Mistress in the Making (2 page)
“You’re cracked if you think your twin killed your eldest brother. The letter mentioned no evidence of foul play.”
“He was thrown from his horse, Bell.”
“Exactly. Thrown from his horse and broke his neck. End of story. Sebastian, bastard though he is, couldn’t have planned it.”
“Why not?” Lucas demanded. “A loose shoe, a stone under a saddle, there are a thousand ways to unseat an excellent rider.”
Bellamy frowned and drummed his fingers on the wood railing. “The earl was an excellent rider, but he was also a daring rider, perhaps too daring.”
Lucas snorted and rose to his full height, turning to prepare for disembarking. The sour, salty smells of London’s docks assailed his nostrils and hammered home the realization he was back from his travels to a world where most believed him missing or dead. Seven years away and not much had changed. London still stank and Bellamy was still at his side.
And yet everything had shifted. The title of Earl of Westhunt was now held by his twin, Sebastian, a brother who’d been all too happy when Lucas ran off in the dead of night to join a party leaving for business ventures in India. And their eldest brother, groomed to be Earl from birth, was now deceased.
“I will make the presumptuous assumption we are not to bunk at the family town home tonight then?” Bellamy asked, striding down the plank directly behind him.
Lucas retained his brisk pace and swiveled his head slightly to confirm Bell’s assumption. “I leave the question of our lodging in your capable hands.”
Behind him Bellamy muttered, but Lucas knew he’d pull through. If there was a more capable man at sorting through red tape, he’d yet to meet him.
“John,” Lucas called to his solicitor, the one London man he’d maintained contact with throughout his journeys. He sped up his steps to greet the other man with a hearty handshake. “How goes it? Still in trade I see.” He enjoyed ribbing John, the youngest son of a duke who didn’t take the easy road, but chose to work for coin instead. He and John had a lot in common. They’d never been satisfied living the life of a pampered aristocrat and both sought something more meaningful in their lives.
“Mr. Morgan. Still hanging with the dregs, I see,” John responded easily with a grin at Bellamy who returned the smile, along with a rude hand gesture. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of renting a property for you.”
Bellamy clapped John on the back. “Excellent. Less work for me.”
“It’s nothing fancy,” John warned. “Hasn’t been lived in for some years. Only one or two rooms may be habitable.”
Lucas laughed. “It will be a palace.”
“I’ll say.” Bellamy smiled with a far-off look on his face. “Real English featherbeds and, best of all, no sand.”
“Show us home, John, and on the way, tell me news of my twin,” Lucas said. “Has he taken on the mantle of responsibility along with the title, or has he maintained his hell-raising ways?” He fingered two letters in his waistcoat. The one from his school days was worn and soft from multiple readings and highlighted his supposed misdeeds at school. His twin had written it to their father, blaming all his capers on Lucas. It now served as a reminder to never trust Sebastian. The crisper letter detailed his eldest brother’s death in quick phrasing.
“The latter, I’m afraid, and wait until you hear what mischief he’s entered into this time. It involves a woman named Madame Bella.”
Bellamy visibly perked up as he climbed into John’s carriage. “Madame? Sounds promising.”
John climbed in opposite and shook his head. “Not this. Rumors are circling it involves innocent chits.”
Lucas frowned. Off the boat and into the thick of things, all involving his twin. Seven years away and that hadn’t changed. He leaned forward, planting his forearms on his thighs. “Tell me more.”
Chapter Two
“Do I hear one thousand?”
Madame Bella’s overly floral scent floated up to Charlotte’s position on the newly erected dais, forcing her to hold her breath, lest she get sick. Nothing would lower the bidding like the sight of her casting her crumpets all over her royal-blue, slightly vulgar gown. Charlotte tried to hide a nervous giggle and focus on smiling prettily at all the assembled gentleman never allowing one in particular to catch her eye. Better she maintain the pretense that they weren’t real flesh-and-blood men who eyed her as if she were their next meal. There’d be time enough for that later, when she belonged to one of them.
“One thousand five hundred.”
Madame Bella paused to acknowledge the bid from a man in the corner. The sudden, slight English inflection told Charlotte the madam was surprised by this latest bidder, but didn’t outwardly show it other than losing the French accent she claimed was real.
“Show your bosom,” called a voice from the crowd. “How am I to know to know if she’s worth a bid?”
Charlotte lifted her chin and let her coy smile stretch, planting her sisters’ images in her mind. She did this for them. For them she could do anything. Thank goodness Madame had allowed her to switch places with Elizabeth. When she’d arrived at Madame’s doorstep instead of Elizabeth, she risked everything, but luckily Madame relented and agreed to train her instead of her younger, prettier sister.
Lavish, crimson velvet draperies hung inches away giving her comfort that she’d grab them if her knees crumpled as they currently threatened. It was a false hope. She’d seen George hang those draperies this morning. Barely more than a thin nail apiece held them aloft, giving the dais the appearance of a stage and her as a prima donna on display. More likely, she’d pull the curtains down with her.
There was an endless, infinite pause as Madame turned to her for an assessing glance before turning a coquettish smile to the heckler. Her smile reminded most men in the room why she’d been the toast of London mistresses before retiring and opening her “finishing” school.
“I promise you, Charlene is worth every sovereign and more. She’s my best pupil. I considered keeping her on as my assistant teacher.”
Charlotte nearly snorted at Madame’s lie, but barely started at the sound of her new name. If caring for the other girls and reading every book in her library meant top marks in Madame’s mind, then yes, she was a top pupil. Somehow she doubted they valued the same qualities.
Madame continued berating the man shouting from the crowd. “Seeing as you haven’t got a ha-penny to your name, it is unlikely you’ll ever see a hint of any bosoms in this venue,” she said, quickly turning away from the heckler and back to the bidding.
Madame stepped onto the dais and fisted a lock of Charlotte’s hair. “Like silk gentleman. And the color? Pure gold.” Charlotte stood as still as possible while Madame detailed each of her features. She’d never thought about her breasts being a perfect handful, but she supposed Madame knew what gentlemen liked.
Most of the offers now seemed to be coming from the same two men, both seemingly opposites in position and temperament. One of the higher-bidding gentleman, stood surrounded by cronies and hangers-on. His old-gold coat bespoke of wealth and a fine valet. The group of men surrounding him drank heavily and made lewd jokes. The man at the center preened and played to his loyal audience. The other man lurked alone in a dark corner, kept even more hidden by his black coat and hat, which he’d kept on in the house.
More offers flew, the numbers going higher than Charlotte ever dreamed a man could earn in a lifetime. The dapper gentleman, surrounded by his friends, stepped closer to the dais with each offering, and even she heard the competitiveness in his voice. He didn’t really want her. He wanted to win.
A shudder rippled through her at the thought of bodily belonging to such a man. Would he ride her like a prize horse and leave her out to pasture when she’d outrun her usefulness? According to Madame, yes.
One last bid came from the shadows where the hidden bidder stood. A sum so astronomical, Charlotte cringed, knowing she’d never live up to the price. The things he would expect from her. She couldn’t possibly…but she’d have to. Her sisters, she repeated silently. She did this for her sisters. And she’d cut out a person’s tongue if they ever told her sisters she’d turned into a whore, albeit, a highly coveted one, to support them through a Season in London.
The crowd of wealthy gentleman stirred uneasily as the loser of the auction slammed his glass full of amber liquid to the carpet. A few stray drops landed on the hem of her dress. Madame Bella gestured frantically behind her back for her to join her on common ground to soothe the gentleman’s ire, but before she took more than a few steps off her auction block, a leather-clad hand landed heavily on her forearm.
“Excuse…” She broke off at the realization that the hand belonged to the auction winner, her new protector. He allowed her no room to catch her bearings, but swept her alongside him as he strode toward the now cursing loser.
“You promised me, Bella.” The auction loser loomed over Madame Bella, seeming to physically threaten her.
Charlotte shrank back into the protective shadow of her new lord and master who showed no outward sign of fear at the ugly outburst. If anything he seemed bored.
“Is there a problem?” His smooth, deep voice conjured images of reading in a toasty-warm library, snuggled in a large chair surrounded by walls of books. Her idea of heaven on earth.
“Yes, there is a problem, but it’s none of your damn business. This is between me and Bella.” The man kept glaring at Madame.
“I’m afraid I have to disagree, brother.”
Charlotte jerked her head to stare up at the man in black, startled by the hatred she heard hidden by the mild tone. If she hadn’t been pressed in close enough to feel the tautness of his muscles, she’d never have guessed he cared in the slightest about the ensuing scene.
“Brother?” Finally, the man stopped his abuse of Madame Bella and turned to face them. His eyes narrowed. “Lucas? You’re alive?”
Lucas swept an elegant bow, though he wanted to plow his fist into Sebastian’s face. Let a bruise or two mar the elegant visage, unfortunately so similar to his, but hiding an internal ugliness. “I am alive. You can rest easy. Your twin is back.”
Gasps emerged from the two women surrounding him as well as some from Sebastian’s cronies who’d stayed to see their hero browbeat Madame Bella into altering the conclusion of the auction in his favor. Unfortunately for Sebastian, Lucas would never allow that to happen.
Pure miracle, really, he’d arrived in London with enough time to set up a residence and hear enough gossip about tonight’s auction in time to come thwart his brother.
“Brothers…” A sweet voice slid into his hearing from the woman for whom he’d just paid a fortune. Her alluring scent floated into his awareness, smelling of an intriguing mix of gardenias and innocence. She didn’t know how lucky she was. He’d started counterbidding Sebastian only to stop him, like stopping a spoiled child from getting every desired toy, but something had changed throughout the bidding. The girl’s face had shown every sign of being thrilled to be on stage and the center of attention, but her eyes told a different story. Seven years traveling the world had given him an excellent barometer for looking deeper into people.
The girl was terrified and rightfully so. She’d nearly become the mistress of a man who’d possibly killed his eldest brother in order to secure an earldom for himself. Although, she didn’t know any of this. No one did. It was the driving force of why Lucas had at long last sailed back from London. So it begged the question, why would a terrified supposed virgin put herself up for auction before the highest-titled gentleman of the ton?
Money, no doubt. Part of him wanted to solve her particular mystery, but for now all his targets were set on his eldest-by-four-minutes brother. It was tricky to tell in the dimmed, flickering candlelight, but his brother’s face paled at the shock of seeing his twin alive and well.
“Lucas.”
He accepted the hardy pounding on his shoulder, grateful Sebastian chose to hide his true nature behind a jovial mask. It could have easily gone the other way and he’d now be pulling an irate, violent earl off the proprietor of London’s newest and most exclusive brothel.
If the Madame was fearful of the notorious outbursts from the Earl of Westhunt, she hid it well, taking the opportunity to whisper a few words in the ear of her former charge, the girl he now held possession of.
“If you’ll excuse me, Madame will show you to a private room where you can visit with your brother while I go gather my belongings,” Charlene said with nary a trace of smile or any of the coquetry she’d displayed on stage.
Lucas looked away from Sebastian, startled by the soft, genteel voice of his first-ever exclusive mistress. She sounded less like a mistress and more like a governess. He nodded curtly at her naïve assumption he wanted to spend a second of his time pretending to be wrapped up in brotherly affection, but she hurried away before he could disabuse her of the notion.
Setting his mouth in a grim line, he followed the large, perfumed girth of Madame Bella to a shabby back parlor.
“My apologies, the workmen haven’t attended to this room yet.” She slid a calculating look at him, appraising him. She wasted her time—he’d not give her another cent. She should be thrilled her first auction went to the heights it did. It’d be the talk of gentleman’s clubs for weeks. Reading his expression correctly, she murmured, “Come see me to settle your account and sign the papers when Charlene returns.” With eyes wide in her beautiful face, she glanced quickly at Sebastian then back at him before backing out of the room.
