by Anne Mallory
“I know. The Tynsdales or Travings, or something. Can you believe the gall? Thinking that they would not be discovered? As if we couldn’t see a pretender in our midst.” The woman sniffed. “I always thought there was something off about them.”
Abigail tried to release the ribbon, but her fingers continued to grip it. She tried to move her feet, but they were stuck fast to the floor, as if made of slate.
Sir Walter had discovered the truth, but to her knowledge, only one other person had known that she was not who she said she was.
“Well, we won’t be seeing much of them anymore. Nothing for it but to run from London. They’ll never be accepted into polite society again.”
“Never. Oh, but I do so hope they try. Imagine it?” The other woman tittered.
“I hope so as well,” the other woman said with a vicious titter. “Social climbers should all be put under rigorous regard, in my opinion.” The snobbish tone to the woman’s voice made Abigail’s fingers clutch a little more tightly.
“Do you think someone will tell the Smarts before the Landmarks’ ball tonight? Or will we all wait for the fireworks?”
“I do so hope for the latter, don’t you?”
“Of course! Fine entertainment.”
The other woman sniggered. “Yes. Let’s go. These ribbons are all passé, and I hear the new store near Piccadilly has brand-new fabrics. All the rage.”
“Yes. And I need a new one for mourning. I hear that with Lord Rainewood back, and poor Sir Walter in the grave, the announcement of the earl’s official betrothal to Celeste Malcolm will happen tonight or tomorrow before she goes into mourning.”
“Lucky girl.” Envy bordering on dislike laced the words. “Such a priss, Celeste.”
“Stay your tongue. She will wield too much power for us to be on her bad side.”
Thunder sounded in the distance.
“Rain again. And the last few days have been so unbelievably bright. I had hoped to go to the gardens this afternoon,” one of them said.
Valerian was the only one who knew. Who had known. And all of her notes had been returned unopened. Abigail couldn’t swallow around the knot in her throat. The ribbon crushed beneath her palm.
“Brighter days beckon, surely.”
“I do hope so. Now about that new shop…”
The two chattered as they exited.
Abigail looked at her hand, the crumpled stripes of the black overtaking the white, drowning them. Anger rose to drown the devastation. She let the ribbon fall from her hand and walked to the door.
“Miss, miss!”
Telly yelled as Abigail stepped outside. A light drizzle was falling, but the steady pat of increased raindrops signaled that she would be drenched soon. She continued walking.
“Miss, your parasol!”
Abigail ignored her. Grayton House was two blocks down and four over. Then only one block down, then three to go. Telly kept moaning and fussing, but Abigail didn’t care. She let the rain sheet over her, let her hair fall, plastered to her forehead and cheeks until she stepped up to the door and rapped the knocker.
A servant answered immediately, a footman by his dress, and she stared him full force in the eyes. “You will summon Lord Rainewood.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Lord Rainewood is unavailable for visitors, Miss—” He paused as if asking her name.
She gave a tight smile and stepped inside.
The man had obviously not thought her a threat, not even considering her bedraggled appearance, and so hadn’t expected such a move. He sputtered. “Miss, you can not just enter the house.”
“Summon Lord Rainewood.”
“If you leave a card, perhaps I can see that he receive it.”
At another time she might have felt bad for the poor man, but the fading, drab outline of the opera singer passing behind him—a reminder of this madness and its consequences—made her less agreeable. “I will not leave a card.”
The man signaled frantically to another servant passing through the hall. The other servant’s eyes widened and he turned and made haste in the other direction. Going to get the butler most likely. To eject her from the house through intimidation first, and if that didn’t work, by force.
She walked down the hall toward the parlor without waiting for such a thing to occur.
“You can’t go there.” The footman tried to grab her, but she twisted from his grip.
The Duchess of Palmbury sat inside sipping tea by herself. Abigail stopped and waited, watching as the dowager’s eyes turned to her, weighed her, satisfaction in their depths.
The footman bowed, and then bowed again, nearly apoplectic. “Your Grace, my apologies, she simply walked through.”
The Duchess of Palmbury’s mouth turned upward, her entire face reflecting malicious excitement. She waved the footman away. “The upstart come to have her last stand, I see.”
“I wish to speak with Lord Rainewood,” Abigail said as calmly as she could.
“I believe that will be quite impossible. What would you have to say to him? Nothing of note.”
“I have something quite significant to take up with the earl.”
The Duchess of Palmbury shrugged and sipped her tea. “He doesn’t speak with common women.”
“But he doesn’t have any trouble with vulgar women, I take it? Or else he would never speak with you.”
The dowager’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Nasty little trollop. Such an annoying gnat. How fabulous the last few days have been for me.”
“I am sure they have been. I’m sure you will not mind me speaking to Lord Rainewood in that case. I’d like to make my displeasure over his actions known before I leave town. Your fondest wish, isn’t it, Your Grace? That I leave? All accomplished, if you just let me have a word with your grandson.” She shrugged. “Or else I will haunt society until I do.”
“My, aren’t we the obsessive little nobody. Threats? You think the watch will take your side? That the magistrates won’t hesitate to make sure that you never, how did you term it, haunt, us again?”
“I am extremely determined. I will take your bet to see which of us succeeds.”
“Foolish girl. All I have to do is hold you here and have them come to remove you.”
“But you won’t,” Abigail said calmly. “You are far too interested in my demise not to draw this out.”
The Duchess of Palmbury sipped her tea. “It is true, I want to see your face when Rainewood completely snubs you. He has been living up to my exact requirements for years when it comes to you.”
Anger pulled through Abigail, but she simply nodded. “Yes, I had figured that you were behind most of his behavioral changes toward me.”
“No, dear. That was entirely on your head. I never did know what caused it, but I was delighted to no end.”
“I am sure that you were.”
The dowager smiled and waved her hand. “And now I grow bored. Leave and be on your way. Exiled to wherever you choose. Though I shall delight if you decide to stay in Town and get snubbed at every turn.”
“That is because you are a notorious crank.”
The dowager’s nostrils flared and her teacup hit its saucer with a clang. “Be gone from my house before I have you thrown out.”
“Not until I have my say with Lord Rainewood. I want to tell him exactly what I think of him.”
“And what do you think of him?”
She whipped around to see Valerian leaning against the door. He looked worn, but far better than when she’d dropped him off at Stagen’s.
“Va-Rainewood.” She squared her shoulders. “Your grandmother and I were just discussing the gossip around town.”
Valerian frowned. “I find myself uninterested in the gossip at present. I’m sure it is full of more stories of forced betrothals and tawdry tales.”
“Rainewood!” the dowager exclaimed. “Take that back, young man.”
Valerian lifted a brow at his grandmother, then turned back to Abiga
il.
No attempt at an apology or even an explanation. Not even a denial and a good day.
He tapped a finger against his arm. “I take it from the pugilistic set of your shoulders and face that you are not here to inquire after my health but instead are displeased with me for some reason.”
“Yes. You know well what reason that is. No wonder you returned my correspondence.”
“I am afraid I do not know the reason. And what correspondence?” He moved from his reclining position against the doorframe. She caught the faint wince as he straightened. “Please enlighten me as to my new sins.”
The dowager’s eyes twitched at the mention of correspondence. Ah. But that didn’t solve the bigger concern.
“You used me,” she said, trying to keep the pain from her voice. “And then you revealed what you knew.”
“What is this? How long have you known, Raine wood?” the dowager demanded.
“How long have I known what?” He addressed the question to Abigail, eyes narrowed, face unreadable.
“About my family.”
Something changed in his face, but she couldn’t tell what.
“What about your family?”
“Don’t be coy, Rainewood.” The dowager brushed imaginary crumbs from her skirt. “About how she and that vulgar mother of hers are frauds. Everyone knows.”
“I see. I did not know that everyone did.”
“You are saying that you did not reveal the information?” Abigail demanded.
His eyes turned icy. “I see that you believe that I did. What have I to say in my defense against such belief?”
Abigail laughed bitterly. “The slipper is on your foot now, is it not, then? To have no defense to the sure belief that someone else maintains?”
He regarded her for a moment and his expression loosened a fraction. “Touché.”
“Why?” She tried to keep the pain from her voice. “I did everything I could to help, at complete cost to myself.”
He took a step toward her and stopped. “I said nothing.”
“You were the only one who knew.”
“I said nothing.”
“You embraced me afterward. Like you meant it. Like you…” She broke off.
“Abigail, do you want to do this in front of her?” He inclined his head sharply toward his grandmother.
“Rainewood!”
He ignored the dowager, his eyes narrowed on Abigail.
She shook her head in denial seeing nothing more to lose, nothing of her pride remaining. “I just want to know why. Why? I, I gave you everything. You might not have realized it, but I did,” she finished in a near whisper.
“I know.” He stepped toward her then. “I know.” He tentatively reached out a hand and pulled her to him. She melted into his arms, nearly sobbing.
“Rainewood!” The strident voice echoed outside of the bubble.
“I was going to come for you,” he said against her hair. “I thought there was plenty of time. And I was going to do it right. I had no idea what the gossip mill had caught,” he said softly. “I will work every day to make sure that you never doubt me again.”
She stiffened against his chest. “What?”
“Rainewood! Butler! Lord Rainewood is ill and this interloper is attacking him!”
She felt Valerian look above her hair. “Your Grace, I hardly think it wise to embarrass yourself so.”
“Rainewood,” the dowager sputtered. “You are not yourself. Let that miscreant go.”
“You are talking about the woman I plan to keep permanently in my life, Your Grace.”
Abigail pulled back to look at him. A drop of water dripped down her cheek.
“You cannot just take her to mistress, Rainewood.”
“I said nothing about taking a mistress.”
The dowager sputtered, unbelieving. “But she is a fraud. You can not do this to the family.”
Valerian looked down at Abigail and wiped the drop away with his thumb. “I am not ‘doing’ anything to the family, Your Grace. It won’t even be a blip on the gossip sheets unless we treat it as such.”
“Everything is fodder for the gossip sheets.”
“Not if we don’t dignify it with a response and just go along as if this is the way things will be.”
“We will not go along with it as the way things will be. You will marry Celeste Malcolm. We have already approved the match.”
“I believe that you would rethink that were you to know certain truths. Besides, you need the groom’s signature in order to have a fully-drawn contract these days.”
“You will marry her.”
“You are mistaken.”
“I did not spend all of this time finding out the truth about that little wretch”—she pointed at Abigail—“just for you to disregard it and throw our lot away.”
The room went still. The dowager duchess seemed to realize that she’d made a mistake. She lifted her chin defiantly. “I did it for the good of the family. For the good of society.”
Valerian smiled dangerously. “If I hadn’t already made up my mind, you would have just made my decision easier. Thank you.”
The dowager looked confused. “So you aren’t going to keep her.”
“Oh, I fully intend to keep her and have her in my bed as soon as possible.”
Abigail’s cheeks went pink and the Duchess of Palmbury sputtered.
“Rainewood! How dare you say something so vulgar.”
“I know. Lovely isn’t it?”
“She is making you common!” The dowager pointed a gnarled finger at Abigail.
“She is making me human,” he said quietly. “And nothing you or anyone else in society says is going to make one whit of difference to my decision.”
“But Valerian,” Abigail whispered. “Everyone knows. I am ruined.”
“Really? Well, what is social power if you don’t exercise your right to control the masses every once in a while?” He lifted a brow and some of the sparkle that had been missing for years shone through. “Come, let’s have an adventure, Abby. But first, I have something to give you.”
He took her hand and led her to the stairs.
“Rainewood!”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“I won’t have that type of behavior under this roof!”
“I was merely going to give her something I’ve kept for a very long time, but you have filled my ill head with possibilities. It will be my pleasure to fulfill them. Thank you.”
“Rainewood!!!”
Valerian smiled devilishly and squeezed Abigail’s hand. Something about the smile loosened the last thread of worry from her heart and she squeezed back, hope filling her.
Chapter 24
The glittering lights from the Landmarks’ ballroom shone up the stairs and through the doors as Abigail stepped forward in line to be introduced. The butler announced the group in front of them, a rowdy bunch who hadn’t even looked behind to see who was at their backs. If they had, they might have gawked a bit.
Abigail knew that half of the people inside were hoping she’d show. Hoping for the entertainment of the night. A chance to squash the interloper in their midst.
She stepped up to the top of the stairs and looked over the sea of eager, sharklike faces spreading below.
The butler looked at the card he had been handed and cleared his throat. “I believe there is a mistake.”
“No, no mistake,” a warm, deep voice intoned—just a trace of haughty coldness underlying the words, demanding obedience.
The butler shifted. “Very good, my lord.” He threw his shoulders back and opened his mouth. “Earl Rainewood and his intended, Miss Abigail Travers.”
Valerian smiled devilishly and stepped next to her, extending his arm. She placed hers through his, and he winked at her.
The last vestiges of nerves calmed. Seeping right through her pores as the security and love she saw in his eyes, a reflection of her own feelings, did what nothing else could. She touched
the beautiful ivory comb in her hair, knowing that no matter what, things would work out. She believed that now. Knew it.
That even in the vat of sharks that lay below, she had a raft that would always hold her, and that she could support in return.
“Think of the adventure awaiting us.” He leaned so that his eyes were level with hers, his mouth sinfully close. “And even better the one that awaits when I sneak into your room tonight.”
“As if I will let you enter.”
“As if I would let you keep me away.”
She put her right foot upon the top step and smiled.
Acknowledgments
Thank you, as always, to Mom, May, and Matt, the wonder M’s.
About the Author
ANNE MALLORY is a lifelong romance reader who sold her first novel to Avon Books after becoming a finalist in RWA’s Golden Heart contest. For the Earl’s Pleasure is her eighth book.
Aside from writing, she is an enthusiastic hobby collector, game player, water girl, cat lover, chocolate consumer and homebody—not necessarily in that order. A native Michigander, Anne currently lives in the San Francisco Bay Area.
Visit her online at www.annemallory.com. She loves hearing from readers, so feel free to drop her a line if you’re there!
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Romances by Anne Mallory
FOR THE EARL’S PLEASURE
THE BRIDE PRICE
THREE NIGHTS OF SIN
WHAT ISABELLA DESIRES
THE EARL OF HER DREAMS
THE VISCOUNT’S WICKED WAYS
DARING THE DUKE
MASQUERADING THE MARQUESS
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
FOR THE EARL’S PLEASURE. Copyright © 2009 by Anne Hearn. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
