What a Wicked Earl Wants (2 page)

Eventually they stumbled inside the mansion and made no attempt to hide their laughter.

Bell wiped the dampness off the shoulders of his coat and strolled back to the house. He might as well return home, since he’d struck out on finding a mistress. Tomorrow he would think of a new plan.

He strode through the corridor, noting someone had lit a candle branch. When he emerged, he heard a cacophony of voices coming from the dining room. He had no wish to make himself agreeable to anyone else this evening.

Bell strode toward the foyer but halted beside the stairwell upon hearing a feminine voice from the staircase. “Justin?”

He couldn’t see her from this vantage point.

He heard an odd sound beneath the stairwell. Bell looked underneath in time to see a man pushing a flask beneath it with his heel. Then footsteps clipped on the marble floor. “I’m here,” the man said, walking to the bottom of the staircase.

Bell noted he was the young man with a shock of wheat-colored hair.

“Where have you been?” a woman said in a stern tone. “I’ve looked everywhere for you.”

“Oh, we just moved about the ballroom and the adjoining rooms,” he said.

What an accomplished liar he was, Bell thought.

“Your face is flushed,” the woman said as she descended. Now Bell could see her. She was the blond woman he’d seen in the garden.

“I hope you haven’t been drinking with your friends again,” she said.

“Always suspicious,” the young man said.

“It’s late, and I wish to return home,” the blonde said.

A few minutes later, their voices receded.

Approaching footsteps alerted Bell. He turned as Lady Atherton regarded him with a knowing smile. “Are you in the habit of listening to others’ conversations, Bellingham?” she asked.

“Not if I can help it. And you?”

“I’m just the hostess of this grand squeeze,” she said.

“Who is she?” he asked.

Lady Atherton took a deep breath and slowly released it. “She’s not for the likes of you, Bell.”

He recalled the way the blonde had stared at him earlier with parted lips. “I didn’t ask if she was for me. I asked for her name.”

Lady Atherton shook her head. “Leave her be, Bellingham. She’s a widow with a boy to rear. You want no part of her life.”

“I’m afraid I am part of it, unwillingly,” he said. The blonde must be the widow his friends had mentioned, but he said nothing of that to Lady Atherton. He reached beneath the stairwell and retrieved the flask. “You see, I believe she needs to know her son is lying through his teeth.”

“Oh dear. She did say he was at a trying age.”

“That, I believe, is an understatement.”

Lady Atherton sighed and held out her hand. “Give the flask to me, and I’ll see that it’s returned.”

This was an opportunity to find out if she had meant to issue him an invitation when she’d stared at him earlier. He told himself he only wanted to warn her about her son. He told himself she had every right to know. He told himself that the boy might find himself in serious straits if he didn’t alert her. But ultimately, he knew he wouldn’t be able to get her out of his head until he spoke to her. “He’s taking advantage of her. Someone needs to put the fear of the devil in that boy.”

Lady Atherton’s eyes widened. “And you think you’re the one to do it? Hah!”

“I’m an eyewitness.” He paused and added, “I want her name.”

“Only if you swear this is about the boy and nothing else,” she said.

He felt victorious, but he hid it. “Her name and address, please.”

Lady Atherton hesitated again. “Her name is Laura Davenport. That’s Lady Chesfield to you,” she said, her expression sharp. “Her address is number ten, Grosvenor Square. And, Bellingham, I meant what I said. She’s a respectable widow and not for the likes of a rakehell like you.”

Perhaps, but he meant to find out. “She’s incredibly naïve where that boy is concerned.”

Lady Atherton clasped her hands. “Well, I agree he ought to have more respect for his stepmother.”

Bell bowed. “Thank you for an interesting evening.” Then he strode out the door.

The next afternoon

After dismissing his secretary, Bell opened the desk drawer where he’d stowed the flask last night. After retrieving it, he thought about his plans to return the flask to Lady Chesfield and reconsidered. What the devil did he expect to gain? The last thing he wanted was to become involved in the lady’s problems.

She was a stranger to him. They had not been introduced, and yet, he’d pried her name and address from Lady Atherton, who was very strict about the proprieties. He ought to have left well enough alone. Now he was obliged to return the blasted flask.

Out of curiosity, he opened the flask, expecting to find cheap gin, but one sniff proved the liquor was brandy. Bell sipped it and realized it was of top-notch quality. Most likely the young buck had purloined the brandy from a decanter at home.

The wayward young man wasn’t his responsibility. He could send a footman to deliver the flask, but Lady Chesfield wouldn’t know why he’d sent it. With a sigh, he drew out paper, pen, and ink, thinking he would describe what he’d seen last night. No, that was too much trouble. He would simply state in his message that he’d found her son’s flask. Whatever transpired afterward was none of his affair.

Bell started to shut the drawer when he saw the small leather sketchbook inside that had belonged to his mother. His heart drummed in his ears. A new maid had recently found it in the attic. That day, he’d looked at one page and shoved it inside the desk drawer. Bell ought to have told the maid to return it to the attic the day the sketchbook was discovered. Then it would have been out of his sight and mind forever. He walked over to the bell, intending to ring for the housekeeper. He meant to ask her to return the sketchbook to the attic. But he hesitated, because he didn’t want her to touch it.

After four years, he ought to have put the past behind him. Most of the time, he managed to shove it to the far corners of his brain, but the periodic nightmares served as a reminder of all that he’d loved and lost.

He returned to the desk, determined to shut the drawer. But something beckoned him. His ears thudded as he retrieved the sketchbook and opened it to a random page. A small boy sat on a sofa with a bundled infant. He gritted his teeth at the inscription near the bottom of the page.
Andrew, age two, holding Steven one month after birth.
His heart thumped at the sketch of him and his younger brother.

Damn it all to hell. He’d known nothing good could come of resurrecting the memories. They were gone forever.

He’d been too late all those years ago.

Bell shut the sketchbook and shoved it back inside the cubbyhole in the desk. The past no longer existed. There was only the here and now.

Gritting his teeth, he strode over to the bell rope and pulled it. When Griffith, the butler, appeared, Bell made arrangements to have his carriage brought round. He would deliver the flask to Lady Chesfield and have done with the matter once and for all.

Laura Davenport, Lady Chesfield, sat with her new lap desk and drew out paper, pen, and ink. She tried to think of what to tell her sister Rachel about her “London adventure,” as her sister called it. Thus far, they had attended only one ball—the one last night that her friend Lady Atherton had hosted.

She dared not say a word to Rachel about Justin’s rebellion. From the moment they had arrived, Justin had taken up with his friends from school and his attitude had grown surly. Worse, he’d taken to leaving with his friends at night and arriving home after midnight. He’d told her he was attending parties given by his friends’ parents, but she didn’t know them and was never invited.

Rachel had always been her confidant, but Laura knew Rachel would read the letter to her family. She didn’t want to alarm them, but she was worried.

Last night, Justin had disappeared from the ball for a long time. She’d even gone out into the garden to look for him and encountered that rake Bellingham again, but he was the least of her problems.

She’d finally found Justin at the stairwell. After smelling liquor on her son’s breath, she’d rebuked him soundly in the carriage for lying and drinking. Of course, he’d sworn never to do it again, but she had a bad feeling about his friends and the influence they had on him.

Laura put away the writing instruments and shoved the drawer closed. She was furious with her son. He’d begged to go to London with his friends, but she’d refused because she didn’t know their parents. Justin had pleaded with her day after day, and she’d finally made a compromise by offering to take him so that she could keep a close eye on him.

A knock sounded. “Come in,” she said, hoping it was her son.

Reed, the butler, entered. “The mail arrived, my lady.”

She took the letters and dismissed Reed. The first few were from the estate manager at Hollwood Abbey. She read them quickly, satisfied that all was running well in her absence. Then she slit the seal on one and looked at the signature. It was from Montclief, her son’s guardian. In the past four years, Montclief had never responded to her letters. Her chest tightened as she started reading from the beginning. His tone was so insulting it stunned her.

She stood and fisted her hands. How dare he suddenly decide to intervene in their lives when he’d not lifted a hand to help Justin for years? He’d actually told her that he was too busy with his own children to bother with Justin. Now Montclief had suddenly decided to mount a high horse and start issuing commands. He was awfully late in establishing his authority.

Laura started to tear the letter and then thought better of it. Someday she might require it as proof of his neglect to his own nephew, though she doubted any court would side with a woman.

Fortunately, she did have the means to pay for all of their expenses. She had never intended to make use of Justin’s quarterly allowance, even though she had every right to use it to pay for his clothing, food, and lodgings.

She took a deep breath and blew it out. Well, she supposed the only reason Montclief had even responded was because she’d felt obliged to inform him about their activities. In the future, she would simply ignore Montclief, the same way he’d ignored Justin and her.

Reed arrived at the door. “Lord Chesfield left a few minutes ago.”

“Did he say where he was going?” she asked. He’d been home only twenty minutes.

“No, my lady. He left with his friends in a curricle.”

Her temples ached. He’d not bothered to ask her permission. “Thank you, Reed.”

After the butler left, she paced the drawing room. She regretted bringing her son to London, but she had not foreseen that Justin’s behavior would take a dramatic turn for the worse. He was seventeen years old and thought himself worldly. It frightened her to think of the seedy places he might go with his friends. In this enormous city, any manner of awful things could happen to him. She had to make him understand that he could get hurt if he encountered ruffians.

The moment he returned home, she would confront him again. He needed to know she would not tolerate his insubordination.

She sat on the sofa and picked up her cup. Unfortunately the tea had grown cold. She started to get up and ring the bell when a light tap sounded at the door. Reed entered and said, “My lady, you have a caller.”

“Is it Lady Atherton?”

“No, my lady.” He held out a silver salver. Laura picked up the card. Upon seeing the name, she dropped it.

Reed retrieved it. “My lady, shall I show Lord Bellingham upstairs?”

Good heavens no
. “Reed, please inform the earl that I am not at home,” Laura said.

“Yes, my lady.”

After her butler quit the drawing room, Laura exhaled. Doubtless she was the only woman in London who had the temerity to refuse admittance to the Earl of Bellingham. Indeed, she suspected even the most genteel of ladies would flutter their fans and flirt outrageously with him. Since she was a vicar’s daughter, Laura liked to think she was made of sterner stuff. Unfortunately, she’d discovered last night that she was more than a little susceptible to the uncommonly handsome earl.

She would not think about the way he’d let his gaze travel over her body last evening at the ball. Most certainly she would not dwell on the way her skin had heated while he’d perused her with his astonishingly blue eyes. Above all, she would banish the naughty fantasies that had danced in her head while she’d tossed and turned in bed last night.

Even if she wanted to dally with the notorious earl, she would not dare, especially after receiving Montclief’s scathing letter. Yesterday, she would not have worried a jot about Justin’s uncle. Today, his letter had left her fearful that Montclief would take Justin away if he heard there was even a hint of a problem.

Laura inhaled and exhaled slowly to steady her nerves. She would write a short letter to Montclief to reassure him that all was well in London. It would be an outrageous lie, for Justin had turned quite rebellious recently. She must impress upon Justin the necessity of steering clear of trouble. If he did not cooperate, she would have no choice but to remove him from London.

Another knock startled her. “Come in,” she said.

“My lady, Lord Bellingham asked me to convey this flask to you,” Reed said. “His lordship said it was imperative that he speak to you.”

Laura rose and frowned. How had he discovered her name and address? The thought bothered her more than a little. She had no idea why he’d sent up a flask of all things, but regardless, it did not signify. “Reed, I assume this is Lord Bellingham’s idea of a jest, but I will not accept his gift nor will I see him.”

“Yes, my lady,” Reed said. “I will inform him that you are not accepting callers.”