Beastly Lords Collection

by Baily, Sydney Jane

  They were already at her steps. What he wouldn’t give to have her alone in a carriage!

  “I protest,” he said. “You know I will pick up your packages.”

  “I’m sure Lord Toddingly would stoop to pick up my packages, too.”

  “Really, I’m not convinced. His nose is turned so high, he looks like a pug.”

  Again, she laughed, and he thoroughly enjoyed being the cause of her amusement.

  “That’s a lovely sound,” he blurted, hardly meaning to speak the honest words aloud.

  Unfortunately, she stopped, both walking and laughing, and he knew he had to release her at once or appear extremely forward.

  And yet, he didn’t let her go. Rather, he waited to see what she would do.

  “I’m home,” she reminded him, staring up into his face and looking far less frosty than she had in the past.

  He was beyond tempted.

  Chapter Six

  At last, Michael let her pull her arm free, but only until he could place his hands on her waist and draw her close.

  He heard her small gasp.

  What was wrong with him? They were on the street, within feet of a brightly lit lamp cutting through the darkness. Yet, he was fascinated by her, drawn to her.

  “Simply take a step back,” he advised her. “I will not restrain you. If you don’t, I am going to kiss you.”

  There, he could pat himself on the back for his fair warning and then take the consequences. He hadn’t had the reputation of a man who enjoyed women simply dropped upon his head. No, he’d earned it. Woman by woman.

  And right that moment, he was desperate to enjoy at least a taste of her.

  She didn’t move.

  Was she frozen with fright or disbelief?

  The light was behind him. When he tilted his head slightly, it angled upon her face.

  She appeared to be considering, but definitely did not appear frightened.

  “I’m not going to move,” she said at last.

  Triumph rushed through him, and he lowered his head.

  His lips brushed hers, softly at first, and then he claimed her mouth more completely. As he always did, he breathed deeply, catching the scent of the lady’s skin. As expected, the distinct floral fragrance he remembered from one night in a garden was not evident.

  It didn’t matter a damn, he reminded himself. That particular female had walked out of his life and never sought his company again. His golden goddess was, in all likelihood, overweight, toothless, and with ten ugly children.

  After a few moments, they both pulled back. Before she collected herself, he saw it—an expression of stark surprise. It was quickly replaced by her cool neutrality, and he released her.

  She lifted her fingers, and for a moment, he thought she might wipe her mouth. But she dropped her hand to her side.

  “Due diligence,” she said to him. “Well done. Yet I believe your friend is waiting.”

  With that, Mrs. St. Ange, looking supremely regal, turned to her own front door.

  “Good night,” he offered, feeling abashed. He ought to have broken it off properly with Elizabeth before kissing this new widow.

  When she slipped indoors without responding, he shrugged.

  Turning, Michael strolled back along to number twenty-nine, his hands in his pockets.

  *

  A bath! Ada needed a long hot one. Realizing the inconvenience to her small staff especially at this late hour, she couldn’t do it. She would wait until morning. Besides, it wasn’t as though he’d had his hands all over her body. She would scrub her face with warm water and her favorite Pears soap and brush her teeth with a large dose of paste from her favorite camphor toothpowder.

  Once tucked in her bed, she sat staring into the burning coals. She’d expected luring Lord Vile into fancying her, longing for her, maybe even loving her—if that were even possible—was going to be unpleasant at best. Like keeping close company with a snake, she imagined, or a rat.

  Instead, his kiss was as she’d remembered. Warm and pleasant, sparking something inside her that felt tingly and exciting. She closed her eyes.

  No, no, no! It was all wrong. How could she enjoy the kiss of a man she hated? And that hatred hadn’t shifted even a little.

  She would focus on her success, causing the horrid man to leave his mistress’s side to escort her home. From such a small thing as their brief walk, huge strides could be made.

  It was only the beginning, she knew it.

  Sure enough, by late morning the following day, a servant had dropped off Lord M. Alder’s calling card with a note scrawled on the back.

  “May I call upon you at your leisure?”

  Oh, you most certainly may, she thought. She was spinning her web like a meticulous spider, and he was flying in unawares.

  First thing to remember was not to act in haste or appear eager. She would not even respond for a day.

  Secondly, she needed to send a note of thanks to Lady Pepperton for the wonderful evening. If only Ada could dispel the qualms she felt about getting involved with Elizabeth’s paramour, but there was nothing she could do about that. Her plan had been in the making long before Lord Vile and Lady Pepperton began an affair.

  In the meantime, there was Harry to play with, letters to write, visits to make to her friend Maggie, and staff to hire.

  *

  The following day, after a midday meal at the Cambrey townhouse on Cavendish Square—during which Ada nearly burst with wanting to tell Maggie about her first kiss in years—she was at her writing desk coming up with exactly the right words to disarm Lord Vile.

  On her third attempt, she wrote:

  Lord Alder,

  How strange that you should wish to call upon me given your association with Lady Pepperton! What can you possibly mean by such a request? Furthermore, she and I are on a path to becoming friends. Thus, the answer is no.

  Mrs. St. Ange

  Let him think on that!

  Apparently, he thought quickly, for within an hour of sending over her note to his townhouse, she received in reply:

  Dear Mrs. St. Ange,

  I understand your concern. However, please be assured that my interests at present lie only with you. Lady Pepperton and I have broken off our association on absolutely friendly terms and with no wounded feelings. I await to hear when I may call upon you.

  Lord M. Alder

  Hmm. Ada would not respond in a hurry. She wished she and Elizabeth Pepperton were already close enough so she could hear from the widow’s own lips whether a break had occurred. Yet, she didn’t doubt him. He was vile but, as far as she knew, he was not a liar. Moreover, he knew how easy it would be for her to discover if their association had ended.

  The issue, then, was how to proceed and how quickly. Two days later, she finally wrote back:

  Lord Alder,

  You may call upon me at eleven o’clock in the morning tomorrow.

  Mrs. St. Ange

  If only she could confide in Maggie what she was doing. Yet, because of her friend’s older sister’s prior association with Lord Alder, Ada couldn’t let her in on the plan. For without a doubt, Maggie would tell her to leave off any entanglement.

  Thus, it was without anyone’s counsel that Ada waited on the appointed day, seated in her parlor, wearing one of her favorite daytime gowns in a rich coral color. She couldn’t read though she’d tried repeatedly, nor focus on anything except watching the clock on her mantle, knowing he would be on time.

  Precisely at two minutes to the hour, she heard the clop-clop of horse’s hooves out front and knew Lord Vile would be on her doorstep in an instant.

  Breathe, she told herself. Shoulders down, face relaxed, and hands purposefully not touching, lest she start fiddling her fingers with nervousness, she waited. There was nothing she could do about the hard and fast beating of her heart, except hope it wasn’t as loud as she feared.

  Her maid, Lucy, answered the knock, and suddenly, after years of waiting, Lord
Michael Alder was calling upon her. As he entered the room, she stood, letting the open book on her lap fall to the floor as if she’d been recently reading and not simply awaiting his arrival with mouth-drying nervousness.

  This brought him over to her and to his knees to retrieve it. Exactly where she wanted him.

  As he rose and handed it to her, he took hold of her other hand and bent over it, brushing his lips across her knuckles, lingering a little too long.

  She’d expected this. Still, it sent a frisson of excitement skittering through her. Looking at his brown hair falling attractively over his forehead, she had to remind herself he was skilled and vastly experienced in the ways of seduction. Her defenses were strong, however. Indignation, anger, mortification, even revulsion at the man’s decadent way of living—all of these would bolster her.

  He would get nothing from her but what she freely gave as bait.

  Offering him a cool smile as if unaffected, she withdrew her hand slowly and dropped the book casually onto the couch. If he’d bothered to look at what she was pretending to read, he might have a better notion of her inner thoughts. Alexandre Dumas’s Count of Monte Christo was the quintessential novel of perfectly executed revenge, and Ada was finding it to be fascinating reading.

  She’d been a little shocked to learn the novel’s hero, Edmond Dantès, even manipulated the bond market to destroy the fortune of one of his enemies. It was an uncanny coincidence, though her method of passing along advice seemed easier.

  Looking past Alder, she spoke to Lucy, “Bring us a pot of tea.”

  Her maid nodded and hurried from the room. Lucy probably intended to get back quickly to chaperone, but Ada would send her away again. She hadn’t crafted this hard-earned persona of an independent widow only to have her maid treat her like a green youth.

  “Won’t you have a seat, Lord Alder?” Resuming her place, she gestured to a winged chair across from her.

  Purposefully ignoring her suggestion, he sat beside her on the couch, with only the leather-bound volume of Dumas between them. Resting one arm along the back of the couch so his fingers touched her shoulder, he turned his body to face her.

  “I should have asked if you would prefer coffee,” she blurted, then bit her tongue.

  Drat it all! She sounded anxious, a little flustered.

  “Tea is quite agreeable, until it’s time for wine.” Glancing around the room, he took it in with a curious, appraising eye. “I wondered what Mrs. St. Ange’s private residence looked like.”

  “I cannot believe you spent a moment wondering about the interior of my home.”

  He smiled. “I did. A woman’s sense of decor usually represents her mind and even her emotions. Don’t you think? Particularly her bedroom.”

  Ignoring the last phrase obviously meant to titillate, she asked, “What does my home tell you about me?” It was the closest she could come to flirtatious talk.

  “It is understated, uncluttered, a little stark actually, more so than I expected. Perhaps that is due to your having so recently moved in. Still, I get the sense you are not one to waste space on fiddly jim-jams and useless knick-knacks. You have belongings that matter to you and see no reason for anything else. Do I have that about right?”

  She couldn’t help but nod. “I believe it is from having a child. After one sees the true importance of another living being, one who is solely dependent on you, then one tends to realize everything else is merely a ‘fiddly jim-jam,’ as you say.”

  “I see. So, were I to sire a brat of my own, I might no longer want to keep my Chinese bronzes, and, of course, I’d toss my Ming porcelain into the rubbish bin?”

  She smiled, imagining Harry getting his hands upon porcelain antiques. They wouldn’t last a minute.

  “That’s a lovely sight,” he commented.

  “Excuse me?” Whatever did he mean?

  “Your smile. Like moonlight coming out from behind a dark cloud.”

  She was experiencing Lord Vile’s flattery. How trite.

  “Thus, when I am not smiling, I’m a dark cloud?”

  He raised his eyes to her eleven-foot ceiling in mock frustration. Then he looked at her again.

  “Let’s go back to useless knick-knacks. What do you think of ferns and seaweed? Do you collect them like the rest of the mad Brits?”

  “I don’t.” Though Maggie had said her younger sister, Eleanor, was mad for ferns.

  “What about taxidermized cats or squirrels? Any of those stuffed creatures in your curio cabinet?” he asked.

  She couldn’t help smiling again, but shook her head.

  “At least tell me you have a collection of bird’s eggs hereabouts.” He leaned forward and looked between his own boots to the area under her sofa.

  The laugh that escaped her drew his gaze back to her face.

  “I must confess, I like it when you laugh. Thus, I will make it my goal.”

  “Your goal?” she asked as Lucy returned with a tray of tea.

  “Yes, to make you happy and, therefore, laughing.”

  Undoubtedly, he would have been shocked to know his words meant to cajole her caused her stomach to clench. He had brought her such misery, the idea his goal was the opposite nearly had her telling him who she was.

  The maid poured them each a cup and stood there, most likely waiting for instructions to take a seat on the other side of the room.

  “Thank you, Lucy. That will be all. I’ll ring should our guest need anything.”

  The woman’s eyes widened, and Ada feared she would protest. Their relationship had always been informal since she was not nobility and they were close of age.

  “Perhaps you can look in on Harry for me,” she added.

  Lucy pursed her lips. They both knew Nanny Finn wouldn’t appreciate Lucy entering her domain or usurping her care of the boy. However, at last, she nodded and left.

  “Stubborn for a maid, isn’t she?” Lord Alder asked, picking up his teacup and saucer. “Not used to your being alone with a man.”

  She ignored him and reached for her own saucer. Tea, strong and sweet, was exactly what she needed to get through this first tête-à-tête with Lord Vile.

  “You asked me what I do with my life,” he reminded her. “Let us also talk of yours.”

  “Are you truly interested?” Ada didn’t believe him for a second. Getting under her skirts—or any woman’s—was the only thing he cared about.

  He nodded. “Yes, why not?”

  She could hardly voice her opinion of him, or he would wonder why she’d let him in the door in the first place.

  “Why don’t you go first,” she suggested. “Since I’ve only recently returned to Town, I haven’t done much of anything except settle in here and reconnect with old friends.”

  Instantly, she wished she hadn’t said that. He must never find out her best friend was Jenny Blackwood’s sister or he might suspect she knew him previously.

  “My own life is not that interesting, actually,” he began. “You were right. While you were busy settling in, I was going to my club. I favor White’s. I enjoy watching cricket, and I’m not bad with a bat, if I do say so. Of course, horse racing and boating. I like art galleries. Recently, I’ve taken up an interest in investing.”

  She clamped her teeth down on the side of the teacup, making a strange clacking sound.

  He stared, but she merely smiled.

  “What do you mean by ‘taken up an interest’?” Inside, she was crowing at her own handiwork.

  “I am investing in markets through the London Stock Exchange. It’s new to me, I confess.”

  “And you’re doing this for sheer pleasure?”

  He laughed a short, brusque sound. “Hardly that.”

  However, he didn’t elaborate on his need for financial success. She couldn’t blame him since no member of the aristocracy wanted to admit the need to earn money. In any case, she couldn’t push him to say more on the matter without seeming vulgar.

  “I’m sure it
is fascinating,” she told him, wishing with all her heart that she could go into the exchange. As a man, he had the freedom to do so yet didn’t bother. The injustice made her want to shake him.

  Lord Alder shrugged. “Honestly, I’ll learn what I need to know, but I have someone else acting on my behalf. There are a lot of ins and outs, I hear, and a few wrong moves can lose a man his fortune.”

  Precisely, she thought.

  “Really?” Ada batted her eyelashes, which felt ridiculous, but she saw his gaze flicker with interest.

  “Do you ride?” he asked. “The weather is fine today.”

  She couldn’t really bear the thought of him poking around her parlor, unsupervised, while she was upstairs with Lucy changing for a ride through the park. Moreover, she’d have to summon her driver to get one of the carriage horses saddled properly. And while she felt comfortable being alone in the safety of her own home, oddly, the idea of their being seen out riding together didn’t sit well.

  Instantly, she would be considered Lord Vile’s latest conquest as soon as people learned of his break with Lady Pepperton.

  “I’m not dressed for it,” she pointed out. “Does it bother you being here, merely two doors down?”

  His blank expression at last registered her meaning.

  “No, not at all. Her home is not my home. Besides, Lady Pepperton shall remain a friend, and that is all. Come now, you’re not a debutante. You know how these things are done?”

  Did she? Actually, she hadn’t a clue.

  Keeping her face neutral, she offered, “We can plan for horses through the park another day.”

  “Mrs. St. Ange, I cannot tell you how pleased I am to learn there will be another day for us.”

  She wished she hadn’t said it. Statements like that wouldn’t keep him guessing, wouldn’t make him doubt his own prowess, and certainly didn’t portray her indifference as she hoped. Drat!

  Then he added, “You are dressed for a carriage ride, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Glancing down at her gown as if she didn’t know what she was wearing, she was surprised to hear him laugh again.

  “And dressed rather beautifully, I must say. It seems a shame not to show you off.”