Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Acknowledgments
About the Author
The Wrong Woman
Unexpected Love #1
by Kimberly Truesdale
THE WRONG WOMAN
A Toast and Tea Publications Book / March 2013
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2013 by Kimberly Noelle Egolf
Cover art “Morning Toilette” by Christoffer Wilhelm Eckersberg, used under Wikimedia Commons License.
This ebook belongs to vzyl at 64 70 67 72 6f 75 70 forum. The name vzyl refers to an entity and not any registered user with the same name. I hereby acknowledge that I have shared this book without permission from the ebook owner if I earn profit or rewards for providing access to this ebook.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real people, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-0-9858537-2-3 (Ebook)
To all my friends — online and off — who helped me conquer the second book blues.
“His heart was formed for softness – warped to wrong”
~ George Gordon, Lord Byron, from The Corsair
Prologue
I hate him. I hate him.
The three words revolved in Thomas Davenport's head as he stared across the dark surface of the card table at his opponent. No, his nemesis. After this last defeat that is what the laughing devil across the table from him had become.
But the man did not seem to realize it. His drunken friends had gathered around and were congratulating him, pounding him on the back and shaking his hand, yelling for more drinks and planning how to spend the hoard their friend had just acquired. And all the while the devil kept laughing.
The muscles of Thomas' jaw worked slowly as he clenched his teeth together. He would not let them see his distress. Thomas tried to focus on the corner of the table in front of him, but the sight seemed to mock him as much as the boisterous men did. There against the dark felt surface lay two hands of cards, one winning, one losing. The losing one belonged – not for the first time tonight – to Thomas. The winning one belonged – also not for the first time tonight – to the cold devil across from him.
“Well played, Davenport,” the icy voice seemed bored in the midst of the excitement. “Bad luck this time, though. What's it been now? Five games?” The rejoicing friends paused in their mirth to witness this exchange. Thomas' lip curled in contempt. He did not answer. This seemed to ignite their glee, as his nemesis leaned back smugly in his chair.
“That's almost five thousand pounds you now owe me?” Thomas still did not answer. He could not form any thoughts beyond his hatred. The group of over-privileged, overgrown boys stared at him, waiting for his response. But Thomas kept silent. If he spoke, he would unleash the violent rage their mocking provoked in him. Instead, he breathed heavily through his nose and clenched his fists on the arms of the chair.
When his nemesis realized there was no further sport to be had, he leaned forward in his chair, as if to rise, and smiled, “Well, boys, I believe I have won enough from Mr. Davenport this evening.” The men chuckled into their drinks. “Shall we retire somewhere private to celebrate my victory?” He placed careful emphasis on the word private. Thomas understood his exclusion.
His opponent stood, slowly unfolding his tall frame from the chair, and reached across the table to shake hands. Thomas' rage built inside of him. Shake hands! The devil expected him to shake hands, as if this had been nothing but friendly sport? No. He would not do it. Thomas felt the other man’s eyes on him, waiting. He could not, could not. Thomas kept his seat, digging his fingernails into the cushioned arm of the chair. Thomas stared him down, showing he was not afraid. He did not waver even when a look of concern briefly crossed the other man's face. Thomas would not weaken for anything.
Finally, the devil gave up. With a shrug, he dropped his hand and turned away from the table, leading his friends off to a different, more exclusive, part of the club with promises of plentiful wine (and a few choice women).
Thomas watched them walk away, the contempt on his face becoming more pronounced the further away they moved. The devil had made a fool of him tonight. His inheritance was gone. All of it. He'd gambled it away, taking chances with his future. But it was no matter at all to his nemesis whether he won or lost. It was all a game to that smiling ass.
It had always been that way. The devil and his friends had been four years before Thomas at school. They had ruled there like they ruled the club now, as if they were entitled to everything they had. And they never thought of anyone else.
As he watched their retreating forms swaying in uneven lines toward the private rooms of the club, Thomas vowed that he would make them consider just exactly what was important to them. He would punish them all. And he would start with the devil himself.
Miles Shepherd, Baron of Revere would be punished. And when Thomas had him in his grasp, he would take great pleasure in laughing coldly in the devil's face and then walking away.
Chapter 1
Miles Shepherd sighed heavily to the three men standing near him. “I've got the devil of a headache tonight.”
“But the delights of last evening were worth it, were they not?” Michael Tremain asked and raised his eyebrows at his companions. All three grinned.
Miles had spent the previous evening, as he spent most of his evenings, in the club gambling with the friends who stood around him now. But last night they had outdone themselves with the amount of liquor consumed. And all day Miles had paid for it.
Miles Shepherd, Michael Tremain, Lawrence Blume, and John Riley were a formidable quartet at the card table. At school together over a decade ago, they'd developed their card-playing skills instead of studying. They'd fleeced nearly every bright young man who had come to school.
Now they spent their time doing the same thing to gullible young men like Thomas Davenport, who they'd played last night. He'd thought he could beat them. Stupid child, Miles had thought to himself. He'd almost felt sorry for the boy. But he could not deny that they had thoroughly enjoyed the spoils. It was a wonder any of them were standing at all at the moment.
At the reminder of his overindulgence, Miles began listing a little to the side. The swirling bodies on the dance floor in front of him were a bit disorienting, and the colors started to blur in front of his face. He blinked a few times to clear his head, but it didn't help. It was not often he overdid it with the wine, but he'd been enjoying himself too much to quit. Miles blinked again and shifted his gaze back to the stationary men next to him.
“All right there, Revere?” Tremain laughed and patted his friend's shoulder.
“Of course,” Miles grumbled.
“You looked a little
unsteady there for a moment, chap.”
Tremain was a tall, thin man who'd made it his mission in life to enjoy every sensual delight society offered. Wine and women had so far turned out to be his favorite indulgences. A year ago, though, he'd shocked his friends by declaring his engagement. He'd wooed and wed a pretty young woman in her first season. Miles had thought marriage might slow his friend down a bit in his other pursuits, but the constant rush of town delights hadn't stopped. Tremain frequently acted as if he weren't even married. And Mrs. Tremain had shown herself happy to act the same way. Miles did not understand their marriage at all, but he had long ago left the whole thing alone.
“What about the red head in the corner?” Riley asked a little too loudly, piercing through Miles' head.
Blume laughed. “You don't want that one.”
“Why not?”
“Haven't you learned anything is the past decade, man?” Tremain chided.
“What?” Riley was confused.
“The way she's waving that fan around,” Miles enlightened his friend.
“The fan?” The man seemed lost.
“It's trouble, Riley. A woman that eloquent with her fan has been practicing hard to catch herself a husband.” Blume waved his hand in imitation of the girl's fan and winked suggestively at Riley. The other men chuckled.
“Well, would it be so bad to have a woman who knows what she wants?” Riley asked, drawing a groan from the others.
“How have you remained so innocent after all these years?” Tremain exclaimed.
“If you are looking for a happy marriage, my friend, steer clear of a woman with too much interest in getting her own way.” Blume was unable to keep a touch of bitterness out of his voice. His friends fell silent for a moment, unsure what to say.
Lawrence Blume had followed in Tremain's footsteps and gotten himself married about six months ago. His vast inheritance more than made up for his squat stature and square face. At least one woman had decided she didn't mind it. Mrs. Blume was at home on the country estate at the moment. In a moment of drunken confession a few nights ago, Blume admitted to his friends that his wife despised him and wanted him only to do his duty to produce legitimate heirs and leave her at peace in the country.
Poor Blume, Miles thought. He hadn't expected to love his wife, of course. None of the four friends expected that. But Miles imagined that it must have been a rude shock to find out that his wife had not one ounce of love for him.
Finally, Riley's eye lit on another woman.
“On the dance floor. The dark-haired beauty dancing with Brandon.” The men contemplated her.
“Quite a beauty,” Tremain agreed. Miles noticed a gleam in his eye that spoke more than his words. He might have to watch Tremain around this girl, especially if Riley took a fancy to marrying her.
They'd come tonight in spite of their pounding heads in order for Riley to survey the new crop of young women. And for Tremain to survey the eligible married women who might be game for what he called “a unique arrangement.” Tremain claimed that the short two months that made up the Little Season were the best time for such things. The society matrons forced to stay in London while their husbands attended Parliament found ways, both acceptable and not quite so, to stave off their boredom.
“Nice figure,” Miles observed half-heartedly. The girl was pretty, but she didn't spark his interest in any significant way. None of the women he had seen tonight appealed much to him.
Not that it matters what attracts me, Miles thought. Though he'd not yet told his friends, unwilling to endure their constant ridicule for the next two months, Miles had also determined to find a wife soon. Ever since Mama had discovered that Tremain and Blume had married, she'd been pressuring Miles to settle down. After all, Mama had reminded him, he was over thirty now. It was expected that he would take a wife and start a family. And then her most damning words: You are the heir and must produce a son. It's what your father would have wanted.
It was expected of him. It was his duty. It was what his father would have wanted. Ever since his brother's accident eleven years ago, Miles had been powerless in the face of those arguments. He'd been determined to do just what everyone expected of him. It was easier than making his own decisions.
“Revere?” Blume was addressing him.
“What?”
“Refreshment?”
“No, thanks. I'll stay here and observe.”
“Let us know if any irresistible women appear while we're gone,” Tremain grinned at him. Miles smiled back. He never thought too hard about Tremain's actions, knowing they would not quite sit well. But the man's constant good humor and joy in life were hard for Miles to resist. Some evenings Miles had fun only because Tremain teased him into it.
“Enjoy your punch,” Miles answered.
As Tremain and Blume moved away, Riley drew up his shoulders and sucked in a deep breath.
“I don't care what you all say, I like the look of that red head. I'm going to dance with her.”
Miles watched as his friend marched off. He chuckled when he saw Riley reach up to make sure his hair was in order. The man had always been extremely vain about that part of his appearance. His hair was blonde but looked almost white and gave him an otherworldly air. He kept it a touch too long just so he could draw attention to himself by brushing away the lock that constantly fell over his face. Miles shook his head and sighed.
“Does something concern you, Lord Revere?” A seductive voice drifted up beside him.
“Not at all, Mrs. Tremain. I was shaking my head at Riley because he is determined to do something we told him not to do.” Miles looked down at the petite woman next to him. Tremain had certainly chosen a beauty. Blue eyes stared up at him in a look of feigned innocence. Innocent was definitely not the first word anyone associated with her.
“And what is it that you told him not to do?” She raised her eyebrows.
“We warned him against the red-haired woman in the corner.”
Mrs. Tremain's eyes flickered to the place he'd indicated. “Wise counsel. Miss Dalhousie has no fortune to speak of.”
“You know her?”
Mrs. Tremain smiled and Miles noticed her even, white teeth. “I know of her, but have not met her myself. Someone mentioned to me that she has an older brother here in town. I may make his acquaintance soon.” Her eyes flashed with amusement. It did not take an educated man to figure out what exactly she meant.
Her innocent looks and frankness about intimate matters disconcerted him
“Of course,” her voice grew deeper, “I could always be persuaded to leave off of that particular pursuit...” She let the words hang in the air between them. Miles knew what she intended. It was the not the first time she'd made him a proposition.
A few months ago, toward the end of the Season, Miles had found himself alone in a carriage with her. Tremain had disappeared somewhere earlier in the evening and she'd asked Miles to escort her home. Though he'd known he was on dangerous ground, she'd had him trapped. His duty as a gentleman meant he could not refuse.
The carriage had barely started away from the door before she'd been on his lap pressing her lips to his.
Miles was no stranger to female attention, but seducing his friend's wife – no matter what her reputation – was too much. He'd pushed her away immediately and firmly requested that she stay on her side of the carriage for the rest of the journey.
Miles had known, of course, that neither Tremain nor his wife were faithful. It had almost been part of their marriage vows. And she was a very attractive woman. But still, he could not imagine carrying on under his friend's nose.
Perhaps his view of marriage had been spoiled by his parents. They had made no secret of their affection for each other. Indeed, Miles had found many occasions in life to be embarrassed of their obvious attraction and attention to each other. They were constantly sharing significant looks and touching hands. His father had brought her hand-picked flowers at least once a week f
or as long as the children could remember. And once a day, their mother had sent one of them to their father's study with a little note. One time, a young Miles had looked to see what was written. It had only said, “Until tonight, my love.” Miles could never forget his father's smile when he read her notes.
Mama had been inconsolable for a long while when his father had died five years ago. Miles could still see her melancholy now and again, though she hid it well. He'd taken up the habit of picking flowers for her, just as their father had done.
Miles knew he would never find that kind of love. Nor did he believe that he deserved to find that kind of affection. Not after the life he'd had. Not after his brother's accident...
“Lord Revere? You have grown quite silent. I do hope that means you are considering my offer?”
“Actually, Mrs. Tremain, I was contemplating marriage.” He looked at her boldly, hoping his attitude would finally end her desire for him.
Her laugh came from deep within her throat. “Silly man. Why have marriage when you can have me?”
As he wracked his brain for an appropriate reply to put her off this mania, his thoughts were interrupted by a pretty laugh from the direction of the chaperone's corner.
“Who on earth is that?” Mrs. Tremain asked.
“I don't know,” Miles eagerly searched the corner of the room. That laugh had been a delightful and refreshing sound. Especially when trying to escape from the seductive laughter of Mrs. Tremain.
Finally he saw spotted her: a blond-haired young woman not over twenty years. The girl wore a becoming dress of a white fabric that seemed to move even when she was standing still. Her smile lit her face and all around her. Even some of the other chaperones had joined in with whatever joke she had made. Miles smiled too.
“A smile, Lord Revere? At a chit like that?” There was venom in her voice.
“Yes, Mrs. Tremain. I have a mind to introduce myself to that 'chit.' She seems like pleasant company.” Miles was pleased to see her eyes flare at the implied insult.
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