Once Upon an Earl_Heirs of High Society_A Regency Romance Book

by Eleanor Meyers

  He didn’t care to know them any more than he already did. “Thank you.” He turned and walked in the opposite direction, toward St. James. Nash knew where most of the wealthy men chose to spend their time, had to, to gain members for Lord Iverstone’s Boxing Club, which was where Nash taught a class… along with overseeing other business interests for the Duke of Iverstone.

  Knowing time was short, he sped up his steps once more with only two goals in mind: Find Rez Wolfgang and kill him.

  Lady Samantha Coburn rushed after Dowager Countess Brandell as they continued down St. James, and wondered, not for the first time, if the dowager had lost her wits. Sam had been her companion for only five months, yet until tonight, she’d have easily been able to say that the dowager led a very dull life.

  There’d been a few afternoon teas with the dowager’s only friend, Lady Agnes, the Viscountess Selby. On occasion, the dowager left the house to wander the gardens behind Brandell’s terrace, and when her nephew Karl insisted, the dowager managed to appear at a few of his parties, which were always the highlight of Sam’s existence, but nothing more than that.

  The dowager liked to do needlework. She liked to read, and, on occasion, she spoke to Sam.

  The dowager hadn’t wanted a companion. She had said more than once she didn’t need one, and until tonight, Sam would have agreed, yet Karl had insisted, and here Sam was.

  She sometimes believed that Karl’s intentions were good, that he even cared for his aunt, but his insanity made Sam question if he ever did anything with intention.

  It seemed the dowager’s only purpose in life was to sit in a chair in a corner, until the day she died. She was called a dowager, but the woman had yet to reach half a century. Still, everything about her fit a woman at least thirty years her senior. Her clothes were dark and unfashionable, her expressions more serious than not, and whenever Sam or Lady Agnes managed to pull a smile from her, the dowager acted as though it was almost painful.

  She didn’t like people. Only Lady Agnes, though Sam hoped to one day be added to that list.

  Sam recalled an afternoon a fortnight ago, when she’d suggested they venture to Hyde Park during the fashionable hour, but the very idea had bothered the dowager so greatly that Sam never brought it up again.

  But if Sam had been asked to describe the formerly sensible woman who was currently being quite insensible, as she walked briskly down the road at the darkest hour of night, in a city that was known for its dangers, she would have no answer to give.

  “My lady,” she gasped. She was quite winded. “Perhaps, we could take a carriage where you wish to go?”

  “No, this way.” The dowager didn’t sound winded at all. In fact, she sounded quite determined, more determined than she ever had before. Who was this woman?

  They stopped when an alley presented itself, and Sam could hear masculine voices at the other end. There was laughter, the sound of it harsh against Sam’s senses. Cockney flowed from their lips. She paused at the vulgarity of their language. She couldn’t see them. The shadows were too great for that, yet she imagined exactly what they’d look like. Large. Dangerous. Calloused hands.

  “Ah,” the dowager said with a lift in her voice. “Just the sort we’ve been looking for.”

  Sam’s eyes widened. Had they truly ventured into the night so that the dowager could find some thugs? Whatever did the woman hope to gain? Sam’s fear grew at the thought of what she might lose. Her virtue was the first, though the state of her maidenhood was questioned by many of the ton, thus her occupation. “My lady—”

  “You wait here, Sam. I must speak to these men in private.” The dowager touched her coin purse and started down the alley.

  Sam followed, using all her strength to wrestle the woman back toward the street. “Dowager, please. This is… unwise.” She whispered the words, unable to speak louder because of the strain.

  One would think the dowager’s larger weight would make her weak, but when the woman fought back, Sam was overpowered. “Lady Samantha! You stop this at once! You are not my governess.”

  No, but perhaps the woman needed one.

  The noise on the other end of the alley suddenly ceased.

  “Who’s there?” a loud voice called from its dark belly.

  Then, footsteps started their way.

  Sam gasped and broke out in tears. “Oh, my lady, I beg you, please let us return to the party.” They’d attended a party with Lord Karl, another first for the dowager, and somehow, the woman had talked Sam into a walk down the road.

  That walk had then turned into an ambitious run toward danger. If only she’d known.

  “Hello!” the dowager called to the men. “I’ve simply come to speak to one of you. It’s only me and my companion here, and I’ve money.”

  Of all the things to say!

  Using the last ounce of her strength, Sam moved in front of the dowager and managed to push her back toward the road.

  “Sam! What is the matter with you!” The dowager tripped but caught herself, again proving she was more agile than she looked.

  With a final push, they were in the street again. Sam prepared herself to call for help, but the words were stolen from her when she bumped into something large.

  She was grabbed by someone whose hands came out and caught her. This person had large muscled arms and a solid chest. She knew at once, they did not belong to the dowager.

  She pulled in a breath to scream, but it was cut off when she found herself in motion. She was placed behind the stranger’s back as the men from the alley finally spilled out into the street.

  Sam could hardly see what was taking place in front of her, because the man who’d grabbed her kept blocking her view. She was trembling, but feared moving away. This man, whomever he was, was like a wall. She felt protected, especially when she took in how well the tails of his suit jacket had been cut. Surely a ruffian didn’t have such lovely tails.

  “Can I help you?” the “Wall” asked the men.

  “Help us?” the man who’d spoken before asked. “We heard a shout from one of these women asking for our aid. We wanted no trouble.” Did his voice tremble at bit at the end?

  The dowager cleared her throat. “Actually…” She hesitated and then said, “I did need help from these gentle… uh… these men.” She was speaking to the Wall, standing at his side, even, grinning like a twit.

  “What sort of help do you need, my lady?” The Wall asked, smelling much like vetiver, an expensive mixture of wood and leather. “Perhaps, I could assist you, and you could allow these men to be on their way.” His voice had grown cold at the end, and Sam heard the distinct sound of footsteps retreating.

  Finally, Sam moved away and went to stand by the dowager, noticing that her companion didn’t seem happy at all.

  “Oh, Mr…”

  “Smith,” The Wall said. She couldn’t make out every detail about him, but in the dark, he looked massive and dangerous, even though he was dressed well. His dark hair seemed feathered by the wind. His face was hard, but not in a harsh way. Firm. He could be handsome.

  She readily turned away, seeing no sense in trying to find out if the man were, in fact, attractive or not.

  “Mr. Smith.” The dowager set her shoulders back and lifted her chin, another transformation from the woman Sam had known. “I thank you for your aid, but I had the situation well in hand.”

  A lie!

  Mr. Smith turned his head towards the dowager, though with the darkness it was hard to see exactly where he was looking. Slowly, he said, “Well, my lady, perhaps I could fetch you a hack home.”

  “Yes, please,” Sam nearly cried. She wanted to get away from this place. Away from Lady Brandell, who’d almost gotten them both killed. “Would you, please?”

  “Sam!” the dowager sighed. “I’m not ready to go home.

  Sam closed her eyes.

  “But the night is late,” their rescuer said. She could hear the smile in his voice. “I will secure you a ha
ck and leave you my card, if you need help of any kind during the daylight hours. But I fear I cannot leave you here in good conscience.”

  Sam nearly fell to her knees with gratitude.

  Lady Brandell remained quiet for a long time and then said, “Very well. Go get the hack.” She spoke to the stranger as though he were nothing more than a footman.

  The man bowed and then turned them toward the hack stand around the corner.

  Sam breathed more easily with every step. They’d been saved by a good and honorable gentleman. She’d never been so frightened in her life. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She’d been frightened greatly five months ago when she’d found a nude man in her bed, sleeping under her sheets as though he’d had every right, but this experience had been nearly equal to that.

  When they were close, the dowager spoke in a voice that only Sam could hear. “The moment we’re away from Mr. Smith, I’ll direct the hack to return.”

  Sam’s stomach fell, and her skin became cold.

  They arrived at the hack stand.

  Mr. Smith stepped beside the lamp that hung from the hack as he spoke to the shorter driver and Sam was forced to catch her breath.

  He was far more than handsome. Beautiful. It was his eyes, mostly. His face was cut with the markings of masculinity, but his eyes made it hard for Sam to blink.

  They were a pale blue like the apatite gems her father would bring from his travels in India and they glowed.

  Those eyes turned to her, and she stilled.

  His expression was unreadable, but that changed when his gaze narrowed on the dowager. She, too, stood close to the light. Her demeanor had returned to the one Sam was used to. Her pale eyes gazing out at nothing. Her face relaxed.

  “My lady,” Mr. Smith called. “Forgive me, but I didn’t get your name.” He stared fixedly at the dowager.

  The lady looked at him. “I’m afraid I’d rather not say.” Of course, she wouldn’t. If word got out that she’d been running around the streets of London at night, her reputation would be ruined.

  And all the world would blame Lady Samantha Coburn.

  “Thank you for your help, Mr. Smith. Good evening.” Lady Brandell climbed into the carriage.

  Mr. Smith stared after her.

  Sam frowned, but moved to the open carriage door, as well.

  Would Lady Brandell really drag her out here again once they disappeared from Mr. Smith’s sight?

  Impulsively, Sam said, “Mr. Smith, I would appreciate it if you would see us home. I fear her ladyship is unwell.”

  Mr. Smith turned to Sam again, and she struggled to hide just how brilliant she thought his face. In the light, his hair had a hint of red. “After you then, my lady.” He held out his hand for her. It was large, but gloved. Still, he likely had his gloves custom-made.

  She wondered just who Mr. Smith was, and if she were making the right decision.

  But then she remembered how kind he’d been by the alley, and his determination to see Lady Brandell safely home.

  And then she recalled Lady Brandell’s plan.

  She took his hand and moved to sit by her lady.

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  1

  CHAPTER

  ONE

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  When the younger lady, Sam, gave the address to her residence, Nash became suspicious of just who the eldest of the pair was. It was an address Nash recalled seeing in the books at the club. It was the address of the earl.

  And what woman would be living with him, other than his own family?

  Could it be his own mother sitting across from him? When he’d seen her in the light… He hadn’t been looking to discover, but now… there was some possibility in her face. Her eyes. They were the same as his, but her paler skin made the color seem dull, compared to his own olive tone.

  He could be imagining it. After all, the identity of his true family had been at the top of his mind for the last few hours. She could be anyone, he decided, and then, he hoped that she was. The last person he wished to see was his mother.

  He needed no distractions from his goals. The fewer emotions to cloud his judgment, the better. His only mission was to find Brandell and kill him. His mother? Well, she’d lived without him for twenty-eight years. She didn’t need him now.

  She didn’t need to know what he’d become. A former criminal who’d spent time in Newgate. A man who was destined to return, or more likely, to hang from a noose. He only hoped she’d be glad to know her husband’s murderer was dead.

  “It really wasn’t necessary for you to join us, Mr. Smith,” the lady said again. He couldn’t see her, but he could guess what ire would look like on her face.

  As for the other woman...

  Sam, who he was sure was short for Samantha, hers was a face he didn’t ever need to see again, if asked to describe it.

  She’d likely noticed that he’d tripped over his words to the hack driver when he’d caught sight of her. If not, he was glad. She was a very comely woman. Beautiful in a way that would be noticed from vast distances. And she was no slim miss. When he’d caught her coming from the alley, he’d barely noticed just how soft the woman’s curves were, but as her pale cream dress had caught the light, her figure had been hard to miss.

  Her eyes were a hazel blue, with a gold ring at the center that matched her shiny curls. A beauty mark rested under her left eye, that he knew to be natural. Hers hadn’t been drawn on like the other women did, who wished to hide blemishes.

  She was exquisite, and if Nash wasn’t possibly heading for the hangman, he’d have enjoyed making plans to meet with her, to discover just how exquisite the rest of her was.

  But since that was not the case, he turned his attention back to safer grounds. “I’ll feel better knowing you’d made it inside your home safely, my lady.”

  He still wondered what had brought the older woman out. Samantha had made it seem the woman was ill, but he’d sensed an urgency within her. Fear. She didn’t wish to be out. Had the older woman’s illness set her on the hunt for opium? A woman of her quality wouldn’t have needed thugs for such a thing. She could have simply called a doctor to bring it to her.

  But, what if her husband didn’t want her to have it? What if she used it to excess? Nash had a friend who’d once been in the same place. He’d been able to help her out of her plight. Something about this short, stern woman abusing such a drug bothered him.

  “Thank you again for traveling with us,” Samantha said. “As I said, my lady is quite ill.”

  The woman grunted in disagreement. “I should have protested more when Karl hired you for me.”

  Karl. As in Lord Karl?

  Nash’s stomach did a strange jump.

  Sam pulled in a breath, but didn’t seem at all surprised by the words. “I care for you, my lady. That’s all.” She sounded sincere enough.

  The other woman turned to look out the window. “I just want to be left alone. Why won’t you all just leave me alone?” She sounded… sad. Tired, but not in an exhausted way, more finished than Nash was comfortable with. What had made the woman this way?

  The loss of a child?

  The carriage stopped.

  Nash got out and escorted the women to the door.

  The butler opened it, and his eyes widened. “Lady Brandell.”

  Samantha said, “We left the lords Wolfgang at the party, Johnson. Mr. Smith was kind enough to see us home.”

  Nash’s heart was racing, his mind thrown in confusion. He watched the woman who could be none other than his mother, flee into the house.

  “Thank you, Mr. Smith, for your kindness,” the butler said. “I will see to my ladies now.”

  Unable to do much else, Nash took a step away from the door and watched it close on him. He wondered what he would do now.

  Sam rushed after Lady Brandell, wanting an explanation for the events of tonight, but once again,
the woman surprised her with her speed. The door to Lady Brandell’s room closed soundly on Sam, and without further choices, she started toward her own door. She couldn’t imagine what the hour was. She didn’t wish to know.

  She was tired and blamed herself for it.

  Had Samantha’s push that they go to the park prompted tonight’s excursion? She couldn’t see how, though she felt badly about making it seem that Lady Brandell’s usual routine was… wanting.

  And her heart had broken when Lady Brandell had asked to be left alone in the carriage. Sam knew the story of the child she’d lost, knew how the sadness had made Lady Brandell the circumspect woman that she was, always wishing to fade into the background. She’d even heard a pair of maids whispering the child’s death to be the reason for Lady Brandell’s weight gain. She’d been breathtaking once, Sam had heard, but tragedy had made it, so she never smiled, and whomever the lighthearted woman had once been, she was no more.