London's Wicked Affair

by Anabelle Bryant

She should chastise his arrogance, rail at his audacity, but similar to her legs, the proposition was weak and unsupported. There was nothing for her to do but surrender to his assault.

  He kissed her hard, as if his argument continued without words. His hands plunged deep into her hair, the few pins that held its weight scattered on the ground, and his tongue . . . His tongue stroked the soft interior of her mouth as if he wished to coax a secret free. She leaned into his strength, no longer trusting her fickle spine to hold her upright, his arm a band around her back.

  In the length of a deep sigh, his mouth withdrew the slightest distance and then slanted to the left to possess her in another hot openmouthed embrace. She’d never been kissed like this, never consumed the way he devoured her. He tasted of danger and secrets, his kiss something of daydreams, and night dreams, forbidden temptation, and unspoken fantasies.

  Suffused with pleasure, she trembled from the inside out. Perhaps he perceived her reaction. He pulled from her lips in a swift dip of the head, his hot breath lingering between them before the brisk air interceded.

  “You deserved that.” They spoke the same words, although a slap and a kiss balanced opposite sides of the scale.

  Then a few breaths more and an easy camaraderie erased the anticipated awkwardness, as if she didn’t discharge a pistol without permission, or he hadn’t kissed her to heaven and back. With an inscrutable expression, he dropped his arms, pausing to ensure she stood firm on her feet before he busied himself with reclaiming the equipment. Her eyes followed each of his movements, and while he made no comment as to the depth and wondrous magic of their kiss, she sensed he remained affected. She saw it in every lineament of his body.

  They returned to the house in amiable silence. Inside, Mary slept in a wing chair, her head inclined against the rump of a shaggy brown bear. A smile played on Amelia’s lips as they continued to the carriage, and she mused all three occupants harbored a secret shared.

  * * *

  Matthew drummed his fingers on the tabletop, the puzzle pieces vibrating to the cadence of his impatience.

  “Where the devil is she?” His question evaporated in the empty room as frustration held him captive, any work on his map futile until he spoke to Amelia. The nomination for chief officer dangled like a prize held out of reach. How convenient Collins was on the hunt for a wife. No doubt luck had finally shifted in his favor. He’d convince his sister to marry Collins and move to the countryside to take care of the newly acquired brood if it killed him. Granted, if forced, his sister would scare Collins to purgatory. He blew out a frustrated breath. Finesse. He would need to contrive a plan and employ every ounce of aplomb he possessed.

  Pandora slunk into the study like a precursor of doom. Amelia swept in at the tip of her tail. Perhaps luck did smile upon him. He would begin the groundwork. Time was of the essence.

  “Where have you been? I questioned Spencer and the rest of the staff. No one had an inkling to your whereabouts. It’s not the behavior of your station to disappear without notice.”

  “I would think you welcomed my absence. You complain about my staying home, and now you complain about my going out. Make up your mind.”

  Why was he cursed with such a contrary sibling? Collins would never accept such impudence. “It’s only because I mean to speak to you. Have you given thought to Father’s wish that you marry as soon as possible?”

  “How can I not, when you perpetually remind me? I’ll speak to him when I visit this weekend.” Amelia bent and scooped Pandora into her arms, but did not say more.

  “I’ve secured a solution. Trust me to handle this matter.” He strove to keep his tone even.

  She turned to him with one brow arched, her mouth curved in some semblance of a grin, and his jaw tightened with frustration. Was she amused or set to slice him to ribbons? His inability to read her mood fueled his temper.

  “Don’t trouble yourself, brother. I’ve the matter in hand. I already bear the embarrassment of your petition to Scarsdale. What’s next, an ad in the London Times to advertise my need to marry?”

  “Make no mistake, we don’t have the luxury of time.” In part the statement was true, and he used the flimsy fact to bludgeon his conscience. “Another year or two and you’ll be considered on the shelf, while Father . . .” His words faded in a veil of concern.

  “I will honor Father’s wishes even if they don’t mirror my own.”

  Her voice wavered and a glimmer of compassion flickered to life within his chest. He knew Amelia had no wish to be forced into an arrangement, yet the stakes were too high for him to be weakened by emotions. If things proceeded as planned, he could accomplish multiple goals. Why shouldn’t they all benefit?

  “Very good, then. There’s a gentleman I’d like you to meet tomorrow evening. Lord Collins will join us for dinner. Be sure to dress in your finest silk.” He nodded his head to signal the discussion concluded and then braced for the anticipated rebuttal, yet none came. Still, his eyes narrowed as he watched her exit, her shoulders straight and her chin held high.

  Chapter Eleven

  Amelia entered the breakfast room and buttered her toast with a solemn lack of enthusiasm. She never walked with Charlotte on Friday as Dearing required his wife attend all household duties and correspondence before the week’s end. The reminder of her friend’s inflexible schedule and current unhappiness stilled her knife. She had to find a solution to Charlotte’s misery. Otherwise, where lay her worth as a friend?

  With effort Amelia forced herself to consider Charlotte’s discontent, otherwise she’d lose herself in the remembrance of Lunden’s heated kiss. She’d already spent most of the night straight into morning reliving the divine perfection of his mouth upon hers. And all was lost when she’d attempted to rationalize her obsession with the memory, placate herself with platitudes, or suggest she was enthralled with discharging the pistol, emotions high, self-control at its most vulnerable. The bald truth remained whether she chose to confront it or not. His kiss was magic. Pure sin and eternal paradise combined.

  Good heavens, she’d been kissed before, but nothing, nothing in all her imagination, compared with Lunden’s kiss.

  However would she face him when they were next together? Impossible, indeed.

  The click of silver on china alerted she was no longer alone and she glanced to the sideboard where the subject of her contemplations filled his plate, as if by reflection alone she’d conjured his presence.

  “Good morning.” He nodded in her direction and accepted a steaming cup of black coffee at the table. “What causes such sullenness so early? The sun is shining and we’ve made excellent progress in your list of demands.”

  The intended jibe did not find its mark. Reality replaced fantasy and the threat of tonight’s dinner and Lord Collins’s appearance, robbed her conviviality. “My brother has proven quite nimble. He’s invited a candidate to dine this evening, and I fear Matthew is more serious than ever.”

  “I’ll be sorry to miss it.”

  The tone of his voice defied his words. She threw a warning glare in his direction meant to curb remarks involving flaming pants and unconscious suitors. “You must attend. How will I defend myself against my brother’s ill-meant intentions if I have no ally at my side?” She paused to gauge the flicker of emotion in his whisky-brown stare. “We made an agreement. We sealed it with a handshake.” The memory of his branding kiss prodded her heart.

  “Of course.” His voice dipped lower. “But my meeting is of great importance and shouldn’t be delayed.”

  “Then I’ll ask a personal favor.” Could he hear the desperation she struggled to conceal?

  “I don’t recall a good turn as an item on your mercenary list of demands.”

  One dark brow cocked as he challenged her. She noted an invisible smile at the corner of his mouth, the slightest bend of his lips, and the liquid depths of his warm eyes lit with an amused glow. A breath later he acquiesced.

  “I’ll rearrange my schedu
le.”

  “Thank you.” This time she achieved a smile, though she worried still. “I feel better already. You’ve saved me yet again.” It was barely an improvement. If Matthew pursued the issue, any objections meant little. Her fate sealed.

  “Don’t mistake me for a hero.” His voice edged with a harsh quality, forbidding and relentless. All amusement fell away as his curt edict stifled further discussion. “The role doesn’t suit me.”

  Her eyes searched his face for understanding, but a shadow veiled his expression. The only discernible evidence of emotion was the tick of a muscle in the line of his jaw. Amelia bit the inside of her cheek to keep her questions contained.

  “And don’t forget, I have the same purpose. To see you wed and settled. Your brother sought my assistance and I intend to fulfill the bargain.”

  * * *

  Pity he fit but one requirement on the husband list. Lunden eyed Amelia and stifled a rare urge to grin. How the girl provoked his humor eluded his comprehension. He’d given up smiling years ago. All romantic notions better left unexplored. Amelia deserved true love. His heart remained unavailable to the emotion. Masked beneath his calm demeanor he seethed with anger aimed at himself, furious he’d given in to temptation, succumbed to misplaced desire, and kissed her. No good could come of it, and in the light of a new morning, with firm resolve, he vowed to smother the passionate vestige of their embrace, and never repeat the mistake.

  She sat across from him, a vision in violet silk, her mane of unruly curls tossed over one shoulder as she studied her tea. The long sweep of dark lashes against soft ivory skin declared delicious femininity no matter what skills she learned or the sharp rebellious edge of her replies. He dragged his eyes away in an act of salvation. If he looked at her too long, he couldn’t catch his breath.

  This evening, he’d planned to investigate the perplexing letter he’d received, but if she truly needed his help in allaying the conversation at tonight’s dinner, his business would keep for one more night. If only he could ignore the remembrance of her body pressed against his or the startled gleam of sensual awareness in the depths of her eyes. Disgusted with himself, he forced the anxious images from his mind.

  Right now, he was due to an appointment with his solicitor. That would not wait. Douglas’s affairs were in order, and barring any unexpected obstacles, the matter with the town house sale should resolve with ease. He’d conclude his business in this damnable city once and for all.

  Thirty minutes later, he arrived at the modest law building of Bolster Hamm, Esquire, and was shown into the office with haste. Questions bumped against each other in his mind. Who sent the mysterious letter and why would anyone wish to prohibit the sale of Douglas’s town house? Was this complication connected to the tragic events of that evening? He slid his hand into his pocket, the suede pouch protecting his brother’s watch secure in his possession.

  Not one to enjoy idle time, he slew his eyes across the room. Bookcases grew from floor to ceiling against three of the four walls. Leather tomes of every size and color filled the shelves, although he doubted Hamm needed to reference their information often. A good solicitor was worth his weight in gold. Lunden held no reservation in spending funds if the matter resolved with expedience.

  The last wall was comprised of three parallel windows. He stepped near the glass, his eyes fixed on the view below. London’s busy thoroughfare rushed through daily life. A young boy hawked wares on the corner. An energetic pup, bouncing near his feet, mimicked his cries with high-pitched yelps. A fishmonger rolled his cart with concerted effort, his attention drawn to a group of finely dressed ladies admiring gowns in a shop window. This was the world he’d escaped. He would have no trouble abandoning it once again.

  He spun to face the door at the sound of someone’s entry. Bolster Hamm, a well-built man in his midforties, shook his hand with vigor and settled behind his desk.

  “Forgive my tardiness, Your Grace. I’m working with purpose toward clearing the sale of your brother’s town house, but your message mentioned another concern. How may I assist?”

  Lunden cleared his throat and produced the letter he’d received. Hamm skimmed the contents and returned the message a minute later.

  “This could be a scam. Gossip brings about the most preposterous circumstances.”

  Lunden needed no lesson on the rumor mill. Damn them all. Society didn’t know the palest shade of truth. He grimaced and offered a nod of affirmation.

  “Perhaps your brother left behind an unresolved matter. I can delve deeper, although I’ve been thorough in my compilation of information.”

  “I don’t doubt your ability, Hamm.” Lunden’s voice was low, indicative of his pensive consideration. He’d hired the most discreet investigators and they’d all yielded nothing. “Douglas was an efficient peer. It’s unlikely he harbored illicit involvement.” The lie rolled from his tongue with practiced ease.

  “Pardon me, Your Grace. That wasn’t my intention.” The solicitor touched his forehead as if deliberating the right choice of words. “I meant to reassure I’ll leave no subject unexplored.”

  “Of course.” His mind spun with painful remembrance. Douglas was strict, forbiddingly so, and private, yet Lunden loved him dearly, no matter their quarrels. He was a child, unable to understand the depth of his brother’s need for privacy. Despite their vast age difference, he strove to emulate his brother, comfortable in the role of second son, never coveting the title. Still, fate forced the duchy on him anyway and it proved an unnatural fit. He straightened his shoulders, as if to shake off the uncomfortable conclusion.

  “I plan to meet this man at the time and place indicated. I’ve no patience for games. If it proves a scam, we can move forward with resolving all complications and be done with the sale.” Lunden stood to indicate his intent to leave.

  Hamm rose in kind and extended his hand. “Yes. Please keep me apprised if I may be of assistance.”

  Dark thoughts clouded his mind as he settled in the hack and rapped on the ceiling. The coach lurched forward with a jolt as it maneuvered the crowded street. He yanked the curtain closed, anxious to shut London from his view, and leaned against the worn banquette. The appointment had accomplished little. Despite the most pointed questions, Hamm knew of no one interested in the property or poised to interfere with the sale. What could it all mean? He would confront this man under the cloak of night as indicated, but he doubted it would erase the sorrow of his heart. He bit back a ready curse at the tormented twists of fate. Romulus killed Remus, one brother left to a life of regret.

  The carriage pulled to a stop at the corner of Lamb Street and Lunden shoved aside the crimson curtain to slant a glance out the window. Across the way, shadowed in the afternoon shade, stood his brother’s private residence, tucked neatly into a well-heeled community of quiet money and scholarly gentlemen. Until the night of his brother’s death, Lunden had no awareness of this address. And it should have remained as so. But everything was different now. Time changed life’s circumstances whether one wished it or not. If only he hadn’t followed his brother and interrupted his evening plans.

  He opened the drawstring pouch and slid Douglas’s broken watch into his palm. The hour was long past for resolution, forgiveness an unattainable absolution. Still the desire to discover something, anything, linked to Douglas and the events of that evening pulled at his soul with unanswered yearning.

  * * *

  Amelia slipped into Matthew’s study intent on discovering any shred of information involving Lord Collins, the man due to arrive for dinner in less than an hour. She rifled through the files on his desk then darted a sideways glance to the door. Had she heard a sound or was it the thrumming of her heart that deceived her brain there was footfall on the hall carpet?

  She jiggled the top drawer and feeling resistance, removed a pin from her hair to slide into the lock. Pandora sauntered into the room. Startled by the feline’s silky shadow, she dropped her makeshift key. With a strong mu
tter, she rose from the floor with pin in hand and froze. She did hear footsteps.

  Blast, Matthew would wring her neck.

  Palming the hairpin, she gathered her skirts and rushed across the room. A bemused smile twitched her lips as childhood memories flittered to the surface. She’d overheard a good share of conversation meant to be kept from her ears by hiding in the study closet. Tonight would be no different. Perhaps her ruse would supply more information than her clumsy investigation of the desk.

  The door barely clicked before the soft weight of heels on carpet entered the room. She strained her ears to decipher a voice, but could hear nothing aside from the familiar rustle of paper and the dull jangle of brass pulls on desk drawers.

  What was Matthew looking for? If only she’d managed to open the locked cabinet. What if he’d had the paperwork arranged? Good Lord, a marriage contract. She meant to discuss it with her father this weekend. Could her freedom be taken tonight? Would her brother act with rash abandonment?

  A heavy pulse thrummed in her ears. How would she ever hear a word spoken in the room if she didn’t calm down? Straining to decipher the sounds, she set her body flush against the wood panel and as the room fell silent, her breathing slowed. Perhaps Matthew had left. At seven o’clock Lord Collins was due. She pressed her ear to the door again, desperate for the assurance needed to emerge from the closet and scurry to her bedchamber. Instead, the distinctive sound of Matthew’s voice and another deeper baritone, echoed through the wood panel. And the rush of heavy footsteps, discordant with the approaching voices. She gasped when the doorknob jiggled, withdrawing to the farthest corner, swallowed by shadows in a heartbeat.

  * * *

  Lunden released a string of expletives known only by those bound for hell, and closed the closet door with a swift silent pull. He breathed a sigh of relief as two male voices entered the study. Matthew and Lord Collins, no doubt. He’d almost been caught inspecting his friend’s personal papers. Not an easy matter to explain having one’s hands in another’s desk. Almost as dangerous as having his hands on his best friend’s sister.