The Earl of Davenport: Wicked Regency Romance (Wicked Earls' Club)

by Maggie Dallen

  Her giggle turned to a moan as he kissed the sensitive skin beneath her ear. “I suppose no one would know. And it’s not like we aren’t going to wed…” Her hands were already sliding beneath his shirt, teasing his skin with her light caress.

  “Mmm,” he agreed. “We are definitely going to wed. And there should be some benefits to marrying a man with a reputation like mine.”

  “That’s true.” He felt her lips turn up in a smile as she kissed the edge of his lips. “Do you know, I think I’m going to enjoy being married to a devil.”

  Epilogue

  Anne was certain two weeks had never felt so interminably long. She toyed with the ruby ring Frederick had given her as her maid fussed with her hair and her sister paced before her.

  “Are you certain this is what you want?” Claire asked for the millionth time. Her pretty features were furrowed in a fretful expression that seemed to grow more anxious as the wedding drew near.

  Anne held back a sigh. After all, her sister just worried about her, and rightfully so, she supposed. It was her right as an elder sister.

  But in this case, Claire had no need to fear. Anne had never been so certain of anything in her life. “I promise I have no doubts,” she said.

  Their other sister Georgie bounded into the room. “Davenport is here!” she cried breathlessly.

  Anne’s stomach fluttered with nervous excitement at the announcement that her groom had arrived. This was it, the moment she had been waiting for.

  “Really, Georgie,” Claire scolded gently. “Davenport has been arriving on our doorstep every day for a fortnight. This news hardly warrants such theatrics.”

  Georgie, effusive by nature, ignored Claire and rushed to Anne’s side. “Oh Anne, isn’t it marvelous?”

  Marvelous seemed an understatement to Anne. In a matter of days her life had been upended. Her world had been flipped upside down. Her family had been saved from ruin, her sister no longer bore the burden of marrying for money, and she had found love. True love. The kind of love she hadn’t been certain existed until Frederick came along.

  She met Georgie’s smile and reached out to squeeze her hand. “I wish the same for you one day.”

  Georgie’s eyes were brimming with tears of joy. Unlike Claire, their middle sister never had been much good at keeping her feelings hidden. “You deserve this happiness, Anne.”

  It was a sweet platitude. Heartfelt and kind. Anne was certain Georgie had no idea the lovely words would rouse her deepest insecurities.

  Did she deserve love? Did she truly deserve this happiness which seemed too good to be true? She swept aside that age-old doubt. Yes, she did. Frederick had helped her to see that. She might be illegitimate and she may have been unwanted by her parents, but she was wanted. She was loved.

  Without him at her side, it was not as easy to forget all those years of being told she was unworthy, in words and in actions. Frederick and his unconditional love were helping her to understand that she did not just deserve love, but happiness, and good fortune, and respect, as well. When he was near, she understood that completely, and luckily, one hour from now she would never have to leave his side.

  Hopefully one day soon she wouldn’t even need him to remind her, because she would know it to be true, without a hint of doubt. And hopefully the same would be true for him. She knew that she had given him the same gift. Every hour they spent together she saw him grow more confident in the fact that he was loved. That he could be the man she knew he was deep down. The good man, the kind husband, the honorable earl.

  But while she and Frederick had discovered how transformative love could be, she couldn’t help but say a prayer that her brothers and sisters found the same. They might not all have been illegitimate, but they each had suffered from growing up in a home with such a loveless marriage.

  Some siblings more than others.

  “We all deserve this kind of happiness.” She said it to Georgie but she cast a meaningful look in Claire’s direction as well. But Claire missed it, her focus on her own reflection in the mirror as she adjusted one of her long blonde locks.

  Claire, she knew, had suffered in her own way. Being raised to believe that the weight of their fortune rested on her slim shoulders could not have been easy. Her sweet sister had become the perfect lady, in preparation of one day being the perfect wife. She had a spent a lifetime trying to live up to their mother’s impossibly high standards. While Anne had been harboring dreams of marrying for love, her eldest sister had been learning to banish any hope of marital bliss. She’d watched silently as her sister locked her heart away and hid the key, possibly even from herself.

  Though Anne had resigned herself to the fact that it was not her fault that Claire had been in the position she had, she still wished more for her. If only there was something she and Frederick could do to help Claire find happiness of her own.

  A knock at the bedroom door had them all turning to look as the door swung open and Frederick walked in. All thoughts of her siblings and their futures temporarily vanished in the face of her own radiant joy.

  Anne shot out of her seat, heedless to her maid’s cries of dismay that she had not finished with her hair. She couldn’t help it. When her soon-to-be husband was in sight, she could not stay away. He was the center of her world, just as she knew that she was his.

  At this moment, Frederick’s smile was all she could see. His happiness mirrored her own, and seeing the love in his eyes never ceased to give her a thrill. She expected it never would, not even when they were old and gray and watching their grandchildren play.

  He opened his arms and swept her into an embrace that made her heart thump painfully in her chest. Would it ever ease, this overwhelming longing? Even in his arms, she wanted to be closer, aching to be one.

  “How is my beautiful bride?” Frederick murmured in her ear. They both ignored Georgie’s pleas that he leave the bride to her preparations. They had never cared a wit for propriety during their courtship, they could hardly be expected to heed proper etiquette now.

  “I’ll be happier when we are married once and for all,” she whispered back. “Then we will never be apart.”

  She felt his laughter beneath her cheek as she rested her head against his cheek.

  “We have barely been apart as it is,” he reminded her.

  She hoped her sisters hadn’t heard. Though they had most likely caught sight of him sneaking in and out of her bedroom in the early hours of day, they had been doing an exceptional job of feigning ignorance.

  “Still,” she said, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. “After today, we can be together wherever and whenever we want.”

  “That sounds heavenly,” he said. Then his grin turned wicked. “Though it may be quite a while before I let you out of our bedroom.”

  She felt heat flood her cheeks and lifted her head to see that her sisters had moved to the other side of the room and were pretending to be absorbed in rearranging the objects on her vanity.

  Looking up she met Frederick’s burning gaze and she felt a now familiar fire flare up inside her in response. “That sounds heavenly,” she repeated.

  She had a feeling that her smile was equally wicked. “You, my almost husband, may be a bad influence on me.”

  His smile widened and laughter made his dark eyes dance. “It’s only fair, my angel. After all, you were the one who tamed this devil.”

  She feigned a pout. “I hope you haven’t decided to become too good and proper.”

  His low laughter made her insides clench. “Of course not. In the ballroom I aim to be the upright earl and the dutiful husband you so deserve.” He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “But send your sisters away and I will show you just how wicked I can be... in the bedroom.”

  She grinned as she called out. “Ladies, would you mind giving us a moment alone?”

  Claire’s sigh was to be expected and she paid it no mind. Anne suspected that beneath that prim and proper exterior of hers, Claire mig
ht just have the heart of a rebel.

  “Please?” she called sweetly, her eyes never leaving Frederick’s.

  “Oh, all right,” Claire conceded with a sigh. She led the way, ushering Georgie and the maid out into the hallway ahead of her. “I suppose you two will be married soon enough, and then your reputation is no longer my concern.”

  When the door clicked shut behind them, Anne let out a sigh of her own, but hers was one of relief. “Alone at last,” she said. “Now… whatever shall we do?”

  He leaned down and kissed her. When he pulled back she saw a devilish glint in his eyes. “I have some ideas.”

  She went up on her toes so she could return his kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck as she did. When his lips met hers again she marveled at the perfection.

  He was her devil, all right, but he was also the man of her dreams.

  Thank you for reading Earl of Davenport! If you enjoyed it, reviews are greatly appreciated.

  Interested in seeing what happens to Anne’s sister, Claire? Find out in A Rake’s Ruin, the first full-length romance in a new series.

  Keep reading for a sneak peek of the next book in the Wicked Earls’ Club series, Earl of Grayson by Amanda Mariel.

  Earl of Grayson

  Turn the page for an excerpt from

  Earl of Grayson

  Damien desires nothing more than to spend his time carousing, drinking, and gambling while Charlotte spends hers at afternoon teas, balls, and musicals. She is a true lady and he a determined rake. When their paths cross they have every reason to turn in the opposite direction, and yet they cannot seem to avoid one another. Passions flare, putting them both at risk. They stand not only to lose their reputations, but more importantly, their hearts.

  Earl of Grayson

  Wicked Earls’ Club

  Damien Archer, the Earl of Grayson, reclined on a leather armchair with a glass of brandy firmly in hand. The Wicked Earls’ Club bustled with patrons this afternoon and Damien was pleased to be among them. During the years, the club had become a second home to him. He spent numerous hours within the safety of its walls partaking of woman and booze, as well as gambling. He did not want to imagine what life would be like without his club.

  Damien shook his head. “I cannot believe another of us has willingly handed over his key.”

  “Who do you suppose will fall next?” Benton asked.

  “So long as it’s not me, I don’t bloody care.” Davenport took a swig of his whiskey.

  Far too many of their fellow earls had left the club of late. Sussex, Westcliff, and Basingstoke among them. Each becoming love bitten then choosing to marry. The consequence being that they had to turn in their pins, keys, and leave the club—forever. Damien would never make such a choice. “I second, Davenport,” Damian said. “In fact, if I should ever be so stupid as to consider it, please take me out in the woods and shoot me at once.”

  Benton’s eyes rounded for a moment before he began to chuckle. “You would not want us to carry out that wish if you actually fell in love.”

  “The hell I wouldn’t!” Damian drained his tumbler, then signaled for a refill.

  Davenport apprised Benton. “What do you know of love?”

  “Only that it makes a man lose all sense.” Benton swirled the liquor in his glass. “It is hard to believe that any skirt could cause such havoc, and yet we’ve seen it time and again.”

  Damian shook his head and stood. “Far too often.”

  “Where are you off to?” Davenport asked, leaning back against his leather chair.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Damian chuckled as he walked away. He could have told them he was heading for home, but why disappoint them? Surely they expected something far different, like a house of ill repute, a mistress, or a gaming hell. Truth is, he would rather be off to engage in something wild and reckless.

  He stifled a yawn as he exited the Wicked Earls’ Club. He’d spent the previous evening carousing about his usual haunts with Edgemore. Then after a few hours of sleep, he’d ventured to the club. Now he found himself in need of more rest. Perhaps once he’d had a nap he would find some fun to partake in.

  After giving his driver orders, Damian settled against the plush seat of his carriage and allowed his eyes to close. Before long the carriage jostled and turned into the long drive of his Mayfair mansion. He sat up straight and adjusted his coat as the conveyance came to a stop.

  A footman opened the door for Damian to exit the carriage, and he wasted no time stepping down then heading for his front door. Halfway across the drive, the pounding of hoofs drew his attention. Damian glanced up the drive, releasing a heavy sigh. Two women raced toward him mounted on white horses.

  Who the devil were they, and what did they want? Damian peered at the riders attempting to make out their features. He focused on the one in front. When she came into view, all the air left his lungs as if someone had punched him in the gut. He forgot all about her companion as disbelief and shock gripped him. Lady Charlotte Lawson—of all the woman who could have been racing up his drive, it was her.

  Charlotte pulled up on the reins, slowing her mount before bringing the horse to a stop. “I had so hoped to find you here.” She gave a charming smile. “Don’t just stand there. Do come help me down.”

  He hazarded a glance at the other rider. Charlotte’s sister Lady Elizabeth, or rather, Lady Oxford since she’d wed, had pulled rein several yards behind Charlotte.

  “Well,” Charlotte said, her voice laced with impatience.

  Damian drew in a breath as he stepped closer to her. “Why are you here?”

  “Help me out of this saddle, and then I will be glad to enlighten you.” She impatiently dropped the reins, allowing them to hang across the horses shoulder. “Or am I to jump down on my own?”

  How many years had passed since he’d last spoken with her? Ten? Twelve? He had seen her about the ton and at balls, musicals, and other events on occasion too, but he had not spoken with her—not one word since the day he’d tossed her aside. It had been for the best back then—it still was. “I have no need to hear you out.” Damian pivoted and began strolling toward the shelter of his home.

  “Wait. This is important,” Charlotte called after him.

  A moment later the sound of her half boots racing across his gravel drive assaulted him. Bloody hell. Why would she not go away? Before he could react, she reached out and grabbed his arm.

  “I will not allow you to walk away from me. Not this time, Damian.”

  He met her angry gaze, all fire and fury, making the icy-blue of her eyes burn. “It is a tad late for anger now. Wouldn’t you say?” He pulled his arm free from her grasp. “Go home, Charlotte.”

  “I cannot. Leastwise not until after you have granted me an audience, Damian.”

  As she spoke, desperation seeped into her gaze. Perhaps he had her all wrong. Maybe this had nothing to do with their past. Could she be in some sort of trouble? Damian crossed his arms over his chest and released a huff of breath. “Very well. Start talking.”

  “Might we go inside first?” Charlotte glanced at the large oak door, his servant now held open. “It is a delicate matter.”

  Good God, had she gone and gotten herself with child? He swept his gaze over the familiar curves of her body. He’d kill the bastard, see him quartered and dragged through the streets. Without another word, Damian took hold of Charlotte’s elbow and led her into the house, down the hall, and into his receiving room.

  He shut the door behind them before turning to her. “Who did this to you?”

  “Wha…what?” She drew her brows together.

  “Who is the bloody libertine that took advantage of you? I will see him punished.” Damian leaned closer, his tone deadly.

  Charlotte notched her chin. “The only man who has ever taken advantage of me…is you.”

  Damian released her elbow and strolled across the room. Thank goodness, he’d been wrong. The very thought of anyone ruining her se
t his blood to boiling. It was for that very reason he’d turned away from her all those years ago. Charlotte was a lady—a true, pure lady in need of a husband. He would never marry, and therefore, he would never be good enough for her.

  Reaching the fireplace, he turned back to her. “Then why the devil have you come to me?”

  Charlotte pinned him beneath her stare. “I want you to teach me how to seduce a man.”

  “Come again?” She could not possibly have asked him what he thought she did.

  She smiled coyly. “I can think of no-one better suited to the task than you. After all, you are a renowned rake hell.” She took a few slow strides toward him. “Furthermore, I know how persuasive your skills are.”

  “You cannot be serious, Charlotte.”

  “I assure you I am.”

  Damian came to stand in front of her, his gaze burning into hers. “Why?”

  “I wish to charm gentlemen, of course.” She averted her gaze to the large floor to ceiling window and sighed.

  “You are not the type.”

  Her attention returned to him. “I most certainly am.”

  No, she was not—never had been. Not that she was a prude. He could have easily taken her virtue all those years ago. She’d offered herself to him, been willing to give him every part of her. “That is why you have brought a chaperone along?”

  “She is here to make sure you do not take your lessons to far. A safety measure of sorts.” Charlotte glanced back at the window to where her sister remained in the drive, still on her mount.