London's Wicked Affair

by Anabelle Bryant

  “None that I’ve discovered.” Hamm leaned back in his leather chair, seemingly relieved their conversation had evolved into something more manageable. “The document states you are to allow the tenant full residence of the town house for as long as he wishes to live there. Under no circumstances is he to be evicted. Therefore, the property cannot be sold, only transferred when it is vacant. I foresee the tenant, Russell Scotts, would not react favorably to any attempted change in the agreement.”

  “I have to wait for him to die, otherwise remain the landlord of a property I no longer wish to own?” He should have tended to the matter years ago, but the action had been beyond him then. His feelings had been too raw, the remembrance of that night resurrected whenever he dared consider dealing with the mess. Selling Douglas’s town house finalized his death. Ridiculous, to imagine one could preserve the memory of a man in nothing more than brick and mortar. He knew better now. “Lord Scotts? I don’t recognize the name. Does he hold a seat in Parliament?” Frustration clouded his memory as he struggled to decipher any familiarity.

  “Have you read nothing I’ve sent from this office over the past ten years, Your Grace?” Hamm rose from his desk and turned to glance out the window, a disgruntled grimace displayed on his face. “Russell Scotts is no member of the realm. You won’t find his name on any peerage list as he’s not gentry. I wrote you of my concerns years ago, but your initial responses foisted responsibility in my direction, urging me to let matters rest and perpetuate the status quo. As years passed, whenever I pursued the peculiarity in your best interest, you answered with an exacting message to leave you alone. Thereby we find this troubling predicament ten years older and Scotts’s resolve that much stronger.” The solicitor pinned him with a stare meant to hackle a response.

  Lunden matched Hamm’s eyes, though his murmur was barely heard. “I see.” He bit out the words, the most he could manage, his mind at war with his increased regret, layer upon layer, year after year. Now, emotion no longer mattered. He wished to sever all remaining ties to London once and for all. “I’d dismiss the whole situation if I could live with myself afterward, but the unfinished business would haunt me and I’d live in dread of the day I’d be called back to this infernal city to remedy what I’ve already disregarded overlong.”

  “Have you spoken with the man? Considered his relationship with your brother? Surely he must have known the late duke well to warrant this unorthodox condition upon your brother’s death.” The solicitor resettled behind his desk and leaned forward, his elbows propped near the edge of his blotter as if contemplating the matter with great diligence.

  “I haven’t.” Lunden rose. He brushed his palms down the sleeves of his waistcoat and readied to leave. “Perhaps that presents the most logical solution.” Although he couldn’t imagine any tenant who’d volunteer to vacate a nearly rent-free residence. He never considered it before, but the miniscule monthly payment paid by Scotts presented another curious aspect of the arrangement. Perhaps his brother owed the man a debt. Not monetary in nature—the duchy was financially sound—but in some other facet. It was worth deliberation. He stepped to the door, deep in thought, and nodded to Hamm as he took his leave. “I’ll be in touch.”

  He returned to Cleveland Row directly, his thoughts scattered, crammed with disharmony of regret, obligation, and unfulfilled curiosity. Worse, his desire to see Amelia simmered under the surface and demanded attention. He vowed to ignore the persistent longing, grateful she remained in the country, powerless to revive the feelings he worked diligently to bludgeon, although the relentless image of her rising from the water burned his memory with a fire-hot ache. Damn it to hell, he couldn’t think straight.

  Intent on speaking with Matthew, he bounded up the stoop, past Spencer who startled with his sudden entry, and on to the second-floor study.

  One goal plagued him.

  Something had to be done about Amelia.

  He found his friend in the usual pose, hunched over a half-completed puzzle, locked in concentration. At the sound of footsteps, Matthew threw a glance over his shoulder, his mouth quirked in a grin before his attention fell to the challenge on the tabletop.

  “There you are. Returned from Lakeview already? Are my parents well? They must have been pleased to see you.”

  “Then you’ve received my message. Very good.” Lunden slowed his steps and joined Matthew near the window. “Your parents were a delight as always. Your sister, well there’s another issue.” He strove to conceal all emotion with the comment though a stab of conscience pierced his sternum and lanced his heart.

  “Aaah, so you’ve had your fill of Amelia’s charms.” Matthew coughed to stifle his laughter. “Don’t worry. I’ve the situation well in hand. You can dismiss any notion of finding the she-devil a suitable husband. The paperwork is drawn for her betrothal to Collins.” He flashed a cocky smirk. “As a bonus, the man aligns with every item on my mother’s list.”

  “Collins? You can’t be serious?” His pulse seized for the length of a breath before fierce possessiveness took hold, pumping his blood in an unruly rush of objection. “The man’s as bland as a glass of milk and old enough to be her father. He’ll never be able to handle your sister’s unbridled spirit.” The final words snapped out, harsh and argumentative. Nor her tart tongue, her mischievous shenanigans, her untamed passion.

  “Tut, tut. Don’t be fooled by the man’s docility. I have no doubt he’ll manage Amelia.” Matthew laughed with no attempt to disguise the sound this time. “He’s to inherit his brother’s family. Amelia will be too busy with a brood of six children to make mischief and cause mayhem.” He fitted a few pieces, focused on the puzzle, unaware of Lunden’s lethal stare.

  “I’ve never known you to be a cruel man. What brings about this decision?” Lunden struggled to keep his tone even, although an unexplainable tension coiled tight in his chest.

  Matthew tilted his head up, his expression grave. “Not at all. The arrangement is beneficial. Amelia needs responsibility. Every time I turn around she’s at the center of another problem to be handled. Soon no one will want her, a pariah among society, and she will be crushed, unable to retract all the time and opportunity she’s squandered Season after Season. I protect her with this betrothal. Do not think otherwise.”

  Lunden winced at Matthew’s blunt assessment. “A convincing argument.” He turned away from the window and his eyes settled on the closet door. His blood ran akin to his heated temper and he flicked his gaze away. Damn it all to hell. Every time he attempted to rid her image from his mind’s eye, a vision of thick, lush curls rich with the sheen of morning light interfered and obliterated his best effort. He had no right kissing her, touching her, imagining making sweet love to her. He did not seek permanence, yet somehow she’d gotten hold of a large piece of his heart.

  “Either way, it’s no longer your concern. I should never have asked such a preposterous favor of you in the first place. And you’ve taken my request to heart. You needn’t trouble any longer. Consider yourself released from duty. Forget Amelia and carry on.”

  A weighty silence overtook the room. Lunden walked to the hearth and stared at the fire. With deliberation, he extracted the list kept in his right pocket and tossed the parchment amid the flames. His obligation to Amelia was satisfied, her role in their agreement moot with Matthew’s departed news. The fire cracked and popped in agreement. Still, something urged him to linger when he should resolve Douglas’s will and rid the city with haste. He glanced over his shoulder. “Does her happiness matter so little?”

  “I’m curious why it matters so much.” A perplexed frown filled Matthew’s eyes and he absently rubbed his leg before limping to his cane hinged on the corner of the desk. “Has she bargained with the devil and claimed your loyalty? If so, she’s engaged you in a worthless endeavor. Nothing will sway me in this. She’ll be married to Collins and the matter settled.”

  Lunden’s mouth tightened in mute reproach and he swallowed his immedi
ate rebuttal, the tenuous balance of reining his temper and choosing the correct words, occupation enough. This was the reason he lived alone, secluded on a country estate and far away from society, safe from complicated emotions and anyone who might ask him a favor or request his advice. Emotions were a tangled knot better left unexplored. When he spoke, his reply possessed a sharp edge. “Consider your choices. Your sister will never forgive you.”

  “My sister enjoys being contrary. It’s her special talent.” Matthew forced a laugh, dismissing the gravity of their conversation out of hand.

  Could it be he didn’t wish to see the truth of things, latching on to a blithe dismissal of Amelia’s resistance and mistaking her reticence as disagreeability when it was clear to Lunden much more lie at stake? Her bleak outlook on marriage bespoke of a deeper reluctance, her comments barely scratching the surface. He may have confronted the situation only weeks before, but when he looked into her green eyes he saw intelligence, humor, and a great degree of courage. He remained sure the attributes camouflaged others. Fear, of that he was certain. Vulnerability, perhaps.

  “She’ll come to see the logic in my decision.” Matthew averted his eyes and Lunden detected a bit of polish lost from his confident veneer.

  “It’s a mistake.”

  The longcase clock marked several minutes before either man spoke again.

  “Is that what this is about? You wish to shield me from another mistake?” Matthew favored his right leg as he took the few steps necessary to close the distance between them, his voice dropped low. “Our actions that night were poorly planned. We were young and foolish, and true, there’s no way to alter the pain caused that evening, but we can’t live in fear of erroneous judgment. One makes the best decisions based on the facts presented at the time.” Matthew glanced to his leg, his limp a physical reminder of the heavy price paid for his involvement. “Do not doubt I harbor regret, but too much deliberation in the past will naught guarantee a happy future. At least now I understand your passion for the subject. It explains your foul mood.” He tapped his cane against his boot, his expression solemn. “You could come back, you know. Rebuild a life here in the city. Reestablish a presence.”

  “To what end?” The conversation made a perilous tilt toward emotion, a subject Lunden avoided at all costs.

  “To be among the living. Hiding in the country smacks of cowardice and allows the gossips to relish victory. You could reenter society. I would stand beside you.”

  “To rub elbows with the same prejudiced snobs who accused me of murdering my brother before passing their gossip from tongue to ear with fierce promptitude? No, thank you.” He wasn’t hiding. He thought to mention the fact, but did not wish to prolong the conversation.

  “Forgive yourself, Lunden. Begin to live life again. Take your mind on holiday tonight. Visit a theater or a brothel, whichever you fancy. Create a new memory to erase the pain of the past.”

  “If it was that easy . . .” He paused, his annoyance reduced. The one woman who piqued his interest was definitely off-limits, more trouble than the underworld, and his best friend’s sister. The final fact sealed his fate. He could never dishonor Matthew and destroy their unspoken trust. Not for a handful of kisses and unexplainable misplaced lust. “I ask only that you consider Amelia’s future with care.”

  “In this, I make no mistake. The results benefit us all.”

  “Time will tell.” He dropped a sharp glance to his left breast pocket. He fit but one of the qualities on the husband list. Why he’d consider that fact proved foolish beyond comprehension. Matthew’s advice was best taken. He should distance himself from Amelia’s green-eyed beguilement.

  The conclusion brought with it a dampening of spirit. He knew loneliness well. A few more decades of the emotion shouldn’t prove difficult. “Perhaps you’re right. While I know the price paid for poor decisions made, I’ve no right to interfere in your familial decisions. I should consider your suggestions, resolve all legalities, and move on with life.”

  Matthew’s expression softened. “I’ve already heard low murmurings of disrespectful inquiry at the club. Word travels faster than lightning in this city. Best get on with your business, if that’s your intent.”

  Nothing was said for a long-drawn moment, then Lunden quit the study and made his way downstairs where Spencer waited in the hall. “A letter arrived for you this morning. Shall I have it brought to your bedchamber?” Spencer extended a white folded note in his direction, the scrawled handwriting recognizable, and Lunden’s temper reignited.

  “I’ll read it here, thank you.” He waited until the servant left and then tore into the message, his eyes scanning the three lines of script.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I wish you’d accompanied me to Lakeview. While the visit proved pleasant, it would have been all the more so had you shared it.” Having returned last evening, Amelia wasted no time in sending Charlotte a message to confirm their early-morning constitutional. So much needed to be said, her brain overflowed, and she began with the choicest details of her time spent away as soon as their feet hit the pavement.

  “It’s disconcerting your father remains so determined to see you married and entrusts Matthew with the decision, but at least you’ve made known your displeasure. Did anything else happen? Anything that would explain your jubilant glow, no matter how you struggle with desperation to conceal your secret?” Charlotte settled on the bench and angled her head in question.

  Amelia fought hard against a grin. She’d omitted the intricacies of her swim lesson, and Lunden’s cataclysmic kiss. She’d practiced liberal editing and glossed over the interlude with careless aplomb in the retelling, yet her friend displayed an arched brow, her lips turned in a suspicious twist. Amelia strove for seriousness. Charlotte knew her too well.

  “Scarsdale kissed you, didn’t he? I can tell by the gleam in your eye.” Charlotte squeezed Amelia’s hand in an urgent plea for more information. “I can’t believe everything that has occurred in the course of two days. By comparison, my life is exceedingly dull.”

  “Don’t be silly. The past two days have been unusual, that’s all.”

  “Perhaps. Although I was terribly lonely while you were gone. Lord Dearing declined every invitation and claimed a megrim, shutting up in his study and demanding quiet. I spent most of my day reading, and while my mother and sister visited for tea on Sunday, I truly missed our time spent together.” She ended on a melancholic note before she roused a bit of cheer and continued. “Now, tell me about your kiss. Was it magical?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” Magical was an inadequate descriptor that barely scratched the surface. “You’re a married woman. The mention of a kiss, albeit a wonderful, breathtaking, soul-searing kiss, should not set you all atwitter.”

  The two burst into a bout of laughter, their smiles wide. When they managed to calm, Charlotte continued to pepper her with questions.

  “What does this kiss mean? Is your list complete? Will Scarsdale leave London now?”

  “Give me a moment, please.” Amelia spent the carriage ride home from Lakeview deliberating the same inquiries. What could she construe from their shared intimacy? Was she a convenient distraction or did Lunden possess genuine affection for her? The man was inscrutable under the best of circumstances and he’d left that same day, without so much as a good-bye to lend her a shred of understanding to their interlude. His actions, never mind emotions, were consistently shrouded in secrecy.

  After their kiss in the closet, she’d kindled the tiniest flicker of hope he cared for her as a woman and not as an obligation to be fulfilled, the sister of his closest friend. His abrupt departure confirmed the irritating suspicion that the worst may be true, and her stomach roiled as she forced herself to abandon the dismal conclusion. “I don’t know, Charlotte. For the life of me, as wondrous as our time together, I’m not sure why he kissed me. His actions confound me. One day he’s agreeable and kind, the next, surly and ill-tempered. It’s as if h
e doesn’t know his own mind.”

  “Or his own heart.”

  Amelia’s chest tightened with her friend’s whispered comment, but she had no time to dwell on the stark reaction as the sound of approaching boots drove her attention to the cobblestone path.

  “Good morning, ladies.”

  A chilling shadow fell across the bench and Amelia quelled a shiver. She rose at the sound of Lord Nilworth’s greeting, unwilling to allow his arrogant regard from above, and tugged Charlotte to her feet in the process.

  “Lord Nilworth. This is unexpected.” Amelia’s expression lost all joy. No doubt the man ferreted out the information she shared a daily walk to St. James. This was no coincidence.

  “And who is this delightful flower? Introduce us please, Lady Amelia.” Nilworth inclined his head in Charlotte’s direction, her expression cautiously polite.

  Amelia did as she was told, although the uneasy feeling that slithered to the pit of her stomach reminded it best to detach from Nilworth with expedience.

  “Allow me to stroll with you. I find it healthy to take the morning air. You would not mind.”

  Amelia glanced down the lane to where Nilworth’s carriage waited. She held no doubt he’d orchestrated their chance meeting. But for what reason? He couldn’t possibly make true his feigned interest in courtship. She drew in a deeper breath as Charlotte shot a desperate glare in her direction. Etiquette demanded she not decline Nilworth’s invitation without a plausible excuse. They’d been laughing when he’d approached. It would be difficult to claim illness now.

  “Of course.” Amelia motioned to the maids seated several yards away and the trio stepped onto the cobblestone path leading from the square to the street beyond. Their maids trailed at a polite distance.