Twilight with the Infamous Earl

by Alexandra Hawkins

  He bit her earlobe and she shivered. “Shall I tell you why I was never inclined to pursue your sister?”

  Emily nodded, wholly aware that Frost’s hand was moving lower. “Why?”

  “Her beauty paled in comparison to yours.” His wicked grin revealed that she was over her head with this man. “If anyone is ruined, it is I, sweet Emily. Shall I prove it? I promise I will be gentle.”

  Emily closed her eyes, trusting Frost to be a man of his word.

  * * *

  Frost was whistling a merry tune as he entered Nox. He credited his high spirits to the past four hours he had spent in Emily’s bed. Although she had been too tender for prolonged lovemaking, he had demonstrated that there were other ways to pleasure a lady. Emily had barely acknowledged him when he reluctantly slipped from her bedchamber.

  Instead of heading for the public rooms, Frost climbed the stairs to the Lords of Vice’s private rooms. Berus was usually waiting to greet him and his friends, but the hour was late. Using his key, he unlocked the door and headed for the large saloon. He could not hazard a guess as to how many evenings he and his friends had sought various amusements in this room. The billiards table, in particular, was one of his favorite indulgences. He idly wondered if he could persuade Emily to join him at Nox for a game or two.

  Frost’s intriguing fantasy vanished at the sight of Berus sitting in one of the chairs; Dare, Vane, and Hunter hovered over him with worried expressions on their faces.

  “What the hell happened?” Frost demanded when he noticed the steward was holding several bloody handkerchiefs against his nose.

  Sin entered the room from another connecting door with a glass of brandy in his hand. “Better late than never,” he said to Frost. “I was beginning to think you hadn’t received my message.”

  “I didn’t. If you called a meeting, where are Saint and Reign?”

  “Downstairs talking to the police,” Dare replied.

  Frost strode to Berus and knelt at the older man’s side. In some ways, the man was the closest thing he had to a father. “Let me see,” he asked, taking matters into his own hands by peeking under the bloody linen.

  He cursed fluently.

  Someone had done an adequate job using his fists on Berus’s face. His nose was broken; there was swelling and a cut under his right eye; his lower lip was twice its normal size and still bleeding; and there was dark bruise forming on the man’s forehead.

  “That cut looks bad. It might need a stitch or two,” Frost announced, though he assumed his friends had come to a similar conclusion. “Has a surgeon been summoned?”

  “I don’t need a surgeon,” muttered Berus.

  “Aye, I sent one of the servants to rouse one from his bed,” Sin said, his eyes simmering with rage. “Vane, why don’t you see if the man has arrived downstairs?”

  Vane gave Frost a troubled glance as he walked away to see to his task.

  Everyone was tense and grim, and no one was bothering to explain why their steward was trying not to bleed on the carpet. “Does anyone want to tell me what happened?”

  Although they tried to run a respectable establishment, there was always an element of danger when volatile tempers, liquor, and gambling losses were part of the nightly entertainment. This evening would not have been the first time that the man had been forced to confront an intoxicated patron.

  “It was Halward,” Berus said, his voice distorted by his swollen mouth.

  “Someone let him into Nox,” Frost asked in disbelief.

  The steward shook his head. “I was lured outside. Someone had set a small fire with brush and rags, and I was worried about the club. I never anticipated it was a trap.”

  “The bastard hired pugilists to do his dirty work,” Sin said, the harshness in his voice like a lash. “They dragged Berus away from Nox into the shadows and beat him senseless. One of the patrons found him crawling toward the street.”

  “This was a message directed to the Lords of Vice,” Hunter said, his fingers digging into the back of the chair. His knuckles looked almost white. “Halward wants Nox or at least monetary bribes to keep his bruisers away.”

  “I say, let him try,” Frost said, preparing to defend the club, even if it meant spilling his own blood. “Halward might feel differently if we paid him a visit.”

  “May I speak to you in private?” Sin interjected.

  Without waiting for a response the marquess stalked out of the room. Frost patted Berus’s shoulder, noticing that Vane had arrived with the surgeon. “Ah, the good surgeon will patch you up nicely. With luck, any scars will make you more appealing to the ladies.”

  The steward smiled, and then winced in pain. Berus waved him off.

  Frost stood and followed his friend through the door he had exited. He found Sin in the passageway that led to numerous bedchambers he and his friends had used when they were too deep in their cups to find their way home. The bedchambers had also been used for trysts with countless females since they had opened Nox’s doors.

  “You’re worried about Berus,” Frost said, noting his friend’s thunderous expression. “He’s been roughed up, but he’s tough. A few days in bed and he will be fine.”

  “This isn’t about Berus,” Sin muttered. He braced his hand against one of the walls and stared at Frost. “Have you ever considered that this attack on Berus might be a sign that it’s time to close Nox?”

  “No,” Frost said stubbornly. “Nox belongs to the Lords of Vice. Why would you even contemplate surrendering to that sniveling coward? Halward is a bully, but he’s nothing without his hired muscle. He’s no match for us.”

  “So this is what it has come to? Us … battling criminals?” Sin glared at him in anger and incredulity. “Have you thought above your own damn selfish needs? We have wives and children, Frost. People who depend on us to not die because we allowed our tempers and pride to cloud our judgment.”

  Sin’s accusation stung. “I am not a fool. Nor am I suggesting we carelessly toss away our lives. Nevertheless, I never thought you would blithely hand over Nox to our enemies without a fight.”

  “Frost,” Sin said wearily. “There are other ways to battle Halward. Legal ways that don’t involve our people getting almost beaten to death in the streets.”

  Frost sneered. “Marriage has made you soft. Six years ago, you would have fought at my side without asking. You would have cut down any man who suggested that you close Nox.” He shook his head in disgust. “I am finished with this conversation.”

  “Frost!”

  He stepped back into the saloon, and it was apparent that his chat with Sin had not been so private.

  “Do you all feel the same way?” He threaded his fingers through his hair and stared defiantly at them. “Are you prepared to close Nox because of the danger Halward poses?”

  Their silence was damning.

  “Well, then.” A cynical smile twisted his mouth. “It heartens me to know that I can count on my friends. Enjoy the rest of your evening, gents.”

  Frost stalked out the door.

  * * *

  The sun had already risen when Emily woke. She was alone. Glancing about the bedchamber, she saw no sign of Frost’s midnight visit.

  She sat up and winced.

  Dressed in her nightgown, her hand absently covering the tender flesh between her legs, Emily recalled how Frost had taken a dampened cloth and gently washed away the sticky evidence of their lovemaking. She had expected a little blood, some proof that her maidenhead was gone. However, Frost was too skilled as a lover to permit her to suffer. While his claiming had hurt initially, her body had swiftly embraced his manhood, anointing the unyielding flesh with her wetness as he filled her with his seed.

  Her breasts tightened at the thought.

  Frost had thoroughly ravished her, and she wondered when he would come to her again.

  Emily pulled back the sheet, and a piece of paper fluttered to the floor. She climbed down from the bed to retrieve it.

&
nbsp; No regrets.

  Emily stared down at the words Frost had hastily scrawled. Was he expressing his own feelings or telling her not to feel guilty that she had enjoyed his lovemaking?

  She smiled as she walked to her dressing table and slipped his note into a small drawer. Knowing Frost, he was probably ordering her to accept that last night had altered their relationship.

  Since her maid had not entered to wake her, Emily assumed it was still early for her family to have awakened. Instead of ringing for Mercy, she slipped out of her bedchamber and walked down the hall to Lucy’s old bedchamber.

  Frost’s note reminded her of Lord Leventhorpe’s request for any letters his beloved Lucy might have left behind. With her family asleep, this would be the best time to search for them.

  The last time Emily had entered the room, she had discovered her dying sister collapsed on the floor. The unhappy memories had kept her from returning. She turned the doorknob, and the door opened. No one had locked the bedchamber.

  Emily entered the shadowed interior and walked to the window. Opening the curtains, she noticed that the maids had kept the bedchamber prepared for guests. The room was spotless, and she felt a sharp pain in her heart at the realization that there was no evidence Lucy had ever slept here.

  Or that she had died here.

  Emily noted the rug had been replaced, but everything else was the same. She crossed her arms over her chest as she glanced at the furniture, wondering if her mother had removed all of Lucy’s belongings from the room.

  A quick search of her sister’s dressing table and the table near her bed had her lips thinning in frustration.

  Come on, Lucy … where would you have kept letters that had special meaning for you?

  Emily searched the empty wardrobe and an old chest, looked under the bed, even checked under the cushions. Maybe she was searching for something that her mother had already found and packed away. If so, she would approach her mother after breakfast on Lord Leventhorpe’s behalf. The woman had a soft spot for the man who should have been her son-in-law. She suspected her mother would give him any letters that had been tucked away.

  She gave Lucy’s bed a passing glance as she walked by. There was no doubt that her sister had had a lover.

  Lucy was no paragon.

  Frost’s observation echoed in Emily’s head. She had not wanted to listen. Defending her sister had become as instinctive as breathing. However, he was correct. Lucy had kept secrets from her family.

  If Frost was not her lover, then who had sired her child?

  Emily returned to the dressing table. She opened each small drawer, but all of them were empty. Frustrated, she tugged hard on the last one and managed to pull it free from its frame. She knelt down to reinsert it, and that’s when she noticed the piece of paper wedged into the back.

  “So Lucy had kept her letters in the dressing table,” she murmured out loud.

  Emily set the letter aside while she dealt with the drawer. Picking up the letter, she opened it and saw the salutation.

  My dearest love …

  This wasn’t a letter from a friend, she thought, as she continued reading. When she had finished, it was abundantly clear that she owed Frost a sincere apology. She was holding proof that another gentleman had fallen in love with her sister.

  Emily folded the letter. She could not share this letter with Lord Leventhorpe. He believed Lucy had been faithful to him, and she refused to steal that from him. There was no reason to disparage her sister’s memory.

  With the letter clutched in her hand, she returned to her bedchamber. Like Lucy before her, Emily hid her sister’s letter so no one would find it.

  She needed to speak with Frost. Perhaps he could help her uncover the answer to her most pressing question.

  Who the devil is Captain Gladish?

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Unlike Frost who seemed to visit her whenever it suited him, Emily could not work up the nerve to visit him at his residence. It seemed unseemly for an unmarried lady to call on a gentleman. She thought about approaching Regan and asking for her assistance. However, that plan was flawed as well. Her friend’s natural curiosity about Emily’s relationship with Frost would place her in a difficult position. She did not wish to lie to Regan, but was not prepared to explain her complicated fascination with the lady’s older brother.

  Or if there was a possible future with the gentleman.

  Perhaps it did not bode well that he preferred to keep their relationship private, though he did seem to enjoy taunting the gossips with his mischief, as when he’d danced with her more than once. Emily could not help but wonder if Frost had ever courted a lady in earnest. Probably not. Though to be fair, she conceded that no other gentleman had courted her affections so she was in no position to judge.

  Her sister’s expectations and her lover’s failings had led poor Lucy down a path of despair. Emily refused to make the same mistake.

  Love and friendship were to be cherished. What she shared with Frost might not last, but she refused to waste the time she’d had with him on recriminations and regret. It was an enlightened approach, she reflected. Gentlemen who refused to be tamed by convention were wary creatures.

  Instead of seeking out Frost, she chose to bide her time and wait for him to come to her. To ensure that he had no difficulty finding her, she had accepted Sin and Juliana’s invitation to join them in their theater box. Other familiar faces greeted her as she took her seat beside the couple. Regan and Dare were present, and Isabel and her husband, Vane, arrived shortly after her.

  Oberon, or The Elf King’s Oath was a three-act opera that she had been looking forward to all day. Exotic locales, fairies, and young lovers—the tale appealed to her romantic heart, and she confessed as much to her new friends.

  Regan laughed. “Reside in London long enough, and you will discover that no one attends the theater for the announced performance,” she teased.

  “Then why attend at all?” Emily asked.

  Dare appeared equally amused. “The members of the ton wish to be admired and envied. It is the minor dramas that take place in the theater boxes that tend to be discussed long after the performances on the stage.”

  Dare and Regan exchanged intimate glances, as if there was something that the couple was not telling her.

  “Well, I can enjoy both,” she assured them. She leaned closer to Regan so she did not have to raise her voice. “Will your brother be in attendance this evening?”

  Overhearing her question, Sin’s gaze was speculative when he said, “It is doubtful, Miss Cavell. Last evening, we had trouble at Nox and there was some disagreement on how it should be handled.”

  Dare and Vane seemed to tense at the marquess’s vague explanation, which heightened Emily’s concern.

  “Trouble?” Emily brought her hand to her heart at the thought of Frost being hurt. “Was … was Lord Chillingsworth attacked?”

  “Would it upset you if he had been?” Sin countered instead of offering an answer to her question.

  “Frost is fine, Emily,” Regan said, placing her hand on Emily’s arm to draw her gaze away from Sin. “Truly. It was Nox’s steward who was attacked. He—”

  “Let’s not give Miss Cavell further reason to level charges at why Nox should be closed,” Vane drawled.

  Although he was not precisely rude, his wife rapped his hand with her closed fan.

  “That is enough,” Isabel warned. “All of you are too upset about Berus to comprehend that Emily’s interest has nothing to do with Nox.”

  Emily’s blushing response concealed little from the three gentlemen. Of course Frost had told them of the comments she had made about seeing the end of clubs like Nox.

  “I—you could not possibly believe I had anything to do with your steward’s attack?” Emily stammered.

  She had been in bed with Frost, though nothing short of torture would pry the admission from her lips.

  “Not directly,” Sin said, staring at her thro
ugh a hooded gaze. “However, if I were you, I would choose my friends carefully, Miss Cavell.”

  “Not you, too,” Juliana said, shaking her head. “You are spoiling for a fight, and Emily is not your adversary. If you get us tossed from the theater, you will be sleeping on the library sofa for the rest of the month.”

  Juliana was attempting to lighten the tension in the private box, but Emily belatedly realized that she had been invited to join them for not-so-pleasant reasons.

  The Lords of Vice thought she might have something to do with the incident at Nox. Had Frost come to the same conclusion?

  Her throat constricted as she rose from her seat. She could do little about the shame scalding her cheeks. “Pray excuse me, I am feeling a little light-headed from the heat. I believe I will take some air in the saloon before the opera begins.”

  Regan, Juliana, and Isabel also began to stand.

  “We will join you,” Regan said, glaring at the men.

  “No.” Emily wanted to be alone. If the ladies joined her, she would give in to her tears. “There is no need. I will not be long.”

  * * *

  No one tried to stop her, and Emily was grateful.

  She could have remained in the small private anteroom just beyond the curtain of the theater box, but she wanted to distance herself from Frost’s friends. Emily did not attempt to deceive herself into believing that Regan would take her side if given the choice between her and the Lords of Vice. These gentlemen were part of Regan’s family.

  She did not really fit in their world.

  Although it was tempting to head for the entrance and find a hackney coach to drive her home, Emily took the passageway that would open into the large saloon. There was no privacy, but the public room would help her keep her emotions leashed.

  “Miss Cavell?”

  Emily nearly stumbled, but she managed to catch herself in time. She turned to address the woman, and realized with growing dismay that she recognized her.

  It was Frost’s former mistress.

  She could not imagine the evening getting any worse.

  Chapter Twenty-six