The Lady and the Earl (Seabrook Family Saga)

by Donovan, Christine

  How she missed the days when Emma, Bella, and she used to sit and share their secrets. Could she trust them with her latest secret––that she never intended to marry Yarmouth? That she planned to board a ship to America with Olivia and her maid?

  She’d spent time in America before and found it quite refreshing to live where not everyone knew her or her family, their power, their wealth, and their scandalous pasts.

  Amelia opened her vanity drawer and pulled out the small reticule that held the money she had saved from her time in America. She counted enough for the passages to America and maybe even to live on for a short time if they were frugal. But after that, what would she do? How would she make a living?

  Perhaps she could find a nice gentleman to marry her and accept Olivia. She could go on the pretense of being newly widowed.

  Could she possibly trust Bella and Emma with her plans and ask them for additional money? She flopped down on her soft bedcovers, one hand over her eyes, the other resting on her stomach. Hopelessness descended upon her. She knew if she didn’t scrounge more resources, she would have to marry Yarmouth and make the best of it. All her scheming and plans were for nothing because, deep down inside, she knew she would honor her word and marry him.

  Amelia must have fallen asleep, for the next thing she knew the sun had set and her maid was asking if she was ready to dress for that evening’s ball at the home of the Earl and Countess of Northborough. Why they would host two balls in the same Season perplexed Amelia.

  Myles’s family was hosting a masquerade ball that evening. She’d never attended a masquerade. As blue as she was about marrying Yarmouth, her spirits soared at the idea of attending her first masquerade.

  During the carriage ride Amelia thought about Yarmouth and how, ever since their banns had been posted, he made it a point to call on her every day for tea. Since she had already spent time in his company that afternoon, must she spend time with him that evening? She hoped he would not recognize her and she could have an evening of freedom from his attentions.

  The ride with Wentworth, Emma, Sebastian, Bella, and Mama grated on her nerves. Everyone spoke at once. Which she supposed was good because it gave Amelia the chance to sit back, close her eyes, and envision finding William among the throng and sneaking off with him. Of course, that was just a dream. William was back in the country, wasting his life away. Oh, how she wished she were with him. They could waste away the years raising a family and loving each other every moment they were together.

  But such dreams were for children, she chastised herself.

  Once she entered the ballroom, Amelia breathed a sigh of relief. She also could not ignore the excitement humming inside her at the vision before her. The lights in the ballroom were not overly bright as every other chandelier hanging from the ceiling had been left unlit. Not all lanterns along the walls were lit either, giving the whole room a decadent and intimate feel. Amelia wondered if that were because the shadows helped keep one’s identity secret until the midnight unveiling. She hoped so, because she planned to duck away from Yarmouth if she saw him.

  For the first hour Amelia danced with several gentlemen. She could only guess at their identities. It seemed the gentlemen hid beneath their masks as well. Mr. Spencer, who did not try to hide his identity from her––not that he could with his voice so akin to William’s that she knew him the moment he spoke, asked for a waltz. She took his arm, surprised he’d asked her and not Bella. Once on the dance floor she understood. Bella was dancing with Myles. Amelia recognized Myles’s gestures and his movements. Mr. Spencer and Amelia tried to figure out identities behind the masks as they danced.

  “Don’t look now,” Mr. Spencer said, “but coming up on your right is old Eastham, bent over, huffing and puffing into his partner’s face. Underneath her mask her complexion must be pea green. I pity the poor girl. What was she thinking accepting his offer of dancing a waltz, of all things?”

  Amelia shivered in Mr. Spencer’s arms as she sympathized with the girl. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted someone with a familiar walk stroll into the room. “Oh, look, is that not—?”

  “Who?” Spencer asked as they twirled around the crowded dance floor.

  “Oh, I lost him.” Amelia’s heart sank. “Never mind, I must have been mistaken.”

  She could have sworn she recognized William. But it could not have been him. He resided in Dover. Would her heart ever feel normal again?

  When the waltz ended Mr. Spencer escorted her over to her mother, who sat with all the other older ladies watching the festivities. Amelia never understood why gentlemen, when they were of a certain age, unmarried or widowed, could still dance and enjoy the evening when the ladies of a certain age were expected to sit and watch. She certainly didn’t expect to sit and watch the fun when she became Yarmouth’s wife.

  She saw the tall gentleman again. Had she been right? Was it William? The pounding of her heart made her think it was.

  “Amelia, dear,” her mother’s voice said, pulling her from her daydreaming. “Who are you staring at? Stop it right this minute before you cause a scene.”

  “Excuse me, Mother.” Amelia walked away and stood in a shadowed corner, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked for the tall gentleman who had caught her attention––not once tonight, but twice. And then she saw him. The gentleman in question stood tall like Yarmouth, but all similarities ended there. This gentleman was tall and slim, yet he possessed muscles beneath his clothing. Muscles not belonging to a gentleman of leisure.

  Before Amelia could stop herself, she followed the man in question out onto the terrace. Instantly her mask fluttered in the cool summer night breeze, causing the feathers to tickle her cheeks. She knew this was utter foolishness as William resided in Dover, but something about the man intrigued her and drew her in.

  “Excuse me, my lord,” Amelia said when the man came to a stop alongside the railing that surrounded the terrace on three sides.

  “How may I be of help to you, my lady?”

  “Do I know you?” Amelia asked with bravado she did not possess.

  “Is not the purpose of a masquerade to give those in attendance a certain freedom that comes with anonymity?” he replied with amusement in his deep voice. A voice Amelia knew all too well. But she would play along, if that was what he wanted.

  “Yes, I believe it does. That is, until the stroke of midnight when all masks are removed.” Amelia came up beside the masked man and placed her hand on his arm causing warmth to spread through her body. “It also gives a woman certain courage to do things she would not usually do for fear of scandal.”

  “Oh, my dear lady, you must not believe that nonsense. Ladies of the ton are always scrutinized and watched. The ton enjoys nothing more than a juicy scandal to liven up the Season.”

  “Oh.” Amelia removed her hand from his warm, muscular arm and glanced around the terrace to the several other couples milling around. Nobody paid them any heed. “William, why are you acting strange?” she asked as her heart pounded. “Does Spencer know you are here?”

  “Only he knows. And I wish to keep it that way. Please accept my apologizes for hiding behind my mask and pretending not to know you this evening. I have my reasons.” Amelia left William standing on the terrace, confused to why he didn’t want his presence known to anyone. What game was he playing? She shivered as a sudden gust of wind sent an icy chill up her spine.

  As Amelia stepped back into the ballroom she heard her name called. Wentworth and Emma spoke at once. “We’ve been looking for you.”

  “Where have you been?” her brother chastised her sharply. “Yarmouth has been asking for you.”

  “Is that all?” The sound of her brother inhaling and exhaling in frustration and alarm had Amelia stammering an apology. “I’m sorry. I felt rather warm and took a brief walk around the terrace. Have you been out there yet? The flower pots are gorgeous, and the breeze cools one down instantly.”

  “Amelia,” her brother
said sharply, his tone reminding her of his status as a duke, “I don’t care about the flowers or the cool night air. You must pay some attention to your betrothed. Yes, I know it is a masquerade, but surely the two of you can forgo formalities and spend time together as a newly affianced couple should, can you not?”

  “Brother, are you serious?” Amelia knew arguing with him would be pointless, but she felt compelled to anyway. “I would rather spend the time I have left playing the single debutante.”

  “Ahh, but you are not a single debutante.” Wentworth’s eyes narrowed.

  “Fine. I see His Grace walking this way now.” Despite his mask, she would recognize the duke anywhere.

  “Your Graces, Lady Amelia,” Yarmouth said as he bowed. “May I ask your permission, Wentworth, to take Lady Amelia for a stroll around the gardens? It’s such a lovely evening.”

  Why ask her brother? Why not ask her permission? She most certainly did not want to be alone with him.

  “You have my permission,” Wentworth replied, “but stay where it is well lit.”

  Minutes later, they were arm in arm as they walked through the well-lit gardens. The jasmine smelled beautiful, and the nighttime insects buzzed. She knew she should feel lighthearted and giddy instead of stifled and breathless––as though her life were over—yet she could not help herself.

  “Amelia.” Yarmouth stopped, pulled her behind some tall bushes, and enveloped her in his strong arms, startling her. He rested his chin on the top of her head. “I have wanted to hold you for so long. You make me yearn for our wedding night. For the time I can finally make you mine. When I can teach you all the ways you can please me.”

  He slid his hands down to her bottom and pulled her up against his erection. “Feel what you do to me.”

  Until this moment she had thought his actions innocent. Now that she knew they were not her heart pounded inside her chest. He quickly tore the mask from her face, then crushed her mouth with his. It took all her strength to keep her knees from buckling. She felt neither pleasure nor lust but rather revulsion.

  His kiss was wet, rough, and demanding. His mouth tasted sour as though he’d never heard of tooth powder. Amelia gagged.

  Yarmouth pulled down the front of her gown and pawed and squeezed her breasts with his harsh grip, causing her to cry out. As she struggled to break away from him Yarmouth grabbed her hands painfully. His teeth scraped against her nipples, biting down hard on one until she cried out again. He ignored her discomfort. Dear God, did he like to inflict pain?

  “Please let me go. You’re hurting me,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Not until I have you right here in this garden. I promise you will enjoy it. After all, you are no virgin. This is how you should be taken. Rough and quick like the whore you are.”

  So he lied to her brother when he was told about Olivia. When Yarmouth said it did not matter. Suddenly Amelia found her hands free while he used his to lift her skirts. Something surged inside her body and she found courage she never knew she had. With her newfound strength she placed both palms on Yarmouth’s chest and shoved him as hard as she could. He lost his footing and landed on his backside––with a thud. His expression chilled her blood.

  “How dare you,” he accused.

  “How dare you,” she spat. “Nobody touches me.”

  With record speed and murder in his eyes, Yarmouth jumped up and threw her on the ground. The pain had barely registered before he pinned her hands above her head with one of his and ground his hips into her. “I have every right to touch you. We are betrothed. You are mine. And what is mine I am entitled to take.” His free hand pulled up her skirts and he dug his nails into her thighs searching for the opening to her pantaloons. The sound of cloth being torn reverberated throughout the empty garden.

  “Let me go.” She demanded as she twisted and turned her hips trying to evade him.

  “How dare you touch her!” To her shock, William, unmasked, came out of the dark, yanked the duke off her, and punched him in the jaw, making a sickening cracking sound as he did. Yarmouth went down and stayed down.

  “Bastard,” William spat. “I knew he seemed too good to be true. Saw something in his eyes I didn’t care for. Now I know.”

  Amelia, in shock from Yarmouth’s attack, was mortified that William saw her this way. She ducked behind the bushes, righted her gown, and smoothed her hair as best she could. After taking several deep breaths she thanked God for sending William to her rescue.

  Amelia realized she had almost been raped. She shivered, and not because of the temperature of the evening air. “ThThThank you,” she stuttered.

  Bridgeton looked her over from head to toe, then hugged her. “Thank God you’re not hurt. Please accept my apologies for acting strange earlier. I wanted to secretly watch Yarmouth. I had to make sure you would be in good hands when you married. Now I know my instincts were correct. Something seemed not right with him. I’m going to find Wentworth so he can take you home.”

  “Thank you.” Within seconds her heart went from panic and fear to excitement at seeing William again. At touching him again and knowing after what had just transpired with Yarmouth, Wentworth would never make her marry him. “Please, I don’t want Wentworth to make a scene. Find Sebastian. He can take me home. There’s time enough later to tell Wentworth,” Amelia said, her body back to shaking from head to toe from her close encounter with violation.

  “Stay here in the shadows. I will be right back,” William assured her.

  William escorted Sebastian out into the gardens and over to Amelia. He whispered to Sebastian and left, leaving Sebastian to take control. Amelia’s mind whirled, making decisions impossible. Her brother hurried her through the large stately manor, never pausing for a moment until they reached the valet and received their coats. Down the steps and into their carriage they went.

  “Bloody hell.” Sebastian hugged her close, his body trembling along with hers. “He sure had us fooled. The duke seemed affable and a good a catch. If I wasn’t ready to kill the young man myself, I’d be afraid for him when Wentworth finds out what transpired tonight.”

  “Do we have to tell him?” Did that weak, pathetic voice come from her? Of course they had to tell him. Otherwise, her hope of being released from her betrothal to the duke and being allowed to see William would certainly never happen.

  “Yes,” her brother confirmed.

  “You tell him. I can’t face anyone right now. In fact, I want to go back to Stony Cross Manor. I want to stay there forever and just be a mother to Olivia. Nobody will miss me here in London. All the old gossiping biddies will be pleased I’m gone.” Sobs vibrated in her chest, and she fought to keep them there. “I can’t attend another social function. I can’t face the duke again.”

  “There, there, Sister.” Sebastian patted her back. “I can promise you that you won’t have to.”

  Her head popped up, and she used the back of her hands to wipe her tears away. “You do not know that. Wentworth might insist. I believe he will not give up his quest to find me a husband. I just know he will persist.”

  ***

  William regrettably walked away from Amelia leaving her in the capable, loving hands of Sebastian. As he did though, his knees threatened to buckle and tightness in his chest made him want to claw it open so he could soothe his heart. His mind wanted to erase the scene he had witnessed. “Oh dear, God,” he mumbled as he hurried through the ballroom, down the stairs, ignoring the valet handing him his cloak and hat, then he burst through the front door gasping for air. William, unaware tears were silently sliding down his checks, could not understand why his vision was blurred. All he knew was he had to get far away from Yarmouth or he might find himself committing murder.

  ***

  Later that evening while Amelia tossed and turned in bed, reliving the terror of the attack in the garden over and over again, Bella knocked on her door and let herself in.

  “Sebastian told Emma and me what happened,” she
confided in a sober tone. “We all decided Mother need not know. I’m confident Wentworth will come up with a plausible reason why the betrothal is being broken.”

  Amelia felt the bed dip as Bella laid down beside her.

  “Sebastian is telling Wentworth right now,” Bella confided. “I would not want to be Yarmouth tomorrow when our brother confronts him.”

  Moving closer to her sister, Amelia soaked in the comfort Bella offered. “He deserves whatever our brother has in mind. He’s an awful, awful man. He had us all fooled.”

  “Oh, Amelia, I’m so sorry for what happened,” Bella said as she stroked Amelia’s hair.

  “In a way, I’m not sorry. Can you imagine if I married him, then found out a sadistic nature lurked beneath his well-mannered persona?” Cold tremors once again took over her body, and she hunkered down under the covers. “I would never have survived. And I can’t ever picture him letting me take Olivia into his home. No, as bad as it was, it happened for a good reason.” Amelia rolled over so she faced her sister. “I’m relieved. Now with any luck Wentworth will let me go back to my daughter. And with even more luck he’ll let me be with William.”

  “If I know our brother––and I do––he’ll never stop hunting for husbands for both of us. And I still do not believe he will consider Bridgeton even after he saved you tonight. Anyway, you might be interested to know that I’ve given up on Myles.”

  “If you have given up on Myles, is it because Mr. Spencer has caught your interest?” Amelia asked.

  Bella hesitated to answer, which puzzled Amelia. Could her sister actually have feelings for Spencer? And how did Amelia feel about that? Would it not be wonderful if they both could marry into the same family? Would their brother ever allow Bella to marry an untitled gentlemen, no matter how well connected his family was or how rich? Would he ever allow Amelia to marry William?

  “I…well…I like Mr. Spencer very much. He’s kind and witty. Actually, he is much like Myles with those two attributes.” Bella paused, sighed, and breathed deeply. “I don’t know. I have waited around too many years for Myles to declare himself. After Wentworth and Emma got married and Wentworth became sick with his appendicitis, Myles comforted me and kissed me. I thought finally he’d ask for my hand. Do you suppose that all along he never intended to marry me? Ohh! He makes me so infuriating sometimes. I just might accept Mr. Spencer’s offer to ride around in the park with him on Thursday.”