Wedded to the Wicked Lord: Historical Regency Romance (Wicked Warwick Wives Book 2)

by Ella Edon

  Silently, she looked over at her mother to see that she was staring at Selina. In fact, her dear sister seemed to be the object of everyone’s eyes, as they watched the graceful beauty swirl around the center of the ballroom to the gentle music swaying overhead. Louisa could see the pride in her mother’s eyes, the happiness. To be amongst the other chaperones, watching her dear daughter catch the attention of so many legitimate and handsome gentlemen, was something her mother had always longed for.

  Louisa would never be able to provide that for her. She would remain the disappointment of her family for the rest of her life. Stifling her sigh, she threw the wine to the back of her throat, not caring if it might look a tad bit indelicate.

  She was very aware of the fact that Charlotte was watching her closely. “Do not concern yourself, Louisa,” Charlotte said in a rather calming voice. “I am certain you will find the right gentleman for you one day. Mother need not understand now, but she will understand when it is time.”

  No one understands. She was tempted to say the words aloud, but it was a secret she’d kept to herself for so long that she hardly knew where to begin. Now was neither the time nor the place, anyhow. “I suppose so,” she said noncommittally.

  Charlotte sighed again. “Why does that not inspire any confidence in me?”

  Louisa looked over at Charlotte as her sister adjusted the spectacles on her face. “Now, now. Let us not act as if it will be the end of the world if I do not marry.”’

  Charlotte’s shoulders sagged. “For some people in our family, it may very well be.”

  Louisa didn’t get the chance to question her sister’s ambiguous statement when they were approached by the Duke of Rutherford himself. He was quite the vision, tall with broad shoulders and a head of dark hair that gave him a mysterious look. His blue eyes sought his wife instantly, filled with love, before they came to rest on Louisa.

  He gave her a deep bow and when he lifted his head, his eyes were filled with humor. Louisa tilted her head to the side, not bothering to give her brother-in-law a proper greeting. She’d known him when he had simply been Kenneth Blackmore.

  “Do my eyes deceive me?” he began. He looked at his wife, who already seemed to glow in his presence. “Surely this cannot be your sister, Charlotte? My, she doesnlook like her, but she wouldn’t dare to attend a ball such as this.”

  “Believe me when I say, Kenneth, that I had to be dragged kicking and screaming,” Louisa quipped, a smile itching at her lips.

  Kenneth chuckled. “Now, that sounds correct. Though I suppose Lady Warwick is very pleased. A few gentlemen present may dare to approach you for a dance.”

  “I shudder at the very thought.” Kenneth laughed. Charlotte sighed. Louisa smiled, certain that they didn’t know just how literally she meant it. The thought of dancing with any gentleman present sent a chill up her spine.

  “Then I will not attempt to ask you,” Kenneth told her before letting his eyes come to rest on Charlotte. She turned her face up to her husband, lifting her brow in anticipation. “You, however, Your Grace, I cannot resist. May I have this dance?”

  Charlotte slipped her hand into his with a nod. “It would be a pleasure.”

  Louisa watched as the couple made their way to the center of the ballroom, Kenneth pulling Charlotte close. The sight should have made her envious, at the very least, but Louisa only wanted to disappear into the wall. It was quite nice watching her sisters enjoy themselves, but she was quite eager to be gone.

  “Finally, I may speak with you alone.”

  Louisa tensed. All the hairs on her body stood on end, her heart pounding when she realized just how close that voice was. Right by her ear. Slowly, painfully, she turned to see the dreaded Marquess of Myrtlebury standing so close to her that he might as well be brushing her arm. Louisa instantly took a step back, fighting the waves of nausea, the chills, and the anger.

  “My Lord,” she greeted through gritted teeth. He was giving her that foolish smile that made her want to say things she knew, as a lady, she could never say. “I did not hear you approach. Is there something you would like to say to me?”

  Her hopes were for him to say no. For her to take that single word and use it as an excuse to escape before he had the chance to say anything else. Her breathing was fast growing labored, her chest cramping at the fact that, even though she’d stepped away, he’d stepped closer.

  “Yes, there is.” The Marquess inclined his head to the middle of the ballroom, the question apparent. “Would you do me the honor of having this dance with me, my Lady? I have been mustering up the courage to ask you this for most of the evening and it would truly make me the happiest man in attendance.”

  He held his hand out to her and Louisa resisted the urge to flinch. She racked her brain for an excuse. All her witty comments, her snide little jokes that had always served to push gentlemen away, disappeared in an instant. She was sweating now, shaking. “No, thank you, my Lord,” she managed to push out. “I am feeling a bit unwell.”

  “Perhaps it is because you have been standing in this corner for most of the ball,” he said. He was quite daft, she thought, if he couldn’t notice that she was trembling. “I assure you that you will feel worlds better when you stretch your legs and catch the wind from the outdoors wafting through the ballroom.”

  “I must decline—”

  “Heavens, this is quite a lovely song, is it not? We should take advantage of it right away.” He reached his hand out to take hers.

  “Do not touch me!”

  The Marquess drew back at her hiss. It was hardly loud enough to capture the attention of those around them, hardly loud enough to cause a scandal. But the Marquess looked as if he had been burned.

  Louisa felt as if she’d been burned. She was hot, but whether it was from her fear or her anger, she didn’t know. She quickly slipped away from the gentleman and hurried away, knowing full well that he was staring after her.

  He would not be so foolish as to follow me, would he? Certainly he has that much common sense?

  Louisa didn’t have the strength to look behind her. Her feet carried her out of the ballroom, tears blurring her eyes and warming her cheeks. She didn’t slow until she was safely away from everyone, at a decent distance from the noise of the ball. Then, she stopped, leaning heavily against the nearby wall while the hallway swam in her vision.

  She knew exactly where she was. She’d played here enough as a child to know that above her head was a painting of Hyde Park. She knew that if she turned the corner, she would find the small library that she used to hide in when she was younger. And she knew that if anyone were following her, she would have heard it by now, because this hallway echoed any sound that was made.

  Her own heaves were enough to drown out any other sound around her. She glanced behind her to see that she was right—the Marquess had not followed her. Or, if he did, he did not know where she had gone. She was safe for the moment, but that didn’t stop her from panicking, didn’t stop the bile from stinging her throat and her breaths coming out in shudders.

  With trembling fingers, Louisa reached into the folds of her dress to pull out the small vial of laudanum she’d hidden there. She always kept it with her. She’d begun carrying it around for situations like this, when she would begin to panic if a man deigned to touch her. Right now, it was her only lifeline.

  Louisa quickly uncorked it and tipped it at her lips. The effects were not instantaneous, but she felt calmer knowing that she would feel relief soon. She straightened, trying to take a deep breath, but failed.

  I cannot go back there.

  Louisa knew now it had been a mistake coming here in the first place. The memory would forever be embedded in her mind now. The sight of him reaching out to her, the horror that had descended when she realized his fingers were about to touch her. It was why Louisa could never marry. She carried with her a fear, born from a past that she could never forget.

  A past that had been derailed by an uncle. B
y appreciative eyes and wandering fingers. The past a girl who had been filled with fear and horror, who had begged for help.

  Louisa swallowed harshly and quickly downed a bit more of the laudanum. Wiping her cheeks free of the tears, she decided to make her way to the library. She would hide there for the remainder of the ball. If she went back, there was no telling what she might do.

  Chapter Four

  This task was much more draining than Jerome had expected it to be.

  He couldn’t get the dawning realization of his new future out of his head even as he nodded along to the lady he held in his arms. Miss Catherine, the daughter of the Duke of Brookshire. A beautiful young lady with a head of brown curls and hooded brown eyes. She happened to be debuting at tonight’s ball, a fact that her mother had not hesitated to mention to Jerome. A fact that the Duchess of Brookshire didn’t think would be an issue for her precious daughter. While Miss Catherine jabbered on in his ear, he could still remember the way the duchess had narrowed her eyes at him as he asked her daughter to dance.

  Young. Beautiful. And with a status that was befitting a lady who could become the next Duchess of Leinster. She was perfect…save for the fact that she would not stop talking. And would not stop flirting. His father would despise her.

  Jerome found that out only a few seconds into the dance, when Miss Catherine began to detail all the different men who had already asked her to dance and who looked like promising suitors. He’d wondered if she’d said that to foster competition or to get him to back off since he was nothing but a titleless man. Now, he knew that she was only trying to make him jealous. When that hadn’t worked, she’d gone on to talk about herself.

  Jerome had not gotten many words in since he’d gathered her into his arm and now found himself longing for the end of the dance. The ball was well underway, the night old, and he was yet to find someone suitable. The ladies in attendance either had too little prestige, were too plain, or had something about their personality that Jerome knew his picky father would not like. His earlier confidence had been worn thin and now he knew that finding a wife would prove quite the problem.

  “Oh, is it over already?” came Miss Catherine’s voice. She sounded dejected and stared up at him with hopeful eyes. “I hope you will ask for my hand again?”

  He was certain her choice of words was deliberate. Her hand for a dance, or her hand in marriage? Jerome wouldn’t take the bait, however.

  “Perhaps so, my Lady,” he said to her as he guided her back to her mother. She stood amongst women he was not acquainted with, watching him with judgmental eyes. “My dearest thanks, Your Grace,” he said to the Duchess of Brookshire, “for allowing me to steal her away for a while.”

  The duchess lifted her chin but said nothing. It was Miss Catherine who answered. “The pleasure was mine, Mr. Cooper. I would so love to do it again.”

  “Catherine!” her mother hissed.

  Jerome didn’t mind. He was not a noble. The daughter of a duke should set her eyes elsewhere, even if she was clearly besotted.

  Jerome bowed respectfully at the mother and daughter, and then bowed to the other women who stood nearby. They were the friends of the duchess—countesses, marchionesses, and other duchesses who did not approve of him. All except the Countess of Warwick.

  Lady Liliana King was still the mature beauty she had been when he’d first met her. She was quite kind and smiled warmly at him when he lifted his head. He remembered how gently she’d once treated him when he had courted one of her daughters, Miss Charlotte. But even though Charlotte was now married to the Duke of Rutherford, it seemed the countess was content to continue her kindness.

  He stepped to the side, intending to address her alone rather than the entire group of women. “I am happy to see you again, Lady Warwick. It has been quite some time.”

  “Yes, it has,” Liliana said. “I was very surprised to see you in attendance. I have not heard from you in a while. I reckoned you had been busy with work.”

  “Busy, I am, my Lady. But now I must busy myself with finding a wife before I grow old.”

  Liliana laughed. “You have a few years ahead of you before you have to worry about growing old, but I understand. Have you greeted Charlotte and her husband yet?”

  Jerome nodded. It was the first thing he’d done when he arrived. And it had gone exactly the way he’d expected. Charlotte responding kindly and the duke with an ounce of coldness.

  Liliana, though he didn’t say the words, seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. She looked neither apologetic nor pleased. “Then I wish you luck on your quest, Mr. Cooper.”

  “Thank you, my Lady.”

  He bowed again before making his leave. This time, Jerome didn’t go to another chaperoned lady waiting to be taken out to dance. He instead headed towards the doors of the ballroom, needing to escape. Such surroundings were stifling to him. He thrived in business meetings, talking to powerful men who had the influence to change the economy around them. In social settings where he had to impress not only a young marriageable woman, but her mother as well, Jerome felt as if he was failing terribly. He may be handsome, but that didn’t stop him from putting his foot in his mouth time and time again.

  Just a small break. That was all he needed. He would have liked to go out into the gardens, but he knew there would be others walking about. The distant sound of the ball, coupled with the cries of the bugs of the night, would not calm him. It would only make him more anxious.

  So he escaped into the hallway, taking a deep breath. He would walk around for a bit, listen to his empty footsteps until he was certain he could brave the masses again. The servants should not be about in this part of the manor at this time, and so it gave him the confidence to turn right down the hallway.

  Francis would not be pleased. Jerome had made his confidence clear when he’d last spoken to him, but now he knew he’d only been thriving off the future that had been laid bare before him. The future as the Duke of Leinster. To marry a noblewoman had sounded like an easy task when that was all that stood between him and the title he would receive, but perhaps it would be best for Jerome to take a step back and evaluate his options. In his position, finding such a woman who was willing to marry him was bound to be difficult.

  His thoughts came to a halt when he spotted a lady in the distance. She’d just turned into the hallway, staggering forward. She paused, rested her hand on the wall to steady herself, rubbed her eyes, and then continued. Jerome frowned, watching as she stumbled back and forth, her head lolling around her as if it was too heavy for her neck.

  From the blanket of moonlight pouring in from the windows to the right of Jerome, he could see that her hair was a glorious blond. It seemed to glow around her, seemed to capture that silvery light as if she were nothing short of an angel. Had it not been for the fact that she seemed quite drunk, Jerome would have believed it.

  She wore a lovely azure gown that clung gently to her curves. Tendrils of that blond hair framed her face, brushing the nape of her neck. When she stopped, she hung her head, her chin nearly touching the outline of her bust showing above the dress. Jerome swallowed harshly.

  Then he came back to himself. He approached her slowly, not wanting to startle her. She didn’t seem aware of his presence, continuing to stagger forward. When he was upon her, Jerome blinked in surprise. It was Charlotte’s sister, Miss Louisa.

  She was as beautiful as the last time he’d seen her. It had been when he had been courting Charlotte, and even now, Jerome was taken aback by the sheer loveliness she radiated. With cheeks that looked pinker than usual and blue eyes that were a bit glassier than normal, she was a vision, one that nearly stopped his heart in his chest.

  “Miss Louisa,” he called to her, surprise stark in his voice.

  She came to a sudden halt, her delicately arched brows dipping into a deep frown. She narrowed her eyes at him, as if she couldn’t see what was right before her. “You are…”

  She seemed quite out o
f it. Jerome was tempted to step closer, if only to see if he could smell wine on her breath. “Are you all right?” he asked her, a bit worried. “Are you ill?”

  “Ill?” Her frown deepened. She seemed to be thinking quite hard about her answer. “No, I…I do not think so. I am a bit lost, however.”

  “Lost?”

  “Yes.” Louisa craned her head to the side, and then twisted it to look behind her. “I seem to have forgotten where I left my horse.”

  Jerome blinked. Yes, she certainly is drunk. There is no longer any doubt. “I do not think you rode here on a horse, my Lady,” he said calmly. His arms were tense by his sides, ready to grab hold of her if she truly did topple over to the floor. “Perhaps what you mean is your carriage?”

  “No, you fool,” she snapped, her words slurring. “A carriage is what is drawn by a horse. I need my horse. Or perhaps,” she put her finger to her chin. The slight movement seemed to have unbalanced her and she nearly fell backwards before righting herself, “perhaps what I need is a cart. That way, I will be able to sleep. I am quite tired.”