Love Is In the Air Volume 1

by Susan Stoker

  “Yes. I’m rather nervous about it. If the food and drink is not regarded as superior to Almack’s, I will consider it a failure.”

  He chuckled. “As will I. But rest assured, that will not be difficult to achieve.”

  Evie put her hand on his arm, and they walked through the parlor to the stair hall. As they entered, he heard a commotion from the next room, the entrance hall.

  Glancing at Evie, whose expression had grown concerned, he took her hand from his arm and said, “Wait here.”

  Lucien stalked into the entrance hall as a gentleman’s voice rose. “I’m a new member. You must let me in!” He tried to push past the two footmen who were barring his entrance into the club.

  “Someone trying to force their way in?” Lucien asked from behind his employees.

  “Yes, my lord.” One footman moved to the side, which allowed Lucien to see the nuisance.

  “Good evening, Bentley.” Lucien stepped up to the threshold. The footmen had done an excellent job of keeping the man outside. “Did I hear you say you’re a new member?”

  Bentley, a large man but with little athletic prowess, given his extreme struggle and subsequent failure in trying to push past the two footmen, scowled, for he knew Lucien owned the club—everyone did. “I should be. Where is my invitation?”

  “Nonexistent. And let me tell you, this is not the manner in which you go about trying to obtain one.” Lucien didn’t remotely try to keep the glee from his voice.

  “This is because of Deane. Your support of him is pathetic. Cut him loose, and you’ll find your invitations will improve.” Damp strands of Bentley’s brown hair fell over his forehead. He attempted to brush it back into some semblance of style, but failed rather spectacularly as it flopped forward once more.

  “My invitations are just fine. It seems yours are the ones which are lacking.” Lucien gave the man a pitying stare. “Now, if you can’t behave like a gentleman and leave of your own accord, my men will see that you’re removed. Please don’t make them work harder than they ought.”

  Pivoting on his heel, Lucien found Evie standing in the center of the entrance hall with a satisfied smile playing about her lips. She clapped her hands. “Well done.”

  He bowed. “Thank you. Just a minor irritation.”

  “I do wish people would stop trying to force their way in.” Evie shook her head as they turned together to return to the stair hall.

  This was the second time this week someone had sought to gain entrance by claiming membership. The employees of the club were well trained as to who was a member and who was not. “Do you truly?” Lucien asked. “I admit I find their desperation somewhat satisfying.”

  She gently swatted his arm. “You’re terrible.”

  “What, you don’t agree?”

  A smile crept over her dark pink lips. “I don’t disagree. It serves some people right to feel excluded.”

  “Precisely.” He’d wanted to create a place where those who were often and usually excluded, derided, or completely cast out were able to feel welcome and wanted. Those who didn’t belong could suffer the consequences of being haughty, condescending prigs.

  Lucien offered Evie his arm as they ascended the stairs. The first floor contained the primary rooms of the club: the drawing room that overlooked the corner of Ryder and Bury Streets and the largest chamber in the club, which Lucien had dubbed the members’ den.

  As they entered the members’ den, Lucien inclined his head toward a trio of middle-aged ladies seated at a table, proof positive that welcoming the club’s ladies to the gentlemen’s side one night each week was something people wanted. One was the widow of a disgraced gentleman who’d died of an apoplectic attack in a rather compromising position in a brothel. Another was a never-married woman—a spinster—and the sister of the third woman, a lady who had married a baron fifteen years her junior. He was glad they had a place to gather, where they could enjoy being out and connecting with people who wouldn’t judge them. If he did nothing else, this would be enough.

  “You look happy,” Evie murmured.

  He glanced at her, marveling at how different she looked now. Along with changing her name, she’d changed her style. She only wore gray, silver, or purple in the latest, most conservative style, and her dark hair, due to some sort of powder, now appeared a shade lighter. “It’s going well, don’t you think?”

  “I do. I only wish my sister could come to see it.”

  “She will—someday. They have already accepted their invitations to join the club. Has the babe arrived yet?” Lucien asked. Heloise and her husband were expecting a child any time.

  “Not that I’ve heard, but the mail takes a few days. I could be an aunt already.”

  He heard the tremor of emotion in her voice. “You are welcome to take time to go and see them. Should I insist?”

  Evie squeezed his arm. “I’ll go in the summer. By then, Ada will be able to run things in my absence.”

  “Are you ever going to tell me the specifics of how you made her acquaintance?”

  “Here comes Ruark. I’ll let you speak with him.” She withdrew her hand from Lucien’s arm.

  Lucien narrowed his eyes at her. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you orchestrated that to avoid answering my question.”

  Her dark brows arched as she gave him a look of mock innocence before gliding away.

  Smiling to himself, Lucien turned to greet Ruark.

  “Evening, Lucien,” Ruark said, briefly clasping his hand. “I wonder if I might borrow you for a …matter?”

  “A matter? That sounds potentially serious.”

  Ruark flashed a bright smile. “Probably not.”

  Lucien noted his use of the word probably. “How can I help?”

  “I want to introduce you to a friend. Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

  Lucien had an office and private sitting room on the second floor. “Certainly. Let’s go upstairs. Where is your friend?”

  “A moment.” Ruark went to the corner where a gentleman sat in a chair near one of the doors that led out to the veranda that overlooked the garden, which was still being finished. When they returned, Lucien recognized the fellow. Because he knew everyone who belonged to his club.

  “Good evening, Lawler,” Lucien said as he gestured for them to accompany him from the members’ den. He led them up the stairs to his private office, which sat directly above the also private selection chamber where the membership committee met fortnightly to discuss potential members and voted to extend invitations.

  Lucien’s sitting room smelled of fresh paint and wood, having just been finished several days ago. Bookcases lined two walls, while a hearth occupied the third, and windows facing the garden marked the fourth.

  “Please, sit.” Lucien gestured to the seating area as he took a chair.

  “I’ll let you talk,” Ruark said. He gave Lawler a meaningful look before turning and leaving, closing the door behind him.

  Lawler shifted nervously before perching on the edge of a chair. “Thank you for seeing me, my lord.”

  “Wexford mentioned you have a…matter.”

  “Yes. It’s, ah, rather delicate.”

  “You think I can help?”

  Lawler nodded, his wide blue eyes glossy with hope. “My valet has a sister who works as a maid in a…prominent Mayfair household. She is uncomfortable in her current position because of inappropriate behavior by a member of the household.”

  “I take it this is not another servant exhibiting the behavior?”

  “No.” Lawler’s shoulders relaxed, and he exhaled. “I’m glad you understand.”

  “Not entirely, but I can imagine. Can this maid leave her employment?”

  Lawler shook his head. “My valet says she cannot. I understand some of the people who work here are those who needed help…” He let his question hang in the air. At least, Lucien believed there was a question there.

  “You’d like me to offer this maid a job?�
�

  “Or perhaps help her find one? I thought you might do that too.”

  He had, in fact. He’d given jobs at the club to people in need of employment and lodgings. The lived on the uppermost floor. In one case, he’d secured a position for a woman who did not want to work there. She was quite happy now as a clerk in Cheapside. “How did you hear I would do that?” he asked Lawler.

  “People talk.”

  “Which people?” Lucien wanted to know how this information was getting out—not because he cared that people knew what he’d done. On the contrary, if he could help someone, he would do so.

  Rubbing his palms along his thighs, Lawler looked as if a bit of his anxiety was returning. “I can’t rightly recall.”

  “It’s all right, Lawler, I’d be happy to help this maid.” Just as he’d been eager to invite Lawler to join the club. With an overbearing father, and a dearth of confidence, Lawler was in need of a boost. Lucien hoped the club would provide the young man with an opportunity to build his strength and character in a place where he would feel welcome and included. “Will you have her come see me when she next has time off?”

  Lawler’s face brightened. “Of course. Thank you, my lord. You are incredibly kind. Not at all the devil I’ve heard you called.”

  Lucien had begun to hear that moniker as well. He chuckled. “Perhaps it’s meant in fun instead of as an insult.” In all likelihood, it was borne of envy because he wouldn’t invite everyone to join his club. If that were the case, he’d embrace the description wholeheartedly.

  “Thank you for approaching me about this,” Lucien said. Perhaps the club was already having a positive effect on the lad.

  Lawler stood. “Thank you. Truly. The invitation to join this club has been the greatest thing that ever happened to me.”

  “I daresay what you’ve just done to help someone else might end up being even greater.” Lucien went to open the door. “Now, go and enjoy some port.”

  As Lucien watched Lawler turn the corner to go back downstairs, Evie emerged from the shadows of the antechamber outside his sitting room.

  “What did you do?” she asked with a half smile.

  “Nothing we haven’t already.”

  “We’re going to be known for fixing things,” she said, moving into his sitting room. “On second thought, you will be known for that. I can’t effect even a fraction of what you can do. At least not without your help.”

  “Not true. You’ve become a woman of power in your own right. Surely you can see that.”

  “Perhaps there’s a glimpse. Time will tell.” She sat down and leaned against the tall back of the chair. “Pour me a brandy, please?”

  “Yes, and then you can tell me how we might employ a young maid in need of a job.”

  January, 1815

  The familiar smell of the Phoenix Club, of pine and some spice he couldn’t name—a scent Lucien had commissioned and used to give the place a distinctive air, lifted Tobias’s sagging spirts as he stepped into the entrance hall.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Overton,” the footman said crisply, taking Tobias’s hat and gloves. And using his new title.

  “Thank you, Dexter. I trust Lord Lucien is in his office at this hour?”

  Dexter inclined his prematurely gray head. The footmen at the Phoenix Club did not wear wigs as they did in so many others. “Indeed he is.”

  Tobias thanked him again before going up to the second floor to Lucien’s office. The door to his outer sitting room was open, so Tobias strode inside only to stop short at seeing Lucien in quiet conversation with a young just outside his open office door.

  Lucien’s gaze lifted as he looked over the woman’s shoulder and acknowledged Tobias. “I’ll see you soon,” he said to her.

  She turned, and, keeping her head down, darted by Tobias on her way out.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Tobias said, thinking the woman seemed in an exceptional hurry to leave—and not be noticed by Tobias. “Helping another soul in need?”

  “Yes.” Lucien beckoned him to his office.

  “Good, then you’re already in the mood.”

  Lucien closed the door and arched a brow at Tobias. “You need help?”

  “So much.” Tobias dropped into a chair. “My father has left me…a mess.”

  “Brandy?” Lucien offered.

  Tobias nodded.

  Moving to pour their drinks, Lucien said, “I would have thought your father would have left things in an exceedingly orderly manner.”

  “Orderly for him, yes. For me?” Tobias shook his head, the familiar frustration and anger he’d felt since his father’s death swelling in his chest. “He had a ward.”

  “That is a surprise.” Lucien handed him a glass and sat in a nearby chair. “Is that why you need help?”

  “She’ll be here in a fortnight for her Season. I’m to keep my father’s promise to her father and see her wed. She will need a chaperone and a sponsor. I have neither, nor do I know how to obtain them.” He pinned Lucien with a desperate stare. “Who is going to sponsor a ward of mine?”

  Lucien’s lips spread into an easy smile. “Leave that to me. I’ve just the lady in mind. And, as it happens, I have the perfect chaperone and lady’s companion. You just encountered her, in fact.”

  Tobias glanced toward the door. “The woman who practically ran away when I arrived?”

  “I promise she is more than equal to the task. When have I ever led you astray?”

  Tobias thought about that. While Lucien had been, as was his nature, an always helpful participant in Tobias’s debauchery over the past two years, he hadn’t led him anywhere Tobias hadn’t tried to go first.

  Taking a long drink, Tobias let the heat of the brandy calm him. It had been a trying month since his father’s death, and the news that he now had a ward wasn’t even the worst of it.

  “There’s something else,” Lucien said softly. “Is it about this ward?”

  Tobias shook his head. “No, it’s about me. If I don’t wed within three months of my father’s death, I will forfeit my mother’s holdings.” The thought of losing her house in Wiltshire, the very center of every bit of happiness in his youth, stole his breath. His father was far more cruel than Tobias had ever imagined. That, or he had no idea how much the house meant to Tobias. Either way, Tobias felt as though he hadn’t known the man at all.

  “I’m so sorry.” Lucien’s brow creased as he regarded him over his raised glass. “I suppose your father has the last word when it comes to his demands that you wed.”

  “So it seems,” Tobias muttered. He took another drink before looking resolutely to his friend. “You can wave your magic wand and present me with a chaperone and a sponsor. Any chance you can find me a tolerable wife?”

  About the Author

  Darcy Burke is the USA Today Bestselling Author of sexy, emotional historical and contemporary romance. Darcy wrote her first book at age 11, a happily ever after about a swan addicted to magic and the female swan who loved him, with exceedingly poor illustrations. Join her Reader Club newsletter for the latest updates from Darcy, visit her online at www.darcyburke.com, and follow her on social media.

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  Also by Darcy Burke

  Don’t miss the first full-length novel in THE PHOENIX CLUB, IMPROPER!

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  Find out what happens when a dissolute guardian must rehabilitate his reputation to launch his very proper young ward in Society only to discover she’s a hellion in disguise…

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  Need more Regency romance? Check out my other historical series at darcyburke.com.

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  If you like contemporary romance, I hope you’ll check out my Ribbon Ridge series and the continuation of Ribbon Ridge in the So Hot trilogy.

  Getting Lucky

  Elizabeth SaFleur

  1

  Saoirse’s s
ticky eyelids would not lift, which was probably a good thing because someone was hammering nails behind her eyes. She swallowed—or tried to. Headache. Dry mouth complete with what felt like little sweaters on her teeth. Oh, yeah, the St. Patrick’s Day hangover was in full swing.

  Only her sister could turn a promised “one hour and one green beer” to celebrate at The Paddy’s Field Bar into many beers and whiskey shots.

  She burrowed her head further under the bedsheets to block the infernal sunlight—and the snoring cutting into her eardrums.

  Hold. Up. She lived alone. Okay, her eyes cracked open.

  The bed shifted, and a warm steel bar pressed into her ass. Whoa, there. Forget the alcohol, she’d clearly made one greater mistake of the evening and its cock trailed up the small of her back. She was in her panties—but only her panties.

  And her sheets were white, not gray, and… where the ever-loving God was she?

  This was bad—like have-to-go-to-confession bad.

  She didn’t want to look at who was behind her—not just yet. Instead, her mind sifted through the night’s faces. Rugby players and lawyers with green ties hanging off their necks came to mind. She made the sign of the cross. Please don’t let it be the man in the leprechaun suit…

  An internal check of her body revealed no slutty shenanigans had taken place—maybe. No soreness existed where soreness should not be. Perhaps he hadn’t been good? Maybe he’d been too small for her to even notice. She pressed back a little to double-check. Nope, too big for that possibility.

  What was she doing?

  She dipped her leg off the bed to begin her escape when a heavy arm dusted with dark hair fell across her rib cage. She brought her hand up to the man’s forearm and met hard muscle. A deep, lion-like growl in her ear was followed by a big sniff.