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Authors: Emma Wildes

BOOK: Our Wicked Mistake
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“Brook Street.”
“Ah, that
is
close by. I’ll tell him to take a turn around the block first so we have a few minutes to talk.”
Without waiting for her to agree, he gave Harold the address, and then clambered in to settle opposite. As they pulled away, he said without preamble, “It was the doctor’s opinion Fitch wasn’t even seriously injured, and his unconscious state might just as easily have been liquor induced as anything.”
“I am relieved. At the same time, he might be more vindictive than ever now. I’d like to say it doesn’t worry me, but of course it does.” Her mouth trembled just enough that it unfortunately drew his attention to her soft lips, and he recalled a little too clearly how they felt crushed beneath his in a fiery kiss.
“I am going to venture a guess he might not even re member the incident, and even if he does recollect it, he won’t possess the journal much longer.” Luke smiled without humor. “And if he approaches you in any way, in private or in public, he won’t possess his
life
much longer. Don’t worry, my dear. If he decides to cause you any more grief, just let me know and he will understand clearly he is dealing with me now.”
“Why are you doing this?” Her fingers were clenched white where they clasped the reticule in her lap.
“Doing what, precisely?”
“Helping me so generously.”
“Why do you think?” An evasive and unfair answer, mostly given because he didn’t quite know what to say.
Because I can’t forget you.
No, that would never do.
Dark eyes regarded him intently and she said nothing for a moment, the carriage rumbling along the street fast enough her slender form swayed just a little on the seat. Then she said, “Do not ask me why, because I can speak from experience that you are not always gallant or reli able, but I knew you would aid me.”
The reference was, of course, to how after spending that one memorable night making love to her over and over with an unleashed hunger she seemed to share, he had just simply walked away. “I had reasons to be ungal lant,” he said coolly.
She arranged her skirts with an idle hand, but there was nothing nonchalant in the poignant expression on her lovely face. “Besides Colin, you have been my only lover.” The confession was hushed.
He suspected as much, and having it confirmed didn’t make him feel better about what had happened—and then not happened—between them. There was little question he’d been less than honorable, and while he wasn’t a saint, he didn’t normally involve himself with anyone like Madeline. She didn’t resemble in the least the jaded
ton
beauties who played at intrigue and plea sure like practiced courtesans.
Her voice just above a whisper, she continued, “When you never called upon me afterward, acted so distant in public, as if it had never taken place, and declined to answer the note I had swallowed my pride to write and send, I had to assume that I somehow disappointed you. Was the passion I remember only one-sided?”
Hell and blast, he had wanted to talk to her, but not about
this
, though it probably needed to be said. “Far from it,” he admitted. “Which I think you know, whatever you’ve told yourself. My considerable enthusiasm for your charms was hardly feigned.”
“Then . . . why?”
“Because you are not the type of woman who becomes a man’s mistress, and I have no intention of marrying you. I thought it best ended quickly.”
Madeline stared at him in clear bewilderment, and he had the impression he had perhaps hurt her more at this moment than he had with his deliberate indifference a year ago.
He felt like a scoundrel. A bounder. A callous rake-hell. All, and probably even more unattractive descrip tions, applied.
“If I interpret what you just said correctly, you en joyed my body, but my company is distasteful. Is that it?” Her voice was carefully devoid of emotion.
“Not at all. You are intelligent, articulate, and charming in every way.” He owed her that much, and it was the truth. “When you remarry, your husband will be an extremely lucky man. I hope you choose well.”
“Is it marriage, then, that is the issue?”
“I will marry someday. I need an heir.”
Her chin lifted a fraction, but her face had taken on color, as if he’d insulted her. “I gave Colin a son.”
Luke knew she hadn’t come to his bed lightly, and that in itself was part of the problem. “I am aware of that. What is he now, six?”
“Trevor is seven,” she supplied, looking more con fused than ever. “Luke—”
He couldn’t possibly do this, hurting her even though it wasn’t his intention. It might be ill advised, but he bit out, “You are beautiful, generous, desirable. I desire you still.” The carriage was slowing, and he was relieved the conversation he’d avoided so diligently for the past year was nearly over. “But we don’t suit for one important reason, my dear Madge, and it is an insurmountable one.”
“Enlighten me.”
They rolled to a halt and he lost no time opening the door, alighting and offering his hand to help her out.
Madeline refused to take it, sitting stubbornly in the froth of her yellow skirts, her mouth set. “You have come this far, Altea. Enlighten me as to this insurmount able reason.”
God help him. She was so very beautiful.
“Can you promise me you won’t die?”
Her eyes widened and her lips parted.
Gently he said, “No, of course you can’t. Now, then, I hope you have a pleasant visit with your sister in law, and don’t worry further about the little matter with Fitch. It is well in hand.”
Chapter Four
 
 
 
T
he symphony of whispers rose and fell and rose again with the arrival of each guest, and particularly, Eliza beth Daudet noted, when her brother was announced. Something had happened she wasn’t aware of, and whatever it might be, it certainly had tongues wagging. Asking her mother was out of the question. If it involved a female, Elizabeth was supposed to pretend she didn’t know gentlemen like Luke entertained themselves
that
way.
Luckily, she knew precisely how to find out what was going on.
Elegant in dark evening wear, Luke strolled to the edge of the crowd, his height giving him the advantage as he scanned the milling throng. He smiled in acknowledgment when he spotted her sipping champagne and standing with a small group of her friends, and then a beautiful woman with red-gold hair and a daring décolletage swooped in and coquettishly took his arm, and his attention was diverted.
The notorious Lord Altea was Elizabeth’s guardian, and she was not unaware it amused the
ton
to no end to see him diligently monitoring her social life. She found it a bit funny herself, but doubted Luke enjoyed the role of chaperone imposed on him. It wasn’t at all that he neglected to fulfill his role as viscount and, subsequently, head of the family, but since his return from Spain he was . . . distant.
He didn’t talk about it, but something had happened to change him. Maybe it was just the war itself; it was beyond her realm of experience and she couldn’t begin to understand, but it was
there
.
There didn’t seem to be a better way to describe it, though how
was
a man supposed to act after spending half a decade away from his home and enduring blood shed and danger and whatever else returning soldiers refused to mention in polite company?
It could hardly be Lady Hart’s blatant interest in Luke causing the current furor, Elizabeth knew, for the lady in question had been in full, unabashed pursuit for weeks now. There was no scandal in someone flirting with her handsome older brother. Women did it quite frequently.
“Excuse me.” Her smile was perfunctory, for the small group of young ladies around her were more ac quaintances than close confidants. “I promised his lord ship a dance.”
Suitably vague. The reference could apply to most any male in the ballroom, for there were plenty of titled gentlemen in attendance. Elizabeth handed her glass to a passing footman with a tray and scanned the crowd as she circled the swirling dancers.
There.
She caught a glimpse of a familiar profile, her quarry’s partner a young woman she recognized as the daughter of one of Parliament’s more influential lords, which could possi bly be why Miles was now swirling her across the floor.
The music ended, and as the polite exchanges and ex odus off the floor began, Miles spotted Elizabeth stand ing close by, and lifted his brows in unspoken question.
She waited as he bowed over the hand of the—simpering, in her opinion—young woman, and then joined her by the open terrace doors. “What?” he asked without preamble, adjusting his cuffs in an affectation that annoyed her, which was probably why he did it in the first place. He’d been antagonizing her since childhood. “And before you tell me why you are loitering here, pinning me with that penetrating stare I know so well, may I say I like that shade of rose much better on you than that insipid pink gown you wore the other night that made you look both sallow and about twelve years old?”
She regarded her cousin with a withering look. “What a lovely, well-worded compliment. I might swoon in gratitude.”
Miles, as always, was unfazed by the sarcasm. “At least I didn’t mention you are no longer quite as flatchested, and those occasional, unfortunate spots seem to be a thing of the past. A porcelain complexion is quite the fashion right now. My compliments.”
In a saccharine tone, she retorted, “In the spirit of generosity, I’ll say your longer hairstyle somewhat distracts one from noticing the length of your nose. Perhaps you are growing into it after all. I despaired to see it happen.”
“My nose isn’t long.” He had the nerve to look offended, as if he hadn’t started the argument.
“My chest isn’t flat.”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
“You shouldn’t be looking, either way.”
“Men happen to do that once they reach a certain age.” He merely grinned, clearly unrepentant. “I also have to shave quite often now too.”
When
had
he gotten so tall
, she wondered in pure irritation, since she came up only to his chin at best, and once upon a time, she had been able to look him in the eye. His shoulders too had broadened, and his features, which had once been almost girlishly pretty, had done some sort of inexplicable metamorphosis into masculine angles and clean lines that her friends actually thought attractive. They even whispered over him.
Just imagine, whispering over
Miles
.
In fact, her cousin was fast gaining a reputation as a rake, and no one was more surprised than she was that the awkward, irritating companion of her youth was be coming so popular with the beau monde.
Elizabeth took his arm in a firm grip. “I want to talk to you.”
“Apparently so,” he said dryly, but didn’t resist when she tugged him toward the corner by the already dis ordered and almost empty canapé table. “What’s so urgent?”
“What did Luke do?” she asked bluntly when they were relatively alone, sandwiched between the aban doned tables and a potted plant. “I can tell something has happened, but no one wants to mention it to me, apparently.”
Her cousin regarded her with his usual lazy insouci ance. “You wish me to repeat common gossip?”
“Absolutely, if it concerns my brother.”
“He might not thank me for it.” Miles propped a shoulder against the wall and shrugged. “Look, El, it isn’t anything truly scandalous, so just forget it. Reck less, maybe, but he can afford it.”
“Afford what?” she asked. Truth was, she was worried about Luke. The joie de vivre exterior he sometimes presented was at odds with the long hours he spent brooding in his study. Though she hadn’t mentioned it, she knew their mother also disapproved of his overnight absences and distractions. It wasn’t like him.
“Luke might have my head for telling you. We have a gentlemen’s code.”
“Code?” she echoed with a small snort that might even be interpreted as unladylike. “Aren’t you the same
gentleman
who once slipped a frog into my bed?”
“I was ten.” But he laughed.
Actually, Elizabeth realized, when he laughed like that, he did look quite handsome. His dark brown hair and his eyes, so light a brown as to seem almost gold in color, were not quite as nondescript as she’d once thought. Maybe the giggling young ingenues weren’t completely daft. Despite his maddening tendencies to be deliberately obtuse and tease her relentlessly, he had a certain charisma. As children, it had served them well. His clever explanations had gotten them out of more than one scrape that might have proved uncomfortable.
She said acerbically, “Luke might have
my
head for poking my nose into his affairs, but I’m asking anyway. So tell me, what did he do he could afford, but shouldn’t have?”
“Wagered twenty thousand on one hand of cards.”
Elizabeth blinked. “Twenty thousand
pounds
?” It was an enormous sum. She might not be privy to her brother’s finances, but that didn’t matter. Twenty thousand was a significant amount.

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