Loving the Wrong Lord

by Bethany M. Sefchick

  Additionally, Phin’s behavior thus far this spring, which did include treating most young and marriageable young women as if they might break, be diseased, or were suffering from some sort of madness hadn’t helped him much in Society’s eyes either. That was another strike against him. Mistake number four, as it were.

  And, to be perfectly blunt, Phin’s stated desire to find a lady with “perfect breeding hips” hadn’t been one of his finer moments, either. Mistake number five, just to cap things off.

  Actually, Phin had been so deep in his cups the night he uttered that ridiculous phrase at Noroc, he couldn’t even remember doing so. However, the ugly words had been splashed all over every gossip rag the next day, so they must have been true. Or at least mostly true. He did tend to slur his speech when he was utterly foxed, so it was possible he might have been misquoted.

  That last mistake, in particular, made Phin cringe because, quite simply, he wasn’t that sort of gentleman. At least not really. Well, maybe he was and was simply trying to pretend that he wasn’t. Who the hell knew any longer? He certainly did not. Actually, he didn’t know much of anything about himself any longer, other than that he occasionally liked to play matchmaker – which, for a lord of the realm, was hardly something to brag about.

  If he kept at the romance making, someone might think him a molly. Not that he cared what people did in their own homes, but such rumors might put something of a dent in his plans to find a new bride. In general, women did not like to compete with other men for their husband’s attention in the bedchamber.

  Therefore, one could call that mistake number six, if one wished.

  Six was a nice, even number, after all.

  So, yes, all of those things and more were Phin’s own bloody fucking fault. Because he was an idiot. An idiot who tried his best, but an idiot nonetheless.

  Phin wished he could blame his father for that, and he had – for a time anyway, though that was many years ago. Now, however, he was nine and twenty and had grown up considerably. His wretched choices in his youth might have been the fault of his father, but these days? Any dunderheaded actions were Phin’s and Phin’s alone.

  And he seemed to make plenty of them – from being overly proper to not being proper enough. Those things were his fault, mostly because he allowed what others said about him to guide his actions. He shouldn’t do that. He knew better. Or at least he said that he did. And yet it seemed as if he never learned.

  However, the elaborate plot to ruin him that had been concocted by the now-deceased Lord Charles Marshwood, Earl of Telford, had not been Phin’s fault in the least. Nor had the death of the earl’s eldest daughter, Elizabeth. No matter what Telford had believed until his dying day.

  Nor had any of that been the fault of the man’s younger daughter, Lady Josie – er, Lady Josephine, as Phin supposed he should refer to her. That would be the proper way to think of her, though after a single night in her delightful company, he wanted to be anything but proper – particularly with her.

  In fact, he wished to do all manner of improper things with her. Or at least he imagined that he did. Gads, the chit had been stuck in his mind ever since Lady Chillton’s ball. Had she truly been that enchanting, or was his lust-clouded brainbox imagining things that had never been? Or was six years of (mostly) proper behavior finally catching up with him?

  Actually, that was the entire root of the problem, including his numerous mistakes – Phin wasn’t really proper at all. He hadn’t ever been, not from the first actually, but he had allowed the gossip that he was a stickler for the proprieties to continue unabated.

  Those rumors had been fueled mostly by Faith’s father, but Phin was just as guilty because he had never bothered to correct anyone. Until, of course, he discovered it was too late to change how others viewed him. Now, he was thought of as a proper prig, even though he was anything but that.

  A right proper stick up the arse prig was how he was often described, much to his chagrin, and, in truth, those people weren’t always wrong. Still, he was trying to be different. Better. Or something close to it. Not that anyone was really noticing.

  Phin was also attempting to quell the gossip that only became worse and not better where his love life was concerned. Or possibly ignore it – whatever came first.

  What with that whole thing about “breeding hips” having gotten particularly out of hand in recent weeks, there was a fair bit of damage control to do regarding his reputation. Truly, he was doing all the correct things these days, or so he thought. After the house party, anyway.

  Or he had been. At least he’d been trying. Until the gossips had gotten wind of Lord Telford’s plot – which had been inevitable – and someone had remembered Phin and Lady Josie sharing a laugh and a waltz at Lady Chillton’s ball – which he had hoped most people would conveniently forget. Because once the scandal sheets got hold of those juicy tidbits of information and linked them in the most scandalous – if not exactly true – ways? His life had been an utter hell. Or something close to it.

  Phin’s and Lady Josephine’s names were still on the lips of nearly every gossip in England, and that was growing a bit tiresome. At least it was for Phin, so he supposed that it likely was for Lady Josie – drat, there he went again with her Christian name – as well. For the last month or so, their names had been linked in every gossip rag from The Town Tattler – which had been mostly accurate – to The London Daily – which had been filled with nothing but outright lies.

  Those stories had also done very little to help advance’s Phin’s plan to select a new, age-appropriate bride. Again, no lady wanted that sort of competition when she was hoping to snare a duke. Especially when Phin and Lady Josie were rumored to be in the middle of a mad and passionate love affair – which was laughable since Phin hadn’t even laid eyes upon the lady in question since the night of the Viscountess Chillton’s grand ball.

  It wasn’t that he hadn’t wished to do so, mind you. Rather, it was because he had been threatened with bodily harm if he even so much as looked in her direction.

  No, there was nothing between Phin and Lady Josie, no matter how much Phin secretly wished otherwise. Not even so much as a dropped fan or a lost reticule at a ball. Though one would not know that if one only relied upon the gossip rags. Which, of course, he didn’t.

  But many others did.

  Still, Phin was tired of the gossip, so he assumed Lady Josie (no sense in trying to deny that he thought of her by any other name) likely was as well. If the rumors and gossip were interfering with his life, they were probably making hers rather difficult as well. He wondered if they were hindering her hunt for a husband, though he suspected that was the case.

  Not that he could ask her such a question, of course, for being seen speaking with her would only fan the flames of gossip even more. On the other hand, they had already been introduced, so if Phin happened to see Lady Josie at a ball or musicale, he supposed he could ask her if she was as weary of the entire mess as he was, provided he was willing to take the risk to his person, of course.

  Because he really did wish to know – and commiserate with her if possible. Or just even speak with her. She did have a nice laugh. And very witty insights.

  He would only do so discreetly, of course, so as not to make matters worse. Hell, probably even nodding in her direction would make matters worse.

  Which really was a shame because the Lady Josie, while young, did have an odd yet thoroughly delightful sense of humor about her. Or she had the night they had first met. He prayed the last few weeks of London life in the spotlight hadn’t changed that about her.

  She was also quite beautiful with her curling chestnut tresses, china-blue eyes, and a figure that reminded him of a sprite or a garden fairy from legend rather than a living, breathing woman. He had thought that from the very first time he had met her, and the following weeks had done little to change his opinion.

  She was still as beautiful today as she had been those many weeks past. Per
haps even more so, since she had acquired a bit of London polish in the meantime, having been residing with the Duke and Duchess of Radcliffe as of late. And Lady Julia, the duchess, especially, was known to be one of the most glamorous and elegant women in all of England.

  Under that sort of tutelage? Lady Josie could not help but shine just a little brighter.

  Yes, Lady Josie was very real and very enchanting.

  She was also a woman Phin should avoid at all costs, at least according to Lord Nicholas Rosemont, the Duke of Candlewood – the man also known as the Bloody Duke. He was Lady Julia’s brother. The same man who had threatened to remove one of Phin’s appendages if he even so much as cast a glance in Lady Josie’s direction.

  After all, in London, perception was everything, and if Phin was spotted so much as even chatting with Lady Josie, that could be disastrous for both of them, especially after what had transpired with her father – and the lady’s late sister, Elizabeth. At least according to Candlewood and one, in general, did not question the Bloody Duke on such matters. At least not if they wished to keep their cocks firmly attached to their bodies. Or their arms. Or possibly even their heads.

  Phin wasn’t certain about that last one, but he had heard rumors.

  The Bloody Duke hadn’t been all that specific about which body part he would remove if Phin went against his wishes. Still, Phin had no wish to test the man’s patience.

  “Do not look so dour, brother. All you are doing is giving those fools more fodder for their nastiness. They have quite enough as it is, I should think.”

  Phin had been so busy listening to the gossips prattling on about him that he hadn’t noticed his sister, Priscilla, come up beside him. Given that he was trying desperately to keep her from making a mistake by marrying the wrong man, that was proof enough of just how preoccupied he was these days.

  He should be thinking about Priscilla and impending disaster – not about Lady Josie and her lovely body and why he wasn’t supposed to do so much as look at her.

  Wasn’t life supposed to become easier when one grew older? If that was the case, Phin had no idea where his life had gone so horribly wrong.

  If he wasn’t dealing with the gossip about himself, it was dealing with Cilla attempting to abruptly end her spinster status and possibly make another man jealous at the same time by marrying a man who was all wrong for her. All while pretending Lady Josie didn’t exist. What else could possibly go wrong? Phin shuddered to think about that, actually, because the answer to that question was? A good many things.

  “Yes, well, it is hard to be cheerful when everyone is debating whether you are a sinner or a saint, and you do not wish to be either.” He was well aware that he was snapping at his sister, but just then, he could not bring himself to care.

  Really, if Phin had thought it would do any good, he would have taken out a front-page advertisement in The Times to announce that while his first marriage had been a miserable, frigid, money-hemorrhaging mess, he was indeed ready to wed again and that the sins of the father should not cast shame on the daughter – even though he knew bloody good and well that was not how London Society worked.

  “Pish!” Cilla – for neither Trew sibling went by their proper name as was the family tradition – tossed her head haughtily, drawing more than one disapproving eye from the wall of old tabbies. In general, old tabbies and dragons did not care for Lady Priscilla Trew. “You are a good man, Phin! Do not listen to them. After all, you are throwing me a ball, a possible betrothal ball at that, in only a few days! How could anyone think poorly of you after that sort of generosity toward your spinster sister?”

  Then, as if for good measure, Cilla glared at the women, seemingly not caring about her reputation, but then, that was Cilla. There was precious little she cared about these days – except, of course, for one Lord Duncan Cleary, heir to the Marquess of Waverly, and this ball that Phin was planning for her. That very same ball was where his sister hoped to convince the gentleman in question to wed her with all due haste – and quite possibly make a future duke enraged with jealousy.

  A future duke that she had very possibly loved all of her life and likely still did love. Very much so. Even if she refused to admit as much.

  That sort of behavior was not at all like the cool, calm, and sophisticated Cilla that Phin had known all of his life. And that was another matter he did not wish to think about just then, either, for it made his head hurt even worse than it already did.

  “Yes, well, I am still a good man in need of a bride. Despite everything else, nothing can change that. I have no spare, and little Philip’s health is not quite the thing after his recent fever.” He paused. “The sooner I choose a lady to wed, the better, especially if I am to quiet the gossips and get on with my life. I need a quiet, respectable, proper lady without any scandal attached to her. That should do the trick and quiet these old dragons once and for all.”

  This time Priscilla gave a snort of disgust, expressing her disagreement with that statement, but Phin didn’t bother to correct her.

  “Then do not look now, brother dear, but I think an opportunity to find that bride is about to be placed directly into your path. She meets all of your requirements, especially since you didn’t mention a thing about a sweet temperament.” She chuckled almost darkly. “I know how much you simply adore this one. Plus, she has excellent breeding hips, or so I’m told.”

  Looking around wildly, it didn’t take Phin long to see exactly who his sister was referring to, much to his dismay.

  Lady Margaretta Kerns. His worst nightmare.

  She was the eldest daughter of Viscount Temins, who lived near Havenhurst, Phin’s current country seat, having moved from his family’s ancestral home in Suffolk shortly after he wed Faith in an effort to please his new wife. The chit had been nothing but trouble since the first time they had been introduced, making it plain to Phin that she had designs on becoming the next Duchess of Fullbridge – no matter what that entailed, including entrapment into marriage.

  Over his dead body.

  Never again would he be saddled with a wife he did not choose of his own volition.

  Thus far, Phin had been relatively successful in avoiding the troublesome woman, but now, Lady Margaretta had somehow wrangled an invitation to Lady Darby’s otherwise exclusive ball here in London. He had no idea how she had managed such a feat, for the woman and her marriage-minded mother were known to relentlessly hound gentlemen on the Marriage Mart to the point where they embarrassed themselves rather frequently, much to a hostess’ regret.

  As of late, Phin had been Lady Margaretta’s preferred target as a potential husband. The not-so-young woman believed that a ducal title would make everyone forget about her unfortunate lisp, middling looks, and dour personality. She also believed that spending Phin’s money would give her the greatest pleasure she could ever imagine with little thought to providing Phin with a second child. In that, she was no different than his first wife, Faith – God rest her miserable soul – which also happened to place Lady Margaretta at the top of his list of females to avoid.

  And just then, Phin was willing to do anything to avoid Lady Margaretta. Anything at all.

  Which included turning and all but running through the crushing crowd toward the safety of Lady Darby’s library as fast as he could push flittering debutantes and their title-grasping mamas out of the way. Nor was he the least bit sorry he did so, either.

  Phin Trew was known far and wide as a man who feared almost nothing. Just then, however? He feared Lady Margaretta and how far she would go to secure herself a spot in his bed and on his financial ledgers. He feared her very much indeed.

  Chapter Three

  Julia and Ben would be looking for her. Josie knew that, and she also knew that she owed it to both of them to make a good showing here at Lady Darby’s ball this evening. Actually, she owed everything about her current life to them. All they asked in return was that she do her best to select a husband.

  I
n reality, such a thing wasn’t particularly too much to ask. Not really. Especially not when they had given her so much in return.

  After all, they hadn’t been forced to take her in when her father had left her in complete and utter disgrace at Lady Chillton’s ball. Nor had they been forced to provide her with the comfortable life of a debutant when her cousin, Penny, had run off to Gretna Green to marry the man of her dreams – a Bow Street Runner by the name of Harry Greer.

  In fact, Lady Josephine Marshwood was nothing to the Duke and Duchess of Radcliffe. Not a blood relation. Not even a distant relative by marriage. Instead, she was simply someone they felt sorry for after all she had endured, and they had taken her into their home out of the goodness of their hearts so that she might have a Season and a chance at a decent marriage.

  Josie still had no idea why they had done so, though she was extremely grateful – despite her current behavior that might suggest otherwise.

  And how did Josie repay that kindness? By hiding in the library during a well-attended ball when she should be out there dancing and flirting and trying to snare herself a husband so that she would no longer be a burden to the duke and duchess. Or to anyone else for that matter.

  Because once Penny and Harry returned, Josie would once more become their responsibility. Their burden. Thus, it was to Josie’s benefit to dance and flirt and laugh and try to make a brilliant match for herself before the newlyweds returned from Scotland. Whenever that might be, which at this point, no one knew, what with mail traveling as slowly as it was at the moment.

  It wasn’t that Josie didn’t want to do things like flirt and dance and find a husband. She did – in a fashion. After coming to London from the small hamlet of Sharpe-on-Edgecombe where she had been raised, or rather hidden away as most people liked to say, Josie had wanted to sample all of the delights the city had to offer.