Harlequin Historical July 2021--Box Set 2 of 2

by Madeline Martin

  ‘There are not many jobs available to a woman at all, as it happens.’ There was an underlying hardness to her tone. ‘Even in London.’

  And so she had become a courtesan. A woman who sold her body to the highest bidder.

  The fault did not lie with her, but with him. He should have held tighter to her and her love, but instead he’d left her to total ruin.

  His hand curled into a fist, and he wished he could kill every man who had touched her. Or beat his younger self for having only ever sent two letters and not realising the lack of reliable post.

  The letters he had sent had been long and carefully written over months, as he continued to postpone his return with each new issue that sprang up. And there had been plenty. His father’s dealings had been steeped in deceit and dishonesty. It had been Lottie’s goodness which had kept Evander just in his interactions, knowing she would not want wealth at another’s expense. Except such work had taken too long and had apparently cost far too much.

  ‘Marry me, Lottie,’ he said again, with determination this time.

  She turned to him, staring at him as though he’d suddenly sprouted horns. And maybe in her mind he had.

  ‘You can’t be serious,’ she said.

  ‘I assure you, I am.’

  Tears filled her eyes and welled in his heart. ‘I’m ruined, Evander.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘But you will.’ She pressed her lips together as she attempted to collect herself. ‘I am a pariah. I have had lovers among the ton, men who have paid me well for my company. And through a turn of luck, thanks to your mother, I have been able to move on from such endeavours to something that has gained me even more notoriety.’

  He did not ask for clarification, certain he did not want to know.

  ‘I instruct ladies of the ton in the art of love and flirtation.’ She lifted her chin. ‘It is far better than my previous situation.’

  His shoulders relaxed. There, now. That wasn’t so dreadful. ‘Whatever has happened can be smoothed over. I’ve come back a wealthy man, Lottie. Far wealthier than Somersville or any other duke or earl in London.’

  Her face remained impassive as she scanned the room. It was filled with items of great wealth. All obtained for her.

  At last, she lifted her gaze to him. ‘I never cared about money. I would rather have had you all these years, so I did not have to make the choices I was forced into.’

  ‘I did it for you,’ he protested. ‘For us.’

  She shook her head and gave him a sad smile. ‘You did it for yourself.’

  She turned from him then, and desperation built in his chest as he searched for some reason to detain her just a while longer. Even if their conversation circled round and round without conclusion, it would still provide him with the opportunity to be with her. To hear the sweetness of her voice and gaze upon her beauty. And she was still beautiful. Perhaps more so.

  The slenderness of her frame had filled out with curves even the high waistline of her fashionable gown could not hide. In the years since he had left she had obtained an undeniable confidence. She held herself with certainty, no longer a shy, innocent vicar’s daughter, but a woman who knew the power of her appearance.

  She was truly a sight to behold, in a pale blue gown that set off her striking blue eyes and made her black hair look glossy as silk.

  ‘I love you,’ he said vehemently. ‘I always have.’

  She stopped and turned back towards him slowly. ‘Not enough.’

  Before she could leave again, he added, ‘I always will.’

  She withdrew something from a long silver chain about her neck and tugged at it with a severe jerk, snapping it free. With shaking hands, she pulled off some charm.

  ‘You don’t even know me.’

  In a swift move, she threw the thing at his feet. The bit of jewellery bounced off the toe of his Hessian. He bent to reclaim it as she walked away.

  It was then he realised it wasn’t a charm at all, but a small ring with a chip of diamond, still warm from where once it had rested against her heart.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Lottie’s father had been right about the men of the ton after all. His words had echoed in her mind often when she was with the men who paid for the right to keep her. Men who were given freedom and wealth and time, with no purpose save to delight in the pleasures of life and privilege. And there were many pleasures to be had.

  Yet she had foolishly thought Evander was different. She knew now he was not—he was as guilty of greed as so many others were of lust.

  Rage kindled inside her anew, hot and bright like the first flames of a fire licking over dry kindling. All-consuming.

  He had no idea what he’d done to her. She’d been kind when she glossed over it in their discussion, but now she did not feel so kind.

  Not bothering to dress, she tied her dressing gown closed. The back of her neck still stung from where she’d snapped her necklace free, the chain having sliced through her tender skin when she’d wrenched it off. She didn’t bother to look in the mirror before departing her room. After years of spending so much focus on her appearance, she knew well how she looked.

  Golden light limned the door to the study, as she’d expected. With the newlywed couple locked away in marital bliss, there was only one other person who could be up as late as she.

  She pushed open the door without bothering to knock, and Evander started where he sat before the fire.

  His confusion melted away upon seeing her and he immediately got to his feet. ‘Lottie.’

  She strode into the room, letting the door slip closed behind her as she did so. ‘I trusted you.’

  Those three words had propelled her from her room and they echoed in her mind like a chant, driving her towards this moment when she could hurl them at him. But they did not flow from her lips with the ire she intended. They came out broken and hard. Like her.

  ‘I trusted you,’ she whispered hoarsely, the second attempt even more pathetic than the first. ‘I was an innocent girl, a foolish country chit with nothing, and you left me.’

  Evander pulled in a soft intake of breath as if she’d slapped him again. ‘Lottie, I—’

  ‘No.’ This time she found her voice and her protest rang out in the room. ‘It is my turn to say my piece.’

  ‘Of course.’ Evander remained standing by the chair, not moving towards her, though she could tell from the way he leaned forward that he wanted to.

  ‘Do you know that even after a year went by I still thought you would come back?’ she asked. ‘I still look at men who pass me on the street and wonder if they’re you. If you’d returned and I’d somehow missed it.’ She shook her head to clear the tears before they could start. ‘London is not the way you described it,’ she added bitterly. ‘Not when you are at its mercy rather than holding its reins.’

  She turned from him and went to a small table with a decanter, pouring two glasses of fine whisky.

  ‘I was paraded through Vauxhall Gardens like a purchased doll.’

  She strode to him and pushed the glass into his hand. He accepted it, but did not drink, his eyes wide and brimming with hurt. Good. It was his turn to feel the teeth of that bite.

  She did drink. With a swirl of the amber liquid and a delicate tilt, she drank a mouthful and let it burn all the way down.

  ‘I experienced the opera as a dancer, with men gazing lewdly down my bodice and offering to share my bed. And when I was fortunate enough to find myself off the stage, and in one of those coveted boxes, I did not have the luxury of actually watching the opera.’

  He swallowed.

  ‘You think you understand what I went through in your absence, but you do not,’ she said. ‘It is impossible for you to possess even a modicum of understanding for what I endured as that year you promised came and went. I found myself
in terrible desperation, and the one place where I sought help...’

  Her voice clogged. She should tell him. Now.

  ‘The choices I faced when I realised...’

  Tell him.

  Except doing so was impossible. She could not salvage enough of her heart to do so.

  ‘God, you must hate me,’ Evander whispered. Tears clung, unshed, to his lower lashes.

  ‘I don’t hate you,’ Lottie said, more softly than she liked. She stepped closer and the scent of sandalwood caught her awareness. The subtle notes of his cologne struck her like a blacksmith’s hammer, knocking her back to when they had been young and in love and she had been lost in naïve happiness.

  He still smelled the same.

  Pain crumpled in her chest. ‘I could never hate you.’

  And she could not—not when she still loved him.

  She wanted to fall towards him, to feel his arms around her once more and see if they were still as strong as they looked. For years she had been her own pillar of support. How would it feel to allow someone else to offer fortitude?

  Her resolve was faltering. She couldn’t stay here. Coming had been a mistake.

  ‘But I can never forgive you,’ she said sharply. ‘Nor can I ever trust you again.’

  Evander opened his mouth, but she set her glass aside and started to walk away. She’d said what was needed. At least most of it. There would be time later for the rest. When she found the courage that had failed her so terribly just now.

  She opened the door and his voice interrupted her departure. ‘I’m sorry, Lottie.’

  I’m sorry.

  It truly was a paltry consolation. Words so empty they could never fill the void inside her.

  She pushed out of the study and made her way to her bedchamber, half expecting he would come after her.

  And perhaps even half hoping.

  * * *

  Evander stared at the closed door. The cut crystal glass had gone warm in his palm and the click of the door latch still seemed to echo in the room, tangling with the memory of what she’d told him.

  His stomach coiled into a sickening knot. An opera dancer. So that was how it had all begun for her.

  He knew Lottie better than anyone. Or at least he had. She would have waited for him, steadfast and loyal. No doubt becoming a dancer was the last resort after she’d clung to several more months awaiting him. And after such employment, finding a reputable husband would be difficult.

  He saw suddenly how little choice she’d had. How little choice he’d left her with when he’d abandoned her.

  She had trusted him. And he had failed her.

  Her ruin had been entirely his fault.

  He gave in to the weakness softening his knees and sank onto the chair. Tempering his instinct to go after her took everything he had. But his presence, he knew, would not be welcome. She had made that much clear. No matter how much he wished to be with her.

  She had looked at him incredulously earlier, when he’d said he would still marry her, and had declared she was not worthy of the title of Countess.

  Except it was Evander who was not worthy of her.

  His gaze found its way to the glowing embers in the hearth. She had said he had reclaimed his wealth for him, not for her. Was that truly the case...?

  * * *

  Egypt was bloody hot in August. Evander had thought the Nile Delta would be cooler than the dry, baking sun inland, but he had underestimated the humidity that left a perpetual sheen of sweat slick across his brow. The letter under his hand was blurred where the dampness of his palm smeared the ink as he wrote. It was one he had been working on for several months. To Lottie.

  Three years had passed. Two years longer than he’d anticipated. He’d sent a couple of letters to her, both composed as this one had been, over several months, written in the snatches of time between negotiations, meetings, research and exploration.

  But he would be home soon, after this latest discovery of artefacts. Ancient jewellery of hammered gold and carved precious stones made up an assortment of rings, necklaces, bracelets and collars.

  He had taken care to diversify his wares, with spices, fabrics and goods from other locations. There was enough to fill his coffers.

  But he needed to ensure they would never again run dry.

  And there was good coin to be had in artefacts.

  His father had known that.

  The thought made his heart slam harder. The last thing he wanted was to be like his father.

  Irritation teased at the back of Evander’s neck, the way it always did when he thought of his father. He wasn’t like the former Earl, damn it.

  Evander focused on the letter. The ink had been smudged beyond legibility. With a growl of frustration, he balled it up and tossed it in the rubbish bin beside his desk. He was tired of being away from England, away from Lottie.

  His chest compressed as her image swam in his mind. Beautiful, innocent. The woman he would make his wife upon his return.

  Was the treasure he’d accumulated enough?

  She needed the very best in life. He would offer her nothing less. Diamonds, silks, furs, estates that would make Huntly Manor look like a cottage. Anything her heart desired.

  Determination fired through him. After this haul he would be done. Or perhaps just one more. To ensure the family fortune was never in jeopardy again.

  A knock came at the door and his guide entered with an apologetic bow. ‘Forgive me, my lord, but it appears the authorities require approval prior to allowing you to depart with your findings.’

  ‘More?’ Evander tried to keep the irritation from his voice. ‘The last “approval” took nearly six months to obtain.’

  Bassel tilted his head. ‘If I may, my lord, a proper bribe might be sufficient to avoid such approvals.’

  In the past, Evander had immediately declined such considerations. But now he hesitated. He couldn’t afford another six months of waiting. His father had done it. And Evander had been gone so very long from Lottie.

  However, it was the thought of her that made him reconsider the temptation of bribery. She was a good-hearted woman who would never want a fortune that was obtained by underhanded dealings.

  * * *

  Evander tugged his stare from the fire and scrubbed a hand over his face. He could have returned earlier if he hadn’t been so dogged in his determination to have great wealth. In truth, he had far more than he had expected. He’d kept his estimations low, to avoid falling short on what he’d hoped to achieve. But in fact he’d more than doubled the number he’d set in his mind, was closer to having tripled it.

  He’d told himself he’d done it for Lottie, but had he?

  Was he just like his father?

  Without thought, Evander let his hand wander into his jacket pocket and he slipped the cold band of metal onto the tip of his smallest finger. He withdrew the ring he’d given to Lottie when he’d proposed all those years ago. The small diamond chip winked at him in the firelight.

  She had kept it all these years.

  Hope flared anew within him.

  She still loved him. Or at least she had before she’d realised how obsessed he’d become with his findings—like the former Earl had been, hunting treasure with dogged determination.

  In truth, it was perhaps the first time Evander understood his father’s devotion to obtaining dusty relics and stones. But it was in that moment Evander also knew he was not like his father. Because he would not allow himself to be torn from those he loved to obtain more. Rather the opposite—he would do whatever he could to make things right.

  He shifted his focus towards Lottie. No matter what it took, he would fight for her. While, regrettably, he could not change the past, he had some control over the future in how he acted and what he did.

  He vowed to make th
ings right with her—to win back her broken trust even if it took finding every splintered piece and carefully piecing it together. After all, there was no worthier cause than the love of Miss Charlotte Rossington. And he knew that better than anyone else.

  CHAPTER NINE

  May 1816, London, England

  Evander finally returned to London, having stayed longer in the country than intended. In truth, he had intended to return to London long before, but his mother had been ill. Gravely so.

  There had been a chilling moment when he genuinely feared he had lost her. The physician had arrived swiftly, and had managed to revive her, but the memory had seeded itself in Evander’s mind and rooted there—a reminder of how ephemeral life could be and how tenaciously one must hold on to those one loved.

  Not only was he reluctant to leave her side, he knew she felt more at ease with him nearby during her recovery. Even if he had already been home for more than two years.

  His mother had become a changed woman in the time when he’d been off re-establishing their fortune. There was now a softness about her, a quiet affection that touched her eyes, whereas before she had been cool and unaffected. He had noticed the same in Eleanor.

  Whatever had transpired within them, he knew it had much to do with Lottie and her lessons with Eleanor. His sister had evidently been Lottie’s first student at her scandalous school for ladies.

  Evander walked up Fleet Street and stopped in at Aphrodite & Cherub. The fresh perfume of hothouse flowers greeted him, as well as the cheerful bidding of the shop girl. The young woman appeared within a second, her blonde hair bound back in a simple twist, as she always wore it, and she regarded him with large doe-brown eyes.

  ‘Good day, Lord Westix.’ She smiled. ‘Welcome back to London.’

  He examined a bunch of violets—a symbol of faithfulness. Their blue-purple petals were brilliant even in the dismal grey light of yet another rainy day. Perhaps they might be ideal for Lottie upon his return. Nearly losing his mother had taught him there was not a moment in life to waste when one knew what one wanted.