Rescuing the Earl (The Seven Curses of London Book 3)

by Lana Williams

  Tristan’s father had died in his sleep a year after Nathaniel left for the Navy. His mother had been shocked while Tristan had been relieved. Guilt at that relief lingered to this day. Yet there was no denying the man had been impossible.

  “He insisted it was a waste of my time and money to involve myself with those who were in need. He said they were exactly where they deserved to be.” He smoothed a hand along one of his impressive muttonchops. “That wasn’t the first time we had the argument.”

  With unsteady hands, Jackson drew a letter and photograph out of his desk drawer and passed it to Tristan. “I should’ve thrown it away, but I haven’t been able to do so yet.”

  “I am glad you didn’t.” He scanned the letter, noting the feminine slant to the handwriting. Then he read it again, more thoroughly, looking for any similar phrases that had been in the advertisements he’d collected. The photograph was of an attractive young lady. Who wouldn’t feel sorry for such a person who’d claimed to have fallen onto bad luck?

  “Why don’t you take it?” Jackson suggested. “Perhaps I can put it behind me if I know it’s in your hands and you are seeing if anything can be done about it. That gives me some peace of mind.”

  “Thank you. Having it to study will be of great help. Please know I will consider it confidential.” He hated to think the lord might worry that Tristan would be chuckling about it with others.

  The small smile that appeared on the man’s face was his reward. “I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but you are a much better man than your father.”

  An odd phenomenon filled Tristan, as though a bit of weight had been removed from his shoulders. “I appreciate you saying so.”

  As he took his leave, the letter and photograph tucked in his breast pocket, an unfamiliar sense of hope nearly had him smiling. Perhaps escaping his father’s shadow truly was possible.

  Charles paced the drawing room at Witley Manor, ignoring Lynette who sat on the couch, reading some letter that had come in the post. Over three weeks had passed since Grace and that boy had disappeared in the middle of the night. He’d learned from a man at the train station that she’d purchased tickets to Manchester, and Charles had followed her that far. Unfortunately, no one there remembered them and the trail had gone cold.

  He couldn’t believe the naïve little bitch had outsmarted him. The idea that any woman could do so stung. But his plans had not changed with her disappearance. If no sign of her or the boy arose soon, he’d see what he could do about having them both declared dead. After all, the world was a dangerous place. Who knew what might have happened to them when they left the safety of home?

  With a smile, he told himself their escape was just a minor setback. As his dark mood lifted, he stopped his pacing to look out the window, across the fields before him, taking in the view. He focused on what he’d do when all this became his. Daniel’s death had been a welcome shock. Just when life seemed to be at its bleakest, good fortune shone upon him once again. He’d certainly made his share of mistakes along the way, but no more.

  He glanced at his wife, relieved he’d been able to hide how much money he’d lost at the gaming hell a few months ago. They’d be ruined if he couldn’t pay the debt soon. Then again, the type of men he owed the money to were more likely to take it out of his hide. The idea of dying in such a manner made him tug at his collar. This opportunity had to work. He had no other choice.

  He’d taken the liberty of selling several pieces from this house that he didn’t think anyone would miss. The money bought him some time, but that was quickly running out.

  “This is interesting,” Lynette said as she continued to read the letter.

  He didn’t bother to reply as little she said or did interested him in the least.

  “Aunt Mary says she heard that someone is living in the Chivington residence on Grosvenor Square.”

  “What?” He strode forward and tore the letter from Lynette’s hand.

  Of course. Why hadn’t he thought of that sooner? She’d left a trail implying they were traveling north, only to go to London. Stupid chit. Did she think he wouldn’t figure out her true plan?

  While he wasn’t anxious to return to the city as he’d be far too close to his creditors, he had no choice.

  “Now we know where they are. We’ll leave first thing in the morning for London.”

  “So soon?” She looked up at him, her reluctance obvious. “I rather like it here.”

  “As do I, my dear. But if we want to claim this estate and everything else for our own, we must finish what we started.”

  Her look of unease only deepened. “Surely Matthew—”

  “Don’t.” Charles didn’t want to think of the boy as anything other than an object in his way, otherwise he was more of a monster than even he could stomach. “Never say his name.” He sat beside her on the overstuffed couch. “Remember that we are only doing what is right. This estate should’ve been mine. If my father had been born first, it would be mine. I deserve it as much as Daniel did. I’ve earned it.”

  “But—”

  He held his finger over her lips. “No. We will not speak of the details. We will do what must be done and move forward with our lives.” He turned and swept his hand toward the finely appointed room. “I hope you’ve been thinking about what changes you’d like to make once you’re the lady here.”

  Her gaze followed his gesture, but the worry didn’t leave her expression. She swallowed hard, saying nothing.

  That wasn’t good enough. He needed Lynette to be firmly on his side. Taking her hand in his, he squeezed it gently. “Would you prefer to spend most of our time here once I’ve inherited or do you like the London house better?”

  She blinked several times as she considered his question. “Both are very nice.”

  He could almost see the idea of having options spreading through her mind, allowing her to see the possibilities.

  “I suppose I’d want to be in London for at least part of the Season.”

  “Of course. You’ll want some new gowns as well, won’t you?” He forced himself to smile in what he hoped was a doting manner.

  “Perhaps one or two,” she said as she glanced down at her simple beige dress.

  “I think you should have several made in blue to match your eyes.” When her gaze slowly rose to his, the pleasure in them eased his concern. The compliment had her thinking of new gowns instead of that boy.

  “That would be nice. I’d like one in violet as well. I saw a picture of one in a magazine that was quite stunning.”

  “Violet it is.” He patted her shoulder. “Have the maid start packing your things. I’ll make arrangements for us to leave in the morning.”

  “Will we be going to our home?”

  “No,” he said as he considered the options. “I think it best if we stay with Grace on Grosvenor Square. She’ll need our help in adjusting to life in London, don’t you think?”

  Lynette nodded slowly. “I don’t believe she’s lived in the city before. It must be overwhelming to her.” She set aside the letter on the end table. “I’ll speak with the maid now.”

  “Only take what you’ll need for London. The rest can remain here as we’ll return soon enough.” He could see his future so clearly. But it all hinged on gaining his inheritance.

  Daniel had been a thorn in his side all his life. He’d outdone Charles at studies, at hunting, at everything. His resentment for his cousin had deepened the older they got. Now that he was gone, Charles felt such a huge sense of relief. If only that boy hadn’t been born. Why couldn’t he have been a girl instead? Then none of this would be necessary.

  Never mind, he reassured himself. The boy would soon be out of his way and the days and years ahead would be a dramatic change from his present life. The wealth of Chivington’s would be his after so many years of coveting it.

  Charles could hardly wait. No more worrying over bills or how he could possibly pay his creditors. He followed his wife into the foyer,
calling for a footman.

  Tristan had delayed visiting Grace and Matthew as long as he could. But he’d been unable to resist the impulse to call upon them this morning. It was the right thing to do, he told himself. She was a stranger to the city and the ways of Society. The least he could do was assist her in any way he could. Showing concern for others was part of his effort to turn over a new leaf.

  Never mind that he thought about Grace night and day. That he thought about her far more often than he thought about his fiancée.

  Perhaps Lord Jackson was right, and he wasn’t as much like his father as he feared. Yet he couldn’t silence the voice of doubt. It took so little to set him off, to bring out the anger that seemed to always be simmering inside him.

  He drew a long, slow breath as the footman showed him into the drawing room on Grosvenor Square. As he glanced about, he immediately noticed several changes and couldn’t help but smile. The room was no longer crowded with furniture. The ones that remained weren’t all rose either. Touches of other colors were carefully positioned here and there, warming the large room. Maybe she was finding her place after all.

  Now if only he could help her with Stannus and the threat he presented. He’d made several inquiries regarding the man but thus far had discovered little. At first, he’d wondered if she had somehow misinterpreted Stannus’s actions, if the accidents Matthew had experienced were merely just that—accidents.

  But Grace’s concern and the lengths she’d gone to in an effort to protect Matthew said otherwise. Learning more about Stannus’s life might shed light on his motivations. The idea of anyone hurting Matthew had Tristan’s anger quickly rising to the surface. The boy was intelligent, kind, and a pleasure to be with.

  As was his mother.

  The thought slipped underneath his defenses, easing his anger and giving him something entirely different to worry over. A woman like Grace was not for the likes of him. She had far too gentle of a spirit to be in his company for long. He’d crush her with one lash of his temper. He knew it would come eventually. It always did. He never wanted to subject Grace to it.

  “Good day.”

  He turned to see her standing in the doorway, hands folded before her, a welcoming smile on her face. Something that had been wound tight suddenly loosened at the sight of her, lifting his mood, and he immediately realized he’d underestimated his growing feelings for her.

  She was beautiful. Her face had softened since he’d first come to visit a few days ago, her cheekbones losing the sharpness that made him wonder if she hadn’t been eating well while at her cousin’s.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve come by. I wanted to see how you were faring.” He’d told himself to keep his distance yet he now found himself standing directly before her, taking one of her hands in his.

  That was a huge mistake. The feel of her warm, soft skin made him want to run his hand up her arm to see if the softness continued. His attention fell to her rosy lips, and he couldn’t get the urge to kiss her out of his head. The fullness of her lower lip had his body springing to life in places that needed to stay quiet.

  “I am so glad you did.” Her smile was genuine, and he had no choice but to return it, the sensation now familiar when he was in her company.

  He’d smiled more in the brief time he’d known her than he had in years. She didn’t look at him with wariness, or worse—fear—in her eyes. The goodness in her brought forth an echo of the same in him that was stronger than the dark anger that so often ruled his thoughts.

  But it wouldn’t do for him to grow too attached to her or the feelings she evoked in him. Their paths were only crossing temporarily. His future was already set with Samantha. That didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy Grace’s company for now.

  He reined in his thoughts and turned to glance around the room, forcing himself to release her. “I like the changes you’ve made.”

  “I am pleased with it though it’s still in progress,” she said as she followed his gaze to sweep the room. “I owe it all to you.”

  “I didn’t do anything except suggest you can make any changes you would like.”

  She shook her head. “I am still adjusting to being in charge. Life as a viscountess was something reserved for my husband’s mother, not me. She was an opinionated woman who insisted on having her way and lived with us for just over a year before she died.”

  “It is only natural that you didn’t attempt to make any changes while she was alive.”

  A shadow crossed her face. “After she was gone, my husband suggested things remain as they were as it gave him a measure of comfort. But as the years passed and he still refused to change anything,” she said as she lifted a delicate shoulder, “I suppose I gave up.”

  Concern filled him as he tried to understand what she’d revealed along with what she hadn’t. “You weren’t allowed to form your own opinion on anything.” It wasn’t a question as he could see the answer clearly for himself.

  “That is a good way to describe it. He made it sound logical, as though he was helping me. He reminded me that I had no experience in such matters, so it was better left to him.” She waved a hand through the air as though to clear the bad memories. “I am equally at fault as I allowed it.”

  The severity of the situation in which she’d been was now clearer. No wonder she didn’t know her own mind even when it came to something as simple as what furniture should be in the drawing room. She’d never been allowed to develop her own opinion, let alone her own tastes. That explained how Stannus had worked his way into her household.

  All that only confirmed that he should keep his distance. He would quash her tender feelings and budding independence.

  She looked at him fully, a delicate rose tinting her cheeks, twisting that concern in his chest until it clung to the back of his throat. “I have no idea why I’m telling you all this. You must think me both an idiot and overly forward.”

  Despite knowing he wasn’t qualified to help her through this issue, he reached for her hand again, holding it between his. “Quite the contrary. I would like to think that the unusual circumstances we’ve been through have caused us to become friends. And that is what friends are for, are they not?”

  Her lips parted ever so slightly as her hand tightened on his. She nodded, catching his awareness even more. How could that simple movement, a graceful dip of her head, stir him so? She was lovely with delicate features and her intriguing eyes, but more than her appearance was the connection he felt to her. It was as though she truly saw him for who he was.

  And found him pleasing.

  It was the damnedest experience and managed to throw him askew, so that he always felt slightly out of control when he was with her.

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that,” she said. “I—It’s been a long time since I’ve had a friend.”

  A warm glow shone from the depths of her brown eyes, drawing him closer. He found her an intriguing mix of strengths and vulnerabilities. Her character added to her beauty.

  He was attracted to her—it was a fact he no longer bothered to deny. Part of him wanted to test the waters to see where this might take them. When her eyes darkened, awareness spiraled through him, and he leaned forward, all thoughts of maintaining distance scattering like petals in the wind.

  Chapter Ten

  “The Society for the Suppression of Mendicity has done more towards checking imposture, and bringing evildoers to punishment, than the Government itself, notwithstanding all the elaborate and expensive machinery at its command.”

  ~The Seven Curses of London

  Grace caught her breath as her gaze dropped to Tristan’s lips. Those firm, full lips that made her wonder what they might feel like pressed against hers. As he leaned closer, her hand still clasped in his, her heartbeat sped. Could he possibly be wondering the same thing?

  The idea of this tall, handsome, confident man befriending her, possibly even being attracted to her, was a foreign concept. Her childhood h
ad been sheltered, and friends had been few and far between. She’d left the protective arms of her father for Daniel.

  Tristan was completely different from anyone she’d ever met, especially her husband. Tristan’s kindness and concern for her and her son had washed away some of her normal reserve, as had the circumstances of their meeting. His reserve had been intimidating at first, but that only made each of his rare smiles a gift that thrilled her, especially when she was often the reason for it.

  The stormy depths of his grey eyes held a warm light that pulled at her. Right now, that light was all she could see. All she could feel. As butterflies danced in her stomach, she eased forward one inch, then two.

  His heat seeped through her, making her even more aware of him. Yearning for that kiss rolled through her until all thought fled, leaving only longing in its place. Not just longing, but desire—an unfamiliar emotion to her despite her years as a wife. While she’d felt a certain tenderness toward Daniel, it had been nothing like this—a deep aching need to be closer. As though she needed Tristan more than she needed to breathe.

  His gaze rose back to hers as he leaned closer still until their breath was one. His scent surrounded her, a mix of bay rum and pine that smelled fresh and glorious.

  She closed her eyes, her senses singing, and tilted her face up, eager for his kiss.

  He released her hand, and his heat and scent faded. She opened her eyes to find him several steps away, patting the back of one of the chairs she’d requested Paxton move into the room.

  “I truly like this chair.” He nodded as though to emphasize his point.

  Grace blinked, trying to understand what had just happened. She felt bereft of the experience she’d so anticipated, leaving her empty and uncertain.

  She studied Tristan, trying to understand how they’d gone from almost sharing a kiss to him admiring the over-sized tufted chair.

  The last thing she wanted was to speak of furniture.