His Mistress by Morning (30 page)

He closed his eyes. It seemed that “oddly familiar” was becoming the order of the day. Heavens, he only hoped that Lavinia didn’t notice. The girl had an eye for clothes that was second only to her father’s ability to compound interest.

“Miss Wilmont?”

“Yes, my lord?”

“Are you done meddling in my life?”

The smile she shot him this time came straight from Arbuckle’s portrait of Diana. “Not in the least, Sebastian.”

Why had he bothered to ask?

Sebastian’s worries about their reputations hadn’t been for naught. For Little Titchfield Street had a steady stream of visitors, day and night, and there was one pair of eyes that spied the smiling Charlotte and a rumpled-looking Lord Trent coming down the steps of No. 5.

Miss Wilmont and Lord Trent together on Little Titchfield Street?

Why, it was scandalous!

One might even say
ruinous
.

May 24, 1810
A Fateful Thursday If Ever There Was One

C
harlotte woke up the morning of Lady Routledge’s soirée feeling more confident than she had all week.

Sebastian had remembered something about the house on Little Titchfield Street. He’d remembered the door. It might not seem like much, but to Charlotte it was a bit of hope.

Now all that was left was for her to attend the soirée (for Finella had promised to help her sneak out) and when Herr Tromler played, his sonatas would entice Sebastian to seduce her again.

And if…just if,
she thought, hugging herself to contain her joy, she could gain another kiss, she doubted he would be able to set her aside.

Ever.

Only adding to that good fortune was the fact that this
was the morning that the
Agatha Skye
would arrive at the London docks and their shares would be worth a fortune!

He wouldn’t be forced to marry Miss Burke, and then he would be free to…

Charlotte stopped herself. She didn’t even want to think it lest something happen to curse her good fortune.

She needn’t have held her tongue. For Charlotte’s luck had indeed run out that morning.

For when she went to open her bedroom door, she found it locked.

Sebastian had done his best to regain Miss Burke’s good graces, as well as those of her parents.

He’d banished any thoughts of Lottie…
Miss

Wilmont
…from his thoughts. And tonight, after Lavinia’s reading, they’d announce their betrothal and it would be for the best.

Yes, he told himself for the hundredth time, marriage to Miss Burke was for the best.

But much to his chagrin, their arrival at the Routledge town house coincided with his family’s. He had hoped to keep the Burkes and Marlowes at opposite corners until everything was sorted out.

He didn’t trust his mother or sisters not to come up with some outlandish scheme to stop him. Especially since they would most likely have Miss Wilmont’s capable assistance.

“Lady Hermione! How delightful!” Lavinia called out as his sister climbed down from their hired hackney. “Your costume! So very noteworthy…I almost wish I was doing a theatrical reading, but alas my ode to marriage requires a more modest and somber gown.”

She opened her cloak to reveal an expensive white gown trimmed with gold thread and sparkling crystal beads.

“An ode to marriage?” Griffin quipped. “Perhaps you should have just brought a pair of leg shackles, swung ’em about a bit.”

“Harrumph!” Lady Burke glared at the Marlowes, then pressed her daughter and Sebastian forward. That is until a commotion at the door stopped them all.

“I’m sorry, sir, but you are not on the invitation list.”

“But zee Miss Wilmont invited me.”

Sebastian recognized Herr Tromler’s voice immediately.

The formidable majordomo remained stalwart. “Without Miss Wilmont, I am afraid I am unable to allow you inside.”

“Oh, dear!” Hermione gasped. “Charlotte hasn’t arrived yet.”

Since they were the last of the guests, and the street was already empty, it didn’t appear she was going to arrive in time.

Hermione reached up and tugged on her brother’s coat. “Sebastian, you must go fetch Charlotte!”

Before he could answer, Miss Burke turned around. “Why would he do that?”

Her icy tones didn’t stop Hermione. “Because if Charlotte doesn’t arrive, Herr Tromler won’t be able to perform.”

Lady Burke added her opinion to the discussion. “Miss Wilmont has most likely come to her senses and returned to her rightful place on the shelf.” The lady shot a pointed glance at Sebastian, then back at Hermione. “She has no talents, no money, and nothing to recommend her.” She
glanced over at Tromler. “’Tis no wonder she decided not to make herself ridiculous by passing off that shabby fellow as a talented musician. Why, just look at that awful coat!”

Lady Walbrook, who up until this moment had been busy chatting with another matron, turned around. “Lady Burke,” she said in her most patronizing tone, the one Sebastian knew she used only when she was close to making a scene, “whatever is this about dear Charlotte?”

“She hasn’t arrived yet, and Sebastian won’t fetch her,” Viola reported, looking only too pleased to be part of the growing fray.

“And Herr Tromler will not be able to play,” Hermione added quickly. “Charlotte avers he is a virtuoso, Mother. And we shall miss his London premiere!”

This scene began to spin dangerously out of control, and Sebastian found himself in the eye of the storm, torn and tossed in all directions.

As indeed he was.

Miss Burke wound her arm around Sebastian’s and tugged him closer, pulling him from his family. “Sebastian, we must go inside now. All the best seats will be taken.”

But he stood fast. And when she looked up at him, furious and cold in her disdain, he found himself transfixed.

It became, as his mother might say, a most defining moment.

When Lavinia Burke tipped up her nose in a snooty sort of pose that perfectly mirrored her mother’s contempt, right there and then he saw what his future would be if he married her.

Married to her money and bound forever to her family in obligation and association.

He couldn’t ever see her feeding a hungry musician with a basket of goodies she’d scavenged together. Or bartering the price of worthless shares in a lost ship. Or looking with longing at an empty little house on Little Titchfield Street and wishing she could live at such an address.

And then he saw what would be so utterly lacking in his life.

Passion.
The life-changing, unending, dangerous desire that had the ability to rob a man of his good sense.

Good sense, he decided, didn’t necessarily equate a good life.

Oh, and then he knew only one thing.

Lottie.
He wanted his Lottie. He wanted a life of poetry and struggle. Of passion and endless kisses.

“Where can I find her?” he asked Hermione.

His sister’s eyes brimmed over with tears. “No. 11, Queen Street.”

“You don’t mean you are going to leave and bring her here?” Miss Burke asked. “If you do this, Lord Trent, I will never forgive you.”

He removed her hand from his sleeve, suddenly tired of feeling shackled. “If I don’t do this, I will never forgive myself.”

“Harrumph!” sputtered Lady Burke, catching hold of her daughter and marching up and into the Routledge town house.

Lady Walbrook stepped in front of him. And he saw something in her eyes that he rarely found there. A beaming light that glowed with pride.

“Bless you, Sebastian. Your father would be so proud.”

“I’ve ruined my chances with the Burkes,” he told her.

“We Marlowes have always made our own luck, my dear boy. Our fortunes come from the heart.”

And all Sebastian could do was hope and wish she was right.

Charlotte sat on her narrow bed without a tear left to be shed. Her mother had been adamant; she was not going to Lady Routledge’s soirée.

Not after Lady Burke had called and told a mortified Lady Wilmont that Charlotte had been seen house hunting on Little Titchfield Street with a gentleman.

“And that,” Lady Burke had declared, “could mean only
one
thing.”

Lady Wilmont’s reaction had been swift and vehement. No daughter of hers was going to disgrace the name of Wilmont, and therefore Charlotte was going to remain locked in her room until she was too old to be a lure to any man’s scandalous intentions.

Charlotte had pleaded and cried, pounded and begged to be released, but so far Lady Wilmont would not hear a word of it.

And now here she was, hours later, ready for an evening she couldn’t attend. She’d held out a whisper of hope that Quince’s magic would restore her dreams, and so she’d donned the gown she’d bought for the night and had kept hidden beneath her bed. Between sniffles and bouts of self-pity, she’d fixed her hair and made a thousand different wishes.

Each and every one having to do with Sebastian.

Charlotte twisted the ring on her finger and cursed the day it had arrived in her life.

“’T’would have been better to never have known his love than to lose it all over again,” she whispered.

And what of the
Agatha Skye
? Hadn’t it arrived this morning in triumph? Surely someone would have come to the house to tell her the good news, and then certainly her mother would have relented.

Yet as she glanced over at the clock, she bit back another spate of tears. Ten o’clock. Lady Routledge’s soirée had probably already begun. Hermione and Viola had survived another of their mother’s theatrical ordeals, Miss Burke had wowed her audience with her edifying and perfectly recited ode.

And Sebastian? Most likely he was announcing his betrothal to Lavinia as Lady Burke had told her mother.

Her only joy was that Herr Tromler would make up for her absence and tonight he would triumph.

It was, however, a small comfort.

She heaved a sigh and rose from the bed, ready to put away her finery and consign her life to one of ashes and her mother’s petty complaints, when she heard the distant and distinct jangle of the bell over the front door.

And a few moments later, a second discordant ring echoed through the house.

By the time the bell rang a third time, Charlotte had her ear pressed to the door.

Downstairs, she heard the creak of the front door and the low rumble of voices. But before long, the words rose hot and clear up to the far reaches of her room.

“Get out of my house!” Lady Wilmont shouted.

Charlotte’s heart hammered. Though she hadn’t any wishes left, she closed her eyes and made the only one that mattered.

Then there was the patter of feet coming up the steps, and she backed away from the door.

Finella unlocked it and entered in a flutter and a rush. “Do you love Lord Trent?” she asked breathlessly.

“What?” Charlotte couldn’t believe it.

Finella stood for a moment, most likely transfixed by the sight of Charlotte in her velvet finery, but she recovered quickly, catching her by the hand and smiling at her. “Do you love Lord Trent?”

“Yes,” Charlotte whispered.

“Does he love you?”

“I could only wish for something so wonderful,” she told her.

“Wish no more,” Finella said. “The viscount is downstairs trying to breach Aurora’s defenses. Claims he’ll have you tonight, and no one is going to stop him.”

Charlotte’s eyes welled with newfound tears. “He’s here? For me?”

“Yes, yes. So don’t just stand there. You have a debut to make.”

Charlotte followed Finella down the stairs still not entirely willing to believe this change of fortunes—that is, until they turned the last landing and she spied him in the entry hall arguing with Lady Wilmont.

“—I don’t care what you were told, my intentions toward your daughter are—”

Then he saw her.

Lady Wilmont forgotten, he swept past the angry matron and stood at the bottom of the steps with his hand outstretched for Charlotte.

“You look breathtaking,” he said as her fingers closed around his.

“You came for me?” she whispered back.

“Yes, who else?”

“But I thought—” Her gaze met his. She couldn’t say it. Couldn’t risk asking it. Her heart teetered on the brink of breaking or rejoicing.

“Don’t ever think that again. You are the only woman for me.”

“But I have no fortune. No dowry,” she told him, trying to free her fingers. But he held onto her, and as much as she wanted to send him back to Miss Burke and her ten thousand a year, her heart was close to bursting with joy.

“We Marlowes make our fortunes, or so I’ve been told,” he replied. “And I’ve decided to make mine with you.”

“Not without my blessing, you scoundrel!” Lady Wilmont protested. “I know exactly what your intentions are!” She turned toward Finella. “Blood will tell! And now it has.”

“Aurora!” Finella protested. “Let her go to the soirée. It is Charlotte’s chance to have a place in society.”

“Not if she is going to go out and run afoul. She’ll bring shame and ruin on this house just like—”

“As I said before, madame,” Sebastian interjected, “I am only taking her to Lady Routledge’s. There is nothing improper in that.”

Lady Wilmont’s jaw worked back and forth until a malevolent light blazed in her gaze. “She has no escort. She cannot go with you without a chaperone. I forbid it.”

Charlotte took a deep breath. There was nothing left to do but one thing. It was time to use everything she’d learned as Lottie.

“Mother,” she said. “Will you go with me?”

“I certainly will not appear in public with you, you reckless jade!” Lady Wilmont declared.

Charlotte shook her head. “I wasn’t speaking to you.”
She turned to Finella. “Will you go with me…Mother?”

Even as she made her request, she realized what she was doing. Declaring herself a bastard to the world, to Sebastian.

She didn’t dare look at him right now, as her gaze locked with Finella’s tear-filled eyes.

“How did you know?” the lady asked.

“Does it matter?” Charlotte replied even as she turned to Sebastian. “I suppose you have the right to know. I’m not really a Wilmont. Finella bore me out of wedlock—”

“No!” protested Lady Wilmont.

Charlotte continued, now with no fear of what her
faux
parent could do. “She made a bargain with Lady Wilmont to claim me as her own to save her reputation—and possibly save herself—for if I’d been a boy, I would have been able to inherit Lord Wilmont’s titles and lands instead of his cousin.”

“And she promised you would be a boy,” Aurora wailed, pointing at Finella. “And so I agreed to her idiotic plan, only because Nestor’s titles were to pass to his spendthrift and wretched cousin, and I needed a child to inherit. A son. And then she had you and then there was nothing left to do but raise you as my own daughter. I lost my home, my place in society, and what did my foolish charity gain me?”

“A fine young woman,” Sebastian said, reaching over and taking Charlotte’s hand.