Epilogue
Jeremy entered the drawing room where the Duke of Blackheart stood with his back to him, staring out the window. Simon Cockfield had been one of his closest friends for most of his life. They had both been their fathers’ heirs—and became the heads of their family at very young ages. But before that, they’d spent summers together pretending to be pirates, running like banshee’s back and forth between their fathers’ lands. They had been confidants. Schoolmates. And then as adults, they’d offered one another support.
As Blackheart had today, showing up in Jeremy’s time of need, bringing additional manpower. And he had not poured salt into his wound knowing the truth now, about Arthur.
Jeremy ran a hand through his hair. “I need to thank you.”
Blackheart turned his head, meeting Jeremy’s gaze. “You’d have done the same for me.”
But Jeremy was shaking his head. “Not this year. I’ve been—”
“He was your brother. You did what you needed to do.” The duke’s eyes spoke volumes. “I’d have done the same… if the situations had been reversed.”
That elephant that had been sitting on Jeremy’s chest shifted, giving him some relief. Because Blackheart would not speak platitudes to him.
“How is Lucas?” Jeremy asked. Lucas had been Arthur’s commander. It had been men in Arthur’s unit who had been killed.
If anyone had a right to be angry, it was Lucas.
“Lucas… is letting go. With Naomi at his side, and baby Amelia, he simply wants to put it behind them. They are in Kent now but would welcome a visit, I’m sure.”
Jeremy would make amends then. But for now…
He cleared his throat. “There is another discussion I need to have with you.”
Upon these words, the corner of Blackheart’s mouth tilted up ever so slightly. “A discussion about my sister.”
“Yes.” Lydia. The promise he’d nearly lost. “I’ve asked her to marry me, and she has agreed.”
“Of course, she has.”
“I want you to know that I love her. And I’ll spend what remains of my life doing all that I can to make her happy.”
Was Blackheart’s exhale an expression of relief? “Excellent.”
“I still can’t imagine what you were thinking, allowing her to be in London on her own… starting up orphanages, running about the docks.” Jeremy laughed softly. “Although I suppose I ought to thank you.”
Blackheart lifted one brow. “Do you really think I did not know what my sister was up to?”
“You knew?”
Blackheart stilled. “You needed her. And she was quietly dying inside after you broke things off. One word in Baxter’s ear was all it took.”
“Ah.” Of course, Blackheart had known. And Baxter as well. Jeremy shook his head. “Well.” He could not be angry, even though he thought he ought to be. But having Lydia’s promise to marry him and having thoroughly kissed her less than a quarter of an hour ago, he could only grin. “It worked. Although now I’ve got an orphanage to get up and running.”
“Speaking of my sister…” Blackheart’s brows rose.
“She’ll be down momentarily. I wanted to speak with you first. I take it we have your blessing then?”
His friend shifted him a suspicious glance. “Tell me that a special license is not necessary.”
“No,” Jeremy said. Although… just barely.
“Then you have my blessing.”
“We’ll want to have the banns read starting this Sunday. I’ve already waited too long…” And he meant it. He’d waited his lifetime for Lydia. “But I won’t take her dowry.”
At this, Blackheart laughed. “Good thing, as she’s spent most of it on that damn warehouse.”
Jeremy shook his head.
“But I’ve a portion we’ll put into trust. We’ll discuss contracts later,” Blackheart added, just as the door crept open slowly.
Having bathed, Lydia had changed into an old gown of his mother’s. And she still managed to steal his breath with her beauty.
Lydia peered inside, her eyes flicking between the two of them questioningly . “All is well?”
She met Jeremy’s gaze, and he smiled reassuringly. “I believe so. Simon?”
Blackheart glared at Jeremy at the use of his Christian name, but then turned to Lydia and held out a hand. “Come here, you little fool. You could have been killed.”
Lydia all but flew into her brother’s arms. “I know. I’m so sorry.”
Blackheart was not a man known for showing his emotions, and Jeremy was surprised to see something that resembled both love and pain flicker across the man’s face.
“I’m only grateful you are safe.” Blackheart pressed his jaw against the top of her head and then set her away from him. “But you are never—absolutely never—to go down to the docks alone again. If you do, I will throttle you. And if I’m not there, Tempest will do the honors. Do you understand?”
A mysterious smile tugged at her lips. “I do,” she agreed, far too easily.
“I mean it.” Blackheart was almost wholly his ducal self again.
“As do I,” Jeremy added.
Lydia squeezed her brother’s hand and then moved away from him, crossing to Jeremy, who couldn’t help but reach out and draw her close. But he addressed her brother. “I’ll send notices of our engagement to the papers first thing tomorrow.” Then he stared down into his fiancée’s eyes. “And to St. George’s.”
Lydia beamed up at him.
“We can talk more tomorrow.” Blackheart moved to go. “My duchess will be wondering where I’ve run off to. Do you have a coat?” As was only proper, he’d come to take Lydia home with him.
Lydia, of course, wasn’t so easily managed by her brother. Even if he was Blackheart.
“I need to tell Ollie goodnight, and Lady Tempest asked me to tell her goodbye as well. I’ve no doubt Lord Tempest can bring me home shortly in his carriage.” And before Blackheart could object, she asked, “What is going to happen to Buck?”
“Ah.” Blackheart rubbed his chin. “I’ve had the boy taken to Heart Place for now. Lost most of his hand.”
“You’ve taken him to Heart Place?” Lydia looked as shocked by her brother’s admission as Jeremy was.
“He risks infection, but if he pulls through…” Blackheart lifted his chin. “He was terrified of dying in Newgate, and as I’m not certain he’s as hardened as he pretends to be. If he lives, I’ll see what I can do to help him.”
Lydia’s eyes filled with tears. Jeremy knew those tears. They were the same ones he’d seen in her eyes when he’d agreed to bring Ollie back to Cork Street.
Even so… “I’d be wary of him.”
“I think it’s wonderful.” Lydia smiled. “But you must be exhausted. Go home to your duchess, brother, and I’ll return to Heart Place shortly.”
Blackheart glanced over at the clock on the mantel. “Within the hour.”
Lydia nodded. She had already pushed him farther than Jeremy would have imagined he’d allow.
Jeremy could hardly wait to have her in his home every night—in his life. He almost wished he’d insisted on that special license after all.
Leaving Lydia in the drawing room, Jeremy walked Blackheart to the door. He reached out. “Thank you again.”
Blackheart grasped Jeremy’s hand and squeezed it almost painfully. “If you ever hurt her again, I’ll kill you.”
“If I ever hurt her again, I’ll deserve it.”
* * *
Lydia sat on the settee, waiting for Jeremy to return, smiling when she saw a replacement vase sitting on the table behind it.
“My clever girl,” he said from the door.
In answer, she lifted her arms, thrilled as he slowly crossed the room, not taking his gaze off her for a moment.
“Ollie is already sleeping,” he said, lowering himself beside her.
“I know.”
“And my mother is as well.” He wound his arms around h
er.
“I know.” Lydia burrowed into him. “I just needed to be alone with you a little longer. It’s going to feel like forever before all the banns have been read.”
Lydia couldn’t help but slide her gaze to the vase on the table behind them. “It is only a replica?”
“It is.” But he wasn’t looking at the vase. He was staring at her, his eyes looking darker than normal, his pupils dilated. His lashes dropped when his gaze flicked to her mouth.
“Was it expensive?” Lydia asked, licking her lips.
“It’s worthless. Almost a disgrace to display it in my home.” He was stroking her lips with his thumb now, and she could see the pulse at the base of his neck racing.
Almost as fast as hers was.
“In that case…”
Lydia turned and straddled him the same as she had before.
“You’re dangerous. Do you know that?”
Lydia simply nodded. “I love you Jeremy.”
“I love you, Lydia.”
Not quite ten minutes later, the new vase lay shattered on the floor.
* The End *
Want more of Lydia and Jeremy?
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BONUS Epilogue here!
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Thank you for reading Jeremy and Lydia’s story.
If you haven’t read Ruined,
Lord Lucas and Arthur’s widow’s story,
you can read it here:
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The Earl of Tempest, in addition to being included in the Wicked Earls Club, is part of my Regency Cocky Gents Series.
MORE WICKED EARLS!
Turn the page to read chapter one of
EARL OF KENDAL,
the next book in the Wicked Earl’s Club,
by Madeline Martin.
(Release Date: Jan. 19, 2021)
Earl of Kendal
By Madeline Martin
London, England
March 1822
Adolphus Merrick, the third Earl of Kendal, had been accused many times in his life of being unfeeling. It was a claim he did not refute. Why would he when it so often played to his benefit?
He slid a cool glance toward his left where his sister, Lady Marguerite Merrick, stood in men’s attire. She had gone without the concealment of the mask she usually wore when overseeing Mercy’s Door, the gaming hell they owned together. After all, she was well acquainted with Lord Gullsville. He was one of the few members of the ton who knew her true identity.
It was through his generosity that she had been spared.
But Lord Gullsville didn’t regard her with equal fondness at present. He flicked a nervous glance in her direction. “She doesn’t have to be here, does she?”
Irritation squeezed at Kendal’s gut as he surmised at that moment what the other man wanted.
Money.
Again.
“She’s as much of a part of this operation as I am,” Kendal replied dryly. “As you well know.”
Gullsville ran a hand over his cropped, silver hair.
“You’ve requested an audience with me.” Kendal leaned back in his seat, putting himself at ease when the other man was so clearly in discomfort. “Why?”
“Fox’s Den,” Gullsville muttered the name of Kendal’s rival gaming hell with a fitting level of shame.
“I beg your pardon?” Kendal asked, despite having heard perfectly well the first time.
Gullsville lifted his head in agitation. The tip of his straight nose was threaded with spidery veins, and his eyes were perpetually bloodshot. A habitual drinker. One who had not honored his family properly after his wife had passed.
If he hadn’t saved Marguerite...
“Fox’s Den,” Lord Gullsville repeated with vehemence.
Why was it that sods in trouble became angry at the ones there to help them out?
Marguerite cast Kendal a sympathetic shake of her head. She always did have a soft spot for the older man.
Still, Kendal was loathe to open his safe to the man. Especially after the Earl of Gullsville had burned through his own annual income and an additional two thousand pounds Kendal had graciously loaned him.
“How much do you owe this time?” Kendal drawled out.
In response, Gullsville exhaled heavily. A wash of his sour breath swept over the short distance of the desk.
Kendal kept his face impassive, but his stomach twisted—more with dread than at offense at the odor.
Lord Gullsville had never hesitated to speak a number before. Whatever the man had to say would not be good.
Gullsville pressed his lips shut, opening them as he took a breath in preparation to speak. “Th…three…”
Kendal gritted his teeth. “Three hundred?” He kept his voice intentionally bland to conceal his growing aggravation.
The man winced, evidently aware of how abysmal his situation was due to his vice.
Kendal had a reputation for being unfeeling, yes, but in truth, he was not. In fact, he cared too much.
He could not airily push aside his loyalty to the man who had saved Marguerite when Kendal had nowhere else to turn.
Nor could he nudge away the knowledge that Gullsville had a son who would someday inherit the earldom—however tattered it might be—and a married daughter and a younger unwed daughter who had yet to set her heart on a beau. The latter was a lovely thing, one with enough interest to choose any husband she wanted. And unfortunately, one who appeared to be in no hurry to stop spending her father’s dwindling funds and settle down.
No, he couldn’t leave the man destitute.
“Three hundred?” Kendal repeated for confirmation as he pushed up to his feet. “This is the last time, Gullsville.”
“Three thousand.” Lord Gullsville expelled the appalling number from his chest in a puffed exhale.
Kendal froze. Marguerite’s eyes shot to his, conveying the same horror that was now crystalizing like ice in his veins.
“You are aware we are not a bank?” Kendal regarded the man.
“It is a considerable sum, yes, I know,” Gullsville rushed. “I was down. I didn’t want to come to you again and thought I could win. I was so close, but the other man had an ace. An ace.” He balled his hand into a fist. “If it had been any other card, any other…” His voice trailed off as he watched Kendal.
Gullsville gave a hard swallow. “You aren’t going to help me, are you?”
“You ask too much,” Marguerite said.
He swung his attention toward her and his expression crumpled with desperation. “My son must have something left to inherit. And my Sophia is still unwed. You wouldn’t have them to suffer the faults of their wretched father, would you?”
Marguerite looked away. A certain indicator her resolve was cracking.
“I saved you.” Gullsville’s words were whispered, but they rang out in the room like a gunshot.
“Don’t.” Kendal was in front of the older man in a flash.
Marguerite turned her head more firmly away. No longer the strong, confident figure she’d become, but once more the damaged girl.
But then, everyone had their Achilles’ heel, didn’t they?
The earl knew both of theirs, and he was digging into those tender wounds with meat hooks.
Gullsville ignored Kendal, his gaze fixed pointedly on Marguerite. “I saved you when you would have otherwise been ruined. You owe this to me.”
Kendal blocked the older man’s view of Marguerite. “Gullsville, I warn you—”
“If it weren’t for me, your sister would be just as tarnished as your mother.” Gullsville curled his lip. “Just another whore.”
Kendal’s fist shot out before he could even think to stop it. Not that he would have.
His knuckles connected with Gullsville’s jaw with an intensity that made the older man’s head jerk upright. His lashes didn’t so much as flutter as he collapsed gracelessly to the floor.
/> Silence filled the small room. Kendal put his back to the earl and regarded his sister. Her eyes, a deep brown that was nearly black, so like his own—so like their mother’s—were wide with a vulnerability he hadn’t seen in years.
It made the place inside him that needed to protect, that wound that would never fully heal, split open. He wanted to tell her all would be well. And he wanted to say it without lying.
“Are you all right?” he asked tentatively.
Her pointed chin notched, and her eyes flashed with defiance. “Of course, I am.” She withdrew a black mask from her jacket pocket. The thing fit her from forehead to chin and obscured all of the beauty she’d inherited from their mother. Which was exactly what Marguerite wanted.
The disguise had left their patrons talking for years about Marcus, the name Marguerite had adopted, with conjecture and wild assumptions. It was rumored Marcus was really a duke determined to protect his identity. Or he was a victim of a terrible fire that had burned most of his body and left him horribly disfigured.
On and on the speculation went, growing more preposterous as time carried on. Yet no one assumed the most amazing truth of all: Marcus was Marguerite, a woman who shunned society and the ton's hypocrites. A woman who once resigned herself to life in the country before fighting for a chance to come back and thrive in London the only way she could bear.
She gave a wounded look to where Gullsville lay on the carpet. “I’ll see to it that he’s taken care of. You’ve a ball to attend, do you not?”
Kendal hesitated, hating to leave Marguerite to handle the situation. Not that she wasn’t capable. God knew she was.
But he knew better than to argue. All the protests wouldn’t keep Marguerite from nudging him out the door and to the ball, where he would most likely be in attendance with Gullsville’s son and youngest daughter.
* * *
Lady Sophia Stopford, the youngest child of the Earl of Gullsville, had always loved a ball. Not only for the gowns, though they were indeed lovely, or even for the eligible men who kept her dancing through the night. No, it was the effervescent energy quivering in the room, as though the air alone was enough to make the bubbles tickle up the sides of delicate glassware.
Earl of Tempest: The Wicked Earls Club Page 13
