man. Hadley would be unwise to wager against anyone Arend took an interest in. Arend had the uncanny knack of spotting a fighter’s ability, and he’d been to see the Spaniard practice.
Besides, it might be a way to make money quickly, something he could use right now.
Even the sporting talk could not completely banish Evangeline from his mind. Under his breath he cursed her anew. Right now it would be ideal to chase away the memory of her touch and taste in an excess of sensual indulgence. However, in three weeks he was about to propose to Lady Claire. Claire had no idea the proposal was coming; he had talked her brother into letting him make an offer directly to her, so that she would have no idea it had been arranged by his brother and her brother. If she heard he still had a mistress, she might not believe him sincere. He wanted her to believe he had chosen her of his own free will. At least one of them should be happy about this marriage. Her life would be irrevocably changed too. He did not want to hurt her.
As the two men had expected, when they were ushered into the Earl of Markham’s drawing room, the family setting hummed with loving couples and children. For one fleeting moment a pang of regret consumed him, until he remembered why he was going to marry Claire: to ensure that his heart remained protected.
Hadley hid a smile at the quick flash of horror that passed over Arend’s face as little Henry, Sebastian’s ward, grabbed Arend’s trouser leg with jam-covered fingers. But to Hadley’s amazement, Arend swung the little boy up into his arms and pretended to drop him, swiftly catching him before he could fall far. Henry’s squeals had the women giggling and the men putting their fingers in their ears.
Lady Portia, Grayson Devlin’s obviously pregnant wife, relieved Arend of Henry, while the boy’s nurse collected Christian’s son and ushered all the children from the room. Once the door had closed on the departing servants and children, they could talk openly.
The women present—Lady Portia; Lady Beatrice, who was the wife of Sebastian Hawkestone, Marquess of Coldhurst; Lady Marisa, who was the new Duchess of Lyttleton, and her younger sister, Lady Helen; and finally Lady Serena, Christian’s wife and their hostess, were sitting grinning like Cheshire cats with bellies full of milk. The hairs on Hadley’s neck prickled. They appeared to be looking at him, which was not a good thing.
“Good evening, ladies. It’s always delightful to be in the company of such beauties.” With that Hadley bowed to each and pressed a kiss to his hostess’s knuckles.
These women were more than simply stunning beauties. They were intelligent, brave, and loyal to a fault. He doubted any of them would break her husband’s heart. They would put their men first.
“And might I say you are looking very handsome tonight too, my lord.”
“Oh, God, Serena, leave the man alone. He’s only just got here.”
Hadley looked across at Christian, who was still scowling at his wife, and the hairs on the back of his neck were now standing on end. The ladies were definitely up to something.
He chose a seat as far from the ladies as he could, and found himself sitting next to Grayson on a chair that was definitely not made for a man. He felt as if it would break beneath him if he made one wrong move. He must have looked like a ninny.
Serena’s smile indicated she knew he was retreating. It also seemed to scream You cannot thwart us. Thwart them at what? he longed to know, or did he? These women were a force to reckon with. He’d seen them win the hearts of men who were confirmed rakes and then bravely take on their enemy, all with style and wit and determination.
Arend, who’d also greeted the ladies in his fancy French way, had taken a seat next to Serena on the settee. He stretched his arms along the top of the furniture and said, “As we have a guest coming to dinner, I suggest we discuss our investigations before Lady Isobel arrives.”
Serena sent Hadley a cheeky smile. “Guests, Arend. Isobel is bringing a friend.”
The way she looked at Hadley, he wished he could squirm in his chair, but he was too afraid to move lest it collapsed.
Why did his cravat suddenly feel too tight?
Arend sent her a quizzing look but merely continued, “I have only two names left on my list: the Earl of Northumberland and the Earl of Wentworth.”
Last month the Libertine Scholars had learned that the woman who was set upon destroying them had worked as a high-priced courtesan in Paris. Apparently she had caught the fancy of an English earl, left the life of prostitution in France, hidden her tracks well, and with her earl returned to England as a woman of quality he’d met on the continent. They had no idea if she was still with the earl or if he had married her, but they thought she’d hardly leave the successful business she’d built up in Paris for anything less than marriage, and they had no other leads.
They had drawn up a list of more than a hundred English earls and then had whittled it down to sixty who had wives in their mid-twenties, the age they thought their enemy now was. Over the past month, the men had been investigating all the names on the list and had cleared all but seventeen.
The discussion was loud and emotional. The other five Libertine Scholars shared the names on their lists. The women chimed in with comments, and with their help a further five earls were struck off the list when Beatrice commented that their wives had been at finishing school with her.
“That still leaves twelve names,” Maitland said. “I was hoping it would be smaller.”
Arend leaned sideways and helped himself to the decanter of brandy on the side table. “My money is still on the Earl of Northumberland’s widow, Lady Isobel’s stepmother.”
“You simply want it to be her because Lady Isobel vexes you so,” uttered Sebastian. “You want her to be in league with the villain so you can walk away with a clear conscience.”
All five ladies present swung their gaze to Arend. Hadley laughed inwardly. If they suspected the start of a romance, God help Arend. Hadley was pleased not to be the center of their attention for once.
“Clear conscience? I don’t have a conscience” was Arend’s dry reply. “You tell me, then, why Isobel was kidnapped along with Marisa. It doesn’t make sense. There has to be a connection.”
Last month Marisa had been drugged and kidnapped by their villainess. They had managed to rescue her only when the carriage they were abducting her in crashed. Unfortunately, Marisa had been very badly wounded, and Maitland had almost lost her. Isobel too had been in the carriage, but she had been kidnapped from a different location.
“Perhaps the villain had other plans for Isobel. Perhaps she was taken to extract revenge on another individual.”
Arend scoffed. “Her father is dead, so who would that be?”
“She is his only child. Perhaps it was to wipe his lineage from this earth. Something she has savored doing to my husband.” Marisa’s quiet but venom-filled words hung in the air. The injuries Marisa had sustained meant she could never have children. Maitland, sitting beside her, took Marisa’s hand and pressed it to his lips. “But I still have you,” he declared softly.
Hadley turned away from the private moment so filled with love and devotion. Once he’d thought he shared this with Evangeline,
but he’d been a fool. Love was not to be for him. Sometimes that thought made him envy what these men had found with their wives.
Portia played with a string of pearls round her neck. “I think it’s time we women took the lead. Now that we have a smaller list, we should be investigating the wives, not our husbands.”
Hadley returned his gaze to the ladies as Beatrice spoke.
“I agree, Portia. This needs a woman’s touch. If the supposedly happily married Libertine Scholars start asking questions about other men’s wives, who knows what gossip will ensue.” Beatrice continued smoothly, “And we don’t wish our villainess to understand just how close we may be.”
The men all started talking at once. The husbands proclaiming how dangerous it was to let the women become so involved, while Arend argued that it made perfect sense.
Hadley understood both sides. After everything that had happened, these men would lay down their lives to protect their women. It was instinctive to guard them from harm, much more than simple male pride. He had always felt a need to protect those weaker than himself. He hated bullying of any form, as he himself had once been its victim, and he had the scars on his buttocks to prove it. He’d been his father’s whipping boy, always taking the punishment for his older brother, who was both weaker and smaller in size.
However, Arend’s argument that catching the villain quickly would thereby protect everyone was valid.
He remained silent, waiting for a chance to offer his opinion, or to be asked for it.
His chance came after a heated barb from Sebastian. Hadley cleared his throat and spoke rather loudly. “I understand you wish to protect your wives, but there are others who need protection too.” He glanced across the room. “Helen, for one. And what about the children?” The men quieted and looked at him. “We are spread too thin to be sure everyone is safe all the time. We have no idea what she plans to do next. I for one don’t want to wait to find out.” He nodded at Arend. “I believe Arend is correct when he says we are running out of time and that we need to unmask her sooner rather than later. We may find that it is more expedient to let the women—” He held up his hand at the growls already sounding in the men’s throats. “To let the well-guarded women do a little investigating of their own.”
Portia clapped her hands. “Exactly, Hadley—well said. You know how skilled each of us can be at uncovering secrets. We uncovered all of yours.” The twinkle in her eye was all for her husband, Viscount Blackwood.
“And it will be safe if we conduct the inquisitions, so to speak, in one place, with all of the men around us,” Marisa added.
Hadley let a smile of appreciation escape. “You have a plan, Duchess?”
“As it happens, I believe I do. We have twelve earls on our list. I propose that we hold four different house parties, one at a time, at each of our country estates, and invite three of the earls on the list, along with other guests, to each one. Then we can observe and question the wives, with the men round us.”
Beatrice nodded. “If you look at the list, we can form groups of guests that would not raise any eyebrows when we extend an invitation.”
Before anyone could reply, there was a knock on the door and the additional guests were announced.
“Excuse me, my lord,” said the butler. “Lady Isobel Thompson, and Lady Evangeline Stuart.”
Hadley’s head whipped round in the direction of the door as if an invisible rope had tugged it. He barely noticed Isobel’s entrance, for his gaze was riveted on the tumble of auburn curls piled in an elegant array on top of her head—a head he thought he would never want to see again. His mouth dried and his heart pounded in his chest.
If he were not under a spell, he would have looked away, but his eyes traveled down, soaking in the beauty of features so fine, so perfect, they made a man think of angels. Eyes the color of a clear summer sky searched the room until they found him. A stranger’s smile hovered over her succulent lips, and a look of such longing entered those traitorous eyes that he almost believed the message they tried to convey: I’m here for you, my love.
However, he could not bring himself to believe anything those eyes or lips said. He’d believed once before, and it had left a hole where his heart once rested in his chest.
Summoning the anger that was churning deep in his innards, he broke the spell and turned away, but as he did so, his grip on the edge of the little chair must have been too tight, for in the next second the chair splintered to pieces under him, and he fell with a thud to the floor, landing on his arse.
Chapter 2
A hush settled over the room until Sebastian let out a bark of laughter. Then the ladies dissolved into fits of giggles.
Hadley felt his face heat, and he would not look at Evangeline. What made it worse was that Helen raced to his aid, offering her hand. He picked himself up and bent to see the pile of broken wood and torn fabric at his feet.
“Are you hurt?” Helen asked urgently.
“Only my pride.” He smiled down at her concerned face. “The chair is only good for kindling now.”
“No one cares about the chair as long as you are unhurt,” she replied.
Christian came and patted him on the back. “Leave that mess. What on earth made you sit on such a dainty piece of furniture in the first place?”
Hadley glanced over at the women, all laughing behind their hands, and had to admit he must look a fool. He would have laughed too, but having Evangeline present to see him fall was mortifying.
Christian followed his stare and lowered his voice. “I must admit, the ladies can be an intimidating bunch. I swear, inviting Lady Evangeline was none of my doing. I tried to tell Serena it was a bad idea.”
“Very bad idea,” Hadley replied.
The rest of the men rose, along with the ladies, who were warmly greeting Evangeline and Isobel as if they were old friends. God damn it, this smelled of Marisa’s doing. She’d asked him about Evangeline a few weeks ago, and he hadn’t even known she’d been widowed or that she was in London. Nor had Marisa even met Evangeline at that stage. Now it looked as though they were close friends.
Evangeline tended to have that effect on people. Until she stabbed them in the back, he thought darkly.
Hadley made his way to Arend’s side. “You know Serena is going to expect me to escort Evangeline in to dinner.”
“It’s looking like they have some plan in mind. Good luck, my friend.”
Hadley grabbed Arend’s arm. “Let me escort Isobel in to dinner.”
“No argument from me. Isobel sets my teeth on edge.”
“Oh, and I suspect the ladies will try and seat me near to Evangeline, so you must ensure you are sitting beside her.”
Arend glanced across at Serena and then looked at Hadley with pity. “How are we going to stop Serena telling us whom we must escort?”
An arm slipped through Hadley’s. “If I may impose, I’d love you to escort me in to dinner, my lord. I’m sure Arend can handle two ladies.” Helen smiled up at him reassuringly. “I told my sister this was not a good idea. I knew you would not be pleased with Lady Evangeline in attendance.”
Not pleased? Hell would have to freeze over twice before he wanted to spend any time in Evangeline’s company.
“Thank you, Helen, for being the sensible young lady you are. I would be honored to escort you in to dinner.” Hadley placed his hand over hers where it rested on his arm.
Dinner was called, and before Serena could direct partners, Helen announced that Hadley was escorting her in, and that Arend would be delighted to escort both Lady Evangeline and Lady Isobel.
With that, Helen allowed him to lead her into the dining room. He took the seat on her left, at the end of the table, so that only Helen sat beside him. Christian would be at the head of the table, on his other side.
It took all of a few minutes for Hadley to understand he’d made an enormously stupid mistake: Evangeline took the chair opposite his.
At least if she had been s
itting beside him he wouldn’t have had to look at her. This must be what hell was like, he fumed.
“Good evening, my lord. After your, ah, accident with your tiny chair, I never got an opportunity to greet you.”
Like a man lost in the desert under blazing sun, his tongue seemed to have swelled in his throat.
A smile that would dazzle a blind man spread over her face at his lack of response. “Is this how you greet an old friend?”
“We were never friends.” As soon as the bitter words left his mouth he cursed under his breath; he’d been hoping to ignore her, pretend she didn’t exist. He didn’t want to show how she affected him.
Hurt appeared in her eyes and quickly vanished, replaced with anger.
“I had been hoping to see you privately, but you have not been in town of late.”
“I had pressing personal business, and I can assure you, madam, I am not the least bit interested in why you have come to town.”
This time there was no hurt, only anger in her eyes. Good; he’d rather have her angry than hurt. And that thought annoyed him. Why should he care if she was hurt? She hadn’t cared how much she hurt him all those years ago.
“I thought I was at least entitled to an explanation.” Her voice was hard and cold. She’d never sounded like this before. What explanation? He was the one who deserved an explanation. She had money, she was titled, and she was still so beautiful that it hurt to look at her.
“Some things are best left in the past,” he added more kindly, trying to make her understand that she was an interlude from years gone by and that he was determined to ensure she stayed in his past.
“I deserve to know why,” she insisted.
He had no idea what she was going on about. What did she need to know? She had left him.
Thankfully, Helen chose that moment to put her hand on his arm. “Hadley,” she said a voice she’d never used on him before. It was low, seductive, almost lyrical, and his eyebrow rose in surprise. Little Helen was growing up. He tried to think how old she must be now; coming up to eighteen, he thought.
A Taste of Seduction Page 3
