To Love a Hellion (The London Lords Book 1)

by Nicola Davidson

  Caroline’s cheeks went scarlet, yet one hand swiftly cupped a plump breast, offering it up to him. “Stephen…please…”

  “All right,” he said, lowering his head and circling one swollen pink peak with the tip of his tongue then drawing it into his mouth and sucking hard. God, she was sweet. And so very sensual. Her moans of encouragement, the tight grip of her hand in his hair as she held him to her breasts was dangerously intoxicating, and he had to forcibly stop himself from hauling her to a table, spreading her across it, and lavishing the same attention on her clitoris.

  Slowly, Forsyth. Damn it, slowly.

  “Well, well. Isn’t this an interesting turn of events.”

  Horrified, Stephen jerked backwards, his gaze lifting to see George lounging casually against the wide doorframe. Unfortunately his best friend’s tone had been pure icy rage.

  “George,” Stephen began his voice like rusty nails.

  “I can explain—” Caroline added hastily, her voice so low and husky she coughed to clear her throat.

  “Excellent! Looking forward to hearing how my former friend’s face buried in my sister’s bare cleavage is not what it appears. And why the floor of the family parlor is covered in broken china. Oh, for fuck’s sake, Caroline, cover yourself.”

  She yanked her torn bodice together, yet her citrusy scent lingered. Bloody hell. He’d officially lost not just the plot but his entire brain and now George would quite rightly put a bullet in him. Once Caroline got out of the way of course. She currently stood in front of him like some sort of protective guardian angel, ready to battle her twin to the death.

  “Don’t you dare take that preachy tone with me, George,” she snarled. “You wouldn’t know the moral high ground if it leapt up and bit you.”

  “Shut up, Caro. You’ve gotten yourself into some top drawer scrapes over the years, but this is by far the worst. I know you aren’t madly in love with Shilton, but common courtesy postpones affairs until after you’ve bloody well done your duty. As for you, Westleigh, I want to break your goddamned legs. She’s my sister!”

  Stephen grimaced. A swift glance across the room at the gilt-edged mirror hanging over the fireplace revealed exactly how disheveled his hair was, so he quickly ran a hand through it. The less visible evidence of the crime he’d just committed, the better.

  “George, before you—”

  “Save it,” George bit out, storming toward them until he stood mere feet away. “I mean…fuck…I always knew you two had a thing for each other, but only acting the minute you’re engaged to other people? It’s bloody stupid. And downright shabby.”

  Stephen stared incredulously at his friend. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Don’t start, I’m nauseated enough already. What I really want to know is what the hell is going on. Why are you even here? Where is Shilton?”

  “His plans changed,” muttered Caroline, very dryly.

  “That is not a good enough reason for you to be half-naked with someone else’s betrothed!”

  Stephen nearly laughed when Caroline glanced back at him and rolled her eyes, but he quickly shook his head. Facts were necessary right now, not sarcasm.

  “Your sister is rather understating the matter,” he said mildly.

  “Oh?” George snapped, his furious gaze flicking between them both. “In what way?”

  “When she said Shilton’s plans had changed, she actually meant he up and married someone else.”

  “What!?”

  “It’s true,” said Caroline calmly. “Instead of attending to estate business, he was actually eloping to Gretna Green. With everyone’s favorite little lady, Flora Hartley.”

  “What!?”

  “My, my, brother dear, who knew your vocabulary was so very limited?”

  George collapsed heavily onto the chaise. “You’re telling me your fiancé eloped with his, Caro?”

  “Not just a pretty face, are you?” she trilled, almost pirouetting in a gleeful circle now.

  This time Stephen did give into a belly laugh. Possibly the longest, loudest laugh he’d had since becoming an earl and it felt bloody good.

  “That’s it. Keep chortling, milord,” George growled, shooting him the blackest of black looks. “Chortle all the way down the aisle.”

  “Excuse me?” Stephen said, stilling and tilting his head as acute disquiet trickled down his spine.

  Surely not…

  George smiled angelically, but his green eyes were as cold and hard as steel.

  “You’ve compromised my sister. The next link in this oh so delightful chain of events, is you putting a ring on her finger.”

  Chapter Nine

  Her dearest wish was about to come true. And the man granting it loathed her.

  Clasping her frozen hands together, Caroline studied the group of people gathered together in Stephen’s library. Sir Malcolm, Mama, George, and Lady Westleigh were all here making idle chatter. Her brand new fiancé sat at his large oak desk again perusing the marriage contract prepared by Sir Malcolm, his face utterly impassive.

  Her stomach clenched. It was an odd sensation, to be so happy, sad and scared at the same time. She’d never wanted a forced marriage, but when George had made his stark announcement in the parlor, she hadn’t made a word of protest. Not then, and not in the two days since. In fact, she’d been so quiet, so very docile, that several people had asked if she felt ill.

  No, she wasn’t ill. Just doing a terrible thing. This fiasco could have been stopped at any time, their folly had occurred in a private room, only witnessed by George. But she’d gambled her entire future on Stephen’s innate sense of honor coming to the fore. That he would do the right and gentlemanly thing even if he hated it and her. And he had.

  Stephen cleared his throat.

  “Well,” he said tightly, putting the contract to one side. “You’re all aware why we are here—”

  “To celebrate a betrothal,” Lady Westleigh burst out, beaming delightedly from where she sat on a chaise. “I’ve ordered champagne, we can toast this splendid and most welcome occasion in just a few moments.”

  Caroline nearly smiled. Her future mother-in-law had made her joy and excitement plain from the first. It seemed the countess hadn’t at all favored Stephen’s betrothal to Flora, meeting the elopement news with bright eyes and a single clap rather than shock or angry censure. And later, after a warm and amiable afternoon tea with plates of cakes and plenty of animated conversation, the woman had wrapped her in a fierce hug and whispered tearfully ‘My darling girl, I’m so relieved. You and Stephen remind me so much of his father and I. Oh, but Andrew could make me forget my own name. Do not think for a moment yours will be the first hastily arranged wedding in this family!’

  “The champagne can wait,” said Sir Malcolm. “Let us get these contracts signed, shall we? Must say, you’re being exceedingly generous with the settlement and her allowance, Westleigh. Never thought for a moment our girl might be worth so much.”

  Caroline’s breath hissed between her teeth. Bastard. Naturally, her stepfather had poured hot oil on the fire, instigating negotiations with the finesse of a wounded bull and a lawyer’s cunning greed. But before she could respond, a hand came to rest on her shoulder.

  “Of course she is,” said Stephen, in a tone of pure ice. “Caroline is clever, loyal, and sincere. I know she will be a credit to me and the family name. On that note, we’ll indeed get down to business. Unless anyone else has something to add?”

  Her twin smiled and shook his head, but she couldn’t say a word as her vision blurred. Even now, Stephen defended her. Well, more than that, he’d publicly complimented her. And the contracts, which he’d shown her much to Sir Malcolm’s displeasure, outlined a staggering settlement and quarterly allowance the likes of which she’d never dreamed. In this regard her new fiancé wasn’t punishing her at a
ll.

  Minutes later her future was signed and sealed, and Lady Westleigh fetched a silver tray laden with crystal glasses and an iced bottle of champagne, left discreetly by their butler.

  Oh Lord. It was official. She was going to marry Stephen. Be his countess, preside over his table, and eventually bear his sons and daughters.

  “To Stephen and Caroline!” said Lady Westleigh cheerfully, raising her glass.

  “Hear, hear!” said her mother, flashing the warm smile that Sir Malcolm hadn’t quite managed to destroy. “You know, I always hoped you two might make a match. What a happy day this is.”

  Letting out a shuddering breath, Caroline gripped the glass of champagne someone had shoved into her hand, and lifted it in a humble salute.

  “To us,” she said quietly, for Stephen’s ears only.

  For a horrible moment she thought he might ignore her gesture, but he inclined his head, touched his glass to hers, then drank.

  “So,” said George. “In that you’ll have to invite the ton, book Westminster, advise the royals and purchase half of London for the nuptials, when might the wedding be?”

  “Tomorrow morning,” said Stephen.

  All conversation halted. Even Lady Westleigh, London’s most accomplished and experienced hostess, gave a gasp of dismay.

  “Darling,” she said, her hands fluttering anxiously, “it’s your wedding day! Such a momentous occasion simply cannot—”

  “Yes it can,” he replied in a voice that brooked no argument. “After I procure the special license, a small, intimate wedding of closest friends and family in a private chapel will be the easiest thing in the world to arrange, Mama. Then we’ll make the official announcement at tomorrow night’s ball.”

  Caroline stared at him, her cheeks heating.

  The Season-starting ball that would have been the grand announcement of Flora and Stephen’s engagement. The fact that the ballroom currently paid a stunning blue and silver tribute to Flora, was something she wouldn’t think about. But how incredibly fortunate the invitation hadn’t specified exactly what the special announcement might be or the players involved, it would be difficult enough facing down the ton’s questions and speculation without having to explain an abrupt change of bride.

  “Are you sure, Stephen?” Caroline asked hesitantly.

  “Yes. You hate shopping, I have no interest in a society wedding, so there is no need to delay it.”

  George laughed, his eyes gleaming. “Christ. Make sure you stock up on the hartshorn then. And bar entry at the door to anyone with heart problems.”

  For the first time in days, Stephen’s lips twitched in a half-smile. “Indeed.”

  “Well then,” said Sir Malcolm, getting to his feet. “I’d best get these contracts to my bankers without delay. Come along, Emily. George.”

  Her mother nodded in reluctant agreement, but before he could drag her away, Caroline rushed over and hugged her fiercely.

  “I love you, Mama.”

  “And I love you, my baby girl,” Emily whispered. “Oh, how I wish your father was here to see this. He absolutely would have approved of Stephen. I know he’ll be watching from heaven tomorrow, so happy his precious Linny is marrying the right gentleman.”

  Her throat tightened unbearably. “You’ll help me get ready in the morning?”

  “Of course. Don’t worry about a dress, I’ve been saving some Brussels lace and ribbon and shall sew all night to pretty up your best gown. See you soon.”

  After the Edwards family departed, Lady Westleigh blew them a kiss and bustled away to oversee the certainly unachievable goal of decorations, a wedding cake, flowers, and notes to Standish, Ardmore, and Southby, leaving her alone in the library with her fiancé.

  For a full minute, she watched him shuffle papers around his perfectly tidy desk rather than speak to her.

  “Stephen?”

  “Hmmm?”

  I love you. I’m so sorry about the way this happened. Please give me a chance. I do believe despite everything we could be happy.

  “Do…do you think you’ll be able to get a special license in time?”

  He glanced up. “Yes. We have a bishop who is an old friend of my father’s. I’m sure his influence, plus a donation to his widows and orphans fund, will ensure it happens with all due haste.”

  “Oh. Oh, well, that is good.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Stephen,” she continued helplessly, for the first time scrambling for something to say. “We could order tea, and talk for a little while. It feels like we’ve barely seen each other since—”

  “Not right now,” he said brusquely, stepping past her and heading for the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I must go and see about that license. Don’t forget to send a note to any close friends you wish to attend the ceremony.”

  He didn’t look back.

  ***

  There was something damned therapeutic about organized destruction.

  Wiping the sweat from his forehead with a damp sleeve, Stephen took hold of yet another section of dark blue silk and tore it from the mahogany-paneled ballroom wall. It came away with a very satisfying riiiip, before tumbling to the floor to join the rest of the scraps.

  If any of his friends or acquaintances saw him, he’d probably be transported to Bedlam in record time. According to the ton, and his butler for that matter, earls did not take part in manual labor of any kind. Which was patently foolish, he could think of several peers in dire need of a more vigorous activity than lifting a decanter or waving a scented handkerchief. But after barely blinking an eye when informed the fully decorated ballroom must be stripped down and started anew, and there were no spare footmen to help, Innes had wailed like a scalded cat when Stephen shucked his jacket and waistcoat, and marched toward the makeshift wooden scaffolding. Christ. After the last few days, he needed something to work out his frustration on, and if he was about to get married, several rounds with Mr. Jackson was hardly an option.

  Knowing he’d been master of his own downfall was the hardest thing to accept, that his own abandonment of cool thought and logic for a few moments of madness was resulting in marriage to the least likely candidate. There was only one possible outcome for a union with Caroline Edwards: ending badly. The real question would be not how long it lasted, but who might kill the other first when the chaotic desire between them fizzled out. Granted their sexual chemistry was far more intense than anything he’d ever experienced, but it always did fizzle out. And unlike his previous lovers, he wouldn’t be able to bid her a fond farewell with a diamond bracelet.

  A loud cough interrupted his musings.

  “Stephen…may I ask what the bloody hell you are doing?”

  Re-balancing himself on a wide wooden plank, Stephen paused and glanced down at William. Alexander stood next to him, and they both wore expressions of complete calm, which meant both were alarmed beyond measure.

  “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “Attempting to break both your legs?” said Alexander, folding his arms and giving him the ducal stare of death. “Training for an acrobatic performance?”

  “Not today. Taff went to the Museum, and Mama commandeered nearly every footman I have to run errands and fetch supplies for the wedding, so I’m assisting the remaining staff in preparing the ballroom for tomorrow tonight. I decided blue and silver isn’t at all the thing, it is early spring for God’s sake. Need something more vibrant, like…jade green and gold.”

  William nodded thoughtfully. “Green and gold really is a very striking combination. I believe it will go admirably well. Better than anyone imagines.”

  “Quite,” said Alexander. “Far more suitable than the previous palate. Vibrant and bold is exactly what is needed.”

  Stephen scowled. “Why do I get the impression neither of you are referring to the decorations?”
>
  “Probably just pre-wedding nerves,” said William blandly, removing his dark brown jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his perfectly starched linen shirt. “What else could we possibly be talking about? Now, this fabric, does it just tear straight off?”

  He jerked his head in a nod as his foster brother scaled the other end of the scaffolding and began yanking great fistfuls of blue and silver silk away from the walls. Meanwhile Alexander took a bucket of dark green paint and brush, and studiously re-colored a collection of giant urns for the yet to be delivered flowers.

  “You’ll both stand as groomsmen?” Stephen said eventually, pretending a casualness he was far from feeling.

  Alexander raised an eyebrow. “What a damned peculiar question. You think I handle paint for just anyone?”

  “Oh come on. Everyone knows of your soft, artistic side. The kittens you draw. The ballads you warble. The whole Duke of Ice persona is just a front.”

  “Kittens are the devil’s appalling furry sidekicks, and if I sang, the dead would rise from their graves and march through Hyde Park in protest.”

  “No,” said William, “that musical honor is already held by George. The male equivalent of Esther Hartley…oh, hell. Stephen, I didn’t mean…”

  He sighed. “Look, just say it. You have both admirably fought the urge to interrogate me, but I’d rather not be responsible for two exploded noble heads.”

  “All right,” said Alexander, with a slight frown, “I must admit I was rather perplexed by your dear mother’s note.”

  “What did she write?”

  “That after a fair amount of soul-searching and spirited discussion, you and Miss Edwards decided to end your betrothals to Miss Hartley and Lord Shilton respectively, and instead follow your hearts into a union with each other…do I take it from your ludicrously slack-jawed expression that events may have unfolded in a rather different manner?”

  “Yes,” he bit out. His mother and her meddling! “One might say that.”

  “Well, by all means share what really happened,” said William, maneuvering himself so he sat on the plank.