by Darcy Burke
Lady of Pleasure
DELILAH MARVELLE
LADY OF PLEASURE
Copyright © 2014 Delilah Marvelle
Delilah Marvelle Productions, LLC All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1939912-00-8
ISBN-13: 978-1-939912-00-8
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s crazy imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and nothing you should worry about.
Book design © Delilah Marvelle.
Cover design © Seductive Designs.
Cover photo © Jenn LeBlanc.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
Prologue
Never underestimate your first and everlasting impression on a lady.
-The School of Gallantry
Late spring, 1824
London, England
There is usually one defining moment in every woman’s life when she realizes she is destined to fall in love with the wrong man and there is absolutely nothing she can do to save herself. For Lady Caroline Arabella Starling, the daughter of the notoriously scandalous Earl of Hawksford, that defining moment occurred on a dreary, rain-infested morning, when she was an impossible, impressionable, and most passionate thirteen years of age.
She was teetering on the library ladder, on the tips of her satin-slippered toes, trying to reach a book her brother had cleverly hidden behind the Bible, when a young gentleman with golden wavy hair and striking dark brown eyes appeared beside her.
“Might I be of assistance?” he rumbled out.
Startled at seeing a man she didn’t know, her foot slipped. “Aaah!”
He jumped toward her and grabbed her waist hard, keeping her from falling down the lacquered, wood steps.
Her heart popped as she savagely clung to the ladder and him. It took her several ragged breaths before she realized she wasn’t on the floor with a broken neck.
He steadied her, leaned in, and chided, “You really ought to more careful.”
Still clinging to the ladder, she glared. “I was being careful. What are you— I almost died! A man should never sneak up on a lady unannounced. Especially if she is up on a five-foot ladder.”
He released her corseted waist, a gruff laugh escaping him. “I didn’t mean to startle you. You appeared to be in need of assistance.” Reaching up beyond the ladder with a well-muscled arm that strained his coat, he retrieved the small leather-bound book from behind the Bible. “Was this the one you wanted?”
She paused, realizing he was holding the book she had been trying to read for weeks, and prayed it wasn’t too obscene in nature. Though knowing her brother, it probably was. Not that it ever kept her from reading his books. She was always looking for new words she couldn’t find in the dictionary. And obscene books were full of them. “Uh…yes. Thank you.”
“Of course.” He smiled and lowered the book toward her. “Is there any other book you need?”
“No.” She stared.
Though he was dressed in perfectly tailored evening attire, it appeared to have been slept in. And most likely it had been. It was, after all, morning. Despite that, his white linen cravat remained meticulous against his throat and his blond hair was brushed back into a perfect state of tidiness, whispering of a man who kept a comb with him at all times. He smelled splendidly of soap and hair tonic.
She had no doubt women liked him. He was dashing.
“Are you coming down?” He gently tapped the bottom of the ladder with his large, polished leather boot. “I don’t want you to fall.”
She had no idea who he was. She should have screamed, given there was a stranger in her home, but her upbringing was such that very few things caused her to scream. In fact, she was usually too worried about her parents’ behavior to give thought to much else. “You have eight breaths to tell me who you are and what you are doing in my home before I call in every last footman.”
He quirked a brow. “I just saved your life.”
She pursed her lips. “After you almost ended it.”
He smirked. “You must be one of Baxendale’s sisters.”
“I’m certainly not his mother.”
“I would have to agree. I don’t remember her having quite as many freckles on her nose.” His dark eyes mockingly brightened. “The name is Lord Caldwell. I’m an acquaintance of your brother’s.”
Oho. She knew that name. She’d been hearing it for years. And annoyingly, he was better looking than she imagined he would be. “Well, well. If it isn’t the Marquess of Caldwell from Devonshire. A man notorious for always getting my brother into trouble. Since you and he became friends, he has become quite the rebel. What do you have to say for yourself?”
He eyed her. “That your brother was a rebel long before I ever met him.”
She sighed. Yes. Sadly, that was true. “At least he isn’t a criminal.”
He angled toward her. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
“Alex told me you robbed His Majesty of his lucky sovereign a few weeks ago. For shame. Men are hanged for crimes such as yours.”
The edge of his mouth quirked. “He meant it metaphorically. I was invited to join in on a card game when His Majesty unexpectedly visited our club. The king wagered his lucky sovereign against a box of my cigars. And I won.”
She squinted, trying to decipher if he was lying. “His Majesty makes random visits to clubs? To play cards and take bets?”
“Of course he does.”
“Since when?”
“What do you mean since when? The man may be king but he has to live life outside of duty from time to time, doesn’t he?”
That made sense. Caroline hesitated and softened her tone, realizing she was being rude. “It must have been exciting to have met the king.”
“It was. I actually met him once before at a formal levee when I was presented as the new marquess many years ago.”
If only she could meet the king. She had always imagined herself marrying into royalty. But then again, every female did. “So do you have it on you?”
“What?”
“The sovereign you won off His Majesty. Do you have it on you?”
“Yes. Why?” He patted his embroidered waistcoat pocket.
She almost jumped off the ladder in excitement. “Might I see it? Given it belonged to His Majesty.”
He shifted toward her. “After rudely being accused of stealing it? Why would I?”
She held his gaze. “I didn’t mean it.”
He kept his rugged face and tone serious. “Something tells me you did.”
She winced, knowing she had. “I’m sorry. I sometimes don’t know when my brother is teasing me or when he is being serious. But that is no excuse. Will you forgive me?”
He let out a low whistle. “Honesty and an apology? That deserves recognition.” With the hand that wasn’t holding the book, he dug into his pocket and snapped up the gold sovereign between this thumb and forefinger. He held it out. “Go on.”
A gushing grin tugged her lips. Leaning over the side of the ladder, she carefully retrieved the coin. The gold surface glinted against the morning sunlight streaking into the library. The fading date of 1732 was stamped into its center, its worn edges whispering that it had been carried quite a bit. “If it belonged to the king, why is it so worn?”
He lowered his voice as if imparting a secret. “Because as you can see by the date, it’s almost a hundred years old and has passed through various hands since it was minted. According to the king, it was carried in the pocket of many a great man, including that of Wellington himself, when he fought against Napoleon at Waterloo. The duke gifted this to the king as a token from the war. I don
’t know why His Majesty wagered it, but it’s priceless. Do you know how many men have tried to buy this off me since it came into my possession? Countless. I can assure you, however, no amount of money will make me part with it. Because if this coin can bring a man enough good fortune to produce a victory at Waterloo, imagine what it can do for me.”
“How extraordinary. So you think it’s lucky?”
“I don’t think. I know. This coin is going to change my life. Great things lie ahead for me.”
She glanced at him, sensing he actually believed in its ability to change his fortune. It reminded her of the way she wished upon stars at night. “What sort of great things?”
He squinted up at the ceiling before saying, “When I have enough money saved, which won’t be for at least another three to four years, I intend to buy back my father’s estate in Devonshire and invite my aunt, her husband and children out of Paris to visit with me every summer. I have adorable little cousins I would like to see more of.”
She blinked. “Your cousins are fortunate to be so well thought of. And what do you mean you intend to buy back the estate? Do you no longer have the estate?”
His features grew somber. “No. It left my family shortly after my mother died.”
“Oh.” Fingering the worn gold surface of the coin, she decided it was best to dash from this conversation. It was making him sad. Heavens, it was making her sad. “I hope the king’s sovereign brings you luck and more. And it will if you believe in it.” She smiled in an effort to cheer him and held it out.
“I appreciate the sentiment.” Reclaiming the coin, he smoothed it against his hand, admiring it, before tucking it into his pocket. “It’s the first time I’ve ever won anything. It makes me feel lucky.”
His words and his demeanor hinted that this Lord Caldwell wasn’t the rakish snob she had imagined he would be. “You seem very amiable. Which I will admit, surprises me.”
A smile cracked his somber appearance. “Does it?”
“Yes. From all the stories, I thought you were crazier than my brother.”
He leaned in. “Don’t believe everything you hear. No man is crazier than your brother.” He grinned.
That overly inviting grin crinkled not only the edges of his mouth but his eyes in a way that made her inwardly melt. She liked this Caldwell. He seemed warm and genuine. And handsome. She liked the way his sunlit hair fell toward those smoky, dark eyes. The contrast between light and dark was striking. “How old are you? Twenty?”
He eyed her, his grin fading. “Why do you want to know?”
She shrugged. “Ah, you know how it is. A girl has to start considering prospects, and you seem intelligent enough and amiable enough for me to consider.”
He lowered his chin. “I’m five and twenty. Which is a bit old for your tastes.”
She attempted to keep her voice mature and breathy. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. According to Mama, a man needs to be at least ten years older than a woman if their minds are to ever meet. And Mama knows a thing or two about men, having dealt with Papa’s wild antics for well over twenty years. So tell me. Are you on the market for a wife? Or are you still debating?”
He smirked, searching her face. “Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“Annoyingly adorable?”
“Annoyingly adorable?” she echoed. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“It is. I rarely find anyone to be both.” He reached out and dabbed her nose. “Might I ask which sister of the five you are?”
She set her chin, annoyed that he had just dabbed at her nose as if she were three. “I’m Lady Caroline. I’m the oldest of my sisters.” She made sure to emphasize that.
He paused. “You’re Lady Caroline?”
He said it as if there was something wrong with her. She really hated her brother sometimes. “Whatever Alex told you about me is a lie. I’m incredibly well mannered.”
“I don’t doubt it.” He switched the book he was holding into his other hand, intently searching her face. “Your brother, however, tells me you like to collect...words,” he stated ominously. “And not very nice ones at that.”
Leave it to her brother to snitch. “And? What of it?”
“Shouldn’t you be occupying yourself with more respectable activities? Such as singing and playing the pianoforte?”
She eyed him dubiously. “Have you met my family? We only sing and play the pianoforte when champagne is involved.”
“You’re too young for champagne.”
She held up two fingers. “I’ve had it twice.”
“Why does that not surprise me given who your father is?” He tapped the ladder. “Hold on with both hands, will you? You’re making me nervous. Or better yet, come down. There is no need for you to stay up on this ladder.”
“I prefer this height. I dislike looking up at people during a conversation, and you, my lord, are tall.” Adjusting her grip on the ladder, she glanced toward the open doorway of the library behind them. “Where is my brother anyway? Do you know? I haven’t seen him all morning. Or much of yesterday, for that matter.”
“He and I were out all of yesterday, last night, and most of this morning.”
“That is quite the endeavor. A day and a half? What were you two doing?”
He puffed out his cheeks for a moment before deflating them. “Praying.”
He must have thought she was stupid. “In other words, my brother debauched himself again, didn’t he? And apparently, you did, too. Though hopefully not together.”
His brows rose. “You did not just say what I think you did.”
She sighed, realizing that despite the fact he and her brother had known each other for years, he was still rather new to the wild ways of her family. “I know full well what goes on in the world and have since I was eleven when I accidentally caught my parents doing things with riding crops they shouldn’t have. They had to explain everything. And believe me when I say they didn’t leave anything out. In my humble opinion, and I do mean humble, my lord, you ought to be a better friend to my brother and cease encouraging him to chase women. Because it’s all he ever does. I ask of you, what if he gets the pox? What then? There is no cure for it, and he is the only heir to the Hawksford estate. My father says if a man is fortunate enough to survive any and all mercury treatments, which is rare, the pox still causes things to fall off. Important things.” She lowered her voice. “If you know what I mean.”
He stared. “You know far too much for your age.”
She rolled her eyes. “One can never know too much. Papa, Mama, and I always talk about everything. And I do mean everything. There isn’t a subject we don’t discuss. We are all very close like that.”
He hesitated. “I should probably go.”
“Oh, no, not close like that,” she corrected.
He cleared his throat and added, “I really must go.”
Just when she was beginning to like him. Her heart dropped. “I’m overly forward in nature, aren’t I?”
“Oh, no. I was enjoying our conversation. Until we got on the topic of the pox.”
She cringed. She had to hold the reins better when it came to conversations. Sadly, she wasn’t used to associating with anyone outside her family. It was awkward.
He glanced around. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the cards are at? Baxendale said they would be in here. I don’t want to keep him waiting.”
She blinked. “You and my brother plan on playing cards after being out a day and a half? Aren’t you both tired?”
He shrugged. “We slept in the carriage on the way back.”
“Oh.” She eased her grip on the ladder and remembered to breathe. “The cards are in the game box. Beside the window.”
“Thank you.” He stepped back with the book.
She winced, realizing he still had her brother’s obscene book in his hand. “Might I have my book back, please?” She tried to be casual about it.
“Of course.
What are you reading? Anything good?” He glanced at the leather bound book that read Confessions of a Voluptuous Young Lady and paused. His brows came together as he turned the lettering toward himself.
Uh, oh.
He flipped it open. Paging through it slowly and then quickly upon realizing there were nude sketches of individuals in every compromising position possible, he eyed her. “You plan on reading this?”
For the first time in her life, she felt her entire face burn. She wasn’t used to explaining herself to people. Her parents were incredibly liberal and forgiving when it came to taboo subjects. Too liberal and forgiving. Mostly because they defined those subjects. As a result, her parents weren’t exactly popular with the ton. And she doubted she would be, either, when she debuted. “I never look at the pictures,” she quickly pointed out. “And I don’t read it, per say. I dig through it to find words. It’s research.”
“Research?” He wagged the book at her. “For God’s sake, you aren’t old enough for this sort of research.”
He sounded like her brother. “I beg to differ, but my age puts me at an advantage. It will take me years to record all of the words that go unnamed in a dictionary. Do you know how many pieces of obscene literature contain renditions of disreputable slang that have never been documented into the English language?”
His lips parted. “Why the devil are you documenting disreputable words?”
“Because it’s fascinating. It represents a facet of society no one cares to acknowledge. I plan on making a dictionary out of all the words and explaining the meaning of each one. ‘Tis never been done before and I have no doubt I could turn quite the profit. Though I suppose I should use a pseudonym. Lest I get arrested for it. Or hanged.”
“I hate to disappoint you, but a book like that already exists. It’s called The Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue. I own a copy.”
