The Lady Who Loved Him
By
Christi Caldwell
The Lady Who Loved Him
Copyright © 2018 by Christi Caldwell
EPUB Edition
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Other Titles by Christi Caldwell
Heart of a Duke
In Need of a Duke—Prequel Novella
For Love of the Duke
More than a Duke
The Love of a Rogue
Loved by a Duke
To Love a Lord
The Heart of a Scoundrel
To Wed His Christmas Lady
To Trust a Rogue
The Lure of a Rake
To Woo a Widow
To Redeem a Rake
One Winter with a Baron
To Enchant a Wicked Duke
Beguiled by a Baron
To Tempt a Scoundrel
The Heart of a Scandal
In Need of a Knight—Prequel Novella
Schooling the Duke
Lords of Honor
Seduced by a Lady’s Heart
Captivated by a Lady’s Charm
Rescued by a Lady’s Love
Tempted by a Lady’s Smile
Scandalous Seasons
Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride
Never Courted, Suddenly Wed
Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous
Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love
A Marquess for Christmas
Once a Wallflower, at Last His Love
Sinful Brides
The Rogue’s Wager
The Scoundrel’s Honor
The Lady’s Guard
The Theodosia Sword
Only For His Lady
Only For Her Honor
Only For Their Love
Danby
A Season of Hope
Winning a Lady’s Heart
The Brethren
The Spy Who Seduced Her
Brethren of the Lords
My Lady of Deception
Memoir: Non-Fiction
Uninterrupted Joy
Dedication
All my heroes and heroines are special to me. But sometimes, you meet one character who seems even more so. For me, Chloe Edgerton has always been one of those heroines. I often call her my fictional ‘daughter’.
To every reader who has ever emailed, written, or messaged asking about Lady Chloe Edgerton…Chloe and Leo’s story is for you.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Other Titles by Christi Caldwell
Dedication
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
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Coming Soon: The Hellion
Other Books by Christi Caldwell
Biography
Chapter 1
London
Spring 1821
Seated at his private table, with a half bottle of empty brandy within arm’s reach and a whore on his lap, Leo Dunlop, the Marquess of Tennyson, was spending his night like he had so many others before.
Well, all but the whore part.
Leo ceased nuzzling the buxom beauty’s neck and glanced about the raucous floors of Forbidden Pleasures… one of the most disreputable hells in London. From where she stood at a hazard table with Lord Robinson, a pretty brunette caught his gaze. With a slow, sultry smile, she sauntered over and, uninvited, perched herself upon his lap.
There, problem rectified. He reached around the delightful bundles in his arms to grab for his half-empty snifter.
His briefly neglected partner for that night, Emma, pouted. “You know I don’t like to share.”
Finishing off his drink, Leo set his glass down. Actually, he hadn’t known that. Emma made to climb off his lap. Catching her about her lush waist, Leo urged her back into place, and she went unresistingly. Of course, her upset was all for show. A bid to wheedle more coin and secure the upper hand. Content to let her believe herself triumphant, even as he had no intention of giving her a pence more, he cajoled, “Come, sweet. You know I’m capable of pleasing two women on any given night.” He cupped them by their buttocks and guided them each astride a thigh. “Oftentimes, three or four.”
The other whore on his lap giggled and adjusted herself, grinding against his wool breeches until little panting moans spilled past her lips.
Emma gripped him by the lapels of his jacket and dragged his mouth close to hers. “It ain’t your leg I’m wanting this evening, my lord. And even with your prowess, you still can’t manage to spring another pole.” She slipped a hand between his legs. His erection sprang all the harder. A triumphant grin wreathed her fleshy lips. “See, love. You don’t need anyone else but me.”
His was purely a physical reaction. One he’d had countless times, with countless women. “No. I do not need anyone else tonight,” he drawled, and the whore beamed. No. He did not need anyone. Not in any way, either emotional, sexual, or some variation in between. “However, I want someone else tonight. Two someones.” He worked her skirt higher around her waist, and she melted against him, her objections quelled under his attentions.
Sex was sex for Leo. It always had been and always would be. It was the safest, most uncomplicated act where a pair simply used each other as a vehicle to sate their lust. No different than an itch that needed scratching.
Then the other whore grinding herself against him grew greedy. She edged herself in front of Emma.
Fire sparked in her eyes as she shoved at the younger woman. “He called me over.”
“Well, now he can send you away,” Emma cheekily rejoined.
He was one sharp outburst away from two battling whores. And though he preferred that fire in his bedroom, he’d far better uses in mind for the two wom
en than breaking up any fight.
“You can leave, you—”
Leo crushed his mouth to the pretty brunette’s lips, swallowing the remainder of her words. Not breaking contact, he explored the generous bounty of Emma’s enormous bosom. The faint scent of sweat doused in pungent rosewater was off-putting.
Just another night. Just another whore. Or in this case, two…
When had his life become… this?
Oh, he knew precisely the moment he’d started down the path of debauchery. After all, a gent tended to remember the day he was tapped by the king’s men to serve the role of agent of the Crown. Somewhere along the way, however, the young pup who loved his books at Oxford had been inculcated on how so perfectly to shape himself into someone else—a hardened rake—that the world was content to see only that. Society didn’t glance past the veneer, and Leo had ultimately crafted his until he’d become the reprobate from the surface down to his very soul.
Yes, he was getting old. Thrusting aside his maudlin sentiments, he shifted his attentions to the younger whore, plundering her mouth—still bored.
But then, he’d always been one to bore easily. Carrying on as he had for the past twelve years was surely enough to make any man grow tedious. It was why he’d become more inventive, descended into greater depths of impiety.
Emma bit the corner of his mouth and he winced.
“I thought you liked it violent,” she breathed against his mouth, her breath stinking of cheap champagne.
Committing his efforts to dislodging the ennui, he devoted himself to the other whore’s breasts.
From the corner of his eye, Leo caught a pair of legs pull into focus. A pair of spindly breeches-clad legs.
“Ahem.” Oh, bloody hell. That disapproving utterance, the blasted mark of only one bothersome twat. Fucking Haskins. Mayhap the blighter would go away if properly embarrassed into it.
“Busy,” Leo muttered, freeing Emma’s flesh from her plunging décolletage. He dropped his head to worship at that skin.
“I said—ahem.”
Leo broke the kiss and glowered up at the gray-haired gentleman who’d made it his life’s mission to make Leo’s life absolutely miserable, whenever and wherever he could… and that included his wicked clubs. “What?” he snapped impatiently before old Haskins could speak. There was only one of two reasons Haskins sought him out: Crown business… or displeased uncle, the Duke of Aubrey.
Haskins cleared his throat loudly over the din. “His Grace has requested—”
“The pleasure of my company,” he snapped the familiar phrase. So, it was to be displeased uncle, then.
With a sigh, he pushed the two women off his lap. They landed on their feet, quick like cats. “Afraid we are done here.”
They pouted, lingering.
Offering them a swat on their arses instead of the coin they really craved, Leo redirected his focus to the old bastard. With his face heavily wrinkled and his sunken features gleaming with disapproval, Haskins managed to kill Leo’s remaining erection.
“This had better be important,” he muttered, rising. With the disapproving servant looking on, Leo poured himself another brandy and downed it in a long, slow gulp. Grimacing, he abandoned the snifter. The crystal rocked back and forth, before settling in place.
Not bothering to wait for Haskins, Leo started through the club.
As he walked, he surveyed the lords present. Wastrels and reprobates, all of them. But occasionally, some of them more—men who’d sell secrets of the Crown or a vote in the House of Commons for the right amount of coin.
Stepping through the double doors, Leo did a sweep of the streets.
Haskins cleared his throat in the infuriating manner that always set Leo’s teeth on edge. “His Grace’s carriage awaits.”
“I can ride my own damned horse,” Leo gritted, starting in the direction of the street urchin who held his reins. He stopped abruptly. Or where the lad had held his reins. He swung back, favoring the bloody servant with a glower that would have set most men tearing in the opposite direction.
“His Grace asked that you arrive by his carriage. He instructed me to inform you that he’d not have you breaking your…” The old, loyal servant coughed into his hand, his cheeks going an uncharacteristic red. “Goddamned neck because you imbibed too much whiskey,” he whispered, as though scandalized at his own use of that blasphemy.
“I am insulted by my uncle’s lack of faith in my drinking capabilities. The duke knows I quite despise whiskey. Only drink it when I absolutely must.”
And there had been a good many “absolute must” moments in the course of his twelve years working for the Brethren.
Starting quickly for the carriage in debate, Leo strode past the driver waiting with the door opened and pulled himself inside.
Haskins followed in behind.
A moment later, the driver closed the door hard. His perch dipped, the carriage lurched, and they were rolling onward.
“Well?” he asked in the privacy of the comfortable black conveyance as soon as they were on their way. Those back-and-forths between them for public consumption had only fed into Society’s opinion of the manner of dissolute rake Leo, in fact, was. In truth, however, the line had become so blurred that the part was firmly enmeshed in who Leo was. Nay, who I’ve always been.
“I am unaware of the reason for your meeting, my lord,” Haskins said with one of his usual laconic, wait-until-The-Order-shares replies. “I was merely instructed to remove you from your club.”
His club. The wicked halls of Forbidden Pleasures were very much his, a world of depravity and sin that was more comfortable than any place he’d ever called home. And the best part was the availability of those denizens of every dangerous street of London.
Sprawling back in his seat, grateful for the silence, Leo consulted his watch fob. The gold piece stamped with the mark of the Brethren, a lion passant regardant with a blood-red ruby at the center. It had, long ago, been adopted in place of the too-obvious signet rings. He stuffed it back inside his jacket. Had the world looked a bit closer, they would have wondered long ago and marveled at why a rake who’d sell his soul for a pence should keep something of value still.
But they didn’t question. And they didn’t see.
And Leo was better for it.
A short while later, the duke’s well-sprung carriage rolled to a stop outside the pale yellow townhouse. Slightly higher and set apart from the ones flanking its sides, it served as a perfect symbol of the man who dwelled within those Grosvenor Square walls.
His uncle’s driver pulled the door open. Jumping out, Leo moved at a brisk clip toward the residence awash in candlelight. Despite his advancing years, Haskins easily caught up and, increasing his step, rushed to open the slight wrought-iron gate that served as a barrier between the world and the Duke of Aubrey’s residence.
Haskins took the steps quickly.
Trailing at a slower pace, Leo climbed behind his uncle’s servant.
The butler, Parsons, hurried to admit them. Parsons was dutiful, as all in the duke’s employ were.
“He is waiting in his office,” the man of middling years said by way of greeting.
“We will show ourselves in,” Haskins assured, handing over his cloak and hat.
Parsons did a quick up and down of Leo’s cloak-less frame. He offered a sardonic grin for the man’s benefit. “One less garment to bother with when tupping a whore,” he explained.
His gaunt face a set mask, Parsons looked over to Haskins, dismissing Leo outright. “He asked that I tell you he’s waiting.”
The duke was impatient. It was Crown business, then. There could be no other explanation. Nothing—not even his frequent lectures about Leo’s vices—received that response, ever.
Setting a lazier pace, Leo followed his uncle’s devoted servant. Spanish iron sconces better suited for a medieval dungeon than a Mayfair residence lined the wide corridors, lighting the way. The long, white, tapered candles p
layed off the gold brocade satin wallpaper and gilded frames hung with portraits of the duke’s late, great ancestors. A portrait of Leo’s late mother, when she’d been a girl of sixteen or seventeen, alongside her brothers, the current Duke of Aubrey and Lord Edward Helling, and their long-deceased parents hung outside his uncle’s office, marking the end of Leo’s trek through the winding corridors. As Haskins opened the door, Leo made the mistake of looking at that large rendering… and froze.
Your mother was a whore and, by God, if she won’t pay for her crimes, I’ll take it out of your flesh…
And mayhap it was too much drink that night, but under his leather gloves, his palms moistened at the remembered horrors…
His childhood screams pealed around the chambers of his mind, holding him rooted to the floor, a prisoner of his past.
“My lord?” Haskins’ hesitant prodding jerked Leo back from the fleeting moment of madness.
Adjusting his rumpled cravat, Leo brought his shoulders back. He’d not allowed himself to be weak in the years since he’d pledged his life and fealty to the Brethren.
Entering behind his uncle’s head servant, Leo immediately came up short.
Three officious gentlemen, all clad in black and donning the same somber countenance, were in the room. Had there been any doubt at all that it wasn’t official Brethren business, then that possibility died with their presence.
Had it been solely his uncle, there would have been some doubts. But this was Lord Higgins, the Delegator, second only to the Sovereign of the Brethren, and responsible for handing down assignments. To have Higgins present… and Viscount Rowley, the one Leo answered to during assignments, could only mean official Brethren business.
Haskins closed the door at Leo’s back.
His uncle was the first to break the silence. “Leo, been waiting for you,” he said, coming forward. He was broadly powerful, with the faintest dusting of silver at his temples, but his formidable strength, however, came from within. He came up short three paces away from Leo and sniffed the air. “You smell like you’ve been tupping a whore in a garden.”
Leo quirked his lips at one corner. “No garden necessary,” he drawled. “A bottle of cheap perfume is capable of the same effects.”
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