London's Wicked Affair

by Anabelle Bryant

  With caution, she watched through a slit in the fabric as Lunden raked his fingers through his hair, perhaps assembling his thoughts, before he cracked the door hardly an inch. Still, her brother burst into the room.

  “This is no time for hesitation.” Matthew’s harried distress resounded within the quiet. “Amelia’s gone. Run away, I suppose. She’s impulsive, selfish, and irrational, yet I suspect I pushed her too hard and she’s taken matters into her own hands.”

  “How do you know this?”

  Amelia dared not peer around the edge of the curtains, although she breathed easier at the calm Lunden managed.

  “She hasn’t slept in her bed and she dismissed her maid before yesterday evening. Mary hasn’t seen her since. A footman reported he saw her enter a hackney last evening. The pieces fit, and it adds up to her worst feat yet. She has no idea what’s at stake. Collins will wring my neck.”

  “What power does he hold over you?” A splash of water indicated Lunden’s use of the wash basin. His nonchalance would either mollify or exacerbate the situation, Amelia knew not which.

  “We’ve already made arrangements and signed petitions. Collins is impatient to see this done. Never mind the contracts are soaked with black ink from Pandora’s interference. That infernal cat’s purpose aims at causing me misery. I’ll be relieved when Amelia marries for no other reason than to take that evil feline with her.”

  Amelia recognized the clip of boot heels as her brother paced the room, his body casting a narrow shadow as he passed the slim break dividing the velvet curtains. She tried to summon concern for his discontent, but found she hadn’t any. Instead a faint smile curled her lips at his misconstrued conclusions.

  “Find Collins another bride.” Lunden’s tone grew stronger, and her smile bloomed. He was her hero, no matter he refused the role.

  “That’s impossible. Everything impinges on Amelia’s hand in marriage.” Matthew paused, his voice so near, he likely stood beside the bed with only a panel of fabric separating them. A shiver of dread whispered through her.

  “Amelia has no desire to marry that odious man. Have you considered your part in this problem? Perhaps you’d do well to speak to her with compassion instead of command.”

  “Suddenly you’re the master of delicate emotions?” Matthew’s question sliced the air and his pacing resumed. She drew the curtain aside the scarcest breadth and peered out with one eye. “My sister rarely makes the right decision. She’s ruled by emotion and is shortsighted. Had she not done such a splendid job of alienating society’s finer gentlemen, she would have more choice in her future. Instead she acted without a care while Father’s health steadily declines. It’s selfishness, pure and simple.”

  Unable to voice her retort, she fisted the sheets to satisfy her anger. How dare Matthew speak of her with blatant disrespect and accusation as if she’d disregarded Father’s health? He would label her selfish, when he machinated her marriage for personal gain?

  “I disagree. She deserves to make her own choice. No one’s future should be dictated. I’m acquainted with the outcome of that course of action.” Melancholy laced Lunden’s angry tone and her heart squeezed at the price he’d endured for his decisions.

  “Perhaps, but your situation is far from convention. Our actions that night foretold our futures. What happened afterward . . .” Matthew tapped his cane against the side of his boot.

  “You’ve fared well enough.” Lunden’s words snapped sharp and Amelia’s eyes flared with the sudden vehemence.

  “Truth. And the path you chose—”

  “I had little choice. How much better had a bullet pierced my heart instead of your leg? Your wounds healed. Mine remain infected.”

  She bit her lower lip to prevent a gasp as Lunden’s admittance spiked through her.

  “It didn’t have to be that way. No one expected you to sacrifice your youth.” Matthew’s rebuttal escalated the disagreement and his voice rose with anger.

  “No? I kept the funeral a private affair, yet it still fueled the fire of suspicion and condemnation. I withdrew to the country, but guilt and regret followed me, anxious to haunt my nights and darken my days. Don’t speak to me of choice.”

  The room fell strangely quiet and Amelia barely breathed. Heartache clogged her throat. At last, Matthew’s voice rent the silence.

  “We digress. Dragging up the past serves little purpose now. My sister’s missing and needs to be found. The time for compromise is over. Left to her own device, I have no doubt she’d choose some impudent pup for a husband, one barely out of leading strings, with a plan to run roughshod over him. Meanwhile the oaf, beguiled by her beauty, would thank her afterward for the humiliation. That’s a recipe for boredom, which quickly evolves into trouble. Dismissing the mollycoddled husband, her well-being would fall to my shoulders and the responsibility of unraveling her future tomfoolery threatens me with a megrim.”

  “You paint your sister in a very poor light and oversimplify the matter in an effort to ease your conscience and dismiss your personal gain.”

  Her brother laughed in response, but the sound was bitter, not amused. “Clever girl. So she’s dragged you under her spell and somehow solidified your support, an admirable effort, but all for naught. There’s nothing she can do to deter me.” His voice brooked no compromise. “Running away will accomplish little. I have men seeking her whereabouts right now. Collins expects his bride and he will have her.”

  “Not if I’ve given myself to another.” Temper unfurled, Amelia stepped from behind the bed curtains. She angled her chin with a confident thrust and locked eyes with Matthew. “I refuse to be owned nor bartered.”

  Comprehension flared in her brother’s eyes as he took in her disheveled assembly. With a grunt of outrage, he flung his cane to the floor and launched at Lunden with fists raised.

  “Traitor!” His jaw hard with fury, he spat the word. “I asked you to find her a husband, not seduce her, you lying bastard.”

  Lunden made no motion to move, nor raise his fists.

  “Matthew!” Amelia rushed across the room, but her brother thrust his arm out to ward her away.

  “Stay back, Amelia. This doesn’t concern you.”

  Something in his tone stopped her cold. There’d be no reasoning with him.

  “Of course not.” Her stomach clenched in a tight hot knot and her voice shook with sarcastic emotion. “Just as my marriage is none of my business.”

  She darted her eyes to Lunden. He made no retreat as Matthew advanced, and when her brother landed the first punch to his midsection, the dull thud of his fist against Lunden’s bare body brought tears to her eyes. She released a strangled cry as the impact sent Lunden backward, only a step, yet he remained stoic, with no attempt to deflect Matthew’s attack.

  “So I’m good enough to call friend, but unfit to court your sister.”

  Lunden’s voice sounded calm, although Amelia’s heart beat a mad rhythm. Matthew charged with effort, his limp a hindrance; still, Lunden didn’t take advantage. Her brother landed a sharp jab, a red weal forming near Lunden’s clavicle and lower, across the skin of his ribs.

  “Court her? Do you believe me a fool? I understand what happened here, under my roof, at the extension of my hospitality.” Matthew lunged, catching Lunden in the sternum. Still Lunden stood unprotected, making no effort to defend the onslaught. “Fight, for I won’t hold back no matter your refusal to engage.” Another punch landed and an agonizing moan escaped her.

  “I have no reason to fight you.” The words were said through clenched teeth.

  “Matthew, you must stop.” Tears flowed down her cheeks and she wiped them away, her plea broken by emotion. “Please.” Her brother paid no heed.

  “I asked you to help see her wed, not take her to bed, you lying arse.” His limp more pronounced, Matthew repositioned on one leg before resettling with another advance.

  “I’ve never lied to you.” Lunden grunted and staggered, impacted by the power of Ma
tthew’s left hook as it caught his right shoulder.

  Again Amelia approached, but this time Lunden warned her away, his eyes gleaming with resolve. “Leave us.”

  She would do no such thing.

  “Raise your fists and let’s finish this.” Matthew connected with Lunden’s jaw and the punch snapped his head back, the sound accompanied by Amelia’s demand they cease at once.

  “Have I ever bemoaned my leg? Blamed you for the results of that night? I have not.” Matthew swung and missed, Lunden having swayed to the side. “I accepted my fate for our foolhardy plan because I urged you to follow Douglas. I hold partial blame for the tragic events. Don’t think I live without bitter regrets.”

  “Aah, but your life wasn’t ruined, was it? Your reputation not maligned. Instead society viewed you as the victim and carved another scar into my soul. Dare I forget the London Times and their callous headlines or the scandalous inquiries of my motives while I attempted to accept my brother’s passing. I alone dealt with the insult and ostracism.” As if shoring himself for the next blow, Lunden straightened his shoulders and faced Matthew undaunted.

  “My parents carted me to the country to heal while speculation circulated. By the time I returned to the city, you had left, your home locked tight. Your butler refused to accept messages on your behalf.” Matthew rolled his shoulders and leveled a solid punch to Lunden’s stomach.

  “I’d begun mourning.” Lunden’s words were low, his back pressed against the bedpost, his eyes dimmed by resignation.

  “You’ve never finished.” Matthew drew his arm back, set to pummel Lunden despite his refusal to shield himself against the strike.

  “Fight him, Lunden. Hit him. Make him stop. Please.” Amelia’s high-pitched demand countered her brother’s action, stalling his arm midair.

  “So I see where your loyalty lies. Perhaps my remorse shouldn’t be so great that I bargained you to Collins.” Matthew shot her a glare, a fast flick of warning, then threw his arm back again.

  “I love him!” She nearly shouted the words and the room fell eerily quiet, so much so, the sound of the hallway clock chiming the hour cut through the heavy tension as if to break a terrible spell. She struggled to breathe, her breast rising and falling with the extent of her fury.

  Both men turned in her direction and she brought herself to words, emotion fighting for attention regardless an enormous vulnerability consumed her. “Leave him be, Matthew. I love him. Nothing you do or say can change the way I feel.”

  Lunden’s expression softened. A peaceful calm replaced the usual shuddered darkness and as time stretched, she couldn’t sever the intensity of the moment. Her heartbeat filled her breast with a steady thrum. She ignored her brother in her peripheral vision, his profile blurred by fresh tears. Instead she stared into Lunden’s whisky-warm gaze in hope her eyes conveyed the depth of emotion growing stronger with every breath.

  “I want you out.” With a silent vengeance Matthew threw a final punch, and Lunden crumbled to the floor.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Beaten. He deserved to be punished. Lunden clenched his teeth as a cloth pressed against his sore jaw forcing reality to sweep clear the foggy shadows of his mind. He peeled his eyes open and raised a hand to fend off the unnecessary ministrations, only to meet with smooth, soft skin. He retracted his fingers at once. Amelia hovered over him, her brows knit with worry, her lips set in a determined line.

  “Don’t move until I stop the bleeding.”

  Her voice, as rigid as her shoulders, conveyed her concern and he grimaced in knowing he’d caused her distress. Mistaking his expression for one of pain, she tutted a small sound and moved the cool cloth to his right cheekbone. He might have smiled were his lower lip not swollen and clumsy.

  Pockets of light from the fire cast a warm glow outlining her profile, as if an avenging angel intent on mending his soul, her halo a billow of dark curls. Surrendering to the care, he closed his eyes and absorbed the luxury of her touch. All too soon he would be left bereft, but he locked away those feelings, crowding them down in the dark, lonely corners where they belonged.

  Still a bit disoriented, he allowed a dormant memory to take hold, too defeated to squelch it in his usual practice. He was a child, chasing his brother about the countryside, left behind no matter how hard his short legs pumped in a struggle to keep pace, reaching Douglas only when he’d reclined beneath a tall oak to enjoy an apple as if taunting he had time for leisure, his younger brother never fast enough. As he approached, Douglas discarded the half-eaten fruit and swung to the lowest branches of the tree, climbing with an efficiency afforded by his strong build and long legs. Lunden stood at the base, eyes cast upward. He leapt for the lowest branch, but failed, the limb scant inches from his reach. His brother’s laughter rained down around him in kind to the leaves shaken loose from his ascent; Lunden, far below on the ground, peered after him, longing and admiration intertwined in his gaze, devastated to be left behind.

  He flicked his eyes open and a vague restlessness blanketed his heart as he blinked hard. It was nothing more than warped hero-worship that goaded him to shadow Douglas all those years ago, although perhaps his brother cultivated that competitiveness in envy of a spare’s carefree purposelessness in life, rather than the strict demands endured as the future duke.

  The memory left him damnably raw and in search of distraction. He focused on Amelia as she crossed the room with a snifter of brandy and set it on the floor near his elbow. She leaned across his form to examine his injuries in the window’s light, pressing two fingers along a particularly tender bruise.

  Lunden felt no pain.

  Instead, with eyes heavy-lidded, he assessed her bodice, mere inches from his bare chest and confined in the same silky wrapper that ignited his defeat. The delicious scent of jasmine lulled his senses and soothed the hurts, only to fuel his yearning. Despite the inappropriateness of the situation and the action of the last hour, he swelled with heat for her. His was a hopeless soul.

  “That’s the best I can do.” Seemingly pleased with her efforts, she released a faint sigh and drew back from where she’d kneeled beside him on the floor. “Would you like to stand?”

  He wouldn’t voice what he truly desired.

  “Thank you.” He brought himself to his feet too quickly and set a hand on the bedpost to regain equilibrium. “I deserved the thrashing, but I appreciate your attention all the same.” He did well in keeping the bite of regret from his words. Matthew had called him a traitor, and the insult cut deep, no matter it proved an appropriate label.

  She bent and retrieved the snifter from the floorboards, pressing it to his chest. Her fingers, cool and delicate in their featherlight touch, reached beneath his skin to caress his heart and remind of her power to disrupt his balance. He’d allowed her to distract him from his purpose, and in turn instigated more problems than alleviate them. Yet on some indistinct level, he remained aware her kiss was the cause he’d returned to London, her love the reason he hadn’t perished under a mountain of self-loathing years ago. Still, he couldn’t allow himself the extravagance of her affection regardless the aching desperation of his soul.

  “I meant what I said earlier.” She smiled, her eyes twinkling as warm as the afternoon sun. “Mine were not careless words.”

  He knew that well. Her declaration had slammed into him with more force than Matthew’s punches, yet he dared not return the sentiment. Love equaled pain. History taught that lesson twice through the unexpected deaths of his parents and brother. He wouldn’t develop the affection, wouldn’t fall in love. The despicable emotion was complicated and inconvenient, more weakness than strength. And were he to love Amelia and then lose her, death would not be enough to end his suffering.

  He raised his eyes to hers. A fringe of black curls framed her cheek and his fingers itched to brush them away as he pulled her into kisses, fierce and ravenous. With a resolute effort, he shook off the absurd preoccupation and readied an answer.

>   “I don’t take your words lightly.” He paused for a contemplative swallow of brandy, shoring himself for the hurt he would inflict. “Although I can’t speak in kind. I’ve overstayed my welcome and will be packed and gone by dinner this evening. Whatever unsettled business remains can be resolved from a room at an inn.” He spoke more to himself, yet the words fell, hollow and meaningless, into the void between them.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Lunden. I . . .” She swallowed, emotion causing her lips to tremble. “I only thought of myself when I stepped from the bed curtains. I acted in fear of losing you—” A stilted exhale shuddered through her. “I will never forget you.”

  She looked entirely too young, afraid, and most of all, vulnerable. His heart, that traitorous organ that betrayed him repeatedly, nearly stopped beating with her honest admittance.

  An indefinable stillness blanketed the room.

  “I assure you, I’m unremarkable.” He turned away, unwilling to watch as he destroyed the bond they’d created only hours before. “Someday you’ll give your heart to another, a man worthy of your loyalty and devotion, and I’ll become a distant memory, perhaps forgotten altogether. That’s my hope, at least.” He cleared his throat as if to dismiss the subject.

  “I’ll have nothing to give. I love you with everything I am.”

  The words sliced through his heart, shredding it to ribbons.

  “No, you will forget.” He whispered the reply, a world of resignation in his words. Still she persisted, her soft padded steps at his back.

  “In the same fashion you’ve forgotten your brother?”

  Had she not already destroyed his heart, her inquiry would have accomplished the task, yet he couldn’t summon his usual cloak of anger and self-recrimination. Perhaps it was time to stop lamenting the past and look forward. She deserved to understand the extent of his despair. He could offer her that, if not what she truly asked of him.

  With a resounding exhale, he settled against the bedpost and conjured the events of that evening a decade past.