Twilight with the Infamous Earl

by Alexandra Hawkins

  There was no one watching her. She no longer had to hide her feelings. With a muffled sob, Emily did not bother hold back her tears. Her hands slid down the bedpost as she fell to her knees. She cried for her sister, who had loved the wrong man and had taken her life because she could not live with her sins. She also cried for herself. Lucy had asked Emily to keep her secrets, and she had kept her promise.

  However, the knowledge that the man who had seduced and abandoned her sister had walked away unscathed had weighed on her heart. Her guilt and frustration had burned like a caustic poison in her throat. It was only when her mother had told her that she would be spending the season in London that a kernel of a plan began to germinate.

  What if she could find Frost?

  What would it take to destroy him?

  It was a fanciful notion. She was a mere woman. If he was a nobleman, what power could she wield against him? Or worse, what if he was a dangerous man?

  The Frost she had met on the streets of London fit both descriptions. What troubled her most was that she was attracted to the earl. He was handsome and witty, and he was the first man Emily had kissed.

  Sitting on the floor of her bedchamber, Emily sobbed as if her heart were broken. She barely knew the man, but if he was the gentleman who ruined her sister, then he was her enemy.

  She did not want to make the same mistake as her sister, and fall in love with Lord Chillingsworth.

  Chapter Nine

  Frost was in a foul mood when he entered his town house.

  Emily Cavell had literally slipped from his fingers before he was finished with her; Dare had teased him mercilessly all evening; the damn puppies he had chased away from Emily had taken turns sneering at him—though they were intelligent enough to keep their distance; he had lost at cards; Lady Netherley tried to corner him because there was a young lady that the elderly marchioness thought he should meet; and an old rival had worked up the courage to confront him about a former lover. Frost assured the gentleman that he was happy to oblige him, but not in the middle of Lord and Lady Fiddick’s ballroom. As he had departed to confront the man in a less public setting that they had arranged in advance, his sister told him to stay away from Emily.

  “No lady holds your heart for long,” she had pointed out as they stood in the Fiddicks’ front hall. “And I will not have you breaking my friend’s.”

  “I cannot break something I have never claimed or desired” had been his reply. “My interests lay farther south.”

  It had been the wrong thing to say to Regan. With her nose in the air, she had stomped off. Dare would eventually calm her down with assurances that her friend was safe from Frost’s machinations.

  Some lies benefited everyone.

  “Good evening, Lord Chillingsworth,” his butler greeted him in the front hall. Several lamps were lit, but his state of undress revealed the servant had been roused from his bed.

  “Sparrow, there is no need for you to wait on me at this late hour,” Frost chided as he removed his gloves. If his servants kept his unpredictable evening hours, nothing would ever get done during the day.

  He walked over to the small mirror on the wall and peered at the small cut at the corner of this mouth. The bleeding had stopped almost immediately, but the wound was tender.

  “Milord, you are hurt.”

  “It is nothing. Lasher has the pugilist skills of an elderly woman. If his fingernail hadn’t scratched me, I would have walked away from the fight unscathed.”

  “I have every faith in your abilities,” the butler said soothingly. “But there is no reason to risk it becoming infected. I will heat some water to clean it properly.”

  “There’s no need to trouble yourself, Sparrow. A glass of brandy before I retire should clean it to your satisfaction.” He turned his back on his reflection and headed toward the stairs. “Once you’ve brought the brandy, you may return to your bed.”

  “One more thing, milord.” The butler glanced upstairs. “A lady has come to call on you.”

  Frost scowled at the news. “And you let her in? What could she have promised to convince you to defy my standing orders?”

  He had very few rules when it came to his mistresses. Most of them were negotiable, but one rule he refused to yield on. He conducted his affairs anywhere but his private residence. While it would have been convenient to invite his lovers into his town house, he had Regan to consider. As a girl, she had always been curious, had asked too many questions, and had observed too much in her young life. It had been one of the reasons why he had sent her to Miss Swann’s Academy. Even though he had tried to shield her from witnessing the baser needs of the Lords of Vice, she had grown into a cheeky little minx.

  “Is it Lady Gittens?” he asked, dreading the confrontation with his former mistress. He supposed it would be rude for him avoid the lady and send Sparrow upstairs to escort her out.

  “No, milord.” Frost’s relief was brief when the servant added, “It’s her. I tried, but I could not persuade her to call on you at a proper time.”

  So she had finally sought him out. After meeting Miss Cavell, and then later calling on the Sainthills to assist him with Katie, he had forgotten about the meeting that had brought him to the area that day.

  Frost sighed. No, he did not blame Sparrow. The lady upstairs never listened to anyone, and that included him. “You did your best. Now go to bed. I’ll deal with her.”

  As he climbed the stairs he tried to recall the last time he had seen her. Was it two years or three? Not that it mattered. She was a shrewd wench. When she wanted something from him, she always managed to find someone to act as her messenger.

  The drawing room door was open. Had she been eavesdropping on his conversation with Sparrow, or was she simply waiting for him to return home?

  He crossed the threshold and noted that she had made herself at home. She sat in one of his favorite chairs while she sipped his brandy. The passing years had been kind to her, he thought, as he studied her impassively. Her hair was as dark as his own. If time had added a touch of gray, he could not see it at this distance. She had painted her face to hide her age, but it was subtle and suited her coloring. Once he had thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

  No more. What love he had felt for her had faded with her betrayal years ago.

  “Good evening, Mother.”

  He shut the door behind him. What he had to say was private, and he did not want anyone to know she was here.

  She rose from the chair like a queen. With the glass of brandy in her hand, she strode to him, her arms outstretched in welcome.

  “Vincent. It is you. For a moment, I thought I might be dreaming. I cannot believe how much you look like your father.”

  He moved away before she could embrace him. “My father is dead, madam. If you encounter him, you have likely found your way to the Netherworld instead of my drawing room.”

  She took a sip of her brandy. “Still angry, I see.”

  “Anger is all I have left for you.”

  Frost walked over to the table where Sparrow had placed a crystal decanter of brandy and several glasses. God bless the man, he thought grimly. The butler knew his lord would need more than one glass of brandy to get through this visit. He removed the stopper and poured himself a generous glass. The first sip made him wince.

  He had forgotten about the cut at the corner of his mouth.

  “Were you in a fight?” she asked, noticing his reaction.

  “Concerned? Don’t bother. It was not much of one. Most of my opponents underestimate me.” He deliberately picked the oversize chair his mother had recently relinquished. “I have a bad habit of fighting dirty.”

  His mother laughed. “Well, son, I had wondered if there was some part of me in you.”

  “Only the worst, I fear.”

  She sobered at his cutting remark. “I see your father in you as well.”

  “Please. Speaking ill of the dead is beneath you. You’ll have to come up
with something better to get under my skin, Mother.” He sat back in his chair, his relaxed pose giving nothing away that he did not want her to see. “Now that we have gotten the pleasantries out of the way, let’s get down to business. What do you want?”

  “Is it wrong for a mother to visit her only son?” she complained, turning away as if he had hurt her with his coldness.

  “Am I your only son? During your long absence, I assumed you might have produced a bastard or two with one of your lovers. Not that it is my concern.”

  “The only bastard I see is you.”

  Frost merely grinned and wagged his finger at her. “Careful. You want something from me, remember? Give me one reason why I shouldn’t have my butler escort you out of my house.”

  His mother finished her brandy and laid the glass on the table in front of him. “I want to see my daughter,” she said bluntly.

  The hand on the armrest curled over the carved wood. “No.”

  “No?” she echoed in disbelief. “That is all you have to say on the subject? Just, no?”

  “We have an agreement, you and I.”

  “I have not forgotten our agreement, Vincent. The annual payments that I receive from your solicitor arrive on time and you have been generous, but I—”

  Frost could not believe her audacity. “Do you recall your part in our little arrangement, Mother? I make those payments to keep you away from Regan.”

  “She’s my daughter!”

  “You relinquished your rights when you abandoned your children.” At her pained expression, he said, “That’s right. You expected your fourteen-year-old son to raise your daughter. I had Father’s friends to advise me on financial matters, but the servants helped me look after my eight-year-old sister. We managed without you, and will continue to do so once you find another protector to warm your bed.”

  His mother edged toward him. He admired her courage.

  “You don’t understand. When they told me that your father had died in a hunting accident—”

  “Spare me, madam. My father had been dead five years when you decided to run off with your married lover after he killed his opponent in a botched duel and was obliged to leave the country. Pray, do not claim to be the grieving widow. You were never discreet when some gent asked you to shed your widow weeds.”

  She picked up the decanter of brandy and refilled his glass. “I hurt you. I know I made mistakes.”

  “I no longer care. What I do care about is Regan. She believes you’re dead, you know. My sister cried for you, and then she began to forget all about you. The bit of irony is that you had yet to flee your burdensome life.”

  “How long do you intend to punish me?”

  Frost had been wrong about his initial assessment when he entered the room. His mother looked tired and old. He wagered that her last lover had used up her funds and left her for a younger wench.

  “Do you truly want Regan to learn that your married lover was more important to you than your children? That you turned your back on us without a pang of remorse? Hell, even I thought you had perished at sea until I received your first letter six years ago.” His upper lip curled as he leaned forward. “I paid your blackmail to spare Regan. Her feelings are my only concern. She thinks you’re in a grave. Do me the courtesy of staying there!”

  He tossed back the contents of his glass, this time welcoming the stinging pain. “If it’s money you’re after … name your price. I can afford it.”

  “What if I want more than money, Vincent? What if I wish to stay?”

  She knelt down beside him and tentatively reached out to caress his face. He grabbed her by the wrist and squeezed until she cried out in pain.

  “A very unwise decision,” he said, pulling her onto her feet. “Take the money before I withdraw my generous offer.”

  Her eyes welled with tears. “I heard that she is married and has a child. A son, I believe.”

  Who had told her? As far as he knew, his mother had severed all ties when she had left England. “Your sources speak the truth. If I hear that you have approached her or her family, I will make you sorely wish that you had drowned at sea.”

  “More threats, Vincent?” she asked wearily. “You were such a sweet-natured boy. The man that you have become breaks my heart.”

  “You will recover,” he said drily.

  She gave up the pretense of being wounded by his callous behavior. “I will require some time to consider your offer.”

  “Blackmail isn’t an offer, madam. And proposing to pay you more is a bribe,” he pointed out. “Do us both a favor and take it. Use it to attract another lover.”

  His mother dismissed the suggestion with a wave of her hand. “I have returned to England for other reasons. I cannot leave until I have addressed them.”

  Short of tying her up and having Sparrow toss her off the nearest bridge into the Thames, he had to wait. “Fine. Deal with your business, but stay away from my family.”

  She gave him a disgruntled look. “I am family, Vincent.”

  “Not any longer.” He escorted her to the door and rang for his butler. “And my name is Frost.”

  Chapter Ten

  A few days later, Emily was sitting in the breakfast room silently debating her next step with Lord Chillingsworth. Should she reveal her hand and confront him about Lucy or avoid him?

  Keeping her distance might prove difficult, she conceded. Regan had already extended an invitation to call on her. She wanted to show off her son and introduce her to her friends.

  “Perhaps Lord Pashley has a brother,” her mother had remarked when she had mentioned Regan’s invitation.

  According to her, the investment in Miss Swann’s school had been worth every penny.

  Emily deliberately failed to point out that her friend had an unmarried brother. She did not wish to encourage her mother.

  “What is L-O-V?” her sister Judith inquired as she peered over Emily’s shoulder.

  Exasperated, she brushed away the toast crumbs her younger sister dropped. “Nothing,” she said curtly, turning the paper over. She had been reluctant to spell out Lords of Vice, but she had marked them down since they were connected to Lord Chillingsworth.

  “L-O-V … Simple enough to deduce. Emily was spelling love but she had forgotten the E,” Cedric chimed in from across the table.

  “I was not spelling love, you twit,” Emily said, grinding her molars together at his knowing grin. “I was spelling…”

  She could not think of a single word!

  “What is going on?” her mother asked, lifting her gaze from the paper. She had the uncanny ability to ignore all of them when she concentrated hard enough.

  “Emily is in love,” Cedric teased.

  She huffed. “Do not listen to Cedric, Mother. I am not in love.”

  “L-O-V-E,” he said, shoving his mouth full of eggs.

  “Well, in fairness, Emily did forget the E,” her sister reminded her twin. “Maybe she was simply contemplating the notion of love.”

  “I did not forget—oh, for heaven’s sake!” Emily gave up. “The twins are both wrong. I was dabbling in some poetry.”

  “Because she is in—”

  There was a quiet knock at the door. Emily slapped her hand on the table in frustration as she stood. “Do not finish that sentence.”

  “Or what?”

  She walked around the table, pausing long enough to smack him on the top of the head. “I will quietly murder you if you do.”

  Cedric rubbed his head. “That makes no sense. If you are planning to murder me, I doubt I will be quiet about it.”

  Emily ignored him. The door opened before she could reach for the knob.

  “You startled me, Miss Emily. I came to tell you that there is a gentleman in the front hall.”

  “Well, what does he want?”

  “To see you.”

  “Are you positive?” Judith asked. “Perhaps he’s here to see me.”

  “No one wants to see you if you
persist in chewing with your mouth full, my dear,” her mother said, signaling for the footman to remove her daughter’s plate. “Did the gentleman give you his card?”

  “Yes, madam. Here it is.”

  The butler handed it to Emily. She read the name and clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle her gasp.

  “Who is it?” her mother asked, her attention on the paper again.

  “Uh, no one you know.” Emily crumbled the card in her hand. “I believe the gentleman has called on our residence by mistake. No need to get up. I will take care of it.”

  She dashed out of the breakfast room.

  Cedric glanced at his twin sister. “Emily has forgotten more than an E this morning. She has lost her wits.”

  “Love will do that to a girl,” Judith said, stealing her sister’s untouched plate of food.

  * * *

  Frost straightened and smiled the moment Emily entered the room. The lady did not appear to be pleased to see him. Her hesitation at the threshold had him wondering if she might flee. However, he already knew she was made of sterner stuff.

  “Why, Emily, don’t you look lovely,” he said, devouring her with his gaze.

  She wore a long-sleeved apple-green morning dress with a white muslin pelerine that was secured with a gold pin just above her breasts. Most of her red hair was stuffed under a plain white crepe cap that was trimmed with satin, the color matching her dress.

  Emily Cavell looked so prim and proper. He suddenly wanted to tug off her cap and kiss her senseless. He moved to greet her properly.

  She curtsied and extended her hand. “How did you find me?” she whispered.

  Frost bowed, his lips lightly brushing her bare knuckles. “It wasn’t that difficult. Your father is well-known in town.” He pulled her closer. “Is there a reason why we are whispering?” he asked, releasing her hand.

  Emily cleared her throat. “Has something happened to Katie?” She glanced over her shoulder as if she was worried about someone overhearing their conversation.

  Frost frowned. “Not at all. I told you that Katie is well and thriving in her new home.”