Lady Whistledown Strikes Back

by Julia Quinn

  “Being in Herbert’s company doesn’t precisely warm my heart,” she returned.

  At the edge of frustration in her voice he leaned in and kissed her, long and deep. “That won’t last any longer than tonight,” he said. “You made me a promise.”

  Soft brown eyes met his gaze. “Short of my complete ruin, I don’t see how my promise will persuade my parents.” Charlotte brushed her lips against his throat. “It probably would have been better if you’d never noticed me.”

  His heart lurched. The thought bothered him sometimes, that he’d nearly passed her by without a thought. “No. You belong with me, Charlotte. And for that reason I’ll be forever grateful to Lady Neeley and her missing bracelet.” He helped her on with her gown, unable to resist kissing the nape of her neck as he fastened the back of the dress.

  “Oh,” she moaned softly, bowing her head.

  That was that. He wouldn’t be able to stand parting from her. “Charlotte, what would it take, truly, for your parents to stop this idiotic plan with Herbert? Short of my murdering the bastard, of course.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve run out of logic, Xavier. They don’t believe in me. And you can’t force faith.”

  “You can encourage it, though,” he stated, pulling the emerald bauble free from her gown and setting it between her breasts again. God, she’d bought that because she wanted to be scandalous, with him. And he wasn’t about to abandon her to mediocrity. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve married me already.”

  “Oh, Xavier,” she breathed, eyes wide, “once again there seems to be a huge chasm between fact and faith.”

  “I’ll bridge it, Charlotte. I’ll find a way,” he returned, shrugging into his trousers. “I play to win.”

  “But my parents—”

  “I’m not in love with them, Charlotte,” he said quietly, watching as she unhooked her necklace and dropped it back into her reticule. There she was, the portrait of propriety again. Except that he knew better. “I’m in love with you.”

  “You…” She drew a breath, gazing at him for a long moment. “I’ll be at the Frobisher ball tomorrow night, Xavier. Will you be there?”

  “And what will change between now and then? We’re going to see your parents tonight.”

  “No. Give me one more chance to reason with them.”

  “Charlotte—”

  “Have a little faith in me, Xavier,” she said, smiling softly.

  If it had only been trust in her, he would have acquiesced without hesitation. Risky as the delay was, he could see in her eyes how important this was to her; more important than even he probably realized. “I have faith in you, Charlotte. That is a fact.”

  With a last, lingering kiss, he took her hand and guided her back out to the path. His servant would fold up the blankets and remove all traces that anyone had ever been there. As they neared the end of the walk, the glow from the fireworks and the noise of the crowd increased.

  “Look, they’ve set the pagoda on fire,” she commented, leaning into his shoulder with an ease that made him want to reconsider relinquishing her to damned Herbert even for a moment.

  “At least it’s warmed the evening up some. Charlotte, I will take care of this tonight, if you wish.”

  “I know. But you’ve done so much for me. Now it’s my turn.” She leaned up to whisper in his ear. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Chapter 9

  Although the burning pagoda attracted the most attention last night (more, This Author is afraid, than did the actual reenactment), This Author could not help but take note of Lord Herbert Beetly, who sat through the entire spectacle alone in his box, with a decidedly angry expression on his visage.

  And in a decidedly uncharacteristic display of emotion, Lord Herbert heaved a chair out of his box, smashed it to the ground, and strode away, his grand departure marred only by his unsure footing, which saw him sprawled in the grass, and then, sadly pelted by a meat pie.

  This Author is told that the offending pastry was lobbed by a raucous cockney.

  LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 19 JUNE 1816

  “Obviously the solution is not to let you go anywhere without one of us as your chaperone,” Lord Birling said, handing his greatcoat over to the Frobisher footman. “And getting lost at Vauxhall could have been serious. There are pickpockets and highwaymen everywhere along those paths, you know.”

  “And that Chinese pagoda burned to the ground! Thank heavens you weren’t anywhere near it,” her mother put in.

  Charlotte closed her eyes for a moment. They’d been chewing this same subject for the entire day. She’d been as direct as she’d dared in her statements that she had no intention of marrying Lord Herbert Beetly, and that someone else had caught her heart. Her mother seemed to understand, but neither of her parents appeared to be able to believe that someone as spectacular as Xavier Matson could return the sentiment.

  She felt less sympathetic with their nonsensical panics and doubts now, knowing just how honorable Xavier’s intentions were. A man—the man, as far as she was concerned—desired her, wanted her in his life, as much as she wanted to be a part of his.

  And since logic had obviously run as far as it could before expiring, more drastic measures had become necessary.

  Of course, those measures would require Xavier’s presence—and in that moment, she saw him. He stood to one side of the crowded room, gazing at her. The deep blue of his jacket brought out the blue in his eyes, and he looked like some long-forgotten Greek god come to the Frobisher ball to walk among the mortals. Her heart pounded. He’d said she belonged to him, but the reverse was true, as well. He belonged to her.

  “Charlotte, I am not going to warn you again. Do not gawk at that man.”

  “Yes, Mama,” she said absently, shrugging out of her shawl and starting across the room toward him. She’d said it was her turn to take action, and now was as good a time and opportunity as she was likely to find.

  As soon as she moved, he left his post and came toward her. Her parents would never understand that she didn’t care about a stupid bracelet, or Sophia’s scandal, or anyone else’s opinion. She behaved as she did because it was the right thing to do, not because her misbehavior would bring down London Society or the Birling family.

  “Hello,” she said, slowing as they met in the middle of the ballroom.

  “Good evening,” he returned, his gaze sweeping her from head to foot. “Any luck?”

  “Not a smidge,” she returned.

  Brief anger and frustration flashed in his gaze. “Then perhaps you should wait here, and your parents and I will have a chat.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “I have a better idea.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “And what might that be?”

  “I love you,” she whispered, taking a small step closer, her heart pounding so hard she thought it must burst through her chest. You can do this, she told herself. She had to. For him, for them, for her.

  “I love you,” he replied, tilting his head a little, obviously trying to gauge what she had in mind.

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, she went up on her tiptoes, splaying her fingers along his shoulders for balance, and kissed him. All around them guests gasped and roared and tittered in a deafening cacophony. She didn’t care.

  She felt his stiff surprise, and then his immediate response as he deepened the kiss before lifting his head to look down at her with glinting eyes. “You are in so much trouble,” he whispered, then smiled. “And so brilliant.”

  Xavier took her hand, turning her to face her parents. “Lord and Lady Birling, thank you for not making us wait to announce our betrothal,” he said in a carrying voice, strolling in their direction, “and thank you again for giving me Charlotte. She is…”

  His voice actually faltered a little, and Charlotte looked up at him, squeezing his hand. “We’re very happy,” she put in.

  The baron’s mouth hung open, and with visible
effort he snapped it closed again. “Yes, well, we knew you didn’t wish to wait to make an announcement,” he stumbled, white-faced.

  “Nor do we wish to wait to marry,” Xavier put in, a slow grin warming his eyes. “I was at Canterbury this afternoon, securing a special license for us. I would like her to be my wife before the end of the week. I love Charlotte with all my heart. If not for her fondness for you, I think we might have eloped.”

  Her mother came back to life. “Well, thank heavens you didn’t do that. I couldn’t imagine the scandal.”

  Charlotte couldn’t help her chuckle. She’d won. Yes, her parents—or her father, at least—would be angry, but she had a feeling that Xavier could be as persuasive with them as he’d been with her. And nothing anyone said could keep them from being together.

  “Charlotte,” he said softly, while a crowd of well-wishers surrounded them and her parents—who seemed swiftly to be adapting to the situation, “you are remarkable.”

  “You make me that way,” she replied.

  Xavier shook his head. “Perhaps I made you see it, but that’s all. You excite me, and intrigue me, and I can’t imagine being anywhere but with you.”

  “Just be quiet and kiss me again,” she demanded, and with a chuckle he complied.

  Suzanne Enoch

  A lifelong lover of books, Suzanne Enoch has been writing them since she learned to read. Born and raised in Southern California, she lives a few miles from Disneyland with her collection of Star Wars action figures and dogs, Katie and Emma, both named after heroines from her books. The USA Today bestselling author is currently at work inventing the wild, wicked hero of her next historical romance.

  Suzanne loves to hear from her readers, and may be reached at P.O. Box 17463, Anaheim, CA 92817-7463, or send her an email at suzie@suzanneenoch.com. Visit her website at www.suzanneenoch.com.

  The Only One for Me

  Karen Hawkins

  Chapter 1

  One cannot help but notice that one of society’s most devoted couples of late is Lady Easterly and Mr. Riddleton. This would be a lovely pairing, as both are of fine form and similar mind, except that Lady Easterly is…how can This Author put it delicately…married.

  Or is she?

  Very well, of course she is. She married Viscount Easterly nearly a dozen years ago, and such a union is sure to hold up in any church or courthouse. But mere months into the marriage, the viscount abandoned her and fled to the Continent following an extremely nasty scandal involving a card game.

  Which left Lady Easterly quite on her own. Her reputation is spotless and her behavior quite unexceptional, but one can only wonder…. What if the lady should fall in love? What then?

  LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 23 MAY 1816

  “It shall be murder, then.” Lady Sophia Throckmorton Hampton, Viscountess Easterly, glanced around to be sure none of Lady Neeley’s other guests had overheard her. Fortunately, almost everyone was on the other side of the room, admiring their hostess’s new bracelet. “I will skewer him through the breastbone with the fireplace poker, and then you can roast him over a candle.”

  Sophia’s brother, John Throckmorton, the Earl of Standwick, eyed their victim doubtfully. “How long should I cook him?”

  “Not more than a few minutes, I’d think. Lady Neeley’s pet isn’t very large.”

  “True. Lord Afton has a parrot twice as big. Pity we can’t roast that one instead.” John tilted his head to one side. “I wager it will taste just like chicken.”

  Sophia pressed a hand to her stomach. “I do wish Lady Neeley would take us down to dinner—we’ve been waiting an hour. If she doesn’t do something soon, someone other than us will think to cook her bird, and they won’t be funning about it.”

  “Richard would have done it, and well, too,” John said, a wistful note in his voice.

  Richard had been their younger brother as well as a scoundrel, a scamp, and a charming reprobate. Last year, while deep in his cups, he’d taken a wild ride on a spirited horse. Frightened at Richard’s unsteady handling, the horse had balked at a fence and Richard had taken a horrid fall. He’d died the next day.

  Sophia cleared her throat. “Richard was a master of useless knowledge.”

  John’s answering smile was as unsteady as her own. “Though it has been a year, it is difficult to believe he won’t be walking through the door at any minute, full of mischief.” The smile slipped a notch. “He would be alive today had I kept him from that blasted horse.”

  Sophia touched her brother’s arm. “He would not have listened. He was not always the best of men, but he never failed to be the best of brothers.”

  John hesitated, his troubled gaze meeting hers. “Except once.”

  Sophia’s chest contracted. Though everyone had been deeply saddened by Richard’s death, it had surprised no one. He had been living a dangerous life for years, but it wasn’t until his confession on his deathbed that they’d all realized why—he’d been consumed with guilt. Years before, he had cheated at cards and let Sophia’s then new husband take the blame.

  That one card game had devastated her life. The months following the incident and Max’s subsequent departure was a time she preferred not to think about—a horrible, black stretch of endless days, sleepless nights, and painful scandal, all covered with the heavy stench of false pity.

  She shook her head. “That was long ago.”

  “Not long enough. He sold his honor and drove a wedge between you and your husband. I cannot condone such behavior.”

  “Had Max and I been truly in love, neither Richard nor anyone else could have torn us apart.”

  “I suppose, though I always thought you and Max—” John shook his head, his mouth thinned. “No matter. It was cowardly of Richard to allow Max to take the blame for cheating.”

  “At least Richard made a clean breast of it before he died. Come, don’t mar the rest of the evening. We’re both hungry and beset with ill temper. Let’s talk of something more pleasant.”

  He sighed. “Of course. What shall we discuss? The weather? Lady Neeley’s blasted jewels?” He placed a hand on his grumbling stomach and looked around the room. “I wonder if she has any other pets for our roasting plans. A poodle would not be amiss.”

  “Birds are one thing, but lapdogs are another altogether.”

  John’s blue eyes rested on her face. “Speaking of lapdogs, where is your friend, Mr. Thomas Riddleton? I thought you never went anywhere without him walking alongside to hold your parcels. Rather like a large, cravat-embossed reticule.”

  “If you must know, he is in the country, visiting his mother.”

  “No doubt garnering a blessing for his upcoming nuptials.”

  “Nuptials?”

  “Rumor has it that your friend Thomas has decided to marry. In fact, according to the latest on dit, he has decided to marry you.”

  Sophia’s heart sank. “You read too much in his attendance. We are merely friends.”

  John’s gaze grew solemn. “You should have a care, Sophia. Though I know your feelings, people are quick to assume more.”

  “I don’t encourage such talk.” At least, not intentionally. Sophia bit back a sigh. Perhaps she had been spending too much time with Thomas. He was handsome, well informed, and rather awkwardly gallant, not at all threatening in demeanor or action. And lately, she had been so lonely. Still, she would rather be alone than with the wrong person. “I will speak with Mr. Riddleton as soon as he returns.”

  “Good.” John hesitated, then added, “I was afraid you were beginning to care for him.”

  She raised her brows. “I thought you liked Thomas?”

  “Of all the pompous asses I know, he is my favorite.” John crossed his long arms and rocked back on his heels, a habit he’d adopted as a youth that had never quite gone away. “All I know is that you had better dismiss Riddleton before Max returns.”

  “Max will not return.”

  “You wrote him asking for an annulmen
t. He will not take that kindly.”

  “He will be relieved to see me go. I want this sham of a marriage over, and I’m certain he feels the same way. He was never the sort of man to waste his time and energies on the impossible.”

  “He could have changed, Sophia. You have.”

  “For the better, I hope. And yes, I suppose Max has changed as well. It has been twelve years, after all.” She was silent a moment, mulling this over. “I wonder if he still paints. He had true talent and—” What was she doing? Whatever Max did now, it was no longer her concern.

  “I’ve only seen one of his paintings,” John mused, “but I hear they are all quite good.”

  “Saw? Where?”

  John blinked. “Oh. I don’t know. When you first married, I suppose.” Before she could answer, he added, “When will Max receive your letter?”

  “Any day now. In another two weeks, we will have his answer and by late summer, I will be a free woman.” If, of course, her plan worked. In the years since Max’s abrupt departure, she had had ample time to lay awake at night and analyze all the aspects of her missing husband’s character. And what drove Maxwell Hampton was not emotion, but pride. Pure, unalloyed pride. It was that pride that would make him agree to her request for an annulment, her letter would see to that. She smiled at the thought.

  “Sophia?” John said, his brow lowered. “That smile…I don’t trust it. What did you do?”

  “Nothing really…I just told Max that if he did not grant the annulment forthwith, I would publicly auction off his Uncle Theodore’s diary.”

  Startled, John straightened. “Max left the diary with you?”

  “He forgot it in his haste to leave town. I’ve kept it all this time, thinking it might come in handy. And so it has.”

  “Sophia, no! Do you know what a scandal that will cause? Theodore slept with half the women of the ton!”

  She smiled smugly. “Let us just say that there is indeed a reason the Earl of Bessington has the Easterly nose.”