Christin's Splendid Spinster's Society (The Spinster’s Society) (A Regency Romance Book)

by Charlotte Stone

  "I did not ask you to be!"

  "Whether you asked to be given over to my care or not, you have still found yourself here. I would be the worst kind of man if I allowed you to ruin yourself under my care."

  "I cannot believe you are worried about my reputation! After all the things your great-aunt has told me about you!"

  Nicholas blinked at her.

  "What the hell could Eunice be telling you about me?"

  "Oh, she seems to think it's all boyish high spirits and fun, but I am getting quite the picture! There are plenty of stories about women besides Catherine, though she seems to think they are just flirtations, and she is simply dizzy over the time you wagered half your estate on a horse race!"

  A slight smile tugged at the corner of Nicholas’ mouth, which only made her angrier.

  "You could have lost everything!"

  "Well, half of everything. It was a little hairy there at the end, but the horse in question was born and bred on the Barrister farm in Ireland. He was the brother of my favorite mare, Campion."

  "I don't care about how good a bet it was! You're a womanizer and a gambler, and you think you are safeguarding my reputation."

  "I do." There was so much steel in Nicholas’ voice that it made Lydia draw up short.

  "Poor reputation or not, I am the one who is taking care of you right now—"

  "I don't need to be taken care of"

  "No. Right now, you are going to be quiet and let me speak. Without me, you would have doubtless have ruined yourself a dozen times over by now, and that I will not allow. I am sorry that my credentials as your guardian do not meet your qualifications, but I suppose that is what happens when you run away from home to London without a plan in your head."

  "I had a plan!"

  "And so do I. I will make inquiries. I will try to help you get the information you need. However, I can do that without your presence in London. When I receive word from your father, I will be sending you home, and I will tie you to the back of my horse if I have to. Lydia, you do not belong in London, and if you stay, you will doubtless only do yourself harm."

  "That is not for you to say!"

  She gasped when he crossed the floor toward her. For a man as large as he was, Nicholas moved quickly. In a moment, he was standing so close to her that she could smell the cold air that clung to his clothes, and underneath it, she could feel the warmth of the man himself.

  "It is entirely for me to say, Lydia," he said, his voice dropping down to a growl. "You have entered my home, my protection. You will abide by my word—"

  "Or what?" Her voice sounded light and breathy to her own ears.

  Instead of answering her, he cupped the back of her neck with his hand, tilting her back for a deep kiss. It was hard and punishing, raw and sensual in a way that should have shocked her. She should have pulled away, slapped him, and run for the safety of the drawing room, but instead, it felt as if her body had been waiting for this for days. The heat coursed through her like her very blood, warming her from the inside out, and she wrapped her arms around him because she could not bear to be pulled away. She tilted her head up, eager for his kiss, and then she realized what she was doing.

  With a slight panic, Lydia pushed hard on Nicholas’ chest, and for a moment, she was wildly afraid that this time, he would not let her go. Even more frightening, she wasn't sure she wanted him to. Then he released her, letting her fall back a few steps. The light was close to gone now, and in the dark, there was something menacing and brutal about Nicholas’ form.

  "Do you really think that another man would have stopped?" Nicholas growled. "Do you think that I am going to?"

  He took a step toward her, and this time, Lydia was painfully certain that she would not have the will to stop him, not when her skin still tingled for his touch, when her body wanted nothing more than to be next to his.

  He was within a hairsbreadth of taking her into his arms again when there was the unmistakable sound of the door opening. Eunice entered the room like a small cyclone with gray hair, apparently completely unaware of what she had just interrupted.

  "Oh, there you are, Lydia dear! And how lucky, here's Nicky as well! So good you have returned home for dinner, I believe Cook said something about pork and apples. My favorite, and as I remember, yours, too!"

  She looped one arm through Nicholas’ and the other through Lydia's, and then there was no choice but to follow her into the dining room.

  Throughout dinner though, Lydia could feel Nicholas’ eyes on her. Fine. If he wanted to look, he should look, but she was not going to sit still and let him dictate what she was and was not allowed to do while searching for her brother's killer.

  Late that night, Lydia waited until the clock in the hall had chimed two, and she made her way soft-footed to the servant's door. In a few minutes, she was on foot, making her way through London, leaving Nicholas’ house behind.

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  CHAPTER SEVEN

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  Lydia had been out of Nicholas’ house a few times in the last week. While they hadn't gone promenading at any of the fashionable spots, she and Eunice had taken the air at some of the nearby parks and walks, getting the air and stretching their legs. Lydia had believed that the city of London was busy and imposing even on those brief jaunts, but now when she was alone, her long plain pelisse bundled around her and her demure hat pulled low, it felt like a different city entirely. There were still plenty of people about, and in some ways, it was no different from the bustle of the day. There were people hauling their goods back to their homes after vending all day, and there were bakers getting a start on the next day's baking. The sight of the tradespeople warmed her, but there were people around who made Lydia feel distinctly uneasy.

  She dodged away from two constables, their buttons shining brightly and truncheons swinging carelessly from their hands. On one corner was a trio of young men, passing a discreet bottle between the three of them. They sounded friendly when they called her to stop, but she summoned up her best matronly scowl and continued on her way. For a moment, she was afraid they would follow her, but they stayed where they were and she breathed a deep sigh of relief.

  My goodness, but Carmody is nothing like London. I'm glad Great-aunt Eunice and I did some walking, or I would be quite terrified.

  She had kept herself from telling Nicholas that she was better prepared than he believed. Hidden in her bags was a slip of paper that contained an address. The address was her brother's place of residence while he was in London, a small flat her family owned. The key had been sent back to Carmody with his effects, and the moment she had seen it, her plan had been clear. Now the key was clutched in her hand, and Lydia knew that no force short of death would cause her to let it go.

  She had seen the street she needed when she was out with Eunice three days ago, and when she traced the route on the map she discovered in Nicholas’ library, it had seemed a short enough distance. However, a mile and a half in daylight and surrounded by people out and about on their day was different from a mile and a half in the dark, where it seemed as if eyes followed her from every direction.

  It seemed to take an eternity to get to her brother's flat, and when she verified the number on the humble plaque with the slip of paper with his address on it, Lydia was nearly ready to faint with relief. The key opened the front door to her, and she shivered upon entering. She had matches and a candle in her reticule, and she lit the candle now, peering around at the small flat in curiosity. This was where Benjamin had lived, and it gave her a pang to imagine her brother in this tidy place.

  It was only a few rooms on the first floor, and a great deal had already been packed away. She knew that if there was anything to be found, it would be on his desk in his study, and she made her way there.

  The desk was clean, but in a drawer, all
the way at the back, she found a small card. It was squarish with a design of lush flowers all the way around the edge, with an address inscribed upon it. She felt a tingle when she touched it. It felt as if fate had led her to the card, and she tucked it into her reticule.

  A more thorough search turned up nothing promising, and shaking her head, Lydia turned to go.

  It is better than nothing. She fingered the card through the fabric of the reticule. It was not for nothing that I came here.

  She was just locking the door behind her when she felt something hard pressed against her back. Lydia let out a loud gasp, and then a large hand grabbed her shoulder, bruising tight and spinning her around. She looked up and up into the faces of two constables, and with a sinking stomach, she realized there was an edge of malice to their amusement.

  "Well now, what a pretty little thief we have caught."

  "I'm no thief, sirs, please, let me explain."

  "No thief, she says, when she’s leaving the premises in the middle of the night.

  "Aye, and when no good woman would be out, too!"

  "I am no thief, you can see, I have not taken anything."

  "Maybe you found there was nothing to take. It doesn't matter; you were sniffing around where you had no business to be sneaking around, and that means trouble, my girl."

  Lydia drew herself up to her full height, all too aware of how much smaller she was than the men she was facing.

  "Now see here, I am Lady Lydia Waverly, daughter of—"

  "And I'm the Duke of Windsor, and this is my friend the king. Now tell me, girl, have you got any scratch?"

  "Any scratch… you mean money?"

  The constable nodded impatiently.

  "Yes. If you've got any, perhaps we can be persuaded to let you go on your way. Contribution to the cause, you see, for us to keep ourselves in a goodly way as we patrol the streets."

  "But only perhaps, mind," said the second constable, who had a look in his eye that Lydia didn't like at all. There was something about him that made him sound as if he was licking every word that came out of his mouth, and Lydia had to stop herself from shivering.

  "Well, no, I don't have any money on my person, but if you come with me—"

  "Oh, we're not going anywhere with you," snorted the first constable. "Lead us back to your little den and get us done in by your pals, no thank you. If you've not got the blunt, we'll be taking you in, then."

  "In? In where?"

  "In to see the magistrate; where the hell do you think, girlie? Then he'll decide whether it's the workhouse for you or the reformatory."

  "No, you don't understand, this is a mistake!"

  "Aye, and you're the one who's made it."

  The second one, the one who looked as if slime should be dripping behind him in a trail, seized her by her wrist, dragging her after him with ridiculous ease. Lydia gasped at his strength, and even when she dug her heels in, she couldn't stop herself from being dragged along.

  "You can't do this to me!"

  "Of course, we can," the constable grunted. "Though maybe if you're a little sweet, we can see about getting you some nicer accommodations at the gaol."

  The idea of being imprisoned and of having these disgusting men be her gaolers made a surge of panic rise in Lydia's throat. She was afraid and enraged, and the two inside her filled her with more strength than she believed she had possessed.

  They were passing a garden gate made of iron, and she threw out her free hand to hang on to it. It pulled the man who was hauling her along up short, and he gave her a vicious yank. Her fingers nearly slipped, but Lydia maintained her hold, hanging on like grim death.

  "Here, let go, don't make it worse for yourself."

  He braced himself to give a tremendous yank, and just as he did so, Lydia let go. He pulled her so hard he landed on his back, toppling the other man with him. Lydia stumbled to her hands and knees, making them bark with pain, but it didn't matter, she was free. She leaped to her feet and fled into the shadows.

  Or at least that was what she would have done if she hadn't run face first into Nicholas. He stood as solidly as a stone wall, and somehow, even before she looked up into his implacable face, she knew it was him. She felt her entire body sag with relief, and he held her up, his arms wrapped around her.

  "Gentlemen," he said coldly. "I see you have found my ward."

  "Your ward, your lordship? She was breaking into that house."

  "My ward, who has spells where she is rendered insensible and violent. My thanks. We have been searching for her for some little time."

  One constable frowned, starting to say something, but the other shook his head. Lydia could see with some bitterness that they had found someone more dangerous than they were and that Nicholas would have no trouble at all.

  "Happy to be of service your lordship. Perhaps you may be feeling generous, that is, perhaps you are inclined to reward.”

  Lydia could practically feel the cold roll off Nicholas.

  "I have had a very long and trying day, and I am afraid I do not wish to bother with numbers. Perhaps I should ask my ward here to determine what your reward should be?"

  "Er, no, your lordship, no, no reward necessary. All a good man needs is the satisfaction of a job well done, as well you know."

  Nicholas abruptly lost his patience.

  "Get out of here. If I see either of you again, believe me when I say you will be the worse for it."

  Lydia heard the men's retreating footsteps, and she pulled back to look up at Nicholas with large eyes.

  "Thank you, thank you so much—"

  "No."

  "Nicholas, what—?"

  "I was not lying when I said that I had had a very long and trying day. I will also say that most of that was due to you. Now get in the carriage, and don't say another word. I'm half-tempted to let them put you in the gaol for a night yourself, just so you can suffer some consequences for your actions."

  "Nicholas."

  "Get in the carriage, Lydia."

  If he had shouted, she might have yelled right back, but that deadly tone of control and fury made her blanch. She climbed into the carriage, and he climbed in after her. It was dark inside, but she knew with a shiver that Nicholas’ dark eyes were watching her, just waiting for her to put a single finger wrong.

  The carriage pulled up to Nicholas’ house, and when she followed him into the main hall, she tried again.

  "Nicholas, I'm sorry."

  "We will discuss it tomorrow night," he said coldly. "Right now, if I have to speak to you, I might give in to the very real temptation to turn you over my knee like a misbehaving child and make sure you don't sit down for a week."

  Lydia shut her mouth in humiliation and lifted her chin.

  "Good night, your grace. I will speak with you tomorrow, then."

  He gave no sign that he was impressed with her show of defiance, and she only managed to keep it up until she was back in her own room. She dismissed the sleepy maid who wanted to help her undress, and instead, she stripped down to her shift on her own.

  Only then, when her only company was a single candle flame, did she take the small card out of her reticule, turning it over in her hands.

  The flowers gave it a rather feminine air, and she wondered if she could scent the very last trace of perfume on the card. Had her brother had a sweetheart? Was it possible that she knew something about her brother's death?

  In the better light of her bedroom, she saw that there was a name scratched into the surface of the card. No ink had been used, but the card was thick enough that a fingernail had scored it easily.

  Squinting hard and leaning close enough to the candle flame that she nearly set her hair afire, Lydia spelled it out.

  M-a-r-i-l-e-e.

  Marilee. Who was she? What did she have to do with Benjamin? Was she somehow related to Baron Farring?

  Lydia assumed that she wouldn't be able to sleep at all, but the exhaustion and fear of the night caught up with
her, and she was asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.

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  CHAPTER EIGHT

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  Lydia woke to rain pattering on the window and a feeling of heaviness and sorrow. Her head ached, her wrist ached, and it felt as if nothing in the world would ever be all right. She considered what had happened the night before and sighed.

  I need to figure out what comes next, and I am very afraid that Nicholas is not going to help me.

  The maid came in to help her prepare for the day, but when Lydia saw the dress that she laid out, she frowned.

  "Excuse me, but where are my clothes? I don't know where this dress has come from."

  The dress in question was a beautiful pale lilac with just a little bit of deep navy trim at the sleeves and at the hem. It was a lovely dress, and it looked like it would fit her well. For one traitorous moment, she wanted to put it on very badly, but she had been wearing black for Benjamin since he died. She was free to come out of mourning, but a part of her held back, unwilling to leave it behind.

  "I'm sorry, Lady Lydia, but your clothes had to be taken to be cleaned. His grace, the duke, made sure to provide you with some options. If you do not like this dress, shall I fetch another? There's one that's a soft pink that would look very well with your complexion."

  "No, thank you," Lydia said. "I suppose I will have to wear this, then."

  It felt strangely freeing to be out of the black. It was as if she had dropped off a heavy mud-laden cloak and was stepping into the world for the first time. The only thing that marred the image were the bruises on her wrist. The maid provided her with a delicate pair of wristlets, soft fabric wraps that buttoned around her wrists and drifted lace almost to her fingertips. They covered the bruise well enough, and Lydia felt she had to be content with that.