Twilight with the Infamous Earl (14 page)

Ravens did not bother to inquire who the lady was. Perhaps he had already deduced which lady had driven his friend to risk his life at this particular den of iniquity.

Frost was touched by the earl’s concern. He was not even remotely close to being drunk. Over the years, he had discovered that he had an impressive tolerance to anything fermented. However, when Colin Halward stepped in front of him, he staggered as he shook off Ravens’s grip.

This was the man he had been waiting for.

“Halward. Most unexpected,” Frost lied as he squinted at the man. “I thought the Golden Stag was too refined for someone like yourself?”

“Now, Frost, play nice. We were just leaving,” the earl murmured.

Was he making excuses to Halward or reminding Frost that he could walk away? Either way, he did not care.

“I was most distressed to see Miss Cavell in your company this afternoon,” Halward said to Frost, deciding to ignore Lord Ravens. “I made a point of sharing my concerns with her mother when I called at the house to pay my respects to the family.”

Had Emily finally revealed her suspicions to her mother once she had run from him? It was obvious Emily had kept her sister’s secrets from her family for the last five years. Otherwise, her mother would have ordered him from the house.

“Stay away from Miss Cavell and her family.” Frost was several inches taller than Halward, and he moved forward to emphasize his threat. “The family has no sway in your grand schemes, so you can afford to be generous.”

“I disagree. Miss Cavell’s father is a respected barrister, and the mother is the daughter of Viscount Ketchen. Marrying their daughter would elevate my standing and open new doors for me.”

The bastard had the audacity to grin at him.

“Cavell will never offer his daughter to a man who has ties to the criminal underworld, Halward. The cloying stench of the stews clings to your finely tailored coat. No amount of scent will cover it.”

Now that he had warned him off from pursuing Emily, Frost was done with the man.

“Money forgives many sins, Chillingsworth,” Halward drawled. “You above all people should know that I speak the truth.”

Frost responded by slamming his fist into the man’s mouth. Pain shot up his arm, but it was worth it. Halward staggered backward and landed on his arse. His eyes glinted with murderous intent as Frost and Ravens watched the man’s mouth bleed and his lower lip swell.

“That might be rather difficult for a few days,” Frost said, taking a clean handkerchief from his coat pocket and tossing it at Halward. “You might want to tend to that cut on your lip.”

The man ignored the handkerchief. “You might do well to watch your back.”

“Why should I when you seem capable of the task?” Frost countered, deliberately offering Halward his back. He was not worried about the man seeking revenge in front of a room filled with witnesses.

As he walked away from the injured man, he murmured to his companion, “Well, that was gratifying.”

Ravens shot him a startled look. “Then your expectations are miserably low. Let’s see if I can improve upon them.”

*   *   *

Lord Ravens’s elixir for a gent sulking over a female was to prove that the world was full of surrogates. Most days, Frost would have heartily approved of the cure. Over the years, how many times had he lectured his friends that no chit was worth a sour stomach and headache?

As much as he loathed to admit it, his relationship with Miss Cavell was different. The charges she had leveled at him were grave and cast him into a despicable light. For the first time in his life, he could claim innocence—but Emily did not believe him. Neither would he, if he had been in her position. The reputation he had nurtured and relished was being used against him.

He was well and truly enraged about it.

Punching Halward helped. Frost despised the man for setting his sights on Nox, but his depraved interest in Emily had provoked Frost to violence. He should have thanked the man for being so obliging.

“Ah, I see your mood has improved,” Ravens said, slumping into one of the nearby chairs with the grace of a panther. “I trust you are enjoying the brandy.”

“Always,” Frost assured him. The richly appointed interior of the earl’s library reminded him of his position. Of the influence he wielded. Halward was a worm to be crushed beneath his heel, even if he alone had to see to the task. “I am also savoring the bruises on my knuckles. I gained a certain satisfaction in cracking Halward’s teeth.”

“About that,” Ravens said, his visage growing serious. “I have heard vague rumors about the man. If any of them are true, it is best to avoid tangling with him. He has more to prove than his manhood, my friend.”

“He is mingling with decent people, Ravens,” Frost argued. Like Emily and her family. “People who can be hurt by the man’s ambition and greed.”

“Are you a decent fellow?” the earl mocked.

“Most people would disagree.” Frost shrugged. “However, I cannot abide people of Halward’s ilk. Sadly, it appears, with maturity even I have developed certain standards of conduct.”

“A pity,” his friend lamented. “I, however, never intend to grow up.”

Frost laughed. “Aye, I must confess, I cannot imagine the sour-faced matrons of the
ton
introducing you to their daughters.”

“And they open their doors to you? Hypocrite,” Ravens said, taking a sip of his wine. “Your very nature is steeped in depravity and sin. You would not know how to exist without it.”

Frost thought of his parents. While Regan could barely recall their father, nonetheless he was old enough to remember him. Much like Hunter and Grace, his parents’ marriage had been arranged by their parents. While there was affection between the couple, once Frost had been born, neither one had let fidelity stand in their way. There had been an endless parade of lovers and mistresses for both of them.

Although it was accepted without question that his father had perished in a hunting accident, Frost had often wondered if it was his sire’s reckless nature that had claimed his life. And while it was likely that his mother would continue to plague him, he considered it a small blessing that Regan had not inherited the family’s more unpleasant traits. She was pure of heart and he intended her to stay that way.

Frost raised his glass to Lord Ravens. “You are probably right,” he said, silently toasting the man he was, flaws and all.

Ravens brightened at the sound of the door opening. He leaned his head back and greeted the three ladies who had entered. “Ah, there you are. Ladies, we have been drinking away our sorrows and despairing for the lack of good company. Pray save us!”

“Lord Ravens, you have been a reclusive host this evening,” the redhead said, boldly kissing him on the mouth. “We feared you had found other amusements.”

“Not when I had learned of your arrival,” the earl said, nonchalantly clasping her hand. “Faith, have you been introduced to my good friend Frost?”

Ravens never troubled himself with titles or surnames. Most of the people who arrived at his door preferred discretion.

The gray-eyed redhead scrutinized him from head to toe. She apparently liked what she saw. “A pleasure, Frost.”

She held out her hand, and he accepted it without getting up. “Good evening, Faith,” he said, assessing the woman before him.

Faith, if that was truly her real name, was older than the redhead who had occupied his thoughts all day. He guessed the woman’s age to be closer to his. She was pretty, but her mouth was a little too generous for her face. He was grateful there was nothing about her that reminded him of Emily.

“The enchanting blonde on my lap is Charity,” Ravens said, rubbing her backside. “Thankfully, the lady is as generous as her name.”

Faith slid down next to him, and her dark-haired friend flanked his other side. A ghost of a smile curved Frost’s lips as the ladies shifted closer. “I hope you were not burdened with the name Chastity, my dear,” he said to the brunette.

“I’m Blythe,” she said, smiling up into his face.

“I can see that you are,” Frost murmured. “Ravens, you have outdone yourself.”

“I usually do,” he boasted. The blonde had managed to untie Ravens’s cravat and undo the top buttons of his shirt.

Frost appreciated the small distraction his friend had arranged. Ravens had even procured a redhead to replace the one who now despised him, another reminder that females could be exchanged as easily as waistcoats.

The two females beside him moved in unison. Faith laid her hand on his face and guided his mouth to hers, while Blythe curled up next to him and placed her hand on his crotch.

His body hardened in reaction.

It was a natural response. One he wasn’t ashamed of. Women were inspiring, after all, and the two on each side of him were making their intentions clear.

Frost politely ended the kiss by turning his head aside, thinking it was unfair for him to have two wenches when his host only possessed the one. Ravens, however, was not paying attention to him, since he and the blonde had gotten straight to business. Charity had straddled the earl and was riding him at a leisurely pace. For his part, Ravens had unfastened the woman’s dress and bared her generous breasts.

He started as a nimble female hand had closed around his semi-erect cock. Faith reached for his cravat, pausing only to lean across him to give Blythe an open-mouth kiss.

For the man in the middle, he felt disconnected from everything. This was not the first occasion that he and Ravens had spent the evening fucking females. He was comfortable with his body. Ravens and various Lords of Vice had glimpsed his muscled arse over the years as they had shared women.

He could not even quibble about the two wenches determined to bed him. They were pretty and certainly knew what they wanted. He enjoyed all types of women, and the nights he could bed more than one, he felt blessed.

So why was he hesitating? His cock was still soft in the woman’s skillful hands. Any other night, he would have bent the brunette over the nearest chair and pounded into her until both of them screamed with pleasure. Then he would have grabbed the redhead and showed her the meaning of endurance. So why was he not fucking himself into a state of exhaustion where Emily’s tearstained face could not haunt him?

The answer hit him like a punch.

He did not want just any woman. Frost wanted Emily. No substitute would satisfy him. “No,” he said gently, removing the brunette’s hand from inside his trousers. He stilled Faith’s hands.

Frost had never found himself in this particular predicament. He had been attracted to other women in the past, but the feeling never lasted. Even when he felt the first stirrings of lust, he could always turn to an available woman to satisfy them.

“My apologies, ladies.”

Faith and Blythe groaned in disappointment as he stood up. He took a moment to adjust himself before he refastened the side buttons on his trousers. He wanted Emily, but felt trapped by the restrictions imposed on him by the
ton,
Regan, his own damn honor. Even Emily was insisting that he should not follow his true nature.

To hell with all of them.

To make amends, Frost clasped each lady’s hand in turn and kissed it. “I will leave you in Ravens’s hands. Don’t fret, I am positive he will be up to the task.”

Ravens was too distracted for explanations, so Frost didn’t bother.

He slipped away into the night. There was only one lady he craved, and he was tired of fighting his nature.

Chapter Sixteen

Emily awoke with a start. She thought she heard a noise, but she must have been dreaming. Or so it seemed, until a large hand covered her mouth.

“Don’t scream,” Frost whispered in her ear.

Emily bit him. It was only fair, since he had frightened her half to death. Her fists shot out and she punched him. Most of them were glancing blows, but one caught him on the chin.

He grunted in pain.

“Christ!” He pulled her against him. “Stop that. Promise me you won’t scream, and I will release you.”

She nodded.

“On your honor?”

Again she nodded, this time speaking against his hand. Frost could not understand her, but her tone must have assured him. Slowly he removed his hand, as if he did not quite trust her.

It stung. She was the one who should be questioning
his
honor.

“There is no point in screaming. My family is out for the evening and the servants are upstairs. I doubt they would hear me,” she grumbled, then tensed as she decided that it was foolhardy to admit that she was on her own.

“May I light a candle?” he asked politely.

Emily stared at him in the darkness and sighed. She had been miserable all evening. Her parting with Frost had been painful, and while she thought she had gained the answers to her unspoken questions, new ones had taken the place of the old.

“Let me do it,” she grumbled, climbing out of her bed. “You will break something I treasure.”

Like my heart.

It took her a few minutes to find what she needed to light the candle. Unused to the bright flame, she blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light. She picked up the brass candleholder and moved to join him.

“How did you get into my bedchamber?” Another question gave her pause. “How did you know which room was mine?”

Good heavens, what if he had found his way into Judith’s bedchamber? Her sister had a strong pair of lungs. If she had been in bed, her screams would have awakened the entire street.

“Your family is careless about locking up the house,” he explained, scowling at her. “This isn’t the country, Emily. There are dangers in this town.”

“So you keep telling me,” she said before she glanced down and remembered that she was wearing her nightgown. Emily gasped. “You can’t be here and see me like this. I don’t care how you found me. You have to go!”

“I can’t,” he said, his gaze following her every movement. “Besides, I approve of what you are wearing.”

Emily growled at him. She actually growled in frustration at his stubbornness. Placing the candleholder on the table beside her bed, she stomped over to the other side of the room. Her maid had placed an extra blanket on the chair. Emily seized it and wrapped it around her body.