by Tanya Wilde
Ross only barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes heavenward. Of course, they did not know that she’d met the earl, or that her fiancé had been his best friend. The world had all but forgotten Alfred. Just like her mother had said, the world had not stopped at all, but rather moved on quite efficiently.
Something in Ross rose to the surface then, something wild and untamed, spurred on by society’s lack of empathy and their blatant refusal to acknowledge the dead.
Well, she’d remind them.
“If the earl is staring at anyone, it is me,” Ross declared, lifting her chin as the two girls’ eyes whipped to her.
Her tone must have given away that they shared some kind of history, because Portia said, “You are acquainted with the earl, then?”
Ross inwardly cursed. An acquaintance suggested a familiar relationship and theirs was quite the opposite. “The earl and my late fiancé, Lord Alfred Buxton, heir to the Marquis of Linden, were best friends, though I only met the man once.”
The girls blinked, their brains piecing together portions of a puzzle long since tossed into the attic.
“Lord Buxton, who perished in battle?”
Ross gave a curt nod, clenching her teeth at the curiosity in the girl’s voice.
“Oh! I have quite forgotten you were engaged to Lord Buxton!” Mary exclaimed, her bright eyes only irking Ross even more. She paused, a slow smile forming on her face. “Perhaps Lord Craven is finally in search of a wife, then,” Mary finished.
A wife? Craven?
An illogical conclusion if Ross had ever heard one.
“What makes you think that, Mary?” Portia asked.
“Well, why not? He has only recently taken up residence in London again and his best friend hadn’t been against marriage. Perhaps he’s ready now, too.”
Ross wanted to slap the girl, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. Now they would never get off the topic of Craven.
And why was her blasted heart slamming against her chest, leaving her breathless? She began searching the crowd for an avenue of escape.
“The Countess of Craven! Can you imagine it?” Mary asked.
The Countess of Craven.
No, Ross certainly could not imagine it.
“Perhaps, he shall choose me!” Portia exclaimed as another bout of giggles sprung from her lips.
Ross turned away from them, wishing Portia luck. The girl would need it if she attempted to penetrate the thick, icy walls of the earl’s frozen heart.
Miss Rosslyn-bloody-Bakersfield.
The last woman he’d ever thought to see. His muscles flexed when her companion, a malicious little chit by the look of her, pointed a deuced finger straight his way. He was about to bare his teeth at her when Miss Bakersfield whipped her head around.
Emerald eyes locked with his from across the room.
Unprepared for the wild beating of his heart that followed, he cursed beneath his breath. He’d been watching her before that moment, watching as she stood still, completely focused on a letter in her hands before she folded and tucked it away in the folds of her dress.
What on God’s green earth was she doing in London? She was supposed to be in the country, ideally married to a country gentleman, and living out her days in peace. She was meant to be there—there, where Lucien did not have to watch her turnabout the room, happy as a peach while he marinated in misery.
He’d been completely caught off guard when he spotted her amidst the crowd earlier. At first, he had thought he’d imagined her—that his mind had conjured her up as a cruel reminder of his friend’s death. Unwelcome memories had assailed him, tortured images of pain and blood. His skin had felt too tight across his bones, as if he’d just crossed the desert without so much as a drop of water.
Clenching his jaw, he worked his mind away from the impressions, the echoes of events that had transpired.
When he had realized it was not his mind but his reality that had conjured her, he’d leaned back against a stone marble pillar to observe the lady through hooded eyes. More images had assaulted him then, but this time of her, staring up at him with such hopefulness until he shattered her world with the return of her locket. It had been two years since he’d seen her face.
Rosslyn-bloody-Bakersfield.
He recalled only too vividly how she had frowned at the necklace, blinking as if to put something important together, something he had yet to reveal. The confusion in her eyes had punched him in the gut, as had her refusal to believe the evidence he’d presented.
“Where is Alfred?” she’d asked. “I do not follow.”
By then, Lucien had seen enough death to understand that only clear and precise words could overcome the denial rooting itself firmly in her mind.
“He is dead, madam. He died in battle. My condolences on your loss. Please relay the news to your father. I’m sure he’ll take great comfort in it.”
He still cursed those parting words, sneered purposefully to hurt her. Alfred had cared a great deal for the woman and would no doubt have rolled in his grave if he’d heard Lucien that day. Hell, Alfred had loved her and Lucien had treated her like she’d been the one to send his friend to an early death.
More troubling was the reason behind his rude response. Struck blind by the first sight of her, he recalled wondering how the deuce Alfred had managed to ensnare such a creature’s heart. But then he also called to mind the true reason his friend had enlisted in the war at all.
Her.
What had it been about Miss Bakersfield that his friend would dive into the battlefield for?
Of course, Lucien already knew the answer. Her father had insisted upon it—had wanted a war veteran for a son-in-law. Or so he had said. Lucien knew better now.
Alfred had been heir to one of the oldest titles in England, whereas Miss Bakersfield was the only daughter of a baron. Almost anyone would say his friend had been a catch, the best match she might ever make.
Christ, she was no beauty either—though pretty certainly in an average sort of way. Where other ladies’ skins were white as marble, her upper cheeks and nose sported a rich amount of freckles. Miss Bakersfield clearly enjoyed the outdoors and did not care for wearing a bonnet, which spoke of a rebellious nature. Deep green eyes were framed by long, dark lashes, full of life and mischief. He recalled that day how her chestnut hair had been braided around her head with carefully arranged flowers weaved into her plaits. She’d reminded him of a forest nymph. She had looked young and innocent, too young to marry. And then she had smiled, and one small indentation appeared on her right cheek, taking another two years off her age. Devil take it, if he hadn’t known his friend so well, he may have thought Alfred had decided to marry a thirteen-year-old girl.
But what had haunted him the most over the past two years had been that with a few poorly chosen words, he’d erased the innocence in her eyes, wiped it from her features and her heart. In the single span of one mere moment, he’d given her a glimpse of a world she may have otherwise been oblivious to—a cruel world where people did not give a damn. And now she had returned to the fold only to remind him of all his shortcomings, of his guilt, of his pain.
Dammit all to hell!
He wanted her gone. The further away the better. Had her father come to London, as well? Lucien bloody hoped not, or he would have a long talk with the baron.
But the thought begged his next question: Did Miss Bakersfield shoulder the knowledge of what her father had done? The reason he’d sent her fiancé, his best friend, to war?
Lucien prayed that was not the case, for should he ever discover she’d known of her father’s hand in it, he would destroy her as thoroughly as he had destroyed the baron.
Her green eyes broke from his, then, but not before a sweet, tortured frisson of awareness rippled down the length of his spine.
She turned away, giving him her back. A telling sign of her sentiment, he mused with a shake of his head. He watched with interest as she turned her head slightly to each side, looking f
or an escape.
Lucien nearly laughed.
As if she could escape the Earl of Craven.
BOOKS BY TANYA WILDE
AN EARL’S GUIDE TO CATCH A LADY
A LADY’S GUIDE TO KISS A RAKE
A GENTLEMAN’S GUIDE TO SAVE A LADY
THE DEVIL MEETS LADY VERONICA PEBBLESWORTH
(A NOVELLA)
GIVE YOUR HEART A RAKE
SWEPT AWAY BY A WILD LORD
(A NOVELLA)
SWEPT AWAY BY A WICKED ROGUE
(A NOVELLA)
