Never Dare a Wicked Earl

by Renee Ann Miller

  With his fingers entwined with hers, Hayden pulled her toward the bed. He sat, leaned against the headboard, and settled her on his lap.

  She couldn’t stop the tears. She wept for both the loss of her sister and niece, and, if she were honest, for giving her virginity to a man with a reputation for womanizing. A rogue who’d never once said he loved her.

  * * *

  Sophia awoke, feeling the press of Hayden’s lips upon her own.

  “Sophia, I must go. It will be light soon.”

  Dazed, she looked at him. He sat on the edge of the bed, fully dressed. Had she cried herself to sleep?

  He cupped her face. “As you are aware, I shall be interviewing candidates for Celia’s governess throughout the day, so I won’t be able to get away. But I wish to talk to you. Will you call on me?”

  She wrapped the quilt tighter around her naked body. “We do not need to talk, my lord. What happened—”

  He placed a finger to her lips. “If you call me my lord one more time, I’m going to renew our acquaintance by crawling back into your bed. Now, say you will come.”

  She nodded.

  “Good.” He kissed her again, a long and sensuous kiss, and then he strode from the room, leaving it once again cold.

  * * *

  Late that afternoon, as Sophia approached the front door of Hayden’s town house, the sweet aroma of almond macarons wafted delicately to her nostrils. She leaned over the wrought iron rail and peered down the stairwell to the steam-covered windows of the basement kitchen.

  Someone mopped a sleeve across the moist glass. The servants’ entrance flew open to reveal Alice and Elsie standing shoulder to shoulder over the wide threshold. “Miss Camden,” Alice called, beckoning her with an enthusiastic wave.

  Sophia swung open the gate and made her way down the stairs. She entered the warm, humid room, and Monsieur Laurent glanced up from the dough he aggressively kneaded.

  “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Camden.” The Frenchman flashed a generous smile. “What ’as brought you ’ere?”

  What, indeed? Her first thought was lunacy, but then her mind visualized Hayden’s kisses as he made love to her. The truth was too scandalous to voice.

  “The wonderful aroma of your macarons. I smelled their divine scent all the way in Chelsea.”

  “Mais oui,” he replied arrogantly. “I was famous for my sweets in Paris. Zee people would flock to my patisserie on Rue Royale just to get zee whiff of them.” After dusting the flour off his hands, he pointed to the pastries with a pudgy finger. “Vas-y! Sit. Sit. You must try zem.”

  Elsie’s and Alice’s eyes grew wide, and Sophia realized the magnitude of honor the chef bestowed on her. “I would be pleased.”

  Beaming like a man whose wife has just given birth to a set of healthy male twins, he motioned her to sit at the massive wooden table that dominated the room. “Elsie,” he boomed, “get mademoiselle a dish of macarons and a cup of tea.”

  As the kitchen maid scurried off, Sophia slipped onto one of the chairs that surrounded the servants’ table.

  The chef plunged his thick fingers back into the dough and without looking up asked, “Are you ’ere just to sample my pastries, mademoiselle, or do you wish to call on ’is lordship?”

  Thankfully, his keen eyes were not upon her, for something in his tone made her cheeks heat. “Y-yes, though I’m sure his lordship is progressing splendidly, I wish to confirm it. One can never be too careful where health is concerned.”

  “Ah, he’s faring rather well, if you ask me,” Alice mumbled as she folded a pile of starched napkins.

  Sophia’s gaze swung to the maid.

  With an impish smile, Alice hurried to the table and slipped into the chair directly across from Sophia. She glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder. “The master was out all night. With a woman, no doubt.” Her voice sounded like an odd dichotomy of both titillation and prudishness.

  The tips of Sophia’s ears burned. Monsieur Laurent’s astute gaze settled on her. A smile teased the corners of his lips, and she thought he winked. She mumbled a thank-you to Elsie when the maid placed a steaming cup of tea and a dish laden with pastries in front of Sophia.

  Elsie made a tsking noise. “Alice, you best be mindin’ your tongue. If Mrs. Beecham hears you stirring scandal broth you’ll find your bum out on the curb without a letter of reference.”

  “What did I say?” Alice asked.

  Elsie grinned. “Wot don’t she say? Right, Miss Camden?”

  Sophia smiled before she nibbled on one of the meringue treats. They tasted superb, but the dryness in her mouth made her feel as if she tried to swallow overly salted kipper.

  She’d never been a competent liar. She took a sip of her tea to alleviate her parched mouth. “Délicieux, monsieur,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted. “Merci.”

  “Avec plaisir.” He glanced at Alice and Elsie and heaved a heavy sigh. “You both may have one as well, but quickly before Beecham sees.” Both women’s countenances lit up as they rushed to the tray.

  “Seulement un.” He held up his floured index finger. “Only one.”

  Alice and Elsie chatted amiably, but Sophia only half-heartedly listened, her mind still contemplating whether Monsieur Laurent had winked at her or whether it had been a figment of her guilty conscience.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I believe Miss Appleton’s qualifications are superior,” Edith said cheerfully. “She is the best candidate we have spoken to so far.”

  Hayden raked a hand through his hair. He and Edith had been interviewing for Celia’s governess, cloistered in his study throughout most of the day. The dark mahogany paneling was closing in on him.

  “Are we in agreement, Hayden?”

  He drummed a quick staccato with his fingers on the desk while glaring at the door beyond his sister’s shoulder.

  Edith twisted around in her chair, following his gaze, then turned back to him. She pursed her lips. “Hayden, do you hear me?”

  Where was Sophia? Had she decided not to come? Did she regret last night? His gut clenched.

  “Hayden?” Edith repeated.

  “Yes?”

  Edith made a disgruntled noise.

  “Forgive me, Edith. What?”

  “Miss Appleton, dear. What did you think of her?”

  Appleton? Ah, yes, the one fluent in a multitude of languages. He recalled her florid, pinched face and ginger hair. She reminded him of a Derbyshire Redcap hen who was quick to peck. “I found her unsuitable. Too stern. I fear she’d stifle any creativity Celia might exhibit.”

  Edith tapped a finger to her chin and nodded. “Yes. Yes, a bit austere for Celia.”

  A bit? Miss Appleton appeared so inflexible, he’d feared she would splinter when she’d sat. He opened his mouth to reply, but a knock on the door halted his words.

  Sophia. He sprung from his chair, sending several sheets of paper skittering to the floor. “Come in.”

  Hawthorne entered. “Lord Adler is here and wishes to know if you are in, my lord.”

  Hayden collapsed back into his seat. “Tell him Lady Prescott and I have not completed the interviews for Celia’s governess.”

  “But surely you can spare your oldest and dearest chum a moment?” a deep voice said only seconds before the man himself appeared.

  Edith cast Adler a disapproving glower. His sister didn’t approve of Hayden’s friendship with his closest chum. She’d thought Simon a bad influence ever since a school prank at Eton, which involved their housemaster, two flaming burlap bags of horse manure, and a large pail of water.

  “Lady Prescott,” Simon said amiably, “how wonderful to see your smiling face.”

  “Adler,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Hayden, the next candidate is not due for another half hour. I will be in the nursery taking tea and visiting with Celia should you need me.” She stood and exited the room as though the air within had become unpleasant.

  “As always, Lady Prescott, a grand pl
easure to see you again,” Simon called after her. “Why, Hayden, I believe your sister is coming around splendidly. I think she actually smiled at me today.” Grinning, he unbuttoned his coat and sat in the chair Edith had vacated. “Well, old boy, you won’t believe whom I saw this morning.”

  Hayden leaned back in his chair and arched an eyebrow.

  “You, arriving home before cockcrow by way of hackney.”

  Hayden forced his expression to remain complacent. “I’ve heard that men who repeatedly engage in tipping the muffs of whores are destined to become blind. Alas, Simon, your sexual deviances have taken a toll upon you. You are mistaken. I assure you I retired early last night.”

  Simon laughed. “My eyesight is flawless, and as far as my deviances, I have yet to tip a buttered bun. Beyond the pale even for me.” Bracing his hands behind his head, Simon stretched out his legs. “I shall not dispute your claim to having retired early; I only wish to know with whom?”

  Hayden scowled. He’d not reveal where he’d been. Avoiding the question he asked, “What reason did you have for being on Brook Street so bloody early?”

  “I returned that pup Boswitch to his suite at Claridge’s. You do recall that fine establishment is located up the road?”

  God, he’d forgotten about Boswitch. “You returned him safe and sound?”

  “Yes, and grinning like a fox that’s just raided a henhouse. Now back to you, my friend.” Simon tapped a finger to his lips. “Let’s see who might have caught your fancy.... Ah, that flower seller down at Drury Lane. I hear she carries a knife in her boot, and once attempted to carve her initials into a thief’s hand when he tried to pilfer a bouquet of violets. Definitely your type of woman.”

  Hayden took a deep breath. Simon would never let him live down his foolish decision to engage in a dalliance with Adele. The muscles in Hayden’s back knotted. Sophia’s small, delicate hands would know how to ease the tightness, and her lovely smile would relieve the heaviness in his soul. He rolled his shoulders. Where was she?

  * * *

  A half hour after entering the kitchen, Sophia made her way up the servants’ stairs, wondering, with each step she took, whether she should turn and run. She’d spent the whole of her life living properly, and now she was what?

  A wanton?

  Indeed.

  Upon reaching the ground floor, she peered down the long central corridor. Surely, she couldn’t wander about looking for Hayden like some trollop in search of her next romp. She glanced toward the entryway, hoping to espy Hawthorne. She needed the butler to announce her. She took a silent step down the hall and froze when masculine voices drifted from Hayden’s study.

  “By God, I’ve got it!” an unfamiliar voice exclaimed, sounding exceedingly pleased with himself. “I know who it was. You sly rascal! Mark me a fool for not figuring it out sooner. That nurse, Miss Camden. You bedded her, didn’t you? Why you unscrupulous roué, I knew you couldn’t resist my dare, especially when it entailed such an exotic bird.”

  Dare? The word echoed in Sophia’s head like a perverse taunt.

  Oh God, what have I done? She clasped her hand over her mouth and stepped backward until the wall pressed against her shoulders. Hayden’s voice clamored to the foreground of her mind. “It would be a grave error on your part, Miss Camden, to dare me. I have a terrible weakness for them.”

  “I told you, Simon. I have no interest in the woman,” Hayden snapped, pulling her back to his conversation.

  “Yes. Yes, I know. What was it you said about her? Ah, I remember. Stick your tongue in her mouth and you’ll find yourself mute.” The man laughed.

  The vile words and the pounding of her heart filled her ears. She grabbed the handrail. As she descended the steps, they waved oddly, rising and falling as though she’d inhaled some noxious gas that caused one to hallucinate. She nearly stumbled. Tightening her hand around the rail, she slowed her pace, and tried to master some semblance of gentility and grace. As she entered the kitchen, Alice glanced up from the napkins she folded.

  “Miss Camden?” The maid’s expression reflected her puzzlement at Sophia’s quick return.

  She forced herself to smile at Alice, then Elsie, who was polishing a soup tureen. “His lordship is presently engaged. He no longer requires my services.” How she spoke without babbling like a lunatic was beyond her. Thank God, the intuitive Monsieur Laurent was not about.

  Alice grinned. “Did you see Lord Adler? I saw his carriage pull up a short time ago. He’s a fine-looking gent even with that scar on his face.”

  “I think his scar makes him look like a pirate,” Elsie added.

  Lord Adler? So that was who’d dared Hayden. The man’s scandalous reputation made him the perfect cohort for Westfield. They were both immoral rakehells. What had she been thinking to allow such a man in her bed?

  “No, I didn’t,” Sophia replied, then hastily said her good-byes.

  Outside dark clouds hovered. Had the weather turned, or had she been blind to the gray sky? She tipped her head downward and shielded her face from the badgering wind chafing at her skin. Tears rolled down her cheeks. What a senseless woman she was to even contemplate a member of the peerage might want to court her.

  Great-Uncle Charles’s voice echoed in her head. “Silly girl, your desire to work only confirms you are not worthy of a gentleman of means or good sensibility. Why would a man want you when he could choose a woman who knows her place in society? A proper English miss.”

  She swiped at the tears trailing down her cheek and wished she’d never laid eyes on Lord Hayden Westfield. She squared her shoulders. She wouldn’t cry over him. She’d forget his wicked touch, false words, and never speak his Christian name again. Westfield was nothing more than an unscrupulous rogue and manipulator who couldn’t be trusted.

  A thunderclap split open the sky, punctuating her pronouncement as if it were God’s own decree.

  * * *

  Hayden gritted his teeth. Damnation. Did Simon truly think him capable of bedding Sophia for the sake of winning a dare? God, he’d sunk low, but not that low. “I told you I had no interest in your dare.”

  Simon chuckled.

  “What do you find so humorous?”

  “Wright has an opera singer for a mistress, McGrath a dancer, and you wish to have a nurse. I can completely understand. A savior to have around if you find yourself at the wrong end of a pistol again.”

  “I don’t wish her to be my mistress.” He realized he desired something more permanent. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got several more candidates to interview.”

  Simon grinned, but didn’t shift from his recumbent position. “Well, old chum, if you’re not interested in the woman, perhaps I should lure her away from Trimble’s employ. I have a position I’d like to hire her for.” Simon winked. “Several new positions, if she’s limber enough.”

  Hayden would have sworn someone threw pitch in his eyes, for the room turned dark. When his vision cleared, Simon lay sprawled on the carpet, and Hayden stood over him, fist clenched.

  A grin spread across Simon’s face. “Ah, you wish for a bout, do you?” Standing, the man shrugged out of his coat.

  Simon, like himself, had always enjoyed a good bare-knuckled brawl more than those tedious rounds of boxing where one was held to the Queensberry rules. They’d not engaged each other in fisticuffs since boyhood. But Sophia had not shown up and he felt like hitting something, and his friend appeared as anxious. Hayden tossed his coat to the floor and rolled up his sleeves.

  They circled each other. A right undercut to Simon’s chin sent the man stumbling back against a tall bookcase. Several tomes fell to the floor with a heavy thud. The man’s grin widened, and he loosened his neckcloth.

  Hayden motioned him closer with his hands. “Come on, let’s see what you’ve got—”

  A left jab to Hayden’s jaw halted his sentence. His head twisted, straining his neck’s muscles. Flashes of light danced before his eyes. Christ, the southpaw had the
best left he’d ever had the misfortune to come across. But it didn’t douse the fire burning in Hayden’s belly.

  He hit Simon with a solid blow to his face; his friend’s head jerked backward. But if he thought that would end the fight, he was mistaken. The man counterpunched him soundly in the gut. Hayden’s breath exploded from his lungs. Undeterred, he delivered a jab to Simon’s jaw.

  Simon shook his head as though trying to clear his vision, then stepped closer and drew back his fist.

  A feminine scream pierced the air.

  They froze.

  Hayden turned toward the sound.

  Edith stood at the study’s threshold, her complexion wan, her eyes as round as a full moon. “I cannot believe such behavior. You two act no better than thugs. You’re foolish sods.” Edith tossed them both a scowl, gathered her skirts, and flounced from the room, slamming the door in her wake.

  Both he and Simon stood staring at the door, mouths gaping.

  Hayden rubbed his hand across his tender jaw and contemplated Simon’s superior left jab, his saintly sister’s use of such a vulgar word, and his own burst of anger. In retrospect, it had been utterly foolish to drag his oldest friend out of his chair and plant a facer on him like a raving madman.

  “I didn’t know your sister had such an extensive vocabulary,” Simon finally said, falling into a chair, his breath sawing in and out of his lungs.

  “Nor did I.” Hayden leaned against the edge of the desk and scrubbed a hand through his tousled hair.

  Gingerly Simon ran his forefinger and thumb over the bridge of his nose. “Hayden, don’t you realize I was baiting you? I’m quite aware you are taken with your little nurse, though I never realized to what extent.”

  After scooping up his discarded coat, Hayden jammed his arms through the sleeves. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Blatantly. You’ve been exceedingly morose since she left.”

  Hayden sat in his chair, reached into the carved wooden box on the desk, and extracted a cigar. He tossed it to Simon and opened his mouth, intent on apologizing, but Simon raised his hand.

  “No need, old fellow. I enjoyed that immensely.” Standing, Simon clamped the cigar between his teeth. “In fact, I think I’ll head down to Clapton’s Boxing Club and find myself a sparring partner.” He picked up his discarded clothes. “If you truly haven’t seen Miss Camden since she left your employ, Hayden, I suggest you call upon her soon.”