Lords Of Night Street Collection: Books 1-4

by Wendy Vella

She sniffed again but said nothing further. Climbing the stairs, he closed the bookshelf and made his way to the door. The footman still stood outside.

  “Let no one in here until I return. I will pay you handsomely, and if your master realizes you aided me, I will find you a place in my household.”

  “Be an honor to serve you, my lord. Lord Kinsale is not an easy man to work for.”

  Jacob nodded, and then ran back up the stairs. He heard the hum of voices as he approached the room his friends and Kinsale were in. Opening the door so fast that it hit the wall hard, he walked inside with, he was sure, murder in his eyes.

  “You are feeling better, Hatherton?” Kinsale's cheeks were rosy, telling Jacob he had had several more glasses of brandy since he'd left.

  Jacob didn't answer; instead, he opened his jacket and pulled out his gun.

  He heard Leo curse then his friend was at his side. “No shooting, Jacob.”

  “What is this!” Kinsale roared.

  Marcus and Nick moved closer.

  “I found Miss March locked in a room beneath your study, Kinsale. I want the key, now!”

  “You have no right to search my house! How dare you! Miss March is—”

  “I will shoot you if you do not hand me the key to release her at once.”

  “She is nothing... a no one... a whore. Why do you care what happens to her?” Kinsale's eyes were scared now.

  “She's the woman I love, you bastard! Call her a whore again and you sign your death warrant. In fact….” Jacob handed his gun to Leo, then punched Kinsale hard in the jaw, sending the man reeling backward and into his chair.

  Jacob was pleased to see the side of his jaw already starting to swell.

  “Sh— How can you love her? A-a nobody?”

  “Be very careful how you speak about my future wife, Kinsale,” Jacob snarled.

  “Ask him about Rachel, Jacob.”

  “Only Poppy matters at this time, Marcus. She is scared, cold, and alone down in that cell. I want her out, and I want it now.” The snap of the last word had Kinsale flinching. “I will leave the questioning to you three,” he said to his friends.

  When Kinsale said nothing, instead slumping deep into his chair, Jacob took a step closer.

  “Key, now,” he said softly. “Or I shoot you.”

  “St-study, it is th-there.” Kinsale whimpered as Jacob dragged him from the chair.

  “Lead the way.” Marcus pushed him forward.

  They reached the study, and the footman still stood guard.

  “You!” Kinsale tried to grab the man, but Jacob hauled him back.

  “Do not touch my new footman.”

  Jacob went straight to the bookshelves.

  “Key, now,” Leo said, nudging Kinsale. Seconds later it was in his hand, the cold metal biting into his flesh as he clenched his fingers around it. Jacob took the stairs two at a time.

  “Poppy, I have the key!”

  He heard her sob as he unlocked the door and threw it wide. Seconds later she was in his arms. Jacob closed them around her and held her close. He never wanted to let her go.

  “Ssh, now, Poppy. You are safe.”

  She was crying, deep, wracking sobs.

  “I have you and no one will hurt you again.”

  “I-I thought I would die in there.”

  She looked up at him, tears drenching her cheeks, and he wanted to kiss them away. He wanted to pick her up and carry her to his house and lock the door.

  “Come, Poppy, let me take you home.”

  “Yes,” she whispered into his chest. “Yes pl-please.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Poppy had woken to darkness. She knew she was in Jacob's house and remembered how kind and gentle he had been with her. He had held her close on the carriage trip, and allowed her to weep on his chest without comment. He had then handed her to Lady Needly when they arrived at his house.

  She loved him desperately, and that would not do. She had no rights to that man, and he would not appreciate her showing how she felt. He was kind, and no doubt regretted what they had done in his carriage and how he had handled it after. But he had found her when she feared no one would, and she would forever be grateful for that. Yes, he had called her love and sweetheart, but those had been in the heat of the moment, words to soothe and ease her fears, and nothing more could be construed from them.

  Pushing aside the covers, she walked to the window and opened the curtains to let in a shaft of weak moonlight. Using this, she located her clothes, now neatly folded, on a chair.

  She tried not to think of what she and Jacob had shared. Tried not to think of the fantasies she had woven around him in that cold cell she had been trapped in. Silly, childish dreams of a future filled with him.

  “You are a realist, Poppy, and you know it is time to go home.”

  She did not want to think about how Jacob would react when he woke to find her gone, but this was for the best. He was a good man, and would urge her to stay here until she had regained her strength. But Poppy did not need to lean on anyone; she was strong, and had looked after herself since arriving in London. Besides, if she stayed here, she would very likely end up begging him to take her as a mistress, and that would not do either.

  She hated that her fingers shook as she buttoned up the front of her dress. Hated the weakness that horrid man, Lord Kinsale, had put inside her. He’d stripped her strength, made her cold and fearful.

  Poppy heard the handle rattle on the door, and then it was opening. The candle appeared first, followed by Jacob. He wore a shirt and breeches. His hair was tousled and his feet bare. His eyes swung from the bed to where she stood.

  “’Tis very cold to be walking about thus,” she said, and then felt extremely foolish. The man was a viscount. If he wanted to walk about naked, then that of course was his choice. Poppy did not want to think about that large, muscled body naked, as it made her limbs feel weak.

  “Why are you getting dressed?” He used the same tone as he would to order tea, but she could see a glimmer of something in his eyes. After lowering the candle to the bedside table, he moved closer, and Poppy realized it was anger.

  “I—ah, I had thought to go home.”

  “At three in the morning?”

  Poppy nodded, because now he'd told her the time, she felt silly.

  “And how were you to get there?” he said in that polite tone that had her toes curling into the rug beneath her feet. As yet she had not found her boots.

  “I like to walk.”

  “You're exhausted and have been through a traumatic ordeal, and you decided you would like to leave me and walk to your lodgings, which are some distance away, in conditions that at best could be termed freezing?”

  Poppy had no answer for that, because when he outlined it in that way, it did sound foolish. She nodded.

  “No.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You're not leaving me.”

  Poppy thought about his choice of words while she grappled to stop her heart thudding so hard in her chest that it hurt.

  “I need to return to my lodgings, my lord, and then I have decided I will return home to my family.”

  “And you were to leave here tonight without telling me?” He prowled closer, so close she could see the hair on his chest through the open V of his shirt. “Did you not think I would wake and be worried to find you gone?”

  “I would have left word,” Poppy defended herself.

  “With whom?”

  “Umm, well I…. Maybe a note then?”

  “Don't leave me.”

  Poppy blinked, unsure she had heard those words correctly. Looking into his face, she felt the breath lodge in her throat.

  “I have given you no reason to trust me. No reason to see me as a gentleman that you could have a future with, but I need you to try, Poppy. I love you.” He reached out a hand and cupped her cheek. “Forgive me for my treatment of you in my carriage after we had made love. My only defense is that I was shoc
ked, scared, and unable to grasp the feelings that our union had created inside me.”

  “I don't understand, Jacob. Surely you cannot love me... I am so far beneath you.” Poppy ruthlessly stomped on the hope welling up inside her at his words. “I will be no man's mistress, as I have already told you.”

  He closed his eyes briefly. “You must forgive me for that also.”

  “We can never have more, Jacob.”

  “We can and will. Marry me, Poppy. I need you to make me feel alive. Only when you are near do I become the man I want to be. You challenge me, you make me laugh, but more importantly you are you, my love. Maddeningly honest, vibrant, and heartbreakingly beautiful. I have never met anyone like you, Miss March. Let me spend a lifetime showing you how much I need you.”

  She hadn't realized she was crying until he brushed her tears aside with his thumbs.

  “Surely we can't,” she whispered as the longing and hope rose inside her. “Surely I am not free to love you back?”

  “Do you love me?” He pulled her closer, his face now inches from hers.

  “Oh yes, so very much. But—”

  He kissed the words from her mouth.

  “No buts. You are my future as I am yours.”

  “But I am a vicar’s daughter.”

  “Believe me, the Lords of Night Street marry for love, not position, my sweet. Let me make you happy, Poppy. I want to argue with you, make love with you, and wake each day with you in my arms.”

  Her knees grew weak at his words, and suddenly she gave up the fight. There would be doubts tomorrow, and perhaps the next day, and she would likely voice them. But one thing she also knew was that she loved this man, as he did her, and they would have a future together that dawned bright and clear. Together they would face whatever it held.

  Lord Noble

  Lords Of Night Street

  Chapter One

  The Marquis of Vereton entered the ballroom at a slow, steady pace, like he did most evenings. Fashionably late, Leo was in no rush to join the other guests. He glanced left, then right, then walked straight ahead. He nodded, smiled when he saw someone he actually liked—a rarity—and continued on. With three weeks to go in the season, the room was full, which indicated most had accepted the invitation to attend the Tottingham ball.

  “My lord.”

  “Lady Gilbransen.” Leo bowed deep over the hand of the woman whose breasts he knew intimately. “Your beauty puts many to shame, as always.”

  She tittered, and tapped his glove while managing to give him a look that suggested she would like to reacquaint him with said breasts. Leo, however, moved on.

  Yawning, he wondered if tonight would be a monumental bore like most other nights. He hoped his friends were in attendance. At least in their company he would have intelligent conversation.

  “Christ!” The word burst from his lips as he noted a woman to his left. She wore lavender, her midnight hair styled elaborately, and she was still as exquisite as the day she had ripped his heart from his chest and stomped on it.

  “Lord Vereton.”

  Leo’s eyes shot right, where Miss Elizabeth Whitlow, cousin to his friend the Earl of Attwood, now stood. Focusing on her, he battled the stabbing pain in his chest.

  “G-good evening, Miss Whitlow.” He bowed over her hand as he scrambled to understand why she was here. Not Miss Whitlow, he’d known she would be, as she always was... just there each and every evening looking as bored as he, but why was Harriet, Lady Hyndmarsh, evil breaker of hearts, back in London?

  “I wonder, my lord, if you would assist me.”

  “I—ah, of course, Miss Whitlow.”

  The second shock of the night was that Elizabeth Whitlow was conversing with him by choice. They loathed each other, and had since she’d called him an arrogant idiot with the manners of a barnyard animal. Unfortunately, Leo remembered all too well, he deserved the accolades.

  “If you’ll come this way then.”

  She rested her fingers on his arm and directed him away from Lady Hyndmarsh. Leo followed, simply because he couldn’t think past the thought that Harriet was back in London.

  “Are you well, Miss Whitlow?”

  “Perfectly. You, however, are not.”

  He couldn’t dispute that. His heart still thudded, his palms were sweaty, and he felt light-headed.

  She led him through a set of doors and outside onto the terrace. Leo inhaled deeply, enjoying the crisp London air. Needing distance from the woman who had nearly destroyed him, he took over the lead and walked down the first set of stairs and into the gardens.

  “A few more deep breaths, Lord Vereton.”

  It was galling that she was right, especially considering their history. As he breathed, the tightness in his chest began to ease. Their feet made a crunching sound on the stones as the night closed around them. The only light was coming from the torches along the path, and a weak moon sitting high behind clouds in the inky sky.

  Leo dragged in another breath before speaking.

  “Thank you.” It was gruff, but gratitude nonetheless. He didn’t clarify, because she knew why he had said the words, having witnessed his humiliation along with most of society six years ago.

  “I feared you were about to faint and offer more fodder for the scandalmongers. I may have enjoyed the spectacle given my feelings for you, however, I have never been able to stomach Harriet Hyndmarsh and had no wish to see her crow over the fact that you still hang on her dampened skirts.”

  “Dampened skirts?” was all Leo could come up with. What the hell was Harriet doing back in London?

  “Oh Lord have mercy,” she muttered. “You of all people should know that women dampen their skirts so they cling to their bodies.”

  “Good God. It must be terribly drafty, especially at this time of year.”

  A sound remarkably like a giggle erupted from Miss Whitlow. Leo found he liked it. Usually the woman’s mouth was pursed, and her face disapproving, but that was only when it actually carried an expression.

  “I don’t know. I have no wish to partake in such silliness, nor impress any man.”

  “Why is it you think I should know this?”

  She snorted, which surprised him further, as the woman rarely did anything society may disapprove of. In fact, Miss Whitlow was the epitome of all a lady should be. Polished, poised, and aloof. It was fair to say Leo disliked her intently—well at least he had. Surprisingly right at that moment, he found he liked her a great deal more.

  They passed a torch, and Leo was able to look at the woman on his arm. She was tall, the tip of her head would reach his nose. He’d never thought of her as beautiful, simply because they loathed each other. But she was, he noted, very beautiful. The thought shocked him. How had he not noticed that profile?

  Her hair was flaxen, and in daylight hours sometimes appeared shot through with threads of silver. This he knew as she’d been seated before him at an outside concert once. The performance had been by the Bellingham sisters, whose father indulged them terribly. Leo’s eyes had started to wander with the first wrong note. They had landed on the back of Miss Whitlow’s head.

  Her eyes were indigo blue, framed by dark feathered brows and lashes, and set in a pale, heart-shaped face. As her mouth was usually pursed when in his company, he was equally shocked to notice the lovely shape of her lips.

  “You have no need of dampened skirts, for what it’s worth,” he said.

  “Was that a compliment?”

  “I suppose it was, but as it’s likely the only one I’ll ever offer you, I beg that you enjoy the moment.”

  Miss Whitlow thought about that for a few steps.

  “I’m sorry she’s here, my lord. Sorry that she broke your heart and you were too foolish to see her for what she was. But surely you knew this day would come when news reached us that her husband had passed.”

  “You do that very well.”

  “What?” She stopped and one elegant brow lifted.

  “Sy
mpathy wrapped up in an insult.”

  She smiled, and he saw a flash of white teeth.

  “It is a particular forte of mine.”

  “I had prayed the encounter would not be until next season, and yet here she is, in London,” Leo said, surprising himself yet again by speaking of something so personal with this woman of all people.

  “She has observed the correct mourning period, and is now no doubt lonely. She has a thirst for society, which as you know she has always loved. Harriet also has the depth of a thimble, and needs constant adoration, thus she has returned to find some. She is still beautiful and very likely feels it’s time to find another husband. I should imagine as you were nearly a perfect fit last time, you will do well now.”

  “I am not a shoe, Miss Whitlow.”

  She studied him. “No, but you still have tolerable looks, and all your teeth.”

  “Please don’t overdo the praise, it may go to my head. There is also the small matter that I have no wish to marry her.”

  “You once did. I’m sure she has not changed.”

  Leo shuddered while grunting something unintelligible, then said, “I may have.”

  “I’m not entirely sure how you’ve managed to avoid her for six years?”

  “It wasn’t easy,” Leo conceded, “but I managed it.”

  An uncomfortable silence settled between them.

  “I must take this moment to apologize, Miss Whitlow. It is long overdue, but I will say it just the same. That night I behaved in such an ungentlemanly manner was the day after Harriet had left me for Hyndmarsh. It is no excuse, but I hope you can one day forgive me; my words were uncalled for.”

  Leo had been drunk and heartbroken, and come across Beth in Lord Craven’s library while he tried to escape the pitying eyes of society. She’d tried to walk by him without saying a word, and he’d asked why she did not pity him like the others. She’d told him that his self-pity was surely enough, and he... well, he’d lost control, and called her a brittle, uptight, emotionless woman, and said it was little wonder she was unwed. It had not been one of his finest moments, and from that day to this, they had barely spoken. Coward that he was, he’d never made a move to apologize.