by Wendy Vella
Table of Contents
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THANK YOU!
SNEAK PEEK
OTHER BOOKS BY WENDY VELLA
LORD NOBLE
by Wendy Vella
Born into wealth and privilege, the Lords of Night Street have vowed to serve those most in need. They navigate the glittering ballrooms of society and London’s criminal underworld with equal ease, leading the fight for love and justice.
Finding himself in a sudden betrothal with the woman who makes him feel like he’s rolling in stinging nettle is proving to be a challenge for the notorious Marquis of Vereton. He and the exquisite Miss Elizabeth Witlow had always disliked each other, or so Leo believed. So when he makes his audacious proposal, no-one’s more shocked than Leo that Beth agrees.
Feigning being in love with the Marquis of Vereton isn’t quite as hard as Beth anticipated. He’s a consummate lover whose skill in the bedroom is only exceeded by his determination to uncover her long-buried secrets and intense desire to protect her. Beth soon realizes that Leo won’t settle for being a faux fiancé. He wants more than her body… he needs her total trust too. And that is the most dangerous risk of all.
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Lord Noble is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Lord Noble is published by Wendy Vella
Copyright © 2018 Wendy Vella
ISBN: 978-0-9941388-9-7
DEDICATION
For Riley, Rosie, and Ari.
The world is a little softer,
a little kinder,
and a little warmer with you in it.
Hugs and kisses, Nana xx
CHAPTER ONE
The Marquis of Vereton entered the ballroom at a slow, steady pace, like he did most evenings. Fashionably late, Leo was in no rush to join the other guests. He glanced left, then right, then walked straight ahead. He nodded, smiled when he saw someone he actually liked—a rarity—and continued on. With three weeks to go in the season, the room was full, which indicated most had accepted the invitation to attend the Tottingham ball.
“My lord.”
“Lady Gilbransen.” Leo bowed deep over the hand of the woman whose breasts he knew intimately. “Your beauty puts many to shame, as always.”
She tittered, and tapped his glove while managing to give him a look that suggested she would like to reacquaint him with said breasts. Leo, however, moved on.
Yawning, he wondered if tonight would be a monumental bore like most other nights. He hoped his friends were in attendance. At least in their company he would have intelligent conversation.
“Christ!” The word burst from his lips as he noted a woman to his left. She wore lavender, her midnight hair styled elaborately, and she was still as exquisite as the day she had ripped his heart from his chest and stomped on it.
“Lord Vereton.”
Leo’s eyes shot right, where Miss Elizabeth Whitlow, cousin to his friend the Earl of Attwood, now stood. Focusing on her, he battled the stabbing pain in his chest.
“G-good evening, Miss Whitlow.” He bowed over her hand as he scrambled to understand why she was here. Not Miss Whitlow, he’d known she would be, as she always was… just there each and every evening looking as bored as he, but why was Harriet, Lady Hyndmarsh, evil breaker of hearts, back in London?
“I wonder, my lord, if you would assist me.”
“I—ah, of course, Miss Whitlow.”
The second shock of the night was that Elizabeth Whitlow was conversing with him by choice. They loathed each other, and had since she’d called him an arrogant idiot with the manners of a barnyard animal. Unfortunately, Leo remembered all too well, he deserved the accolades.
“If you’ll come this way then.”
She rested her fingers on his arm and directed him away from Lady Hyndmarsh. Leo followed, simply because he couldn’t think past the thought that Harriet was back in London.
“Are you well, Miss Whitlow?”
“Perfectly. You, however, are not.”
He couldn’t dispute that. His heart still thudded, his palms were sweaty, and he felt light-headed.
She led him through a set of doors and outside onto the terrace. Leo inhaled deeply, enjoying the crisp London air. Needing distance from the woman who had nearly destroyed him, he took over the lead and walked down the first set of stairs and into the gardens.
“A few more deep breaths, Lord Vereton.”
It was galling that she was right, especially considering their history. As he breathed, the tightness in his chest began to ease. Their feet made a crunching sound on the stones as the night closed around them. The only light was coming from the torches along the path, and a weak moon sitting high behind clouds in the inky sky.
Leo dragged in another breath before speaking.
“Thank you.” It was gruff, but gratitude nonetheless. He didn’t clarify, because she knew why he had said the words, having witnessed his humiliation along with most of society six years ago.
“I feared you were about to faint and offer more fodder for the scandalmongers. I may have enjoyed the spectacle given my feelings for you, however, I have never been able to stomach Harriet Hyndmarsh and had no wish to see her crow over the fact that you still hang on her dampened skirts.”
“Dampened skirts?” was all Leo could come up with. What the hell was Harriet doing back in London?
“Oh Lord have mercy,” she muttered. “You of all people should know that women dampen their skirts so they cling to their bodies.”
“Good God. It must be terribly drafty, especially at this time of year.”
A sound remarkably like a giggle erupted from Miss Whitlow. Leo found he liked it. Usually the woman’s mouth was pursed, and her face disapproving, but that was only when it actually carried an expression.
“I don’t know. I have no wish to partake in such silliness, nor impress any man.”
“Why is it you think I should know this?”
She snorted, which surprised him further, as the woman rarely did anything society may disapprove of. In fact, Miss Whitlow was the epitome of all a lady should be. Polished, poised, and aloof. It was fair to say Leo disliked her intently—well at least he had. Surprisingly right at that moment, he found he liked her a great deal more.
They passed a torch, and Leo was able to look at the woman on his arm. She was tall, the tip of her head would reach his nose. He’d never thought of her as beautiful, simply because they loathed each other. But she was, he noted, very beautiful. The thought shocked him. How had he not noticed that profile?
Her hair was flaxen, and in daylight hours sometimes
appeared shot through with threads of silver. This he knew as she’d been seated before him at an outside concert once. The performance had been by the Bellingham sisters, whose father indulged them terribly. Leo’s eyes had started to wander with the first wrong note. They had landed on the back of Miss Whitlow’s head.
Her eyes were indigo blue, framed by dark feathered brows and lashes, and set in a pale, heart-shaped face. As her mouth was usually pursed when in his company, he was equally shocked to notice the lovely shape of her lips.
“You have no need of dampened skirts, for what it’s worth,” he said.
“Was that a compliment?”
“I suppose it was, but as it’s likely the only one I’ll ever offer you, I beg that you enjoy the moment.”
Miss Whitlow thought about that for a few steps.
“I’m sorry she’s here, my lord. Sorry that she broke your heart and you were too foolish to see her for what she was. But surely you knew this day would come when news reached us that her husband had passed.”
“You do that very well.”
“What?” She stopped and one elegant brow lifted.
“Sympathy wrapped up in an insult.”
She smiled, and he saw a flash of white teeth.
“It is a particular forte of mine.”
“I had prayed the encounter would not be until next season, and yet here she is, in London,” Leo said, surprising himself yet again by speaking of something so personal with this woman of all people.
“She has observed the correct mourning period, and is now no doubt lonely. She has a thirst for society, which as you know she has always loved. Harriet also has the depth of a thimble, and needs constant adoration, thus she has returned to find some. She is still beautiful and very likely feels it’s time to find another husband. I should imagine as you were nearly a perfect fit last time, you will do well now.”
“I am not a shoe, Miss Whitlow.”
She studied him. “No, but you still have tolerable looks, and all your teeth.”
“Please don’t overdo the praise, it may go to my head. There is also the small matter that I have no wish to marry her.”
“You once did. I’m sure she has not changed.”
Leo shuddered while grunting something unintelligible, then said, “I may have.”
“I’m not entirely sure how you’ve managed to avoid her for six years?”
“It wasn’t easy,” Leo conceded, “but I managed it.”
An uncomfortable silence settled between them.
“I must take this moment to apologize, Miss Whitlow. It is long overdue, but I will say it just the same. That night I behaved in such an ungentlemanly manner was the day after Harriet had left me for Hyndmarsh. It is no excuse, but I hope you can one day forgive me; my words were uncalled for.”
Leo had been drunk and heartbroken, and come across Beth in Lord Craven’s library while he tried to escape the pitying eyes of society. She’d tried to walk by him without saying a word, and he’d asked why she did not pity him like the others. She’d told him that his self-pity was surely enough, and he… well, he’d lost control, and called her a brittle, uptight, emotionless woman, and said it was little wonder she was unwed. It had not been one of his finest moments, and from that day to this, they had barely spoken. Coward that he was, he’d never made a move to apologize.
“I was rude and my words unjust, and to my shame I never once begged your forgiveness.”
She studied him for long seconds, and Leo saw her cousin then. Nick could reduce a person to silence with just such a look, and Elizabeth also had that knack. Leo suddenly felt exposed, as if she could see all those places inside him where vulnerabilities lurked.
“I forgave you for that many years ago, my lord. You were hurting, and pain makes us do things we normally would not.”
Why did he believe she spoke those words from experience? Who had hurt her, and why did that thought bother him so much?
“What I could not forgive was that you gave her power over you even when she was gone. You let her change the man you had always been.”
While he stood there reeling from her words, she walked away without a backward glance.
CHAPTER TWO
Miss Elizabeth Whitlow didn’t exactly snatch her fingers from the grasp of Lord Bowers, but it was a near thing. She did not like men who were overzealous in their attentions, and this man was most definitely one of those.
“My dearest Miss Whitlow, if I may request a dance this evening.”
“I shall of course be honored,” Beth lied, then moved on, placing her hand on the sleeve of her cousin. They were walking around the ballroom. She had returned from her interlude with Lord Vereton to find her cousin wandering aimlessly. He was like that when Grace, his wife, was not at his side.
“That man is a fool, and I will never accept his offer for your hand while I still have breath in my body.”
“My sentiments exactly, Nick, however I must put up with him as it would be impolite of me to tell him what I actually think.”
“I could tell him for you if you’d let me.”
“He is harmless enough. Now, tell me how your dear wife is?”
“I’m sure she is ailing for something, but hiding it from me because I have told her I want to leave town so she can rest in the country air.”
Her cousin was the Earl of Attwood. Tall, with dark hair and eyes, he was in her opinion one of the most handsome men in society, and had once been sought after by many a gimlet-eyed mama as a matrimonial prospect for their daughters. However, he married Grace, and after a tumultuous beginning they’d fallen deeply in love, and he was now succumbing to panic as she carried their first child.
“She did not look unwell when I saw her two days ago. In fact, she appeared the picture of health. There can surely be no reason to leave before the season has ended.”
“I want to leave, she does not.”
Beth watched him survey the people before them, and knew he saw nothing, as his mind was focused on his wife, who had decided to stay at home this evening due to fatigue.
“From what I understand, tiredness is normal during pregnancy, Nick. Surely Grace knows what is best for her at this stage in the proceedings?”
“She refused to let me stay home with her, stating she wanted to sleep, and that I was not a restful person in my current mood.”
“She has a point there,” Beth teased him. “And to be perfectly honest you are not the best company, but were you not here I would be forced to converse with people like that idiot Lord Bowers.”
He squeezed her fingers. “I’m sorry if I am preoccupied, Beth, it is simply that I worry Grace will hurt herself if she does not slow down. I want to take her away from here so she will be forced to, but she is refusing.”
“If she is healthy then leave her be, Nick. She will do nothing to harm the baby, and as I understand it, she is not due to have said baby for another five months.”
Her cousin shuddered. “Don’t remind me.”
Beth looked around, and wondered if Lord Vereton had gone. Had seeing his beloved Harriet forced him to flee? The thought left a sour taste in her mouth. That a man such as he could still, after many years, be uncomfortable around Harriet was ridiculous. But then, Beth had no measure to understand how he felt, as she’d never felt that way about anyone—and never would, she vowed.
Harriet was a terrible flirt, and always had been. Beth was sure more hearts had been broken at her hand than just Lord Vereton’s. The man was a fool to still care for her, but then she’d observed that often men were fools when it came to women.
“What was that sound for?”
“What sound?” Beth said.
“The despairing moan sound.”
“I did not moan despairingly!”
“No, actually you did, sort of a…” He moaned.
“I’m sure you are mistaken, cousin.”
“No,” he smiled, “that was fairly accurate actually.”
&nb
sp; “If you must know, I was thinking derogatory thoughts about your fellow man.”
“What have we done now, and who do I have to punch?”
Beth always felt a little thrill when her cousin came to her defense; it had not always been the case. For many years theirs had been a strained and distant relationship, and like her, he had been alone.
“Nothing to me personally, Nick, just a general annoyance.”
“We can be annoying, Grace tells me that, but to be fair so can you women.”
Beth had to concede there. Some of her sex were very silly indeed.
“Tell Grace I shall call tomorrow and keep her company.”
“Excellent, and you can tell if she is really all right.”
“Lord have mercy.” Beth looked at the ceiling. “She is well, Nick, leave it alone or you will drive the woman mad.”
He exhaled loudly. “I cannot help it.”
“Try.”
“Easier said than done, I fear.”
“Oh how the mighty have fallen,” Beth teased him again.
“I was an arrogant fool before,” Nick said. “Grace is the reason I wake smiling instead of scowling now, Beth.”
“Oh Lord, you just made me cry,” Beth whispered, digging into her reticule for a handkerchief.
His laugh was a soft chuckle, then he sobered, his eyes focused on something. “I have no idea why that woman would be in London at this time, when the season is all but over. I hope she doesn’t try to reacquaint herself with Leo.”
Beth realized he was looking at Harriet Hyndmarsh. She was smiling, and it only added to her beauty. Petite, exquisite, and a venomous harpy. The woman had been torturing men for years.