by Ava Stone
She was the perfect solution to his ennui, or she would be if she was in London. How much longer would she be in godforsaken Norfolk?
When his coach finally rumbled to a stop at his favorite hell, Marc threw open the door and bounded up the steps. At least he could while away the time here. The double front doors opened and Marc’s eyes widened in surprise when two burly men actually tossed Lord Brookfield out on his arse. He’d heard of such things happening before, but he’d never actually witnessed it.
With a raised brow, he stepped over the fallen viscount into the hell. Raucous laughter and billows of smoke assailed him as he entered. “Lord Haversham, welcome back,” Peters, Mrs. Lassiter’s brawny butler, greeted him.
Marc tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Peters.” He brushed past the man into the closest drawing room on the right. Thankfully there was a spot open at a table of vingt-et-un on the far side of the room. It was the perfect thing to lift his spirits.
He took a spot beside Lord Ericht, a young, Scottish earl, and nodded to the dealer.
“It’s no’ a verra lucky spot.”
Marc raised his brow at Ericht. “I beg your pardon?”
“They just tossed out the last chap in that seat.”
Marc waited for his hand to be dealt, then looked back at the loquacious Scot. “Brookfield?” he asked the man.
“Aye.”
After glancing at his upturned seven of clubs, Marc hoped the unlucky streak ended with Brookfield’s departure. “What happened?”
Ericht gaped at him as if he’d just escaped Bedlam. “He’s insolvent. No’ a farthing to his name. Surely ya heard.”
Was that all? Marc shrugged. Brookfield wouldn’t be the first peer to lose everything. He glanced down at his down turned card. The Ace of Diamonds. That was more like it.
Now that the Scot was talking, he seemed incapable of shutting up. “Kept going on about the lass he’s going to marry. Says her dowry will more than pay his debts. But those oversized footmen wouldna listen.”
Really, Marc couldn’t care less. He’d like to focus on the game. “Lucky girl,” he replied, hoping to end the conversation.
Ericht chuckled. “No’ that anyone believed Miss Avery will have the dolt. He’s delusional, if you ask me.”
Marc’s head snapped to the Scot. “Miss Avery? Miss Cordelia Avery?” His Freya wouldn’t look twice at that nasty, unkempt Brookfield.
“Do ye ken the lass?”
Not as well as he’d like, but Marc nodded anyway.
“She is a bonny little thing. I might’ve been interested in her myself if… Well ye ken. ‘Tis a shame.”
Marc simply stared at the man. What did he know?
The Scot gulped, suddenly uncomfortable with the intensity of Marc’s glare. “I mean, there’s only one reason why a girl’s family increases her dowry to such a level.”
Marc’s eyes opened wide as realization struck him. In truth there were only two reasons for a girl’s increased dowry—her lack of success on the marriage mart, or her lack of a maidenhead. It wasn’t even possible that Cordelia Avery hadn’t entertained offers of marriage.
Everything else suddenly made sense. No innocent miss would waltz with him in the middle of Caroline Staveley’s ballroom. No innocent miss would engage him in conversations about seduction. No innocent miss would take off with him in Hyde Park. Cordelia Avery was no innocent miss.
Thank God!
It was the best news he’d had in a very long while.
He wouldn’t have to play coquettish games. He wouldn’t have to take it slowly with her. He wouldn’t have to wait to bed her at all. What an incredible stroke of luck.
It was obvious Clayworth wanted to marry the girl, and that was fine with Marc. As long as she was in his bed at night, he didn’t care where or with whom she spent the rest of her time. In fact, that might be the best solution. After all, that sissy Clayworth never stopped his first wife from cuckolding him. Why would he care if Cordie did? She could have the respectability of marriage to that paragon, but the pleasure of warming Marc’s bed.
He could hardly wait for Miss Avery to return from Norfolk. Already he planned how he would welcome her home. His cock twitched in anticipation.
“Ericht, do you by chance have your calling card on you?” he asked as an idea formed in his mind.
“Aye,” the Scot replied, reaching inside his jacket.
Naïve fool. Marc resisted the urge to smile.
~ 12 ~
Cordie hoped she sounded pitiful as she tossed and turned in her bed with her mother looking on. If she could avoid attending Lady Dixon’s charity luncheon and could manage to slip away to Lady Staveley’s, she knew she could discover Lord Haversham’s secretive past. Of course, Lady Staveley would try to warn her about the dangerous path she was on and Cordie would listen dutifully, as long as she gathered the necessary information.
Standing above her, Lady Avery pursed her lips. “You seemed perfectly fine yesterday.”
Cordie sighed weakly. “I-I think the journey home was too much for me.”
Her mother folded her arms across her chest, the sunlight catching her large ruby ring. “Get your rest then. Lord Clayworth will be by tomorrow and I want you looking your best.”
Cordie moaned in response, this time in earnest at the thought of having to see Lord Clayworth. How could she even look at him after that kiss? How could she look at him knowing they had no future?
Her mother’s frown deepened at the more genuine sound of anguish. “Perhaps I’ll send for Doctor Watts, too.”
As if that old man could fix what was wrong with her. Cordie grunted noncommittally and rolled to her side, patiently waiting until she knew her mother had left the house.
As soon as she felt it was safe, Cordie retrieved a pale green muslin dress from her wardrobe. After returning from Norfolk the night before, she’d decided on this particular day dress, as it was one of the few she wouldn’t need assistance with. Kid slippers weren’t the best for walking all the way to Lady Staveley’s, but her half-boots would make too much noise as she left the house, and that she couldn’t risk.
She quickly ran a brush through her tresses and fashioned them in a simple chignon. Staring at her reflection the entire time, she worried what would happen if her mother learned of her excursion. If she got caught, she’d say she went for a walk to get a bit of fresh air. As if the air in London was fresh. Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of a better excuse. Therefore she just had to make certain she didn’t get caught.
Cordie quietly opened her door, crept down the hallway, and silently descended the servant’s staircase. She pressed her ear to the door at the bottom of the steps, listening for any activity in kitchen. All was silent, and she sent up a grateful prayer.
After peeking through the door, she hurried across the kitchen floor and out the servant’s back entrance. She’d made it. She was safe. So far. Without hesitation, she scampered down the mews and around to the front of the house.
She could almost taste victory, but as she neared the street a man grasped her arm and stopped her in her tacks.
Catching her breath, Cordie stared numbly up into the Earl of Clayworth’s startling twilight eyes. She couldn’t help but gasp. The fortnight she’d spent away from him didn’t prepare her for the intensity of his stare. “Y-you weren’t supposed to call until tomorrow,” she stumbled.
His eyes narrowed, and she felt a cold chill creep up her spine. “Where are you sneaking off to, Cordelia?”
Cordie heaved a sigh. Arrogant man. She didn’t owe him anything. It was easier to dislike him when he showed her his cool, controlling demeanor. It was easier to keep in mind everything Marina had ever said about him.
She wrenched her arm out of his grasp and leveled him with her most haughty look. “I have not given you leave to call me by my first name.”
He didn’t even blanch. “Don’t evade me, Cordelia. Where are you going without an escort?”
De
manding, difficult, self-important men! She’d had her fill of that particular breed in Norfolk, as the captain had remained in residence throughout their visit. Now that she was free of him and her mother, she wasn’t about to let Clayworth assume the role. “Who do you think you are, sir? I don’t answer to you.”
“I’m only going to ask you one more time,” he threatened.
“Or what?” she shot back. How dare he accost her on the street and demand answers?
He stepped closer to her and lowered his voice to an intense whisper. “When I said you’d have to throw yourself at every scoundrel in Town on your own time, I didn’t really mean it.”
She’d never thrown herself at anyone. She wanted to slap him. She truly did. She settled, however, for simply glaring at him. “Once again, my lord, you are not my keeper.”
“Perhaps I should to be.”
She felt his gravelly voice all the way in her bones, warming her from the inside out, but she ignored her body’s response to his words. He wasn’t offering what she wanted. She needed a lenient husband. It was obvious he could never be that. “I don’t need a keeper, nor do I want one. Now, excuse me, sir.”
Cordie turned on her heel and started towards Curzon Street, which was pointless. Clayworth was right on her trail. “If you’re going somewhere, at least allow me to escort you.”
“I have hordes of scoundrels to throw myself at. You’ll simply be in the way.”
He grasped her arm again, forcing her to stop on the path. Cordie stared at the mother-of-pearl buttons on his waistcoat rather than look up into his all-knowing eyes. Still she felt his gaze on her. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. But when I saw you sneaking from the mews, I let my imagination get away with me.” His voice softened, as did his old on her arm. “Where are you going, Miss Avery? And in such a hurry?”
Slowly her gaze lifted to his eyes. Concern was etched upon his godlike brow, and her heart lurched in her chest. Why did he have to look at her like that? As if he was truly worried, truly cared? Cordie mentally shook the thought off. “I was just going to pay a social call, my lord. There’s nothing nefarious.”
“Where’s your maid?”
She frowned at him. Really, it was none of his concern. “I’m not going far, and you are delaying me.”
The tiniest smile cracked his lips. “You have an awful habit of trying to avoid my questions, Cordelia.”
Not well enough, or he wouldn’t realize it. And why did he insist on calling her by her given name? It was making it quite difficult for her to think straight. “You are delaying me,” she repeated.
Truly, who knew how long it would be before her mother returned.
“You should have your maid with you, or some unscrupulous fellow might try to snatch you up, and then where would I be?”
In that instant, there was nothing Cordie could do to escape him. He would never let her continue to Lady Staveley’s unescorted and she couldn’t keep arguing with him in the middle of South Audley Street. One of the neighbors was sure to notice that, and with all the attention Clayworth attracted, someone was bound to mention it to her mother. Cordie’s shoulders sagged. The best laid plans.
Then an idea occurred to her. She didn’t have to get answers from Lady Staveley. Lord Clayworth seemed determined to save her from herself. He must know what awful thing Lord Haversham had done. She could probably charm it out of him.
***
A look of something flashed in Cordelia’s beguiling eyes. The gold specks seemed to twinkle. Brendan didn’t know what the look meant, but something told him it didn’t bode well for him.
“My lord,” she said softly, “I think I’ve decided not to go out after all. Would you like to come inside and join me for some tea instead?”
The words sounded innocent enough, but there was something going on in her mind. She was plotting, he just couldn’t figure out what she was after. There was only one way to find out. Brendan offered her his arm. “My dear.”
When she linked her arm with his, Brendan suddenly didn’t care what she was after. She felt right at his side, like she was supposed to be there, like she was supposed to be his. He knew she felt it too, because of her quick intake of breath and expression of utter confusion on her angelic face.
A smile tugged at his lips. He affected her just as much as she affected him. It was a heady emotion he’d certainly never experienced before. Then a wild idea flashed in his mind. What if he didn’t need to search for the letters at all? What if he could convince the Averys to return them to him as a…wedding gift? It could save him tons of time—time he could be spending on his honeymoon. Besides, they wouldn’t want Cordelia painted with the same traitorous strokes he would be if the contents got out.
Apparently the time he’d spent away from her had done nothing to dull the need he had for her. Truly amazing. He would never have believed it possible.
Brendan guided her towards the front steps of Avery House, noticing everything about her. How she shyly watched him from the corner of one emerald eye. How her pert little nose scrunched up a bit, as if she was trying to figure something out. How softly the breath escaped her mouth, which brought his attention back to her perfectly shaped, rosebud lips. The memory of their kiss radiated through his body and he would have given anything at that moment to taste them again.
“Miss Avery!” screeched a voice from behind them, breaking the mood entirely.
Cordelia’s grasp tightened on his arm, and Brendan looked over his shoulder, discovering the rumbled Lord Brookfield closing in on them.
“Miss Avery!” the viscount called again. “It’s so fortunate our paths have crossed.”
Brendan frowned at the man. “Brookfield.”
The viscount’s eyes widened in that instant, as if he hadn’t noticed Brendan until that very second. True, in Cordelia’s presence everything else did dim. However, how the man missed seeing Brendan before now was a mystery. “Oh, Clayworth.”
Cordelia’s hand tightened again on his arm like a tourniquet, causing him to glance back at her. To look at her, one would never know she was upset. Her features were perfectly in place and she even gifted the viscount with a pleasant smile, but her death grip on Brendan’s arm spoke of something else.
Brendan frowned at the fortune hunter, as an overwhelming need to protect Cordelia rushed through his veins. “I’m afraid Miss Avery and I are in a bit of a hurry.”
The viscount blinked at Brendan. “But it looks like you’re just arriving. I only need a minute of the lady’s time.”
“Perhaps another day. As I said, we’re pressed for time at the moment.” Brendan turned Cordelia back towards her front door.
“Please!” the man’s anguished cry halted them in their steps.
Brendan looked back at Brookfield, now on his knees. “Get up, man!”
But the viscount’s eyes were locked on Cordelia’s. “Please, Miss Avery, please marry me. I’ll be the best of husbands. Whatever you want is yours.”
She sucked in a startled breath and Brendan wrapped his arm around her waist. “I think that’s enough, sir,” he said, leveling the man with his iciest stare. What was wrong with Brookfield? Had he no dignity at all?
Cordelia’s brow furrowed as she looked at the crumpled man before them. “I am truly sorry, my lord, but my affections lay elsewhere.”
Brendan’s mouth went dry. With whom did her affections lay? With him? Or with that bastard Haversham? After their kiss, he wanted to believe that is it was with him. At the same time, however, she was sneaking out of her house. Was she late for a rendezvous with the marquess?
The door opened and the Averys’ butler, an older man with a tuft of white hair, stared at the scene before him. “Miss Avery! I thought—”
“Yes,” Cordelia began pleasantly, “I did go for a short walk after all, Sanders.”
The butler frowned at her, but opened the door wide. “Lord Clayworth.”
Brendan ushered Cordelia over the threshold
and directed the butler to close the door behind them, and noticed that an entire conversation transpired between Cordelia and the servant with their eyes. He’d love to know what that was all about.
“That was dreadful,” she said softly.
That was an understatement. Did men fall on their knees before her on a regular basis? She had handled herself well, despite Brookfield’s production. She’d been kind to the dolt, who wasn’t the least bit deserving, in Brendan’s opinion. Dropping on his knees before the girl with all the world to see! What sort of man did such a thing?
A desperate one.
Everyone knew Brookfield was penniless, but perhaps the situation was even worse than Brendan had imagined. He looked at the pretty girl still on his arm. If he hadn’t happened upon her when he did, what might Brookfield have done to her if he’d stumbled across her first? He cringed at the possibilities that flashed in his mind.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Brendan frowned at her. “You asked me to tea, did you not?”
“Yes, of course.”
~ 13 ~
After adding one sugar to Lord Clayworth’s tea, Cordie handed him the cup and took her own spot on the lavish, gold settee across from him. The earl’s earlier smile was gone, and he appeared like a man with much on his mind. She heaved a sigh. It would be much more difficult to charm answers out of him now. It was also hard to remember why she wanted to know anything about Haversham when Clayworth’s twilight eyes landed on her. He truly could take her breath away with just one look.
“You do realize if I hadn’t been there, you could have ended up in quite a bit of trouble?”
Trouble? From Brookfield? She giggled. The fortune-hunting viscount was far from her favorite person, and she would never consider marriage to him—but the man was harmless, if a bit odiferous.
“I do wish you’d take this seriously,” he said, his frown deepening.
