The Earl Next Door: The Bachelor Lords of London

by Charis Michaels

  Thankfully, Piety had the forbearance to eventually pull away and rest her forehead on his chin. He could feel her grinning at his throat. He kissed her on her forehead, too, getting a mouthful of hair and an eyeful of fresh flowers from her veil, but he didn’t care. She was in his arms again, and it felt good. So very good.

  The crowd roared, surprising him, because for a moment he had forgotten time and place. He blinked, grinned, and nodded to the masses. Nearly a hundred smiling faces cheered in return. Even the marchioness bobbed a hearty salute with her head.

  Only the Limpetts had sour faces. They were all in attendance except Eli, sitting in the second row with various strangers who seemed to be—

  Oh, God.

  Trevor’s body went taut and his breath caught. His fingers closed around Piety’s arms so tightly, she gasped and looked up.

  No.

  He blinked and looked again, staring hard into the face of the man beside the Limpetts. There he sat, casual as you please, clapping along with villagers and the farmers and a hundred other strangers: Janos Straka, his former boss.

  At his wedding.

  All the way from bloody Greece, along with two of his most vicious retainers, also painfully familiar to Trevor.

  It took work for Trevor to maintain his blissful expression and relaxed posture, but he forced himself to loosen his hold on Piety. He slid his fingers down her arm and took her by the hand.

  He shook hands with the vicar.

  He shook hands with Joseph, who was so surprised by the gesture that he missed the look of warning in his eyes.

  He bowed over Miss Breedlowe’s hand.

  With playful affection, he gathered his wife more closely—tightly—to his side.

  When he looked up again, the Greek slumlord and his henchmen were gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The wedding party spun against a backdrop of waning golden sun and twirled merrily into the night. Due to continued requests, the band left off playing classical pieces and veered almost entirely to a lively, modern-jig songbook. A fair number of guests embarked upon spirited singing.

  When someone made a call for the bride and groom to give a song, the earl and countess agreed that it was time to express their thanks to Lady Frinfrock, to say good-bye to Tiny and Miss Breedlowe, and to retire for the night. They would have escaped cleanly, too, if Idelle had not cornered Piety alone near the row of torches that led to the house.

  “Well done, daughter,” Idelle said coolly.

  “Thank you,” Piety said softly. It had been her mother’s first effort to speak to her that day, and it startled her. She hadn’t thought that Idelle would seek her out.

  “So you’ve married an earl.”

  “So I have.”

  “He’s penniless, of course. And his regard for you seems to alternate between vulgar affection and cold remoteness, but you have not sought my counsel—you never have—so I leave you to your own result.”

  “He is a good man, Mother,” Piety said.

  Idelle snorted. “There is no such thing as a ‘good man.’ And even if there was, I would hardly characterize your illustrious Lord Falcondale as such. I looked at the belly of a snake for enough years to know scales when I see them.”

  Piety refused to allow the thinly veiled jab at her father to affect her. “I appreciate your concern,” she said simply. “How long do you plan to remain in England?”

  Idelle scoffed. “Aren’t you an eager miss?”

  Piety stared at her.

  “We haven’t decided,” said her mother. “I wish to be certain you are settled in this new life you’ve designed.” She watched Piety closely. “Your marriage intrigues me, Piety. How very discreet you’ve all been, you and this cast of players who supports you. But appearances can only be maintained for so long.”

  “There isn’t always a villain behind every bush, Mother. Some circumstances simply fall together. No dark, secretive scheme; none at all.”

  “Yes,” agreed Idelle. “Perhaps. But not this time.”

  Piety made a noise of frustration and threw her hands in the air. She’d spent years ignoring her mother—how much simpler it seemed to walk away—but she felt suddenly compelled to win a point. Just once. “Aren’t you weary? Tired of following me around, finding new things to hector? Do our accusations about the Limpetts not disturb you? I’m sorry Papa did not leave the money to you, but I’ve offered to divide it equally, many times. You don’t seem to want it unless it comes with a pound of my flesh. I will never marry Eli or any of the Limpetts. They are horrid, and it breaks my heart that you, of all people, have tried to force them upon me.”

  “Oh, do grow up, girl! Men can be managed. This month’s awful suitor is next month’s benign husband. If you had given me even an ounce of the respect that I deserve, I could have taught you a thing or two about how to procure what you need from a man, rather than running away from him. But you’ve always been so strong-headed. So independent.”

  “I had no choice but to make my own way! You wanted no part of me. Do not pretend that you did.”

  Idelle rolled her eyes, gesturing in short, angry chops. “How dare you cry neglect of me? Papa’s little princess. All of his attention; his pride and joy. And now all of his money!” She pointed a long, thin finger. “I will take the money—all of it—when I earn what was duly mine, not when you toss it at my feet like alms to the poor.”

  “It was meant to be a draft from the bank,” said Piety quietly. “I’ve ‘tossed’ nothing. How would you earn it? By selling me to Eli?”

  “It was meant to be the union of two strong, well-placed families. We could rule New York!”

  “Why would I wish to rule New York? All I want—all I’ve ever wanted—is to see new places and meet new people and to live in a happy home. A husband to love. Children!” Her voice broke, and she turned away.

  And then she saw Falcondale. He stood behind her, taking in every word.

  Oh, God.

  Behind her, Idelle chuckled. “Ah, and here he is, the man himself. Do go on. How clear it is that his lordship wishes to hear more of this dream you hold for home and hearth.”

  Falcondale did not allow Piety to answer. “Indeed,” he said. “But first, my dream. My dream is to never lay eyes on you, madam, ever again.” He stepped into the path and held out a hand. “Come, darling. I couldn’t find you, and it alarmed me. Let us ask Joseph to arrange for Mrs. Limpett’s immediate departure.”

  Piety went to him, allowing him to sweep her into a tight, almost fierce, embrace. She melted into his strong, solid warmth, and he bent forward to drop a kiss on the top of her head. Piety’s composure nearly dissolved.

  “Look after her, your lordship,” called Idelle. “If you can keep up with her, you’ll earn every gold coin!”

  Fresh rage erupted in Piety’s chest, and she spun around. “It’s not a matter of money, Mother!” she said. “It’s a matter of love. If you’d loved Papa, he would have left the fortune to you. If you loved me, I would freely give it to you. What do you want? What do you want?”

  “I want you to snap out of this fairy-tale world that you’ve built in your fluff-headed imagination! You always thought you deserved better than the rest of us. Well, look where it’s gotten you.”

  “Yes!” Piety shouted, striding back. “I’ve married a fine man from a noble family. A man who loves me and wishes to share his life with me. I’ve bought a house that I adore in a city that enchants me. I have friends who look after me. My life—my real life, not a fairy tale—is only beginning!”

  Idelle did not blink. “Is it?” She studied the man beside her.

  Falcondale soured under her gaze. “Perhaps I was not clear. This celebration is over for you, madam.” He stepped forward again to retrieve Piety, pulling her tightly into his arms. “I would have you go. Now. Please be aware that the countess and I intend to leave for London in the morning. Whether you are welcome here in Berkshire after we go, I cannot say, but you should
be advised that neither you nor your family will be admitted to our home in Henrietta Place.”

  “And which home would that be? Piety’s rattletrap construction or your empty shell of a foreclosed relic?”

  “Make no mistake, madam,” Falcondale said. “If I see even the feather of your bonnet, I will summon the authorities.”

  “And allege what? You do not own the streets of London.”

  Gently, he set Piety aside and stepped closer. “That I am the bloody Earl of Falcondale, and that myself and my lady wife are being harassed by a pack of maddened sock-factory workers from America. One of whom assaulted the countess and did his level best to bludgeon me.” He lanced her with one, final pitying glare, took Piety’s hand, and turned to go.

  “Good-bye, Mother,” Piety said over her shoulder, following along. “Please, please return home. I think it will be best for everyone.”

  Falcondale tugged Piety by the hand, nearly dragging her, shaking his head as they rounded first one rhododendron and then another on the dark path.

  “Where in God’s name does this lead? It’s a wonder I found you at all. What were you doing, off in the shadows?”

  “Slow down, Trevor. My shoes!” She stumbled, and he slowed, but only a little. “It’s the path to the fountain. Regardless, I am not—”

  She stopped herself; it wouldn’t do to accuse. He’d been agreeable all day despite the obvious shock of the large audience and an extravagant celebration. More softly, she said, “I have been coming and going on my own for so long, I am not accustomed to accounting for my whereabouts. I was lecturing footmen about the torches. It never occurred to me that you would be alarmed.”

  “Yes, well, your mother is poison in human form.” He sounded distracted. “I thought we agreed that you would keep out of her way.”

  “She sought me out.”

  They rounded a hedge and found themselves on the terrace, looking out over the party. Falcondale scanned the crowd. “If you were like me,” he said, “you would purposefully avoid her. Avoid everyone. Run from people, rather than to them.”

  “May I never be like you,” she whispered.

  He looked down at her. “How right you are. May you never be like me.”

  She narrowed her eyes. After two weeks of silence, the last thing she wished to finally hear was him agreeing that he was a selfish lout.

  “You . . . you are unnerved about what I said to my mother. When I described our marriage. I’m sorry.”

  Falcondale shook his head. “I’m not unnerved, Piety, merely disappointed. I wish I could be the man you require.”

  She smiled weakly at his back. “You have saved me from her; what more could I need?”

  He paused. “I am sorry that I am not a fine man from a noble family, as you said. I—”

  “Do not feel sorry for me, Trevor. Just because you are not sweeping me off to a world of domesticity and love does not mean that you are not rescuing me, just the same. And that is enough.”

  He nodded and looked away. His expression was new. Worry? Anxiety? Anguish? She could not read it. She ventured instead to console him. “Don’t look so tortured, Falcondale. It makes me want to rescue you, and you’ve said that I cannot.”

  “Piety,” he said, glossing over her last comment, “why did you invite so many people? Why is this wedding so large and elaborate? The guests are strangers who couldn’t possibly wish to celebrate us.”

  It was the last thing she expected him to say, but she nodded and spoke to the ground. “Well, planning a large affair took my mind off of the fact that you had grown so incredibly remote.”

  When she looked up, he was staring down at her with an intensity that made her blink.

  “I stayed away to protect us both. You know this. To protect our future.”

  “Not our future,” she corrected with a bitter laugh. “Your future and my future. Our separate futures. But do not feel guilty. I know this was the agreement.” She took a deep breath. “The large party is hardly your style, I know, but did you mind too terribly? Are you cross?”

  “How did you decide on the guest list?”

  Another unexpected question. She looked around, eyeing the guests dancing beyond the terrace gate. “Well, it was an open invitation, really. Everyone in the village. This is a fine home. Lady Frinfrock lays a colorful feast. People enjoy fancy dress, and music, and dancing. It is a rare and special night for them, even if they don’t know you or me. It made me happy to invite them. And Lady Frinfrock, for all her bluster, is a generous landowner. She deserves to see their gratitude.”

  “But did you invite anyone specifically?” he asked, his face still tight. “Anyone by name? Were printed invitations sent by post?”

  “In what time?” She laughed. “Everything happened in such a rush. No, Jocelyn and I rode around in the wagon and put out a personal invitation.” She studied him, trying to determine what he wanted from this conversation. “You are disturbed by the Limpetts,” she guessed. “I’m sorry, but it was easier not to fight them. Mother said everyone but Eli intended to come, and it took too much energy to change her mind. I knew they would be harmless at such a public event. But perhaps—”

  “No, Piety it is fine,” he interrupted her, exhaling heavily and shaking his head. “The Limpetts are inconsequential to me, as they should be to everyone.” He took her hand. “Let’s go.”

  The contact was so quick and purposeful—one minute they were talking, the next he was dragging her along—that Piety giggled. “But where are we going?”

  “Excellent question.” He glanced over his shoulder. “What were your plans for after?”

  Her laughter stopped. “You mean to sleep?”

  He nodded once. “Yes. To sleep. You cannot tell me that this is the one detail you failed to elaborately construct.”

  “Well,” she began, feeling unaccustomed shyness, “I thought of my own chambers, because there is an adjoining room with a second bed. For the maid. I thought—”

  “Perfect,” he said, veering left at the terrace steps, clipping up. “I trust you have everything you need.”

  Piety stumbled. “We’re not leaving now, are we? But we’ve not bid these people a proper goodnight. We haven’t even paid our respects to the marchioness.”

  “Did you hear the hoots and hollers when we kissed, Piety? I’d say that slipping away into the night is no less than anyone expects. As for the marchioness, you may pay your respects in the morning. I want you safe behind a locked door. Now.”

  Piety was puzzling over this statement when Falcondale stopped short. She would have collided with him if he hadn’t spun, reached out, and scooped her into his arms.

  There was naught to do but gasp.

  And hold tight.

  He strode purposefully up the stairs, carrying her in his arms, down the landing and into her bed chamber. He locked the door behind them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Falcondale deposited Piety in the center of her bedroom. “Which door leads to the maid’s anteroom?”

  Piety could only react. “There.” She pointed across the room.

  He nodded and strode to the small door, disappearing into the anteroom beyond.

  He would sleep there, Piety knew, anywhere but in the bed with her. She had not expected him to stake it out immediately, but so be it. She had taken care to prepare the room with fresh linens, doing the work herself so as to not elicit talk among the maids. It was small, but he needn’t be uncomfortable, merely separate.

  You knew this, she told herself, fighting back tears. She had promised herself that she would not react, no matter how well the ceremony had gone. And yet—

  There was a second door in the little room, which led to the servants’ stairs. Now she heard it open and shut, and for a moment, she thought he’d let himself out and slipped away. It was only a matter of time. He’d made that very clear. But now the stairwell door clicked shut, the lock snapping into place. She heard footsteps.

  “Are
there any other ways in or out of your chambers besides these two doors and the windows?” he asked, returning to her.

  Truly? she thought, studying him. Doors and locks? This is to be our diversion?

  She shook her head. “It is a closed room. That is all. Are you . . . ?” She tried again, watching him yank back draperies to inspect the windows. “If you’re not displeased about the Limpetts, then what has you so unsettled? You’re prowling like a caged beast.”

  “A caged beast would make quick work of the lock on these windows,” he said absently, studying the pane. “Are they painted shut?”

  “Planning a speedy escape?”

  “Would that I could,” he mumbled.

  Likely, he hadn’t meant for her to hear. She stared at her hands. The shimmering stones in her new ring flashed, mocking her. She bit her lip and closed her eyes.

  “I don’t mean to escape you, Piety,” he said. “It’s merely my desire for—” He stopped, and she looked up, raising her eyebrows. “Merely my desire.”

  “Well, you’ve identified two locked doors and four windows,” she said. “It’s doubtful you’ll have to break through a wall to outrun your desire. I apologize that we have to pass this night in such close confines, but my mother would notice if we did not retire together. It would be odd to anyone, I’m afraid.”

  “Of course,” he said, resignedly. A servant had left a tray of fruit, cheese, and bread. He came upon it and stopped, staring down at the food.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “There was no way around this, Piety,” he told her. “You needn’t feel responsible. You needn’t feel anything at all but relief. The ordeal is almost over.”

  She nodded numbly. The ordeal.

  He went on, “And I don’t care what we do. To pass the time. What do you wish?”

  She shrugged. Before the day began, before the crowded party and the emotional ceremony, before he’d carried her up the stairs and locked them in together, she had fantasized that they might indulge in a brief, celebratory embrace at the end of the night. Nothing overly passionate or committed, simply affectionate, a comfort. She envisioned them sitting side-by-side in the cushioned window seat, rehashing the party. She thought she might lay her head on his shoulder. They might laugh and revel in how they had outsmarted the Limpetts; how they had portrayed the crusty marchioness as a generous host.