Lady Charlotte's First Love

by Anna Bradley

  Annabel glanced at the other ladies. “Indeed? What kind of entertainment would that be, my lord?”

  “Nothing terribly interesting, I’m afraid—just a visit to a gaming hell.”

  “Need I remind you, Devon,” Lady Annabel said, “That ladies aren’t welcome at gaming hells?”

  Devon smiled. “You will be at this one. It’s not a proper hell—more like a private one.”

  Lissie’s eyes narrowed. “Is this another west end wager, Devon? How dreadful you are to keep tempting us. We were almost caught out during the last one.”

  Charlotte raised an eyebrow. She had been caught out, and rather thoroughly at that.

  “Now, my lady, no money changed hands between us the other night, so it wasn’t a true wager, and it’s nothing so scandalous tonight— just a little harmless entertainment between friends.”

  Charlotte hesitated. Her family wouldn’t like it if she left with Devon, of course. Even now Cam was eyeing him with a murderous expression, but that was nothing new, and she had no intention of retiring early again this evening. “A private gaming hell, my lord? That sounds entertaining.”

  “More so if you’ll accompany us, my lady.” He smiled down at her. “Shall I give the direction to your coachman?”

  The other ladies murmured their assent, and Charlotte smiled up at him. “By all means.”

  Lord Devon bowed, then pressed his lips once more to Charlotte’s glove. “Wonderful. Until then, Lady Hadley.”

  Chapter Seven

  Julian peered over the edge of Cam’s box at Drury Lane and swept his gaze over the crowd. “What the devil is everyone staring at?”

  A mass of unwashed bodies swarmed in the pit, craning their necks and shoving at their neighbors to get a better look into the tiers above. Julian scanned the boxes to either side of them, but aside from an unusual number of opera glasses pointed in his direction, he didn’t see anything worth noting.

  Cam turned to him in surprise. “Why, you, cuz. You’ve teased London into a frenzy with your elusiveness. You’ve been in the city for several days without anyone catching a glimpse of you, and now here you are.”

  Julian stared at Cam, his brows drawn together. “That’s ridiculous.”

  Cam laughed at this irritated denial. “I agree, but true nonetheless.”

  “Oh, Mr. West is quite right, Captain West,” piped up a feminine voice from behind them. “All of London has been holding its breath, waiting for your first public appearance.”

  Julian turned around in his seat to find Ellie’s three young sisters-in-law, Iris, Violet, and— well, damned if he could remember the other one’s name—gazing at him, their identical blue eyes wide with admiration. Before he could reply, the eldest sister, Iris, added in a rush, her face coloring, “The Times called the tenth Royal Hussars ‘the most gallant regiment in His Majesty’s service.’”

  All three girls giggled at that, and the youngest one—Cynthia? Or was it Hydrangea?—placed a fluttering hand to her breast and heaved a heartfelt sigh.

  “Gallant, is he?” Their grandmother, Lady Anne Chase eyed Julian with suspicion. “Humph. It’s the gallant ones who cause all the trouble, especially for foolish young girls who don’t know the difference between a gentleman and a scoundrel.”

  Ellie’s brother Robyn stifled a laugh. “Do you know the difference, my lady?”

  Lady Chase turned her disapproving glare on Robyn. “That smirk does you no credit, sir. I know the difference well, and indeed my one regret is I was unable to impart my wisdom to my granddaughter Lily in time to save her from marrying you.”

  Robyn laughed outright at this, and turned to wink at his sisters-in-law, who did their best to smother their giggles.

  Julian paid no attention to their banter, but stared at the three young ladies, horrified. Jesus. This absurd hero business had gone further than he realized. He’d never get any peace with every chit in London sighing over him. Why, the match-making mamas alone—

  “Good God, West,” said Robyn, who’d left off teasing Lady Chase. “You look as if you’re ready to hurl yourself into the pit. There’s no need for such desperation. London will forget you soon enough.”

  Robyn’s wife, Lily, leaned across Ellie to give Julian a sympathetic look. “It’s true, Captain West. You should be safe enough by the start of next season.”

  Next season? He doubted he’d make it through next week. “I feel like the bloody elephant at the circus,” he muttered to Cam.

  Cam shrugged. “London is an inconstant mistress. Before long she’ll throw you over for someone more exciting, and perhaps—”

  His voice trailed off. Julian glanced at him to find Cam’s gaze fixed on a box eight or ten rows away, closer to the middle of the theater.

  Ah. The Marchioness of Hadley had arrived and taken her seat, a cloud of deep purple silk billowing around her.

  “Perhaps sooner than you think,” Cam finished.

  “Oh, she’s so elegant,” Iris Somerset sighed. “That gown is divine.”

  Lady Chase sniffed. “If you approve of a purple gown for half mourning, which I don’t, and certainly not one so revealing as that.”

  Cam leaned over and spoke under his breath. “Are those the three ladies who accompanied her to the brothel?”

  Julian looked over her companions one by one. A redhead and two blondes, one tall and willowy, the other petite and curvy. They’d worn masks last night, but he recognized them instantly. “Without a doubt.”

  “Just as I thought.”

  Indeed, it was difficult to mistake them, as their behavior at the theater was only marginally more discreet than it had been at the whorehouse. The petite blonde hung halfway over the balcony railing, her opera glasses to her eyes, seemingly unaware that a generous expanse of her lush bosom was visible to anyone who cared to look.

  At least no one was gawking at him anymore. “Who are they?”

  “They are the wicked widows, cuz, and each one is more notorious than the last.”

  “The wicked widows?” How appropriate. “I suppose the scandal sheets came up with that name?”

  Ellie, who was sitting on Cam’s other side, leaned over and nodded. “Yes. The tall, slender blonde is Lady Annabel Tallant. She isn’t really a widow, but as Lord Tallant disappeared to the Continent four years ago and hasn’t been heard from since, she may as well be.”

  Julian turned his attention back to the widows just in time to see the little blonde aim her opera glasses in his direction. She stared for a moment, lowered the glasses, and stared some more, then quickly brought them back up to her eyes. “And the others?”

  “The redhead is Lady Elizabeth Smythe—no one is quite sure what happened to her husband. The little one with the opera glasses is the Comtesse de Lisle. The Comte lost his head to Madame Guillotine, and rumor has it she narrowly escaped the same fate. They say she fled to London with a fortune in jewels secreted away in her bodice.”

  Robyn snorted. “She might be able to squeeze a diamond ring or two in there, but there’s no room for an entire fortune in that bodice.”

  “No talk of bodices if you please, Mr. Sutherland. Iris!” Lady Chase brought her fan down on her charge’s wrist. “Stop gaping at their box, you silly child. That goes for you as well, Violet.”

  Stop gaping. Julian should heed Lady Chase’s warning too, but he found his attention drawn toward the forbidden box, and short of hurling himself off the edge of the balcony, nothing could distract him from the little drama unfolding there.

  The Comtesse passed her opera glasses to Lady Tallant, who took a long look through them, and then passed them to Lady Smythe. She peered into them, lowered them with a nod, then turned to Charlotte, tilted her head in his direction, and offered her the glasses. Charlotte declined.

  They recognized him, of course, as—what had the Comtesse called him? Oh
, yes. The devil who’d locked Charlotte in a private bedchamber in a whorehouse, gagged her, and tied her to the bed. Perhaps he should have done just that—tied her and left her there and gone off to enjoy the attentions of that blonde-haired doxy who’d looked so promising. Perhaps it lacked finesse, but it was one way to solve the problem Cam had dumped in his lap.

  Come to think on it, it would have solved the other problem in his lap, as well. Lady Hadley and his erection, vanquished in a single move. But as it was…

  As it was, his breeches were too tight.

  He aimed a scowl in Charlotte’s direction and shifted in his seat. Lady Chase was right. The purple gown was too revealing. She was a widow, for God’s sake, and that was quite a generous display of enticing, creamy flesh—

  “How long will you stay in London, Captain?”

  Julian turned in his seat to find the three pairs of blue eyes still gazing worshipfully at him. “Not long, I’m afraid, Miss Somerset. A month at the most.”

  “You don’t plan to settle here, then? All of London is eager to claim you as our own.”

  “I’m not as eager to claim London, however, so—” Julian fell abruptly silent as Miss Somerset’s plump lips turned down in a perfect pout. The chit looked as if she were about to burst into tears.

  How interesting.

  If a few careless words could produce such a pretty pout, could a few more earn him a smile? “That is, I don’t recall meeting such lovely young ladies the last time I was in London.” He bestowed his most dazzling smile on her. “Perhaps I’ll let her claim me, after all.”

  Blush now, and smile shyly.

  It was as if he’d waved a magic wand over her. Her lips curved upwards and her cheeks flooded with pink. “Oh, how charming you are, Captain West.”

  Charming? She wouldn’t think so if she knew what he hid under his smile, but then he’d been charming enough at one time, hadn’t he? How kind of Iris Somerset to remind him that while charm might not signify on a battlefield, it was a formidable weapon in London.

  Among the ton, charm was everything. More to the point, it was easy to fake. As long as his smile was engaging, no one would care much what lurked beneath it.

  Of course. How had he not seen it before? A smile, a few compliments, and the debutantes were sighing. They were giggling and blushing. Their girlish bosoms were heaving, and their eyelashes fluttering. If he had to be London’s bloody conquering hero, why not to turn it to his advantage? If he’d learned anything in battle, it was to use every weapon he had to gain the victory, and at the moment his supposed heroism was a weapon.

  After all, every lady adored a charming hero.

  Even a wicked widow.

  He turned the full force of his gaze on Iris Somerset. “How easy it is to be charming, Miss Somerset, when one is in such charming company.”

  Another blush. “Well, I—”

  Rap. Lady Chase smacked Iris sharply on the wrist with her fan. “That will do, Iris.” She fixed Julian with a freezing glare and pointed. “The stage is that way, Captain West.”

  Julian stifled a grin and turned around obediently.

  It was so simple. So perfect.

  But the widows were hardly innocent, blushing virgins like Iris Somerset. Their jaded hearts wouldn’t be touched by a few shallow compliments. Charm might get him their attention, but the widows were too cynical to succumb to tales of heroism and a practiced smile.

  No. They worshipped at a different altar entirely.

  But a fresh diversion? Some new amusement, the thrill of a possible scandal? He and Devon, locked in a battle for Charlotte’s attentions? Ah, now that might prove too delectable to resist, and if the widows couldn’t resist him, then…

  Charlotte hadn’t a prayer of escaping him. Every party she attended, every wager she made, every whorehouse she ventured into, he’d be right at her heels, and with her friends’ blessing.

  Would it work? He glanced into the pit. The leering faces below continued to gawk up at him. In the tiered boxes, dozens of opera of glasses followed his every move, their glassy eyes winking.

  Why shouldn’t it work? It was working on the rest of London.

  “Bloody hell.”

  Cam’s curse was soft, but it jerked Julian from his reverie. He turned to his cousin in surprise, but he didn’t have a chance to question him before he was interrupted by another feminine sigh from behind him.

  “He’s very handsome, isn’t he?” It was the Somerset chits—Iris again. She was whispering to avoid waking her grandmother, who’d slipped into a doze and was snoring contentedly, her head tipped back against her chair.

  One of the other sisters snorted softly. “Very wicked, you mean.”

  “The gossips exaggerate, I believe. It’s not possible a gentleman who looks so much like an angel could be so very wicked, is it?”

  “The handsomeness likely led to the wickedness,” her sister whispered back. “That’s usually how it works, and I doubt Lord Devon is the exception to the rule.”

  Julian stilled. Devon. He was the rake who was dangling after Charlotte. London’s murderous earl. He followed their gazes until he spotted a tall, lean man in a superbly-fitted black coat making his way toward Charlotte’s box. The man had sleek golden hair and a frighteningly symmetrical, perfectly aristocratic face. Iris Somerset was right—he looked more angelic than wicked.

  Cam noticed the direction of Julian’s gaze. “Lord Devon. Looks harmless enough, doesn’t he?”

  Robyn gave a harsh laugh. “Devon’s about as harmless as a flame is to a moth.”

  Ellie wrung her hands. “He only grows more determined.”

  They all watched as Devon entered Charlotte’s box. The wicked widows welcomed him with every appearance of delight, and he greeted them all with the utmost politeness, but his lips lingered longer than they should on Charlotte’s glove.

  Robyn rose from his seat. “Shall we go and dissuade him?”

  Cam rose as well. “I’d be delighted to dissuade him, by throwing him out on his arse.”

  “No!” This came from both Ellie and Lily at once. Lily gripped Robyn’s arm and tried to urge him back into his seat. Her face had gone white. “No, Robyn. If you go, the next we’ll hear of it will be pistols at dawn.”

  Julian stared at her. A duel? He turned to Cam. “Surely it hasn’t gone as far as that?”

  Cam glanced at Ellie, whose face was even whiter than Lily’s, and lowered his voice. “Not quite.”

  Not quite? Christ.

  “If you go to her box now, it will only end in a scene and make things worse,” Ellie said. “It’s too late, in any case—everyone is already staring at them. If he visits her now, perhaps he won’t at the end of the evening. There’s less chance she’ll leave with him that way.”

  Cam leaned over to murmur to Julian. “Did Sarah tell you where they’re going tonight?”

  Julian shook his head. “No. I gather Lady Hadley was careful not to reveal her plans for the evening.” No doubt she’d remain careful, but if his plan fell into place the way he believed it would, he wouldn’t need Sarah at all.

  Devon remained in Charlotte’s box until the curtain rose on the first act. Once he resumed his seat Ellie turned resolutely back to the stage. Lily did, as well, and after another moment Cam and Robyn resumed their seats. Neither gentleman was well pleased, but even their stiff fury was easier to watch than Ellie’s quiet anguish.

  She kept her eyes on the stage, but Julian could see her anxiety in her clenched hands and the rigid line of her shoulders. She perched on the very edge of her seat, but as stiff as her spine was, she was trembling. Every now and then he saw her back shudder as if she suppressed a sob. Cam tried to soothe her, but even Julian could see it was hopeless.

  His jaw went rigid, and the rage that seemed to be always ready to explode inside him began to claw i
ts way to the surface. How could Charlotte put her sister through such anguish? There hadn’t been a flicker of remorse in those dark eyes at the brothel, not a bat of an eyelash this afternoon in the rose garden—not even when he reminded her of her obligations to Ellie.

  Cold down to her very soul.

  But he’d be colder still. The icier she was, the less inclined he was to feel anything at all for her, and as he lapsed by degrees into a comforting numbness he gained greater control over his volatile emotions. After all, the poisonous black mass that lived inside him couldn’t escape if it were frozen.

  So much more peaceful, to feel nothing.

  He did his best to concentrate on the performance, but the Merchants of Venice were no match for the wicked widows of London. His gaze returned to Charlotte’s box again and again as Shylock schemed his way through the first three acts of the play, and by the time the curtain dropped for intermission, Shylock’s schemes were child’s play in comparison to Julian’s.

  He rose from his seat. “Shall we go and pay our respects to Charlotte and her friends?”

  Cam squeezed Ellie’s hand and he, Robyn, and Julian wound their way through the crowded corridor to Charlotte’s box.

  “…think it will be quite as diverting as the brothel,” Lady Tallant was saying when they entered, but when she saw them her eyes went wide, and her mouth snapped close. “I—that is, Mr. West. Mr. Sutherland. What a pleasant surprise.”

  Cam cleared his throat. “Good evening, Lady Tallant. May I present my cousin, Captain Julian West?”

  Julian bowed. “Lady Tallant. We saw each other the other night, but we weren’t properly introduced.” He bent over her hand.

  Lady Tallant gave Charlotte a quizzical glance, but she let him take her hand. Julian pressed his lips to her glove. “A pleasure, my lady.”

  “This is Lady Smythe.” Cam nodded politely at the redhead, then the petite blonde. “And the Comtesse de Lisle.”