“I promise I will,” he said.
She wanted to believe him, but she mustn’t make this easy on him. “You will not escape punishment, Justin. You will have to stay home for the entire week.”
“What?” He looked horrified.
“That’s not all,” she said. “You will employ your time reading.” She walked over to the bookshelves and returned. “Read this.”
“Pilgrim’s Progress? You mean to torture me.”
“You will also write a report of the book so that I will know you read it.”
“Laura, please don’t,” he said.
“It’s either that or we return home.” She clasped her hands. “Make your choice.”
“I’ll take my punishment,” he grumbled.
“Listen well. I managed to thwart your uncle yesterday, but he won’t hesitate to take you if he hears you have disobeyed again. He is your legal guardian, and there is nothing I can do to stop him if he decides to take you away.” She’d barely managed to fob him off and knew there would be no second chances.
“He doesn’t care about me,” Justin said. “I cannot wait until I’m twenty-one and free of him.”
“You will be in four years,” she said, “but meanwhile, you must not do anything that will draw his attention. Until you reach your majority, he has power over you. Don’t do something foolhardy that will make these four years unbearable.”
“I understand.”
“You can have fun and be responsible, too,” she said. “Isn’t that preferable to being under your uncle’s thumb?”
He nodded. “Sorry, Laura.”
She wished he would call her Mama, but three months ago, he’d insisted upon using her Christian name. Laura knew that it was a show of independence and told herself it was a small thing, but it stung a little all the same.
They had come this far today, and in the end, he’d listened to reason. God knew there were far worse things.
“May I be excused?” he said.
She hesitated a moment. The urge to tell him she loved him burned inside her, but he would likely find it embarrassing. “Yes, you don’t look as if you feel well.”
He shrugged one shoulder, a gesture so characteristic of him.
“I’ll have a tray sent up to you.”
As he treaded out the door, she hoped she’d not made a mistake. He’d accepted his punishment, but his lies made it very difficult to believe him. He would have to earn her trust, and she would have to be vigilant.
Chapter Three
Bell arrived late at White’s club and found his friends sharing a bottle of brandy. Harry signaled the waiter, who brought a snifter for Bell and poured for him.
After the waiter left, Harry raised his glass. “To Lady Luck,” he said, sloshing his brandy a little.
Bell exchanged a knowing look with Colin. Clearly, Harry was in his cups.
“He won a wager in the betting book,” Colin said.
Harry grinned. “I’m plump in the pocket.”
“Oh?” Bell said. Harry notoriously had pockets to let.
“I wagered Prendergast fifty pounds that it would rain three times this week,” Harry said.
“A safe bet,” Bell said. “Congratulations.”
“Harry insisted on buying the brandy tonight,” Colin said.
Bell noted Harry’s glassy eyes. “Generous of you.”
“Mrs. Hawkins is holding a soiree this evening. I wouldn’t mind a tumble with a disreputable lady of the demimonde tonight.” Harry hiccoughed. “You might find a mistress there, Bell.”
“Perhaps later. I’m hungry.” Harry didn’t hold his liquor well. Bell figured it would be best if Harry ate something and sobered up a bit.
Bell caught the waiter’s eye and ordered beefsteak and potatoes for all of them. While Harry was speaking to Colin, Bell quietly instructed the waiter to put the brandy on his bill as well. He wouldn’t take advantage of his inebriated friend. Those fifty pounds were likely Harry’s only funds.
“Too bad you never met the widow, Bell.” Harry hiccoughed again. “I heard she’s pretty.”
Colin scoffed. “Is this more false intelligence from your girl cousins?”
“No. They meant to introduce me, but the widow had already left the ball.”
“A likely tale,” Colin said. “She’s probably elderly and rotund.”
“She’s pretty,” Bell said, keeping his expression nonchalant.
“You actually saw her?” Harry’s eyes widened.
“I called on her yesterday,” Bell said.
Harry and Colin exchanged looks. Then they turned to him.
“Well?” Colin said. “Is she your mistress?”
“No,” he said. “She’s not that kind of woman.” He’d wanted her fiercely during and just after their kiss, but something she’d said had jolted sense back into his head.
This cannot happen again.
Harry hiccoughed once more. “What happened?”
“I saw her son hiding a flask at Lady Atherton’s ball, and I returned it to Lady Chesfield yesterday,” Bell said. “I thought she ought to know.” He didn’t tell them that he’d shocked her when he’d kissed her.
Colin snorted. “Righto. I suppose you managed a bit of flirting while you were at it.”
His hands had roamed all over her, even though he’d known she wasn’t one of those women who casually flitted from bed to bed. Lady Atherton had said it all. She was a respectable widow and not for the likes of a rakehell like him.
“Her son’s guardian called while I was there.” He told his friends the entire story but left out the kiss. “Obviously we’re not really engaged. Keep that under your hats for her sake and mine.”
Colin frowned. “No one really knows her, with the exception of Lady Atherton. What if the widow expects you to make the engagement real?”
“She won’t,” Bell said.
“How can you be so sure?” Harry asked.
Bell topped up their drinks. “She made it clear she wished to be rid of me, and I politely made it clear that our brief acquaintance was over. That’s the end of it.”
Harry sipped his drink. “You’re giving up?”
Bell set the bottle aside. She wasn’t a challenge; she was a lady. “I can’t give up what I never had.”
“So you’re saying she’s the sort who expects a wedding ring before a toss in the sheets,” Harry said.
“She’s a respectable lady,” he said in a terse tone.
“Right,” Colin said. “Might as well enjoy your freedom for a few more years.”
“I’ve no intention of giving up my bachelorhood.”
Harry snorted. “Hah! Cupid will fell you with his arrow one day.”
“Not a chance,” Bell said.
“Lifelong bachelorhood appeals to me,” Colin muttered.
Bell downed his brandy. “Is your family pressing you to marry Angeline?”
Colin shuddered. “My mother made a list of potential names for the shrew’s spawn.”
“Well, it would be your spawn as well,” Bell said.
Colin pulled a face. “I just lost my appetite.”
“Angeline can’t be that bad,” Bell said.
“She’s all yours,” Colin said.
“No, thank you,” Bell said, laughing.
Harry scoffed. “Mark my words, Bell. You’ll be the first of us to wed. I wager fifty pounds on it.”
“You’ll lose.”
Colin frowned as he traced the rim of his snifter. “You’re serious about staying single.”
“Yes.” There was nothing else to say. His friends would draw their own conclusions. They knew a bit about his history, but no one knew all of the particulars. He never spoke about the past. There was no point in dredging up bad memories.
“What about your property?” Harry said.
Bell shrugged. “There’s no one to inherit.”
Harry’s eyes widened momentarily, and then he shuttered his expression. Colin said nothing
and became engrossed with the condensation on the table. They’d come to the obvious conclusion. The property would revert to the Crown when he died.
An awkward silence ensued. Bell hated when the past intruded. All he wanted was to forget, but reminders cropped up from time to time, leaving a hollow feeling in his chest. The only way to deal with it was to shove it all back into the farthest recesses of his brain, but sometimes even that didn’t work. The bloody nightmares were proof.
“Ah, here come the waiters,” Colin said.
The tension in Bell’s shoulders slowly dissipated, and the aroma of the sizzling beefsteaks made Bell’s stomach growl. He was hungrier than he’d realized. All three tucked into their meal. Colin entertained them with stories of his weird twin sisters, who sometimes spoke in a language they’d made up years ago.
Bell laughed. “You’re jesting.”
“No, I’m not,” Colin said. “Bianca and Bernadette have an alphabet, too, but it looks like tiny pictures of trees, skirts, hair, milk jugs, and other nonsense.”
“That’s odd.” Bell privately wondered if the parents had dropped the twins on their heads early on in life. “Harry, what about your girl cousins? Do they have strange habits?”
“No, but they begged for an introduction to you. I said no.”
“Why? Surely you don’t think I would seduce your cousins?” Bell said.
“No, I took pity on you. They like to match-make.”
Bell shuddered. “You have my eternal thanks.”
The waiter appeared. “Would you care for dessert? Chef made a cheesecake.”
Bell looked inquiringly at his friends, who quickly assented.
“Bring cheesecake and coffee for all of us,” Bell said to the waiter.
Not long afterward, the coffee and cheesecake arrived. Harry finished with a groan. “I think I died and went to heaven.”
Colin pulled a face. “Harry, get that stupid look off your face.”
“Can’t help it,” Harry said. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a woman. Food is my only comfort.”
“Maybe we should take him to Mrs. Hawkins’s establishment after all,” Colin said. “He’s been irritable.”
Bell leaned forward. “Harry, do you have a French letter?”
Harry scowled. “No.”
“Forget it,” Bell said.
“What? Do you know how long it’s been?” Harry said. “I can’t even recall.”
Bell shook his head. “You’ll end up with the French pox.”
Harry’s forlorn expression brightened when Bell took out a gold case and offered him a cheroot. Colin lit one as well from the candle on the table.
They sat smoking in silence for a while. All around them masculine voices rumbled.
Harry blew a smoke ring. “Bell, if the widow is off-limits, you must still be in the market for a mistress.”
“Finding the right mistress is a pain in the arse.” Last night, he’d fantasized about Laura while pleasuring himself. He’d gotten the distinct impression that her sexual experiences were limited. Ordinarily, that would put him off, but for some reason, he’d gotten hot just thinking about introducing her to new sensual horizons.
Harry flicked an ash. “I figure the right amount of coin could buy you anyone you wanted.”
“They all start out biddable,” Bell said. “Then the demands start.”
“What demands?” Colin asked.
“Jewels, gowns, perfume, and flowers. They always want more.”
“They can’t be that bad,” Harry said.
“The last one transformed the love nest into a pagoda museum. Then she burned the sheets, and the fire brigade had to come,” Bell said.
His friends burst out laughing.
“Bell, you are no romantic,” Colin said.
“No wonder he can’t find a mistress,” Harry said.
“I have good qualities,” Bell muttered.
“True. You’re generous with cheroots, brandy, and beefsteak, but I don’t think that helps your case with the ladybirds,” Harry said. “You need to treat them with a little tenderness.”
“I begin to see why the widow was anxious to be rid of him,” Colin said, laughing.
Bell rolled his eyes and blew out a smoke ring. “Enough about women. Let’s go to my town house and play billiards.”
“Brilliant idea,” Harry said.
Fifteen minutes later, they quit White’s and stood on the pavement waiting for Bell’s carriage. A block away, a curricle with huge yellow wheels jangled to a halt. Three young men stumbled out, laughing. In the gaslight, Bell recognized the one with wheat-colored hair. It was Lady Chesfield’s son.
“What are you staring at?” Colin asked.
“See the young buck with the lighter hair?” Bell said. “He’s the widow’s son.”
“Appears he and his friends are looking for trouble,” Harry said.
When Justin drank from a flask, Bell said, “Apparently they’ve already found it.”
The next afternoon
Laura opened a letter from her sister Rachel. They were only one year apart in age and had always been close. Naturally, Rachel chided her for not writing sooner and begged to hear all about London. Laura knew that Rachel would share her letter with all the family, so she decided not to burden them with her son’s troublesome behavior. She would describe Lady Atherton’s ball and the fancy gowns, because her sisters would enjoy that. Her mother and father would be pleased to know that she had become acquainted in person with Lady Atherton at long last. She thought of mentioning Montclief’s call, but she decided against it. Her family knew that Montclief had neglected Justin, and she did not wish to cause them concern.
She most certainly would not include any news about the Earl of Bellingham. If she happened to see him again, she would greet him in a formal, distant manner. When he realized that she would not fall for his abundant charms, he would quickly lose interest and turn his eyes to more willing women. No doubt he’d already forgotten her.
The rest of Rachel’s letter was filled with amusing incidents about their neighbors and the local village assembly that had recently taken place. Their sister Judith had played the pianoforte badly, and as usual, she’d beamed at all the compliments she’d received. No one had the heart to inform her that her playing was awful, but that did not matter at a country assembly. Thinking of her family produced a slight ache in her chest. With a sigh, she admitted she’d had such high hopes for her London adventure, as Rachel had called it, but the reality was far different.
Papa would smile gently and tell her not to waste one of the Lord’s wonderful days feeling sorry for herself. He was right as always. Laura knew that writing to Rachel would bring her cheer. She rose and retrieved the new wooden lap desk and smoothed her hand over the beautifully painted floral border. The center featured flowers and fruit. She’d bought a similar one for Rachel, who loved corresponding with family and friends.
After she finished the letter, she sanded and sealed it, knowing that Rachel would scold her for using two sheets of paper when she could easily cross it. Laura reflected on how much her world had changed since marrying Phillip. Perhaps she’d grown a bit complacent about the luxuries she’d once never dreamed of having, but mostly she enjoyed the ability to give fine gifts to her family. They were only possessions, but she bought them keeping in mind the interests of her brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, and parents. With a smile, she decided to send a missive to Lady Atherton inquiring if she wished to accompany her on a shopping expedition. She had just lifted the lid of her lap desk and drew out another sheet of paper when a knock sounded. “Enter,” she said.
Reed stepped inside. “My lady, Lord Bellingham has called.”
Laura frowned. She recalled the earl’s torrid kiss and decided it would be best to steer clear of him. “Please tell him that I am not at home.”
Reed cleared his throat. “His lordship anticipated that might be your answer and suggested you had better receive
him, as he has an important topic to discuss with you.”
Laura suspected a trick. But what if there was a problem? She couldn’t afford to ignore the earl, but if he’d lied, she most certainly would call him on the carpet. “Very well, please admit him.”
Reed’s usual stoic expression slipped a notch, but he nodded and exited. Laura assumed the butler found the earl too bold. She certainly did.
A few minutes later, Reed entered. “The Earl of Bellingham, my lady.”
“Thank you, Reed.” She rose and maintained her poise until Bellingham sauntered inside her drawing room. He wore a hunter-green coat and shiny black Hessians. Though he was clean-shaven, she detected a faint shadow above his lips and along his sharply defined square jaw. When she met his intense gaze, she found herself mesmerized by his sapphire eyes. Her thoughts scattered, and she felt unaccountably tongue-tied. Breathe.
“My lord.” His pristine cravat was expertly tied, his coat fit him like a glove, and his fawn-colored trousers were so tight she could discern his rather long male organ. Her face grew warm, and she averted her gaze. Laura could almost hear her mother’s voice. Recall your manners. You’re no school miss. In all fairness, no man should be that incredibly…endowed—or handsome. Doubtless he was well aware of the effect he had on countless women. Well, she certainly did not wish to be one of them. “Please be seated. My butler indicated you had an important matter to discuss.”
She expected him to take the chair, but he flustered her by picking up her lap desk and sitting next to her on the sofa. The scent of starch drifted to her.
To her consternation, he pushed up the narrow flap at the top of the lap desk to examine the inkwell and pen. Then he opened the main compartment. “Ah, you have an unfinished letter.”
“Are you in the habit of reading other’s correspondence?” she said in exasperation.
He lifted the box and looked at the underside. “I’m only interested in the make of the box.”
She reminded herself not to roll her eyes. “My lord, when you finish playing with my lap desk, perhaps you would be good enough to tell me the reason you called.”
A sly smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he set the lap desk on a side table. “I like to play. Do you, Laura?”
What a Wicked Earl Wants Page 6
