“My lord?” she asked, tugging his hand. “The music.”
Surprise rippled through him as they started the steps. Talk about having gone daft. He spun her about and she moved effortlessly with him. “My apologies,” he said. “I was caught off guard by your…words.”
She nodded. “I understand.” She let out a long, sweet breath, the smell of mint filling the air. “I was thirteen when my mother died. I didn’t know how I’d go on.”
His jaw clenched. Thirteen. He’d been a man of near twenty when his parents had passed. He hurt a little for her. “And your father?”
Her lips pursed. “I’ve no memory of him. He died long before I was old enough to know him.”
She was an orphan. A muscle in his cheek ticked. Such a heavy weight for such slender shoulders to bear. “And the matron to whom I introduced myself?”
“My aunt. My father’s sister took me in.” There was a slight shudder in her features. “She is the widow of the Baron Hartworth.”
Had her aunt been kind? The discussion he’d overheard led him to believe she hadn’t been. Why had Chloe stopped talking in front of strangers? But these questions were far too personal, and he held them in. Which was an oddity, in and of itself. First, he rarely cared to ask questions about anyone. And when he did wish to know, he didn’t observe such restraint. That was the thing about living on the edge of death for so long, he’d ceased caring about so much of what society held dear. Opium would do that to a man. “May I ask one more question?”
She gave him a gentle smile. The kind that spoke of a warm heart and his chest tightened. “Ask as many as you like. I have not worn myself out discussing my past with very many people. The ones I talk to know it already.”
“Very true.” He returned her smile. Which made his cheeks hurt a bit. Apparently he hadn’t used those muscles in some time. Two smiles and they ached. “Why are you here? Why come to this party if you don’t talk to anyone?” He’d like to add that her aunt was busy heaping on more humiliation, but he refrained.
“Part of my aunt’s duties, as per my father’s will, are to see me suitably married. She is a baroness after all and better suited than most to help me make a match. She might have refused but most of the Baron’s estate was entailed. And—” she stopped talking, realizing she’d revealed extremely personal information.
He didn’t need her to say the rest. The aunt lived off of Chloe, and when Chloe married, Lady Hartworth would get a lump sum for her trouble. It ensured that Chloe married. Her parents likely meant to care for their young daughter. But, if he were to hazard a guess, her aunt was now angry that she hadn’t received her money and took her frustration out on Chloe. Hence the tension between them. “That is unfortunate.”
She looked away from him, showing him her profile once again. “I suppose it is.” Then those large brown eyes turned toward his again. They bathed him in a warmth he hadn’t experienced in ages. “Enough about me. What about you? What’s your sad story?”
Chapter Three
Chloe watched the Earl’s face change. A moment before, his dark gaze had been full of heat. Or at the very least, it was causing her to warm. She supposed she’d reacted to the way he’d held her a touch closer than respectable, the suppleness of his lips, the intimacy in his stare. But at her innocent question, he’d gone cold. His head pushed back, his lips pulled tight.
In retrospect, asking about his past wasn’t innocent, but her intent was. She didn’t want to dominate the conversation with her tale of woe, it seemed selfish and perhaps, intimidating. “My apologies if I offended. I’m not used to talking about myself. I thought only to direct the conversation to you.”
His shoulders relaxed, lowering a notch. “Kind of you. Thank you.” He spun her around. “But you already know my tale. My parents died in a shipwreck and I inherited a failing earldom.”
She stared at him. If that was the whole tale, why the tension? But if he didn’t want to tell her, she wouldn’t ask again. It was none of her business.
“Dryden, what the hell are you doing?” Lord Parks stopped on the edge of the dancers and gave Lord Dryden a raised eyebrow.
“I beg your pardon?”
Dryden spun her again, holding her in a solid grip, which was a good thing because otherwise she might have melted into the floor. Lord Parks was one of the many men who had decided because she didn’t speak, she didn’t understand. If they caught her at a party, they whispered all sorts of depraved ideas into her ear. Things she’d never repeat…things that made her skin crawl.
Dryden spun her around and she saw the look on Parks’ face. Leering was the best word for it. His lips curled and his eyes followed her with a heavy stare.
“I don’t blame you,” Parks said as they moved closer. “Perhaps I’ll take the next dance after you.”
Every muscle in her body tightened and she moved closer to Dryden. Sweat broke out on her body and she looked up at him, pleading for him to…what? Save her? Parks was free to claim a dance and she was powerless to refuse. Not without her voice.
Dryden’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at her. “Sorry, chap, I’ve already claimed the next dance.”
Parks chuckled. A slimy sound that crawled down her skin, causing her to shiver. “You sly dog. I’d like to do more than just dance with that one. There’s a woman that can keep a man’s secrets.”
The blood drained from her face as Dryden’s features hardened into granite. He spun her away without a word. They kept spinning through the throng of dancers until a blast of cool spring air hit her skin and then, without warning, the spinning stopped and they glided through the patio doors.
He wasn’t the first man to attempt to get her outside and away from the crowd, but he was the only one who’d been successful. His movements had been so decisive and strong they’d carried her away. “Oh my,” she whispered as much to herself as to him. “How did that just happen?”
They stood on the patio, several other couples milling about but each was content to give the other space for their private conversation. “I’d like to ask a similar question. What did Parks mean?”
Heat infused her cheeks and she looked away, staring into the dark shrubbery. “What was it you said? You already know my story?”
He let out a grumble of dissatisfaction. It came from deep in his chest and her own body shook to the beat of it. He bent down and spoke close to her ear. “I am not content with that answer.”
Strange. She actually wanted to tell him. Well, not all of it. Not the particulars. She’d die before she did that. But to share with someone how those men tortured her. She’d be less alone then. “I was not content with yours either. But…we hardly know each other.”
He still had his hand at her waist, and he pulled her closer. They weren’t touching, but they were a breath apart. “Before I pulled myself up by my bootstraps, I gambled away whatever money wasn’t entailed and then I descended into a pit of opium in an attempt to take my own life. My past is dark and gruesome, and I’d be dead if my cousin hadn’t tracked me down and rescued me.”
She let out a gasp and her hands came to his chest. She couldn’t wrap them around his neck and hold him close like she wanted to. “That must have been awful.” She clutched at his shirt to keep from caressing his face.
“It was and now it’s done, and I will never go to that place again. Now tell me your secret. What did Parks mean?”
She turned her face away again and pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. She didn’t want to say it, but she also desperately wanted to let the secret out. “When they ask me to dance, they whisper terrible things in my ear, thinking that I don’t understand or that I can’t repeat. Not ever.”
“Repeat them to me.”
She looked at him again, gasping a breath. She could never…
* * *
A slow-burning fury was building in his chest. The sort that would be difficult to put out. Strange, he’d only known this woman for less than an hour.
But deep inside, he sensed that she was a kindred spirit. She’d lost, and she’d suffered, and she’d born her scars, but she’d come out the other side of her grief with a lovely softness and warmth that made him ache.
If he were a different man, he’d say he was smitten. But that wasn’t possible. One couldn’t descend into the black pit of opium and come out the other side to have such joyful emotions. For the longest time, he hadn’t felt anything at all. And now, he had to guard against such highs. They made him afraid he’d be tempted again.
But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t protect her. She was a phoenix, rising from her ashes and several people attempted to push her back into the black pit. He’d not have it. He understood her pain too well to watch it happen.
“Tell me,” he whispered against her ear. “I won’t think less of you and you’ll free your heart from its burden.”
“I can’t,” she choked. “It’s too awful.”
Giving a quick glance about, he pulled her onto a dark path, finding a spot where they had more privacy. “Whisper the words in my ear. I won’t see your face and you won’t have to see mine.”
She cleared her throat.
A sliver of moonlight lit the garden just enough for him to see the outline of a bench. He sat upon it, tugging her down to sit next to him, but she must have lost her balance because she tumbled down into his lap. He nearly groaned aloud. Bloody hell, she felt good. The soft curve of her backside fit into his lap in the most satisfying way. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—” Her sultry voice rippled across his ear.
“It’s all right. Maybe better even. Look over my shoulder and whisper.” He forced his body to heel as he focused on her words.
“Well,” she took a shuddering breath against his ear. “Lord Parks is fond of telling me that if he ever got me alone he’d fuck me—”
Rage seared through his body. He growled and her words stopped. The bastard. He’d pay for those words. Every single one of them would be taken from the man’s hide. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt, sweetheart. Tell me all of them.”
She did, in halting words that picked up steam, she uttered all the foul, filthy things an innocent woman of her station should never know. Lord Parks was only the first in a series of men. Lord Haverdash, Parks’ closest compatriot, and Lord Husk had also made sport of Chloe. At some point, her cheek came to rest against his and her tears wet his skin. He didn’t mind. He wrapped his arms about her back, holding her against his chest.
Her arms snaked about his neck. “Lord Dryden,” she finally whispered. “Please tell me that you won’t share my secret with anyone. I’m so ashamed.”
“First,” he said as he placed a soft kiss on her cheek. He shouldn’t but the velvet skin called to him. What was happening to him? “You’re to call me Fin. Though my full name is Fenton, only my cousins call me that still.” He kissed her again at the place where her ear curved up to meet her cheek. “Second. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of. They’re the ones who should worry. And third, your secret is safe with me.”
She nodded against his cheek, her soft skin rubbing his in a silky touch. “I should return to my aunt. She must be wondering where I’ve been.”
Chloe was right. He stood, still holding her as she gained her balance. He took out his pocket square, dabbing at her face, and then he began guiding her back along the path. They slipped inside just as the song ended. Skirting the crowd, he easily found her aunt. How many sets had they been gone for? He’d lost all sense of time. But her aunt looked pleased rather than alarmed. He breathed a sigh of relief.
Handing Chloe back to the woman, he gave Chloe a wink as he turned to her aunt. “May I ask what time your calling hours begin in the morning?”
A wide smile spread across Lady Hartworth’s face. “Eleven, my lord.”
“Very good,” he said and then he turned to leave. He had a great deal to do before eleven in the morning.
Chapter Four
Chloe sat in the parlor, ringing her hands. Then she pulled her gloves higher to keep the skin of her arms covered. It was ten and she’d hardly slept a wink the night before. She and her aunt hadn’t returned home until the wee hours of the morning, then she’d been unable to fall asleep. When the sun had risen, she’d gotten up with the first beams of light and sent missives off to her best friends. She needed their counsel now.
They had saved her, the three women who had become her closest companions. Without them, she never would have survived in her aunt’s house. They’d developed a plan as well, one on which Chloe had pinned all her hopes of escaping her life. If none of them married, they’d pool their resources and buy a home in a quiet village by the sea. They were her family, more so than Aunt Mildred had ever been. Surely, they could help her again.
Penny, a dark-haired beauty, was an orphan like her and for better or worse, she’d had no family to take her in. She didn’t suffer from an unintentionally cruel aunt, but she also didn’t have a chance to make a respectable match.
Caroline had taken their friend in instead. Caroline had a healthy allowance from her mother and no prospects of marriage since a rake had ruined her. Then there was Annabelle, the smartest person Chloe knew, which meant she hated society and its meaningless pursuits. Together they were a band of outcasts.
The butler ushered in her friends and Chloe rose to hug each of them, so glad they were here.
“My, you look lovely this morning. That’s quite the dress.” Penny gave her a gentle hug, clearly trying not to wrinkle anything. “We can’t be the occasion.”
Chloe looked down at her muslin gown. Its pale-blue tones complimented her honey skin and hair. She’d worn the dress to impress Fin. She could admit that to herself. Heat filled her cheeks. “I’ve a visitor coming at eleven. He is the emergency I need your help with.”
The ladies all sat as Caroline clapped her hands. “Finally, a male emergency. Wait.” She stopped clapping, dropped her hands and her large green eyes widened. “He didn’t ruin you, did he?” Her features pinched as her face paled.
Chloe shook her head. No, he hadn’t ruined her. But the truth was, he could. Between their time alone in the garden and the information she’d shared with him… “No, he didn’t.”
“Who is this he we’re discussing? Let’s start from the beginning.” Annabelle’s silky blonde hair slipped from its coif, framing her face. She leaned forward as though about to solve a riddle. Annabelle was a bluestocking through and through and faced every problem with a scientific mind.
Chloe cleared her throat. She knew her friends would know of the man. Everyone knew the earl who’d mostly shunned society. Whenever he did participate, his dark and brooding looks often set young ladies atwitter. A rake, a rogue, and a dangerous man/earl. She feared they would not approve. “The Earl of Dryden.” Fin.
The room went still. “Oh, Chloe,” Penny finally managed to say. “Not him.”
Her spine stiffened. “Why not him?”
Penny pressed her hands together. “Well,” she paused. “There are dark rumors about the man. He rose from nothing, but they say he didn’t do it legally. He has all sort of ties to shady figures in the Docklands and…” Her voice trailed off.
Annabelle picked up the next sentence. “He rarely participates in polite society.”
She supposed that was alarming and Chloe pressed out a few creases in her dress as she debated her answer. “You rarely participate in polite society. I am a social mute. What does that matter?”
Annabelle shifted in her seat.
Caroline leaned in with her fan. “Technically, it doesn’t. It’s just that we worry he might be a seedy sort of character. I know so little about him, which is, in and of itself, alarming.” Caroline’s father was titled so she’d spent two seasons with the elite of London. “The ton’s world is a small one, hence why it’s so easy to be ruined.”
Chloe looked at her lap. They had made several good points. He himself mentioned his opium addiction. Not a fact she’d
tell her friends. “Last night, he told me about his past and he asked me about mine. Not only that but…” She paused, licking her lips. Her heart beating faster even as she remembered what she’d said. To tell her friends the truth about what had happened during her outings in society would be difficult to admit. “He listened to me when I shared a particular problem I’ve been having with a few other lords.”
“What problem?” Annabelle asked, leaning forward so far she was in danger of toppling out of her seat. “You didn’t tell us you were having a problem.”
“It doesn’t matter now. I feel much better for telling him. He said that I shouldn’t carry around the burden of it and he was right. I’m lighter for having shared.”
Caroline held up her hands. “You told a near stranger what you couldn’t tell us? What was it? Chloe, you have to be careful of men with his kind of reputation. Look what happened to me. You don’t want to be ruined like I was.” Caroline visibly trembled. “Does what you told him have the power to ruin you? Tell me it doesn’t. What did you say to him?”
Chloe winced, her stomach clenching. The more she talked, the more dire her situation seemed. What she’d shared had been so personal. Why had she done it? The things those lords said to her might have made a seasoned woman’s hair curl and she’d gone and repeated them to Fin. If it ever got out, she’d be ruined for sure. Her hands fisted in her skirt. Fool. “I don’t want to tell you and he won’t tell anyone else. I’m sure of it.”
“You have to tell us.” Penny reached for her hand. “And you can’t trust a man you don’t know.” Then she stopped. “Wait. Do you mean to tell me that you talked to him? Actually talked? How is this just occurring to me?”
“She did.” A deep voice rumbled from the door.
A thrill raced up Chloe’s spine. It was Fin.
She gazed at the door, her heart hammering in her chest. Then she gasped. Fin leaned casually against the door frame. Tall, dark, dangerous. Even more so. He still wore his formal attire from the evening before only it was battered and ripped, torn in several places and covered in dirt. “How did you get in?”
The Wicked Wallflowers Page 2
