The Untouchable Earl

by Amy Sandas

  Avenell thought of the many fantasies he had conjured involving the lovely Miss Chadwick over the last few weeks. He could imagine quite a bit.

  To conceal his rising tension, he replied in a cold monotone, “You place a frightening amount of trust in me.”

  Pendragon did not falter. “It is my business to know my clients better than they know themselves, my lord. I have faith that the gift you received tonight will not go undervalued.”

  Avenell’s eyes narrowed.

  “Which brings me back to my original question,” she continued with a sideways glance as she turned away from him to retake her seat on the sofa. “I expected you to be rather occupied tonight. And though I adore your company, my lord, I am curious to know what brought you back here?”

  He had promised Lily the security of her reputation.

  “I need the names and addresses of each of the men who were at the auction.”

  Pendragon laughed. “I cannot give you that information. I run this house on a strict policy of discretion. You know that well enough, as you yourself benefit from such a policy.”

  “Discretion is exactly my purpose.”

  “My lord.” She sighed heavily, as though distressed at having to deny him the request. “Though I suspect your query is due to an honorable desire to protect the young lady from harm, I am afraid I simply cannot disclose such information.”

  Avenell stared hard at the madam. “How much?”

  Laughing again, she shook her head. “Lord Harte, there is not a bribe large enough to risk my livelihood. But I can assure you with everything I hold dear that none of the men present last night would dare to breathe a word of what happened in my parlor. Each of them understands the consequences of such a blatant disregard for my rules.”

  It was what he was hoping she would say. Pendragon had proven to be as guarded as he had expected. Her reputation for protecting her clients’ privacy was well earned. He had no doubt she had the power to keep the events of last night from becoming common knowledge.

  “Trust me, my lord,” Pendragon said. “I would never have forced such indignities upon the girl if it hadn’t been necessary. I have no intention of allowing further damage. What happened here will remain within these walls. Going forward, she belongs to you, Lord Harte. I trust you will take care of her.” Her final words carried a hint of challenge. Then she added, “If, despite all precautions, word should get out…well, then you may just have to do the right thing by the young lady.”

  Avenell sent the woman a deep scowl, finding no humor in her jest. He rose to his feet and gave a shallow bow. “It has been a long night. I shall leave you to the remainder of yours.”

  A sly smile widened Pendragon’s reddened lips. With a sideways glance from beneath her thick lashes, she asked, “Is there nothing else I can do for you, my lord?”

  Avenell stared back at her, knowing her offer was not a personal one. As far as he knew, Pendragon never involved herself with any of her clients. But she did have an uncanny knack for reading people.

  “There is something you could do for me,” he admitted.

  “Anything, my lord.”

  He had never had a woman in his home before Lily, and the intimacy of it was not something he had been prepared for. The pleasure house suited his purposes far better than anywhere else.

  “I will need a private suite, reserved for my explicit use. I will send you advance notice when I need use of it, but no one is to use the room in the interim.” He reached for the slip of paper he had tucked into the pocket and handed it to her. “My required specifications.”

  Pendragon read through the list and smiled. “I believe I have exactly what you need, my lord, but it will cost dearly to keep a room reserved for you alone.”

  “Cost is irrelevant.” He lowered his chin. “There shall be no interruptions and no questions. I expect complete confidentiality.”

  With a graceful tilt of her head, the madam acknowledged his request. “Of course, my lord. There is a private entrance from the alley along the east side of the building. It will bypass most of the house and will ensure your comings and goings are kept in confidence.”

  Avenell gave a nod. “Have the room ready for Friday night.”

  “That shall be fine.” She smiled smoothly. “Is there a particular girl you would like available to you, my lord?”

  “No. I will not be arriving alone.”

  “I understand,” she said with a confident smile. “It shall be done, my lord.”

  Avenell set his wineglass on the table, not having taken a single sip. Then he turned and strode from the room.

  Dawn had topped the horizon as Avenell stepped out onto the street and got back into his carriage. Returning home, he bathed and changed his clothes, trying to ignore the fact that an intrusive feminine scent still lingered in the shadows of his bedroom. He did not try to sleep. His mind was too alert, too focused on tying up loose ends to allow him any rest.

  Once the sun had reached a more reasonable height above the skyline, Avenell called for his carriage again.

  He knew roughly the area where Mason Hale had his office. Still, it took some time to find the exact location. A thin, ragged-looking servant opened the door to the narrow brownstone. The poor man looked like he had slept in his clothes and was not fully awake. Worse, it appeared his nose had been recently broken—the area was swollen and had taken on a grotesque purple color.

  The man took one look at Avenell and backed away skittishly as he pointed up a narrow staircase. “Hale’s up there,” he grumbled. “He’s not much for company right now, but I’m sure that don’t matter to ya.”

  Then the servant slipped back into a shadowed hallway, leaving Avenell to make his way on his own.

  Avenell dismissed the servant from his thoughts as he ascended the stairs. A closed door met him on the top landing. He did not bother to knock but opened the door wide. He entered a room that essentially took up the entire second floor of the building. A desk sat at the far end, and an old sofa was pushed up along an adjacent wall. A few chairs and a couple of odd tables were scattered here and there but still left a great deal of open space.

  Another glance around showed various pieces of training equipment, not unlike what Avenell had seen at Gentleman Jack’s boxing club, shoved out of the way. And the bare wood floor spanning the center of the room showed a significant number of scuffs and scrapes.

  Clearly, the former prizefighter turned bookmaker still found time with his new business to continue some degree of training. The assumption was further evidenced by the sight of the man himself.

  Mason Hale was a brute. His large, muscled frame dwarfed the spindled chair he occupied in the far corner of the room as he stared out the window, an empty bottle cradled in his arms.

  Hale did not turn around to acknowledge Avenell’s presence. Not even when Avenell cleared his throat. Annoyance colored his tone as he finally spoke.

  “Mr. Hale—”

  “Do you have any idea how frigging frustrating it is when you drink all the liquor at your disposal and still can’t get drunk?”

  At Hale’s thickly slurred interruption, Avenell stopped his advance into the room. He suspected the man was deeper in his cups than he realized, but he wasn’t about to argue the point.

  “Mr. Hale, I have a matter to discuss with you.”

  Hale turned then to look across the room at him as though he’d just realized he wasn’t alone. His long hair was drawn back in a messy queue at his nape, with strands falling haphazardly across his face. Confusion warred with irritation in the man’s rough features. When Hale continued to stare with bloodshot eyes and an unfocused gaze, Avenell continued.

  “I must speak with you about a debt.”

  The chair he was sitting in scraped across the floor as Hale rose to his feet with a deep, rumbling growl. “Can’t I get any b
lasted peace tonight? I don’t give two fucks about any debts right now, mate. Can’t you see I’m busy? Come back tomorrow, or next year for all I care.”

  Avenell’s brow tensed with irritation. He had no patience for drunks.

  “This will be settled now, Mr. Hale. My concern is with the Chadwicks,” he clarified. “One of them in particular, whom I understand you had dealings with this evening.”

  “Damn the Chadwicks,” he mumbled under his breath. “I wish I’d never heard the name.” Hale swayed in his widespread stance. Despite the bleariness of his eyes, he managed to jut out his square jaw and level a hard glare at Avenell.

  Keeping a level tone, Avenell replied, “Kidnapping is a crime, Mr. Hale.”

  Defiance rolled through the man like a wave, straightening his spine, bunching the muscles in his arms, and tightening his jaw. “Then call in the bloody magistrate. They owed me money,” Hale said through clenched teeth. “If they’da paid me what I was entitled to, I wouldn’a had to—”

  His words cut off abruptly. His shoulders slumped, and he lifted a hand to run it over his face before he swung his attention back to Avenell with another angry glare. “I ain’t got to explain nothing to you. And I don’t take kindly to threats. Get yourself gone, or I’ll do it for ya.”

  “Not yet, Mr. Hale. Miss Chadwick—and by extension, her family—are now under my protection.” Avenell spoke slowly and clearly to ensure that the man understood the change in the Chadwicks’ circumstances. “The authorities will not be advised of your criminal activities tonight if you vow to stay away from the Chadwicks going forward.”

  Hale’s face scrunched up as though in pain as he took heavy, lurching steps toward his desk. The empty liquor bottle was still clutched in his fist, and he set it on the cluttered surface. It teetered dangerously before tipping over and rolling off the edge. It did not shatter when it hit the floor but simply rolled into the shadows at Hale’s feet.

  “I don’t give a bloody goddamn about those chits. The matter is finished. None of it fucking matters anymore. It’s all gone to shite.”

  Hale’s muttered ramblings had gradually grown more morose until this last was choked out on a raw sob. He lifted his hand to his face again, pressing his fingers and thumb hard against his eyes as he asked mournfully, “Where could she be?”

  Avenell tensed at the man’s emotional disintegration, regretting that he had to be witness to such a devastating loss of control. He wanted nothing more than to leave the man to his misery, but first, he needed to be assured of Lily’s safety.

  “Mr. Hale, I insist you have no further contact with Miss Lily Chadwick or any of her family.”

  The large man dropped his hand from his face and looked at Avenell in surprise. It looked as though he had forgotten he wasn’t alone. Then he twisted his mouth into a mocking sneer.

  “What? And you think you can somehow make me?”

  Avenell stepped forward, his gaze hard and steady on the other man’s face. “You have no idea what I am capable of, Mr. Hale.”

  The two men stared at each other for a moment before Hale glanced down at the paperwork scattered across the surface of his desk. Avenell was too far away to identify what the man saw there, but whatever it was, it caused a change in him. Hale released a heavy breath before he spoke again in a tone more defeated than defiant. “As I said, my business with that family is done.”

  Avenell was silent for several moments. He would have liked more concrete assurance, but was not likely to get it from the man in his current state. The brute should be arrested and hanged for kidnapping a lady and selling her to a brothel. But that would not serve Lily’s best interest, when she would need to testify as to her involvement.

  In the end, what mattered most to Avenell was Lily’s future security.

  “If I am informed of anything to the contrary, you will regret it, Mr. Hale.”

  Hale lifted his bullish head to pin him with a look that carried far more weight than Avenell suspected even his fist possessed.

  “You’ve no idea of the depth of my regret, mate.”

  Twelve

  Lily watched debutantes floating past on the arms of handsome admirers, or in giggling groups of three or four, and realized how much had changed. Of course, no one would notice anything by the look of her. But inside, she felt like an entirely different person.

  And she was, wasn’t she?

  The prior Lily Chadwick had always been a modest and contented creature—at least on the outside. A middle sister with no greater expectation for her future than to marry, have children, and live a simple, secure life.

  The Lily standing there tonight had boldly agreed to become the secret mistress of a lord with more mystery and sensual allure in the furrow of his brow than any man in existence.

  It was stunning. And whenever Lily considered it, her breathing sped up and her palms began to sweat.

  The new Lily had finally acknowledged the flame of wickedness burning inside her. And she rather enjoyed it. She liked the tingling anticipation she felt low in her belly whenever she envisioned Lord Harte’s dark image. She liked wondering what was to come next. She appreciated the delicate and intricate sense of expectation that filled her at the thought of their next meeting.

  If only she knew when it would be.

  Two days had passed since the night of her abduction.

  The Chadwick sisters seemed to follow an undeclared agreement not to speak of the events of that night. Lily was the least inclined to broach the subject. She’d spent much of the last two days in her room, claiming she needed to rest. In truth, she mostly wanted to avoid any lingering scrutiny from her sisters.

  She suspected they would be watching her carefully for a while, to ensure she suffered no lasting damage from her escapade, and she did not want to endure the inevitable questioning glances or anxious hovering.

  Tonight, however, there was no escaping the Duchess of Beresford’s annual ball. The Chadwicks had accepted the invitation weeks ago, and no one cried off on the duchess.

  Lily glanced at Portia. Her sister stood beside her, staring, much as she was, out over the drawing room still filling with arriving guests.

  Lily tilted her chin to look at her sister more fully.

  Portia looked…pensive.

  Portia never looked pensive. On occasion, she brooded and pouted, but this appeared to be a deeper, more internal sort of pondering.

  Noticing Lily’s attention, Portia turned her head to stare back.

  When Lily said nothing, Portia arched her black brows. “Is there a problem?”

  “I do not know. What has your thoughts so occupied?”

  “Nothing. What has your thoughts so occupied?”

  “Nothing,” Lily replied just as evasively, knowing it would irritate her sister.

  Portia shrugged and glanced back out at the crowd.

  It was not the reaction Lily had expected, but she waited patiently, knowing her sister would not hold her thoughts secret to herself.

  “It feels different, somehow, don’t you think?” Portia said after a few minutes. “I mean, with Hale no longer a threat and Emma having won enough to save us from the financial pit of ruin…for this Season at least.”

  It was a rather exaggerated description, but Lily had to agree with Portia’s general sentiment.

  Yesterday morning, a messenger had delivered the original signed loan agreement between their father and Hale with the words Paid in Full written across it. Being released from the debt should have resulted in significant relief for the eldest Chadwick sister. But Emma did not give the appearance of someone who had just been freed from an impossible obligation.

  Lily leaned forward to gaze past Portia to where their older sister stood, holding her place at Angelique’s side. Emma, typically so well contained, appeared to be taking her severity to a new level tonight. He
r shoulders were straight and unbowed, her gray eyes were fixed forward, and her features were practically frozen into an expression of non-emotion.

  “I wouldn’t stare too long if I were you,” Portia warned. “You may get turned to stone like she has been.”

  “Portia,” Lily automatically admonished.

  “Honestly,” Portia continued in her defense, “have you ever seen a harder expression anywhere?”

  Lily could think of one particular gentleman whose harsh expression could rival Emma’s, but Portia was right. Their sister was looking exceptionally unyielding, almost as if she were afraid to express anything lest it crack her rigid composure and send it crumbling into dust.

  Lily felt a rush of sympathy. Portia had explained to her how Emma had been brought home by Mr. Bentley the night of Lily’s abduction. She went into detail on the tension she had witnessed between the two of them. Emma had resigned from her position as Bentley’s bookkeeper that night, since she had won enough money at his celebration to no longer require the employment, and she hadn’t uttered a word about the man since.

  Lily wondered if her older sister’s continued distress, subtle though it was, had to do with her former employer. A weight pulled at Lily’s heartstrings.

  “At least she hasn’t been pressuring me to make nice with all the eligible bachelors tonight,” Portia noted in a rare expression of positivity.

  “And you are bored out of your mind, aren’t you?” Lily challenged.

  Lily understood Portia’s dissatisfaction with her debut season had less to do with the fact that she was expected to find a husband and more to do with the lack of men Portia would reasonably consider for herself. Her younger sister was intelligent, independent, and ferociously determined to live by her own rules. Lily doubted there were many men in London—no, the world—who would be a proper match for her.

  “An understatement, I think,” Portia replied dryly, then muttered in a more aggressive tone, “I cannot wait for this bloody Season to be over.”

  Lily would have said something about her sister’s language in a place where she could easily be overheard, but the sentiment was so sincere, she hadn’t the heart to criticize.