London's Wicked Affair

by Anabelle Bryant

  “Coming in!”

  An outrider entered atop one of the estate’s chestnuts, his cap askew from his wild entry. Hades pawed at the ground in restless agitation.

  “Excuse me, milord.” The boy slid from the saddle and spared no time to tether the reins, instead charging with the straps secured in his fist, his words spilling forth with the same expedience as his entry. “Lady Amelia’s coach. We’ve lost a horse and she awaits my return with a fresh team.”

  “You left her alone on the side of the road?” Lunden mounted Hades before he finished the sentence. “Tell me her whereabouts and have Spencer send a message to Whittingham informing him of the circumstances. I’ll need two stallions to follow. Make haste, young man. Your head depends on it.”

  The lad nodded, dispersing the necessary information before darting toward the house.

  Lunden kicked Hades into a gallop and tore down the gravel driveway onto the main road. Without a care for safety, he maneuvered the afternoon traffic, thick and congested, as carriages vied for parking along the shop-lined avenues. Within minutes he’d accomplished the worst, steering toward the outskirts of town where he prodded the horse to top speed. He’d traveled no less than forty-five minutes when he spotted the Whittingham coach near the edge of the thoroughfare. The sharp sting of air braced his face as he urged Hades on, but he found the conveyance empty, the lame mare at a distance, tethered to a nearby elm. Someone, an acquaintance or passerby, must have offered Amelia help. He clenched his teeth in frustration. How far had they gone?

  With a curse into the wind, Lunden yanked at the reins, pulling Hades to attention with a simultaneous kick of his heels, but the horse resisted, a rebellious whinny slicing the air. Dead center of the narrow roadway, a black snake reared and hissed, his head raised in a threatening pose, his long, lithe body poised to strike.

  Black snake. Bad omen. And bloody lethal.

  Hades snorted, unsettled and anxious to break leather. With a soft click of reassurance, Lunden eased them backward, one hand tight on the straps as the other stroked the horse’s neck, soothing the animal into obedience and guiding him from immediate peril. He flicked his eyes to the coachman’s perch atop the abandoned carriage. With a precarious reach, he snatched the whip from the bench, angled Hades forward, and with an abrupt snap of his wrist, lashed the snake in two.

  Sparing not another glance, he forged down the roadway, the thunder of hooves an echo of his dark considerations. Had Amelia met with trouble? Highwaymen liked nothing better than to snatch the spoils of the rich. It would take little to subdue her and her makeshift maid, although the carriage showed no signs of struggle. He dismissed the notion as another took hold. Had she decided to take fresh air while waiting, Amelia would have encountered the deadly snake. Some odd emotion worked its way up from deep within his chest and he kicked Hades harder.

  At last, he spied a coach in the distance. It wasn’t until he’d neared the conveyance that he deciphered the emblazoned seal on the door. Nilworth. A black snake of another kind and a smirch on polite society. Temper heated his blood. Nilworth may be the heir to an earldom, but that did little to excuse his insolent personality. The man was a cur. Amelia had best not be inside that carriage.

  He raced past, skirting the rushing wheels with speed and precision, to place Hades in the middle of the road. His interference caused the coachman to stop in much the same manner a highwayman would waylay his victim. Nilworth’s head emerged from the window, impertinence riddling his face. Lunden took satisfaction from the man’s obvious anger.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Nilworth shifted his position, twisting his neck from the coachman’s perch to the obstruction in his path. Realization lit his eyes and his grimace transformed into a brief show of surprise before it reclaimed an expression of haughty disdain.

  Lunden remained motionless. Did he hear a female voice above Nilworth’s sharp objection? He managed the man’s name through clenched teeth. “Nilworth.”

  “Scarsdale.” The earl spat his return.

  Lunden definitely heard Amelia’s voice now. What trouble had the hellion found this time?

  “Go around him. We have no business here,” Nilworth ordered his coachman and withdrew into the interior.

  “No. Wait.”

  A discussion, perhaps a scuffle followed, then the carriage door opened and Amelia pushed her way out before the steps could be extended.

  “Your Grace.” Her lips curled in an impish grin, as if she were happy to see him, although she offered the same benevolence to Nilworth as he exited behind her. “What are you doing here?” She hurried to stand beside his horse, her brilliant green gaze shining upward.

  He lowered his voice excluding others from their exchange. “I could ask the same of you, although I surmise Nilworth offered assistance and you accepted, desperate to be off the roadway and traveling toward Lakeview.”

  She nodded with vigor and glanced in the earl’s direction. Her smile of appreciation soured his stomach and in a work of distraction, he averted his eyes to the coach where Mary’s petite head poked from the window.

  “Are you all right?” He prodded Hades to sidestep, his assessment noting every aspect of her appearance. How dare she accept refuge from Nilworth. The man fueled the most vicious gossip surrounding Douglas’s death, expounding upon untruths and perpetuating the ton’s speculation long after time buried the accident. Nilworth had been present when he’d argued with his brother earlier that evening. He’d latched on to the smallest snippets of conversation, created mistruths to bind the missing pieces together, and manufactured a tail of vindictive fratricide the gossips accepted with relish. As time passed, whenever another shame arose, powerful enough to erase the Scarsdale tragedy from the ton’s memory, Nilworth worked with assiduous fervor to revive the well-preserved scandal.

  He speared the man with a glare of vicious malevolence.

  “Lunden?”

  Amelia’s inquiry broke free the bitter memory and he dropped his gaze, pleased to hear she’d returned to the intimacy of his Christian name. A light breeze ruffled the dark curls near her cheek and disarmed by her beauty, his expression softened. “Has this man done anything untoward? Should I disembowel him on your behalf ?”

  “Of course not.” She raised her eyes to his and her pouty grin fueled, more than assuaged, his temper. “He’s behaved kindly.”

  A bitter retort stalled on his tongue.

  “You’re the last person I expected to encounter this afternoon.” Nilworth invaded their private conversation, disgruntled at having been excluded so effectively.

  Lunden looked down at him and leveled a stare meant to announce he resented the intrusion. “I’m no more pleased by the occurrence, although Lady Amelia’s safety remains my main concern.” An awkward silence took hold. “On horseback, I’m unable to escort the lady and her maid, so we find ourselves dependent upon your courtesy.” His voice lowered to a deadly tone. “I’ll travel behind your carriage until the journey to Lakeview is complete.”

  He spared a glance to Amelia who glowed with admiration. Could she possibly be enamored with the lout? Jealousy, hot and immediate, spiked through him and he pushed hard against the emotion. Some might consider the man acceptable, having a title and a modicum of style, but it would be over several dead bodies before Lunden saw Amelia matched with the likes of the scourge.

  Logic forced him to reason. She could not know the misery Nilworth caused or the heartache he perpetuated with his vicious lies and exaggerations. Nor did she understand what was at stake. It would be unfair of him to jump to conclusions, yet with Matthew’s insistence she marry Collins, one could not know the extent of Amelia’s rebellion.

  “What do you fear, Scarsdale? The lady appears pleased with my company. You should ride off the way you’ve come. Return to the dark recesses of your past.” Acrimony blazed in Nilworth’s eyes and he motioned in the direction of the roadway with blithe dismissal.

  Hades whinnied and Lunden
realized he’d pressed his heels, his muscles tight at the bold provocation. He watched Amelia’s smile falter at Nilworth’s reply before a pensive, questioning expression took hold.

  She had no idea of his past, too young to be included in the details connected to Douglas’s death and removed from the city’s bitter rumor mill. Still, she resisted marriage, courtship, at every turn. Nilworth was worse than Collins in every respect. How could she consider him worthy when she’d met the man less than an hour ago? Or for some unexplainable reason, did he jump to conclusions too rapidly?

  “It seems the sensible thing to do,” Amelia asserted, not willing to be absent from the decision making, and perhaps perceiving the animosity.

  “I agree.” Nilworth offered Amelia his arm in a bald show of triumph. The two began their return walk to the carriage although Nilworth’s voice rang clear. “I hesitate to make mention of this, but your brother has kept poor company. Scarsdale possesses a high degree of anger. Some consider him volatile.”

  “I’ve never found him so. Whatsoever do you mean?” Amelia’s eyes, heavy with curiosity, moved from one man to the other.

  Lunden clamped down his temper, unable to react or he’d prove Nilworth’s claim as truth. The last thing he desired was for his past to be discussed within the carriage while he rode outside, unable to define the truth.

  “Perhaps I’ll expound once we’re under way.” Nilworth handed Amelia into the coach, his eyes fixed behind him. “Lunden has an interesting history.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lunden led Hades in a canter behind the carriage. His memory, razor-sharp, needed no encouragement to resurrect the past hurt of his brother’s death with pristine clarity.

  It was his fifteenth birthday and, daring manhood, he’d schemed a jaunt to a disreputable tavern near the edge of St. James. Matthew joined him in celebration at The Backward Ram, equally enthralled with their plan of rebellious behavior. They’d only finished one tankard of ale when Douglas arrived, angered to have traveled to an undesirable part of the city in search of a brother who rarely made the right decisions and often landed on the left side of trouble. At least in his eyes. Their discussion turned to disagreement in less than a few words, and the other patrons, both peers and pedestrians, took notice of the duke and his younger brother as a heated altercation ensued.

  As with many arguments, things are oft said in anger, without thought and consideration. How Lunden wished he could retract the ale-induced words he spewed with vehemence as Douglas left the tavern.

  Life would be much better with you dead.

  But there was no turning back the clock, no way to repair the damage.

  He’d then ordered another round of alcohol and celebrated his ill-begotten victory, even though his conscience gnawed at his heart, aware he’d cleaved a bigger chasm in their tenable relationship.

  Hours later, when Matthew with his usual instigation of unconcerned mischief, dared him to discover the guarded secret where Douglas oft spent his evenings, Lunden clamped on to the idea with the foolish belief it provided a means to make amends. He would apologize to his brother and set things to rights, retract his foolish words in the tavern, erase the argument, and start anew. Perhaps he could better understand his brother and learn a scrap to explain Douglas’s distant nature.

  In retrospect, Lunden saw the errors in his conclusion, how emotion had eclipsed rational judgment, but ten years ago he’d spent no time in deliberation of the plan and forged headstrong into the night.

  * * *

  Amelia settled in the corner of the carriage as Lord Nilworth forced small conversation. Questions concerning Lunden’s past tumbled one over another in her mind. Whatever existed between the two men remained connected to that evening long ago. The origin of Lunden’s unhappiness, not just Douglas’s death, but the consequences of that evening, her brother’s injury, and Lunden’s suffocating regret, were intertwined in details a decade spent. A secret so private and imperative, her brother took a bullet and still claimed Lunden as his friend. Something inside her tightened. She yearned to ease Lunden’s turmoil. Perhaps she could ease his pain, prompt him to smile, if she understood his past.

  She skimmed her eyes over the man seated across the carriage, so engrossed in his idle conversation, he didn’t notice her inspection. Nilworth might be labeled attractive by some, although gray tinged his narrow sideburns. His nose, as sharp as his tongue, did not ruin his features as much as his pervasive personality and protuberant eyes. He spewed a wealth of tawdry information proving he possessed a distasteful proclivity for hearsay. To encourage Nilworth was unthinkable. She’d assumed him a respectable gentleman, his arrival fortuitous and his offer of transportation generous, but perhaps she’d been too quick to judge. Lunden would loathe conversation concerning his past while he rode in protection of her honor, paces behind the carriage. And she could not betray him, no matter the incessant desire to learn the driving force behind his solitude and despair.

  It was more than idle inquisitiveness. Something pulled her toward Lunden. Something intangible, and powerful. A force stronger than any emotion she’d experienced. His kiss haunted her every daydream. His touch lived as if a constant energy within her heart.

  A visceral ache swelled in her bosom at the realization their paths did not converge. He meant to solve his problems and depart with haste while she entered into an unwelcomed union. Neither Lunden nor she wanted the future that waited, yet fate had stolen their choices, pushed aside any desire aimed at happiness, and instead laid plans for years of loneliness and sadness. She could not allow it.

  Their kiss had been magical. When their lips touched, the world dissolved, leaving only the incredible sensation of desire, and something deeper, a connection so powerful, she trembled still from the remembrance.

  Determination replaced the burden of hopelessness blanketing her heart and she straightened in her seat. The coach rattled over a rut and the unexpected vibration snapped her attention to the present, unaware she’d lost track of the conversation minutes before.

  “Your brother holds a weakness for Scarsdale, unable to sever relations no matter the cost. It’s my hope you don’t suffer from the same poor judgment. Their odd association causes me to wonder what’s kept them connected all these years. Scarsdale abandoned this city and any friendships to be salvaged after the inauspicious circumstances surrounding his brother’s death. Do you know what prompted him to break a decade of solitude?”

  Amelia shifted uncomfortably under Nilworth’s scrutiny. While he smiled in a façade of congenial conversation, his probing gaze sent a shiver to her core.

  “I’m sure I don’t know. His Grace is a private man.” She hid her disapproval with a glance out the window.

  “As well I believe. Even now, over ten years past, no one has uncovered the truth of what occurred that evening, although I suppose your brother has a better understanding than most. I witnessed the argument at The Backward Ram. One must surmise Lunden made true on the threat he issued that evening.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Amelia swallowed a note of trepidation, aware she walked a fine line between curiosity and betrayal. “Are you saying you know these facts with surety?” Her heart rebelled. Lunden was no murderer and anyone in society who believed such a far-fetched tale born of misconstrued, distorted rubbish didn’t deserve the truth.

  Nilworth’s prompt hesitation to her question caused a vague uneasiness. Perhaps a change in subject was best, but he formulated his response before she could suggest a more suitable topic.

  “I sat not three tables away from where they argued. I heard the threat. We all did. And then the duke was announced dead the next morning. One need not be an intellectual to put the pieces together.”

  A note of agitation accompanied his reply and Amelia eyed Nilworth with interest, perturbed by his avid obsession in an event more than a decade past. Something akin to embarrassment, or perhaps vulnerability, flashed through his eyes whenever he ment
ioned the late duke’s name.

  “My brother would never align with Scarsdale were he capable of what you propose.” She stumbled over the words, unsure of perpetuating the conversation. If she focused, she could hear the steady drum of Hades cantering behind the carriage and it unhinged her emotions as much as betrayal pricked her conscience.

  “Unless he too had something to hide.”

  The words hung in the air unanswered.

  Nilworth’s comments were distasteful. She strove to change the subject with aplomb. “We should arrive at Lakeview soon. The fine weather has kept the roads passable.”

  Nilworth nodded in return. “It’s smart of you to steer our conversation from the unsavory, Lady Amelia. You have proven to be a most pleasant traveling companion. May I call upon you when I return to London? I’m of an age when I need to consider family. I have heirs to produce and a future earldom to cultivate. I understand you’re in the market for a husband.”

  Mary straightened in her seat, the stark statements breaching all language barriers. Amelia wondered how far Nilworth would encroach if given the latitude.

  “One mustn’t believe every word uttered in the ton, although my brother feels a strong insistence to see me settled.” Her words, spoken with crisp finality, implied she wouldn’t elaborate. Let Nilworth and his jaded gossip drop to the devil.

  “One mustn’t waste precious time. Most especially when one has finite opportunity to find a husband.” He leaned forward as if imparting innocuous advice.

  Everything in her shuddered. The man proved vile. Lunden was correct. How could she have perceived him as intelligent and kind? Would the conversation have advanced to the same point regardless of Lunden’s appearance? She’d never know although something inside told her Nilworth cared little for others’ feelings and would have pursued the same line of questioning no matter the circumstances.

  The coach veered to the right and bowled down the twisting drive. She dared a fleeting look out the window, relief taking hold as she recognized the stone gateposts and tree-lined avenue marking the approach to Lakeview.