by Laura Landon
©2020
Chapter 1
“Nella, look.”
Lady Petronella Westerly, eldest daughter of the Earl of Shelton, lifted her gaze to the spot where her best friend, Rosamonde, pointed.
“He’s here,” Nella sighed.
“Oh, doesn’t he look handsome tonight?” Nella’s second best friend whispered from Nella’s other side. Nella didn’t have to look to know that Patricia was gawping in a most unseemly fashion, because in truth, Nella couldn’t blame her. The man was indeed a vision of masculine perfection.
Ask anyone and they’d tell you Lord James Carmichael, Earl of Danvers was the most handsome man in all of London. No, she corrected her thoughts, in all of England.
Nella took the opportunity to study him as he stood at the top of the stairs. He certainly knew how to make an entrance. He seemed to pose there, as if allowing every female in the room ample time to take in his presence. From his towering stature to the confident set of his broad shoulders that were the envy of every man in the ballroom, to the muscular strength of his arms and legs, to his narrow waist and muscled thighs, he cut the quintessentially heroic figure. And Nella hadn’t yet dared to gaze on his face.
His profile was utter perfection, from the high cheekbones to his noble square jaw, to the inky blackness of his eyes and brows. His features were strong and captivating, and the look in his eyes a mixture of intelligence and assessment, as if he evaluated every person in attendance. And yet, when he smiled, every lady in the ballroom was captivated by the mischievous glimmer in his eyes.
Nella included.
Her response to the handsome earl had become proof to her that there was such a thing as love at first sight. From the first moment she’d seen him at her come-out ball five years past, she had never been moved as grandly by any other. That had been the night Nella realized the Earl of Danvers might well be her first and only love.
If she closed her eyes, she could relive that most embarrassing scene. It was her first ball, and Nella was more nervous than a cat in a kennel. Perhaps if she hadn’t been so terrified of having everyone stare at her, she wouldn’t have been so clumsy.
She’d entered the ballroom on her father’s arm—after enduring his lecture to try not to embarrass him—and instead of staying at her side to see her settled, he had led her to a chair against the wall and abandoned her.
And there she had sat—at her own come-out—for hours, watching the dashing young men ask female after female to dance, while she went ignored. Oh, she did dance twice—with the two fellows whose mothers had required them to do the polite thing and dance with the maiden of honor at her own come-out. They seemed so embarrassed to be seen with her that she fairly prayed nobody else would ask her to dance.
And of course they hadn’t.
She had thought her heart might break, and finally, when she couldn’t bear it another minute, she had risen to her feet and exited the ballroom as quickly as she dared. By then, tears blurred her vision and she couldn’t see where she was going, but she was in too much of a hurry to stop. And that’s why it happened.
In her headlong race to the nearest exit, Nella had seen her father step into the ballroom. Don’t make a scene, he’d warned. She’d promised him, and the memory of it nearly took her to her knees when one slippered foot slid out from beneath her. She had felt herself falling to the floor, but was miraculously stopped from going down when strong arms came around her and pulled her upright. She grabbed on to the man as he brought her against a wall of muscled chest as if she weighed nothing.
“Careful, my lady.” He said, his deep, masculine voice laced with concern. His arms came up and held her until she regained her balance. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, my lord,” she answered, then looked up to see who she’d nearly run over.
It was him. James Carmichael, Earl of Danvers.
For just the briefest of moments, his hands clutched her arms and he held her. Then, he lowered his gaze and smiled.
Nella had never known a face could arrange itself in such a heart-stopping manner. Nor had she ever known her own heart to tumble in such a way that she found it impossible to breathe. But in that moment she experienced a world of sensation.
She’d never been so affected in her life, and it was in that moment of discovery that she fell in love. It was in that moment that she knew there would never be anyone in all of England who she could love as much as she loved the man who’d saved her father from humiliation. And herself from disaster.
It had all happened so fast she knew he would never remember her or the event of that evening. But she owed him for saving her from the most horrific embarrassment imaginable. And she relived that memory every time she saw him and imagined him noticing her. Just as every other female in London wanted to be noticed by the dashing earl.
Half the eligible females in London searched for a way to lure him into a marriage trap. Not only was the earl the most handsome man in all of England, he was also rumored to be wealthy beyond compare.
Nella snapped her fan shut, determined to chase the unbidden images from her wandering mind. For pity’s sake, wasn’t five years long enough to moon over an unattainable fellow?
“Look at the preening debutantes moving to the front of the room,” Rosamonde said, casting her glance in the direction of three of the Season’s most glittering debutantes. All three of them—Lady Penelope, Lady Blanche, and Miss Melanie Franks—had taken London by storm. “They’re making their way to the bottom of the stairs so Danvers will have to walk through them to enter the room.”
“Don’t they realize everyone knows what they’re doing?” Patricia scoffed, giving the trio of preening flirts a narrow glare.
Nella stepped back into the shadows to watch Lord Danvers descend the stairs. He was nothing but natural poise and masculine grace and her heart flipped in her breast.
“I don’t know why you’re hiding, Nella,” Patricia said on a laugh. “It’s not as if he’ll notice us.”
“I know that, silly,” Nella answered. “I just don’t want him to catch me staring at him.”
“Do you think that will bother him?” Rosamonde asked. “He’s quite used to being stared at.”
Nella knew that, too, yet she couldn’t take her eyes off him. The Season was nearly over and her father had already informed her that this would no doubt be her last Season. She wouldn’t put it past him to marry her off to a vicar in some remote provincial village. This could well be her last opportunity to lay eyes upon the object of her affection.
She had three younger sisters and her father had been blunt in saying that he couldn’t outfit all four of his daughters next year. Since this was Nella’s fifth Season without even one suitor showing any interest in her, they would just have to face the dismal truth—Nella’s too-generous figure and her lack of comeliness left her an unsuitable marriage prospect. For the London set, at any rate.
Nella peeked around one of the large columns that lined the ballroom and watched as female after female vied for the earl’s attention.
She knew how futile her feelings were, but what was left to her if she couldn’t dream? What remained of life if she couldn’t fantasize a future where she was loved? A future where one man thought she was the most special person on earth?
“Come along,” Rosamonde said, pulling her by the arm. “There are three chairs together where we can watch the dancing.”
Nella followed Rosamonde and Patricia to the other side of the room.
“Who do you think he’ll ask to partner first?” Rosamonde asked.
“I’d expect him to ask Lady Melanie first,” Nella said.
“Why her?” Patricia
asked. “Obviously Lady Blanche has the most to recommend her. Her father’s a duke, after all, and he’s said to be worth as much as the Queen.”
Nella shook her head. “She’s making her quest too obvious. He intends to put her off as long as he can. He doesn’t want her to become too self-confident of his feelings for her.”
The three wallflowers watched as the object of their interest strode over to Lady Melanie and invited her to dance.
“It’s unsettling how well you know Danvers, Nella,” Patricia said. “So which one of them will he eventually ask to marry him?”
“Oh, that will be Lady Blanche. She has plans to be the next Countess of Danvers. And nothing will stop her from attaining her goal.”
Both her friends looked at her with their mouths gaping open.
“What makes you think it will be Lady Blanche?” Rosamonde asked.
“Because she’s the prettiest and she will not give up until she has him in the parson’s net,” Nella answered. “Even though I will hate to see that. Marriage to Lady Blanche will cause Danvers a lifetime of unhappiness and misery.”
“Well,” Patricia said. “If all he’s interested in is beauty, he deserves a lifetime of misery.”
“That’s cruel,” Nella said. She was enamoured of him enough to want only happiness for the young earl.
She watched him dance several sets and didn’t move until it hurt to realize nearly every other female had danced with at least one partner. Except her.
~■~
Nella made her way up the stairs to the retiring room. She only needed someplace to hide for a while. She couldn’t even think of asking her father to leave until he’d had at least an hour in the card room.
Tonight had been especially depressing because Patricia and Rosamonde had both been asked to dance a number of times, where Nella had not been asked even once.
When she reached the retiring room, she made her way to a chair set conveniently behind a disrobing screen. Thankfully, no one else was in the room and she could sit in silence.
She was about to leave when the outside door opened and what sounded like several women entered. She recognized their voices immediately and pressed her back into the corner so she wouldn’t be seen. If anyone peered behind the screen, she would merely be seen adjusting her stockings.
“You know what to do, don’t you?” one voice whispered.
Nella couldn’t miss Lady Blanche’s superior tone even when she whispered.
“Yes, we know,” two other voices said.
“I’ll go up right now and put this sleeping draught in the brandy. My maid confirmed that the decanter was delivered to the bedchamber.” Lady Penelope was so excited she actually giggled.
“And I’ll give your note to a footman to give to Danvers,” Lady Melanie said. “You watch for Danvers to leave the ballroom, then give him fifteen minutes before you go up. That should give him enough time to find the brandy and drink a glass or two. Any longer and he might get bored and leave.”
“Oh, this has got to work,” Lady Blanche said. “If it doesn’t, I’m going to be forced to marry Lord Wexley. He’s already asked for my hand and I have to marry soon. You know I do.”
“Tell me again. Second bedchamber on the left?” Penelope Knight asked. “I want to make sure I drug the brandy in the right bedchamber.”
“The second room on the left after you climb the stairs.”
“Yes.”
“Very well. Let’s go.”
The three conniving females left the room and Nella came out of hiding. She was more than a little stunned that Lady Blanche was going to make it appear as if Danvers had compromised her. But no, it was worse than that. The conniving trollop was going to trap him into marriage.
Nella slapped her fan against her hand. She couldn’t allow it. She couldn’t let him be trapped into a marriage. She had no doubt that he would probably end up marrying Lady Blanche in the end, but she didn’t want him to be forced in a way that would forever taint his honor.
She made her way to the door, then peeked out into the hall to make sure no one saw her leave the retiring room. When she was free, she went up one more flight and stood on the balcony that overlooked the ballroom.
It didn’t take her long to find the earl. He was one of the few men in the room taller than she, making him easy to spot. That and his rich, brown hair that flowed enticingly over the back of his pristine collar, and his princely posture, and—
Concentrate, Nella.
She watched until a footman approached him and held out a silver salver. The earl took the folded paper from the tray and read it. He appeared to frown, then crumpled the paper and dropped it into his coat pocket.
They were actually doing it! Those three meddling misses were actually putting their devious plan into action.
Nella wondered what the message said. She wondered if Lady Blanche asked to meet him, or if they’d used someone else’s name to lure him upstairs—someone like Lady Winterbourne, with whom Danvers was rumored to be having an affair.
Nella kept her gaze focused on him. He danced one set, then left the ballroom. As he did so, Nella turned away from the balcony rail and raced down the hallway, then turned to go to the second level.
“Where are you going, Nella?”
She turned to see Rosamonde and Patricia coming up behind her.
“Uh…um…nowhere. I was just…going to find my father. I’m ready to go…home.”
“Already?” Rosamonde asked.
“Yes. I’m not feeling very well. My head aches like Sunday’s church bells are clanging away in it.”
“Do you want to go lie down?” Patricia asked. “We’ll come with you.”
“No, no,” she said, stepping away from them. “I’ll be fine by myself. I just need to go.”
She turned away.
“Nella?” Rosamonde sounded worried. “Your father would be in the card room with my father, wouldn’t he?”
She stopped. “Well, yes, I imagine so.”
Rosamonde hooked an arm through hers. “Then I’ll go there with you.”
“But, I—”
“Nonsense, we’ll all go.”
“Stop!” Nella pulled her arm away. “For once, may I just do something by myself? Please?”
Rosamonde and Patricia looked startled, confused, and then affronted.
Patricia cleared her throat, obviously uncomfortable at the highly unusual kerfuffle between the three great friends.
Nella softened her face and her tone. “Please. You two go on back to the dance. I’m going to feel awfully bad if you don’t. And I want to be alone.”
She fluttered her fingers at them, playfully shooing them back the way they’d come. She could see in their expressions their disappointment, but she had no choice. If she didn’t go now, she’d be too late.
If she wasn’t already.
Nella watched them walk away for a moment, then she sped up the stairs. She needed to get to the second bedchamber down the hallway on the left before Danvers arrived and drank any of the brandy.
With unladylike speed she reached the second bedchamber, then opened the door and rushed in.
“Lord Danvers,” she whispered, then looked around the room.
He wasn’t there. Thankfully, he hadn’t arrived yet.
She breathed a sigh of relief and turned to leave. That’s when she saw him sitting on the floor, using the side of the bed as a backrest.
Nella ran to him. “Lord Danvers,” she said, struggling to lift his head. Struggling to waken him. Could the sleeping draught have worked that fast? She assessed the amount of time she’d been waylaid by her friends and realized that if enough of the sleeping draught had been used, he could already be feeling its effects. In fact, combined with the alcohol it could even deliver a lethal dose!
She crouched beside him, noting the glass of brandy that was tipped over and had spilled on the floor.
“Wake up, Lord Danvers. You must get out of here.”
> “I can’t,” he moaned. “Something is…wrong.” His eyes rolled back and his head lolled to the side.
Nella shook him again. “Lord Danvers. Wake up. You have to get out of here.”
His only response was a pitiful moan.
She shook him again and again. Nothing.
“Wake up, my lord. Wake up.”
“Nooo,” he slurred. “Tired. Sooo…tired.”
“You’ve been drugged. You have to wake and get out of here before someone finds you.”
“You found…me,” he said, then smiled.
“Yes, but you don’t want anyone else to find you.”
“Who…are you?” he slurred.
“That doesn’t matter,” Nella said, then placed her hands on his shoulders and tried to lift him to his feet. He was impossibly heavy.
“Can you help me?” she said, struggling again to make him sit.
“No, I don’t want…to help you. I want to…sleep.”
“You can’t! Get up!”
He opened his eyes and looked at her, then smiled. “Do I…know you?”
“No, my lord. You don’t know me.”
Nella put her hands behind him and lifted with all her might. He shifted and she almost cried for joy. But her relief was short lived. He went from sitting to falling to the side. He hooked his arms over her shoulders and fell.
Nella couldn’t keep from toppling over with him. She landed on her back with the earl on top of her.
She pushed him as hard as she could but he didn’t move. Instead, he lifted his head and brought his mouth down over hers.
He kissed her. He cupped her cheeks in his palms and kissed her again.
Nella had never been kissed, but that didn’t matter. Danvers was an expert. He kissed her a third time and a fourth, and Nella kissed him back. God help her, she knew this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience and shameless harlot that she was, she took full advantage of it. But when his hands began to wander, reality came back with a jolt and she turned her head to break off the kiss.
She wrapped her arms around his waist and rolled with him to her side. “Get off me, my lord. Please.”
His eyes opened. “I’d rather sleep,” he slurred. “You’re so soft. So very…comfortable.”