Twilight with the Infamous Earl (8 page)

Emily’s eyes widened at the club’s name. “Nox?”

“When Frost and his friends were younger, they managed to get blackballed from most of the clubs so they started their own. To fund it, they opened a gambling hell. It’s quite successful,” she said proudly.

Good heavens! “I am certain it is.” Emily did not know if she could endure another surprise this evening.

Lord Chillingsworth and his friends were connected to Nox. Why had no one told her? A few weeks ago, when she had condemned the gambling hell to a small group of ladies, everyone had agreed with her. Some of them had even offered their assistance in helping her find a way to shut down the notorious club.

“I need to leave,” Emily said abruptly as she stood.

“What?” Regan looked disappointed as she rose from the sofa as well. “It has been years since we have seen each other. Now that I know you will be remaining in town, I want to introduce you to my friends.”

“You are too kind,” Emily said, immediately regretting how dismissive she sounded.

“Not really.”

Her eyes widened in astonishment at the marchioness’s admission.

Noting Emily’s expression, Regan elaborated, “When Frost banished me to Miss Swann’s, I was angry, hurt, miserable, and defiant. Most of the girls either hated me or feared me.” Her friend’s blue eyes misted as the memories of that period in her life assailed her. “Nina and Thea eased my loneliness, but then there was you. When we first met, I could tell that you were appalled by my behavior, but you still befriended me. I never told you how much I appreciated your kindheartedness.”

Although Emily was touched by the marchioness’s words, it just added another layer of doubt and complication to her muddled feelings. “I often worried that you considered me more of a nuisance than a friend.”

“Never.” Regan cast a discreet glance at the doorway. “I hope your leaving has nothing to do with the fact that my husband and I caught you kissing my brother.”

Emily’s shy smile faded as shame burned throughout her entire body at the thought that her brazen behavior had been on display for anyone to observe. How could she have been so reckless?

“You saw us?” she asked, wishing the conflagration of her mortification would simply turn her into a pile of ash that could be swept away.

“As we made our way upstairs.” Regan moved closer and whispered, “I do not wish to speak unfavorably of my brother. Nevertheless, I feel obligated to warn you that he is quite the scoundrel.”

“Compliments, brat?” Frost said mockingly as he followed Lord Pashley into the parlor. “You astound me. It is so good to have the support of my family.”

An awkward silence settled in the room.

Without meeting the earl’s knowing gaze, Emily hastily uttered her farewells and left the room before anyone thought to stop her.

*   *   *

Regan’s shoulders slumped with the burden of her guilt. “Frost—”

“Spare me,” he snapped, ruthlessly cutting off her apology. He glanced at Dare. If he had seen pity in the gent’s face, he would have punched him. “Well, that was an exceedingly unique experience. Usually, when I kiss a lovely wench, she doesn’t flee from the room.”

Sighing, his sister sat down on the sofa. “Out of fairness, Emily Cavell deserved to be warned. You
are
a scoundrel. And few ladies can resist you when you decide to be charming.”

“Why thank you, brat.” He sat down beside her and pressed a kiss to her temple. “However, you should credit your friend with more intelligence. She seems immune to my charm.”

It was perverse of him, but it only made him want to kiss her again. Whether she was willing to admit it or not, she had liked kissing him.

“Clever girl,” Dare teased.

He grinned at his brother-in-law. “Care to wager on it, gent?”

“No wagers,” his sister protested. “I consider the lady a friend.”

Frost shrugged, content to let the matter drop. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Even so, Miss Cavell has not seen the last of me.”

*   *   *

With a polite smile pasted on her face, Emily stood beside her mother for the next two hours in the ballroom while she discussed gardening and the proper sauce for halibut with several ladies. During that time, three gentlemen had approached the group and invited her to dance. Much to her mother’s disapproval, she had refused all offers. She explained apologetically that she had sprained her foot, and the lie left the gentlemen’s pride intact while it spared her a long lecture from her mother. In truth, she had been worried that if Lord Chillingsworth noticed that she was dancing, he might approach her again. Thankfully, he had kept his distance. She had only caught a glimpse of him once as he and Lord Pashley had made their way to the card room. Instead of relief, dread pooled in her stomach.

I kissed Frost.

Emily shuddered and told herself it was in disgust. Hours later and alone in her bedchamber, she could still feel him. Her lips tingled as if he had branded her. Standing in front of her mirror dressed in her nightgown, she moistened her lower lip and tasted him.

She had barely spoken a word on the drive home. Her mother and younger siblings managed to carry on a conversation without her. They thought she was weary from their evening out, so when her mother told her to go to bed, Emily kissed her on the cheek and dutifully went upstairs. Mercy had been waiting for her when she entered her bedchamber. The maid looked after her and her sister Judith, and when she wasn’t needed she was given other chores by their housekeeper. Mercy helped her undress, and when Emily could manage on her own, the maid slipped out of the room to check in on Judith.

Turning away from the mirror, she grabbed her hairbrush from the dressing table and walked over to her bed. She sat down on the edge of the mattress and brushed her hair. Occasionally, she paused to pluck a hairpin that Mercy had missed, but it did not take long before her strokes were unhindered from crown to the ends of her hair.

Emily was too distracted by the events of this evening to find pleasure in the task. When she was a child, Lucy used to brush Emily’s hair each night. However, her sister had to catch her first. This often involved Lucy pushing her to the ground and sitting on her back. Emily retaliated by pulling her sister’s hair. Once the yelling and name-calling had ceased, the pair had settled down and focused on the task.

They talked about their day. They shared their joys, the real and imaginary slights—usually their brother Ashley was to blame—and their discoveries. In hindsight, Emily had been too young to appreciate those unguarded moments with her sister.

Lucy often complimented Emily’s red hair, declaring it her best feature. Naturally, she had envied her sister’s golden-blond tresses, similar in hue to their mother’s. Her red hair was a legacy from some unknown ancestor, and as a child she considered it too garish to be pretty. She had longed for hair like her sister’s.

Lucy.

Not all of her recollections of her sister were happy. She recalled one afternoon when Lucy had been furious at her for eating the last gooseberry tart. She called Emily a red-haired changeling. Six years old at the time, she had thought it an unforgivable insult. She had sobbed in her mother’s arms for almost an hour, and her sister had been sent to bed without supper as a punishment.

When her parents had sent her off to Miss Swann’s Academy for Young Ladies, Emily had begged them not to. It had seemed frivolous to be acquiring the social polish reserved for noblemen’s daughters and heiresses. She blamed her mother for the decision. As Viscount Ketchen’s youngest daughter, she expected her daughters to eventually make respectable matches even though they were commoners. Although her mother’s life no longer revolved around the
ton,
she had high hopes that one of her girls would marry a nobleman.

By the time Emily had returned home, it was obvious that their mother had placed all her hopes in her eldest daughter. Lucy’s first season in London had been a success. Using the family’s connections, her sister had been presented to members of some of the most influential families in England. And while the Earl of Leventhorpe was not the only gentleman to fall in love with her sister, he had been one of the richest. His offer had been overly generous, and her parents eagerly accepted.

Emily had assumed that her sister was overjoyed by the prospect of marrying Lord Leventhorpe. Her letters from London implied she was enjoying herself, and she had made dozens of friends. Eventually, Emily had traveled to London for a visit. She had been too young to join her sister as she made the rounds to the countless fetes and balls, but there were other amusements to entertain her.

Lucy had changed
.

Even now, she struggled to accept it. Emily did not know if the years they had spent apart had altered their friendship or if London had ruined her. Something had changed her sister.

Or someone.

Emily stopped brushing her hair. If she persisted she would end up bald, and then her mother would make her wear those unattractive headdresses many matrons preferred. She set down the hairbrush and used the bedpost for support as she climbed to her feet.

Pressing her face against the carved wood, she groaned. “He can’t be the one. Lucy was confused. She did not know what she was saying at the end.”

Emily could not avoid the truth. She had come to London to find a man named Frost, but he had found her first. He had even rescued her and a young girl.

I feel obligated to warn you that my brother is quite the scoundrel.

Regan’s words had haunted her all evening. She had erroneously assumed her sister’s seducer had been a Lord Frost or a Mr. Frost. She had not considered that the name Lucy had whispered in her ear with her last breath might be an affectionate nickname.

There was no one watching her. She no longer had to hide her feelings. With a muffled sob, Emily did not bother hold back her tears. Her hands slid down the bedpost as she fell to her knees. She cried for her sister, who had loved the wrong man and had taken her life because she could not live with her sins. She also cried for herself. Lucy had asked Emily to keep her secrets, and she had kept her promise.

However, the knowledge that the man who had seduced and abandoned her sister had walked away unscathed had weighed on her heart. Her guilt and frustration had burned like a caustic poison in her throat. It was only when her mother had told her that she would be spending the season in London that a kernel of a plan began to germinate.

What if she could find Frost?

What would it take to destroy him?

It was a fanciful notion. She was a mere woman. If he was a nobleman, what power could she wield against him? Or worse, what if he was a dangerous man?

The Frost she had met on the streets of London fit both descriptions. What troubled her most was that she was attracted to the earl. He was handsome and witty, and he was the first man Emily had kissed.

Sitting on the floor of her bedchamber, Emily sobbed as if her heart were broken. She barely knew the man, but if he was the gentleman who ruined her sister, then he was her enemy.

She did not want to make the same mistake as her sister, and fall in love with Lord Chillingsworth.

Chapter Nine

Frost was in a foul mood when he entered his town house.

Emily Cavell had literally slipped from his fingers before he was finished with her; Dare had teased him mercilessly all evening; the damn puppies he had chased away from Emily had taken turns sneering at him—though they were intelligent enough to keep their distance; he had lost at cards; Lady Netherley tried to corner him because there was a young lady that the elderly marchioness thought he should meet; and an old rival had worked up the courage to confront him about a former lover. Frost assured the gentleman that he was happy to oblige him, but not in the middle of Lord and Lady Fiddick’s ballroom. As he had departed to confront the man in a less public setting that they had arranged in advance, his sister told him to stay away from Emily.

“No lady holds your heart for long,” she had pointed out as they stood in the Fiddicks’ front hall. “And I will not have you breaking my friend’s.”

“I cannot break something I have never claimed or desired” had been his reply. “My interests lay farther south.”

It had been the wrong thing to say to Regan. With her nose in the air, she had stomped off. Dare would eventually calm her down with assurances that her friend was safe from Frost’s machinations.

Some lies benefited everyone.

“Good evening, Lord Chillingsworth,” his butler greeted him in the front hall. Several lamps were lit, but his state of undress revealed the servant had been roused from his bed.

“Sparrow, there is no need for you to wait on me at this late hour,” Frost chided as he removed his gloves. If his servants kept his unpredictable evening hours, nothing would ever get done during the day.

He walked over to the small mirror on the wall and peered at the small cut at the corner of this mouth. The bleeding had stopped almost immediately, but the wound was tender.

“Milord, you are hurt.”

“It is nothing. Lasher has the pugilist skills of an elderly woman. If his fingernail hadn’t scratched me, I would have walked away from the fight unscathed.”

“I have every faith in your abilities,” the butler said soothingly. “But there is no reason to risk it becoming infected. I will heat some water to clean it properly.”

“There’s no need to trouble yourself, Sparrow. A glass of brandy before I retire should clean it to your satisfaction.” He turned his back on his reflection and headed toward the stairs. “Once you’ve brought the brandy, you may return to your bed.”

“One more thing, milord.” The butler glanced upstairs. “A lady has come to call on you.”

Frost scowled at the news. “And you let her in? What could she have promised to convince you to defy my standing orders?”

He had very few rules when it came to his mistresses. Most of them were negotiable, but one rule he refused to yield on. He conducted his affairs anywhere but his private residence. While it would have been convenient to invite his lovers into his town house, he had Regan to consider. As a girl, she had always been curious, had asked too many questions, and had observed too much in her young life. It had been one of the reasons why he had sent her to Miss Swann’s Academy. Even though he had tried to shield her from witnessing the baser needs of the Lords of Vice, she had grown into a cheeky little minx.