To Love A Wicked Scoundrel. Anabelle Bryant
for the smaller valise near her feet. ‘Were I of a more suspicious nature I would believe he contrived the same arrangement with any number of hopeful females across the county so he needs never to purchase tea.’
‘Do not be unkind.’ Isabelle would never admit it but on occasion she considered the very same apprehension. While Lord Lutts appeared a gentleman beyond reproach, he never actually indicated he held her in affection. He did seem a very congenial man though, and a future with him would not be unpleasant.
‘I merely speak plainly. There is a difference. If this is Lord Lutt’s cloddish attempt at courtship, I could never allow my stepdaughter to commit to such a life of boredom. How would I visit your home without perishing from ennui?’ Meredith offered an entreating smile from across the room. ‘Come with us. You will like it. I have it all arranged.’
‘You really must come!’ Lily bounced forward from the bed. ‘I will need you there. Who will walk with me in the park? Mother says there are wonderful botanical gardens, but they will all make her sneeze. I shall never see them if you do not come with us. You must say yes!’
As suspected, Lily had followed every word of their conversation, and the child’s encouraging plea caused her to relent. She nodded in agreement and could not prevent a small smile as Meredith and Lily released a high-pitched squeal. But the celebratory cheer was short-lived.
‘Excellent, we will leave tomorrow. According to The Morning Post – ’ Meredith waved a few sheets of newsprint through the air ‘ – this year’s social calendar promises to be the very best. I have followed his scandalous exploits for two seasons now and I no longer wish to read about him. I wish to flirt with the scoundrel. I wish to dance in his arms.’
‘Who? Where? What scheme are you hatching?’ Isabelle wrinkled her nose as she accepted the scandal sheets thrust in her direction. She never spared a glance to what the haute ton considered amusing. Her world remained so detached from the glittering exploits of the aristocracy she saw no good reason to fill her head with frivolous rubbish. Unfortunately, her stepmother thrived upon every word.
‘I intend to capture the attention of London’s most notorious rake. If I am to re-enter society, I seek to do so in grand style. From what I have read, Lord Constantine Highborough, Earl of Colehill, is the exact tonic required for my malaise. He is the ton’s charmed darling. A devil-may-care rascal. A man beyond handsome. Don’t you see?’ She released a self-satisfied sigh and sat down on the corner of the largest portmanteau.
Isabelle tossed the scandal sheets on the bed’s coverlet with disinterest. ‘Love does not grow in such a manner. Affection begins with friendship and then cultivated with care becomes – ’
‘Good Lord, spare me the garden references. I am seeking a grand adventure, not a love affair. And if I may say, Lord Lutts included, you would not know love if it bit you. Now go pack your things. London is waiting for us!’
Park Lane, Grosvenor Square
Mayfair, London
‘Brooks!’
Constantine Highborough, Earl of Colehill, pulled a pillow forward to shield his eyes as his valet opened the heavy drapes and drenched the otherwise dark room in instant daylight. His menacing complaint resounded throughout the silent townhouse grandly situated near the eastern corner of Grosvenor Square. Attempting a shred of tolerance, he squinted across the room to ascertain Brooks, his valet, stood within his bedchamber. There was an incident some time ago when a misguided widow entered through the servant’s door and found her way into his rooms. While the outcome of that happenstance proved pleasurable, as a general rule Constantine despised surprises. He was a man of little patience, accustomed to getting whatever he desired whenever he desired it, whether in reference to his own interests, the plethora of women who pursued him, or the sycophantic adoration of London’s chosen society.
Upon seeing his valet, he barked a ready order. ‘Close the drapes! I just climbed abed a few hours ago.’
Brooks walked to the grate, stirred the fire, and returned to the window, his attention held by some distant point Constantine could not fathom.
‘Forgive me, milord. It is nearly two o’clock in the afternoon. I had no idea you just stumbled in. I recall two weeks past when you discovered Lady Wilmington waiting in your carriage. I did not see you for several nights thereafter. Good of you to send the messenger, though.’
Constantine groaned. It would appear his valet was in rare form this morning. His final sentence was clipped and spoken rather pithily, and worse, the man persisted.
‘No one can blame me for jumping to conclusions. At times it is a difficulty to keep a schedule of your frequent trips to the vineyards, never mind on occasion when your carriage or your attentions are waylaid by a pretty face.’
‘Brooks, please.’ His words, nothing more than a muffled grumble, accomplished little. His valet had yet to draw the drapes and Con’s irritation continued to build.
‘And too, there is your terrible habit of burning the candle at both ends. You move about society until the wee hours of the morning and then closet upstairs in your studio painting until well into the day. It is no wonder you are tired. But when the entire city hangs on your every word, styles after your mode of dress, and overlooks the impropriety of females loitering in front of your house in hopes of catching your eye, I can readily understand your exhaustion. You are human, are you not?’
Disgusted with Brooks’ condemning diatribe, Con threw back the sheets and strode to the windows, heedless of the fact he wore very little clothing. He yanked the draperies closed. ‘Believe me, I am human and, as such, experience many human emotions, including anger and annoyance. Keep the drapes closed, cease complaining about my reputation, and aspire to adhere more closely to my schedule as it is the central reason I have you in my employ.’ He strode to the bed and climbed back under the blankets.
Undaunted, Brooks continued his chastisement. ‘Now you have done it. If any of the flirtatious females out in the square glanced up to these windows in that instant, they would have been scandalised by your unclothed form.’
‘I rather doubt it.’ He pulled to a sitting position in bed, and tucked the sheets and counterpane around him, resolved no sleep would occur. ‘The women who hide in my carriage, skulk by the window or throw themselves fortuitously in my path would be far from scandalised by my naked body. It is, in fact, their main objective.’
He did not add how apathetic he’d become to the tedious antics of these same females. Their constant attention complicated his life and while he thoroughly enjoyed the female body in all its beauty, he cared little for the jaded manner in which these same women approached him. Over the past several years Brooks had become accustomed to turning them away and deflecting their pursuits, so Con had no idea what caused the valet’s surly mood this morning. He reached for the coffee steaming on his bedside table, another courtesy of Brooks’ attention, and viewed his valet who peered out the window, where something held his keen interest captive.
Nearly of the same age, their friendship was stronger than the alliance of their eight-year association as employer and servant. While it remained highly uncommon for a peer to employ a valet born almost in the same year, Con prided himself on doing little that could be labeled ordinary.
Brooks opened the drapes wider and turned in Con’s direction. ‘I am watching the Bilmont townhouse across the square. It appears it has finally been rented. Three carriages and quite a bit of luggage arrived earlier, along with an efficient staff and extra outriders. I could not help but observe the scurrying servants unloading excessive amounts of baggage. I surmise it is a large family by the sight of all the trunks. Still, I suppose the place has fallen into hideous condition in the two years since old Duke Bilmont went bankrupt.’
‘And that is what holds your attention? A bunch of luggage and servants? You, my friend, are a busybody.’ Con wiped his palm over his face and exhaled his opinion, almost missing his valet’s