London's Wicked Affair

by Anabelle Bryant

  “And if I accomplish these three demands . . .” His voice held a lovely mischief.

  “Requests.” She interrupted. They were in fact, exactly what he stated, but she refused to allow him the upper hand.

  “Then you will be amenable to marriage?”

  “Yes.” She blurted her answer, anxious to have it out of her mouth as quickly as possible and thereby tried not to fidget, although the tip of her boot tapped a nervous cadence on the hardwood floor.

  “Why?”

  She could never tell him the truth, that accomplishing her list would ensure she held power within her marriage, and with power came freedom. Freedom to escape if her husband proved unbearable and her life as unhappy as Charlotte’s appeared. A beat of fear, unwelcome and terrifying, chased these conclusions. “Those are my terms. Do you agree?”

  Her refusal to answer his inquiry and instead pose her own question didn’t seem to bother him. He walked to the liquor cabinet and poured a small measure.

  “Where is your chaperone?”

  His question caught her by surprise and without answer Amelia went to the bell pull and summoned a servant to fetch her maid, Mary. An inescapable shadow of doubt mocked her actions. When Mary entered, wide-eyed and silent, Lunden cast a speculative glare in her direction and Amelia shifted with unease.

  “Does she speak any English?”

  How he’d discovered the ruse so easily was beyond her comprehension. “I’ve taught her a few rudimentary phrases, but she mostly succeeds with a smile and nod.”

  “And your brother approves of a chaperone who has no command of the language?”

  “He allowed me to choose my own maid and has barely conversed with her, at least not at length or of a subject that could not be answered—”

  “With a smile and nod.” He watched her for several long minutes, and Amelia refused to break the hold of his gaze. Against her better judgment she became lost in an assessment of his entrancing eyes, a delightful shade of brown rimmed with an edging of gold, all heat and liquid, decidedly uncommon and unexpectedly beautiful. As deep and secretive as the man himself. For reasons unknown, the farther she sank into their silky depths, the more her body tingled in private parts, intimate parts.

  She looked away with a gasp of objection as she spied her maid, stalled near the doorway and thoroughly confused. Amelia flitted her hand in a blithe wave. “You may go, Mary. I will join you shortly.”

  * * *

  Lunden could make neither heads nor tails of Amelia’s convoluted perception of marriage, but the why of it didn’t matter. He’d accepted her terms and would see them done. Another list in his waistcoat pocket. Like mother, like daughter. He slid his focus to where she remained poised for escape. Bloody hell, she was mischief barely managed, all feminine beauty on the surface and sensual hellfire underneath. A man could go mad from wanting a woman like that. Her words were sharp, her tone tart, but what would she taste like were he to capture those plump, luscious lips in a deep openmouthed kiss? He finished his brandy in one swallow and set the empty glass on the sideboard with deliberate ease.

  There was a time when he wanted what Amelia represented: a wife, children, a home. By his own poor decisions, he now lived on the outskirts of convention, chewing on life’s gristle. Secrecy cleaved his existence to pieces, regret obliterated his dreams, and the ashes of both were best left scattered. Perhaps this knowledge made him amenable to her harebrained proposition. Something akin to vulnerability flared in her crystalline eyes when she’d handed him the list.

  “I suggest we begin tomorrow.” He cleared his throat and forced his thoughts to the problem at hand. “I will meet you at noon in Hyde Park. There’s a section to the rear of Oxford Street across from the Tyburn Gallows. I passed the area as I arrived and it will serve our purpose well, for it is little more than an abandoned field, unnoticed by pedestrians. Does this arrangement suit you?”

  “It does.”

  Her voice sounded breathy, as if he’d surprised her with his ambitious plan. It only made sense to begin with haste. Then he’d be one step closer to fulfilling his commitment, able to focus on resolving the problem with the town house, and rid of the city once and for all.

  “I will take care of all necessities.” He spoke slowly, each word marked by his boot heels on the study floor. “You’ll need only to arrive.” She appeared anxious, her green eyes wide and glittering in the reflected light, but he couldn’t imagine why. This was what she wanted, for what she bargained.

  “I will be there. I’ll bring Mary.”

  “For all the good that will do.” The words rolled languid from his tongue and for some reason her cheeks tinged pink. He meant to intimidate her, to assert he would control the situation, complete her list of requirements, and see her matched as soon as possible, but instead her nearness disconcerted him, and an intangible friction charged the air as each step pulled them closer together.

  Perhaps his tactic worked after all. Her spine was as rigid as a fireplace poker. Unfortunately, he suffered the same condition elsewhere.

  “Until tomorrow then.” Her voice rang strong, although her actions revealed something different. She jumped out of his path like a startled cricket and hurried from the room.

  * * *

  Later in the evening, after Lunden finished a dinner tray in his bedchamber, he stood at the window and stared into the black night contemplating his day. He’d skirted the truth when acquiring a carriage for the morrow and Matthew had obliged with few questions and an invitation to make free use of the stables. His generosity compounded Lunden’s regret. If past experiences taught him anything, it was that secrecy led to heartache.

  A cloud covered the moon, blanketing its glow in a foggy veil, and without effort the years rolled away, depositing Lunden once again in that alley as he shadowed his brother on horseback, anxious for any scrap of information to share with Matthew who waited diligently at the town house stable. He’d accepted his best friend’s challenge, equally curious to see where his brother, the duke, spent each evening. Certain it was somewhere nefarious and dangerous or better yet, as forbidden and intriguing as a brothel or gaming hell.

  Things had not turned out as planned. Little had since.

  Pushing from the window frame he walked to the bed and climbed under the inviting linen sheets, aware sleep would elude him. With a wry grimace he recalled the spell of nightmares he’d suffered after his parents had died. His brother had hushed him to quiet, advised him not to cry, and turned off the bedside lantern as he left. At the time it was not the comfort he’d needed, but in retrospect, perhaps it prepared him for the harsh bleakness that composed his future.

  He blinked away the dank memory and willed himself to calm. By degrees his body relaxed and his thoughts drifted to Amelia and his promise for tomorrow’s afternoon.

  Why couldn’t she be nondescript and mousy, plump in all the wrong places? He would still accomplish the task of seeing her matched, but his body would not be so spell-bound by her presence, so in tune to every detail of her bewitching appearance. Her hair would be the death of him. Those unruly curls begged for his touch, their silken sheen so tempting, even now he itched to tighten his fingers in the lengths as lush as black silk and wind her closer until the fall of her tresses blanketed his bare skin. And her legs, her lips . . . His body tightened and he cursed into the darkness. Had she been anyone else, he would have closed the scant distance between their mouths earlier and captured her full lips so he might learn her taste. Honey or lemon?

  His heart pounded against the wall of his chest and he scrubbed a palm over his face as if to erase the images. Damnation, he’d gone too long without a woman. No other explanation for his reaction made sense. He’d rusticated to his detriment if it had come to this.

  Any idea of rest was out of the question if he didn’t abandon these thoughts. With a string of curses meant for no one’s ears but his own, he forced his eyes closed and decidedly shut out the world.

  *
* *

  “You’re in a peculiar mood this morning.” Charlotte offered a handful of bread crumbs to the pigeons gathered at her feet. “Usually you’re the chatterbox. Is something wrong?”

  Amelia smiled, full knowing any effort spent disguising her emotions would be wasted indeed. “I’m sorry. Have I been quiet? I have a lot on my mind. I’ve agreed to meet three gentlemen selected by Matthew and Scarsdale. It’s my hope I’ll gain some control in the matter, but one can never be sure.”

  “At least you’ll have the opportunity to meet the candidates beforehand and share in a courtship. That’s a good sign for an agreeable future.”

  “I suppose, but what if all three prove boring and insufferable? What if they don’t understand my perspective on life or disregard my opinion?” Amelia thrust her hand into the paper bag and collected a handful of bread. She sprinkled the crusts to her left, allowing the crumbs to fall slowly through her fingers like the sands of time. Several birds rushed forward for the choicest bits.

  “Oh, now you’re beyond silly. Don’t borrow worry.” Charlotte touched her arm with an affectionate pat. “Besides, with your plan in place, you’ll have a voice in the decision.”

  Both ladies went silent, staring at the cooing pigeons as if studying the birds was an extraordinary experience.

  At last, Amelia broke their disquiet. “Well, I have kept my end of our agreement. Have you asked Lord Dearing if you may join me next Saturday when I visit my parents?” She brushed any residual crumbs from her skirts and pinned her friend with a determined glare.

  “Lord Dearing disapproves.” Charlotte’s words were barely a whisper.

  “Good heavens, he’s a tyrant.” Amelia shot up, scattering the startled pigeons. She paced a hard line in front of the marble bench, ignoring her friend’s surprised gasp. “What harm can come from you accompanying me to the country estate? We would have our maids with us and outriders for extra security. It’s barely a day’s worth of travel.” Worked into a fit of temper, she spun around, her hands akimbo as her left foot tapped an agitated tempo against the gravel. “We need to convince him otherwise.”

  Charlotte sighed with discontent. “Perhaps I can ask again in a few months’ time. He may change his mind by then.”

  “Or you will need to change it for him.” Amelia reached to clasp Charlotte’s hands in her own. She pulled her friend from the bench and linked their arms, set to begin their return walk home.

  “Whatever do you mean?” Charlotte squeezed Amelia’s arm tightly. It always felt better to have a friend by one’s side when things were at their bleakest.

  “I’m not sure, but I’ll think of something. I can’t bear to see you this unhappy and I promise you, we’ll find a way to make things better.”

  Chapter Five

  Lunden arrived at the rear entrance of Hyde Park, across from Tyburn Gallows, fifteen minutes before the designated time. He’d chosen the calmest horse in Matthew’s modest stable for Amelia, a mild white mare with soft brown eyes. Then he’d harnessed the horse to a curricle alongside his stallion, Hades. His horse was black as midnight, high-spirited, and faster than the wind, an unsuitable mount for someone first learning to ride astride, but the perfect match for a man who wished to turn back time whenever he allowed the horse free rein, galloping at breakneck speeds across the grassy fields of Beckford Hall.

  He released both horses from the equipage and wondered if he wasn’t making a terrible mistake. His boots crunched on the gravel walk, lined with bracken and bilberry, as he tied the animals to a tree with a temporary tether. Next, he removed the mounting block from the carriage boot and carried it toward the white mare. Amelia would look lovely atop the horse. The fanciful thought struck him with unexpected intensity and he shook his head and turned his eyes to the vast meadow of low grass and wildflowers extending before him, the perfect pathway for a novice rider.

  He was an excellent horseman and held no doubt he could teach Amelia to ride with little effort. Why the impetuous lady wished to ride astride when all of society dictated she use a sidesaddle, was beyond his reason. He suspected Amelia considered it rebellious, on the cusp of scandal to learn the skill, but he did not spend time on the why of it. It was her first demand and it would be satisfied with ease. And that brought him one step closer to resolving his business and leaving the city.

  He checked both saddles and reviewed his approach to the lesson. They would start with the basics—a shy walk, then a lively canter, and at last a gentle gallop. He hoped she harbored no fear of the large animal. Horses were highly intelligent and intuitive. The mare would sense her discomfort and any apprehension would make the lesson more difficult.

  By the day’s end Amelia would have the security of knowing he meant to keep his promise, thus binding her to reciprocate as per her shrewd negotiations. A smirk played at his mouth. The lady pricked his curiosity, among other things. It was a miracle of sorts any emotion other than anger and regret lived in him still.

  No time was left to consider the revelation as a carriage approached and the driver pulled beside the curricle. Undoubtedly, Amelia had charmed the man to a vow of silence, otherwise Lunden knew she’d receive hell from her brother for meeting him here and undertaking this lesson. And he would receive an invitation to leave London. The chaperone was of no consequence.

  He mulled these conclusions until the carriage door creaked open. Amelia exited and his heart slammed against the wall of his chest.

  “Is something wrong?” Her smile faltered as she moved forward, her brilliant green eyes marked with concern.

  He dragged in a deep breath in a valiant attempt to collect himself. “I didn’t anticipate—” His tongue struggled to form the final two words. “The trousers.” His eyes skimmed her length a second time. Fire, white hot and hungry, lit his veins and spread to every cell of his body before it settled in his stomach in perfect position for the flames to lick at his heart.

  Amelia sauntered a slow circle and smiled.

  The saucy minx.

  “How else did you expect me to ride astride?”

  Her voice held a familiar mocking tone, as if she assumed him daft. His temper bristled and he lied. “I honestly didn’t give it a thought.” In truth, his mind was filled with little else besides her and the unforgivable notion that he’d like to taste her kiss. Donning a scowl, he rechecked the mare’s bridle. His brain would cease proper function if he didn’t rid his desire for her full, delicious mouth. Damn it to hell, he was lust-struck.

  “Well, are you teaching me to ride or not?”

  With his thoughts so muddled, it was a wonder he could fasten his boots. “Of course. I’m a man of my word.” He cleared his throat. “Just as you’ll keep your half of the bargain and find a husband at the end of all this foolery.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

  “You need not remind me as if I’m a petulant child.”

  He half expected her to stamp her foot.

  “We made a deal. One I’ve every intention of seeing through to the end.” She jutted out her chin and poised her mouth in a mocking little frown that accentuated the sweet plumpness of her lower lip. Lunden bit the inside of his cheek and indicated the mounting block with a sharp jerk of his head.

  She advanced to the wooden steps and climbed up, the scent of jasmine, soft and subtle, teased the air while the action placed her perfectly formed derriere at eye level. His whole body tightened, most especially his groin, that development sure to make his ride enjoyable.

  She took an impatient sidestep, her toe tapping, and he forced himself into motion.

  “I can only label myself a half-wit for allowing this.” And the other half, pure genius. Buckskin breeches never looked so attractive fitted to the gentle slope of her slender calves. “Where did you acquire these?” His question sounded like a growl and he brushed the tip of his glove against her hip to reference the tight pants, although his bare fingers itched to coast over every inch of her endlessly long legs.

&
nbsp; “One of the grooms left them flung over a stable stall. He’ll never miss them.” She beamed down at him, her green eyes glittering in the noonday sun. “Now let’s get on with this. Tell me what to do.”

  Oh, how he’d like to do just that. “Put your foot in the stirrup and bring your other leg over.” Lunden kept a firm hold on the mare’s harness, although Amelia and the animal appeared at ease. With hope she’d mount with haste. He could not bear to look at her tight bottom one minute longer.

  “Like this?” She landed in the saddle with little effort and his lips quirked with pride. Damnation, she was a delightful surprise.

  “Yes, you seem to have everything in hand.” He threw her a casual glance, then turned to his horse and pulled up into the saddle with one swift movement, before aligning Hades beside her. “I suggest we begin with a slow walk.” He wasn’t sure she’d heard his suggestion as she prodded her horse ahead of his into the grass-covered meadow. And true, he was distracted with the sight of her lovely bottom as it moved in sensual rhythm against the leather saddle.

  “Now, the first thing I’d like you to do—”

  “Yah!”

  With a strong nudge of her heels, the mare lunged forward and obliterated the end of his sentence. Lunden followed directly behind, but Amelia caught him unprepared and held a significant lead. He cursed into the wind, his mind racing faster than the horse’s hooves. Farther ahead the grassy field narrowed in approach of a copse of hornbeam trees. He kicked Hades into a full gallop, determined to catch Amelia before her horse breached the thicket. His heart pounded with an unwelcome and familiar tension, while his chest clenched tight, a tangle of sorrowful lost memories. Sweat broke out across his brow. Did she know what she was doing? Was she frightened? He thought he heard her gasp but he couldn’t see her face or judge her reaction, all concentration spent on leading his horse in the chase.

  He leaned low over Hades’s mane and focused on closing the distance between them. His jaw tensed and the hairs on the back of his neck pricked high. He nearly had her now although the tree line grew ever closer. Her horse would never manage the undergrowth at this pace. Were the mare to react with abrupt rebellion, Amelia would be thrown. His pulse drummed in tune to Hades’s hooves. He had to catch her. In this, he could not fail.