The Earl of Kent: A League of Rogues Novel and a Wicked Earls’ Club Novel

by Smith, Lauren

  “Yes, he’s quite boorish about it, according to James.” Audrey suddenly brightened. “Oh, I have a wonderful idea. Jonathan and I were planning to attend James’s Christmas ball. He has invited you and Kent as well. What if we all went to Kent’s estate and coaxed him into coming?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Ella shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Of course it’s not good. It’s brilliant.” Audrey beamed and clapped her hands together. “Jonathan! I need you!” Audrey shouted.

  Ella gasped as the doors opened and Jonathan St. Laurent, the younger brother to the Duke of Essex, came bursting into the morning room, fists raised.

  “What’s the matter?” he demanded, looking ready for a fight until he spied his wife, Audrey, standing there grinning at him. Audrey glanced at Ella and snickered.

  “I love when he comes storming into a room to rescue me, bless him.”

  Jonathan relaxed and rolled his eyes. “One of these days, dearest…,” he warned, but there was only love in his gaze.

  “We are going to pay Lord Kent a visit on the way to James’s party. See if we can’t coax him to come with us.”

  “Oh?” Jonathan smiled. “Excellent idea. Good afternoon, Lady Ella.” He bowed his head slightly as he saw her.

  “Good day, Mr. St. Laurent,” Ella replied. She envied the ease with which Audrey and her husband lived, false alarms aside. They were both openhearted and warm to one another. It was a special sort of magic to have a love like that, where there were no barriers, no distance, just a secret language built upon smiles and gazes burning of longing and fulfillment. She had thought she and Phillip might someday have that, each of them the night and the dawn, the sea and the shore, the spring rain and the blooming flower. Forever linked.

  “Ella, say you will come. If anyone can shake him from his eternal melancholy, it’s you.” Audrey spoke the only words that could shake the walls Ella had built around her heart.

  “Yes, I’ll come.” Loving someone who refused to love her back was perhaps the burden she was meant to bear, the struggle she was meant to survive. But knowing that did not make the weight of it any easier. Still, Audrey was right. He needed her right now.

  “Wonderful.” Audrey beamed at her, a mischievous smile upon her lips.

  “But please, no matchmaking, Audrey. I must insist.”

  “Of course not.” She circled her head with a finger. “See, my angelic halo is securely in place.”

  Ella shot Jonathan an amused look over Audrey’s head.

  Jonathan snorted. “It certainly is, securely resting on your adorable devil’s horns.”

  “Oh!” Audrey chucked a tiny silk pillow from her settee at her husband, who caught it with a wicked grin.

  “When do we leave?” Ella asked.

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “What? So soon?”

  “Yes, of course. Christmas festivities wait for no woman,” Audrey replied.

  “Or man,” Jonathan added, biting his lip to keep from laughing.

  Audrey shot him an arch look. “I suppose. What is it you silly men do again? Oh yes, you drink too much and go outside to find a Yule log. I’m surprised no one’s lost a limb to an ax yet.”

  Jonathan crossed his arms over his chest. “That, my darling, is a sacred rite, not to be mocked, even by beloved wives.”

  Ella was now the one who rolled her eyes. “I think I’ll leave you two alone.”

  As she slipped past Jonathan into the hall, he whispered to her, “Never fear, I will endeavor to keep her from matchmaking.”

  “Thank you, Mr. St. Laurent.” She laughed softly and closed the door.

  A moment later she heard Audrey squeal and Jonathan laugh. Ella blushed as she collected her cloak and reticule and headed into the fierce cold outside. Her heart thumped wildly at the thought of seeing Philip again, but she was also afraid of how much it would hurt. And it would hurt deeply.

  * * *

  The following evening, the St. Laurent coach rolled to a stop in front of Lord Kent’s estate. The grand manor house unfolded over four acres almost like a medieval castle. The south lawn was a great length of green grass that was currently embedded in heavy snow. The rows of gables and chimney stacks seem to pepper the roof with an indescribable gaiety that gave the manor house an air of courtly elegance. Swallows darted in and out of the tall, stately clock tower, chattering despite the cold winter.

  “I always forget how lovely this house is,” Audrey said.

  “It is, isn’t it?” Ella had never seen Phillip’s country home before, and she couldn’t resist taking in the magnificent sight. It was a lovely sprawling structure of stone and brick, with timber that must have first been laid as far back as the twelfth century. Yet she noticed clear signs that it had been remodeled recently to become the lovely pale-cream stone manor house that stood before her today.

  “Go on, Ella. I shall be right behind you as soon as I find my gloves,” Audrey said as she searched around for them.

  Ella opened the coach door and stepped down with the help of the driver. She pulled the fur-lined hood of her cloak up around her face and approached the pair of open doors that led to the outer gatehouse. The door stood partially open, revealing a courtyard that led to a second gatehouse. It must have been a holdover from the structure’s original design. She passed below the clock tower as she reached the second gatehouse. The sun was setting behind her, and the dark-gold rays illuminated the gray stone clockface with large brass hands pointing at the time.

  “Hello?” Ella called out as she reached the door. It too was partially open, and she peeked into the entryway. She saw no one inside.

  She tapped the lion’s-head knocker hard against the wood several times until finally someone came to greet her. An older butler with dark hair graying out at the temples came down the side stairs.

  “I’m so sorry to intrude,” Ella said. “My name is Ella Humphrey. I’m a friend of Lord Kent’s. I’ve come to fetch him for Lord Pembroke’s Christmas ball. We have a carriage waiting for him. It’s very comfortable, with footwarmers and a fine set of horses…” She stopped when she realized she was starting to ramble.

  “I am his lordship’s butler, Mr. Boucher.” He spoke the name with a French inflection that sounded like Booshay. “I was not informed that he was to attend the ball.”

  “Well, he was invited. Would it be possible for me to see him?”

  “His lordship is not quite in the mood for visitors.” The butler was still frowning, and he flinched when a crash came from the upper floor. “Excuse me, I must see to that.” Boucher rushed up the stairs to the left.

  Ella stared after him. What was she to do? Leave? Yes, she should leave. She hadn’t been invited. Yet something deep in her chest pulled her on an invisible thread up the stairs after Boucher. She chased after the butler, who ducked into a room. She skidded to a stop in the doorway and saw Phillip on the floor, one hand clutching his head and his other gripping a table for support as he tried to get to his knees. Boucher was beside him, trying to assist him.

  Phillip’s eyes locked with hers, and just like that, every feeling, good and bad, came roaring back.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  She still loved him, and in that moment as she witnessed him in pain again, she knew coming here was a mistake.

  6

  Phillip sat in the faded armchair in his study, staring into the crackling fire in the fireplace. His left leg ached, especially during the damp winter months. He rubbed his thigh, squeezing the muscles, and then farther down to his shin and calf. The muscles were still weak from the lack of use. But it hurt too much to walk, so he did so only when necessary.

  A sound from the hall below caught his attention. Voices. Who the devil could Boucher be talking to? They’d reduced the staff over the last year, mainly because he had shut up most of the house since he remained close to his bedchamber and never entertained. He sat up a little in his c
hair, listening to the sounds of a woman. The pair of maids he still employed were likely on the first floor of the house at the farthest end where the other bedchambers were or in the kitchens.

  “Boucher?” he called out, but his voice was hoarse since he hadn’t used it in what felt like days. He hadn’t had occasion to see anyone or truly talk to anyone since last month when Graham had come to call. The memory still burdened him with shame. Graham had tried to talk him into returning to London, and they had quarreled about the matter. He’d said things he hadn’t meant, and he had hurt his friend deeply. Graham hadn’t returned since, and Phillip couldn’t blame him.

  The voices persisted, and curiosity drove him to reach for his cane. He steadied himself with one palm on the cane and set the other on the armrest of the chair. With effort, he pulled himself up and took a shaky, pained step. But the carpets beneath him had become rumpled, and he tripped. He cried out as he hit his head on the edge of a nearby table and a vase crashed to the ground.

  Phillip lay on his stomach, trying to catch his breath. A wave of self-loathing rolled through him so strong that he nearly threw up.

  Boucher came running into the room. “My lord?” The butler knelt beside him and gripped his elbow to help him up. The first time Phillip had fallen, he had tried to shove the man away, but now he allowed Boucher to aid him.

  “My lord…” Boucher cleared his throat.

  “Who were you talking to?”

  “A young lady. I sent her away as you”

  Footsteps in the doorway caused them both to look up. Ella stood there, her blonde hair escaping from an ermine-lined hood. Blue-gray eyes filled with pity met his, and his world crumbled even further around him. He was a broken shell of a man on his knees before her.

  “What are you doing here?” His question came out a rough growl, though not from anger but from disuse.

  “I…” She continued to stare at him. “Lord Pembroke invited us both to his Christmas ball. Mr. St. Laurent and his wife, Audrey, were already attending, and we came here to see if you wished to travel with us.” Her gloved hands buried themselves in her blue velvet gown as she watched him climb to his feet with his butler’s help. Lord, the woman was a vision of loveliness, as always. Blue was a fetching color on her—it brought out her eyes and made her gold hair shine. It was as though she had fallen to the earth from some distant star and still glowed fresh with starlight.

  Boucher handed him his cane, and he leaned heavily on it.

  “I’m not going, so there is little reason for you to stay.”

  Ella’s lips clamped shut, and her eyes became downcast as she slowly stepped back. It hurt to send her away, but he was a crippled fool. She deserved better.

  Ella began to turn away but stopped and faced him again. “Do you truly despise me so much? Am I that pathetic in your eyes?” Her eyes were burning with fire and tears. The mixture of sorrow and fury made his body flush with heat and anger of his own.

  “I don’t despise you.” What on earth had made her think that?

  “I’ve done nothing but try to help you, and yet you push me away. I am done, Lord Kent. I shall leave you in peace, since that is what you seem to desire most.” She didn’t give him a chance to say another word.

  “Ella, wait!” He hobbled after her, but she was too quick-footed. She rushed down the stairs and into the courtyard. He would never catch up with her. Still, he kept moving, slowly but surely, braving each step as he descended the stairs. Boucher followed him at a discreet distance.

  He braced himself as he stepped out into the snowy courtyard and hobbled to the outer gatehouse, jerking to a halt beneath the stone archway. Ella stood a dozen feet away, alone. The tiny black dot of a moving coach far down the road held her attention. Two large valises sat on the snowy walkway beside her.

  She’d been abandoned on his doorstep like a damned unwanted kitten.

  Her shoulders were shaking, and a little muffled sob escaped her. He wanted to take her in his arms and murmur sweet things to her just so she would smile again, and to feel her burrow into him for comfort and warmth, even though he had no right to ask for such trust.

  “Ella…,” he whispered as he moved toward her, careful with his cane on the ice.

  She turned to face him, her red-rimmed eyes wounding him further.

  “They left me. I came back here to leave, but my cases were on the ground, and they were already going away. I called for them to stop, but…” She wiped her eyes furiously.

  “Ella, please, stop crying.” He must have sounded like a fool, but if she didn’t stop, he wasn’t sure what he would do. “You may stay here while we sort this out.”

  “Stay? Alone with you? I have no maid, no chaperone… Phillip, I’m ruined. The moment they pulled away, I was destroyed. Audrey must have intended this the moment she asked me to come here.”

  Phillip took careful steps as he came over to her, and feeling quite foolish still, he offered her a handkerchief.

  “Dry your eyes and come inside. No one has to know you are here. I’m alone here with a small staff. No one will hear of this. I promise.” He touched her shoulder and was relieved when she didn’t pull away. He wanted to do so much more but dared not.

  She sniffled. The tip of her adorable nose was red from crying and from the cold. “What are we going to do?” she asked as they walked back to the courtyard.

  “We’ll figure out something. I have a coach and a driver. I could arrange to take you to Pembroke’s.”

  “How far away is his estate?” Ella asked. She kept pace with him, pausing as he stopped twice to catch his breath. It embarrassed him, but he couldn’t go any farther without taking a moment to rest.

  “In this weather? A little less than two days east.”

  “Two days?” Her voice was pitched high in panic as she gasped for breath. He caught her waist.

  “Ella, breathe,” he soothed as her face turned an alarming shade of red. He rubbed his hand on her hip, trying to calm her. Finally she seemed to regain control, and he reluctantly dropped his hand.

  “Better?” he asked.

  She nodded, and they returned to his home. The entry hall was dark and a bit dusty. Ella coughed, which made him wince. She couldn’t stay here while his home was like this. He remembered how she had reactions to dust. Graham was always explaining how delicate she was.

  “Boucher?” he called out.

  “Yes, my lord?” His trusted butler was there, ready to help. The man had been his parents’ butler, and he was one of the most faithful men Phillip had ever known.

  “Please have the maids prepare a guest room for Lady Ella. One of the rooms past the gallery.”

  “The Lily Room?” Boucher suggested.

  “Er…yes. That one.” Phillip searched his butler’s face for any hint of motive as to suggesting that room. It was directly next to his and had a connecting door hidden in the panels of the shared wall. A hundred years before, one of his ancestors had used it to meet his lover in secret. Boucher was well aware of that fact.

  “And should one of our maids attend to Lady Ella for the duration?”

  “Yes.” Phillip glanced about the hall. “And perhaps we ought to hire back some of the staff as well.” Boucher nodded in understanding. They could not have the Earl of Lonsdale’s sister staying in a dusty, closed-up house. It wouldn’t do.

  “Ella, come sit in my study. The fire is lit, and you can warm up while your room is prepared.” He gripped the banister with one hand and his cane with the other as he climbed. Ella did not rush up ahead of him; instead, she kept pace with him as they ascended.

  “I’ve never seen your home,” she said after a moment. “It’s lovely.”

  “You’re kind, but I have not taken care of it as I should in this last year.”

  She didn’t correct him or offer any pitying comment, and for that he was grateful. When they reached his study, he hastened toward his chair but did not sit until she did. When she finally sat down, he sighed
and almost collapsed in relief. He settled his cane beside him, resting it in the crook between his chair cushion and the armrest. When he looked up, Ella was watching him again, a disconcerted expression on her face. He could only imagine what she must be thinking. Was she wondering what his leg looked like now? Was he hobbling about on a shriveled limb?

  “You’ve come so far,” she whispered. “Your leg. You were terribly hurt, but you’re walking very well.”

  Her words stunned him. He thought she would be disappointed or possibly disgusted. Yet she was praising him. As their eyes met, shock ran through him. He hadn’t had the positive focus of a beautiful woman on him in over a year, and he’d forgotten how it felt.

  “I am not walking as well as I had hoped,” he finally replied, nodding at the cane.

  “Oh, but the cane gives you a most distinguished look. At least, ladies must think so,” she replied openly, honestly. She was so very much herself in that moment, the young woman he had met for the first time who played billiards and bargained for kisses. That was the Ella he had first cared about, the Ella he’d feared he had crushed with his harsh words. She was here. She wasn’t broken.

  “You think a cane is distinguished?” he asked, amused.

  “Quite so,” she answered without hesitation. “You are like one of Lord Byron’s heroes.”

  He arched a brow at her. “Aren’t they all rather tragic?”

  “Well, yes, but only because he wrote them so. It doesn’t mean a hero has to be tragic.”

  “Don’t they?” he challenged. “A good hero must sacrifice something in order to be a hero. Doesn’t that by nature make them tragic?” He was surprised by how much he was enjoying sparring with her verbally, and he wondered if she could refute that argument.

  Ella’s blue-gray eyes glinted with light. “Not at all. How one views sacrifice determines whether or not it makes one tragic. A person can view the ability to sacrifice as a strength, a value that is worthy of praise and admiration. To me, a good hero takes pride in his or her ability to make noble sacrifices and not pity themselves for it.”