The Most to Lose

by Landon, Laura

  Jonah couldn’t leave her on the ground. He reached out to help her to her feet but froze when a loud, angry voice hollered from the top step of the terrace.

  “Leave her alone! What are you doing, Armstrong?”

  Jonah pulled back.

  “It’s Hadleigh!” Melisande cried in a hoarse whisper. “No. Oh, no!”

  Before he could stop her, Melisande scrambled to her feet and raced toward the wrought iron gate in the garden wall that opened to the street. There wasn’t a great distance to travel, but after the argument they’d just had, he knew she was in no condition to think or act rationally. He turned to follow her, knowing he needed to stop her before she did something rash.

  “Don’t you go near her!” Hadleigh ordered from behind him.

  Jonah heard Hadleigh’s heavy footsteps race down the flagstone path toward him. Before he could react, Hadleigh’s hand grabbed the back of his jacket and jerked him backward.

  He turned as Hadleigh’s fist met his jaw.

  Jonah landed on the ground and stayed there for a second or more until his head stopped spinning.

  “You’ll answer for this,” Jonah’s longtime friend vowed as he raced after Melisande.

  Jonah couldn’t let Hadleigh believe what he knew he must. There was too much at stake. Hadleigh’s friendship meant more to him than he could say.

  He struggled to his feet, then raced after them. Before he reached the gate that opened to the outside world, he heard it—the sound of horses’ hooves as they clattered at a fast pace down the cobbled London street, the warning bellow that came from the carriage driver, the terrifying screams of horses being brought too sharply to a halt, Melisande’s cry of alarm cut short, and finally, an agonizing cry of despair being wrenched from deep within Hadleigh.

  Jonah staggered to the gate and stared at the sight of Hadleigh kneeling in the center of the cobblestone street, cradling Melisande’s broken, lifeless body in his arms.

  He clenched his fingers around a wrought iron bar and stared at the horrifying scene. An all-consuming darkness enveloped him that he knew would never lift.

  The Duke of Hadleigh stood with Melisande’s family as they lowered her body into the dark, cold ground. Buried with her were all his hopes and dreams. His future. Stolen from him by the least likely person imaginable. By a man he’d always considered his closest friend.

  Jonah Armstrong was now his mortal enemy, a man he hated more than any man on the face of the earth. A vile, despicable creature he wouldn’t rest until he destroyed.

  Hadleigh watched Melisande’s father pick up a handful of dirt and drop it onto the beautifully carved box Hadleigh had specially made for the woman he loved.

  Melisande’s weeping mother was next, followed by Melisande’s three brothers. Each dropped handfuls of dirt into the grave.

  He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

  He turned and walked away, not able to watch the mound of dirt cover his beautiful Melisande’s resting place.

  His vision blurred as he made his way to his waiting carriage. He would be glad to be away from here.

  He lifted his foot onto the first step, then stopped when someone spoke from behind him.

  “I’m sorry, Hadleigh.”

  It was Jonah, the man who’d killed his Melisande.

  Hadleigh knew he should turn so Jonah could see the full extent of his hatred, but he didn’t. He wasn’t sure he could refrain from snuffing the life from Jonah’s body right then and there.

  “If I could undo what happened that night, I would,” Jonah added.

  “But you can’t. There’s nothing you can do to make up for what happened.”

  “No,” his enemy answered. “There isn’t.”

  Hadleigh pulled himself into the carriage but held out his hand to stop his driver from closing the door.

  He glared into his enemy’s eyes. “Someday, when you have the most to lose…I’ll take it all.”

  Chapter 1

  London, England

  April 2, 1855

  Lady Cecelia Randolph, the Duke of Hadleigh’s only sister, reached for another glass of tepid punch and carried it to where her friend Lady Amanda Radburn stood. Thankfully, she’d found a spot near an open window where a slight breeze found its way inside the overly warm Plimpton ballroom.

  “I think tonight’s affair has the potential to be more boring than the Quinland ball last week,” Amanda said, checking to make sure no one was close enough to hear her.

  “It can’t,” Celie said behind the rim of her glass. “Nothing could be that boring.” She took a small sip. “I tried to get out of coming tonight, but Hadleigh wouldn’t allow it.”

  “Your brother made you come?” Amanda smiled. “He hardly ever makes you do anything.”

  “He did tonight. I even feigned being ill.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Amanda said with a giggle.

  “It’s true. He said this was one of those affairs to which we had to make an appearance.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “He made up some excuse that this was one of the most well-attended balls of the Season and we needed to be present.”

  “But? I can tell you think there’s another reason.”

  Celie released a heavy sigh. “I think what he really means is that this will be heavily attended by the male members of society. He hinted on the way over that it’s time I concentrated on finding someone to marry.”

  “Not that again.”

  Celie’s grip tightened on the glass in her hand. “He’s becoming more insistent every day.”

  “Why don’t you tell him what I tell my sisters when they tell me how old I’m getting and that I’m nearly on the shelf?”

  “What do you tell them?”

  Amanda gave her a sideways glance. “I tell them the truth, of course.”

  “Which is?”

  “That you and I made a pact and signed it in blood that we would take over for the Chipworth sisters when they died and be the next terrors of London Society.”

  Celie laughed loud enough to draw looks from the groups closest to them.

  The Chipworth sisters laid claim to having royal blood flowing through their veins. They held themselves so far above the rest of society that one word from either of them could ruin a poor girl’s reputation.

  The first word of warning every young debutante received when she prepared for her coming-out was to avoid the Ladies Maude and Matilda Chipworth at all cost. And above all, not to do anything that might draw their attention.

  Although everyone was frightfully afraid of the Ladies Chipworth, Celie and Amanda weren’t. Since the two friends were well on their way to becoming spinsters, they no longer cared what either Chipworth sister said or thought, which was probably the reason they got along tolerably well with the two terrors. Their disregard allowed Celie and Amanda to stand back in relative obscurity while the two ladies concentrated on terrorizing the rest of society.

  Celie glanced around the room and listened to the music wafting over the din of conversation. “At least the orchestra is passable tonight.”

  Amanda stopped to listen. “I’ll give Lady Plimpton credit for that.”

  “And the footmen aren’t dressed in togas like they were at Lady—”

  Amanda’s sharp gasp stopped Celie from finishing her sentence.

  “Look, Celie. Genevieve Rumpleton is dancing with Viscount Lourey. I thought her father forbade him to go anywhere near her.”

  Celie turned to follow Amanda’s gaze and rolled her eyes. “The fool. From that enamored look in her eyes, she’s going to make another embarrassing mistake. You’d think, after her last disaster, she’d come to have more faith in her father’s judgment.”

  “She has nothing lodged beneath that mass of beautifully styled blonde hair to give her the capability of making such astute reasoning.”

  “Amanda Radburn, I think you’re jealous,” Celie said in a teasing tone. “I’ve always known you’ve had a secret love,
and now I know who he is. You harbor secret designs on Lourey.”

  Her words caused Amanda to choke on her punch. “Drat,” she said when she recovered. “You saw through me. I am jealous. I admit it. I’ve always wanted to be as naive as Genny and attracted to the worst sort of man society has to offer. Instead, I was born with a small amount of common sense and something more than empty space between my ears.”

  Celie giggled helplessly. “You’re terrible, do you know that?”

  “Of course I do. I enjoy being this way. My sisters tell me my irreverent sense of humor is why no male invites me for a second dance or a repeat drive in the Park.”

  “Which sister volunteered to chaperone you tonight?”

  Amanda glanced at a group of ladies on the far side of the room. “Mary. I told her the family would be better served if they kept a closer watch over Stephen, since he is far more likely to be involved in a scandal than I am.”

  “Is he in trouble again?”

  Amanda breathed a heavy sigh. “When isn’t he? I don’t know what it is this time, but I can always tell when he’s gotten himself involved in something he doesn’t want me to know about. He avoids me.”

  “He’s avoiding you now?”

  Amanda nodded. “Oh, I wish Mother and Father wouldn’t have been taken from us so early. Stephen needs Father’s influence.”

  Celie saw the wetness in Amanda’s eyes and gave her friend’s arm a gentle squeeze. “It’s frightfully warm in here,” she said. “Should we step out onto the terrace?”

  “All right. Maybe we’ll happen on some unsuspecting lovers who’ve gone into the shadows. That’s always interesting.”

  Celie took one step toward the open French doors when Amanda’s grip tightened on her arm.

  “Don’t turn around,” she whispered in Celie’s ear. “Whatever you do, don’t…turn…around.”

  “Why ever not?” Celie said. She was desperate to do just that, but she didn’t. If there was one trait she’d come to admire in Amanda, it was her basic instinct to make the right decisions. It had gotten them both out of any number of delicate situations.

  “You aren’t going to believe this.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t believe this!”

  “What!”

  “All right. Get ready to turn around, but don’t react. And whatever you do, don’t scream.”

  Celie rolled her eyes. “I won’t scream. I never scream.”

  “You might when you see this.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m saying that Lady Plimpton has just made the largest, most disastrous faux pas of the century.”

  Celie wanted to turn. In fact, she was doing everything in her power to do exactly that, but she couldn’t. Amanda still had too tight a grip on her arm and she couldn’t move.

  “Let me go,” she said, pulling out of her friend’s hold. “Whatever it is can’t be that—”

  Celie turned, then followed everyone’s lead as they stared with mouths agape at something that had drawn their attention to the top of the ballroom stairs.

  She lifted her chin and her gaze locked onto the tall figure standing there.

  He stood ramrod straight for several long, tension-filled seconds, allowing the guests gathered below him the time they needed to take note of his presence.

  One by one, the crowd turned and stared. The cacophony of voices quieted until the only sound one heard was the discordant strains of the waltz the orchestra struggled to play.

  It was him.

  Celie’s breath caught in her throat and her heart skipped a beat.

  It was him. Jonah Armstrong, the Earl of Haywood.

  His shoulders were as broad as Celie remembered, his hair as dark. And he was as handsome as he’d been in every dream she’d had of him since she was young.

  No, she thought as she studied his features, he was more handsome. Except his looks had hardened from how she remembered him. There was a rugged handsomeness to him now that added to his magnificence. No doubt the time he’d spent fighting in the Crimea had done that. No doubt everything he’d experienced had toughened his features and erased any hint of softness he’d had when he was younger.

  Even from this distance, Celie could see his high, chiseled cheekbones and the sharp angle of his jaw. He wore his hair in the same style he always had, an inch longer in the back than her brother wore his, just long enough that it touched the top of his collar. He parted it on the left and combed it to the side, no doubt to tame the wave that always wanted to fall over his high forehead. The wave she’d often brushed from him in her dreams.

  His lips were full, and she’d often wondered what it would be like to…

  Celie stopped her imagination from running rampant. Or from remembering how often she’d imagined the feel of his lips against hers. Even though he’d never kissed her. Even though he never would. Even though the passion they’d shared had only been in her dreams.

  Her blood heated as it rushed through her veins.

  Suddenly it wasn’t his looks that consumed her but the speculation of what would happen when her brother realized Haywood was there.

  Celie tore her gaze from the figure at the top of the stairs to search for Hadleigh.

  It didn’t take long to locate him, and when she did, she locked onto the black expression on his face. Her brother’s riveting glare wasn’t exactly deadly, but it held a threatening warning. A warning anyone who’d ever dealt with him knew to be wary of.

  “What do you think your brother will do?” Amanda whispered.

  “I don’t know.”

  Immediately after Melisande’s death, every hostess in London took great pains to avoid including both the Duke of Hadleigh and Jonah Armstrong on their guest lists.

  The first time Jonah showed up at an affair where Hadleigh was, Hadleigh bade his hosts a premature farewell and informed them that he found it impossible to stay in the same room with Jonah Armstrong. In the blink of an eye, Jonah became a pariah in London Society.

  But circumstances were different now. Jonah was no longer the second son of an impoverished earl, but he carried the title. As the Earl of Haywood, he was an important member of society. He’d also returned from the Crimea a decorated war hero who’d been commended by the Queen herself. That alone made him someone every hostess wanted in attendance at her event.

  “Your brother won’t be able to repeat his actions of three years ago. If he bids our host and hostess a premature farewell because the Earl of Haywood is here, I’m afraid Lady Plimpton will wear a smile as she sees your brother to the door. Haywood’s presence will give any event he attends the stamp of success.”

  “I know,” Celie agreed. “I overheard Lady Warring tell the Duchess of Portsmouth that everyone had invited the Earl of Haywood to their affairs, but so far, he’d refused them all.”

  “Well, his presence tonight has given everyone something to talk about.”

  Everyone in the room remained focused on the Earl of Haywood as he walked toward the edge of the stairs to begin his descent.

  “Have you noticed how he favors his left leg?” Amanda asked. “I heard he was injured. His wound must have been quite serious if he’s not yet completely healed.”

  Celie struggled with the concern that consumed her. The two years and four months Jonah was gone were the longest, most worrisome years of her life. She spent more time than she could remember praying that he would stay safe, praying that he would return to England alive.

  And he had.

  He’d been injured, but he hadn’t been killed. And he was here tonight to announce to everyone that he intended to take his place in society.

  Celie felt an overwhelming sense of elation, knowing the courage this took.

  “Did you know he would be here?” Amanda asked, her voice a hushed whisper.

  Celie shook her head. “I’m glad he is, though.”

  Amanda stepped closer. “If your brother makes a move to cut him lik
e he did three years ago, don’t be surprised if I do something very unladylike.”

  Celie shifted her gaze to Amanda’s face. What she saw made her smile.

  Her best friend wore the most serious, determined look of resolve Celie had ever seen. She looked like a soldier poised to go into battle.

  “You’re that determined to protect the Earl of Haywood?”

  “No, I’ll let you protect him, if you’d like. I’m determined to save your brother the embarrassment of making a fool of himself. Perhaps he might even avoid being the topic of ridicule in every salon tomorrow morning. His foolish mourning has gone on long enough.”

  Celie couldn’t agree more. Everyone knew the Duke of Hadleigh should have gotten on with his life years ago.

  Celie turned back to the top of the stairs and let her eyes settle on Jonah Armstrong, Earl of Haywood. A warm blanket wrapped around her heart as she watched him.

  The crowd was quiet, but the murmur of whispered comments grew with each step he took toward the bottom, where Lord and Lady Plimpton stood.

  He held his head high and kept his back straight, but there was a stiffness in his gait, as if the wound he’d been rumored to have suffered still pained him.

  His legs were long and muscled, and he took each step with determination, as if he couldn’t wait to reach the bottom of the stairs to make a place for himself. He was exquisite. Perfect in form—as perfect as he’d been the last time Celie had seen him.

  As perfect as he was each night in her dreams.

  He wore an expensively tailored black evening jacket that was buttoned handsomely over a waistcoat of shimmering burgundy satin. He had donned an elaborately tied cravat and a dress shirt that shone a blinding white.

  Her brother was handsome, but the Earl of Haywood was magnificent. His effect on her was like a piece of the sun that had broken off and rolled around in her chest. When it wrapped its warming glow around her heart, her chest tightened with emotion before the warmth invading her chest plummeted to the pit of her stomach.

  She’d tried to fight the growing attraction she had for him, reasoning that she only felt this way because he’d been her older brother’s closest friend. Because he’d been a frequent visitor at their home. Because he’d been her first love.