One
Although the discrete gambling club was renown for excessive stakes and skilled players, it was with a collective sigh of relief that the elegant crowd watched the two gentlemen call for their carriage and leave the smoky rooms.
It was not that the tall, raven-haired Lord Brasleigh, nor the short, decidedly plump Lord Blackmar were not of the highest ton. Indeed, both were undoubtedly leaders of society. It was not that they were not admired and secretly envied among their peers. But after an entire night of being plucked like the veriest flats, they were all anxious to enjoy less-slanted odds.
Indifferent to the jaundiced glances thrown in their direction, Lord Brasleigh and Lord Blackmar exited the club and stepped into the morning fog. Both shivered after the excessive heat of the club, and briskly moved to the waiting carriage. With the elegant grace of a natural sportsman, Lord Brasleigh vaulted into the high-sprung vehicle, while behind him, Lord Blackmar, affectionately known as Pudding, climbed in with considerable more effort. Within moments the carriage was rattling over the cobblestones toward the more fashionable area of London.
Leaning back in his seat, Pudding, attired in a shockingly brilliant yellow coat, regarded his companion with a sardonic smile. “I do hope you are satisfied, Bras?”
Unlike the more flamboyant Pudding, Philip preferred a more conservative attire. His fitted blue coat was without adornment as it smoothly outlined his muscular form, and the familiar Hessians were polished to a blinding glare. Still, with his elegantly handsome features and brilliant silver eyes, he managed to stand out among the more extravagant dandies.
Now, a small smile of satisfaction curved his sensuous mouth as he thought of the numerous notes tucked into his pocket. “Reasonably satisfied,” he acknowledged.
“You managed to fleece every paper scull willing to sit at your table.”
“I noticed you were wily enough to pick your own share of pockets.”
Pudding heaved a tragic sigh, his blue eyes glinting with an inner humor. “I can claim only trifling winnings. I fear my talents are far inferior to your own.”
“Fah.” Philip snorted. His companion might enjoy the image of a rather dim-witted buffoon, but it took little time in his company to realize he possessed a cutting intelligence and sardonic wit. “You may save such nonsense for those too innocent or too foolish to realize you are as cunning as a fox.”
“Really, old boy.” Pudding laughed in protest.
Philip stretched out his legs, allowing his head to rest on the squabs. It was some time since he had last devoted an evening to testing his skills at the card table, and he felt pleasantly weary. “I must say it was a delightful way to spend the evening.”
“Surely not more pleasant than being with the charming Miss Ravel?” Pudding demanded in sly tones.
Philip grimaced. He had no doubt the beautiful actress was furious at his refusal to attend the theater the previous evening. Since his return from Italy, he had pursued the delectable dark-haired beauty with unwavering determination. He had been bewitched by her lusty passions and sophistication. But over the past few weeks, her tantalizing flirtations had become more and more demanding. She had clearly presumed that his attentions were an indication that she possessed the right to command his presence.
It was an assumption that Philip was determined to correct with brutal speed. He might have to endure the continual demands of his mother and the annoying disturbances from his troublesome ward, but he would be damned if he would be led by the nose by his mistress.
“Less wearing at any rate,” he drawled. “Tell me, Pudding, why is it that females cannot resist attempting to shackle a gentleman to their side?”
Pudding shrugged. “I believe it is in their nature.”
“I have noted that you manage to elude any entanglements with the fairer sex,” he accused.
“Ah, but that is because my wits are greater than my heart, you see.”
“Yes.” Philip chuckled. “At least I shall soon be rid of one burdensome female.”
“Indeed?”
“I have at last discovered a gentleman—a suitable gentleman—to wed my ward,” he announced in pleased tones.
Pudding regarded his satisfied expression with a hint of suprise. “Who is that?”
“Monsieur LeMont.”
“Good lord! The tragic refugee that has sent young maidens swooning since his return to London?”
“Yes, indeed.” Philip’s tone was a hint smug. It had taken some time to find a gentleman of suitable birth who was also in desperate enough straits to accept a settlement in exchange for a bride he had never encountered. But he had been quite pleased by LeMont. He was a shy, rather sensitive young gentleman with a pleasing countenance. Unfortunately, his mother was less commendable. She was a pushy harpy who would no doubt plague the young couple with her managing habits. Still, he would be free of Miss Bella Lowe and her outrageous antics. “The wedding shall take place in June.”
Pudding widened his eyes. “Has your ward ever met Monsieur LeMont?”
“No.”
“Egad.” Pudding gave a disbelieving laugh. “That’s doing it a bit brown, don’t you think, Bras?”
“It is hardly the first arranged marriage, Pudding,” he pointed out with a muffled yawn.
“Perhaps not, but no matter how troublesome she might be, it is rather bad of you to hand her off without so much as consulting her wishes.”
“Troublesome? She has bedeviled me since the unfortunate day I became her guardian,” he informed Pudding. Although he had never actually met the unruly Miss Lowe—he had assumed care for her while serving in Europe—there was rarely a day that he did not receive a missive from his butler in Bath with some fresh disaster. “In the past two years, I have been forced to hire six different companions in the hope they could mend her hoydenish behavior, only to have them flee in terror.”
Pudding appeared remarkably unsympathetic. “Well, Colonel Lowe was a spirited devil, always in the thick of action. It would be odd if his daughter did not possess a bit of his nature.”
Easy enough for him to say, Philip thought wryly. Certainly Colonel Lowe had possessed more fiery courage than any other man he had ever encountered. But while such qualities were admirable in a soldier, they were a blessed nuisance in a young maiden.
“I doubt that would be much comfort to poor Regert.”
“Regert?”
“My butler in Bath. He has been in charge of my poor ward since I moved her to my estate, and a thankless task it has been, I assure you. When I held Colonel Lowe in my arms and promised to care for his daughter, I had no notion what a hellion she would prove to be.”
Pudding gave a laugh. “I must say that I prefer chits with a bit of sauce to them. Nothing more tedious than the milk-and-toast misses that are herded into London every season.”
“Then perhaps I should arrange a match with you. From all reports, she is a pretty enough wench if you can ignore her ill-bred behavior.”
“Egad, do not even jest about such a dreadful fate.” Pudding gave a dramatic shudder.
“Do not fear, Pudding.” Philip offered a mocking smile. “Miss Lowe might be a bothersome brat, but not even I would condemn her to marriage with a notorious rake such as yourself.” The carriage pulled to a smooth halt in the front of a large town house. With the ease of a man who has done his duty, Philip swept his troublesome ward from his mind. “Ah, we have arrived. I hope you will join me for breakfast.”
“When have I ever declined to sample your talented chef’s masterpieces? One day I shall lure him away from you.”
“Never,” Philip swore, waiting for the groom to open the carriage door. Climbing down to the street, he waited for Pudding to pull himself from the carriage, then led him up the steps and into the foyer. They paused to allow the silently efficient butler to take their hats and gloves; then taking an appreciative sniff of the appetizing aromas wafting from the breakfast room, they moved toward the hall. At the same moment, the study door was pulled open to reveal a thin, nearly bald gentleman.
“Good morning, my lord,” the secretary murmured in an apologetic tone.
Philip grimaced. John Watson had been handling his personal affairs for years, and only sought his presence when trouble was brewing.
“Good morning, Watson. Did you wish to speak with me?”
“Yes, for a moment, if it is not too much bother.”
“I feared as much. I suppose something is amiss?”
The secretary gave a faint cough. “I do have a few matters that I wish to discuss.”
Philip lifted a hand to rub the aching muscles of his neck. “Can they not wait?”
“I do not believe so, my lord.”
“Gads. Remind me to have you dismissed when I am not so weary,” he retorted with wry humor.
Watson gave a faint smile. “Very good, my lord.”
“Well, at least allow me to pour myself a brandy. Whenever you approach me with that air of impending gloom, I am certain to be annoyed. Pudding, perhaps you would prefer to go on to breakfast?”
“Actually, I could use a brandy myself.” The plump gentleman gave a faint shrug. “Besides, I might be of assistance.”
Clapping his friend on the shoulder, Philip led him into the study and crossed to the side table to pour a healthy measure of brandy for both of them. Then, turning, he regarded Watson with a steady gaze. “Now, what has occurred?”
“Your mother sent a message this morning.”
Philip raised his brows. “Hardly earth-shattering, Watson. My mother sends a message every morning.”
Since his father’s death ten years ago, Lady Brasleigh had devoted her considerable energies to keeping her only child tied to her side. There was rarely a day that passed that she did not invent some means of demanding his attention.
It was a burden that Philip bore with as much patience as possible. His mother could not alter her need to be the center of his life. Nor could she comprehend that Philip could possibly wish to devote his time to anyone but herself. Still, there were times when Philip found her smothering needs a source of irritation.
“What does she want on this occasion?”
“It seems that she has heard of a Dr. Benton who she wishes you to contact. She believes he might help relieve the pain in her back.”
The words were spoken without emotion, although Watson was as aware as Philip that Lady Brasleigh’s insistence that she was at death’s door was no more than emotional blackmail.
“That is all she needs.” Philip sighed. “Yet another fool to demand a small ransom for his worthless services.”
“Shall I request the doctor to call on Lady Brasleigh?”
Philip’s lips twisted. “We shall have no peace until we do.” His silver gaze narrowed. “Just be sure he realizes I shall not be bled dry, no matter how devoted my mother may be to maintaining her ill health.”
Watson gave a nod of his head. “Of course, my lord.”
Philip took a fortifying sip of brandy. Good gads, a gentleman should not have to deal with demanding mothers and charlatan doctors before he had managed to enjoy his breakfast. “What other grim tidings do you have to impart?”
“I have received an imperative message from Regert this morning.”
Philip smiled with rueful humor. Poor Regert. He had no doubt been treated with any number of furious tirades when Miss Lowe had received his message that she was to be wed. “Has he prepared Miss Lowe to travel to London?”
The secretary cleared his throat in an ominous manner. “I fear that is not possible.”
“Not possible? Absurd. All he need do is pack her bags and load her into the carriage. Bound and gagged if necessary.”
“Unfortunately, Miss Lowe has run off.”
The brandy glass landed on the table with a loud bang. “Run off?”
“Regert heard her sneaking from your estate late in the evening. He rose to see her leaving with a small case.”
Bloody hell, he silently swore. The woman was without a doubt the most provoking, most ill-behaved wench in all of England. Even miles away she managed to keep his life in constant turmoil. The sooner she was married and off his hands the better. “Why did he not halt her?” he demanded.
“He possessed the presence of mind to realize that she would simply make the attempt to flee again, so he thought it better that he follow her and ensure she was safe before sending for you.”
Although it had clearly been the wise choice, it did nothing to relieve Philip’s mounting annoyance. “The devil take the troublesome minx. Where is she?”
“In Surrey, my lord.”
Philip gave a choked cough. It was not at all what he had expected. “Surrey?”
“It seems she met Lady Stenhold in one of the posting inns. They struck up a friendship, and Lady Stenhold offered to shelter her until she could find a post.”
“Aunt Caroline?” Pudding abruptly broke into the conversation, making Philip recall Lady Stenhold was indeed Lord Blackmar’s great aunt. “I cannot believe that the old tartar would agree to hide a maiden from her own guardian.”
Watson raised his hands in a helpless motion. “From what Regert could determine, it appears that Miss Lowe is posing as a widow in straightened circumstances.”
“Egad. Aunt Caroline deceived by a mere chit?” Pudding gave a low whistle. “I have never been capable of slipping anything past the wily bird. Your Miss Lowe must be very clever.”
“She is a willful hoyden in dire need of a lesson,” Philip corrected through clenched teeth. “Not only has she flaunted my authority, she has opened herself up to God knows what sort of scandalous gossip.”
“What shall I do, my lord?”
That was the question, Philip acknowledged in exasperation. He had done everything possible to keep Miss Lowe in comfort. He had opened his vast estate for her home; he had hired companions, music and art teachers, and even ensured that she was given the finest fashions to wear. And in return, she had behaved with a shocking lack of gratitude. Perhaps it was time to prove to Miss Lowe just how harsh life could be without his protection.
“I shall deal with Miss Lowe personally,” he informed his secretary. “Send word to Regert that he is to remain in Surrey, but not allow Miss Lowe to realize that he has followed her there.”
Watson gave a faint bow. “Very good, my lord.”
As the secretary left, Philip moved to pour himself another measure of brandy. His noble countenance was marred by an uncommon bout of annoyance. “This time Miss Lowe has pressed me beyond all measure,” he said in dark tones.
A renegade hint of amusement glinted in Pudding’s blue eyes. “I must admit she possesses a considerable amount of brass.”
“Brass? She is unruly, ill behaved, and entirely ungrateful of the effort I have expended to secure her a suitable husband.”
“Egad . . . How beastly inconsiderate of her. One would think that she would be delighted to wed a man she has never encountered, who is solely interested in the blunt you have promised.”
The fact that there was more than a grain of truth in the mocking words did nothing to ease Philip’s irritation. He was not without sympathy for the young woman’s position, but really, she had disrupted his life once too often.
“I have devoted more than a reasonable amount of time catering to her needs,” he argued. “She is nearing three and twenty. Soon she will be on the shelf, and I shall never be rid of her.”
“You are rid of her now,” Pudding pointed out, a shrewd glint entering his pale eyes. “If she is such a burden, why not simply allow her to remain with Lady Stenhold? It is clearly what she prefers.”
The handsome countenance hardened. In truth, the same thought had flitted through his own mind. Perhaps the headstrong young lady would learn a bit of respect if he turned his back on her. But he had instantly dismissed the rather pleasing notion. He had given his word to Colonel Lowe that he would see his daughter properly established, and that was exactly what he intended to do.
“Whether I like the situation or not, she is my responsibility.”
“So what will you do? Go to Surrey and haul her back?”
“In time,” Philip conceded, his thoughts brooding upon a suitable means of teaching the minx the error of flaunting his authority. He wanted to ensure that she realized the dangers of a maiden on her own. And most of all, he wanted to ensure that she was anxious to wed the worthy Monsieur LeMont. But how? With the swift intelligence that had kept him and his regiment alive on more than one occasion during the war, he shifted through numerous plots and strategies until a slow smile at last curved his lips. “But first I intend to ensure that she never challenges my authority again.”
“And how do you intend to accomplish that feat?”
A slow smile curved his full lips. “Quite simply. I shall seduce her.”
* * *
With great care, Bella Lowe lowered the tray onto the satinwood table. A tiny maiden with curls the shade of minted gold and eyes as dark as a midnight sky, she appeared barely old enough to have escaped the schoolroom. But beneath the angelic appearance was a passionate and impetuous nature.
Perhaps too impetuous, she acknowledged for the hundredth time since fleeing from the estate outside of Bath. What young maiden with the least amount of sense left her only home with a few pounds, half a dozen gowns, and no one to take her in?
Of course, she had been decidedly out of sorts when she had packed her few belongings and fled the estate, she acknowledged. She had only known that she would rather live in the gutters than marry a gentleman she did not love. That was what had sent her scurrying to the local village. From there, she had taken the first coach to London, vaguely intending to seek employment. But much to her horror, she had discovered that traveling in a private carriage with a staff of servants was far different from traveling on her own. At the posting inn, she had left the carriage for a badly needed breath of air, only to be accosted by a group of drunken soldiers.
It was Lady Stenhold who had saved her by inviting her into her private parlor and sharing her dinner. She had then offered to take Bella to Surrey and to help her in her search for a position. Without her kind invitation to travel to Surrey and stay at Mayfield she had no notion what would have become of her.
And it was all Lord Brasleigh’s fault.
For goodness’ sakes, even the lowest servants were allowed to decide whom they would wed. No matter how difficult it might be for a woman on her own, could it be any worse than being parceled off to a mercenary stranger?
A shudder wracked her slender body. Blast Lord Brasleigh and his interference. She had never wished to have a guardian. Especially not one who was arrogant, coldhearted, and so clearly indifferent to her happiness.
This entire mess was all his fault.
The soft rustle of silk brought a swift end to her brooding, and with a smile Bella turned to watch the elderly dowager with silver hair enter the room.
At the sight of Bella standing beside the tray, Lady Stenhold gave a fond click of her tongue. “Really, Anna, I employ an entire regiment of servants. There is no need for you to wait upon me.”
As always, Bella felt a twinge of guilt at the charade she was playing. Although her true name was Annabella, she -could not pretend she had not lied when she had introduced herself as Anna Smith. Especially since she had also added that she was a destitute widow searching for a position.
It only made it worse that Lady Stenhold had proven to be so very kind.
“I feel I must do something to repay your generosity.”
“Nonsense.” Lady Stenhold waved a heavily jeweled hand as she moved to seat herself next to the tray. Attired in a patterned silk gown, she perfectly suited the sweeping crimson-and-gold drawing room. She possessed a regal dignity that Bella could only envy. “You have more than repaid any kindness by the pleasure of you companionship.”
Bella took a seat on the beechwood chair upholstered in a crimson damask silk. “Have you heard from any of your acquaintances in regard to their need for a companion?”
Lady Stenhold poured them each a cup of tea, then filled a small plate with delicate pastries and handed it to Bella. “It is far too soon for a response, my dear.”
“Yes, I suppose,” she reluctantly agreed. How much more comfortable she would feel once she was certain she had found a means of supporting herself, she thought with a sigh. Without control of her own fortune until she was twenty-five, she was dependent on earning a salary.
“You are not in a hurry to leave me, I hope?” Lady Stenhold teased.
“Oh, no. You have been so very good to me.”
Lady Stenhold leaned back in her seat to regard Bella with a pair of piercing green eyes. Not for the first time, Bella felt a hint of unease beneath the steady gaze.
“It is the least I can do for a widow on her own. Such a shame to have lost your husband at your tender age.”
Bella would not blush, she told herself over and over. “Oh, yes.”
“Of course you are not alone. Such a dreadful war.”
“Yes.”
Clearly sensing Bella’s sudden stiffness, Lady Stenhold made a graceful retreat.
“I am sorry, my dear. It is obviously a painful subject for you.”
Her mythical dead husband had proven to be more awkward than painful, and it was with a sense of relief that she was not forced to reply as the door slid open to reveal the small, rather fussy butler. “Pardon me, my lady.”
“Yes, Dunne?” Lady Stenhold demanded.
“You have visitors.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, my lady. Lord Blackmar and Lord Brasleigh.”
Lord Brasleigh.
Barely aware she was moving, Bella surged to her feet with a stricken expression.
“Oh, my God.”