The Virgin Who Humbled Lord Haslemere

by Anna Bradley

  Lady Wylde gave a disdainful sniff. “Well, it certainly proved so for Kenilworth, didn’t it?”

  “You’ll have to forgive Miss Harley, my lady,” Lord Haslemere murmured. “Not many ladies are as…sophisticated as you are.”

  Georgiana pressed her lips together to prevent herself from screaming. If she had to suffer another moment trapped in this sitting room while Lord Haslemere coaxed and flattered this awful woman, she feared she’d do someone an injury.

  “By all accounts, Lord Draven wasn’t at all reconciled to losing Lady Jane,” Lady Wylde went on, oblivious to Georgiana’s glare. “He went quite wild that season. He might have drunk himself into his grave if his father hadn’t intervened, and sent him off to the Continent. It’s my opinion he never would have returned to England at all if his father hadn’t become so ill.”

  “By the time he did return, Jane had married Kenilworth. Ah, well. Love’s a damnable thing, is it not, my lady?” Lord Haslemere spoke as if the story of Lord Draven’s broken heart was unimaginably dull.

  “Indeed, and best avoided, but passion is another thing entirely. Such a passion as Lord Draven and Lady Jane reportedly had doesn’t simply vanish, my lord, and now it looks as if Lord Draven’s had his way at last. One can’t really blame the duchess, can one? Why settle for a husband when she can have a lover who’s mad for her?” Lady Wylde nodded, as if she’d said something exceptionally wise.

  Georgiana shook her head, but didn’t venture a comment. There was not, it seemed, any room for irony in Lady Wylde’s private sitting room.

  Lord Haslemere rose to his feet, his full lips curling in yet another enticing smile as he paused and raised Lady Wylde’s hand to his lips. “Thank you for seeing us today, my lady. You’re an angel.”

  “Not all angel, I assure you, my lord.” Lady Wylde eyed him from under her thick, dark lashes.

  He gave a soft laugh, and brushed his lips over her bare knuckles. “Is there anything else you can recall that you think might prove useful to us?”

  “Not that I can think of, no, but I’ll send for you at once if I do.” Lady Wylde fluttered her eyelashes at him. “No matter how late at night it is.”

  Georgiana was obliged to look down at her lap to hide the roll of her eyes, but this time she wasn’t quite able to smother her snort.

  Lady Wylde turned on her with a huff. “Does something amuse you, Miss Harley?”

  Before Georgiana could get a word out, Lord Haslemere took her elbow and hauled her rather unceremoniously to her feet. “You’ve been most helpful, my lady. We won’t keep you any longer, but will leave you to ready yourself for your engagement.”

  He marched Georgiana to the door, but Lady Wylde called after them. “Oh, my lord? Now you ask, there is one other thing.”

  Lord Haslemere turned. “Yes?”

  “You might want to pay a call on Lady Archer. She and Lord Draven were…well, I don’t wish to offend Miss Harley’s delicate sensibilities with such lurid gossip, but they were lovers during Lord Draven’s year of debauchery in London, before he got himself banished to the Continent. She might be able to tell you a great deal more than I can.”

  Lord Haslemere bowed. “As I said, my lady, you’re an angel.”

  “So was Lucifer,” Georgiana hissed as he tugged her down Lady Wylde’s staircase and back to his carriage.

  It had begun to rain, fat, wet drops splattering the pavement. Georgiana scrambled into the carriage and was busy shaking the damp from her skirts when Lord Haslemere said, “Do you know why my sister married the Duke of Kenilworth, Georgiana?”

  Georgiana’s hands stilled. “I assumed it was for the reason Lady Wylde mentioned—because she wished to become a duchess. Don’t ladies of the ton all marry for titles and fortunes?”

  “I’ve no idea what most ladies of the ton do, but Jane never cared about Kenilworth’s title. She never aspired to become a duchess, and she didn’t need Kenilworth’s money. She had a substantial fortune of her own.”

  “Why did she marry him, then?”

  “For love.” Lord Haslemere chuckled at her raised eyebrows. “I see you’re skeptical, but I assure you, Jane was in love with Kenilworth when she married him.”

  Georgiana paused, then asked, “And now?”

  “Now?” Lord Haslemere’s laugh was harsh. “If the rumors are to be believed, Lord Draven is Jane’s secret lover, and for all I know, Kenilworth has a mistress tucked away in some townhouse somewhere. It doesn’t sound much like love to me.”

  Georgiana blinked. She wasn’t prepared to hear such a quaint notion of marriage from the fashionable, rakish Lord Haslemere. “You don’t know that. Even if he does, it isn’t uncommon for a gentleman to take a mistress—”

  Lord Haslemere brought his walking stick down hard on the floor of the carriage. “No gentleman who loves and respects his wife takes a mistress, damn it.”

  Georgiana stared at him, speechless. “I-I’m surprised to hear you express such a sentiment, my lord. You’ve had a number of mistresses of your own—”

  “But no wife.” Lord Haslemere squeezed the head of his walking stick with such force the silver lion looked as if it would snap off in his fist. “I don’t deny I’ve earned my reputation as a rake, but I’m not utterly devoid of principles. If I did have a mistress, which I don’t, it wouldn’t be at all the same thing as Kenilworth having one.”

  “No mistress?” Georgiana bit her lip. “I thought you and Lady Wylde—”

  “If Lady Wylde were my mistress, I think I’d know it.” His lips twitched at her expression. “I did warn you not to listen to the gossip about me, Georgiana. The truth is much less titillating than the rumors.”

  Did that mean he wasn’t insatiable or ferocious, as Lady Wylde had said? Georgiana bit down hard on her tongue before she could succumb to the temptation to ask.

  Lord Haslemere tore his hat from his head, tossed it onto the seat beside him, and dragged a rough hand through his hair. “The Christmas ball Lady Wylde mentioned, the one that ended the house party Jane attended. That’s the same ball Clara Beauchamp attended on the night she disappeared.”

  “Yes, it’s strange, isn’t it?” More than strange, that a young lady should vanish out from under the noses of dozens of guests at a Christmas ball without anyone seeing a thing. “Did Jane attend the ball as well?”

  “No. She left the house party early, before it took place. As I said, Jane wasn’t out yet, and my father didn’t think it was proper for her to attend a ball with so many members of the ton present. Whatever happened at that ball may have started at the house party. Perhaps Jane can shed some light on the matter.”

  “What makes you think she’ll tell you anything?” Whatever had happened at that house party, the duchess wasn’t likely to confess it to her brother, considering she’d made Georgiana swear she’d keep silent about anything having to do with Clara Beauchamp.

  He glanced at her, surprised. “Why shouldn’t she?”

  “Because you’re her brother, of course. What if Lady Wylde is right, and the duchess fell in love with Lord Draven at that party? No lady wants her brother nosing into her romantic entanglements. I daresay she won’t tell you a thing.”

  He shrugged, unconcerned. “I can be quite persuasive when I choose to be, Georgiana.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that, my lord. I just watched you persuade Lady Wylde’s every secret out of her. I’m surprised she didn’t confess to setting the Great Fire of London.”

  Lord Haslemere snorted. “That wasn’t her every secret, I promise you.”

  Georgiana bit her lip, an uneasy knot in her stomach. The very last thing she wanted was for Lord Haslemere to begin asking the duchess questions about Clara Beauchamp. “I don’t see how the duchess would know what happened, given she wasn’t at the ball. There must be someone else we can ask who’d know more.”

&nbs
p; “Who? If you recall, Lord Draven is unconscious.”

  “But there were dozens of other people there, my lord. The Duke of Kenilworth, for one. Mrs. Bury said he spent a great deal of time in Oxfordshire with Lord Draven. Surely, he would have been invited to such a grand house party as that?”

  Lord Haslemere considered it, but shook his head. “Perhaps, but I’d rather discuss it with Jane first.”

  Georgiana, who’d begun to grow quite desperate, was casting about for some logical reason they shouldn’t bring this matter to the duchess when the carriage slowed. She glanced out the window, expecting to see the Clifford School, but to her surprise, she saw they’d turned down Grosvenor Street.

  Grosvenor Street? Why were they—

  Oh, no. Dear God, no. Georgiana’s stomach fell.

  The Duke and Duchess of Kenilworth lived in Grosvenor Street.

  The duchess had made herself abundantly clear about her wishes regarding her brother. Georgiana was not, under any circumstances, to breath a word about any of this business to Lord Haslemere. Given such a restriction, it seemed…unwise for Georgiana to appear on the duchess’s doorstep with him.

  She drew in a deep breath to steady her voice, and asked, “Is it too much trouble for your coachman to take me on to Maddox Street, my lord?”

  “Certainly, he will. Right after we see Jane.”

  She grasped his arm, her fingernails sinking into the damp superfine of his coat sleeve. “Do you think it’s wise to call on her now, my lord?”

  Lord Haslemere stared down at her hand clutching his sleeve, his brows rising. “It’s generally safe enough for me to pay a call on my sister.”

  But it wasn’t at all safe for Georgiana. She could not appear on the Duchess of Kenilworth’s doorstep with Lord Haslemere. She simply couldn’t, not without all of her plans toppling over like a house of cards. “I don’t think you want your sister to realize you’re poking into her secrets, my lord. It’s best if she continues to think you’re staying in Surrey for the season—”

  Georgiana broke off, wishing she could rip her tongue out. She realized how badly she’d fumbled at once, but by then, it was already too late.

  Lord Haslemere went oddly still, then without warning he seized hold of her wrist and tugged her across the carriage onto the bench beside him, close enough so she was practically in his lap. He tipped her chin up and stared down at her with blazing dark eyes. “Now, just how would you know I’m meant to be spending the season in Surrey, I wonder?”

  “I…Lady Darlington must have mentioned—”

  “No, she didn’t. Lord and Lady Darlington have been expecting me in London all week. Oh, princess.” His fingers tightened on her chin. “I think you’re the one who’s keeping secrets.”

  Chapter Nine

  Benedict gazed into wide eyes gone a moody golden-brown, like sunlight on autumn leaves, and wondered if that was the color they turned when she lied.

  “I insist you take me back to Maddox Street at once, Lord Haslemere.” Georgiana tried to jerk free of his grasp, but Benedict held her fast.

  “But I’m so enjoying your company, Georgiana.” His lips curved in a smirk, but his words were far closer to the truth than he wished they were, even now, when he knew she’d been lying to him.

  “Then there’s that other small matter of your dishonesty.” He raised her chin higher, fascinated by the rich, chocolate brown melting at the outer edges of those gold eyes. “I don’t care for liars, Georgiana.”

  He was angry with her, yes, and not his usual, tepid discontent. This anger was a searing, belly-deep fire that made his fists clench, his skin heat. Yet at the same time he was achingly aware of the soft glide of her skin under his fingertips, her teeth worrying at her trembling lower lip.

  “Perhaps Kenilworth isn’t as sure of Lord Draven’s friendship as Mrs. Bury imagines he is,” he murmured, leaning closer so he could read her secrets in her eyes. “Perhaps he did wonder if his dear old friend Draven had betrayed him, and hired you to discover the truth.”

  She swallowed. “You can’t truly believe the Duke of Kenilworth would be so wicked as to send a half-dozen blackguards to assault Lord Draven.”

  Benedict’s gaze darted to her long, pale throat, then back to her eyes. They were darker than he’d ever seen them now, opaque. So beautiful still, but they were the color of shadows, of secrets and lies. “Why not? He’s a man, just like any other.”

  “An honorable man, my lord. I’ve never heard a single whisper against him. All of London sings his praises.”

  Benedict laughed softly. “Ah, but you see, Georgiana, that’s just what I’d expect someone who’s working for the duke to say. All of Lady Clifford’s girls are clever, but you—you’re the cleverest of them all. Which is either a very good or a very bad thing, depending on whose side you’re on. So, tell me, princess. Whose side are you on?”

  “My own side, and Lady Clifford’s side.”

  Benedict said nothing as he let his gaze drift over her. How innocent she looked, with those wide, wary eyes. But she was up to her neck in this business of Jane’s. He’d suspected it since the first moment he saw her at Lady Wylde’s, in her bronze gown and black masque.

  Now he had her, and he didn’t intend to let her go until she told him everything she knew. “I’ll give you one more chance to tell me the truth, Georgiana. If you truly are on Lady Clifford’s side, you’ll take it. If not, you’ll lose the Mill Street building.”

  He released her then, and she turned her face away from him at once, no doubt to hide her expression. Benedict waited, a chill settling at the base of his spine as the silence dragged on, unbroken but for the cacophony of doubts crashing against the inside of his skull.

  Had he pushed her too far? Despite the tension between them, Benedict couldn’t make himself believe she’d refuse to tell him the truth—

  “The Duke of Kenilworth didn’t hire me, Lord Haslemere.” Georgiana turned away from the window to face him. “Your sister did.”

  “Jane?” For a moment, Benedict was too stunned to reply. “But…why?”

  “To find Clara Beauchamp, or so she said.” Georgiana sighed. “Things have become quite a bit more complicated since then.”

  “Draven and Jane are both searching for Clara Beauchamp? But…why?” Benedict was aware he sounded like some sort of deranged echo, but no other question made sense. “Clara Beauchamp has been missing for six years! Why should they have resumed the search for her now?”

  “Because your sister thinks she saw Miss Beauchamp waiting in a carriage outside Lady Tilbury’s townhouse. The duchess sent me to Lady Wylde’s masque ball to see what information I could get from Lady Tilbury, which turned out to be very little.”

  Benedict blew out a breath. “Well, there is one bit of good news, at least. The rumor about Draven and Jane has never been anything more than that. Jane’s been seen sneaking in and out of Draven’s London townhouse because they’re both searching for Miss Beauchamp, not because they’re engaged in a love affair.”

  “Or there is an affair, and Miss Beauchamp knows something about it. Lord Draven and Jane could just as easily be looking for her to see to it she keeps their secrets to herself.”

  Benedict scowled at her. “I prefer my explanation. Do you believe Jane really did see Clara Beauchamp?”

  “It’s difficult to say.” Georgiana hesitated, her teeth once more attacking that vulnerable lower lip. “Whether she did or not, we can’t rule out the possibility Lord Draven was attacked because he’s been searching for Clara. If that’s the case, then—”

  “Then Jane may be in danger.” Not just Jane, but also Georgiana, who’d made no attempt to hide her interest in Clara Beauchamp’s whereabouts at Lady Wylde’s masque ball last night. “What else, Georgiana? What haven’t you told me?”

  She drew in a long breath, then admitted with obvi
ous reluctance, “The duchess came to us at the Clifford School three nights ago, on the same night Lord Draven was attacked.”

  “Is there anything else?” Benedict’s voice was clipped.

  “No,” she whispered.

  He closed his eyes. Between Lady Wylde’s tiresome antics, the scene with Georgiana, and his worry for Jane, he felt as if days had passed since he left his home this morning. By the time Grigg brought the carriage to a stop in front of Kenilworth’s elegant white brick mansion and Benedict handed Georgiana down, he was in no mood to suffer fools.

  That was when he remembered Bagshaw.

  As usual, the duke’s butler was standing guard in the entryway, and as usual, he frowned when he saw Benedict. “Lord Haslemere.”

  “Bagshaw.” Benedict’s lip curled.

  Bagshaw looked perfectly harmless—rather like a chess piece, in his black hose and severe black coat with the polished silver buttons—but he was a wily old devil, not to mention a shameless gossip. Nothing escaped Bagshaw’s notice, and everything he noticed found its way from his lips to the duke’s ears.

  “My sister is in the drawing room, I trust?” Benedict didn’t wait for an answer, but took Georgiana’s arm and hurried her toward the stairs.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord, but the duke prefers I announce every guest before permitting them—”

  “I’m not here to see the duke, Bagshaw, and I’m not a guest. I’m the duchess’s brother, for God’s sake. Must we do this every time?”

  Bagshaw drew himself up with a dignified sniff. “Yes, my lord. But the young lady—”

  “The young lady is my guest, and no concern of yours.”

  “As you wish, my lord.” Bagshaw’s tone was cold, his bow stiff.

  Benedict didn’t spare the man another glance, but gestured to Georgiana to precede him up the massive, carved mahogany staircase. The sooner they got to the bottom of this mess about Jane, Draven, and Clara Beauchamp, the better.