London's Wicked Affair

by Anabelle Bryant

Bloody hell, if he continued this way, the devil would welcome him with open arms.

  Without a doubt, Amelia was beautiful, but something about her, something intangible and tenuous, provoked his senses, summoned desire as if she penetrated his skin and insinuated his soul. One look at her and every wall of defense, carefully constructed over years of seclusion, threatened to fracture, tilt, and crumble. He shifted on the pillow. Even now he could smell her, jasmine and delightful loveliness, mixed with vivacious laughter and ripe pink lips. His groin hardened and urged him to pursue the thought. Fantasies would have to suffice. Fantasies and secrets. Always secrets. With another groan, one more of agony than pleasure, Lunden flung to his back, desperate to find relief.

  * * *

  Whittingham climbed the steps leading to the address scribbled on the paper clenched in his right fist. His other hand kept a secure hold on his cane, the stairs unusually steep and difficult to maneuver when confronted with his limp and the dismal state of the evening weather. A steady drizzle fell and the damp conditions caused his leg to ache, his shortened temper an outcome of the combined predicaments. Still, he relished the evening’s opportunity to participate in the scheduled meeting, no matter the location had been changed on short notice, and he now feared a late arrival. Pride intertwined with punctuality and he scoffed, not wishing to present a poor impression, most especially as elections grew nearer. He pursued a nomination, his goal finally within reach.

  The Society for the Intellectually Advanced was highly respected as one of the most elite associations of academia in London. Matthew participated as a member for almost a decade, rising from newcomer to esteemed contributor. He was determined to become chief officer with the upcoming election, no matter the failure of his past attempts. The opportunity was never more attainable as Collins, the retiring officer, was also a comrade. Matthew hoped to obtain a glowing endorsement from the gentleman.

  He managed the last few stairs with effort and then moved into the silent hallway. A butler stood ready to accept his dripping overcoat and hat, and Matthew wished he could offer his boots forward, as the laborious struggle up the front steps left the leather soaked through to his stockings. Instead, he made haste to enter the sitting room.

  “Good show, Whittingham. I began to doubt your attendance.” Lord Winthrop extended his hand for a hearty shake as Matthew advanced. Gentlemen conversed in small pockets around the room, some more animated in their discussions than others, and Matthew released a huff of breath, relieved he’d arrived before the meeting was called to order.

  “I didn’t receive word of the meeting’s relocation until this evening. Had the message arrived a minute later, I would have missed it. But I’m here now. What do you make of this impromptu gathering? Why has the location changed in such slapdash fashion?”

  The men moved to a more private corner near the bookcases, although Matthew yearned to find a seat. His leg throbbed from the pressure exerted as he climbed the slippery marble steps. He grimaced as his eyes darted around the room in assessment of the situation. He needed to locate an open chair.

  “It’s quite the story and one that might aid your efforts, my friend.” Sensing his unease, Winthrop tapped him on the arm and motioned toward two recently vacated wing chairs near the fireplace. “It’s my understanding Collins has suffered the most unlikely turn of events. His brother and sister-in-law from Manchester have suffered a tragic accident.”

  “How terrible for Collins.” Matthew settled and extended his leg toward the flames in hope the warmth would coax the steady throb of pain to subside and not impair his enjoyment of the evening. “I’ll make it a point to extend my condolences.”

  “That’s not the half of it.” Winthrop leaned in, as if imparting a confidential secret, although Matthew suspected the entire room discussed Collins’s misfortune in low-toned whispers. “According to his brother’s will, Collins has been named guardian of their six children. Collins has no wife and no desire to be a family man, but we’re all aware of his fondness of money. His brother’s testament stated contingent for Collins to inherit the bulk of the family fortune, the children must remain in Manchester to be raised on their estate, continue their schooling, et cetera.” Winthrop waved his hand in the air as if to explain everything he hadn’t stated. “Collins plans to relinquish his position at the society as soon as matters are settled and relocate to Manchester. He’s not as discomforted by the idea as I would be, and instead has turned his focus to finding a wife as soon as possible. Money can purchase the assistance of servants and tutors, but Collins isn’t so brave as to embark on this venture without a woman by his side. The youngest children need mothering, most especially after their tragic loss.”

  Matthew considered a number of replies. Indeed, he held sympathy for Collins and the sudden detour his life had taken, but there was no denying this turn of events offered a fortuitous advantage. He wanted, with every ounce of his being, to become chief officer of the society. Here was an opportunity to achieve that goal with ease. All he need do is convince Collins to extend a ringing endorsement for his ascension to the position. Considering the man’s need to leave London, it shouldn’t prove a difficult proposition. If necessary, he would devote himself to aiding Collins with his transition in any way possible. Perhaps he could find the fellow a wife. An unexpected smile curled his lips. Assisting in the marriage mart seemed a popular topic of late.

  “This is very good news, Winthrop. Aside from the deaths, of course.” He spoke with measured deliberation as he slued his eyes across the room. “Nevertheless, I should pursue my cause before the meeting begins.”

  But he had no time to debate the proposal as the sound of a gavel striking wood resounded in the sitting room and the meeting was called to order. Reassembling to the chairs set before the long meeting table, Matthew noticed his leg no longer throbbed and that in a remarkable shift of mood, he didn’t bemoan his wet boots.

  Chapter Seven

  “Hurry along, Mary.” Amelia set a stirring pace down the sidewalk, not minding her maid’s stride equaled half her own, while Mary struggled to shorten the distance between them. Sleep came with ease the night before and Amelia fell into bed exhausted from exhilaration, only to awake this morning with remnants of pleasant dreams, the scent of cedar and bergamot against her cheek where her hand lay folded.

  She met Charlotte at the door and the two ladies scurried down the sidewalk as was customary, although Amelia could not contain her conversation and lunged into current news with a lack of ladylike finesse.

  “Oh my goodness, I have so much to tell you.” She twisted to speak to her friend, their arms looped as they followed their familiar route to the park.

  Charlotte glanced in her direction, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Please don’t wait a moment longer.”

  “I scarcely know where to begin.” Hardly a pause followed Amelia’s announcement before her words burst forth in an exuberant flurry. “Lunden took me riding yesterday afternoon. Astride. I’ve never felt more alive.”

  “You call him by his Christian name?”

  The disturbed tone of Charlotte’s question cut her enthusiasm by half, although Amelia dismissed the opportunity to address the stringent rule Lord Dearing established dictating Charlotte and he employ formal titles. She didn’t wish to bring pallor to their conversation and instead continued in a jubilant tone.

  “It’s not improper. I knew him as a child. Matthew invited him to Lakeview on occasion. It feels quite natural. Besides, this is no time for dithering over details.” They settled on a bench under the trees although nothing could shade Amelia’s enthusiasm. “It was magical to race across the field with the power of the horse beneath me. Nothing at all like a sidesaddle. I can easily understand why men prefer to keep women confined to the cumbersome contraption. If every woman were allowed to experience the freedom found in riding, we would never hear horror stories about ladies trapped in marriage with no escape.” She finished on a high note and tilted her hea
d at a jaunty angle, pleased with her illuminating speech.

  “I wish I possessed but a thimble’s worth of your courage. You told me you were determined to accomplish your list and you’re succeeding. I’m proud of you. If only I could experience the same joy.” Charlotte continued to smile, although her words didn’t echo the expression.

  “Oh, but you can. I’ll teach you. Lunden did very little aside from choosing the proper horse. True, I did startle him when I kicked the horse into a gallop, but I’ve watched gentlemen ride for years and studied their motion. There’s nothing to it. If you travel with me this weekend, I’ll show you and no one will know.” Amelia captured her friend’s hands in her own. “Have you attempted more discussion with Lord Dearing concerning the trip?”

  A shadow of dismay entered Charlotte’s eyes and she cast them to where their hands knit together in her lap. “The matter has not changed, I’m afraid.”

  Both friends fell silent, but Amelia harbored far too many opinions on the subject to bite her tongue for long.

  “I implore you to address this matter again. Today is Tuesday and I plan to leave Saturday before noon. There’s still time to convince Lord Dearing a trip to the country will make you happy, as well as express benevolence to my ailing father. I’ve seen the way he looks at you and must believe he can be reasoned with, otherwise all will be lost. How could anyone deny such an act of kindness?”

  “Kindness is never his consideration.” Her tone edged on melancholy. “I fear I can’t breech the subject again. Dearing asserts you put improper ideas in my head, first with the suggestion of a cat and now with this weekend travel.”

  “Utter rot. You know that’s rubbish.” Amelia released her friend’s hands and stood up in a swirl of skirts. “Our thoughts are very much aligned. I merely inspire you to give them voice. Lord Dearing is proving an inordinately stubborn man. Do you think I should talk to him directly? Explain how much I would enjoy your company and how welcomed you would be at the country estate?”

  “Dear no.” Charlotte stood up with such alacrity, Amelia stepped back in alarm. “That’s a terrible idea.”

  “All right.” Desperate for a change of subject to mollify her friend, Amelia grasped on to a topic that never seemed far from mind. “Lunden is extremely handsome despite the absence of any semblance of a smile. I studied his face yesterday when he didn’t know I was looking.” She closed her eyes and conjured an image of his severe scowl. With such rugged, attractive features, he no doubt claimed a charming grin. What would it take to coax it out? When her lids fluttered open, Charlotte’s perplexed expression demanded a quick explanation.

  “He tempts my curiosity. That’s all. Everything concerning his departure from London is cloaked in secrecy and now he’s returned, willing to do my brother a favor and satisfy my list of demands. Curious, indeed. He seems very accommodating, yet likely something else drives him. It’s fascinating, the intriguing mystery that surrounds his actions.”

  “Well, I daresay your brother will marry you off to the costermonger on the corner if he learns you were out riding with Scarsdale. Aside from the scandalous nature of your activity, no dignified lady in lack of a proper chaperone should venture anywhere with a bachelor. You’re breaking every rule.”

  Amelia tried to stifle her laughter. “I brought Mary with me.”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes and Amelia ignored her friend’s smirk of disapproval.

  “Rules are made to be broken.” A smile punctuated her sentence. “I’ve done nothing wrong unless one analyzes my actions according to society’s antiquated expectations. The ton’s dictates are ridiculous. Your marriage serves as a prime example. Given the opportunity, you would have chosen a husband and accomplished the security your family needed within a union based on love and not convenience. Instead, because society didn’t allow you to be privy to your family’s financial woes, you were thrust into a marriage without any preparation or warning.”

  “Yes, although it might have been worse.” Charlotte looked out beyond the fountain in the middle of the square. “I shouldn’t complain.”

  Amelia placed her hand on Charlotte’s shoulder in a gesture meant to comfort. “Yes, you should. Please know you can always talk to me.” She leaned in closer and cast a sideways glance toward their maids. “Be assured, I dare not abandon your situation. We will help Lord Dearing realize what a treasure you are. I need to give the subject deliberation.” She stepped away and tapped her finger against her lips in a thoughtful pose. “How much pin money have you saved?”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t any. Lord Dearing is very frugal with the accounts. He reminds me often that he incurred a great financial burden when he settled Father’s debt.”

  Amelia suppressed a breath of frustration. “I’ll continue to think on it. There is a solution. We just haven’t found it yet. Love might not have been a requirement in your marriage, but affection can grow given the opportunity.”

  A whippoorwill sang in the distance as both girls remained silent. Amelia knew not what else to say.

  Then Charlotte turned to her, a twinkle in her soft brown eyes. “What is he like? Scarsdale, I mean.”

  A wistful smile wound its way around Amelia’s mouth. “He’s very handsome, wickedly so, and when he speaks to me, his voice does peculiar things to my insides. I am sure it’s nerves on my part.” Considering Charlotte’s state of shock concerning the use of first names, Amelia thought better than to mention she’d reclined in Lunden’s bed the night before, although the suggestion she might confess the words caused a ripple of excitement to shoot straight through her. A secretive smile spread across her face.

  “Amelia, you’re never nervous.” Charlotte didn’t remark on the expanse of her grin.

  “I suppose it could be attributed to all this marriage talk. I wish Father was not so set on finding me a match. I believe I can find happiness as an independent woman until I meet a man who promises me a content future. I wish to fall in love, not be bartered away in an agreement. Perhaps I will attempt to convince Father of this fact when I visit on Saturday.”

  Charlotte shook her head in the negative. “But what of children and a family? You’ve always told me you wanted to be surrounded by babes.”

  “Yes, that much is true. It is a slippery slope I’m afraid, but mark my words, I will not marry without love.”

  * * *

  Lunden dismounted and handed Hades’s reins to the waiting footman outside the Dobson residence. John Kendall, Earl of Dobson, was an honest fellow, a past acquaintance, and at current, Lunden’s best possibility. Most pointedly, Dobson was a huntsman and knowledgeable in the use of firearms.

  He presented his card to the butler, disgruntled the task forced him to make his presence known, but no other option seemed viable. He didn’t own a pistol and needed the use of one. He’d best borrow the blasted thing and be done with it. Purchasing a firearm would resurrect distasteful speculation, not to mention his unexpected appearance at a weapons store would recharge every gossipmonger who wished to exhume the arcane secret he worked for a decade to keep buried.

  And too, he would ask Dobson for discretion, if such a thing existed. He remembered the man as trustworthy and uninvolved in societal scandal. Still, the days following his brother’s death were a blur and he could no better tell which man fortified his explanation or cast suspicion in his direction. As heir presumptive, the transfer of the title was tainted by rumor and doubt, ultimately crucifying Lunden as a manipulative, bitter second son, hungry for revenge and assumption of the title. The erroneous depiction, combined with his grief, the obligations of funeral arrangements and customary visitation, and the tremendous guilt that grew stronger with every breath, smothered him in a haze of perfunctory survival until finally he escaped the city for good.

  A whisper of despair winnowed through him.

  Were he not bound by his word to Amelia, he wouldn’t be at Dobson’s in the first place. The curmudgeon inconvenienced him in more ways than he
could explain, and yet on another level, a deeper, richer one, she amused him and somehow ignited a small spark of light in his otherwise dark existence. She was all contradiction, long legs and short temper, incredible beauty and guaranteed hellion. A lovely bit of mayhem.

  Any man that volunteered to put up with her tart tongue was the biggest fool in England and he would find that fool, fulfill his promise, and then be on his way.

  “Lord Dobson will see you now.”

  The butler, a middle-aged man with a stoic countenance, stared at him with little interest. Perhaps his imagination had gotten the better of him and no one cared he’d returned.

  Doubtful.

  He followed the servant and entered a somber drawing room decorated with various-sized game, stuffed and mounted for display. It would appear Dobson kept the local taxidermist in expensive leather boots. Intrigued, Lunden wandered the perimeter noting the varying degrees of death on display, from bear cub to large spotted cat. He was examining the latter when the earl made his entrance.

  “Beautiful specimen, the lynx. Rare and elusive. Some cultures believe it to be mythical.” Dobson extended his hand with a half grin of acknowledgment. “Almost as uncommon as a visit from you, Scarsdale. How are you?”

  “Well enough.” Lunden shook Dobson’s hand in greeting. He had a favor to ask, but no plans to share any shred of his past. “Good of you to see me. I realize my card may have taken you unaware.”

  “Any hunter worth his salt is prepared for the most unexpected situations.” He speared Lunden with a stare and an astute nod of the head. “Although I never thought to see you again. At least not in this city.”

  “And I assumed the same. Nevertheless, circumstances have drawn me here.”

  “Brandy? Whisky? What’s your pleasure?” Dobson moved toward a liquor cabinet behind a free-standing gazelle. “I have the finest brew imported from Scotland when the law was looking the other way. You won’t taste anything smoother.”