Once Upon an Earl_Heirs of High Society_A Regency Romance Book

Home > Other > Once Upon an Earl_Heirs of High Society_A Regency Romance Book > Page 13
Once Upon an Earl_Heirs of High Society_A Regency Romance Book Page 13

by Eleanor Meyers


  She closed her eyes.

  “I see I’ll have to keep them apart,” Lady Brandell said, as she came into the room.

  Samantha stepped away and her cheeks heated at the censure in the woman’s eyes.

  Lady Selby seemed surprised.

  Had the situation with Mr. Green not already ruined her reputation, Samantha would think this the most embarrassing moment in her life to date.

  “My apologies,” Nash said. “I should have been more mindful of my surroundings.”

  “Mindful?” Lady Brandell walked toward him. “But you don’t apologize for compromising my companion?”

  Nash’s eyes bored into Samantha’s at that very moment, and she had a feeling what he would say, so she cut him off.

  “No one has been compromised,” Sam said.

  “Well,” Lady Brandell went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I would think even a man like you knows what is right to do in this situation.”

  Sam touched her head, feeling an ache settling in. “Nothing,” she lied, no longer able to look in Nash’s direction much less his eyes. “He just… caught me when I was about to fall. That’s all.” She started for the door. “Well, we should set off for the south so that we can settle into an inn before nightfall.” She left them all in her wake, never daring to look back.

  * * *

  16

  CHAPTER

  SIXTEEN

  .

  .

  .

  * * *

  * * *

  .

  “You’re leaving the Brandell house?” Nash asked once Lady Brandell gave him the news.

  The woman crossed her arms as she was jostled by the carriage. Lady Selby sat on one side and Samantha had been placed on the other, leaving Nash to take up the seat across from them. It was less than comfortable, but Samantha found something to smile about, at the fact that the dowager was trying to save her reputation.

  And she was also glad when Lady Brandell didn’t share the reason she wished to leave. “You couldn’t have expected us to stay with the murderer, could you?” Lady Brandell shook her head. “Certainly not. Lady Samantha and I would be more comfortable elsewhere.”

  Nash looked between the women and said, “That won’t be necessary once this is all over. If Lord Brandell has done any wrongdoing, I swear to you that I’ll not stop until he answers for every crime he’s committed.” His words were not shouted, but they were laden with such loathing that Samantha had a feeling Nash would not stop, until he either succeeded or came to his own end.

  Lady Brandell must have thought the same, because she frowned. “Once you find the evidence, I would ask that you go to a magistrate straight away. There’s no need to involve yourself in any violence.”

  “Someone who obeys the law wasn’t who you were looking for the night we met,” Nash reminded the dowager with a stern look.

  She gave him one of her own that looked strangely similar. “Mr. Smith, much has not gone as I expected it to.” She stared at him for a moment, and then turned to Lady Selby to see if she was all right.

  The weary mother was looking out the window. The sun hadn’t yet set, but that hour drew closer by the minute.

  Samantha was from the south, and hadn’t seen the road that the carriage traveled since the day she’d first come to London with a mission to marry a lord, and not have her father disown her. The thought of it still made her heart ache, even though she had to admit that she’d never spent much time with the man who’d fathered her.

  In fact, she’d probably received more embraces from Nash than her father, not that her father wasn’t a kind man. He smiled often, and enjoyed his parties when he returned from the far-off places he wished to go, and he enjoyed her, which was the reason he’d allowed the choice of her marrying well, or marrying Mr. Green. There were no other options, except to remain Lady Brandell’s companion until her death. The thought of such of life wasn’t as horrible as it had been when she’d first been assigned to Lady Brandell, but now that she had the woman’s kindness, she was starting to feel a connection to the dowager.

  But it was the connection to the man in front of her that gave her pause. She couldn’t deny her growing feelings for Nash.

  “Samantha, you don’t live far from here, do you?” Lady Brandell asked.

  Sam smiled. “No. In fact, Oakmont is only a few hours east of here, I believe.”

  “Did you enjoy growing up in the country?” Nash asked.

  She was forced to look at him. “I did.” His eyes were much too warm for present company, and forced her to readjust herself in her seat.

  “I imagine it is much different than the city,” he said. “I couldn’t imagine living in a place that was so quiet.”

  She could imagine. He grew up in an orphanage and presently resided in one of the loudest parts of London. “I can’t imagine never having solitude,” she said, as though it needed to be said. A line needed to be drawn between them.

  He fixed his position in his chair and said, “I could learn to adapt, I would think.” Dark challenge made his eyes even more stunning. “What are your parents like?”

  She shrugged. “My mother died when I was a child, and my father enjoyed traveling. He was hardly home, but when he was, I enjoyed his company.”

  “If only he could control where his friends chose to lay their heads when he brought them home. Then your reputation would be soundlessly intact.” Lady Brandell puffed. “Any man who attacks a woman in her own rooms should be throttled, I say.”

  Sam’s cheeks heated. Did the dowager truly know the story?

  “What was that?” Lady Selby asked.

  Nash was watching her keenly, and then turned to Lady Brandell. “I agree.” If he hadn’t known the truth of it before, he surely knew it now.

  Sam cleared her throat. “I wasn’t… attacked.”

  “Did you want him there?” Lady Brandell asked.

  “Well, no. He hadn’t been invited to my room, but he was quite drunk, and only slept by my side.” And since that night, every little bump in the darkness of her chambers woke her. Maids who tried their best to not disturb her were always surprised that their soft footsteps on the carpet would still startle her.

  “What was the name of this man?” Nash asked. Sam could feel the currents of a storm extending from him. His body drew tight, as though ready to do unspeakable damage.

  Lady Brandell opened her mouth to say the name of the man who would likely become Nash’s target.

  “Let’s discuss something else, please,” Sam said. “This subject disturbs me.” And it truly did. Already her stomach rolled, and it had nothing to do with the carriage wheels that seemed to hit every bump on the dirt road.

  Lady Brandell looked at her and then nodded. “Very well, but the man needs to be dealt with.”

  Sam stared at her and asked, “Is that the reason you started this conversation? So that Mr. Smith would deal with it?”

  Lady Brandell nodded. “If you’ve not learned by now, he’s clearly a protector, are you not, Mr. Smith?”

  Nash’s eyes still held an intensity that raised the fine hairs on her arms, but they gentled when they turned to Lady Brandell. “I’d protect you with my very life, my lady.” Then he looked at Sam again.

  Lady Brandell beamed, and it was quite lovely.

  “Oh, how kind of you, Mr. Smith,” Lady Selby said with a sigh.

  Sam, no longer able to appear unbothered with Nash’s eyes on her, turned away just as the carriage turned toward a smaller road. A house came into view. “Are we here already?” She’d grab at anything to change the subject.

  Nash’s blood felt as though it had caught flames, and the sensation hadn’t ceased since Lady Brandell had shared the story that had ruined Samantha’s reputation. A man had chosen her rooms for the night, and though Sam seemed to have been left untouched, his being there had been enough. These sort of rules in society were the sort he never liked, and the story was worse than he’d imagined. He
’d thought the man Sam had been caught with had at least been someone she loved. Now he knew it had all been circumstantial. On one hand, he was glad to know she’d yet to love a man enough to invite him to her bed, yet on the other hand… She didn’t deserve what had happened to her, and more than anything, Nash hated an issue he couldn’t beat to a resolution. There was nothing one could do once rumors spread through London, and more likely than not, the victims of wagging tongues were innocent.

  “This home is owned by a friend,” Nash said, as the carriage came to a stop. “It will be safe to sleep here, as opposed to an inn. Lord Brandell has come this way, and we’ve no idea where he’s decided to rest his head. Mrs. Weston has been known to keep her silence where my matters are concerned. Wait here.” He hopped out of the carriage alone.

  By appearances, nothing had changed about Mrs. Weston’s house. The home was quaint, made of a pale brick with white columns and finishings along the roof and windows. The garden was sparse, but healthy. A butler opened the door and he was glad to find his dear friend there, ready to greet him. Her smile was bright, and only slightly weathered by the creases of age.

  “I received your note,” Mrs. Weston said. “Your messengers move rather quickly.”

  Nash had sent one of Iverstone’s men ahead, but he hadn’t known how he’d be received, since he’d had no time to wait in London on a reply. Every day that Lord Selby was gone, was yet another he could be dead, if he wasn’t already so. “Do you have room? I’ve three ladies with me.”

  She nodded. “I’ve the room and it will come at its usual price.” Her blue eyes glittered. Ever the business woman was Mrs. Weston.

  Behind her house was a barn, but besides a healthy steed, nothing else was kept in there and every once in a while, it was used to host a fight. Since boxing matches were illegal in the city, the fighters and the crowds of gentlemen who enjoyed the sport were forced to journey outside of London for the spectacle. The host always took a portion of the winnings. The hosting had started with her husband, but she’d continued after his passing. Some nights she made enough to see her through the entire year, and having an inn less than a mile away made her house the perfect location.

  “You’ll have your fight,” Nash promised.

  A gray brow lifted. “And will I have my fighter? Surely, it’s not an unreasonable thing to ask in exchange for my silence.” She was the reason Nash thought women would appreciate the sport, yet so far, only men received such invites.

  Nash chuckled and shook his head. “I rarely fight anymore.”

  “I know.” Greed made her blue eyes more vibrant. “Imagine the crowds that would come.”

  Nash sighed.

  “Is everything all right?” Sam called from behind him.

  He turned to find her standing outside the carriage, shaking out her skirts before she fixed her matching hat with its ribbons blowing in the wind. Against the setting sun, she was soul-stirringly beautiful.

  “Well, you’ve never brought such a lovely guest before,” Mrs. Weston whispered. “I’ve prepared four rooms, but perhaps you only need three?”

  After glaring at the scandalous woman, Nash started toward the carriage and was unsurprised when she started toward him, as well. “I told you to stay in the carriage.” This was said loudly since Lady Brandell and Lady Selby were also disembarking.

  “I wanted to stretch my legs,” Sam said in a low voice. A loose curl escaped from its confinement and she used a few fingers to tuck it behind her ear. “Are we to stay the night or not?” Another strand caught on her lips.

  “We are,” he told her, aching with the need to touch her mouth, but he’d not ruin her more than she already was. Still, he held out an arm for her and led her into the house.

  “She should plant roses,” Sam said as they drew closer. “Her house is at the perfect angle against the sun for it.”

  “You think so?” Mrs. Weston asked as they drew closer. “I’d been thinking of having something done, but I didn’t know what.”

  “Sam is phenomenal designer of gardens,” Nash said as she led the other women past the threshold, grinning as Lady Brandell patted his arm in thanks. “And she charges a reasonable fee.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Sam said with light rebuke. “I charge nothing. I simply do it for pleasure.”

  Mrs. Weston seemed to brighten as they were shown into the drawing room. “If you have time while you’re here, I’d love to see what you can do. Otherwise, you can return when the fight takes place.”

  “Fight?” Lady Selby looked surprised.

  Nash glared at Mrs. Weston, hoping to push her towards silence, but she ignored it.

  “It’s the price for the rooms,” Mrs. Weston said, settling into her own chair. A maid appeared with a tea tray that was also laden with treats. “Iverstone’s Boxing Club will host a fight on my premises.” She smiled. “Nash will likely compete.”

  “I never said I would,” Nash said quickly, and then added, “And I thought we agreed we’d keep this between us.” He hadn’t wanted Sam to know about the fight, which was why he’d rushed to the door. He hadn’t wanted his mother to know, either.

  “Are you greatly hurt in this activity, Mr. Smith?” Lady Brandell asked with clear worry.

  “A few bruised ribs,” Mrs. Weston supplied. “Nothing that’s not gone after a fortnight.”

  Nash didn’t bother glaring at the woman again. Instead, he thought to change the subject, but his mother went on.

  “That sounds like something I’d like to see,” Lady Brandell said. “Are women invited?”

  Both Nash and Lady Shelby’s mouths gaped. Sam’s form of shock came with widened eyes.

  Mrs. Weston went on as though nothing were amiss. “The women climb a ladder up to the rafters. We watch from there. Usually only a few of my friends from the village come, but I’ve hosted one or two ladies before.”

  Nash had known nothing about the women spectators, though he had never thought to look up. They always stayed on the floor, watching for men who stepped past the boundary lines, making sure the betting tables went undisturbed. Never up.

  “It sounds much too brutal for me,” Lady Selby said with a slight shake of the head before she took a sip of tea.

  “It’s like watching gladiators,” Mrs. Weston said with a smile over her cup. “The Romans did have a way with entertainment, I say.”

  Nash looked over at Sam, and found her to be studying his chest. Was she imagining those bruised ribs that Mrs. Weston had spoken of?

  Her gaze lifted and caught his, before she turned to the woman. “How do you know Nash?”

  “From the orphanage,” Mrs. Weston said. She smiled at Nash. “I was there when Nash arrived. He was so small and pink. His hair was redder than it is now. It still amazes me that he became the man he is.”

  Nash had heard the woman share this story before. He’d never been ashamed of where he’d grown up, but this was the first time he wished to silence her, not because of pride, but because it likely reminded Lady Selby of the reason she’d come on this journey, and his mother, of her loss.

  Again, his protest was cut off by Lady Brandell. “I’m sure you saw many a child in your time at the orphanage. I’m amazed you can recall such details about Mr. Smith.”

  Mrs. Weston tsked. “Oh, the things I recall.” She sighed and said, “I was hired at Best Home after leaving my position as a courtesan to a young lord. At thirty, he’d begun to fancy me less and less, and then when I got with child, he cut me off completely.” Like Nash, Mrs. Weston was also unashamed by her past. “Miss Elizabeth Best, God rest her soul, didn’t judge me and allowed me to stay at the home as a wet nurse for the infants, raising my son with her charges. Then one day in the market, I met Mr. Weston and, with my son at my side, left the city for a new life as a respectable woman. My son is in the army now. Mr. Weston loved him as his own. He comes home when he can. Does my past disturb you?” She looked around at the ladies present. If her past did offend the
m, Mrs. Weston would take no issue dismissing them, no matter who they were.

  When all shook their heads, her smile returned. Then Mrs. Weston turned to Nash again. “I remember the hair. He had a full head of it, which is rare for a babe. There was also a little mark on his left arm.”

  “A mark?” Lady Brandell asked in whisper. Her face went white as she looked at Nash. Her tea trembled in her fingers.

  Nash turned away from his mother and stood. “Perhaps your staff can show the women to their rooms. I’m sure they’d like to freshen up, and rest before dinner.” Nash’s heart was rocking against his ribcage and he only prayed that Lady Brandell hadn’t figured out his identity. That, he could never allow. It would complicate everything, and while he wasn’t shamed by who he was, he suspected that she would be, if she learned his whole story.

 

‹ Prev