by Christi Caldwell, Eva Devon, Elizabeth Essex, Anthea Lawson
Trumbold swayed then laughed. “Lady? Do you know who this is?”
“No,” William said flatly. “We haven’t been introduced. But I know you, you sick old bastard. Let her go.”
Trumbold blinked and swayed again. “I say, who’s there?”
Bad eyesight was apparently on the list of the man’s shortcomings.
William stepped further toward the firelight.
“Talbot,” he slurred.
And with that, somehow the girl got her hand free and she popped Trumbold’s jaw.
Much to William’s shock, Trumbold fell like a bulbous tree.
She brushed her hands off then stepped over the body. She turned to William. “Do you think we should call a physician?”
He stared at her, transfixed.
Black hair coiled about her head and her eyes, a strange violet-blue shone with no fury but rather a sort of plucky acceptance of the bad behavior of men. Her simple, but beautiful, white gown slipped over her body in the sylphlike fashion of the day.
Voluminous but dampened fabric couldn’t hide her silhouette in the firelight.
She was rather average in height, but the curves of her body couldn’t be ignored.
The girl, woman, was lovely. And more so for the way in which she’d so easily shucked off her discomfort.
William tore his gaze away and stared at the body of the fallen lord. “I doubt you’ve killed him.”
“Pity,” she replied with the faint curl of a lip.
“His death would have led to a good many questions,” he couldn’t help pointing out.
“I’m accustomed to questions and courts.”
“Are you, by God?” he declared, amazed at her admission.
She bit down on her lower lip as if regretting her confession then she sighed and continued “No use pretending otherwise. I’m Lady Felicity,” she raised her chin defiantly, “The Earl of Penworth’s daughter.”
And then she stuck her gloved hand out towards him as if daring him not to shake it.
Given the oddity of the situation, he allowed himself a low whistle of amazement. He assessed her again.
She had the look of that blackguard, Penworth.
But it never would have occurred to him she’d have the courage to face the ton after her father’s flight.
He took her hand and gave it a firm shake. “My admiration, Lady Felicity. You’re a tough little thing, aren’t you?”
If possible, she stood a little taller. “Life has made me such, but I do not think I am bitter.”
“No,” he said with increasing admiration. “I can’t say that you are.”
And she wasn’t. Quite the opposite. She didn’t appear angry. She just seemed to have the air of one who got on with things.
“May I ask how the devil you’re here?” he asked with unintended bluntness. The last he had heard, the Drake sisters had been summarily tossed from society.
Her brows rose ever so slightly at the rudeness of his question. “Do I have the plague? Should I be banished, sir?”
He coughed. “Do forgive me, that’s not—“
Her brows rose a trifle higher.
“Well, yes then,” he said truthfully. “I am amazed that you’re brazening it out. Most women don’t have the guts, you know. Their friends are usually ready to shred them once they’ve been ruined.”
She smiled. “Brazening it out? I quite like that. And you must have a very low estimation of women.”
“I? Never say so. They are delightful creatures though not very constant. Except for my sisters. My sisters are all wonderful”
She gave him an odd look. “I’m sorry you feel thus about women, but I am glad you do admire your sisters.”
He smiled slowly, suddenly wishing to see if he could ruffle her so calm feathers. “I adore them. However, the weaker sex has its shortcomings, but then men aren’t saints.”
Her whole body tensed and she looked like she was about to give him a blistering set down. “How true, my lord.”
Hmmm. That wasn’t the response he was expecting. He’d been certain that the word weaker would have had her giving him a good talking to but then. . .
“Ah,” he said. “You’re husband hunting.”
“Being of the weaker sex, I am amazed you think women can hunt at all, my lord. Surely, we wait, cowering, to be conquered and taken?”
He choked on a laugh. “I’ve seen what happens to men who try to conquer and take you, Lady Felicity.”
She gave half a smile and looked down on the still passed out body of the old lord. “So, you have.”
“He deserved it,” William said, his admiration once again growing for her more and more. Truthfully, while his mother was quite troublesome, he liked strong women. They were far preferable to the silly lot waiting to catch him once he was willing to be caught.
“Yes, he did,” she said firmly. “He wouldn’t leave me alone, you see. And while I do wish to be married, I could not face marrying him.”
“Why not?” William couldn’t help asking. For some reason, he wished to ask her questions which would declare the strength of her fiber. “He’ll shuffle off his mortal coil soon enough and then you'd be free.”
She scowled. “While I might make a merry widow, the chance you’re suggesting I take is not worth it nor is it amusing.”
“No. No, it’s not,” he acceded. “He’s a bounder. But there are many young ladies who’d take him. Perhaps he likes a challenge.”
“I have heard that some men do.”
“So I have heard, too,” he said, unable to hide his distaste.
“But not you?” she queried.
“I like my ladies very willing.”
“And have you had many?”
William stared at her, wondering how the devil he’d managed to meet such an odd person. “For a young lady on the marriage mart, and with a father like yours, you ask very dangerous questions.”
She blanched. “I know. It’s very difficult to stop myself.”
“Why?” he asked, genuinely wishing to know.
“Because my father didn’t raise me to be one of the sheep.”
“The sheep?” Realization dawned on him. “You mean like the other ladies.”
“I mean like everyone in the ton,” she explained before she paused. “Well, not everyone. There are a few people he admired and thought to have a few wits. Not many mind you. But a few.”
“You know, there’s something pleasant about being a sheep,” he pointed out.
She sighed. “I know.”
“Do you?”
“Sheep are protected, cared for, no trials or tribulations. They simply go wherever they are told. But. . .“
To his surprise, he found himself leaning forward, waiting to hear what she would say next. “Yes?”
“Sometimes that somewhere is over a cliff.”
“Your father is the one who suffered, it seems to me, not the sheep.”
“True.” She let out a resigned sigh. “He was very foolish.”
“To do what he did?”
She met his gaze and said with absolute conviction, “To get caught.”
The moment those words passed her lips, William knew he was in a very dangerous situation. Very dangerous, indeed. Because as lovely as Lady Felicity was, he had a feeling that nothing could ever get in the way of her goals.
And her goal was marriage.
Chapter 3
Felicity eyed the absolutely beautiful man with deepening consideration. How could she get him to marry her? It was the very first thought that crossed her mind when she’d turned to him after laying Lord Trumbold low.
After all, she had to marry. Why not him?
Perhaps it was utterly foolish, but that was what her instinct had demanded the moment she’d set eyes on him.
My goodness! He was beautiful.
Dark hair framed a strong face, angular jaw, hawkish jetty eyes, and a complexion that indicated he spent a great deal of time outdoors.
Just as she was about to ask if he was married, a strange look crossed his face.
“I do think you should be going back,” he said. “Surely, you’ll be missed.”
Stymied, she nodded. She didn’t wish to trick him into marriage. Not this man. She wanted him of his own free will. Now, how to convince him?
Just as she strode forward, ready to thank him for being willing to come to her aid (though such a thing hadn’t been necessary) a hand reached out and grabbed her ankle.
She yelped and barreled forward.
He caught her in his beautiful strong arms just as Lord Trumbold let out another groan and flopped back to the floor.
Her heart raced as she was crushed to Lord Talbot.
She grimaced at the recollection of Lord Trumbold’s fleshy grip on her ankle.
“It’s all right,” Lord Talbot said softly, gazing down at her. “You’re safe with me.”
She leaned in against him, savoring the brief feeling of being safe. She knew it was an illusion. Women had to take care of themselves. Oh, they needed husbands, but they had to rely on themselves if they wished for a good life.
Still, it had shaken her, the way Lord Trumbold had grabbed her. Perhaps, the whole night had shaken her more than she wished to admit. She knew it would be difficult, reentering society. She’d known people would be cruel, but she hadn’t quite been prepared for the way some men had treated her, as if just by association with her whoremonger of a father, that she, too, was a whore.
But not this man.
This man hadn’t tried a thing. And he’d seemed to respect her.
Just as Lord Talbot gazed into her eyes searchingly, his hands gently clasping her back, the door suddenly opened.
A chorus of squeals of dismay mixed with salacious delight filled the room.
Lord Talbot’s hold tensed and she couldn’t bear to look. But the tittering gossip forced her to glance over her shoulder.
“Lady Felicity,” bellowed Lady Flanders, one of the most notorious ton gossips. “Whatever are you doing?”
“Being ruined!” chirped the lady behind her.
“Bad blood,” someone else said loudly.
Just at that moment, a loud moan came from the body on the floor.
“Murder,” screamed Lady Flanders so violently that her feathered hairpiece trembled.
“Not at all,” Lord Talbot said tersely. “Lord Trumbold fell ill. And we were seeing to his care.”
“Demmed hussy,” muttered Trumbold.
Talbot’s grip tightened on her shoulders and his whole face seemed to grow cold.
He gazed from her to Lord Trumbold’s sprawled form and then to the ladies in the doorway. A pained understanding dawned on his face.
“Lady Felicity,” cooed Lady Flanders. “Two gentlemen at your side. . . And in a quiet corner. My, my. It was a good thing you were here to aid Lord Trumbold. But whatever were you doing with these two gentlemen. Alone.”
“Madam, that is none of your business,” she bit out. Her throat tightened and she felt sick. Desperately, she glanced up at Lord Talbot.
She hadn’t wished to trap him. But suddenly, she was hoping beyond all measure he wouldn’t leave her to twist in the wind. If he did. . . She was well and truly ruined.
That would be that. Her life as she had hoped it would be would be over.
Suddenly, Lord Trumbold pushed himself up. “Demmed good of you Talbot.”
Lord Talbot narrowed his eyes. “I beg your pardon?”
“To catch my fiancée,” Trumbold slurred. “When she tripped. Silly miss.”
“Fiancée?” echoed Lady Flanders.
Felicity’s stomach twisted. This couldn’t be happening.
“Mmm.” Somehow, Lord Trumbold managed to swing himself up from the floor, his face a frightening red and purple. He placed a hand to his temple. “Agreed to marry me just now and then I became overheated and passed out. Talbot here passed by and came to our aid.”
A leering grin pulled at Trumbold’s face. “Many thanks Talbot, for assisting my darling girl.”
Lady Flanders laughed. “Oh, well then. . . As long as there are wedding bells in the future. Congratulations, Lady Felicity. You’ve certainly made an interesting and advantageous match.”
Bile crept up her throat. Oh God. She was going to have to marry Lord Trumbold. And if she did, she’d go down for murder. Because she’d have to kill the blighter before she let him put his fleshy paws on her again.
She glanced up at Lord Talbot, desperately wondering why he was so silent. No doubt, he was relieved. After all, with Trumbold’s proclamation he was free.
But anger had hardened his face.
Lord Talbot pulled her tighter to him and drawled, “I do believe you hit your head when you fell, Trumbold.”
“Did I?” Trumbold asked, his eyes turning to pinpricks of hatred.
“Yes,” Talbot declared. “For you see, the lady has agreed to marry me.”
Another gush of noise, only this time shock and titillation, went up from the crowd of ladies at the door.
“Two men claiming affiance, Lady Felicity,” said Lady Flanders with a hint of venom. “What a lucky girl.”
The words should have been complimentary but Lady Flanders said them through gritted teeth, no doubt because her own daughter was facing a third Season this year with no proposal in sight.
“I am very lucky,” Felicity said defiantly. All the while, her whole body tingled with disbelief and relief.
“I say now,” growled Trumbold as he grabbed hold of the settee before the fire and pulled himself up. “Steady on. She’s mine.”
“You were dreaming, my lord,” Talbot said tightly.
“Devil take it,” Trumbold roared. “She’s mine.”
The ladies at the door went very quiet and they all seemed to lean forward as one to hear unencumbered.
“If you don’t desist your absurd claim, you and I will be meeting at dawn, my lord.” Talbot allowed the threat to hang ominously in the air before asking, “Is that your wish?”
Trumbold immediately retracted, like a bullfrog whose belly suddenly deflates. “No. No meetings at dawn.”
“I didn’t think so. Now, Lady Felicity has had quite a shock. I must take her back to her chaperone.”
There was a snort from one of the ladies which seemed to suggest whoever Lady Felicity’s chaperone happened to be was absolutely ineffectual.
Somehow, Lord Marksborough, the Marquess of Talbot, strode with her in tow in such a fashion that the ladies parted quickly to allow them to depart.
Felicity rushed after him without looking back.
As they headed down the dark hall, she tugged on his hand. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
He stopped and whipped around. “Don’t thank me. I couldn’t let that man. . .”
Panic raced through her. He looked like a man who’d been hit in the head with a cricket bat. “But. . . You’ll marry me?”
To that, he said nothing. He merely stared down at her in the darkness. Then without another word, he turned and left her standing by herself in the lonely hall.
Chapter 4
William sat at the breakfast table, cup of coffee in one hand, news sheet in the other when the gaggle of his sisters descended in female crescendo.
Elizabeth, the youngest, skipped into the breakfast room and delivered a quick kiss to his cheek, which he happily leaned down for while keeping his eyes on the article discussing the state of affairs in France.
Mary, who was having her first Season, entered with more decorum than Elizabeth or even Jane who had already plunked herself into a seat and plucked two slices of toast for her plate.
But as Mary sat, he felt her stare.
Mary was an intelligent young lady. He adored all his sisters. They were all too clever for his good and he often wished their father was still alive so that he might be the one to usher them into the tr
avails of this world.
But no.
And Mary, who saw him entirely as a brother, no father figure insight, started to laugh, a delightful, sound.
He wasn’t delighted.
He knew why she was laughing.
He might have come directly home from the ball last night, leaving their mother to escort them home, but he knew that word of his situation had, no doubt, spread like wildfire through the ball.
He lowered his paper. “Yes, Mary? Do you have something to contribute?”
Elizabeth chimed in a singsong voice, “William’s getting married.”
“Is it true?” Mary asked.
“Is what true?” he returned, flicking his paper straight.
“That you’ve been caught!” exclaimed Jane between mouthfuls of toast.
“Me?” William intoned. “Caught? Never.”
“But you don’t even know her!” pointed out Elizabeth, who was far too wise for a girl of nine years. “You must have been caught.”
“Do you even know what that means, Elizabeth?” William asked.
“Well, it sounds very much like fishing.” Elizabeth spread marmalade on her toast. “The lady uses bait to catch the unsuspecting fellow. Then he is caught and she reels him in, no escape. And then she eats him.”
He choked on his coffee. “How very succinct.”
Elizabeth grinned a gamine grin, her chocolate eyes sparkling. “Thank you.”
He sometimes feared for whatever fellow would marry Elizabeth. She was at once an utter charmer and a terror. He, of course, adored her with every last bit of his being. He adored all of them.
When he’d said that to Lady Felicity, he’d meant it.
“Well?” asked Jane as she took three slices of rashers.
He folded the paper. Here it was. The moment. “I haven’t been caught. I’ve sacrificed myself.”
Mary blinked then wrinkled her slightly freckled nose. “Oh, that sounds terrible.”
“Poor thing, this girl,” sighed Elizabeth with great drama.
“Why poor her?” demanded William. “I’m the one who is sacrificing.”
“And that’s it!” exclaimed Mary. “If you’d been caught she’d be quite clever, but one must feel sorry for her if you’re just doing the right thing.”
