London's Wicked Affair

by Anabelle Bryant

  Chapter Two

  Amelia Strathmore twirled the rod of her pink silk parasol, her chin high, as she strolled the sidewalk toward her dearest friend’s residence. Her chaperone trailed behind like the ribbons of Amelia’s bonnet fluttering on the warm spring breeze. When she reached the home of Lady Charlotte Dearing, she opened the wrought-iron gate and strode up the limestone path to knock on the front door. Thank heavens Charlotte had not moved farther away after her recent marriage.

  Amelia would be lost without their morning ritual of a walk to St. James Square, where they sat on a marble bench and confessed secrets before they returned the same way they’d come. At times they would feed pigeons, read poetry, or watch pedestrians, but always they conversed about matters of the heart. Amelia focused on her brother’s haphazard attempts to see her married, while Charlotte lamented her current unhappiness, trapped in a practical match when she desired true love.

  Amelia dropped the knocker and waited, the butler accustomed to her frequent visits. True to form, the two ladies departed arm in arm only moments later, their chaperones in step behind.

  “I’m surprised your brother persists when you’ve made it clear you will choose a man to marry when you are ready.”

  Her friend’s loyal support served as a balm to her soul. With Father’s health failing, Amelia suspected time was running out on her independent status. “I don’t think Matthew believes me. Meanwhile, I have no idea what he’ll attempt next.” A sudden giggle escaped. “Although I daresay I’ll never forget the look on Lord Trent’s face when his pants lit on fire.”

  “If only I had been there. I would have applauded your valiant defense.”

  No one knew, save Charlotte, the true reason Lord Trent’s comment incited Amelia’s temper and spurred her vehement response. “You’re my dearest friend. I could never allow anyone to spout blithe nonsense when you’re living proof men have all the advantages in marriage and women have none.”

  Charlotte’s expression turned solemn and for a few breaths only the clicking heels of their boots marked their progression along the cobbles. A carriage rolled by and a small dog chased its rear wheels. Amelia watched it pass as her heart ached for her disconsolate friend.

  “It hasn’t been so bad of late.”

  Amelia squeezed Charlotte’s arm tighter. “That’s what I fear the most. At least when Lord Dearing behaves with his usual surly demeanor, we know what to expect. When he’s kind, I’m terribly suspicious.” An unbidden shiver passed through her and she hugged Charlotte closer. “Did you mention how much you’d like an animal companion? A dog or a cat would keep you company when he’s locked in his study or otherwise occupied. Pandora is always there for me no matter my mood, and even though cats cannot speak, she never fails to console me.”

  “Yes, but consider the trouble Pandora has caused. Lord Dearing wouldn’t be pleased if a pet scratched the furniture or stained the carpet.”

  Amelia’s scoff overrode Charlotte’s objection. “Does he plan for a family someday? Children do the very same things and worse. Besides, just because Pandora finds mischief does not mean all cats have the same temperament.” She smiled. Her cat was her second dearest friend to Charlotte and she would not trade either companion for all the chocolate in the world.

  “When I suggested we purchase a pet, he didn’t reply with keen approval.”

  “Did you mention it would bring you happiness?” Amelia prodded, determined to improve Charlotte’s situation.

  “Happiness was not a condition to my marriage. My parents needed the security of Dearing’s finances. If only I’d had the time to get to know him better. You’re lucky to have your brother in control of your future instead of parents sorely indebted and in need of immediate rescue.”

  They arrived at the square and settled on their favorite bench. Amelia regretted the questions if they forced Charlotte to dwell on her current unhappiness. Though she feared her own situation was not so unlike that fate.

  “Luck has nothing to do with it. Father is ill. Last time I visited, his breathing had not improved.” Amelia schooled her features, although emotion crept into her voice. “I suppose my brother will be more determined than ever to see me wed.” She released a long, melancholic sigh. “Are we both fools to believe in true love? To hope that there is more to life than insipid tea parties and polite conversation?”

  “Sometimes I wonder why we ever thought it possible to achieve a love match. Surely it’s as rare as a meteor shower on Christmas morning.”

  Amelia tapped the toe of her boot against the pavement in deep consternation, her heart at war with better sense. She did believe in love. True love. Her parents were devoted to each other and she couldn’t recall a time when they weren’t affectionate and respectful. It was the very crux of the problem. Her parents wanted her married and infinitely happy before Father’s illness progressed or something worse occurred, but how could one find true love on a timetable? Amelia knew exactly what she wanted in a husband and as of yet, the field proved lacking. If she was forced to surrender her freedom, she wanted love and fidelity in return. The fear of not accomplishing this goal left her firmly planted in ambivalence.

  Charlotte continued with a note of despair. “I suppose we will have to be satisfied with our lot in life. When I was a child I envisioned a different future, but Lord Dearing has proved very generous with my family. It would be selfish of me to complain he doesn’t show me affection or make me feel special when he’s saved my parents and three sisters from poverty.”

  Amelia’s right brow climbed high at her friend’s resignation. “All is not lost, Charlotte. Marriage is a huge adjustment. Perhaps Lord Dearing has experienced similar reservations, and life will become more enjoyable as time passes.” The suggestion sounded as flaccid as the hawthorn branches providing shade above them, but Amelia’s devotion to her friend forced her to be optimistic.

  “He hardly speaks to me. At times I wonder if he likes me at all.”

  “Now that’s utter rubbish. You’re the kindest, loveliest, most agreeable creature on this earth. If Dearing doesn’t talk to you, he must be tongue-tied by your beauty.” Amelia stood and brushed off her skirts. “Give it time. Perhaps we expect too much too soon.” She was carried away now, babbling like a magpie because she couldn’t bear her friend’s self-deprecating conclusions.

  They spoke of mundane topics for the remainder of their visit and after they said good-bye at Charlotte’s gate, Amelia hurried home with the intent to go upstairs to Matthew’s study and insist he investigate Lord Dearing’s poor behavior. Charlotte’s situation proved no one need rush into this husband business. It was a matter to be considered with care, although Amelia knew they should make haste for Father’s sake.

  Pressing her parasol and bonnet into Spencer’s waiting hands, she bounded up the staircase without pausing to inquire of Matthew’s schedule. She suspected he’d be playing at his tiled puzzle anyway.

  Fearing he might go stir-crazy during his convalescence, and in a bid to ward off the toll on his spirit, Mother bought him the first puzzle while he recuperated from that dreadful gunshot wound ten years ago, her intent to keep his mind busy while his body remained idle. Little did Mother know what she’d incited. Now Matthew devoured them, at times poring over the pieces for hours as if his life depended on the puzzle’s completion.

  Amelia burst through the double doors of the study and took two long strides before she froze in place, realizing her brother was not alone.

  * * *

  Lunden stared at the majestic beauty who stormed into the room as if she was the queen who owned the castle and someone had stolen her crown. A command stalled on her lips as their eyes locked. Then a ripple of shock vibrated through him, echoing to the depths of his soul with a strange familiarity. Yet, he’d never met the mysterious lady. With certainty, he’d have remembered her unmatched face and statuesque body, never mind her mane of disorderly black curls, dark and glossy as a raven’s wing.


  He found his tongue, relieved it didn’t hang from his mouth. “Pardon me, Whittingham. You’ve a guest. We’ll continue our discussion later this afternoon.”

  Lucky devil, to have this beauty so accustomed to keeping his company, she needn’t be announced.

  Lunden turned to leave but his friend’s sharp interjection halted his progress.

  “Amelia’s hardly a guest.” Matthew laughed, this time louder. “Isn’t that right, Troublemaker?”

  “Don’t call me that.” She spoke, her voice a rebellious whisper meant for her brother, although her eyes never left Lunden’s face. He noted the furrow of her delicate brows as if she struggled to understand the circumstances, her curious gaze as green and brilliant as he remembered.

  “My pleasure, Lady Amelia.” He sketched a polite bow. “Too much time has passed. The fault is mine, although if I recall correctly your parents kept you sequestered in the country.”

  “It was a matter of survival,” Matthew quipped from the corner. “At least in the wilds of nature, the population had a fighting chance of continued existence.”

  “Instead I was the one left to perish from boredom.” She swung her eyes to her brother with a look of exaggerated tolerance.

  Lunden noted how quickly her witty retort nipped at the heels of Matthew’s jest. And too, he couldn’t stop staring at her mouth. Her lips, full and pouty, were more courtesan than genteel lady and better suited for heated kisses and whispered temptations than conversation in the drawing room. The lower half of his body concurred.

  Matthew came forward, a broad smile on his face. “Someday your clever tongue will get you into trouble.”

  Lunden stifled a cough. Indeed.

  He stepped away so brother and sister could share a private word, although neither participant made an effort to lower their voice.

  “You can’t barge into my study whenever you wish. A knock shows due respect. How I will find you a husband I have no idea.”

  “You’ve voiced that complaint ad infinitum. With such mundane repetition, one would think that bullet found your head and not your leg.”

  “Lunden, this is no time to remain quiet. Speak up and fortify my effort.” Matthew waved in his direction. “You do remember Scarsdale, don’t you, Amelia? You insulted his honor a scant minute ago.”

  Mortification tinged the lady’s cheeks crimson, but there was no need. Her reference to Matthew’s wound fell far within the boundaries of normal sibling banter. The emotions that plagued him, the ever-present guilt and regret, visited him during the late-night hours when he was desperate for sleep. Lunden didn’t give her glib retort a second thought.

  But she did.

  He flicked his eyes to Amelia and her unease confirmed she knew she’d proven her brother’s point and spoken too callously of his injury.

  Lunden sought to soothe her embarrassment. “I’m not so foolish to take sides in a sibling squabble.” So this was the challenge set before him. A termagant wrapped in ribbons and bows. He should have taken rooms at a coaching inn.

  A black cat sauntered into the study with royal poise. It skimmed Amelia’s skirts in a habit born of affection and leapt atop the table near the windows.

  “Remove Pandora at once.” Matthew’s stern command sliced the air. “I’ll not have that animal destroy the progress I’ve made on South America.”

  The cat flicked its tail in deference and settled atop the puzzle, its lean body stretched across the completed portion, its hind feet shuffling loose pieces. Lunden watched the scene with interest, the feline’s eyes as remarkable as its owner. Had he not seen them in the room together, he’d be convinced Amelia and the cat were one in the same. A changeling of sorts. She’d certainly transformed in every way imaginable since the young girl he remembered from a decade ago.

  Amelia glanced in his direction, all previous bluster gone, and scooped the cat into her arms in a protective gesture.

  “Perhaps I should have knocked. I didn’t mean to interrupt your meeting.”

  Her tone indicated she begrudged every word.

  “Thank you.” Matthew regained his amiable demeanor. “Scarsdale will be staying with us while he attends business. Private business, not to be shared beyond these walls. It’s fortuitous you arrived so I could inform you. I only wish you would observe a stricter sense of propriety. Had I been interviewing a husband candidate, your behavior would have obliterated his first impression.”

  Exasperation narrowed her eyes as she backed toward the door. When her expression mellowed, she turned a brilliant smile in his direction. “It was a pleasure to see you, Your Grace. I would like to stay longer and inquire of your well-being, but my brother forces me from the room with his repetitive blather. I look forward to speaking with you at another time.”

  She turned on her heel and swept from the room, her cat nestled in her arms as close as an ermine stole.

  “Perhaps Amelia wouldn’t resist your marital advice if you didn’t press so hard.” Lunden dragged his eyes from the empty doorway and joined his friend where he lingered near the puzzle table, repairing the damage incurred by Pandora. “It can’t bear well that she’s being forced into a match in consideration of your father’s health concerns.”

  “She is two and twenty.” Matthew placed a piece in the Strait of Gibraltar. “She needs to get on with it and stop dragging her feet. Many of her friends are already settled. It makes little sense to avoid the inevitable, especially when Father will find peace in knowing she’s well matched. Amelia finds the most interesting situations, and I wouldn’t want her to regret hapless choices.” He placed four more pieces before he stepped away and leveled a stare at Lunden that mirrored his sister’s earlier exasperation. “In truth, I need her to be someone else’s headache.” His expression eased. “The poor chap will require the patience of a saint.”

  Chapter Three

  Amelia hurried down the hallway with Pandora pressed against her chest, a shield to conceal her hammering heart. Scarsdale, with his whisky-colored eyes and smooth voice, was an unexpected hiccup in her well-planned day. For some unexplainable reason, he unsettled her. If only she could remember more of his broken history.

  She stepped around the coal scuttle and settled into the chimney corner of the drawing room, her favorite place to ponder big thoughts. Tucking her feet under her skirts, a breath of relief escaped. Pandora curled into her lap in a practiced habit and Amelia stroked her velvety fur as the rapid beat of her heart calmed. She rested her head against the smooth stones of the hearth and with effort swept the cobwebs from her memory.

  At twelve years of age, she’d been sheltered from societal news, but when Matthew’s injury brought him to the country estate to recuperate, she’d gleaned bits of information whenever someone forgot she remained in the room.

  Foremost, a vivid memory of her brother’s defense of Scarsdale’s character sprang to mind. Matthew’s protestations had been tinged with sadness, his tone bleak, whether from his personal injury or the circumstances, she could not know. And she remembered her parents’ expressions as compassionate and free from anger, despite their only son having taken a bullet to the leg on someone else’s behalf. To this day, Matthew still called Scarsdale friend.

  It was only now, when confronted with the dashing man, that she paused to wonder what he had done to set society on its ear.

  Something nefarious enough to send him from the city for over a decade. What prompted his return? Why now?

  As a child she hadn’t thought beyond Matthew’s well-being. What a trial she’d presented, forcing him to play endless games of backgammon while confined to his bed, unable to flee her persistent antics and endless chatter. A smile twisted her lips. He’d proven a good brother, fair-natured and at times overprotective, the precise mixture required of a loving sibling.

  The acknowledgment brought about a resonant exhale. There was no escaping the fact she would have to consider a husband in earnest. Father was ill. But how would she find someone she cou
ld tolerate for the rest of her life? Someone interesting and spirited, yet also kindhearted and loving?

  Perhaps Scarsdale returned to London in search of a wife.

  The ridiculous notion stalled her hand and Pandora meowed in protestation. Even now in the familiarity of her cozy corner, she remained undeniably intrigued by his handsome chiseled features and deep baritone. When he spoke, his voice simmered within her and little pinpoints of excitement pricked her skin. It was an unusual and pleasurable sensation. One she wished to experience again.

  Discovering his purpose in London would distract from the dismal feat of obtaining a husband, at least until the reality of her circumstances could no longer be ignored. Amelia smiled and pulled Pandora to her cheek in an affectionate nuzzle. She could hardly wait until tomorrow morning to share this news with Charlotte.

  * * *

  It was later that evening when Lunden had the chance to review the list Matthew foisted on him. He removed the foolscap from the pocket of his waistcoat where it draped across the corner of his bed and settled in the velvet-backed bonnet chair nearest the fire. As he unfolded the paper, the scent of lilacs assailed his nostrils, and he wondered at the frivolities of women and their need to perfume everything.

  Lunden brought his eyes to the first item on the list and dismissed his silent musings.

  1. Honesty

  He scoffed. How serendipitous he needn’t fall under candidate review. He would fail miserably at the first requirement. Secrecy and deceit became his two closest allies the cold night of Douglas’s death.

  He closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the armchair cushion. He should never have argued with his brother. He was foolish and young, an irrepressible bundle of adolescent confusion with an attitude that outsized his britches. His cutting remarks and hurtful accusations were typical rites of manhood, but now he wished he could recant it all.