The Wild Lord (London Scandals Book 1)

by Carrie Lomax

  “Physical restraint is the foundation of treating the mentally ill. Especially those who cannot be expected to recover.”

  “How do you know he can’t recover if you won’t even try?”

  “I have great depth of experience in these matters.” He rubbed his beard.

  Edward stepped closer until he loomed over the beard. “Why are you here?”

  The man shrank back a little in his chair. “To offer a second opinion.”

  “Isn’t an opinion best formed after an examination of the patient?” interjected Harper. “Nowhere in my training was it ever regarded sufficient to form an opinion based upon the conjecture of family members.” She shot a pointed glare at Richard.

  The bearded man eyed her coldly.

  “Did you examine the wild lord, Miss Forsythe?”

  “That is enough, Doctor Yaris.” The earl’s voice cracked across the room. Yaris paled at the earl’s reprimand, and for a fleeting moment, Edward cast a grateful eye to his father. He wished he knew how to advocate for himself against those who wished to see him imprisoned, but everything he said came out wrong. It was only with Harper that he had developed an understanding—and, to some extent, with his father—whom, for all his flaws, Edward understood was trying to do his best for his sons and for the family legacy.

  “I would be happy to examine Lord Edward. Would you remain, your lordship?” The doctor glanced beseechingly at the earl.

  “You’ll examine me alone,” Edward ordered, summoning every bit of aristocratic arrogance he possessed. That made the little worm quake, much as the footman had earlier. At least the footman had come up to scratch with some dignity. His father’s expression morphed into wary approval.

  “What if I have questions?” the man said plaintively.

  “Then ask me.”

  Harper gestured grandly to Richard and his father. In that moment, Edward imagined a flurry of silk skirts where there was only a drab calico print.

  She will be your countess. He would make it so.

  “If the earl and the Honorable Richard Northcote would join me in the hall for a few moments.”

  Edward suppressed a grin at Harper’s subtle insult. She was perfectly proper, while implying there was nothing honorable about Richard’s actions. Before following the men from the room, Harper leaned close and whispered, “Be a gentleman.”

  He could but try.

  * * *

  “How dare you.” Harper advanced on her enemy with daggers in her eyes.

  “How dare I what? Obtain a second opinion from a qualified doctor? One might argue that it was the prudent course of action at the outset.” Richard cast a sly glance at his father, who was distracted by trying to listen through the door. It was a futile effort. The solid oak doors muffled sound.

  “Shh, both of you. I can’t hear anything they are saying,” Charles complained. Richard and Harper ignored him.

  “How dare you, with everything to gain if your brother is incarcerated, go and find the one doctor in England most likely to send your brother to an asylum? You know that would kill him. It is what you want for him, isn’t it? Your behavior towards your brother is contemptible, Richard. I do not understand it. I have a sister. I cannot imagine treating her with the outright loathing you display toward your own brother.”

  “How dare you?” snarled Richard. “You dowdy little pretender, playacting at being a great doctor. You dare speak to me as an equal?”

  “I am not your servant.” Harper visibly bristled.

  Richard laughed. Charles abandoned trying to eavesdrop and covered his face with both hands.

  “My father hired you. That makes you our servant. You, Miss Forsythe, are an uppity woman in dire need of an education about her place in life. Allow me the pleasure. I am the son of an earl. You are the daughter of God knows whom, with no connections and dubious claims to greatness. You ought to speak to me with greater deference.”

  White-hot anger sliced through her. The physical effort of not slapping Richard across the face left her shaking. “I am the granddaughter of a baroness, as the earl well knows. Regardless of my station I will speak to you in the manner you deserve—with contempt.”

  “Miss Forsythe.” The earl’s voice cracked like a whip. Harper turned and bobbed a curtsey. She knew she had gone too far. The anger drained from her in an instant.

  She turned to the earl with contrition. “Your lordship.”

  “You will speak to both of my sons with respect, or not at all.”

  Harper bowed her head. “Your lordship.”

  “That’s right, woman. Learn your place.”

  “Richard.” The earl lashed out again. “Miss Forsythe is correct. Your behavior is contemptible. I will hear out your Doctor Yaris. Unless he has something of great interest to say, Miss Forsythe stays. Edward is making steady progress. Edward is happy with her around. If Miss Forsythe is correct, neither of those things will be true if I consign Edward to Doctor Yaris’ care.”

  “Permanent confinement is what he needs and deserves. Edward is irredeemably wild. How long will you let him roam free before he hurts someone?”

  “Confinement would kill him.”

  Richard laughed.

  “Getting lost in the jungle didn’t kill him. Savages didn’t kill him. Getting hauled home in a cage didn’t kill him. Edward is a wild beast and harder to kill than a bull.”

  “That, Richard, is exactly what I am talking about—”

  The door opened then. Scarcely ten minutes had passed. Harper was relieved to see that both men were still standing. The doctor looked pale and thoughtful. Edward’s expression was closed, and stubbornness radiated from the set of his shoulders. He was not wearing his jacket.

  “That was a pointless exercise,” Edward growled, picking up his jacket and stalking toward the door. “Doctor Yaris came prepared with preconceptions. Any new information is beside the point.”

  In two strides he was gone, disappearing down the hallway.

  “Lord Briarcliff, I hesitate to say that your son is a hopeless case.”

  The earl looked wearily at his unwanted guest. “Yet that is exactly what you are saying, isn’t it?”

  The doctor looked uncomfortable. “Of course. Your eldest son is very aggressive. I was in fear of my life simply attempting an examination.”

  “You feared for your life, yet this young woman tells me he is no danger to anyone?” the earl demanded.

  The doctor swallowed visibly.

  “Your lordship, I cannot answer for Miss Forsythe’s fearlessness. It is remarkable to be sure. I advise you not to be swayed by a mere woman, however. Mr. Northcote, if you would kindly escort me from the premises. I believe the interview concluded.”

  Richard nodded in silent fury. Whatever he had been expecting, this travesty of an afternoon had not delivered on his hopes.

  “Doctor Yaris, I shall be in touch if Miss Forsythe is unable to make further headway with Edward, not a moment before.”

  Harper heard and understood the threat. She did not have endless time. London loomed in the very near future. The earl was watching her and expected results. She must try harder to reach Edward.

  Harper whirled and followed her patient at a distance.

  He went directly to the roof, of course. It was his sanctuary, where he always went whenever he needed space and solace. Meditating on the horizon gave him a measure of peace. At least now he was using the stairs instead of climbing the façade. Mindful of her previous fall, Harper picked her way carefully across the slippery slate to where Edward sat brooding.

  As always, he faced southwest.

  Harper spread her skirts and perched delicately on the little parapet wall. Edward didn’t twitch a muscle.

  “What happened in there?” she finally asked.

  Edward cut her a sideways glance, barely tolerating her presence.

  “Edward. I am not going anywhere. I won’t abandon you. You may as well answer me.” She wondered whether her desper
ate letter to her sister had ever reached her. If there had been a response, she should have received it by now. Yet she regretted sending it, because now, it was too late for her to abandon Edward.

  She cared too much to leave now.

  “What makes you think you have any choice? About anything?” Edward asked.

  Harper looked at the horizon and found the peaceful view calming. This was very different from their first foray together to the roof, when he had scrambled to escape her, and she had pursued him without a thought for her own safety.

  “Your father can send me away. He can prevent any letters I would send from reaching you. He has the power to ensure that I never see you again. There is nothing I can do to change that. But he is not all-powerful. Even an earl cannot change how I feel toward you in my heart. He can never make me lose faith in you.”

  It was the closest she dared come to expressing her feelings for him. Harper had to force herself to breathe before she could continue. “If you hold that close to you, you will overcome any challenge. You have already overcome so many. Whatever happens, I know that you are the strongest person I have ever met.”

  When she glanced at Edward, she saw his shoulders shake ever so slightly. “I cannot—”

  Harper reached out to touch his shoulder, gently. He clapped one great warm paw over her smaller hand and held it there.

  Silence stretched between them again. Only the slim bridge of Harper’s arm connected them. It was enough.

  It was nothing. Nothing would ever be enough, because what she wanted was impossible. Disgusted, Harper tried to shake away her selfishness. The only thing she could want was Edward’s happiness and health.

  She removed her hand. “Yaris won’t harm you as long as I am here.”

  “As long as you are here isn’t enough. You can be sent away at any moment.” He rested his chin on thick forearms. “As can I.”

  Harper shook her head. “The only reason I am here is because your father believes I can help you, because I believe I can help you, and because you want to be helped. Yaris can’t change that. Richard can’t change that.”

  “Thwarting Richard isn’t at all on your agenda, of course.”

  “Edward, of course thwarting Richard would be satisfying. It is not, however, the end goal. It is merely an ancillary pleasure of immense proportions.”

  Finally, he chuckled.

  “The alternative is unimaginable,” she said when he quieted. “I will not fail you. We will proceed as though your freedom and eventual inheritance is a foregone conclusion. There’s no point dwelling on it.”

  “We?”

  “Yes. We. I told you, Edward, nothing could make me lose faith in you. I will help you in any way that I can. I am so glad…” She stopped. It was an insufficient word. Anything less bland would reveal too much. The line between encouragement and affection was razor sharp. She had an obligation to balance on that invisible line, no matter what it cost her.

  Briskly Harper pushed off from the wall and stood up. A shadow darkened her. The wall of muscle that was his chest was inches from her eyes. Harper looked up, past broad shoulders encased in fine silk and soft linen. Her gaze snagged on the loose cravat that did not hide the gleaming pink scar that ringed his neck. How he must have struggled against that rope to flay his own flesh so deeply.

  Harper’s blood chilled.

  “What are you glad about, Harper?”

  “I am so very glad to have met you.”

  It was an awful, formal thing to say. Edward didn’t move.

  “As I am glad to have met you, Harper Forsythe.” Edward leaned forward and took her chin between his forefinger and his thumb. He tilted her face towards his. Slowly, ever so softly, he brushed his lips against hers. It was a whisper, a promise of pleasure. Harper’s knees buckled. Instantly, she gasped and flailed as the terror of her previous fall took over. Edward’s other arm circled her waist.

  “Harper,” he said reprovingly. “I would never, ever let you fall.”

  “I know,” she whispered. Ever so gently, she kissed him back.

  Chapter 11

  “Richard, you’ve been uncharacteristically silent. Do tell what your beastly brother has been up to lately. Climbing the walls at Briarcliff?”

  Richard scowled at the red-headed woman sitting barely a foot away on the soft cotton blanket. The last thing he wanted to do was discuss his bizarre brother, but she was not the first person to ask and would not be the last. Despite the unfortunate red hair, she was rather pretty, so Richard gave her a bit more than his usual brush-off response. The whole reason he had crashed St. Martin’s house party was because his mistress had tossed him out on his ear. He ought to be looking for a new paramour, if only to keep up appearances, and with a coiffure the color of a copper pot this one couldn’t have too much competition for her attentions.

  “Oh, you know. He accosts the maids, runs about wearing naught a stitch and generally causes havoc wherever he goes. My father must have been bewitched to think that taking him to London for the season will end in anything but disaster.” His own phrasing gave Richard the sudden conviction that Miss Forsythe the quack doctor was, in fact, a witch.

  “Your father plans to bring him to London for the season?” The redhead’s eyebrows shot up. They were more of an auburn color, red-gold like autumn leaves. Too bad about the freckles dancing across her pert nose, though. She ought to take better care of her skin. The bonnet she wore was more fashionable than practical and the sun couldn’t be helpful to her complexion.

  A few feet away, the prone form of the third son of the Earl of Westwood rubbed his face and sat up. It wasn’t even noon and he was already cup-shot, or more likely still drunk from the night before.

  “That’ll be a scandal,” he slurred blearily. “The Beast of Briarcliff set loose in London? Your brother’s liable to go leaping over rooftops and land in a horse trough again.” He gave a short, sharp bark of laughter and rested his head on his hand, eyeing the redhead.

  “It gets worse,” Richard replied. “My father has hired a witch doctor to try and cure him of his bestial habits. A woman, no less.”

  “Who ever heard of such a thing?” laughed Westwood’s son. “A woman doctor.”

  “Why not?” asked the redhead. “I’m sure a woman is capable of learning everything a male doctor does.”

  “Even if such learning did not upset a woman’s delicate natural sensibilities, there is something wholly improper about a female doctor attending a man. Who’s to say the beast wouldn’t force her into submission?” Richard let that statement hang in the air, liking the way it sounded. Reasonable. Convincing. He’d thought it long enough but giving voice to his ideas made them truth. An earl’s word, even a future earl, ought to carry weight—a certain gravitas.

  “Aren’t they being supervised? I assume treatment is taking place under your father’s roof?” the redhead asked skeptically.

  “Never mind Ellie, she’s something of a bluestocking. We keep her around for entertainment. Don’t we, Ells?” St. Martin rolled onto his side and squinted up at his red-headed guest.

  Richard thought of the footman he had reporting back to him about his brother’s every move.

  “Of course, Ellie, but no one can watch two adults at all times. He’s sure to get to her eventually,” argued Richard, annoyed that the redhead refused to simply accept his version of the truth. He decided that freckles were definitely a mark against the girl that simply could not be overcome.

  St. Martin belched thunderously. Undoubtedly an exaggerated version of his tale would be all over London in a day or three. Even if Ellie wasn’t a gossip, St. Martin was. Nonetheless, the conversation had given him an idea. If he could tip Edward into some act that terrified London, Father would be overwhelmed with pressure to lock Edward away. There must be a way to have his brother removed from the title. Briarcliff’s future solvency depended upon it. Perhaps his solicitor could find a way to forcibly secure the estate. He needed to talk wi
th the man anyway to see if there was any hope of getting back the cottage he had bought for his last mistress. Otherwise, she might well prove the most expensive price-per-encounter whore in England.

  After leading him on a protracted dance, Isabella had informed him that the price of a place in her bed was a house. Although she already owned two townhouses and an Italian villa, she rather fancied a quaint English country cottage.

  Unfortunately, her interpretation of the word “cottage” differed markedly from his agent’s. A few months before Richard had engaged one to find him a suitable gift to win lovely Isabella’s affections—and access to the most spectacular set of breasts he had ever laid eyes on—the man had delivered not a charming country house but a cramped, rundown, abandoned hunting lodge.

  True, there had been some room for misinterpretation given the limited sum Richard had been willing to spend, but the property the agent had found was a disgrace. Richard supposed he probably ought to have seen it first, but it was still the agent’s fault for buying a decrepit hunting lodge when he was supposed to be buying a charming cottage. He had spent exactly four nights in Isabella’s bed before being called away to attend his brother, and now Isabella was so furious about the shabby house he had bought her that she would not even let him in through the door.

  Not that she had offered to give back the property. No, she would keep it to tide her over until she found a new arrangement.

  The redheaded girl rolled over to simper at Weston, giving him a glimpse of her limbs revealed by twisted skirts. Unfortunate coloring aside, the girl did have nice legs. He ogled them idly as his mind worked.

  St. Martin had the best house parties. They were an excellent way to pass a summer away from the stench of the city. The best courtesans and demimondaines spent weeks frolicking with whomever was about, a ritual shuffling of the decks offering delights for any man lucky enough to be invited. There were four weeks until the weather would cool enough for London to become bearable again. By late September the fall season would be in full swing. Richard would have to move quickly to put his plans into action.