Earl of Darling (Wicked Earls' Club)

by Maggie Dallen

  And then, of course, there was Thomas. Darius’s second cousin, dear friend, military mate, and the fifth in line for the title. Until he, too, had died.

  He braced for the onslaught of emotions, no less painful today than it had been six months prior when Thomas had died in his arms in India.

  Murderer.

  He drew back from the gentleman who still cowered before him, already kicking himself for having lost control of his temper.

  At least he hadn’t struck anyone.

  Well done, you.

  He could already hear Tabetha’s sarcasm if he tried to use that as his defense.

  Not striking anyone at a viscount’s dinner party is hardly some brag-worthy feat, she’d point out.

  She wouldn’t be wrong. But he’d take the small victories where he could get them. He’d learned that in battle.

  He turned to find that every man in the room was watching him. The laughter and chatter had been replaced by silence as everyone seemed to be waiting with bated breath to see what he’d do next.

  He took a step back, toward the door. The cloying smoke was making his stomach turn and he needed air.

  What he needed was to leave, but he couldn’t take off without Tabetha.

  Tabetha.

  “That is most unfortunate, my lord. My condolences.” The man tried to make amends, his voice shaking with fear. Darius tried to relax the features of face, aware of how he must look.

  He drew in a deep breath, avoiding the curious stares of the men around him. He owed it to Tabetha to stay. To make nice. The rest of his younger sisters would be arriving at the start of the season next month and Tabetha was determined to smooth the way for them.

  The least he could do was stay out of her way and not make her job more difficult.

  “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen,” he muttered just as he reached the door.

  Once out in the hallway, he darted off like he was being hunted by predators. Air. He needed air before this stuffy, stodgy dinner party suffocated the life right out of him.

  He slipped through a darkened room and through the glass doors on the far side.

  Only when he was outside and breathing in the cold night air could he quiet this pounding in his veins. The dark moonlit sky was a soothing balm on this claustrophobic feeling that had been grating on his nerves from the moment they’d arrived in London.

  He moved until he was out of sight of the glass doors before collapsing back against the brick exterior wall of the viscount’s home. His breath clouded the air before him as he breathed out in relief.

  It was too cold to stay out here for long, but for just one moment he could relax. He stuck his hands into his pockets, the fingers of his left hand brushing against the bizarrely cryptic invitation he’d received earlier today.

  With his thumb he could just make out the embossed W on the seal.

  Some sort of secret club, he gathered.

  He rested his head back against the brick behind him. Another club where he would stick out like a sore thumb, no doubt.

  For one blissful moment, he stood there and breathed in the silence of the night. The cold, quiet stillness. But then he felt it. It felt like...like fabric brushing against the top of his ear.

  For a second there he thought perhaps that blasted curtain had found a way to follow him out here to ensnare him once more.

  A brush of something again and he swatted at the vine or dried leaves or whatever it was. His fingers brushed against it now and he shifted for a better look just as a squeaking noise had his heart hammering in his chest.

  What the…

  His gaze found skirts, then slippers sticking out beneath, and then…

  He dragged his gaze up and up until he caught sight of a pretty brunette who was smiling down at him and clinging onto a windowsill for dear life. “I beg your pardon,” she said sweetly. “Would you be so kind as to lend me a hand?”

  Chapter Three

  As far as plans went, this one was officially a disaster. Evelyn hadn’t even left the grounds before she’d been stopped. And by Darling, no less.

  To his credit, he did not pepper her with questions. Not at first, at least. He leapt into action instead, reaching up until his large hands wrapped around her waist and lowering her to the ground with alarming ease.

  Once her feet were on the ground, he let her go and took a step back. She avoided eye contact as she brushed at her skirts and did her best to gather her wits. Now was not the time to lose her senses altogether, even if the man standing before her was gaping as though… She peeked up to see his expression. Well, he was gaping as though she’d just fallen out of a window.

  “Good evening, Lord Darling,” she said, her smile growing as it always did in the face of company. Her mother had taught her well. Never let a guest see you stumble, her mother used to say.

  What would her mother say to do now, in this particular scenario? That was less clear. But whatever Evelyn did, she would do it with a smile and the utmost decorum.

  With that thought, she straightened to her full height, keenly aware that Lord Darling had yet to respond at all. His gaping had turned to glowering, and all those whispers about his murderous past suddenly seemed far more understandable. He was a rather intimidating person, was he not?

  Her mouth went dry. Heavens, had he always been so tall?

  Broad, yes, but he towered over her now, and his size combined with his glare had her stumbling back a step and then another until her feet found the familiar paved stones of the back veranda.

  “Are you enjoying your evening, Lord Darling?”

  He gave a grunt of acknowledgement as he followed her onto the veranda. She went to backpedal once more and nearly slipped on the ice. “What are you doing out here?” he asked.

  She widened her eyes with feigned innocence. “I might ask you the same. Was it too warm inside? Shall I ask the servants to open a window?” She made a move as if to head into the house, which of course she would not do.

  If she went in now she would merely have to find another way out again.

  And also explain why she’d climbed out a window.

  She paused with her hand hovering over the doorknob, her heart racing in her chest. Oh drat. Now what was she supposed to do?

  “Miss Rathmore.” His voice close behind her made her jump. His voice was low. Rumbly, even.

  She whirled around with a breathless, “Yes?”

  His scowl was no longer so intimidating. It was concern that clouded his features and had his icy blue eyes fixed on her so intently.

  She waited for him to continue with a smile still firmly planted on her face and her brows arched ever so slightly in anticipation.

  He took a step closer. “Why were you climbing out the window?”

  “Oh that?” She laughed breezily. It sounded just as false as it felt. “Nothing for you to worry about, I’m sure. I merely needed some air.”

  He gave another little grunt, but she was hard-pressed to say if he was amused or angered by her obvious lie.

  Either way, a flicker of irritation had her straightening her spine, her chin tilting up in defiance. This was her house, after all. She could climb anywhere she pleased. And besides, her affairs were none of his concern. “Lord Darling, I assure you, there is no need to concern yourself—”

  “Normally, you would be correct. It would not be my place to concern myself in your affairs.” That growl of a voice had her blinking rapidly.

  Beast. That was what one of the ladies had whispered about him earlier tonight. A monster, someone else had said. And she supposed he was right. The circumstances were far from normal.

  With that voice and his intimidating size, she understood those names completely. But what they hadn’t seen—what she was startled to see now—was this. He moved closer to her and the ice in his gaze seemed to thaw right in front of her eyes. The concern there was more than her heart could bear. It was almost like he truly cared.

  Which was nonsense, obvio
usly. She was no one to him.

  “Tell me why you were running away,” he said. Actually, it was more like a command.

  “I wasn’t…” Her denial trailed off in the face of this new man before her. Still large, still intimidating, but his broad size and stern demeanor made him seem...capable. Like he could handle anything life threw his way. This was not a man who would run away from his problems.

  She shifted uncomfortably. She wasn’t typically the sort to run from her problems, either. It was just that she had no idea what else to do.

  “Miss Rathmore,” he said again.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you recall the lady I came here with this evening?”

  She nodded, thrown by this sudden change in topic. “You sister? Yes, of course. She seems lovely.”

  He gave one of those grunts again. “Tabetha is my eldest sister and she came with me to London to help prepare the house I’ve inherited for the others who are to follow.”

  Evelyn shifted from foot to foot with impatience. She ought to be fleeing right now. The longer she stood here, the more at risk she was of being caught. And yet, his slow, even way of talking was calming her. And she found that she wished to know what he was trying to tell her. “The others?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I have two younger sisters, as well, who will be joining us here for the season.”

  “Heavens,” she murmured. The new earl had three sisters? And they were all descending on London at once to be launched into society.

  Oh, the gossips of the ton would be in heaven.

  She winced in sympathy with these girls she did not even know. But she did know what it was like to have one’s every move scrutinized. To have scandal nipping at one’s heels. To have all of society waiting to see if one will trip and fall.

  “So you see, Miss Rathmore…”

  She blinked up at him. See? What was she supposed to see?

  “If one of my sisters tried to run away, I’d be heartbroken. I’d do anything in my power to solve whatever problem she thought was too great to face head-on—”

  She winced at the kind words that seemed to slap her across the face. She wasn’t facing her problems head-on. She wasn’t facing them at all.

  He leaned in closer. “And I’d hope that any gentleman would do the same.”

  Her heart did a little twist in her chest at the surprisingly affectionate words. His meaning, however, was starting to dawn and she took a step back.

  The earl thought it was his duty to stop her.

  She stiffened again, her defenses rising as she realized how close she’d come to spilling all her secrets to a stranger. She narrowed her eyes. This overbearing man, he was luring her in with his concern and that low, mesmerizing voice. “I assure you, Lord Darling. I already have an older brother, and he has already done everything he can to...help.”

  She cut herself off before she could say any more. Already, she’d said too much. She’d all but confirmed that she’d been attempting to run away, and now he would go back inside and tell her father and the whiff of scandal that had followed her home from Paris would turn into all-out ruin. Then again, ruin was right around the corner anyhow, but if she successfully made it to her aunts, she’d be ruined without a deplorable husband at her side.

  Her gaze darted toward the door as she backed away toward the street. “Please, Lord Darling, I implore you…” She swallowed as he followed her, stalking toward her with every backward step. “Please, my lord, just let me go—”

  Her next words turned to a squeak of surprise as she took one more step back and lost her footing on the ice. Her feet flew out from beneath her and she braced herself for—

  Arms.

  Arms caught her. Darling’s arms, to be precise. He was cradling her in an odd sort of embrace as though they’d been dancing.

  She blinked up at him in surprise and found his face far too close to her own. His breath mingled with hers and she could see the five o’clock shadow on his jaw.

  Then she was straightened, planted on her own two feet, as he took a step back to put some distance between them.

  They stood in awkward silence for a long moment, until nerves got the best of her. “You are going to tell my father, aren’t you?”

  She hated that she sounded like a petulant child, but she hated even more than this man was ruining her one chance to escape a life she dreaded.

  “I will not tell your father anything you don’t want me to.” He said it so seriously that she believed him.

  She swallowed thickly. “Thank you.”

  She went to turn away and his hand caught her arm, making her still. Of course it wouldn’t be so easy.

  “I won’t tell him, so long as you give me a chance to help you.”

  Oh. The air left her lungs in a rush as she lifted her gaze and felt it clash with his. The understanding there was what really rattled her.

  Her brother had been angry on her behalf, and he’d worked tirelessly to make her father believe her word. Her new friends were horrified by her circumstances, and they too had tried their best to intervene. But no one in her life had ever looked at her like this.

  Like she was truly important. Like whatever she said next mattered more than anything in the world. He wasn’t just talking to her...he was listening.

  He wanted to listen, at least.

  She licked dry lips and caught the hem of her cloak, fidgeting with the buttons as she debated how much to tell him.

  The fact that she was considering telling him anything at all was lunacy. But, then again, it was either risk telling him the truth, or chance his telling her father that she’d run away.

  “Very well,” she said with a huff. “My father is forcing me to marry a man I do not care for and I see no other way out.”

  ‘Do not care for’ was quite possibly the biggest understatement she’d ever uttered, but she had never been one for melodrama and calling out her fiancé as the worst cad she’d ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on seemed far too histrionic.

  He stared at her long and hard, and if she hadn’t been staring back just as intensely, she might have missed the flicker of fiery rage that raced through his gaze before he tamped it down. “Who is the man?”

  “I doubt you know him.”

  His stare was impossible to ignore.

  “Mr. Stallworth,” she said. “A merchant.”

  He frowned, no doubt seeing all the missing pieces of that story. “Your father, the viscount, is forcing you to marry a merchant.”

  The fact that he did not outright question her made her shift uncomfortably, her cheeks heating under his watchful stare. Oh, curse it. Surely it would be better for him to know her side of the story, even though he’d likely never believe her.

  How could he when her own father didn’t even believe it?

  “It was a misunderstanding, you see,” she started.

  He harrumphed. Like a grunt but with less emphasis. She wondered if his sisters could decode his sounds. The thought made her lips twitch upward in her first real smile since...well, since this whole debacle began.

  His gaze dropped to her lips and stayed there. Silly as it sounded, she felt as though she could feel the weight of his stare and her lips parted with a gasp. Only then did his gaze move back up to meet hers, still fiery, still intense.

  “What was the misunderstanding?” he demanded.

  She swallowed down nerves. “There was a cat, you see—”

  “A cat.”

  “Yes, a cat.” She bristled at his tone of disbelief. There had been a cat. A silly, dratted, scruffy cat.

  A cat she wished she’d never spotted.

  With a sigh, she continued the now well-worn story of how she’d seen the cat stranded in a tree from where she’d been standing at the party thrown by some of her father’s friends in Paris. She’d slipped outside to fetch it, and Mr. Stallworth had followed.

  In hindsight, she realized how foolish she had been to go outside without a chaperone. Ho
w thoughtlessly she’d disregarded Stallworth’s attempts to talk to her and flirt with her and dance with her…

  But he hadn’t seen her. That was why she’d never so much as smiled in response.

  She’d had enough gentlemen callers in the last two years to know the difference between men who were truly interested in her and men who were intrigued by her father’s wealth and title.

  Mr. Stallworth had been the latter.

  In short, quick sentences she hashed out how he had followed her outside. How, when she went to reach for the cat, he’d reached for her. How one of his cohorts had come outside just at that moment and called attention to them, making it seem as though he’d interrupted a passionate embrace.

  “But you see, it wasn’t an embrace,” she said, forgetting for a moment all lessons in decorum as she all but pleaded with this near stranger to believe her. “It was all staged. Mr. Stallworth could have easily brushed aside the gossip and told the truth, but he lied.”

  She paused for breath and when she glanced up into Darling’s eyes she froze. There was that ice again, and it was...terrifying. She’d seen fiery rage, and she’d seen his cold apathy, but this…

  This was an icy rage that made her veins feel frozen.

  “He set you up.” It wasn’t a question.

  She swallowed, and for one second she almost feared for Mr. Stallworth.

  “I will help you.” Again, not a question.

  “W-what? But how—?”

  “Leave it with me. I will make this right for you, I swear it.”

  “But why? You don’t even know me.”

  “Don’t I?”