Praise for Christi Caldwell
“Christi Caldwell writes a gorgeous book!”
—Sarah MacLean, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author
“In addition to a strong plot, this story boasts actualized characters whose personal demons are clear and credible. The chemistry between the protagonists is seductive and palpable, with their family history of hatred played against their personal similarities and growing attraction to create an atmospheric and captivating romance.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Hellion
“Christi Caldwell is a master of words, and The Hellion is so descriptive and vibrant that she redefines high definition. Readers will be left panting, craving, and rooting for their favorite characters as unexpected lovers find their happy ending.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Hellion
“Christi Caldwell’s The Vixen shows readers a darker, grittier version of Regency London than most romance novels . . . Caldwell’s more realistic version of London is a particularly gripping backdrop for this enemies-to-lovers romance, and it’s heartening to read a story where love triumphs even in the darkest places.”
—NPR on The Vixen
“Exceptional . . . an intoxicating romp sure to delight fans of historical romance.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review) on In Bed with the Earl
“Sizzling, witty, passionate . . . perfect!”
—Eloisa James, New York Times bestselling author on In Bed with the Earl
OTHER TITLES BY CHRISTI CALDWELL
Wantons of Waverton
Someone Wanton His Way Comes
The Importance of Being Wanton
Lost Lords of London
In Bed with the Earl
In the Dark with the Duke
Undressed with the Marquess
Sinful Brides
The Rogue’s Wager
The Scoundrel’s Honor
The Lady’s Guard
The Heiress’s Deception
The Hellion
The Vixen
The Governess
The Bluestocking
The Spitfire
All the Duke’s Sins
Along Came a Lady
Scandalous Affairs
A Groom of Her Own
Taming of the Beast
My Fair Marchioness
Heart of a Duke
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
To Hold a Lady’s Secret
The Heart of a Scandal
In Need of a Knight (A Prequel Novella)
Schooling the Duke
A Lady’s Guide to a Gentleman’s Heart
A Matchmaker for a Marquess
His Duchess for a Day
Five Days With a 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
Courting Poppy Tidemore
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
The Theodosia Sword
Only For His Lady
Only For Her Honor
Only For Their Love
Danby
Winning a Lady’s Heart
A Season of Hope
The Brethren
The Spy Who Seduced Her
The Lady Who Loved Him
The Rogue Who Rescued Her
The Minx Who Met Her Match
The Spinster Who Saved a Scoundrel
>Brethren of the Lords
My Lady of Deception
Her Duke of Secrets
Nonfiction Works
Uninterrupted Joy: A Memoir
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2021 by Christi Caldwell Incorporated
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542032148
ISBN-10: 1542032148
Front cover design by Juliana Kolesova
Back cover design by Ray Lundgren
To my special girls:
You forever make Mommy smile. You are spirited and strong and have the most clever wit. You are never afraid to speak your mind and challenge whatever you believe is unfair, and you defend those who need and deserve to be defended.
Annalee’s story is for you.
Contents
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Prologue
“Sylvia is deaaaadd.”
It was hard to say just which lady of the Mismatch Society that wail belonged to. After all, there were some number of young women making that same ominous declaration about Sylvia, the Viscountess St. John, their fearless leader and founder.
Lady Annalee, her friends Lila and Clara, and Valerie, her roommate on Waverton Street, exchanged looks.
Unlike the majority of their members, the four of them—five, if one included the unconscious Sylvia—were no innocents. Either married or in possession of scandalous pasts, they were all too aware of the ways of the world. The innocent young women who largely made up their society had been oblivious to the details which hadn’t escaped Annalee and the mature set: The slight increasing of Sylvia’s neckline. The lady’s sudden aversion to chocolate when she quite adored that treat. Her fatigue.
Several of the ladies had remarked upon that bone-weary exhaustion as a sign of Sylvia’s being overworked with the society.
Nay, to those as innocent as the ladies around them, the reason for Sylvia’s current state proved so very foreign as to be mistaken for death.
Valerie leaned in close to Annalee and, cupping a hand around her mouth, whispered, “Do you suppose we should . . . ?”
“No.”
“But they think she is dead,” the other woman
said in hushed tones.
“It is hardly our place to reveal Sylvia’s private affairs.” Annalee brought her flask up in salute. “Furthermore, they’ll learn soon enough that she’s very much alive.”
Rolling her eyes, Valerie grabbed the flask and set it down.
“Will you just . . . hush.” Miss Isla Gately raised her hands, thankfully bringing a brief surcease to the frantic whisperings amongst the women. “Perhaps someone should . . . check for a heartbeat.”
“No, I do not think she is dead,” Miss Anwen Kearsley murmured. From her vantage point at the back of the settee, she leaned forward. Then, behind her spectacles, the young lady’s eyes formed huge circles. “Her chest! I believe it is moving.”
The lady’s younger sister Cora dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “It is because she is drawing her last br-breath.”
Another flurry of cries went up . . . that managed to penetrate Sylvia’s unconscious state.
The viscountess moaned.
All the ladies in their swath of white skirts moved like a wave, rolling toward Sylvia.
This was really enough.
Annalee clapped her hands once. “If you could give Sylvia a bit of room to breathe? I daresay she’ll live, but with you all crowding her so, she certainly risks suffocation.”
There was a brief collective pause, and Annalee gave another sharp clap, effectively dispersing the gathering.
The door exploded open, and a breathless Mrs. Flyaway, the head housekeeper, burst into the room. “Got the dear some mint, I did.” Waving her arms, she came racing forward, and the loyal servant handed that remedy over to Clara.
Sylvia’s lashes fluttered. There was a moment of dazed confusion, and then she blinked several times, her gaze taking in the fear-filled faces around her. She promptly tossed an arm over her eyes. “I fainted.”
“It was . . . more like a wilt,” Lila, the lady’s sister, said supportively. “You just”—she mimicked a sideways fall—“like that. Right against the arm of the seat. A most splendid way to . . . wilt.”
“Do not forget the way her eyes rolled back,” Cora Kearsley put in. “More like . . . this?” And with a disturbing—if accurate—imitation, she collapsed herself into a nearby sofa. “Oww.” Cora glared up at one of her younger sisters. “Whatever was that for? I was just pointing out—”
“That she almost died,” Brenna, another Kearsley lady, rejoined in a less-than-discreet whisper. “You do not need to re-create the moment.”
“Sy-Sylvia is d-dying,” Cressida Alby, the society’s newest member, sobbed. And just like that the room dissolved into chaos once more.
Taking advantage of the mayhem around them, Annalee slid onto the edge of the settee beside Sylvia. “Here,” she murmured, helping up the other woman. “Are you . . . ?”
“Fine,” Sylvia murmured. “Just mortified.”
“Oh, hush. This is nothing to be mortified by. Now, getting caught building a champagne tower with a vicar, as I did a week ago?” She waggled her brows. “That is grounds for humiliation.”
A little laugh escaped Sylvia, and she leaned her forehead against Annalee’s.
“Sylvia is crying!” Anwen said loudly, unfortunately for Sylvia bringing the room’s attention back their way.
“Is it because she’s dy—”
“I . . . am not dying,” Sylvia called loudly, her voice rising above the din. “I am expecting.”
Silence met that pronouncement.
Once upon a lifetime ago, Annalee had imagined babes for herself, little boys and girls, a whole gaggle of them, born to her and Wayland, and—
“Expecting what?” Isla Gately blurted.
Annalee didn’t blink for a moment, thinking she’d misheard the girl. Except . . . judging by the same blank stares from the other ladies, Isla wasn’t alone in her confusion.
Having lost her virginity at the age of seventeen to her first love, and then having eventually found her way on a path of the wicked, it had been so long since Annalee had been innocent that she’d forgotten virtuous women were, in fact, very real. She’d moved out of her family’s residence and in with two mature women: one a widow, and the other the lover of that widow’s late husband.
Sylvia smiled gently at the younger Gately sister. “I’m with child.”
There was another beat of silence, and then the room erupted with excited squeals as the ladies rushed to congratulate Sylvia. Annalee sat there beside her friend, taking in all the bright-eyed joy that filled the other women’s eyes. Annalee was absolutely not at all envious about the news. At all. Liar. She’d have made a miserable mother, but she’d always . . . liked those tiny humans.
As the chatter died down, Cressida shot up a tentative hand. “How, exactly, is it that a woman comes to be with child?”
All eyes went to Sylvia.
“I . . . I . . .” She cast a desperate glance Annalee’s way.
Valerie hopped to her feet and clapped her hands. “That concludes all the excitement for today’s meeting.”
“But . . .” Cressida was cut short by an elbow shoved into her side by Brenna.
“Her Ladyship might be dying,” Brenna said sharply.
“I’m not dying,” Sylvia called again as the loyal ladies hurried for the door, not breaking stride. “I’m really quite fine, you know.” When most were gone and only Annalee and Valerie remained, Sylvia looked to them. “I really am . . . fine.”
“Of course you are, dearest,” Annalee said, patting her friend on the shoulder.
“What I am, however, is . . . concerned about . . . all of that. They do not know the ways at all between men and women.”
No. Annalee flashed a grin. “Yes, I’d say a good number of our members would stand to benefit from lessons on les relations sexuelles.”
Two serious sets of eyes met hers.
Realizing their intent, Annalee was already shaking her head.
“They would, Annalee,” Sylvia said.
“And the society has been floundering. We’ve gotten so very far away from what we started out as,” Valerie said earnestly. “When we began, we were a group of women meeting, and our discussions evolved naturally. And I cannot think of a more perfect example than today’s talk about babies.”
Annalee laughed. “If you thought we had a membership problem before? What do you think your delivering such talks would do?”
“I wasn’t suggesting I would see to such a task,” Sylvia said.
“You always have the wickedest sense of h—”
“I was suggesting you could take the society in a whole new direction,” Sylvia continued over her.
Annalee’s laughter abated as it became increasingly clear that this was no jest on her friend’s part.
She looked desperately over at Valerie, and yet . . . there was none of the startlement Annalee felt reflected back. She narrowed her eyes. “You two have talked about this.” They’d discussed taking the society in a different direction, and also the role they expected Annalee to play.
“I will be leaving, Annalee,” Sylvia said in hushed tones. “The society needs focus, and I cannot think of a more important lesson for the ladies to receive instruction on. These women are going to be making matches soon, and most of them have absolutely no idea what will take place between them and their husbands.” The thread of finality in Sylvia’s words brought an increasing panic. “Annalee, you tell me how fair it is that grown women should ask questions about how babies are born?”
“It’s not.” But then there wasn’t much that was fair where being a woman was concerned.
“And so it is settled.” Sylvia pressed a kiss to Annalee’s cheek. “You are a dear.” She stood. “Now if you ladies will excuse me?”
“But I wasn’t—”
Valerie and Annalee came to their feet.
“I am tired,” Sylvia said.
And Annalee immediately held back the remainder of the protestations she’d intended to give.
The moment Sylvia
had gone, Valerie turned to her. “It appears as though the society has a new leader taking the helm.”
Grabbing a pillow, Annalee swatted her friend in the chest. “Oh, hush.”
Valerie laughed once more, and then her amusement faded. She held Annalee’s gaze. “Sylvia is correct, you know. We have an opportunity to provide some of the most valuable lessons to ladies who would otherwise have that information withheld from them, and I cannot imagine a person better equipped to lead such bold discussions than you.”
“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment,” Annalee muttered.
Valerie smiled. “A compliment. It is very much a compliment. It will be fine, Annalee,” she promised, and then took her leave.
Annalee, however, hadn’t been jesting . . . about any of this. What did she know about leading . . . anything? She, who at the most random of moments found herself unable to keep control of her faculties?
Except . . . her friends were, in fact, correct. Who was more equipped than her to deliver discussions such as these? Or answer questions bluntly about what took place between men and women, and men and men, and women and women, and on occasion a mix of the three?
Now there was the matter of racking her brain and trying to figure out just how in hell she was going to privately instruct some two dozen ladies on the matters pertaining to lovemaking and marital relations.
Annalee grabbed her flask and downed the contents. If ever a situation called for spirits, this was decidedly it.
Chapter 1
Lord Wayland Smith, the Baron Darlington, had not always been the most dutiful, proper, and reliable sort.
In fact, he’d been slightly wicked and given to pursuing excitement that no proper gentleman should. But then, in those earlier days, he’d also not been a gentleman, either. He’d been the son of a blacksmith, and as the child of a man who’d toiled, Wayland had aspired to a better life. He’d committed himself to the cause of others like him: men and women who’d deserved more and who’d fought for change.
He’d also been many years younger and more foolish, and following a day of folly that had irrevocably changed . . . everything, he’d fashioned himself into one of those reliable sorts.
He’d become that friend and son and brother his family might rely upon. A man who could be counted on to be stable and to provide security, and whom one could turn to when there were struggles that needed sorting. Or scandals.
A Wanton for All Seasons Page 1