“How very fortuitous to have you placed in my path once again, Lady Amelia.”
“Truly uncanny.” Amelia held no desire to disguise her displeasure despite Charlotte poking her hard between her ribs on the left side. “Imagine my gratitude for such good fortune.”
“With two lovely ladies to escort.” Nilworth eyed Charlotte then returned his probing stare to Amelia. “What gentleman would feel luckier?”
Amelia quickened her stride. The sooner she returned Charlotte home and continued to Cleveland Row, the better. Nilworth pursued something and while she couldn’t decipher his goal, the man was not one to be trifled with for long.
“Did you enjoy the time spent with your parents at Lakeview? It was my pleasure to assist you when your carriage became disabled. A favor well spent, if I may.”
A sudden awareness, that Nilworth meant to elicit repayment for his favor, provoked her brain, and she scrambled for a polite response while mentally considering his motives.
“My parents are well, thank you. Perhaps Lady Dearing will accompany me the next time I visit.” Ill ease made her reply sharp.
Lord Nilworth snickered. “Lord Dearing will have none of that.”
The bald comment struck both women by surprise. Amelia shot her eyes to Charlotte who appeared mystified by the startling response. For half a block the trio walked in silence, their combined footsteps with Nilworth’s cane against the pavement a lonely noise to disrupt the morning air. They turned at the corner adjacent to Rotten Row and the activity of the awakening thoroughfare prompted a renewal of conversation.
“Has your houseguest settled? Scarsdale’s homecoming has set the tongues to wag. I admit my curiosity is pricked. Considering the conditions of his departure, I’d wager an event of significance provokes his return, although you may well tell me the opposite.”
Amelia bit her bottom lip, her pointed replies to his unseemly comments anxious to be heard, but she would not allow him to goad an answer. How dare Nilworth speculate on Lunden’s cause for visit, no matter the revival of talk amongst the gossipmongers. “I assure you, all is well. Aside from my brother’s preoccupation with my unmarried status, life at home remains unremarkable. Respect for one’s privacy is a Whittingham code of honor.” Again Charlotte jabbed her side, and Amelia gave an abrupt jerk, the swivel of her head in line with the action.
They’d reached Dearing House and with Charlotte tucked safely inside, Amelia continued a brisk stride along the sidewalk with Lord Nilworth at her side. She appreciated her friend’s reluctance in leaving, the reason more than obvious, but Amelia intended to reach home and scurry inside before Nilworth continued his invidious questioning.
“It would be ghastly to have all the old rumors exhumed and made fodder for the ballroom. Scarsdale must have intended to keep his visit private or run the risk of censure, reliving his past all over again. A true friend would advise him to take his leave with haste.” His voice dropped to a confidential tone. “Of course, no one truly knows what transpired that evening, except Scarsdale, your brother, and the late duke.”
Amelia stalled. She whipped her head around to face the man beside her, a bitter retort on the tip of her tongue, but as if Nilworth anticipated her set down, he stepped away, inclined a curt nod, and let the enveloping crowd on the street swallow his retreating form. Without pause, she scampered up the steps into the safety of her home.
In habit, she shot up the hall steps intent on speaking to Matthew and uncovering the intricacies of Lunden’s past. Only then could she decipher Nilworth’s interest and understand Lunden’s heart. This time she would not allow her brother to shove her feelings aside and dismiss her inquiries as those of a gossip-minded ninny. Nilworth intended to interrupt her morning walk and deliver his cloaked message. His actions overflowed into her life now. Matthew could ignore her questions no longer.
But things were not as she expected when she burst through the study doors without knocking. Her brother did not brood over his tiled puzzle. Instead he stood near the brandy decanter, his glass raised in a toast with Lord Collins. Her eyes shot to his desktop where a quill lay atop a long sheet of white paper, the inkwell nearby. Her breath caught with the conclusion the men had signed the marriage contract only moments before. Had Nilworth not stalled her, she might have interrupted their agreement and put a stop to the license.
A sudden flash of panic clouded her vision and she clung to the brass doorknob as dizziness swamped her from head to toe. No one would steal her freedom, lock her into a cage by marriage of poor choice, and drive her to execute some plan of escape. Her knees threatened weakness. She steeled her resolve and forced her heart to a normal rhythm. She was no shrinking violet. She would not swoon, nor would she fail.
“Amelia. For once you show perfect timing.”
The words spurred Collins to remove his pocket watch. He glanced at it briefly and tucked it away. Only then did he raise his eyes in her direction, his expression satisfied.
She chose her words with precision, her solitary goal to extricate herself from the room and retreat to her bedchamber to reassemble her plans. “Matthew, Lord Collins. I did not mean to interrupt your business.”
“Come in and close the door behind you. I have news to share.”
The men stared at her with intent, her brother’s grin larger than Lord Collins’s, but both pleased nonetheless.
Her eyes darted to the desk where her future lay deceased in a mixture of ink and sand, then back again, to the satisfied gentlemen enjoying their celebratory brandy. “I’m afraid I cannot stay. I’m feeling unwell. It’s the reason I returned from my walk with Charlotte so quickly. Please excuse me.” She backed out of the room and closed the double doors behind her. The only thing quicker than the anxious tattoo of her heart was her feet on the carpet as she hurried away.
Chapter Twenty
Steeling his composure, Lunden led Hades down Lamb Street toward his brother’s private residence, the town house unbeknownst to him until the fated night when his life shifted from boy, notoriously undisciplined and bent on distraction, to man, ensconced in obligation and duty. He should never have accepted Matthew’s callow challenge to follow Douglas and discover the unforgiving truth. Truth was dangerous, sometimes more so than a lie. Truth proved the catalyst to the chain of events instigating the destruction that ended both their futures.
He’d give his life to retract his youthful foolishness and alter the course of events, but eerie whispers chanted a litany of guilt to remind no solace for impudence existed.
He reined his horse to a slow canter while his eyes skimmed the neatly lined buildings, one after another, a life and story tucked within each. Due to the late hour, neither hackney nor lamplighter haunted the street, the private community as quiet as an abandoned church, and his solitary existence comforted in the evening dark. He’d waited until calling hours concluded, ensuring the best opportunity to find Russell Scotts in house.
Tethering Hades to a stand at the curb, he paused on the sidewalk to peer at the structure, painted in monochrome moonlight, stark and foreboding in the gathering fog. This property had served as Douglas’s secret residence. Understanding his brother’s choices remained a challenge, but loving Douglas was never in question.
Lantern glow from a post at his shoulder cast his elongated shadow up the three-stepped stoop, arrowing his path. He willed his feet to follow.
Repressing a shudder, he claimed the stairs and dropped the knocker. He repeated the process and waited several moments before a candle lit, the weak light visible through the sheer ivory curtains framing the entry hall. The door opened, hardly a crack.
“I need to speak to Mr. Scotts. It’s a matter of great importance.” Lunden slid his calling card through the narrow opening and surveyed the butler’s countenance. The servant’s cool hauteur faltered as he read the inscription, revealed through the slight narrowing of his eyes, but he did not speak and Lunden grew impatient, confused by the man’s inept service. “Fet
ch Mr. Scotts at once. I won’t be turned away.”
The door opened wider and Lunden stepped through. He removed his coat, offering it into the butler’s waiting hands and followed as he was led into a drawing room decorated in shades of crimson and cobblestone gray. An air of masculinity was evidenced in every aspect of decor, from the large writing desk situated near the far wall to the thick velvet curtains draping the mullioned windows. The knowledge that his brother once inhabited the rooms disrupted his self-imposed calm and he scanned the interior in search of liquid fortification. Several crystal decanters sat in wait on a nearby credenza and he wondered again at the butler’s reluctant hospitality.
“Please inform Mr. Scotts I need to speak to him immediately. I’ll help myself to brandy.” He strode toward the sideboard, his hands clenched in fists, but he’d only taken two steps before the butler stalled his progress.
“I’m Scotts. How may I help you?”
Momentarily dumbfounded, Lunden completed his path and poured a generous amount of liquor. He took a long swallow before he turned to confront the situation. “The butler? My brother left this dashing town house to a servant, virtually rent free and for the length of your life?” The idea made no sense and Scotts’s awkward, suspicious behavior confirmed there was more to be revealed. Was it simply the case of rewarding excellent service there would be no need to keep the will’s contingency cloaked in secrecy. Douglas bequeathed many items upon his death. Why not leave Scotts the town house outright? It would have eliminated the problem currently complicating his life.
“It’s not how you state, Your Grace.”
For the first time since his entry, Scotts showed due respect and the simmering tension in the room eased the slightest.
“Explain then. I find my patience on a short wick.” Lunden finished his brandy and set the glass down. “I saw my brother here the night of his death. I understand the circumstances, if that makes your confession any easier.”
“Your brother employed me to keep his discretion. Were I to consult the occupant—”
“An occupant? Of whom do you speak? You leave me at odds to understand.”
With visible reluctance, Scotts released a long breath, his earlier austere disposition nonexistent. This time it was the butler that strode to the sideboard and poured two fingers of brandy. He downed it in a quick gulp, then replaced the glass and eyed Lunden across the room. “Your brother left the town house in my name with the agreement I’d keep it invisible for its true purpose. No one has resided here for years and there’s rarely correspondence, so I live simply, taking care of a home that knows no life. Yet I owe a responsibility to the late duke and I will not falter in my commitment.”
“Very well, Scotts. Tell me what you know and I’ll pursue the matter without your involvement. You need not worry about being put out on the street.” His words held a lethal edge, the butler too astute to misunderstand Lunden would not be deterred.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible. I vowed my loyalty to your brother and I fear violating the terms of our agreement were I to reveal the gentleman’s name. I could never live with myself if I sullied my promise to His Grace.”
Something akin to jealously ignited in Lunden’s veins. His brother had seen fit to confide in a servant, someone of non-blood, before trusting him. The knowledge burned deep, sparking old wounds and rekindling buried emotion. His ever-vigilant conscience reminded him he was hardly the candidate by age or behavior to warrant his brother’s trust, but he pushed the rationale aside and welcomed the pain instead.
“Shall I post a footman across the street to await your master’s arrival? I’m not a patient man. Regardless of your misplaced loyalty, I need to resolve a legal matter and must speak to the assumed tenant at once.” Irritation forced his words out in a strong tone, yet the butler appeared unnerved.
“Perhaps if you left your card, I can see it received as soon as possible.”
Lunden darted forward, his hurried paces finally garnering a reaction. “I’m not fond of riddles, Scotts, so listen carefully. I will return tomorrow, at which time I expect to either speak to the tenant or extract his name.” He dropped his voice to a lethal tone. “Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Lunden spared not another moment and rushed to the hall, snatching his coat from the hook and escaping into the night.
* * *
It was later in the evening when Amelia gathered the courage to confront Matthew. Unable to do little besides speculate upon her brother’s agreement with Lord Collins and contemplate her options for the future, her heart’s unrest propelled her to face the dilemma head-on. It was so unlike her to quit his study earlier. She wondered at her newly developed cowardice and shunned the notion the trait would somehow take root and hold.
With a mere breath’s length of hesitation, she paused before the study door and knocked, although she waited for no one to bid her entry. She opened the panel and turned the lock, resolute no one would interrupt their discussion.
At first glance the room appeared empty, but then her eyes, drawn of their own accord, settled on Lunden, his dark silhouette bathed in a golden gleam where he stood at the hearth in contemplation.
“Excuse me. I didn’t mean to intrude.” He returned her regard, his eyes dark, the planes of his face harsh in the firelight, and she drew closer for a wealth of reasons. All her considerations evaporated. With a mixture of inquisitiveness and affection she yearned to alleviate his sadness.
“You are well?” His voice was gruff, as if unused or perhaps raw and scarred by distraught emotion.
She answered with a barely perceptible nod as he stepped nearer. “I might ask you the same.” Her eyes flitted about his person, taking in his jaw shadowed with a day’s worth of whiskers, the rolled cuffs and discarded cravat, all indication she’d interrupted a bout of personal turmoil. “I should leave you.” The words surprised as she wanted nothing more than to comfort him in the circle of her embrace.
“Do nothing of the kind. Your company is welcome.” He attempted some semblance of a smile and failed. They stood in quiet, facing one another until the fire hissed and popped as if insisting they break the weighty intimacy of their soundless exchange.
She stepped back in restless agitation, otherwise she knew well she’d find her way into his arms. Her mind scrambled for a suitable topic to break the uncomfortable silence. The remembrance of his intimate kiss at the lake brought heat to her cheeks. Emboldened against the impossible sense of spinelessness her brother evoked, she latched on to the subject with zeal before her courage fled.
Could it be her actions of the past hadn’t held importance? Her heart hammered in her chest. She’d never experienced such intense emotion of any range, not even when she’d knocked Lord Lennox into the Thames leaving him to drown. The remembrance caused her eyes to flare. Still, while Lunden might pretend their swim lesson was a perfunctory favor, she entertained no illusion.
She swung her attention upward catching his eye. He looked dismantled. His hair stuck out at awkward angles and his eyes were bleary, as if desperately in want of sleep.
“You need rest.” No matter his wretched appearance, he looked exceedingly handsome.
“What is it you need?” His question delved inward, his voice gone gravelly.
Unnerved by his whisky-brown regard, she willed her brain to engage her tongue. Was he sick? Had he been drinking? Or perhaps come from some other type of activity? An involvement with another woman? Damn her brother for suggesting Lunden visit a pleasure house. Matthew’s blithe comment had eaten away at her innards all afternoon, overriding the information he’d shared concerning Lord Collins.
Now her mind juggled the disconcerting possibilities, suggesting and rejecting them with rash decisiveness. “I need to talk to you concerning my swim lesson.”
Something close to desire flashed in his eyes, but then his expression hardened and he arched a dark brow. “I believe I met your demands”—
he paused, his stare steadfast—“and overstepped the boundaries of our agreement.”
“But I haven’t fulfilled my portion of our agreement.” She dared to lean closer, too aware of his virility, the heated span of his chest, the spicy scent of his cologne. When he made no reply, she reconsidered and swiftly changed the subject. “Lord Nilworth interrupted my walk with Charlotte this morning.” The words were far from those intended when she ventured down the hallway to knock on the door, but the sudden statement erupted from her mouth beyond control. Or good sense.
Lunden’s jaw worked but no words came out, seemingly content to let her carry the conversation.
“He asked about your return and . . .”
“Nothing uttered by that man is of interest to me. Have a care, Amelia. Your brother won’t be pleased if you continue your association.” A note of warning colored his words.
“I have no association. He interrupted my walk with Charlotte. There was little I could do beside fend off his odious questions with innocuous answers.” Something in his posture relaxed. Did he believe she would pester him in the same mode as Nilworth? Driven by shallow curiosity? “That wasn’t my reason for requesting your attention. My swim lesson . . . we never finished.”
“We finished.” He cleared his throat and readjusted his stance. “You cannot expect the skill to rescue you from an unhappy marriage. Face the facts and understand your brother has already arranged your betrothal to Collins. He won’t listen to reason. I doubt proficiency as a skilled swimmer will provide the escape you desire.”
His matter-of-fact reply cut deep. Disappointment coursed through her, brutal and unyielding. On an emotional level, void of reason, she’d believed he cared for her, would rescue her . . . and somehow open his heart. But no. He was a private, mysterious man. The news he imparted was callous and calculated, as if he’d given great thought to the delivery and considered his responsibilities fulfilled.
London's Wicked Affair Page 16