Twilight with the Infamous Earl

by Alexandra Hawkins

  “We have moved beyond formality,” he said, pleased that he had figured out a way to sweeten her disposition. “My friends call me—”

  “Frost!”

  Emily stared at him, her distress apparent. Almost being caught in a torrid embrace with a Lord of Vice had turned her ardor to ash, and she was probably vexed with him again. Annoyance flashed across his expression as he noticed his sister and Dare were to blame for this intrusion. How the devil had they found him? He had not told Regan that he would be attending the ball this evening.

  “Regan and Dare, this is unexpected,” he said, genially, while his gaze silently ordered them to go away.

  “Lady Fiddick told us you were here,” his sister said, stepping away from her husband to kiss Frost on the cheek. “I told Dare that I would not believe it until I saw you myself.”

  Dare stood behind his wife with his arms crossed. His attention shifted from Frost to Emily, and there was a question in his gaze. How much had the couple seen? Enough, he assumed.

  The bravado Emily had displayed during their argument had left her. She stood quietly beside him, most likely wishing she had escaped before they had drawn spectators.

  There was nothing he could do to ease her embarrassment. It was best to get through the introductions. Maybe she wouldn’t look so miserable once she learned that they had been interrupted by several members of his family.

  “Regan and Dare, I would like to introduce you to—”

  His sister brought her hands to her lips. “Emily … Emily Cavell. My goodness, is that truly you?”

  Frost’s eyebrows rose. “You are acquainted with Emily?”

  The lady in question frowned at him for using her given name, but she was smiling when she walked toward his sister. “Lady Regan.” She curtsied.

  “Oh, I will have none of that from you,” Regan said, embracing the startled woman.

  Puzzled, Emily glanced at him and then his sister. Why was she so surprised that he had a sister? Granted, the resemblance was subtle, but she was looking at him as if he had been hatched by chickens.

  “Oh, how are you? I love your dress. Which shop did you use? Will you be staying in London for a few months? Oh, goodness, I cannot believe it is you!” Regan babbled on.

  “Nor I.” Emily nodded and smiled as she decided which question to address first. She noticed Dare standing behind Regan and must have thought it was too rude to ignore him. “Is this your husband?”

  “Yes.” His sister extended her hand to Dare, and he joined his marchioness. “Emily, may I present my husband, Lord Pashley.”

  His friend took Emily’s hand and bowed. “A pleasure, Miss Cavell. Our friends call me Dare,” he said, clearly amused by his wife’s joy over discovering an old friend.

  “Emily,” she said easily, and Frost was tempted to kick his friend for his gallantry.

  “How did you meet my sister?” Frost inquired, his curiosity getting the better of him. Although the Cavell surname was vaguely familiar to him, he could not recall his sister playing with a girl named Emily.

  Regan and Dare’s arrival had given her an excuse to ignore him, but she could not avoid replying to his question. “Miss Swann’s Academy for Young Ladies. She was four years older, but Regan’s exploits were legendary and an inspiration to the other girls.”

  His sister grinned cheekily at him. “You are kind to say so, Emily, but I highly doubt the other girls were inspired by my antics. In fact, I was in trouble so often Miss Swann ran out of punishments.”

  Before Frost could press her about the punishments she had failed to mention, Regan grabbed Emily by the hands and said, “Let’s go into the parlor and chat awhile. I have so much to tell. Do you recall Nina and Thea? They are in town. We must plan an outing!”

  She and Emily entered the parlor, with Regan capable of holding both sides of the conversation. Neither lady gave any thought to the gentlemen. Frost wondered if they were even allowed to join them.

  He started to follow, but Dare caught him by the arm.

  “You might want to wait,” he said enigmatically.

  “Why should I?”

  Dare’s pointed glance at the front of Frost’s trouser had him reaching for—Christ, no! He covered the proof of his waning arousal with his hand. Had Emily noticed?

  “Splendid. No wonder Emily was gaping at me as if I possessed two heads!”

  Dare burst into a fit of laughter.

  Frost groaned and pressed his fingers against his eyelids. He chuckled, still able to appreciate the humor of his predicament. “Do you think Regan noticed?”

  “Fear not, old friend. It was barely noticeable, and the ladies were distracted.”

  “Now you are just being cruel,” Frost said, disgruntled.

  “Stop whining,” his brother-in-law said cheerfully. “It is your fault for kissing Miss Cavell in the corridor. Usually you are discreet.”

  “I am discreet. My intention was to question her, not kiss her,” he said, and then recalled that he had never ruled out kissing. He did not believe in denying himself, and now that he had kissed Emily, he wanted to do it again. “She was taking slices out of me with her sharp tongue. Kissing her was a clever defense.”

  Dare nodded, understanding lighting his gaze. “You did not anticipate liking it, eh?”

  “I always like it, Dare. I just didn’t think I would like it that much,” he confessed grumpily.

  “Tread carefully, gent. She’s Regan’s friend and an innocent.” His friend held up his hand to silence Frost from issuing an angry retort. “Ravishing innocents brings a man nothing but trouble. Besides, if you break Emily’s heart, you will earn your sister’s wrath.”

  “I can handle my sister,” Frost replied with confidence. “And I have no plans to bed Miss Cavell. The kiss was an aberration. I will keep my hands off her.”

  Dare grunted but did not offer his opinion.

  Frost was grateful. He often lied, but never to himself.

  There was a first time for everything.

  Chapter Eight

  Lord Chillingsworth was the man called Frost.

  In mind-numbing disbelief, she sat next to the man’s sister—an older girl she had liked and secretly admired for her courage to stand up to her tormentors—while she struggled to maintain her composure.

  Why does it have to be him?

  Shouldn’t she have sensed that the charming, beautiful man who had swept into her life was the devil in disguise? And then there was Regan. How could she share blood with such a heartless creature?

  “How did you meet my brother?” Regan asked.

  Emily’s attention switched from the doorway, where she only caught a glimpse of Lord Chillingsworth’s elbow, back to his sister.

  “Ah, well…” She cleared her dry throat. “A man was selling his stepdaughter on the streets after her mother died, and I found myself in a bit of trouble when I interfered. Your brother’s timely arrival prevented anyone from getting hurt.”

  “My brother has always loved a good fight,” she said candidly. The affection for her older sibling was evident. “And he abhors bullies.”

  Emily absently nodded as she glanced again at the doorway. Lord Pashley laughed, but she was too far away to overhear Lord Chillingsworth’s response. “He even took responsibility for Katie. He said that he knew someone who could help her.”

  Regan’s reaction put to rest any lingering concern that she might have held for Katie. “He must have approached Catherine for assistance.”

  “Your brother did not divulge names.”

  “Catherine is the Marchioness of Sainthill. The lady has some interesting friends,” Regan confided, her emerald-and-diamond earrings glittering as she tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “Her husband is one of Frost’s friends.”

  “Is he one of the Lords of Vice?” she asked bitterly. In hindsight, the nickname suited the man called Frost perfectly.

  “Yes, as is my husband,” she added, noting her friend’s frown. “I
am surprised my brother mentioned it. Since Hunter’s marriage to Grace, he has been rather cranky about the whole subject.”

  “Why?”

  “All of his friends have married,” she simply said. “He is the last remaining bachelor, and I often wonder if he feels obligated to maintain their reputation. Dare and the others have considered shutting down Nox, but Frost won’t even consider it.”

  Emily’s eyes widened at the club’s name. “Nox?”

  “When Frost and his friends were younger, they managed to get blackballed from most of the clubs so they started their own. To fund it, they opened a gambling hell. It’s quite successful,” she said proudly.

  Good heavens! “I am certain it is.” Emily did not know if she could endure another surprise this evening.

  Lord Chillingsworth and his friends were connected to Nox. Why had no one told her? A few weeks ago, when she had condemned the gambling hell to a small group of ladies, everyone had agreed with her. Some of them had even offered their assistance in helping her find a way to shut down the notorious club.

  “I need to leave,” Emily said abruptly as she stood.

  “What?” Regan looked disappointed as she rose from the sofa as well. “It has been years since we have seen each other. Now that I know you will be remaining in town, I want to introduce you to my friends.”

  “You are too kind,” Emily said, immediately regretting how dismissive she sounded.

  “Not really.”

  Her eyes widened in astonishment at the marchioness’s admission.

  Noting Emily’s expression, Regan elaborated, “When Frost banished me to Miss Swann’s, I was angry, hurt, miserable, and defiant. Most of the girls either hated me or feared me.” Her friend’s blue eyes misted as the memories of that period in her life assailed her. “Nina and Thea eased my loneliness, but then there was you. When we first met, I could tell that you were appalled by my behavior, but you still befriended me. I never told you how much I appreciated your kindheartedness.”

  Although Emily was touched by the marchioness’s words, it just added another layer of doubt and complication to her muddled feelings. “I often worried that you considered me more of a nuisance than a friend.”

  “Never.” Regan cast a discreet glance at the doorway. “I hope your leaving has nothing to do with the fact that my husband and I caught you kissing my brother.”

  Emily’s shy smile faded as shame burned throughout her entire body at the thought that her brazen behavior had been on display for anyone to observe. How could she have been so reckless?

  “You saw us?” she asked, wishing the conflagration of her mortification would simply turn her into a pile of ash that could be swept away.

  “As we made our way upstairs.” Regan moved closer and whispered, “I do not wish to speak unfavorably of my brother. Nevertheless, I feel obligated to warn you that he is quite the scoundrel.”

  “Compliments, brat?” Frost said mockingly as he followed Lord Pashley into the parlor. “You astound me. It is so good to have the support of my family.”

  An awkward silence settled in the room.

  Without meeting the earl’s knowing gaze, Emily hastily uttered her farewells and left the room before anyone thought to stop her.

  * * *

  Regan’s shoulders slumped with the burden of her guilt. “Frost—”

  “Spare me,” he snapped, ruthlessly cutting off her apology. He glanced at Dare. If he had seen pity in the gent’s face, he would have punched him. “Well, that was an exceedingly unique experience. Usually, when I kiss a lovely wench, she doesn’t flee from the room.”

  Sighing, his sister sat down on the sofa. “Out of fairness, Emily Cavell deserved to be warned. You are a scoundrel. And few ladies can resist you when you decide to be charming.”

  “Why thank you, brat.” He sat down beside her and pressed a kiss to her temple. “However, you should credit your friend with more intelligence. She seems immune to my charm.”

  It was perverse of him, but it only made him want to kiss her again. Whether she was willing to admit it or not, she had liked kissing him.

  “Clever girl,” Dare teased.

  He grinned at his brother-in-law. “Care to wager on it, gent?”

  “No wagers,” his sister protested. “I consider the lady a friend.”

  Frost shrugged, content to let the matter drop. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Even so, Miss Cavell has not seen the last of me.”

  * * *

  With a polite smile pasted on her face, Emily stood beside her mother for the next two hours in the ballroom while she discussed gardening and the proper sauce for halibut with several ladies. During that time, three gentlemen had approached the group and invited her to dance. Much to her mother’s disapproval, she had refused all offers. She explained apologetically that she had sprained her foot, and the lie left the gentlemen’s pride intact while it spared her a long lecture from her mother. In truth, she had been worried that if Lord Chillingsworth noticed that she was dancing, he might approach her again. Thankfully, he had kept his distance. She had only caught a glimpse of him once as he and Lord Pashley had made their way to the card room. Instead of relief, dread pooled in her stomach.

  I kissed Frost.

  Emily shuddered and told herself it was in disgust. Hours later and alone in her bedchamber, she could still feel him. Her lips tingled as if he had branded her. Standing in front of her mirror dressed in her nightgown, she moistened her lower lip and tasted him.

  She had barely spoken a word on the drive home. Her mother and younger siblings managed to carry on a conversation without her. They thought she was weary from their evening out, so when her mother told her to go to bed, Emily kissed her on the cheek and dutifully went upstairs. Mercy had been waiting for her when she entered her bedchamber. The maid looked after her and her sister Judith, and when she wasn’t needed she was given other chores by their housekeeper. Mercy helped her undress, and when Emily could manage on her own, the maid slipped out of the room to check in on Judith.

  Turning away from the mirror, she grabbed her hairbrush from the dressing table and walked over to her bed. She sat down on the edge of the mattress and brushed her hair. Occasionally, she paused to pluck a hairpin that Mercy had missed, but it did not take long before her strokes were unhindered from crown to the ends of her hair.

  Emily was too distracted by the events of this evening to find pleasure in the task. When she was a child, Lucy used to brush Emily’s hair each night. However, her sister had to catch her first. This often involved Lucy pushing her to the ground and sitting on her back. Emily retaliated by pulling her sister’s hair. Once the yelling and name-calling had ceased, the pair had settled down and focused on the task.

  They talked about their day. They shared their joys, the real and imaginary slights—usually their brother Ashley was to blame—and their discoveries. In hindsight, Emily had been too young to appreciate those unguarded moments with her sister.

  Lucy often complimented Emily’s red hair, declaring it her best feature. Naturally, she had envied her sister’s golden-blond tresses, similar in hue to their mother’s. Her red hair was a legacy from some unknown ancestor, and as a child she considered it too garish to be pretty. She had longed for hair like her sister’s.

  Lucy.

  Not all of her recollections of her sister were happy. She recalled one afternoon when Lucy had been furious at her for eating the last gooseberry tart. She called Emily a red-haired changeling. Six years old at the time, she had thought it an unforgivable insult. She had sobbed in her mother’s arms for almost an hour, and her sister had been sent to bed without supper as a punishment.

  When her parents had sent her off to Miss Swann’s Academy for Young Ladies, Emily had begged them not to. It had seemed frivolous to be acquiring the social polish reserved for noblemen’s daughters and heiresses. She blamed her mother for the decision. As Viscount Ketchen’s youngest daughter, she expected her daughters to eventually
make respectable matches even though they were commoners. Although her mother’s life no longer revolved around the ton, she had high hopes that one of her girls would marry a nobleman.

  By the time Emily had returned home, it was obvious that their mother had placed all her hopes in her eldest daughter. Lucy’s first season in London had been a success. Using the family’s connections, her sister had been presented to members of some of the most influential families in England. And while the Earl of Leventhorpe was not the only gentleman to fall in love with her sister, he had been one of the richest. His offer had been overly generous, and her parents eagerly accepted.

  Emily had assumed that her sister was overjoyed by the prospect of marrying Lord Leventhorpe. Her letters from London implied she was enjoying herself, and she had made dozens of friends. Eventually, Emily had traveled to London for a visit. She had been too young to join her sister as she made the rounds to the countless fetes and balls, but there were other amusements to entertain her.

  Lucy had changed.

  Even now, she struggled to accept it. Emily did not know if the years they had spent apart had altered their friendship or if London had ruined her. Something had changed her sister.

  Or someone.

  Emily stopped brushing her hair. If she persisted she would end up bald, and then her mother would make her wear those unattractive headdresses many matrons preferred. She set down the hairbrush and used the bedpost for support as she climbed to her feet.

  Pressing her face against the carved wood, she groaned. “He can’t be the one. Lucy was confused. She did not know what she was saying at the end.”

  Emily could not avoid the truth. She had come to London to find a man named Frost, but he had found her first. He had even rescued her and a young girl.

  I feel obligated to warn you that my brother is quite the scoundrel.

  Regan’s words had haunted her all evening. She had erroneously assumed her sister’s seducer had been a Lord Frost or a Mr. Frost. She had not considered that the name Lucy had whispered in her ear with her last breath might be an affectionate nickname.