Waiting for an Earl Like You

by Alexandra Hawkins

  “I understand from Lady Grisdale that your father wholeheartedly supports this match between you and Lord Kempthorn.” The gentleman frowned as he struggled to find the right words. “You are a good woman. You deserve a husband who will share your passions and worships you. Miss Lydall, you should aspire higher than a scoundrel like the earl.”

  The interior of the compartment was stifling. She longed to open the door just to feel the wind on her face.

  “I promised my father, Mr. Chauncey.” And Thorn.

  His handsome face twisted with frustration. “Engagements can be broken. No one will think less of you.”

  Olivia yawned. “It cannot be helped,” she said, slurring her words. “I am in love with him.”

  “Love,” her male companion sneered. “And you believe Kempthorn will return this noble sentiment?”

  “No, I”—she frowned and brought her hand to her head—“I feel unwell, Mr. Chauncey. I should return to the house.”

  She fell onto her side, her cheek striking the leather-padded bench.

  Mr. Chauncey cocked his head and peered at her.

  “Oh, it is much too late for that, Miss Lydall,” he said, his voice sounding too distant even though she could reach out and touch him.

  Olivia just didn’t have the strength to even move her hand.

  “Just close your eyes and sleep,” Mr. Chauncey said soothingly.

  She closed her eyes.

  * * *

  Marcroft did not flinch as tiny pellets of ice fell from the dark sky, stinging his face. Curiosity had prompted him to follow Miss Lydall outdoors. The lady had a streak of wildness in her that was likely to give Kempthorn gray hair before he reached thirty. He watched as she entered Chauncey’s coach. He assumed she had sought a temporary shelter from the approaching storm. However, when the gentleman’s coach drove away, a frisson of apprehension stirred the instincts that had served him well.

  Something was very wrong.

  Miss Lydall would not have left with Chauncey. She would have returned to Kempthorn.

  There was no time to warn her betrothed. Marcroft held up his hand to protect his eyes as he crossed the dirt road. “No, remain on your perch,” he ordered his coachman. He pointed in the direction the other coach was heading. “See that coach? I want you to follow it. Discreetly.”

  “Aye, milord,” the man said as he reached for the ribbons.

  Marcroft opened the door and stepped into the coach. He knew where to find Lord Kempthorn if he needed him. What intrigued him at the moment was the reason why Miss Lydall had departed with Chauncey and where the couple was heading.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Marcroft stared through the spatter of raindrops obscuring the window of his coach and observed Chauncey’s coach halt halfway down a narrow alley. A few minutes later, he scowled as he glimpsed Miss Lydall as Chauncey or his coachman carried the unconscious lady into the establishment.

  Marcroft longed to follow the trio. Unfortunately, the odds of him walking out uninjured and with Miss Lydall were appallingly low. He needed assistance. Pounding his fist against the trapdoor, he waited impatiently for the coachman to respond.

  “Milord?”

  He loathed leaving Miss Lydall alone with Chauncey.

  “Return to the Howlands’ town house and be quick about it.”

  “Aye, milord.” The trapdoor shut.

  Marcroft settled back against the bench. He was not a man who often prayed, but he closed his eyes. The sweet lady deserved more than a few words uttered by a man such as him, but he knew how to help her.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Olivia’s eyelashes fluttered open as awareness slowly seeped into her brain. She touched her head and groaned. Was she ill? The world tilted as she sat up and realized she was lying in a bed. Confused, she looked at the unfamiliar white walls and the worn albeit sturdy furniture.

  Is this Lady Howland’s house? Perhaps one of the servant’s quarters?

  Someone had undressed her. She wore only her chemise. Even her shoes and stockings had been removed.

  Her bare feet touched the wood floor and she carefully moved from the bed to the shut door. She turned the doorknob.

  It was locked.

  Feeling weak, she leaned against the door and knocked. “Is anyone there?” Her throat felt scratchy and parched. She pounded her fist against the door. “I cannot open the door. Does anyone have the key?”

  She pressed her ear against the wooden surface and listened.

  Am I a prisoner?

  “Concentrate, Olivia,” she murmured as she moved away from the door and returned to the bed. She stared at the sparse room and tried to recall her last waking moments. She had been sitting in Mr. Chauncey’s coach. He had offered her a few sips of port to calm her nerves since she had been so upset at the thought of Thorn challenging the poor man to a duel. It had not been his fault—

  Good grief, he drugged me!

  She straightened as she heard someone insert a key into the lock and turn it. A quick twist of the doorknob and the door opened. The gentleman she had considered a friend stepped into the room.

  None of this makes any sense.

  “Ah, good, you are awake,” Mr. Chauncey said genially. “Your color has improved. For a few disconcerting minutes, I thought I might have allowed you to drink too much of my concoction.”

  “You drugged me,” Olivia said in disbelief. She crossed her arms over her breasts because the chemise was too thin to protect her modesty. “What was in the port?”

  “A personal recipe I have been working on for several years. It is a blend of various seeds that I have distilled into syrups,” he explained, eager to share his work with her. “It has been a challenge to find the correct balance to suit my needs. I confess my early efforts were disheartening. Two of my volunteers stopped breathing. Another poor creature was so confused when she awoke that she climbed out a window and fell to her death.” He peered at her. “How do you feel?”

  “I feel ill, Mr. Chauncey,” she lied. “You should tell Lady Howland to summon a physician at once to insure that I have not been poisoned by your sleeping draught.”

  He frowned at her, the enthusiasm dimming in his blue eyes. “You are still confused.”

  Her hand slid up to her throat. “This is not Lady Howland’s town house?”

  He shook his head. “I brought you to the Acropolis, Miss Lydall.”

  Olivia was unfamiliar with the establishment. “What is this place?” she said, edging away from him when he stepped toward her.

  “A private club that has quite a notorious history,” he said, offering her pleasant smile. “Half the gentlemen and several ladies of the ton have passed through the club’s front doors. Only a select few are offered membership. I daresay you have met numerous patrons of the Acropolis, never knowing the dark secrets they harbored in their black hearts, even from their wives—or the vices and twisted perversions that lure them back to this club.”

  Olivia wondered if Thorn and his friends patronized this club. “I do not understand, Mr. Chauncey,” she said, deliberately pitching her voice so she sounded meek and respectful. “Why have you brought me here?”

  He tilted his head to the side. There was a time when she had thought the pose revealed his careful deliberation of each question she had posed to him. Now it looked sinister, as if he was sizing up his quarry.

  “I had such plans for you, Miss Lydall.”

  “I do n-not—” she stammered.

  Without warning, he lunged for her and seized her roughly by the upper arms. Surprised by his attack, she screamed, but the muscles in her throat were taut with fear and she barely uttered a sound.

  “I am well aware that you are confused by all of this, my dear lady.” His fingers dug into her bare arms and she winced in pain. “My fault, really. I should not have insisted on those extra swallows of my special port. However, I was desperate to lure you away from Kempthorn. Your tender heart makes you rather predi
ctable, Miss Lydall. I knew you would follow me when I left Lady Howland’s house. All I had to do was coax you into imbibing my brew, and I was able to whisk you away. No one knows you are here.”

  Olivia was repulsed by his touch. She struggled but she still felt weak from the drugged port. “Why are you doing this? Is this because of the fight with Thorn?”

  The anger clouding his expression faded as he chuckled. “I did not kidnap you because I was worried about a duel. This is all about revenge, Miss Lydall. I have my orders, though I confess I am pleased with the way it all has turned out. I have been curious to discover what tasty confection is tucked between your thighs that has bewitched him so much that he is willing to kill any man who glances in your direction.”

  Outrage strengthened her body and her voice. “Did Lady Millicent hire you?”

  “Lord Flewett’s daughter?” Mr. Chauncey shoved her so she fell on the bed. “Oh dear, your poor head must be muddled if you believe I would take orders from that impudent miss.”

  He crawled across the mattress until he was on top of her.

  Olivia did not bother screaming. Her fingers curled into a tight fist and she struck him. The blow glanced off his cheekbone. Chauncey grabbed her wrist before she could land another blow.

  “Spiteful bitch!”

  She cried out as he squeezed, grinding her delicate bones together. He slapped her across the face with his open hand.

  “Why are you doing this?” she wailed.

  “You have no clue what mischief you have wrought, do you?” he said, tightening his hold on her wrist until she feared he’d break it.

  “No!”

  “Oh this is rich,” he said out loud to no one in particular. “You do not know—that your father has ended his relationship with Lady Grisdale.”

  She blinked away the tears that blurred her vision. “No. My father said nothing to me. Why am I to blame? And more importantly, why do you care?”

  “Family, Miss Lydall.” He grinned down at her blank expression. “Your father ended his relationship with Nann when he realized that he had invited a viper into his bed and the lady was playing some very wicked games with his beloved daughter. She thought Dewick was so beguiled by her charms that she grew careless. Your father told her that he never intended to marry her.” He wagged his finger at her. “That is the second time you have ruined the countess’s plans, and she is very displeased with you. That is why she sent me to collect you.”

  “Lady Grisdale is behind this!” she exclaimed. “What are you? Her servant?”

  He slapped her across the face. She covered her bruised cheek with her free hand.

  “I already told you,” he said, applying pressure to her injured wrist to gain her attention. “This is family business. It always has been. Lord Grisdale was my father.”

  Olivia frowned. “Not his heir.”

  “No. Grisdale spent most of his pathetic life denying that I was his son until he was resigned that he would never marry again. Then Nann came into his life. She was young and beautiful and she promised to provide the old bastard with the heir he coveted, leaving me on the outside again.”

  “Lady Grisdale never mentioned to my father that she had any children,” Olivia said, striving to keep calm. As long as she kept the gentleman talking, he might forget to hurt her.

  Chauncey grimaced. “The marriage did not produce any children. Nann blamed my father and his excesses, so after a few years she turned to me.”

  Olivia swallowed thickly. “You mean you and your stepmother—”

  The man shrugged. “Nann is a beautiful woman. It was no hardship fucking her. Grisdale would get his heir and his countess would insure that I was always welcome in her house and my purse was always filled. Regrettably, it took less than a year to figure out that Nann was barren.”

  “How?”

  “The wily bastard impregnated one of his mistresses.” The indifference in his expression revealed that he had already cut his losses on the countess’s scheme. “Nann was furious and she begged me—”

  Belatedly realizing someone could be listening at the door, he bent down and whispered in her ear. “Like you, I have a passion for plants. I was always experimenting with my concoctions. Mostly on animals and gullible servants, but then one day, Nann came to me with an intriguing proposal and I accepted. I poisoned the old virile bastard, Miss Lydall, and I enjoyed it. While his body was still warm, I fucked his widow. Barren or not, Nann is very skilled and knows how to please her lovers.”

  Olivia licked her dry lips. “You could have married her.”

  He shook his head. “Too many people knew I was one of Grisdale’s bastards. Nann invited me to stay with her, but it wasn’t long before Nann and I spent my father’s fortune. Lady Grisdale required a new husband and eventually she set her sights on Lord Dewick.”

  “You said that I ruined the countess’s plans a second time,” Olivia said, turning her face away when he stroked her other cheek. “What other plans did she have for my father? Did she intend to have you poison him, too?”

  The very notion curdled her stomach.

  “Nann was arrogant and believed your father was too smitten to deny her anything. No, my dear, my dear stepmother intended for me to marry you.”

  “What?” she gasped.

  He chuckled at her shocked expression. “The shy, biddable Miss Lydall, who had a respectable dowry that would eventually attract a husband. Nann convinced your father to increase the amount on my behalf.”

  Olivia’s thoughts drifted to the day she had been introduced to him. “Last Season, we did not meet by chance.”

  He nodded. “No, our meeting was not by chance. It was part of Nann’s scheme. If I married you, no one would ever question my fondness for my new mother-in-law. If I grew tired of sweets—”

  Olivia batted his hand away when he tried to touch her face. In retaliation, he punished her by squeezing her wrist again.

  “Stop!”

  “I have always embraced my wicked nature,” he admitted, moving backward on the mattress so he could pull her up into a sitting position.

  Olivia gritted her teeth and panted through the pain.

  “That is why I was drawn to the Acropolis,” he said, tugging until she was at the edge of the mattress. “Nothing is forbidden here, Miss Lydall. Absolutely nothing. It took me only a few months to earn a coveted invitation by the owners. Do you know how I did it?”

  She shook her head.

  Chauncey pulled on her wrist until she obeyed him and stood.

  “Because I do not deny myself anything: pleasure”—he expertly manipulated her wrist until she hissed at him—“or pain. That is why they agreed to the auction.”

  Nausea bubbled in her stomach.

  “What auction?” she asked though she already had deduced that she would not be pleased with his response. Mr. Chauncey had proved he was clever and ambitious, and willing to kill anyone who threatened him.

  “It was Nann’s idea. I am offering you up as my slave this evening. The highest bidder can claim ownership for a week. When you are returned to my custody, I will hold another auction. Over and over, until I break you or I earn the dowry you and your father denied me.”

  “You cannot hold me against my will,” she said, belatedly realizing that he had already succeeded in kidnapping her. “You cannot stop me from telling every person I meet in this horrid place that I am Lord Dewick’s daughter and have been kidnapped by you and Lady Grisdale.”

  He clamped her jaw with his free hand. Roughly, he turned her face so he could whisper in her ear. “If I cut out your tongue, you will be quite the exotic, Miss Lydall. How many men will hand over their gold for the distinct pleasure of fucking your pretty mouth?”

  Olivia trembled, believing the man she once thought of as a friend was capable of hurting her. She would throw herself out of one of the windows before she allowed anyone to touch her.

  A brisk knock at the door sent her pulse racing. She sobbed, but hi
s hand muffled the noise.

  “Who is it?”

  “Norgrave, my dear fellow,” the marquess said from the other side of the door. “Let me in so I can see the chit you have brought to us. If I do not approve, you will have to procure another.”

  Olivia’s breathing quickened. Lady Arabella’s father was a member of this club! Thorn had warned her that the marquess was not the man she believed him to be, but he had spared her the unsavory aspects of his life.

  “If you value your tongue, you will refrain from speaking to one of the club’s most infamous members. I am told he enjoys hurting his lovers,” Chauncey whispered. Her eyes widened as a coldness settled in her chest. “My roughness will seem like a caress when he is finished with you, so tempt him and me at your own peril.”

  Chauncey released her wrist and jaw and walked away from her to unlock the door.

  Olivia doubled over and vomited. Her wrist throbbed as her stomach convulsed again.

  “Christ, what have you done to the girl?” she overheard Norgrave ask the other man.

  “Just reminding her of her place,” was Chauncey’s calm retort. “You would do the same if you had found her first.”

  “I suppose so,” Norgrave said, walking toward her.

  Olivia had turned her face away to avoid recognition. She felt a slight waft of air as the marquess presented her with his handkerchief.

  “Don’t be stubborn, my dear,” he said with an air of impatience. “Use the handkerchief to wipe your face.”

  She took the handkerchief and scrubbed her lips. Folding it in half, she then wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  “Come, come … I do not have all night.”

  Olivia winced, but she straightened and raised her chin. Her heart plummeted at the marquess’s lack of surprise as he scrutinized her face.

  “Very sloppy, my dear fellow,” Norgrave scolded the younger man. “No one will pay well for damaged goods.”

  His touch was impersonal as the marquess lightly touched the side of her jaw so he could inspect her face. “The bruises are already discoloring her cheek and the swelling diminishes the lady’s beauty.” He gestured to the redness appearing up and down her arms. “More bruises and—did you break her wrist? Not only are you very young, Mr. Chauncey, you are very stupid. I have seen enough to believe that the proprietors of the Acropolis have made a grave mistake in granting you full membership.”