Lord Sinister
(Secrets & Scandals, Book 3)
by
Tiffany Green
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Lord Sinister
COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Tiffany Green.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information : [email protected]
Cover Art by Fiona Jayde Media
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To James, Paulette, and Fleeta for being the most loving and supportive family in the world.
PROLOGUE
England
August 17, 1809
“God only knows why you’re trying to be quiet now, old man. Just a minute ago, you had the countess screaming her fool head off.”
Unable to keep his grin away, Julian Westland, Marquess of Amersleigh, straightened from the door and turned to his friend. “What’s the matter, Jeremy? Sore because I keep winning those ridiculous bets of yours?”
Jeremy sighed, annoyance flickering in his eyes. “Yes, well—” He nodded toward the closed door where Julian had left the new Countess of Belton slumbering in sated repose. “—I didn’t expect you to win this wager.” He folded his arms. “Nor the wager with Diana’s cousin, Amelia. She was supposed to have been a meek little virgin, rumored to swoon if a man so much as glanced in her direction. I still cannot believe you got the girl into your bed.”
Julian began down the hall, his smile slipping at the reminder. Even though Jeremy’s crowing would have been bad enough, there was something about Amelia that kept him from giving up, as though he had become obsessed. He shook his head as guilt momentarily stabbed him in the middle. Never had it been so difficult getting into a girl’s bed, and he’d had to resort to more than his usual methods of persuasion.
Hell, he still couldn’t get her out of his head, and his body tightened at the reminder. It was damned difficult to believe a virgin would respond in such a delectable way, or make him respond as he did. Perhaps the girl had her maidenhead sewn back together as her cousin, Diana, had in order to dupe Viscount Skeffington into marriage?
Yet Amelia was nothing like her manipulating little witch of a cousin. Nor did she behave like the other debutantes, spouting endless nonsense or playing foolish games to get noticed. He actually liked talking to her.
At the top of the stairs, Julian forced away all thoughts of Amelia and turned to Jeremy. His jovial mood resumed once he noticed his friend’s unusual sour expression. “Does this mean you’re acknowledging my superior prowess with the ladies and are calling a halt to these ludicrous wagers?” he asked, cocking a brow, suppressing a grin.
“Absolutely not,” Jeremy huffed, then started down the steps, grumbling about finding an even better candidate.
With a chuckle, Julian followed his friend back into the crowded ballroom.
Ignoring the reproving glare from his other friend, Nicholas Bradshaw, Marquess of Hamilton, Julian lifted a glass of champagne from an offered tray and brought it to his lips.
“The countess hasn’t even been married a month, Julian,” Nicholas said.
“Indeed.” Jeremy’s eyes followed the voluptuous Mrs. Drake. “That’s why I chose her for him.”
Nick shook his head, expelling a hardy sigh. “The both of you had better be a bit more cautious lest you find an affronted husband calling you out.”
“Don’t be prissy, old man.” Jeremy forced his attention back to Nicholas. “It isn’t like we’re publishing these wagers. Only the three of us know of them.”
Julian listened to his friends argue with only half an ear. Across the room, he noticed Diana, Lady Skeffington, speaking to a small group of ladies. And from the rapt attention of her audience, it seemed a tasty on dit. He also noted Amelia’s absence. Again. A frown tugged at his lips. He hadn’t spoken to or even seen her since the night they’d made love. Nearly three months ago.
For some odd reason, that thought disturbed him. Usually, his amorous attentiveness provoked the opposite reaction. The ladies became pesky flies swarming a honey pot after he bedded them. Even months later, they still buzzed around, wanting more of his attention. Hell, Lady Frasier, one of his earliest—and easiest—victories from last year stood across the room sending obvious look-pricks from over the rim of her champagne glass. He could also feel the stares of at least three others, urging him to turn and show even a hint of interest.
So where the deuce was Amelia?
Julian extracted a fresh glass of champagne from a proffered salver, his thoughts scrambling to find a reason for the girl’s absence. She couldn’t have returned home, he decided. Her father had left her in Diana’s care until his return from the colonies. Perhaps she had taken ill?
Yes, that must be it.
With his conscience nagging him to make an inquiry, Julian placed his empty glass aside, excused himself from his squabbling friends and started in Diana’s direction.
She was laughing at a ribald joke just told about Prinny when he stepped up to her side. “Pardon, Diana, may I speak to you in private?”
With a slow smile, her eyes raked him up and down before she nodded. “Of course.”
He led them into the empty long gallery and halted at a gilded-framed painting of Lord Bentwood’s great-grandfather poised atop a large gray stallion. When he turned to ask his questions, Diana reached up to kiss him. Trying to keep the disgust off his face, Julian stepped back and detached her arms from his neck. “Pray, madam, that is not the reason I wished to speak to you.”
Her painted lips dipped down as she raised her hands to her hips. “Is it not, Lord Julian? Your reputation speaks otherwise.”
There was a reason he never liked the chit, and she reinforced that dislike with every second that ticked by. He swallowed back his anger and inclined his head. “My apologies if I gave you another impression for wishing a word alone. I merely wanted to inquire about Amelia. No one has seen her in quite some time. Is she well?”
Fury sprang to Diana’s eyes, and she balled her hands into fists at her sides. “Oh, indeed, my little charge is quite well. And if you only knew what she has planned for you—” She stopped speaking and pressed her lips together.
Planned for him? He did not like the sound of that. Julian narrowed his eyes, his insides giving a little shudder. “What are you saying?”
She crossed her arms over her ample breasts and huffed, but kept quiet.
Julian knew he was not going to like whatever she had to say. But he had to know, nonetheless. “Tell me exactly what is going on, Diana. Right now.”
Licking her lips, she slid her arms down and gave a defeated sigh. “Amelia is planning…”
He leaned forward when she hesitated, his bad feeling intensifying. “Yes?”
She closed her eyes and wagged her head from side to side. “Oh, Lord Julian, I tried to talk her out of such despicable deceit, I promise I tried.”
“Just tell me,” he said with gritted teeth, his stomach twisting with dread.
A door opened, bringing forth the clamor of a hundred different voices speaking over the music of a Scottish reel, then closed, muffling the clamor. Footsteps sounded, and Julian conveyed a silent message that he would hear the rest of her cryptic message or there would be the d
evil to pay.
The clap of shoes on the wooden parquet floor grew louder. As the person approached, Julian turned his head just enough to recognize the under-butler and relaxed. The man walked by and inclined his head, then continued to the opposite end of the long hall. The smacking of billiard balls sounded as the servant entered the room and closed the door behind him.
Julian glanced back down and leveled Diana a look that conveyed she had better start speaking. “Continue.”
With a sigh that pulled her shoulders up, then back down, she gave him a look of such pity, he nearly took a step back. “Amelia is planning to come see you very soon. Within a day, two at most.”
He narrowed his eyes, his uneasiness spreading to every corner of his body. “And why is that?”
“She is going to tell you she is carrying your child,” Diana answered in a rush.
The bottom of his stomach fell away, and terror seized him cold. He couldn’t think or move or breathe. It took him several seconds to realize she had continued, and it took all his effort to focus on her words.
“…Sorry to say it isn’t at all true but she is jealous of me having a title. When Uncle Royce brings her to America next spring, her chance will be lost. They do not allow titles in that country, you know.”
When the chit finally fell silent, he found it difficult to draw air into his lungs. Then his mind sharpened on one thing she said, and all his hope clung to having her verify he had heard correctly. “What did you say about it not being true?” His voice sounded tight and a bit weak, but he didn’t care. The only thing concerning him at the moment was hearing the right answer to his question.
She gave him an understanding smile and patted his arm. “Worry not, Lord Julian, when Amelia comes to you speaking her lies of carrying your child, know that she is just trying to trap you into marriage. Her jealousy of me has her crazed. Truly, she wishes nothing above becoming the future Duchess of Kenbrook.” She stopped and gave his muscle a good squeeze. “Just send her away and I promise she will be on the first ship to America. I’ve already sent Uncle Royce a note explaining everything, without mentioning your name, of course. He will see that Amelia never bothers you again.” Her smile widened. “So you see, there is nothing whatever to worry about.”
Julian tried to smile, but it wouldn’t hold. He escorted Diana back to her friends on legs of jelly, then turned and hurried toward the doors, his heart pounding in his ears, his body numb with disbelief. Slipping from the crowded ballroom, passing two bowing footmen whose powdered wigs nearly touched the polished marble floor, he made his way toward the stairs. He marched forth in jerky movements, finding it damned difficult to breathe. Perspiration beaded his forehead and his cravat suddenly became too damn confining. He ripped it away, increasing his pace. Still, he felt something around his neck, squeezing, constricting.
Like a noose.
Julian rushed out into the cool garden at the rear of the mansion, dragging deep gulps of floral-scented air into his lungs. He wiped the sweat from his face with a trembling hand, trying to sort out everything Diana just told him. Amelia would lie about carrying his child to try and force him into marriage?
Nausea churned at the thought.
“There you are, Jul—my God, you look awful. Has something happened?” Nicholas stepped closer, his brows pulled together with worry. “Are you ill? What is it?”
With a deep breath, he recited what had happened, the words tumbling from his lips as though he expelled poison.
“Oh, bloody hell,” his friend whispered. “What are you going to do?”
Julian opened his mouth, but wasn’t entirely certain what he would do. Diana told him to just send Amelia away, but what if she came back? He swallowed hard. What if she came back and told his father? He pressed a hand to his roiling stomach. He’d be married as soon as banns were called, lie or no.
So what in the hell was he going to do?
Hoping the answer would just fall from the sky and land right on him, he glanced up. Seeing the smattering of stars twinkle brightly against the velvety blackness, his panic receded. His head started to clear. By God, he was Julian Alexander Westland, Marquess of Amersleigh, son and heir of the most powerful man in Europe. The Duke of Kenbrook. He didn’t have to put up with that little witch’s scheme. Nor would he.
Slowly, Julian turned to his friend. He had his answer. “Worry not, Nick. If Amelia Jamison decides to go through with this foolish ruse of hers, I’ll be prepared.” He gnashed his teeth together. “And I’ll make damn certain the chit never bothers me again.”
****
New York
October 12, 1809
Amelia stared at the closed door for several seconds, watching the brass knocker crash against the base, trying to make sense of what just happened. She couldn’t think, her mind so filled with a thick gray mist. Actually, it had been thusly filled since the day she’d gone to see Lord Julian to tell him she was with child. His child.
Her chest pinched sharply when she recalled his reaction. With crossed arms and a piercing scowl, he said he didn’t believe her and to go try her scheme on someone else. Numbed with shock, she returned to Diana who insisted she leave immediately for America, that her father would know what to do. Her cousin already had her bags packed and a sailing pass in hand. Too traumatized to think straight, Amelia didn’t argue.
And now, after learning she was going to have a child outside of marriage, her father had just slammed the door in her face. He hadn’t asked one single question, merely plucked her from her chair and pushed her out through the front door.
A gust of cold wind pulled at her hair, reminding her she was outside. Lifting her head, she opened her eyes and blinked away the tears blurring her vision. She’d not cry anymore, having spilled enough salty drops to fill the cursed ocean she had just crossed, and meant to keep her vow. Even if she no longer had a home or a family. Even if she had nowhere to go. Even if she had no money to survive.
With a deep breath, she turned around and shuffled her way across the street to the bench on the edge of a lovely park. Easing her travel-weary body down onto the hard marble, she rested her hands over her rounded middle. Her eyes lifted to the sprawling, grey brick mansion across the street, to the two doors painted a gleaming white. To the identical lion-headed brass knockers on the center of each door. She’d just wait for her father to come his senses.
She waited for an hour. Two. Four…
He never came.
CHAPTER 1
New York
March 9, 1819
With a trembling hand, Amelia cleared the thin layer of snow from the gray granite slab. Frigid, calloused fingers with a line of dirt under each short nail jutted out of the finger holes of the soiled brown gloves she had knitted October before last. The backs of her eyes pricked as she read the name on the grave. Rupert Thomas Rutland. Her eyes moved down to the words she had inscribed on the stone and gave a wobbly smile. A gifted medical doctor and a good friend. She had sold her ruby and pearl hairbrush and mirror set to pay for the monument, but it had been worth it. Dr. Rutland’s nephew, Peter, didn’t wish to buy so much as a wooden cross.
“Oh, Dr. Rutland,” she whispered, “you’ve been gone a whole year and I still miss you.” Recalling his kind, brown eyes and shaggy gray hair he never had time to get trimmed, she swallowed the lump of tears clogging her throat. “You were ever so kind to me.” She bit her lip to keep her chin from quivering. “If it hadn’t been for you, I would have died. Alex and I both.” A tear leaped from her bottom lid and skidded a warm path down her cheek. “And now I must say good-bye,” she choked.
She bowed her head. The thought of never visiting the dear man’s grave again filled her with misery. Removing her only handkerchief, she swiped away the tears she couldn’t keep in. Dr. Rutland had saved her from starving ten years ago, saved her again when her son was born. He had taught her everything he knew about healing people. The kind old doctor had given her a home, a job, and friendsh
ip. She had loved him as if he were her father. To be sure, the man had treated her with more love and affection than Royce Jamison ever had.
And now, she had the chance to make a new life. A chance she could not pass up.
She released a weary sigh. “The sewing factory just isn’t paying enough, and none of the doctors here want a woman assistant. I hate the thought of leaving you.” Those cursed tears threatened to resurface. “I must return to England and take the governess position offered to me.”
Amelia went still after speaking those words. When she had accepted the offer, her only consideration had been taking care of her son. Mr. Giles said he would pay her an astounding forty-five guineas per year. She wouldn’t have to worry about feeding Alex his next meal or being able to buy him a coat when the weather turned cold. Of course she had accepted immediately. She’d never have another opportunity like that.
Only now, she realized she would have to return to England. She closed her eyes. There could only be one reason the thought of returning to her birth country would bother her so much. Julian. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t forget a single thing about him. The softness of his dark hair between her fingers. The way his eyes lit up just before he smiled. The feel of his lips sending sparks down her body in every direction as soon as they touched hers.
A little shiver raced down her back at the possibility of seeing him again. She popped open her eyes and shook her head, calling herself a fool. The likelihood she would ever see or speak to Lord Julian Westland, Marquess of Amersleigh, son of the Duke of Kenbrook, was remote at best. She wouldn’t be attending any of those fashionable balls and galas, and he certainly wouldn’t be anywhere near a nursery attending the lessons of small children. No, indeed.
Lord Sinister (Secrets & Scandals Book 3) Page 1
