What a Wicked Earl Wants

by Vicky Dreiling

  She perched on the sofa and set the handkerchief aside. After breaking the seal, she opened a short missive. She surveyed the page and saw his signature. Then she read the note.

  Dear Lady Chesfield,

  Business detains me on Thursday. I have arranged for Angelo himself to give Justin his fencing lesson. Please convey my apologies to your son. I hope all is well with both of you.

  Yours truly,

  Bellingham

  The missive was so impersonal that it shocked her. She told herself that his use of her title was probably a customary formality for him. Perhaps he was terse because of his obligations. Perhaps he was mired in a difficult problem. Perhaps he’d gotten news about Montclief and wished to have all the facts in order before calling upon her.

  She was making excuses for him as she had done all week. There was no justification for that detached sentiment in his note. Even if he was very busy, he could have apologized in advance for having to sign off so quickly. But he’d done none of that.

  He’d made arrangements for her son, and yet, he’d not included even one truly personal comment for her. This was not a note from one friend to another. This was a note that insinuated he’d tired of her and wished to spend his time elsewhere.

  Pain wrenched her heart. Her eyes welled, and she swiped at the tears. Part of her still wanted to believe that she was wrong, that he would have a good explanation and apologize for the brevity of the note. But she couldn’t fool herself. That letter was curt.

  He’d probably found a woman who would give him what he wanted. What had she expected of a notorious rake? He’d shown his true colors with that note. She took a deep breath. It was her own fault. She’d been warned in advance that he was a cold man, but he’d seemed so different. He’d helped her, and now she could almost feel him pushing her away.

  She had no idea why he’d done this, but she knew one thing. If he were really her friend, he would not treat her in this distant manner. She told herself she didn’t care. Why should she when he clearly did not have enough regard for her to speak to her face-to-face and explain his callous actions?

  How dare he treat her in this cold manner? She’d thought he cared about her and Justin. He’d waltzed with her and made her feel special. And now he’d made it clear he wanted nothing more to do with them.

  She marched over to the fire and threw the note on the hot coals. She’d let him into her heart, and in a few short words, he’d crushed her. He could go hang for all she cared. If she saw him again, she would give him the cut direct.

  Her face crumpled. She didn’t want to cry over him, but the tears came anyway.

  One week later

  Bell strolled into White’s and hailed Harry and Colin. When he reached their usual table, he took his chair and said, “Miss me?”

  Harry snorted. “Like a bad egg.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Colin said.

  “I think he just said I stink,” Bell said.

  “You’ve been busy,” Harry said.

  “I’ve been mired in letters, invitations, and banker meetings.” Bell didn’t tell them that he’d put distance between himself and Laura. He’d gotten too caught up in her life. Justin needed a male role model, but he needed a permanent one. All Bell could offer was a few fencing and billiards lessons. He ought to have foreseen the consequences, but somehow in the midst of one crisis after another, he’d lost sight of what was transpiring beneath his nose. In retrospect, he ought to have encouraged Laura to take her son home to Hampshire. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of it, but he knew the reason. The same one that had led him to get involved in her life.

  He was attracted to her, but there was something else. She was his friend. He liked her—more than a little. And he thought about her far more than he ought. He’d realized he was in a little too deep. In truth, he’d become a bit obsessed with her. No good could come from that.

  “So how is Lady Chesfield?” Colin asked.

  Bell shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  His friends exchanged glances.

  “You haven’t called on her?” Harry asked.

  “I’ve been busy.”

  Colin leaned forward. “So you’re giving her the brush-off?”

  Bell released a loud sigh. “She’s the prim-and-proper sort. I’m not. It’s time to take a step back. ”

  “She’s the kind who wants forever,” Harry said.

  Laura had said she didn’t want to remarry, but he’d seen the look on her face when he’d picked up that infant gown, and that had checked him. “It’s better to cut the ties now,” Bell said. He’d continue with Justin’s fencing lessons until the end of the season and let Laura know any news of the investigation.

  Colin circled his finger along the rim of his glass. “I like her.”

  “Me too,” Harry said.

  “It’s best to ease out of the picture before she gets attached,” Bell said.

  “I think you’re a bit late for that,” Colin said.

  Bell swigged his brandy. It burned going down, and so did the knowledge that he had probably wounded her. He’d never intended to get so deeply involved in her life, but they were too different. She needed things that he couldn’t give her: a ring, a promise, and a family.

  Twice she’d managed to get him to answer questions about his mother and father. She didn’t try to prod him the way others had done, but he’d sensed she wanted to know more.

  Laura was a caretaker, a role she’d assumed as a child while helping her mother. He knew she’d genuinely loved her late husband, but she’d chosen a man who was elderly and sick—and who had a motherless son as well. She needed to be needed.

  He suspected that Laura wanted to fix him. Knowing her, she probably thought she could heal him with tenderness and love. She didn’t understand that some things were broken beyond repair, and other things were better off forgotten and relegated to a dusty attic, both literally and figuratively.

  “I heard Pembroke proposed to her,” Harry said.

  Bell jerked his chin up. “What?”

  “My girl cousins told me,” Harry said.

  “I heard it, too,” Colin said.

  “She didn’t accept Pembroke,” he said.

  “How do you know?” Colin said. “Maybe she likes Baldy.”

  “She can’t accept him—or rather she wouldn’t.”

  “Why?” Harry asked.

  “She’s secretly engaged to me.”

  His friends burst out laughing.

  “You mean the faux engagement,” Colin said, still laughing.

  Harry slapped the table. “I still can’t believe that one. What a lark.”

  “Will you lower your voices? I don’t want anyone to know.”

  Colin snorted. “No one would believe it.”

  “Stubble it,” Bell grumbled. “We agreed to be friends, but I got the idea she wanted more.”

  “More what?” Colin said.

  “I think she wants something permanent.”

  “You mean marriage,” Harry said.

  “I’m a lifelong bachelor—not the sort of man she needs.”

  “Right,” Harry said. “You don’t want her, so why should you care who calls on her?”

  “Wait a minute,” Bell said. “Are you saying other men are calling on her?”

  “Actually, they called at Lady Atherton’s,” Harry said. “My mother said it was like a parade. All the gents want to meet her.”

  “Devil take it,” Bell said. “The same thing happened at the ball. She insists upon being independent, but she has no idea what those men are thinking.”

  “About what?” Harry said.

  “You know what,” Bell said. “They think a widow is fair game.”

  Harry shrugged. “Isn’t that what you thought?”

  Every muscle in Bell’s body tightened. “I have to call on her. Now.”

  Colin pulled out his watch. “It’s nearly midnight. Not a good idea.”

  “Call on he
r tomorrow,” Harry said.

  “Damnation,” he said. He removed a gold case and offered his friends a cheroot. Bell lit his with the candle. He thought it would make him calmer, but it didn’t.

  “A piece of advice,” Colin said. “Don’t go charging into her drawing room like a bull.”

  “I will clear the room,” he growled.

  Harry blew a smoke ring. “Wait a minute. I thought you planned to ease out of the picture.”

  “I can’t now,” he said. “She needs protection from those horny devils.” Except she didn’t need his protection. She’d made it clear that she could fend for herself. Blast it all. She’d been taking care of herself nearly all her life. She didn’t need him. Why wasn’t he rejoicing?

  “Right,” Harry said. “How will you get rid of the horny devils?”

  “I’ll throw them downstairs.”

  “Not a good idea,” Colin said. “She will feel sorry for them and blame you.”

  “Bloody hell. She will be angry because I haven’t called on her.”

  “Probably,” Harry said. “You need a plan.”

  “Tell her the truth but embellish it,” Colin said.

  “How?” Bell said.

  “Explain about the letters and bankers and parliament. Then tell her you thought about her the entire time.”

  “Good idea,” Harry said.

  “Bring flowers, too,” Colin said. “Try to look abashed.”

  He pulled a face. “I am not an actor.”

  Harry stubbed out his cheroot. “Tell her you’re sorry.”

  Bell stiffened. “No.”

  “You have to if you want to get back in her good graces,” Colin said.

  Harry nodded. “Women like it when you admit you’re in the wrong. She will feel sorry for you.”

  “I don’t want her to feel sorry for me,” he said.

  “Yes, you do,” Colin said. “She will forget her anger when she sees you looking miserable.”

  “I think you are giving me bad advice,” Bell said.

  Colin leaned back in his chair and blew a smoke ring. “Tell her you’re sorry and then tell her you missed her.”

  “Damnation,” Bell said. He’d gotten cold feet that day he’d seen the infant gown. Then he’d started thinking about the fact that he’d not made any efforts to find a new mistress. And how much he thought about Laura. Often he’d find himself grinning as he remembered something she’d said or the way she would light up like a dozen candles when she smiled. And every night in bed, he would imagine what it would be like to make slow love to her.

  Then he’d seen that tiny infant gown for her sister, and his long-dormant conscience had roared at him, because he could never give her what she deserved. And she would never understand that he could never go back to the young man he’d been and that there would never be any resolution for him.

  The next afternoon

  Bell was furious as he walked past a long line of carriages before Laura’s town house. He imagined all those men forming naked images of her in their minds. They would smile at her as they mentally threw her skirts over her head.

  He had to get rid of them. Perhaps he should run into the drawing room and yell “Fire!” No, that probably wouldn’t work. The horny devils would be so besotted they would burn before leaving her side.

  Reed opened the door, and Bell entered the foyer holding a bouquet of roses. He’d bought three dozen, thinking that might impress her. But he knew she was probably angry with him. He couldn’t blame her. He should have called on her. Bloody hell, he would have to say he was sorry.

  “I’ll just see myself upstairs, Reed,” Bell said.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord, but Lady Chesfield is unavailable to callers.”

  Bell tapped his boot. “There are multiple carriages in the square. She obviously has callers. One more will make no difference.”

  “My lord, I am under strict instructions not to allow callers.”

  “I am not just any caller,” he said. “I am here to give her a report about her son.”

  “I beg your pardon, my lord, but I have my orders. However, I will be happy to have a maid put the flowers in a vase for Lady Chesfield.”

  Bell had no intention of leaving. He strode across the marble floor and ignored Reed’s pleas to stop. Thoughts of the horny devils spurred him to run up the stairs. He threw open the drawing room door and blinked.

  Nine ladies smiled at him.

  Laura did not smile. She rose and said, “Lord Bellingham, you surprise me yet again.”

  Something warm crept up his neck. By God, he was blushing.

  “You are just in time for the Society Devoted to the Care and Feeding of Orphans,” Laura said as if gritting her teeth.

  “Yes, the orphans,” he said. “I wish to make a contribution.”

  “Oh, that is wonderful,” one lady dressed in yellow said.

  A maid entered, took the bouquet, and set it in a vase.

  “Oh, how sweet,” a pregnant lady said. “He brought you roses.”

  In the corner chair, Lady Atherton regarded him with an amused expression. “I am impressed that one of our premier politicians is personally taking time out of his busy schedule for the orphans.”

  “Yes, the orphans are a great concern,” Bell said. “They probably need shoes.”

  The pregnant lady smiled. “They need parents, too.”

  “Right,” Bell said. “I’m a bachelor, so I’m unqualified.”

  One lady dressed in pink made a notation with a pencil in a little book. “My lord, how much are you willing to contribute?”

  “How much do you need?” Bell asked.

  “Oh, what a wonderful gentleman you are,” the pregnant lady said. “Can we count on you for at least fifty pounds?”

  Laura narrowed her eyes. “He is very wealthy and very generous, are you not, Lord Bellingham?”

  “I am now,” he said. Then he decided to impress her. “Put me down for one thousand pounds.”

  All the ladies, save Laura, clapped their hands. They continued to chatter about his timely entrance and generosity. When he saw Laura’s lips thin, he realized his bribe had not worked.

  He was doomed to make an apology.

  The lady with the pencil moved that the meeting should end. Lady Atherton seconded the motion. He bowed as the ladies filed out.

  Lady Atherton was the last to depart. She halted before him. “A piece of advice,” she said. “Grovel.”

  He had not groveled since the day his father caught him kissing the local tavern wench.

  After Lady Atherton left, Bell closed the door, put his hands behind his back, and walked over to her. “You have every right to be angry with me.”

  “You promised to give my son fencing lessons. Instead, you delegated the task to someone else. You said he needed a role model and you felt honor bound to take on that role.”

  He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

  “You expect me to forgive you when you have given no explanation?” Her eyes welled, but she blinked back the threatening tears. “He is my son, and you of all people know how much he means to me.”

  “It was stupid and selfish of me,” he said.

  “That is your explanation?” she said.

  It had started to feel like a family.

  “I have not always agreed with you,” she said, “but I admired and respected you until you sent that curt note.”

  His head came up. No one had ever questioned his honor.

  “I was getting deeper and deeper into your lives,” he said. “I took on responsibility for your son, and I realized I had encouraged him to become attached.”

  “You were a good influence on him,” she said.

  “But it is temporary. I realized that he was bound to be disappointed, because you and I will go our separate ways at the end of the season.”

  “This is not just about Justin,” she said.

  “I know. You cannot give me what I want, and I cannot give
you what you need.”

  “You make it sound so simple, but it is not,” she said.

  “Please sit with me,” he said quietly.

  She joined him on the sofa, and he clasped her hand. “From the day Montclief threatened you, I somehow found myself playing the part of Sir Lancelot. I have never taken on an obligation like this before. I didn’t anticipate the consequences.”

  She withdrew her hand. “Perhaps it would be better if we severed our friendship now. I will invent an explanation to Justin.”

  “Laura, I made a mistake. I will not fail him,” he said. “My honor demands that I fulfill my obligations to your son.”

  “I don’t give a damn about your honor.” She raised her small fist to her heart. “Justin is not an obligation. He is my son.”

  He took her by the shoulders. “That is not what I meant. I do care about the boy or I would never have taken the time to help. I made a mistake, and I owned up to it. Now I humbly ask you to forgive me.”

  There was a suspicious sheen in her eyes. “You wounded me.”

  “I know.” He put his arms around her and held her tightly.

  A few minutes later, she lifted her head. “I made your coat damp.”

  “It will dry,” he said, handing her a handkerchief.

  After she blotted her eyes, he remembered something. “Oh, hell.”

  She elbowed him. “Watch your language.”

  “I forgot something.” He slid to the floor on his knees.”

  She looked alarmed. “Oh, no, please don’t say the words.”

  “Lady Atherton told me to grovel. I’m groveling.”

  She released her breath. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought…well, never mind.”

  He pointed. “Both knees. I didn’t want there to be a misunderstanding.”

  “Get up now,” she said. “You look ridiculous.”

  They both stood. “Can we be friends?” he said.

  She smiled a little. “I suppose that’s allowed between secret faux fiancés.”

  “I heard you turned down Pembroke.”

  “He’s a very nice man. I believe he anticipated my answer.”