The Scoundrel's Secret Siren

by Daphne du Bois

She had considered borrowing Lady Hurst’s brougham and driving herself to Ledley, but she could never request the vehicle to be brought out without arousing some curiosity among the servants. There was also the danger of losing a wheel on the uneven country road without a groom to assist her.

  She was momentarily frozen by the memory of Winbourne’s easy skill at the reins – watching his strong elegant hands carelessly guide the horses. She did not think she could bear to have the spectre of memory sit beside her all the way to Ledley – the absence of him was particularly devastating under such circumstances.

  It was a unique kind of agony to dwell on what was and what could never be, and know that her heart would forever live encased in the memory of him. She thought of the passion burning in Winbourne’s expressive eyes and of the touch of his hands, which had been like fire on her skin.

  There would never be another love for her, nor any hope of love, even though he had discarded her so callously in the end. If only she could match his indifference with her own. She had, after all, known him to be a shameless, unapologetic rake from the first. She had been warned.

  A moment later, someone gave a single knock on her door. Lorelei quickly hid the bag under her bed and arranged herself at her dressing table, before calling out permission to enter.

  Thankfully, it was only Nell, who looked surprised to find her mistress up and dressed. “Good morning, Miss Lorelei. I have come with a letter for you. The messenger insisted it was urgent. A very shrill boy. Said it was from Lady Julia. I was not sure if you were awake, else I would have come to help you dress!”

  “Oh, good morning, Nell! Nonsense – I managed quite all right. It is only a day dress. Now, the letter if you please?” Lorelei did her best to avoid alerting Nell’s suspicious nature. Luckily, the letter quickly erased any traces of her dilemma.

  Startled, Lorelei read the note twice through. It was certainly from Julia, written in a hasty, ungainly scrawl quite unlike her usual poised penmanship. The letter was brief, but detailed enough to make Lorelei sigh in exasperation.

  Julia begged her forgiveness for the disappointment she was no doubt about to cause her dearest friend, and the scandal that was sure to follow. She explained that, having been denied Mr Hunter, who had gone away on business to Oakshaw, his estate, she was determined to follow him, so that they may fly to Gretna Green together and there be lawfully married.

  She professed their mutual love and the belief that he would see sense in the undertaking once she had imparted it upon him. Julia assured Lorelei that she was not to concern herself over her friend – she would go to The George, a coach house in Westminster, where she would catch a coach going south to Kent and from there to Oakshaw.

  Having read this missive twice over, Lorelei thought furiously a moment. This changed matters completely. It was so like Julia to get herself in some absurd tangle just when Lorelei was trying to slip quietly away. If discovered, Julia’s flight would result in utter social ruin. The fate that would await Julia then was too horrifying a prospect, and Lorelei refused to indulge in such morbid thoughts. There was no time to be shocked or distraught: the matter called for immediate action.

  If her poorly thought-out endeavour was anything to go by, Julia was in no way capable of finding her way down to Kent without the whole plan collapsing about her ears. Lorelei sighed, knowing that she could not leave her friend to face disaster by herself. “I must go and find Julia, Nell. It is rather urgent, please hand me the warm blue spencer while I write my sister a note.”

  The abigail seemed astonished at Lorelei’s brisk tone, helping her into the spencer without argument. Lorelei declined an escort, and hurried out of the house. She wondered how she should find Julia on foot and which way the silly girl might have gone.

  Fortunately, she found the morning streets to be empty in the fashionable part of town, so there was no one to witness her unseemly rush and comment upon it.

  She wondered if she ought to hire a hackney, as she hurried in the direction of Lady Gilmont’s house near Grosvenor Square. She very much hoped to find her friend along the way and stop her before she ventured into Westminster.

  It was with relief that she saw a familiar vehicle draw up a little ahead of her.

  “Mr Taylor!” Lorelei exclaimed, catching sight of the gentleman emerging from a haberdasher’s towards the waiting phaeton.

  The man in question turned and gave Lorelei an astonished look. It was very early. She looked dishevelled and flustered, and she was walking all by herself so near Piccadilly, where no proper lady dared go unaccompanied!

  “Miss Lindon! I say, this is a dashed surprise. What are you doing here? Have you come to some grief? Where is your maid?”

  Lorelei blinked before realising the sight she must present. “Oh, no, I am quite well, I assure you.”

  The Corinthian did not look convinced. He did, however, seem agitated. He was on his way to a long-awaited appointment at Gentleman Jackson’s salon, but he could not leave the lady in distress.

  “May I drive you home, Miss Lindon? I cannot leave you here!”

  A daring thought occurred to Lorelei at those words, and she did her best to look guileless. “That would be most kind of you,” she said demurely, allowing him to hand her up into the vehicle.

  She wondered if the gentleman would ever forgive her the hoydenish behaviour she was about to exhibit and did her best to sit calmly as he drove her to Lady Hurst’s townhouse. At Russell Square, Mr Taylor hopped down from the carriage and bid his groom jump down and hold the horses while he moved around to help Miss Lindon descend.

  “Would you say, Mr Taylor, that we are friends?” Lorelei asked innocently, unmoving.

  The gentleman shot her an astonished look. “Well, certainly, Miss Lindon – you are a damned fine girl, if you’ll forgive me such language. You may certainly count me amongst your admirers. In fact, I would solicit your fist dance at Almack’s this coming Wednesday.”

  She did her best not to feel guilty. “Oh, yes, of course, Mr Taylor. I should be honoured,” she said. “And since we are friends, I wonder if I might ask a small favour of you?”

  “A favour? Why, I am your servant, my dear lady! What is it that you require?”

  “I may rely upon your discretion?”

  “On my honour! But what is it?” He sounded worried now, his clear face set in a frown.

  “I beg that you forgive me, and that I may still count upon your friendship! You must understand there is quite an urgent matter cornering a friend and I haven’t any other choice.”

  “Whatever – ”

  Knowing there was no time to waste, Lorelei slid over on the seat, snatched the reins from the groom, and took off in Mr Taylor’s carriage, certain that she could not possibly ruin her name any more than she had already done.

  “Miss Lindon!” The gentleman exclaimed after her. His groom looked equally speechless as they listened to the clatter of wheels and hoofs as the carriage flew out of sight.

  “Do forgive me, please!” Lorelei called back before turning the corner. She wondered whether he would go directly to Lady Hurst to report her despicable lack of conduct.

  In fact, Mr Taylor had too much breeding to disturb the lady in her sleep, particularly with such alarming news. He hurried away before any member of the household came to investigate the commotion, his valet quickly following him. Dazedly, Mr Taylor found himself on his way to Lord Winbourne’s London residence.

  He was not certain why it was there that he went to consult on what was to be done – only he had somehow assumed that Lord Winbourne knew Miss Lindon well enough to be able to give sensible advice. Taylor did not know Lady Hurst, after all. He was not certain, of course, for such a thing had never occurred before – only he did not think it was fitting for him to knock on the door of a lady with whom he was not acquainted to inform her that her charge had commandeered his carriage.

  It seemed rather bad ton.

  He did not know what he ought to thin
k of Miss Lindon. After all, he should have been angry, embarrassed and scandalised that any female had done so shocking a thing as steal his carriage from under his nose. If word got out, he would never live down the teasing he was sure to receive at his club.

  He did not allow ladies to drive his horses and certainly it was an infamous thing to have done. But he knew Miss Lindon to be a good driver, and generally a sensible girl – when she wasn’t stealing people’s carriages.

  Her actions had had no malicious intent, that much was clear, and damned if he didn’t still like the girl – though he was certainly angry with her for putting him in such a discomfiting position. Not to mention leaving him quite without transportation.

  So he went to Winbourne, trusting that his friend would know just what was to be done. By the time he knocked on Winbourne’s door he was convinced it had all been nothing more than a capital prank, and that Winbourne would be very annoyed at being woken at such an ungodly hour.

  *

  Lorelei had to admire Mr Taylor’s taste in horses: his pair, energetic and high-strung, were easily the equals of Lord Winbourne’s horses, and perhaps even her father’s. They were spirited enough that she had to keep them under careful and constant control as she drove in the direction of Westminster.

  She had only a vague idea of where The George was located and none at all of the way Julia would have taken to get there. Thankfully, it was early enough that perhaps the streets would not too crowded and she might quickly spot Julia before anything untoward should happen. Westminster was not a safe place to travel, full as it was of seedy drinking houses, gambling dens, ruffians and other evils.

  So caught up was Lorelei in the urgency of the matter that she quite forgot to hide her face as her passage drew astonished and scandalised glances from the few people already out on the street so very early in the morning.

  The fact that being seen dishevelled and alone, racing in a high-perch phaeton through the streets of London, could lead to her utter social ruin was not worth considering - Lorelei already thought herself quite ruined, after all – but she was not about to let her dear silly friend suffer the same fate, or possibly meet a worse end on the streets of a city that could be as dangerous as it was marvellous.

  After a while, when she failed entirely to locate her friend, Lorelei set out to circle the area. A little later, she was lost. Lorelei determined that she would ask for help, as soon as she came across an individual who was not utterly foxed and who did not leer as she briskly drove past. Women of questionable repute and unquestionable poverty started as she drove past, and a number of dirty waifs dashed across the street just ahead of her vehicle. It was jarring how quickly the respectable parts of Westminster came to be replaced by what could only be termed a slum.

  She couldn’t have gone very far off-course, because she could still see the spires of the abbey just ahead, but the twisty narrow streets made her feel quite at sea. Here, the streets were full of all kinds of individuals from garishly painted women to hawkers and beggars of indeterminate age. It was a dismal and depressing world, full of the abandoned, the unwanted and the criminal. A shabby sign told her that she was on Old Pye Street, though this was of little help. The buildings around her looked to be dilapidated hovels, and even the brick buildings were in utter disrepair. The smell of sewage was almost overwhelming. She felt distinctly angry with herself – she ought to have taken better care of the direction she was headed, and now the whole expedition might come to naught because of her own idiocy.

  Chapter 14

  Having entirely failed to sleep the night before, thanks in part to an ever-present agitation, Winbourne had been on the brink of setting out to call at Lady Hurst’s house. He found that, despite reason and common sense, he was at last ready to take that greatest step a man could ever take.

  There was no other way around it, not unless he wished to utterly lose his mind. He couldn’t stand the thought of the infuriating Miss Lindon marrying or loving anyone else, and so he had to make certain that that would never be a possibility. He wanted nothing more than to see Lorelei’s face again. Indeed, to see it every day for the rest of his life.

  Winbourne had only just finished the delicate ritual of tying his cravat. It had taken him three ruined neck-cloths to succeed, an unheard of thing indeed, while Howe diligently held more finely-pressed cloths at the ready. His valet said nothing about this uncharacteristic lack of poise, though Winbourne thought peevishly that he detected just a hint of amusement about the man’s eyes.

  Winbourne gave him an irritable look before requesting his burgundy walking coat. It really was unreasonable to neglect his usual meticulous appearance, no matter the turmoil he felt. His butler interrupted his thoughts unexpectedly by informing him that he had an urgent missive from Lady Gilmont, and that Mr Taylor had just come to call, insisting that his was a most urgent matter also and would the earl receive him at once?

  Irritably, Winbourne wondered what the devil Taylor could possibly want of him so damnably early and on such an important day, but resigned himself to see the man and hear whatever inanity he found to be so very urgent.

  *

  Once in Winbourne’s tastefully appointed study, Taylor found Winbourne testily reading a letter. The earl was meticulously dressed in dark burgundy, and there was an impatient set to his shoulders.

  “What do you want, Taylor?” he asked rudely. “You chose a damnably bad time to be a nuisance.”

  Having known the earl for a very long time, Taylor ignored his gruff reception and proceeded to inform his friend of his encounter with Miss Lindon a half hour earlier. That seemed to catch the man’s interest, as he set the letter down and gave Taylor his full attention, swearing fervently.

  Winbourne made Taylor recount the whole thing again. “And she said naught of Hunter?” he demanded.

  “Hunter? No. Confound the fellow!” exclaimed Mr Taylor, “Why, he is gone to the country for five days at least and I still have his favourite snuffbox! He is sure to cause a fuss over the damned thing when he returns.”

  Winbourne was frowning darkly. “Left for the country, has he?”

  He didn’t know whether to be more furious with Lorelei over whatever inane adventure she’d embarked upon, or with his absurd niece who, if Eloise’s frantic letter was to be believed, had taken flight right under Honoria’s nose.

  He doubted very much there was a shred of coincidence in Hunter’s departure from town and his scandalously missing niece. The earl had a sinking feeling that at any moment trouble would descend upon him in the form of his infuriated elder sister.

  And he knew just whom he could blame for it. There was no doubt in his mind that Miss Lindon’s encounter with Taylor was also directly connected to this disaster, only he couldn’t quite deduce how. Was there no end to the trouble the dratted girl would cause him?

  The earl unceremoniously called for his cloak and his own vehicle, while Mr Taylor stared at him, flabbergasted. Taylor was swept along in his wake until he found himself standing on the street watching Winbourne leap into his curricle.

  “Leave your phaeton to me, Taylor,” he growled, before driving off, leaving his friend staring after him.

  With a shrug and a sigh, Mr Taylor decided to take a chair to Gentleman Jackson’s because it was unlikely he would see his phaeton any time soon. He wondered what Winbourne meant to do with Miss Lindon when he found her. The fellow was certainly in a considerable temper, given that the lady was in no way directly connected to him.

  .*

  The Earl of Winbourne drove to Russell Square in a most unseemly haste.

  That morning, when Winbourne had woken up to find Lorelei asleep beside him, pale, golden-haired and so innocent in slumber, he’d felt his heart constrict with a protectiveness he could not have otherwise imagined. A part of him had known that by giving in to his passion as he had, he had done the lady a great wrong, however unintentional, and that it was up to him to set matters to rights.

 
And how right it felt to do just that! To have her share his name and his life. Another part of him had wanted to wake her up, and continue in the delights of the previous night – for despite his many lovers, he had never knows such sinful bliss. Winbourne resisted that urge, but only just.

  He could deny the truth no longer: the most valuable thing he’d ever won in a game of chance was the heart of Miss Lorelei Lindon. Was love not the greatest gamble of all? The memory of Valerie was nothing but a mirage now, unreal, and he did not think it was his heart that she had truly hurt when she had jilted him, but his pride. This, however, this was love. A most fervent and lasting attachment he could ever imagine.

  There were matters he had to address, now that he had made his fateful decision. Still he had been tempted to linger, and had to sternly remind himself that he had to leave before Lorelei’s maid discovered them in so compromising a situation. But he had known that he would be back, and he would claim his bride.

  It was so like the infuriating, enchanting Miss Lindon to foil his well-laid plans. He had certainly not expected that in little over a day he would find himself driving furiously to Russell Square, his intended gone, in an effort to discover what mischief she had managed to cause in the few hours they had been apart.

  *

  To say that Winbourne was astonished to find Lady Hurst’s house in chaos would be the understatement of the Season. Taylor had sworn he hadn’t said a word of the morning’s incident to Lady Hurst, and Lorelei could not have possibly been gone long enough to engender such alarm.

  Taking a moment to process this new information, he demanded to be let into the house to speak to the lady herself. He took some pleasure in the words he would have to say to Miss Lindon for causing such unnecessary mayhem.

  Imagine, his future countess disappearing just as he had resolved the battle within himself and determined to go directly and offer her his name! The impeccably calm butler did credit to Lady Hurst’s household, calmly leading Winbourne to the parlour, where the earl found that Lady Hurst was in tears while the unnaturally pale Miss Constance Lindon sat biting her lip and gazing up at him imploringly.