What a Wicked Earl Wants

by Vicky Dreiling

  Laura was not boring. In fact, she wasn’t predictable at all. Granted, she was proper, but he couldn’t anticipate what she would say or do. She most certainly did not like it when he took control over matters, but he was accustomed to taking care of problems. And her son was a problem.

  But her son was not his problem. So why did Bell keep thinking about the young buck? Why the devil was he so obsessed with Laura and her son? She’d released him from any obligation. It was past time he pushed them both out of his mind.

  Unfortunately, the harder he tried to forget her, the more he thought about her. He kept remembering the lush kisses he’d shared with Laura. Usually he could walk away from a woman without a care, but for some reason, he couldn’t get the feel and taste of her out of his head.

  He inhaled from his cheroot and recalled her shock when he’d slid his tongue home. He rather liked that he’d taught her a few things and that she’d responded with such abandon. When he thought about the feel of her soft body pressed against him, his groin tightened again. The devil, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman this badly.

  “Are you sickening?” Harry said.

  His voice interrupted Bell’s pleasurable musings. “No, I’m thinking.”

  Colin smirked. “Looks like he’s in lust. What say you, Harry?”

  “Cupid has definitely struck,” Harry said.

  “Cupid is about love, not lust,” Bell muttered.

  “You’re wrong,” Colin said. “The Romans said a shot from the arrow caused uncontrollable desire.”

  Bell blew out a smoke ring. “Uncontrollable? What if there is no ladylove available? What does the poor sot do?”

  Harry fisted his hand and made an up-and-down motion. The officious waiter returned. “Sir, did you need something else?”

  Colin choked on his brandy. Bell’s shoulders shook with laughter.

  “No, thank you,” Harry said to the waiter.

  When the waiter left, Bell guffawed.

  “Gad, Harry,” Colin said. “Try to control yourself.”

  Harry pulled a face. “And you don’t do it? Ha!”

  Colin regarded Bell with disgust. “Look what you started.”

  “Me?” Bell said. “I’m not the one demonstrating hand relief in the damned club.”

  Harry grinned. “I could give lessons.”

  “No,” Bell and Colin said simultaneously.

  “It was a jest,” Harry said.

  Bell blew out another smoke ring and looked at Colin. “Harry is good for something. I just can’t remember what.”

  “I am indeed,” Harry said. “By the by, I met up with Pembroke. He danced with Lady Chesfield at Lady Atherton’s ball and said he plans to call on her.”

  Bell suspended his glass halfway to his mouth and scowled. “What?”

  His friends stared at him.

  Colin set his glass down. “Why do you care if he calls on her? You said she was proper. What would you do with a proper woman?”

  “I’m not doing anything with her,” he grumbled. But he’d like to do something with her, something hot and sweaty.

  “Right,” Colin said, winking at Harry.

  “I ought to have known,” Harry said. “Women always fall for brooding men.”

  “I don’t brood,” Bell said.

  Colin shrugged. “You look like you brood.”

  “My girl cousins said ladies find brooding men dangerous and romantic,” Harry said. “Maybe I should practice it.”

  “By all means,” Bell said. “We’ll judge how well you display brooding tendencies.”

  Harry curled his lip and looked up from beneath his thick brows.

  Bell snorted. “I need another drink after that horrid demonstration.” He put out his cheroot and refilled the glasses.

  “So have you seen the widow’s wild son again?” Colin asked.

  He nodded. “Today I called on Lady Chesfield. I thought she should know her son was out carousing again.”

  His friends stared at him as if he’d grown horns.

  “He’s getting into trouble. His mother is having difficulty managing him, and his guardian is a prize ass,” Bell said.

  Colin eyed Harry. “He’s trying to get in the widow’s good graces.”

  “No, he’s trying to get under her skirts,” Harry said.

  “Don’t start. I already told you she’s a lady,” Bell said with a warning in his voice.

  “You’re leaving out more than a few details,” Colin said.

  “Watch out,” Harry said. “Pembroke is bearing down on you, Bell. He looks quite determined.”

  “Thanks for the forewarning,” Bell said, and sipped his brandy.

  “Bellingham.”

  He heard Pembroke’s voice and slowly raised his bored gaze to the short, balding man.

  Pembroke took the chair next to him and regarded him sternly. “I understand your carriage was seen at Lady Chesfield’s home yesterday.”

  “Your point?” Bell said.

  He inhaled as if to say something. Then he exhaled. “She’s a respectable widow.”

  “I’m aware of that.” He swirled his brandy. “Is that all?”

  “No,” he said with vehemence in his voice. “If you must know, I have conceived a partiality for her.”

  “Does she know?”

  He huffed. “I danced with her and plan to call.”

  Bell sipped his drink. “Good luck getting admittance to her drawing room.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s not interested in suitors. In fact, she told me she doesn’t wish to marry. We share that in common,” he said.

  “See here,” Pembroke said. “She’s not one of your light skirts. I plan to court her, and I won’t allow you to seduce her.”

  “Maybe they should fight,” Harry said.

  Colin shook his head. “It wouldn’t be sporting. Bell is twice his size.”

  Pembroke’s face turned crimson. “Are you insulting my manhood?”

  Harry looked at Colin. “Would we do that?”

  “Never,” Colin said.

  “You’re taunting me,” Pembroke said.

  Bell groaned. “You’re annoying me.” He made a shooing motion with his hand. “Go on, now.”

  Pembroke’s nostrils flared. “I claimed her first.”

  “I’ll be sure to inform her,” he said.

  Pembroke stood. “Well, I plan to warn her about your rakehell past.”

  “Feel free to tattle,” Bell drawled. “I’m sure she’ll be impressed.”

  Pembroke glared at him. “Always cool as a cucumber, but this time you won’t win.”

  “If you were so sure of that, you wouldn’t have bothered to warn me,” Bell said.

  “This isn’t the last of it,” Pembroke said.

  Bell yawned. “Pembroke, go bore someone else.”

  After the man strode off, Colin said, “Good Lord, he’s smitten.”

  “Who?” Harry said.

  “Don’t be a nodcock,” Colin said. “Pembroke.”

  “I thought you meant Bell. He doesn’t look smitten,” Harry said.

  “Of course he’s not,” Colin said in exasperation.

  Bell rolled his eyes. “Wonderful. I have a jealous rival.”

  “So there is something between you and Lady Chesfield,” Harry said.

  “Oh, yes,” Bell said. “Her son.” The boy’s anger yesterday was out of bounds. Bell had never imagined he’d have to physically restrain Justin. “I’ve hired someone to investigate the uncle. I hope to find some dirt in the event he tries to take the boy away from her.”

  Colin whistled. “Sounds serious.”

  “I may not find anything, but Montclief strikes me as the type to have secrets.”

  “You’ll use the investigation to help out Lady Chesfield?” Harry said.

  “If I find something, yes. I didn’t like the way he browbeat her. He’s a nasty sort.”

  Colin scowled. “The devil.
Here comes Lord Gossip.”

  Bell glanced up to see Lindmoore hurrying toward them. “Why is everyone so bent on intruding tonight?”

  “It’s the widow,” Harry said. “Everyone is curious about her, and your carriage was spotted at her town house.”

  For some odd reason, Bell didn’t like all the speculation about Laura. Damnation, was he actually feeling protective of her? Maybe he was sickening after all.

  “Well, well,” Lindmoore said as he approached. “I heard an interesting tale about you, Bellingham.”

  Bell yawned. “The queue is a long one, but feel free to join it.”

  Lindmoore tittered. “You always have a clever retort, but I have to ask if the rumor is true.”

  “Which one?” he said.

  “There’s more?” Lindmoore said, his eyes gleaming.

  “Usually, yes,” Bell said.

  “This one concerns you and the lovely widow, Lady Chesfield,” he said, pitching his voice louder. “I’ve heard you’ve already made a conquest.”

  Other men at nearby tables turned to stare.

  When Lindmoore leaned his hand on the table, Bell rose. “Surely you do not mean to slander a respectable lady’s reputation?”

  Lindmoore’s face turned ashen. “No, of course I—”

  Bell drew closer. “You will apologize for the mistake.”

  “Begging your pardon,” he said, his face suddenly gone pasty. “I meant no insult to the lady.”

  “I’m not fond of dawn meetings,” Bell said. “It interferes with my sleep. I trust you will refrain from speaking about her in the future?”

  Lindmoore held up his hands. “Of course. My apologies for the, er, misunderstanding.”

  Bell regarded him in disgust. “Go.”

  Lindmoore hurried off.

  “I was worried there for a bit,” Colin said. “Thought he’d piss himself.”

  “Maybe we should enter a pissing contest in the betting book,” Harry said.

  “No,” Bell and Colin said simultaneously.

  “You’re no fun,” Harry said.

  Colin pulled a face. “I can’t believe you bother to read the betting book.”

  “It’s entertaining,” Harry said.

  “Never mind,” Bell said. “I’m weary of this place. Let’s repair to my town house.”

  After they reached Bell’s town house, he led his friends to the billiards room. “Your choice of cue sticks,” he said.

  “I want one of these,” Harry said, patting the table.

  “You have no money,” Colin said.

  “I can dream,” Harry said. “Who knows? If I inherit my uncle’s pig farm, maybe I’ll be rich one day.”

  “You can live in the lap of luxury and black sows,” Colin said.

  Bell poured drinks and handed them round to his friends. “The two of you play a game. I’ll watch.” He indicated a mahogany side table. “You can set your glasses on the pewter dish.”

  Harry set up the balls while Colin chose a cue stick. Bell sat in a black armchair with gold trim, stretched out his legs, and sipped his brandy. “When you finish the game, we can take a smoke break in the garden.”

  Harry sighted a ball, gave it a smooth tap, and sent it straight into the pocket.

  “You’re accomplished,” Bell said, admiring Harry’s skill.

  “My third cousin twice removed owns a billiards table. He’s richer than Croesus.”

  “Maybe you have a chance at the dukedom,” Colin said.

  “No, there are two other relatives ahead of me,” Harry said. “Truthfully, I like the old duke. He tells hysterical stories of his youthful years wearing striped breeches and the ladies with vermin in their tall wigs.”

  Colin sighted a ball. When he tapped it, the ball narrowly missed the pocket. “Damn.”

  While his friends continued to play and heckle one another, Bell’s thoughts returned to that moment in White’s when Lindmoore had said he’d heard Bell had made a conquest of Laura. He’d never worried about anyone following him before, but then he’d never had to use care with the reputations of his mistresses. They were sophisticated women who had a string of past lovers as long as his own. They were not devoted mothers who fought to keep their sons safe from wild friends and uncaring guardians.

  The first time he’d called on Laura, he’d relished the prospect of chasing her until she surrendered. But there was a great deal at stake. Even if Laura was willing, there was no way to conduct a discreet liaison when she was the latest on dit. Pursuing her wasn’t a mere challenge; it was nigh impossible when she had a son and others had marked his carriage at her town house. If news of an affaire de coeur leaked, it would destroy her reputation and possibly end in the loss of her son. He couldn’t ruin her life for a temporary love affair.

  The clack, clack, clack of balls scattering on the green baize table brought Bell back to the present. He had been brooding, damn it.

  Harry crowed as the balls sank into the pockets.

  “Rematch,” Colin said, slinging his arm around Harry’s neck.

  A huff of laughter escaped Bell. Somehow the pair always managed to lighten his gloomy moods. “Let’s go to the garden. I need a cheroot.”

  His friends followed him.

  “You don’t smoke inside the house?” Harry said.

  “Lord, no. It makes my eyes water,” Bell said.

  “You could just open a window,” Colin said.

  “And let in all that stinky coal smell?” Bell said. “Have you lost your wits?”

  For some bizarre reason, his friends guffawed.

  Bell found the tinderbox he kept on the stone garden bench. After he managed a spark, he lit one of the lanterns in the trees and then lit his cheroot. His friends joined him and said nothing for a while. Bell appreciated their silence.

  Colin blew a smoke ring. “About the widow. Why did you call on her again if you don’t intend to make her your mistress?”

  For a moment, he was stunned speechless, but he had to say something. “She’s alone. I wanted to make sure there were no problems.”

  “Right,” Harry said. “You only want to help her.”

  Colin snorted. “To what?”

  “She’s a lady,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “No offense intended.” Colin inhaled from the cheroot and exhaled. “We’re only needling you.”

  Harry ground out his cheroot. “Seriously, Bell, it sounds as if Lady Chesfield needs help with her son.”

  He frowned. “I’ve gotten too tangled up in her life already. This is the end of it. If I discover the uncle is involved in nefarious deeds, then I’ll make the information available to her.”

  One week later

  After receiving an invitation from Mrs. Norcliffe, Bell felt obliged to put in a brief appearance at her Venetian breakfast for Harry’s sake. Generally he avoided these sorts of afternoon garden parties, unless he intended to discuss politics with some of his allies. Even then, he usually left early and certainly intended to do so today.

  A cool breeze stirred the leaves of the beech trees as he strolled out onto the grounds. Ladies with parasols walked along the garden paths where a riot of bright-colored flowers he couldn’t name blossomed. One path led to a bridge overlooking a pond. Just ahead, a large tent shaded the tables and chairs where guests were enjoying refreshments.

  Harry and Colin strolled outside the tent. Then Harry shaded his eyes and waved.

  Glad to have found his friends quickly, Bell strode in that direction.

  When he reached them, Harry clapped his hand on Bell’s shoulder. “I thought you might have decided to bow out of this tepid entertainment.”

  Bell grinned. “I figured the pair of you would fall in the pond and need to be rescued.”

  “Careful. We’re liable to dunk you,” Colin said.

  “It would certainly liven things up,” Harry grumbled. “My mother refused to serve anything stronger than lemonade and small beer.”

  “God save
us. We might perish of sobriety,” Bell muttered.

  “This way,” Harry said. “My mother insisted upon meeting you.”

  Once inside the tent, Harry introduced his mother, Mrs. Norcliffe, and two of his female cousins, Agnes and Helen, who whispered to each other as if they were silly schoolgirls. The entire time they regarded him with scheming expressions.

  Agnes, a redhead with a flat bosom, curtsied. “Have you seen the pond and the goldfish, my lord?”

  He sensed she meant to trap him into escorting her there. “Only from a distance.”

  Agnes tittered. “You simply must see it.”

  He’d always found that nervous sort of laugh irritating. The last thing he wanted was to squire her anywhere. He remained silent, a move he’d used many times to discourage either a determined lady or her conniving mama.

  “I would be happy to show you,” Agnes said.

  Apparently she was not easily deterred. “I do not wish to trouble you.”

  “It is no trouble at all,” she said.

  He despised women who tried to manipulate him. Unfortunately, he couldn’t escape, because she was Harry’s cousin. He was on the verge of offering his escort when he saw Laura following Lady Atherton. The grand dame cut a swath through the crowd and greeted Mrs. Norcliffe.

  “What a lovely party.” Lady Atherton kissed the air by Mrs. Norcliffe’s cheeks. After Harry’s mother made all of the introductions, Bell turned his attention to Laura. He was struck anew by her sweet smile and pretty green eyes. Today she wore a white gown with a blue sash and blue ribbons trimming the puffed sleeves along with a white shawl. He knew next to nothing about women’s clothing, other than how to strip it off, but he liked her simple style.

  Bell took the opportunity to go greet Laura. “My friends wish to meet you, if you are amenable.”

  “Very well,” she said. Her expression turned a bit wary, but she accepted his proffered arm.

  He leaned down. “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m a bit flustered. Miss Agnes Norcliffe glared at me.”

  A flowery scent drifted toward him. For a moment, his brain froze as he focused on her lips. Her very kissable lips. He reminded himself she was off-limits and forced himself to concentrate. “I suppose she’s jealous.”