Earl of Dryden
Chronicles of a Bluestocking/Wicked Earls’ Club
Tammy Andresen
Copyright © 2019 by Tammy Andresen
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Untitled
Too Wicked to Woo
About the Author
Other Titles by Tammy Andresen
Chapter One
Miss Chloe Finch sat on the edge of the dance floor tapping her toe. She’d strategically placed herself somewhere between the potted fern and the shining marble statue of some long-ago valiant soldier. The candlelight shone on his alabaster finish, adding shadow under his cheekbones and ribcage. He looked quite dashing actually and the only company she had, despite the sea of people around her. Which was how she’d preferred to be at such events.
Her aunt, Lady Mildred Hartworth, engaged in conversation with several other matrons. They whispered behind their fans as people passed, casting judgment upon them with narrowed eyes and not-so-subtle words.
Chloe could only hope to stay hidden behind them so their sharp tongues did not turn on her. Inevitably, however, they always did.
“Did you see the garish bird figure perched in Lady Millicent’s hair? Dreadful. How does she expect to make a decent match looking like that?” Her aunt gave a loud sniff.
Chloe cringed, shrinking smaller into her chair. She hated these affairs. Her aunt was insistent that Chloe could make a good match if only she’d stop being such a ninny and attempt to be charming. Chloe had tried on numerous occasions to fit in, but she simply couldn’t. Plagued with an irrational shyness that she didn’t dare explain, she froze, unable to utter a syllable, every time a suitor came near. Or anyone she didn’t know for that matter. She couldn’t explain the why, she scarcely knew herself. She only could pinpoint the when; the dreadful plague began shortly after her mother’s death four years prior.
Wrapping her arms about her waist, her forearm pricked with pain, so she loosened her grip, rubbing the tender flesh. She consoled herself that her affliction was getting better. She’d even made a few friends. Lovely girls, who like herself, were outcasts, each for her own reason. Penny and Annabelle both had irresponsible parents while Caroline had been caught with a known rake. But that didn’t bother Chloe. She thought them delightful.
And they thought her smart and fun rather than simple or daft. She’d been passed over by suitor after suitor when she’d been struck mute in their presence. Who could blame them?
Of course, there were also the men who took advantage of her silence, she blamed them plenty but there was little she could do to stop them. Her aunt most definitely blamed Chloe for their deeds.
“Chloe looks darling this evening,” Lady Mayfair said as she leaned over to her aunt and Chloe’s eyes widened.
No no no, she chanted in her head. Don’t talk about me please.
“What does it matter? Until the girl will stop being so stubborn and apply herself to seeking a match, I may as well be dressing up a doll.” Her aunt gave a loud huff to match her words. “One would think she’d show some appreciation for my efforts by actually trying. Since the moment I took her in, she’s been nothing but a willful, errant, troublesome girl. Exactly like her mother.”
Even crossed as her arms were, in a display of protection, her fists clenched. She was trying to be what her aunt wanted. Always had. Tears pricked at her eyes. Did her aunt think she enjoyed being so socially awkward?
“Such a pretty girl too. What a shame,” Lady Mayfair said, despite only being a foot away, as though she spoke in a foreign language and Chloe wouldn’t even understand the words.
Her aunt knew very well that Chloe understood everything and yet she persisted. “That’s not the half of it. She isn’t dumb or mute. She’s just trying to disobey me. I’m sure of it.”
Chloe opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it again. Who was she kidding? She’d never argue with these women. Instead she turned to the statue. He was tall and strong and for just a moment, she pretended he was real though she knew very well he wasn’t. “Would you save me, kind sir, from the dastardly tongues of wicked old women?”
“Chloe,” her Aunt Mildred gasped, turning back to her. “Of all the things to finally utter in public.”
But then, something even stranger happened. The statue answered. “Why yes, I will.”
The Earl of Dryden, or Fin, as a few close friends called him, stood next to an abomination of a statue, doing his best to avoid Lady Angela Stark. Hiding was probably the more accurate word. She was one of this year’s fresh-faced debutantes, dressed in frilly white lace ruffles and her hair in tight curls. Her high-pitched laugh sounded with every sentence she uttered and cut him to the bone.
Didn’t she know most ladies of marriageable age were frightened near to death at the very sight of him? Not just because of his dark and often menacing looks, but because of the rumors that swirled about him. The girl clearly had no sense.
A muscle in his jaw ticked. He wasn’t looking for a wife. Though he understood the merits of having one. Actually, his barrister liked to remind him regularly that matrimony would do a great deal to boost Fin’s public perception and business. The man had practically bullied him into attendance tonight. And, as an earl, he’d eventually need an heir. But as a man with real darkness in his soul, the thought of marrying a woman like Lady Angela was laughable.
Angela walked by and he ducked behind the beast of marble, glad for its hulking size. He’d tried everything he could think of to rid himself of the girl, but she had one characteristic in spades…tenacity.
He peeked around the other side of the marble monstrosity and caught site of a lovely woman sitting just in front of him. Her honey-blonde hair was piled high on her head, but loose strands fell all about her face, highlighting her delicate features. At least they appeared delicate in profile. Full, dusky-pink lips trembled as she listened attentively, though no one appeared to be talking to her.
Then he realized the women just in front of her were talking, not to her, but about her. Words like such a shame were bandied about as her fists clenched against her sides, her chin hardening as she notched it up.
She straightened her back and opened her mouth. Interested, he bent forward waiting to hear what she would say. Would her voice be sultry or sweet? Was she intelligent or full of air like Lady Angela?
Instead of talking to the matrons, however, she slumped back down and looked at the statue. “Would you save me, kind sir, from the dastardly tongues of wicked old women?”
Sultry and saucy too. Her voice and her words raced along his skin like a touch. Her voice, like red velvet, could turn a man inside out.
“Chloe.” One of the old women turned, looking stunned. “Of all the things to finally utter in public.”
Finally utter in public? Chloe? Bloody hellfire he’d run himself smack into Miss Chlo
e Finch. Miss Finch was known to be a mute. Even the men in his secret club had discussed her over brandy and cigars. And they did not utter the names of many respectable ladies. At least not when they were together at the club.
Men claimed her dumb, daft, bereft of a mind. Many a lord had referred to her as a beautiful little puppet. They said she went mad after her mother’s death. Some even joked that she’d make the ideal wife if not for the possibility of passing such an affliction on to their children.
This woman was neither mute, nor dumb. Perhaps she never used her voice because it had magical powers. It was a possibility. He was fairly certain her mezzo rasp had just cast a spell on him. Which explained why he uttered the most ridiculous words of his life. “Why yes, I will.”
Chapter Two
Chloe turned around, wondering if the rumors had finally come to pass and she’d lost her mental faculties. Her brows drew together as her mouth pinched. Statues did not talk.
But the glowing marble disguised something far more dangerous than insanity. Behind the statue stood a man. Not just any man. Tall, dark, and broad, his hooded eyes stared down at her with a dangerous glint that made her shiver. Was it fear? His brow was a bit heavy for traditional good looks. Rather he had the air of a dangerous pirate or a highwayman. His strong jaw and supple mouth only added to his air of handsome criminality. Her breath caught as the image of him carrying her off to a dark corner flit through her thoughts. She found the idea…exciting. “I beg your pardon?” she managed to whisper. Only to realize that she’d spoken. Actually spoken to a man she didn’t know. At all. A handsome one at that.
He stepped from behind the statue and held out his hand. She didn’t take it. Despite the romantic fantasies suddenly cascading through her brain and down her body, she hadn’t a clue about his identity.
“Sir?” Her aunt straightened, snapping her fan.
He gave a slight bow. “Begging your pardon. As no one is here to formerly introduce us, I shall do it myself. I am Lord Dryden.”
“The Earl of Dryden,” Lady Mayfair whispered, fluttering her fan. Her eyes shined with excitement as she looked up and down. “It’s a pleasure.”
He gave another bow. “May I request a dance from the young lady?”
Chloe’s lashes fluttered in surprise even as her insides tightened in anticipation or fear. Likely both. She watched as her aunt’s demeanor completely changed. A coquettish smile graced her lips as she batted her eyes and stuck out one of her rather plump hips. Did she think to charm the earl herself? Chloe wouldn’t be surprised. Her aunt would consider such a catch very valuable indeed.
“Chloe would be delighted,” her aunt gushed. Then she turned to Chloe, her spine straightening again. “Up with you and none of your foolishness.” She looked back at Lord Dryden. “Don’t let the rumors fool you, she is both—”
He held up his hand, stopping her aunt. No one got away with that. But her aunt’s smile slipped for only a moment before she pulled her lips up once again.
“Don’t worry. I won’t.” Then he took her hand and began pulling her toward the dance floor.
Chloe was completely stunned and unsure of what to do as she allowed him to maneuver her through the crowd. Did she pull away? Did she allow him to steal her away? Not that he was going to, that was only her fantasy. He wasn’t actually a pirate or was he? Being silent, she heard a great deal of gossip and Lord Dryden was a favorite among the ladies. He was a criminal, they said. Stole goods and resold them to save his earldom. Looking at him, she might just believe the veracity of the rumors.
Except the nervous energy buzzing through her pulsed with excitement not fear. His hand on her arm was strong and sure, but gentle as well.
Now that he’d heard her speak, should she reply? Usually when she spoke with someone once, that person was no longer a stranger, but he’d stolen a listen which was completely different.
She was uncertain of the rules here, which was ridiculous. There were none that weren’t of her creation, which begged the real question, did she want to talk with him or not? Which was wonderful to be asking. Normally, she didn’t choose, she was rendered silent. “I wasn’t talking with you, you know.”
He tucked her hand in his elbow, his hard muscles flexing underneath her fingers. “That’s the beauty of it. If you had been talking to me, I hear you wouldn’t have talked with me at all. So, let’s consider it a happy accident.”
True. She never would have said a word. But a happy accident? First, clearly he knew exactly who she was along with her reputation. So why was he interested in a dance? Was he about to make a sport of her? “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I’ll not be humiliated. I mean any more than I’ve done to myself.”
He looked over at her and gave her a warm smile. It illuminated his entire face and lightened his stern brow making him breathtakingly handsome. “I swear on my parents’ watery grave that I will not humiliate you one bit. Not even the smallest amount.”
“Your parents’ watery grave?” she whispered, gripping his elbow tighter.
His smile disappeared and his face hardened again. “Nearly ten years ago.”
They’d reached an opening on the floor, and he took her in his arms as he turned to her. As he touched her waist, heat thrummed through her, radiating out from his fingers. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She stepped closer to him, wanting him to understand. “I’ve felt that sting too, and though I can’t know how you must have felt losing both of your parents, I do know how it feels to have lost the heart in your life.” She hadn’t realized how foolish such an earnest admission was until she became aware she was only inches away, looking up into his mysteriously dark features as he looked down…at her lips. Her insides fluttered with excitement as she drew in a sharp breath.
Fin moved in the middle of a crowded dance floor. He absolutely could not kiss this woman. And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about brushing his lips against hers. Her dark pink lips parted as she stared up at him, her chin tilted, exposing the delicate column of her neck.
Her tiny waist fit his hand in the most tantalizing way. He glanced down and caught a glimpse of her cleavage. Not too much, just enough to make a man want to see more. His collar grew tight around his throat. What were they discussing?
“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.
Earl of Dryden: Chronicles of a Bluestocking/Wicked Earls’ Club Page 1