A Lord's Kiss

by Mary Lancaster et al.

  “He is not attractive.”

  “Not true,” Alison cried. “He simply doesn’t have the ravishing good looks of—well, Cameron Hunter—but neither has he a penchant for amoral behavior. Robert will make a fine, practical husband. Passion can rule a man. I want a husband with a level head on his shoulders.”

  Erin’s eyes sparkled. “Good. We are agreed. You marry Robert. He is perfect for you. You have much in common.”

  Alison gave a mock frown. “You are calling me boring.”

  “Never!” Erin laughed. “You are practical.” She smiled. “Which is a good thing, for I am not. Now enough. I need to borrow a dress. I cannot return home like this. Help me fix my hair and sew my bodice”

  Alison’s good humor vanished. She couldn’t let the viscount get away with ravishing Erin. He’d sent her home in a carriage alone. The man was a beast.

  Chapter Two

  “Where were you?”

  Her father’s abrupt demand, coming from the dark foyer behind Erin, set off fissions of fear. Her heart pounded. Nothing compared to the soft threats of her formidable father.

  The soft click of the front door as she pulled it closed echoed in the empty space.

  “I am sorry.” She’d said those same words before when it came to her relationship with Lord Weston. But she never meant them more than she did tonight. “It wasn’t my fault.”

  “It never is.”

  She turned, shoulders hunched, and pressed her back against the door. She stared at the hem of her dress and the toe of her exposed slipper. “There is only so much I can do. I cannot control him, nor can I plan for every contingency.”

  “Excuses. You are always full of excuses.”

  “My timing was perfect and all was going exactly as planned.” She grew quieter. “But you weren’t there.”

  “You blame me?” his voice rose. “Nae, blame lies with you. How many opportunities must I provide?”

  “Father—”

  “Enough!” He turned from the hall and strode toward his study.

  Erin wasn’t sure if she should follow or retreat to her room. No explanation would assuage her father’s ire. But this was not her fault. The moment had been perfect. Perhaps she had fumbled previous plans, like the time she’d followed the viscount home from one of the hells. He’d been unsteady on his feet…a perfect opportunity to smile, seduce, and garner an invitation to his bed. Only, the blasted man had been a ghost. One minute, weaving his way through the park, the next, gone. She’d spent the night hidden in his pantry, but he’d never arrived. Evidently, another woman had warmed his bed that night. Another failure as far as her father was concerned.

  With whisper-quiet steps, she followed her father into his sanctuary. “Perhaps there is a reason the viscount has never fallen victim to scandal. He is careful, Father. And not easily persuaded.”

  “He’s a rake, he has bedded every whore—except you.”

  “Whore?” Erin felt as if she’d been slapped. “How dare you?” The words erupted from her mouth before she could stop them. “If I am a whore, you made me one.” Fear skittered across her flesh. For a moment, she’d forgotten with whom she spoke. She lowered her head. “I am sorry.” She couldn’t anger her father, lest she find herself homeless tonight.

  “Do not make me explain myself again,” he said in a cold voice.

  Please, not again, she mentally pleaded. One might think her father wanted this marriage more than she did. Obsessive was too kind a word for her motivation. More than marriage, she wanted out of her father’s house. If he wanted her to marry the viscount, what better escape? For the hundredth time, she considered fleeing her father’s house for a life on the stage.

  “I will provide another opportunity,” her father said. “Listen well, Daughter, because Cameron Hunter is an intelligent man. Too intelligent,” he muttered. “A man like him needs watching.” He plucked at his black brow as he stared hard at Erin.

  Tension coiled in her belly. She told herself he wanted the best for her, but Harrison Lennox never did anything that didn’t suit his own needs. Erin had learned early on never to cross her father.

  He slid a handwritten note across the table. “Sunday evening will finally secure your future. I will not be foiled again.” The meaning in his words rang inside her head: fail me again and you will not be forgiven.

  Erin looked at the paper. She didn’t recognize the stationary, but the molded Weston wax crest was as distinctive as her father’s hand.

  She devoured the words.

  My Love,

  Meet me tonight at my home at 1:00. I will leave the kitchen door unlocked. Take the servants’ stairs located to the right and go to the third floor. My room is the first on the right. We will be alone, so you need not worry, we will have the privacy I promised you.

  I cannot wait until you are in my arms again,

  Cam

  She didn’t understand. “Does he want me to come?”

  “Of course not.”

  “But it’s written on his stationary. The letter has his seal.”

  “Do not concern yourself with the details. Just slip in through the rear entrance of Welbourne and be in his bedchamber at the appointed hour. I shall do the rest.” He stood and crossed to his humidor, which sat on a sideboard near the bookshelves.

  “Why is it so important I marry Viscount Weston? There are other men of influence and means.” Men who would not make her feel as desirable as an asp around the neck.

  “Do not concern yourself with the reasons,” he snapped. “Do as I say.”

  She squared her shoulders. “Believe me father, I too want to be married.” Whether to Lord Weston or another, so long as she could finally escape her father.

  ***

  Alison pulled her hood closer against the night chill as she hurried up the walkway toward Lord Weston’s home. Nearly at the door, she slowed and cast a glance back at the darkened street. As expected, her walk from her carriage, parked two blocks over, had been quiet and she had noticed no one peering from windows. If anyone had seen her, they would mistake her for a maid on her way home after an afternoon off. Alison turned right and crept around the side of the house. According to the note she’d found in her cousin’s room, the pantry door at the rear would be open.

  Thankfully, Alison had taken supper at Erin’s home and found the note on her sitting room desk. Foolish girl. Erin was too enamored, too full of fairytale romance, to see Cameron Hunter for the devil he was.

  “Damn you, Cameron Hunter,” she muttered. “I will have your head for this.”

  She reached the door and took the two steps up. Carefully, she turned the knob and opened the door a slit. The door hinge creaked. Alison winced and stilled. Silence emanated from the darkened kitchen. She breathed a sigh of relief, then slipped inside and closed the door behind her. She had to ascend to the third floor where the viscount’s private chambers were located.

  A tremor rippled through her stomach. Alison had wracked her brain to try to remember whether the earl had left for Edinburgh or if they were here in Inverness, but to no avail. She didn’t heed local gossip—a fact she now regretted. Alison shuddered at the thought of the Earl catching her sneaking into his house.

  As directed in the note, Alison took the servants’ stairs to the right and climbed to the third floor. She crept to the first door on the right and halted. If she entered the wrong room... This was ridiculous. The viscount knew his own house. There was no mistake. Still, the situation bothered her beyond the obvious moral implications. She’d never once heard of him bringing a dalliance into his father’s house. Then again, she didn’t keep up on all the gossip—and, no matter what he’d done in the past, he had invited Erin, a virgin of only eighteen years, into his home. Into his bedchambers, no less.

  Her fury fired anew. She would cut off his bollocks.

  Alison turned the knob slowly and peeked inside the room. Candlelight cast a soft glow across the carpet. She slipped inside and eased the door sh
ut. When the latch clicked into place, she winced and held her breath. The small sound had seemed to fill the silent room. No one called out.

  No one called out.

  She whirled and scanned the room. A single lit taper sat on the table between two chairs that faced the empty hearth. Shadows filled the corners and reached out from the bed centered against the far right wall. Where was the viscount? Alison squinted at the bed. Was he asleep? Surely, he didn’t expect Erin to simply climb into bed with him?

  Alison crossed to the bed and discerned that the covers were made. A door was located to the left of the bed. Probably a dressing closet. No light shone from beneath. She turned. Where was he? Had she made a mistake in the time? Impossible.

  She hurried to the candle, threw back her hood and pulled the note from her cloak pocket. Alison unfolded the paper and tilted the note toward the light.

  My Love,

  Meet me tonight at my home at 1:00. I will leave the kitchen door unlocked. Take the servants’ stairs located to the right and go to the third floor. My room is the first on the right. We will be alone, so you need not worry, we will have the privacy I promised you.

  I cannot wait until you are in my arms again,

  Cam

  Her blood boiled as it had each of the other times she’d read the note. We will have all the privacy I promised you. What other promises had he made? Not one of marriage, she would wager. Her gaze returned to the endearment my love. He knew exactly how to manipulate an impressionable young woman. So why wasn’t he here? Damn him again. Why invite Erin to his bedchambers, then not be here?

  Alison stuffed the note back into her pocket and crept from the room and back down the stairs. She reached the pantry, then hesitated. Where would the viscount be this time of night? She snorted. In some other lady’s bed, no doubt. It was well known he kept a mistress in a nondescript neighborhood of Inverness. One in Edinburgh, as well, if gossip was to be believed. She grimaced. Apparently, she did listen to gossip. Unfortunately, this time, it wasn’t the kind that would help.

  Her heart fell. There was nothing to be done. She couldn’t very well go in search of him—even if she knew where he was. Should she have waited for him in his room? God only knew when the scoundrel would return. Perhaps not even tonight. Her ire mounted. It was bad enough he enticed Erin into his bed, but to not be there was the height of arrogance—and cruelty. Erin was naïve and reckless. But to be so carelessly rejected by his absence would be a dagger to her heart. By God, if she knew where he was, she would find him, consequences be damned.

  The creak of a door snapped her mind to attention. A man’s laughter followed, then a male voice said, “You are no’ on the docks in Glasgow, James. Your carriage is safe on the street here in Inverness.”

  Viscount Weston.

  Alison’s heart jumped to a gallop. He wasn’t alone.

  “If there is any trouble, my driver is not above leaving me here stranded,” replied another male voice.

  “I suggest you find a new driver, then,” the viscount said.

  “Easy for ye to say,” the other rejoined. “Good drivers are hard to come by these days.”

  “He does not sound like a good driver,” Lord Weston said.

  “Everyone has at least one flaw, Hunter. This man happens to be good with a knife and a pistol. In our line of work, that makes him a good man to employ.”

  Deep, rich laughter followed. “I suppose you have a point.”

  Alison’s thoughts raced. The viscount was home and, not only had he brought a friend, but the friend had a driver sitting outside the house. How would she leave without being noticed? To make matters worse, the driver knew how to use a knife and gun. Her heart sank. Might she escape through the garden? If there was no rear gate, she would never be able to scale the wall. It was twice her height. Either way, she had to leave.

  The scrape of wood told her a pocket door was being opened. The library or study?

  “Have a seat,” the viscount said. He had stepped inside the room.

  Alison took the three steps to the door, reached for the handle, then stopped. When she’d entered, the door had creaked loudly. The short hallway between pantry and study made it easy to hear the men talking with the door open. Which meant they would hear the door creak open. Alison closed her eyes and prayed they would close the door. She had to try to sneak past the driver outside. In a few minutes, he would likely be asleep…or shooting her for trespassing.

  “How much will he pay?” the viscount said.

  Alison’s heart fell. The men were discussing business. She balled one hand into a fist. Cameron Hunter was talking business while believing Erin awaited him in his bedchambers. Did he expect his lovers to wait until he was ready to ravish them?

  “Brandy?” the viscount offered his guest.

  Alison chewed her bottom lip. What if they talked until dawn? She couldn’t possibly hide the entire night. She had to return and free Erin from the closet where Alison had locked her. When she left, Erin had been livid. Erin would, no doubt, be even more furious when Alison freed her. Her cousin’s anger was a small price to pay for saving her from a man like Lord Weston. Alison didn’t want to consider the confrontation with Cousin Henry should he discover she wasn’t home.

  Might she risk slipping out the door? When she’d entered, the creak had sounded in an empty room. Everything sounded louder in silence. She took one step toward the door.

  “As high as five thousand pounds for the right girl,” the man said.

  Alison halted. Girl?

  “A beautiful virgin is worth a fortune,” the viscount said.

  “Aye,” the other man replied. “Those girls must be young and very pretty—minor nobility or the gentry, or perhaps exceptionally beautiful. For those of the lower class, twelve hundred pounds. Still, that is a fortune. And—just as you suspected—he said he can pay that sum as often as we can provide the girls.”

  “What is our share?” Viscount Weston asked.

  “Twenty percent.”

  “Two hundred and forty pounds for the crime of kidnapping a woman—a minor noblewoman or a gentlewoman,” said his lordship.

  Alison barely stifled a gasp. Kidnapping?

  “Napier is of the mind we can harvest the young working class until the clients’ money runs out.”

  Good God, Cameron Hunter, the future 8th Earl of Weston, was a kidnapper?

  Alison jarred at the quiet thump of approaching bootfalls. She wouldn’t get as far as the street before getting caught. Alison veered toward the servants’ stairs and hurried up. Her sleeve snagged on a splinter of wood on the door jamb and ripped. She stifled a cry and kept going.

  Thank God she’d worn her evening slippers. She’d borrowed one of her maid’s work dresses, but the girl’s shoes were too small, and Alison had been forced to wear her slippers. They made no sound on the stairs. She reached the third floor, ducked into the viscount’s room and collapsed, back against the door, breathing hard.

  She simply couldn’t believe it. She didn’t know Cameron Hunter well, but he’d seemed the typical rake. Too much money, too much idle time, and lots of gambling. His note to Erin was indicative of a man who believed his power over women to be absolute. A bored, arrogant nobleman. But to partake in the criminal world? Would he go that far to relieve his boredom?

  The door abruptly shoved open, sending Alison tumbling forward. She landed on the floor, shoulder first, and rolled onto her back to find herself staring up into Viscount Weston’s face.

  ***

  Cameron cursed. Was the woman lying on her back in his bedchambers the Earl of Kincaid’s daughter?

  Cameron reached for her arm. “You have some explaining to do, Lady Alison.”

  She slapped his hand. “Do not touch me.”

  “Lower your voice,” he ordered.

  She scooted backwards. “I will scream.”

  “For Christ’s sake, get up.”

  She stared for a moment, then pushed to her feet. H
er dress caught beneath her slippered foot and she toppled forward. Cameron caught her, all lush curves and smelling faintly of jasmine.

  She snapped her head up and scowled. “What are you doing here?”

  “I live here,” he growled. “The question is, what are you doing here?”

  Even in the candlelight, he discerned her narrowed eyes.

  “I’m sure I am quite the surprise,” she said.

  “You have a knack for understatement, my lady, particularly given that you are in my arms.”

  She drew a sharp breath and yanked free. “You were expecting someone else we both know,” she said in an oversweet tone. “A charming, yet foolish, young lady.” She crossed her arms over her breasts. “You don’t like having your plans spoiled, do you?”

  “Have you gone mad?” he demanded. “If you are discovered here, your reputation will be ruined beyond repair.”

  She snorted. “How chivalrous of you. However, we both know that you are hardly this generous to all your late-night lovers. Should I feel honored that you’d defend my reputation?”

  “What?” Fire ripped through him. “Madam, let me make myself perfectly clear. You could parade naked from my bedchambers and tell the entire world I compromised you, and I still would not marry you.”

  “Would not marry me?” she cried. “That’s rich. I would not marry you if you were the last man on earth.”

  The words, and her sarcasm, startled him, but he didn’t have time to listen. Contrary to his threat, his father wouldn’t be pleased if an unwed noblewoman were caught in his room—naked or not.

  “I must finish my business,” he said. “You are no’ to leave this room until I return. Understand?”

  She frowned. “Nae, I do not believe I can accommodate your request.”

  He took a step toward her. “You will do as I say.”

  “I believe it is in my best interest to leave. Only you know that I am here.”

  “The last thing you want is for someone to see you slinking from this house.”

  “Someone who is good with a knife and gun?”