Earl of Westcliff: Wicked Regency Romance (Wicked Earls' Club)

by Meara Platt

  The chime of the tall clock in the hallway caught Abby’s attention. She counted each chime and breathed a sigh of relief when the clock fell silent at the count of ten. She had two hours before Tynan called upon her. “Has my brother come home yet?”

  Sally nodded. “Only about an hour ago. Oh, he looks wretched. Vickers offered to bring up some food for him, but he refused it and fell onto his bed without bothering to take off his boots or clothes. Not even his cloak.”

  She saw that Sally was getting overset, but this was the way it had been lately, the entire household upended by Peter’s behavior. There was nothing any of them could do about it. Abby came to Sally’s side and took her hand. “I’ll look in on him once I’m washed and dressed. I have to look my best this morning.”

  Sally’s ears perked. “Is something important going to happen today?”

  She nodded. “I hope so. I met a gentleman… er, recently.” She was about to let slip that she’d met Tynan last night, but caught herself in time.

  Sally squealed. “A young man who’s taken an interest in you? A beau?”

  Abby laughed and shook her head. “No, nothing like that. He’s going to help me save Peter. His cousin went through similar difficulty and he offered to help my brother pull through.”

  The girl did not appear convinced, but she smiled kindly at Abby. “Miss Abigail, we’ll all pray as hard as we can for that miracle to happen.” She paused a moment, clearly wishing to say more. “But… whether or not his lordship gets better… will you not think of yourself? If this gentleman is not a beau, then it’s time for you to think about finding one.”

  “I’m only twenty. I doubt anyone would consider me stale goods yet.”

  Sally frowned at her. “The sister of a baron is in a far better position to find herself a husband than a young woman with no family to support her. I’ll say no more. It isn’t my place. But his lordship isn’t the only one we worry about and pray for.”

  “I know and I appreciate it. Come, help me get ready. I think I’ll wear the green wool with the ivory lace trim.” Sally set out a matching shawl. Even though the sun was shining and the sky was a deep, rich blue, there was no mistaking the approach of winter.

  While Sally prepared her bath, Abby tossed another log onto the small fire that was already blazing in the hearth, for there was still a slight chill to the room.

  Perhaps it was merely the persistent chill in her bones, that feeling of impending doom. No, she wasn’t going to give up or lose hope.

  It didn’t take Abby long to ready herself for the day. She went downstairs and sat alone in the dining room for half an hour, her hands warmed by the cup of hot cocoa she slowly drank. She knew the earl would arrive soon.

  Or had she conjured this perfect man in her dreams? Did he really exist?

  She set aside her cup and rose to check on Peter. His valet, Vickers, had spent the last hour trying to coax him into having a light repast, but to no avail. She would try now. Her brother had lost so much weight these past two months, he resembled a skeleton. The entire household was alarmed. His doctors had done all they could to help him. Finally, they’d told her to get him out of London before it was too late.

  She wanted to do just that, but Peter was still baron and had countermanded all her orders. He’d had enough presence of mind to cut off her allowance so that she’d have no funds at her disposal to rent a carriage or open the baronial manor house or pay for Bow Street runners to forcibly drag him there.

  “Peter, are you awake?” She rapped lightly at his door. “Peter, I’m coming in.”

  She didn’t care if he tossed objects at her head, he wasn’t going to chase her out. In truth, he was probably in too deep a slumber to hear anything even if she blew a trumpet in his ear. The room was dark, the yards of heavy silk drapery tightly drawn so that not a single ray of light shone in. One of the footmen had lit a small fire in the hearth when Peter first arrived, but it was already dying out, the last of its golden glow about to fade.

  Just like Peter.

  “I’m going out for the afternoon, Peter. Please have something to eat before I go. I’m so worried about you.”

  The silence was deafening.

  But he was still alive, for she heard his raspy breaths. If the opium did not kill him, the night chill would. He was so weak and frail now. She sat on the bed beside him and touched his cheek. “The bread is freshly baked and warm. I could put a little marmalade on it for you. Would you like that?”

  He refused to answer.

  She stayed where she was, uncertain what to do next, so she caressed his cheek again and struggled not to burst into tears. But she wanted to cry big, aching tears of desperation and sorrow.

  She took a deep breath and brought herself under control. Tynan should not see her like this now that he was bringing her a glimmer of hope.

  “I love you, Peter.” The tears rolled down her cheeks even though she’d tried to keep them away.

  Then her composure completely shattered when her brother did the unexpected. “Love you, Abby.” Just those three words, spoken into his pillow so that they came out muffled and raspy and almost unintelligible, but she’d heard them. Then he’d resumed snoring, his breaths just as strained, the wheezing just as pronounced.

  Abby was not her cheerful, put-together self by the time Tynan arrived and was shown into the drawing room. She had spent the last ten minutes trying to stop the flood of her tears, but they simply wouldn’t stop spilling down her cheeks. She was like a burst dike that sprang leaks everywhere and wouldn’t stop overflowing.

  Tynan took one look at her and shut the doors behind him. “Abby, what’s happened?”

  He strode to her side and drew her up against him, folding his big arms around her as he embraced her. “Tell me what’s happened. Has your brother returned home?”

  She nodded against his chest. “He’s home.”

  “Then he’s safe for now. Let me take you to James and Sophie’s. We’ll come up with a plan.” He rubbed his hands up and down her back, rubbing warmth into her cold and shivering body.

  “How can I go looking like this? I can’t stop crying, and even if I did, my face will be red and blotchy.” She wiped at her cheek with the soaked handkerchief in her hand. “What if I cry in front of them?”

  “They’ll understand.” He took the tear-dampened handkerchief out of her grasp, replaced it with his own clean, dry one, and then waited for her to blot her tears and gather a little of her composure. “Feeling any better?”

  She nodded, appreciating his patience and eager to confide in him. “Peter said he loved me. The old Peter is still there inside of him, the Peter who wants to live and be my brother again. The one who wants to laugh and be happy. I felt the ache of his heart straight through to my bones. Those words were his cry for help. But he’s so weak, he can’t fight for himself any longer.”

  She took a deep breath, at a loss to understand why this handsome earl with a thousand women eager for his attention would waste a moment of his time on her. “I thought he was fast asleep when I looked in on him this morning. He’d just returned home and immediately collapsed on top of his bed. That’s his routine now. Sleep all day and destroy himself all night. My routine is to check on him every morning and tell him that I love him. He never answers me. But today he did. Love you, Abby. That’s when I broke down.” She swallowed hard, refusing to cry again. “I have to save him. I can’t let him slip away.”

  “I know.” Tynan trailed a finger lightly across her brow. “No bruising. Good.” He held her a moment longer, and she had the feeling he’d hold her like this for hours if she wished it.

  She did wish it, but they had work to do. “Shall we go? If you’re still willing to take me with you, then I don’t want to be late for your cousin’s luncheon.”

  He cast her a tender grin. “Yes, but you’ll walk out the front door this time. No leaping from bedroom windows.”

  She shook her head and laughed. “No more leaps,
I promise.”

  Sally and Vickers were both standing in the entry hall as she walked out of the drawing room with Tynan. Oh, dear. The doors had been closed for privacy. Completely inappropriate, of course. But this was the least of her worries.

  Vickers held out her cloak and Tynan helped her to put it on.

  Sally held out a moistened handkerchief and instructed her to keep it over her eyes during the carriage ride. “He’s the Earl of Westcliff,” she whispered with a squeal, drawing her aside and pretending to fuss with her cloak. Sally’s gaze remained embarrassingly fixed on Tynan. “Wherever did you find him?”

  “Oh, I picked him up on the street last night.” Which she had done, but no one needed to know the details.

  Sally frowned. “Make a jest of it, if you will. But every debutante in London is after that gorgeous man. Yet, he wants you. Do not let him go.”

  Let him go? She was amazed that Tynan was not already running away as fast as his powerful legs would carry him.

  Tynan escorted her down the front steps to his waiting carriage. She hadn’t noticed its splendor last night, but there was no overlooking the magnificence of the gleaming, black conveyance with the impressive Westcliff crest embossed on the door. She sank onto the soft, leather seat she’d taken the night before. He settled across from her, seeming to dominate the interior with his naturally commanding presence.

  The curtains were drawn back from the windows allowing sunlight to filter in. Now that she’d dried her tears, she also noticed Tynan clearly for the first time this morning. Sally wasn’t exaggerating. He was easily the handsomest man in London, and a bachelor, it turned out. Abby hadn’t thought to ask him about his marital status last night or even this morning. She hadn’t considered that anything romantic would ever come of their acquaintance. No gentleman in his right mind would offer marriage to a girl with an addicted, sickly brother and no suitable fortune of her own.

  Oh, but he did look wonderful dressed in shades of brown today, other than his shirt which was obviously a crisp white and impeccably Savile Row tailored. He wore buff-colored trousers and a dark brown coat, a silk vest in a patterned weave of browns and greens that picked up the color of his eyes, and a brown silk cravat that was perfectly knotted.

  He grinned at her when he noticed the direction of her gaze. “My valet tied the knot. What do you think?”

  She laughed softly. “I think you are fortunate to have him, and not me, as your valet. He knows what he is doing. I did not.”

  He cast her a devastatingly tender smile that reached into the dangerously, dark green depths of his eyes and made them gleam. “But your hands are softer. And I’ve never had the urge to take Melrose into my arms and kiss him senseless. He smells of furniture polish.” He leaned forward and took the wet handkerchief from her hands. “Here, let me put it over your eyes as your maid directed. You’ll feel better by the time we reach my cousin’s house.”

  He spread the cool cloth over her eyes, the mere graze of his fingers against her skin shooting wild tingles through her. “Do I smell like furniture polish?”

  He took a deep breath that tickled her neck and shot more tingle through her. “No.” His voice was husky and wrapped around her like a caress. “Your scent is summer roses.”

  “What’s yours? What have you got on today? You wore sandalwood last night.” She took a turn inhaling him. Oh, heavens. Her heart exploded with excitement. How was it possible for any man to have such an effect on her? “Cinnamon today… and soap lather.” He’d shaved.

  She brazenly put a hand to his cheek, needing to feel the texture of his skin against hers. “Odd, you feel rough and smooth at the same time. Your jaw just tensed.”

  “You’re touching me.”

  She drew her hand away, feeling slightly foolish that she’d been so easily carried away by the cinnamon and soap lather scent of him, and the clean, rugged heat of him. But she couldn’t admit that to him. “With this cloth over my eyes, I couldn’t see you. So I had to touch you… not that I had to… my eyes are feeling better. May I take the compress off now?”

  “No, keep it on a while longer. You were crying very hard.”

  She nodded. “I couldn’t help myself. Peter’s words slipped through my defenses.”

  She heard him settle back in his seat, his broad shoulders easing against the firm leather padding. “I’m glad he wants to be saved, Abby. But he’ll still fight like hell to defy you.”

  The resonant depth of his voice was doing odd things to her body. She was tingling, of course. Now her stomach was fluttering and her skin was flush with heat. She took the handkerchief off her eyes and gazed at him. “I’ll fight harder. I want him back.”

  He smiled at her, but spoke no more as his carriage rolled up in front of a lovely house in Belgravia, not far from Hyde Park. Tynan hopped out and then turned to help her down. “I forgot to mention that my cousin has scars. I’ve grown so used to them, that I don’t see them at all now. But you’ve never met James. The scarring is prominent on his face.”

  “I won’t gawk.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “I know, it’s just that… I’m protective of him, as you are of your brother. I don’t want you to think lesser of him because of his scars.”

  “Tynan, my brother is a skeletal shadow of himself. He’s slowly killing himself by the day. He has sores on his body and hideous bruises. I think I can manage not to faint when I’m introduced to your cousin. If he’s half as wonderful as you, I shall adore him.” She inhaled lightly and groaned. “I mean… yes, that’s exactly what I mean. You must be aware of my admiration for you.”

  “I wasn’t. I wish you had told me earlier. I would have done something utterly rakish and improper about it.” He smirked now, but his expression remained tender.

  She inhaled lightly. “What would you have done?”

  “Kissed you, for starters.”

  He’d caught her off guard with that comment. Her face suffused with heat. “What?”

  “You heard me.” He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and led her up the couple of steps to the front door that was already open. “And if you don’t stop looking at me that way, I’m going to kiss you right here and now.”

  TYNAN ENJOYED THEIR quiet meal more than he had enjoyed anything in years. The glazed duck and fish in bechamel sauce, although delicious, had nothing to do with it. Abby’s smiles and gentle laughter, and her immediate acceptance of James was the reason.

  He’d been so worried about her reaction to his cousin’s scars, but he should have put his faith in her. Abby didn’t ignore the scars. She merely accepted them, looked beyond them. Her easy manner was infectious and put them all at ease. “The fish is excellent, Sophie,” she remarked, setting down her fork. “My compliments to your cook.”

  “Thank you, Abby. I shall let her know. She’ll be pleased.”

  Tynan’s chair groaned under his weight as he leaned back and stretched his arm across the empty seat beside him. The women were so friendly, one would think they were long lost sisters reunited for the first time in years.

  The four of them were dining in the more casual winter dining room, but even this intimate, small table was large enough to comfortably accommodate ten. They were all at one end of it, Abby seated across from him and cozily ensconced between Sophie and James. As head of the household, James was at the head of the table and Abby was to his right, traditionally a seat of honor. Sophie was to the right of her. Tynan was seated to the left of James, all by himself on his side of the table.

  Ridiculously, he missed being close enough to Abby to touch her, to inhale her delicate scent. He satisfied himself with watching her, something he could easily do while seated directly across from her.

  Abby was similar in many ways to James’ wife, Sophie. Beautiful, loving, and strong.

  Sophie recognized the similarity as well.

  She and James kept grinning at each other.

  When they weren’t grinning at each other
, they were grinning at him.

  One would think he’d brought the queen to dine here instead of the Honorable Miss Abigail Croft. In truth, it was a little insulting to see how relieved they were to see him with a respectable, young woman. Did they think he was a depraved Gorgon who ate young virgins for his supper?

  He knew what they were thinking. Marriage. Now that James and Sophie were rollicking in wedded bliss, they wanted everyone to be happily married.

  That included him.

  Bollocks.

  They’d better not tell his mother or his brothers about Abby.

  He’d never hear the end of it.

  More important, it wasn’t fair to Abby. He didn’t want anyone giving her the impression that he was serious about her. How could he be when he’d known her for less than a day? She was an acquaintance who needed his assistance. She was a diversion.

  No, that wasn’t quite right. To think of her as merely an amusement demeaned her unfairly.

  She was a refreshing change from the debutantes who had nothing in their empty heads but the desire to marry the Earl of Westcliff. They wanted the title, wealth, and stature that came with such a union. He, Tynan Brayden, was irrelevant to these girls.

  But he was important to Abby.

  He liked that.

  They got down to serious conversation as soon as the footmen had cleared away their plates. Abby spoke first, quietly telling them all about Peter.

  More than ever, Tynan wanted to reach across the table to take her hands in his. She had them tightly clasped in front of her, probably to keep them from trembling. She spoke with a sober earnestness, but there was a quiver to her voice every once in a while, and he knew that this discussion was difficult for her.

  He was relieved when James took over, and they all listened intently as he told Abby about his state of mind and the struggles he had endured upon returning to London. “I returned to a city I no longer recognized. It wasn’t so much that London had changed, but I had changed. I did not view it with the same eyes. The parties I attended before the war no longer seemed splendid but shallow. The people I’d once dismissed out of hand now seemed so much more vital and interesting to me than those within my social circle.” He sighed and shook his head. “And yet, I still wanted to belong in that social circle. That’s what I had been raised to do. It’s what I knew. But it had also become something I detested.”