The Earl’s Error by Kathy L. Wheeler

Three

T

horne reined in his temper. Rowena had some nerve.

Two months!He eyed her protruding middle, somewhat mortified. What the hell was he supposed to do with a pregnant ex-mistress? It wasn’t as if he could walk up and put the question to his cronies at White’s. My dear sir, how does one go about hiding a bastard? He grimaced. Though no doubt more than half of them had one or two stashed away somewhere.

“What are you after, Rowena?”

“My child’s well-being, of course.” Rowena tipped her head in a stately manner, not unlike Princess Caroline. The effect was grand, making her appear older than her age. Her gown of dark-green silk failed to hide the fact that she was definitely with child, though yards of fabric in her skirts helped to disguise exactly how far along she was. Not that he would know. He and Lorelei hadn’t been so blessed in a decade of marriage.

Thorne paused for a time, frowning. “You’re certain the child is Harlowe’s?”

Rowena sashayed to a cart holding an array of spirits, splashed golden liquid in a tumbler. “Brandy, darling?”

“This is not a social visit, Rowena,” Thorne fairly growled. “Perhaps we could stay on the topic at hand. Your notion of passing the babe off as mine won’t work, you know. I haven’t darkened the step of your door in all of ten years.”

“Alas, that is true,” she said sweetly. Her expression grew hard, bitter. “But I need money.”

And we both know who the father is.She didn’t say the words, but they hung in the air. The door opened, and a heavyset young girl poked her head through, her rich dark hair in disarray.

“Oh,” she said, surprised. She was quite striking, with dainty features and a timid demeanor despite her rounded size. She reminded Thorne of someone, but the name escaped him. “My apologies,” she whispered.

Rowena turned a stern frown on her. “I shall be available shortly.”

“O-of course,” she stammered.

When the girl stood there gaping at him, Rowena barked, “That will be all, Corinne.” Her words startled the girl. With a short huff, she disappeared.

Thorne shifted back to the matter at hand. “Have you word of my wife’s brother?”

“That blackguard?” she hissed. “No. Rumors are he’s fled the country.” Her eyes narrowed on him. “And that you are the one who instigated his disappearance.”

Thorne grimaced. “I suppose that’s why you decided to blackmail me.” It made perfect sense.

Rowena shrugged. “What else was I to do?” Her expression portrayed her well-honed cynicism. “I’ll not have my child harmed.”

He could see she meant every word, and sympathy touched him. She would not appreciate the sentiment, however. “Of course. I’m sorry.” Truly, he was. He ran a hand through his hair. “The truth of the matter is, I had nothing to do with the man’s disappearance.”

“I hope you never find him.” The ferocity of her tone stunned him.

“And why is that? You could marry and give up this... this life.” He grimaced, knowing he had contributed to that life as well.

“I would never marry that bounder. He is not fit to wipe the dirt from my shoe.”

“I see.” Though he didn’t. “In any event, I must locate him.”

“Ah, his sister is concerned, I take it.”

“To say the least.” Thorne paced the parlor, then stopped as the perfect idea... well, perhaps not perfect, occurred to him. He really had no choice in what he was about to offer. “Look. Might I suggest you vacate town for the small cottage on my estate in Kimpton? Suppose you… er… close up shop and… uh, settle there for a time.”

Her look of disbelief turned shrewd. No one would dare call Rowena a fool. She sipped the contents of her glass, then set it down abruptly. “Yes. I believe that is an excellent plan, my lord. But what shall you tell your precious wife?”

“That is the question, is it not?”

Ten minutes later Thorne made his appearance at the Peachornsbys’ rout. Whispers twittered behind him. Showing early was unfashionable, but he had a sudden desire to see his wife. He wouldn’t approach her, he just wanted reassurance of her physical well-being.

Tomorrow, he would step up his efforts to locate Harlowe. If he had any hope of keeping, pleasing Lorelei, finding the lazy lout and making the fool confess his sins was the surest way of securing his wife to his side.

“Kimpton. Early for you, is it not?”

He let Brock’s sarcasm roll off his back. “I’m looking for Lady Kimpton. Have you seen her?”

Brock’s voice lowered. “I have. And I must say, she did not look so well.”

Thorne narrowed his gaze on his friend, his pulse jumping. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, she appeared pale—gracious, of course; beautiful, as always—but quite pale.”

The concern in Brock’s tone instilled a surge of panic. Thorne searched the ballroom but saw no sign of his flaxen-haired wife. “Did you speak with her?”

“No, although I’m quite certain she saw me. She sought refuge with Lord Griston. Deliberately.”

This was bad indeed. No one sought Griston’s company intentionally.

“Don’t worry. She didn’t speak with him long. But I’ve yet to see her again. Ah, there is her friend, Lady Maudsley.” Brock angled his head toward French doors leading to the terrace. “Perhaps she stepped outside. It’s stifling in here.”

Lady Maudsley was a tall, attractive woman with deep-set amber eyes. Dark hair, piled high on her head, made a striking sight against the deep red of her gown. Her smile was always bright. Too bright.

Thorne found her annoyingly cheerful. At times, her cheer was completely inappropriate. He’d never been able to pinpoint the exact reasoning for his conclusions, just that, on occasion, she seemed to try too hard. Unfortunately for her, the entire beau monde knew her husband couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Even bound tightly together at his backside the man would manage to maul some unsuspecting maiden. The man was twice his wife’s age and a menace to any young female within a five-foot range. Age-appropriate not required.

Thorne cut his way through the crowd in the woman’s direction, Brock close on his heels. “Lady Maudsley,” he said, bowing slightly.

“Lord Kimpton.” He winced at her elevated volume. Her glance slid to Brock, and her smile faltered. Recovering quickly, she murmured, “My lord.”

Brock took her gloved hand and unleashed a wolfish grin that turned her cheeks a decided red. “Lady Maudsley, you look ravishing.”

She jerked her hand from him and, ignoring Brock, shifted her attention back to Thorne. He was sorely tempted to remind Brock to keep his cock in his breeches. The girl was married, for God’s sake, even if the bastard was a notorious cuckold.

“I’m surprised to see you here, my lord. Lorelei was certain you were engaged elsewhere this evening.”

“Was she?” He scanned the ballroom once more.

“Yes. I believe she mentioned aspirations more in line with Lord Maudsley’s.” Surprisingly, and thankfully, she’d lowered her voice. His gaze bolted back to her and narrowed. Her usual exuberant expression was carefully blank.

“So you’ve seen her, I take it?”

“Indeed I have.” She gave a slight incline of her head. “If you’ll excuse me, Lord Kimpton, Lord Brockway. A good evening to you both.”

Before he could blink, Lady Maudsley was weaving her way straight toward Griston.

After a long and harrowing night, Thorne pushed his way through the door of his chamber, waving away Dante, his valet. Lorelei had effectively managed to evade him the entire evening.

Lady Maudsley showed an intelligent bit of sense, having not wasted much time with Griston, twelve minutes to be exact, before managing her escape from the ballroom. From the shadows, Thorne had followed her as close to the retiring room as he dared, where he was almost certain Lorelei was hiding. Neither one had emerged. He should know… he’d waited until the early morning hours to see.

On stealthy steps, he stopped at the closed connection that led to Lorelei’s room. He should kick the door down—demand his rights as a man. As her husband. Persuading her would likely take only a matter of moments. He knew her every weakness. A light stroke to her neck, a whisper in her ear, and she would be his even without skilled hands and hot kisses. Unfortunately, the moment their exhilaration ended, so would a life based on trust and hope.

Still, he clasped the knob and turned. Locked. Well, that clarified Mr. Chubb's presence and did nothing to stifle his frustration.

Thorne was not without weapons of his own. He’d won her over with charm before; he would do so again. And with a fortnight on his side, he’d have her crawling to him—if he was lucky enough to find that confounded brother of hers. She would come to him of her own free will, and he would welcome her with open arms. And, pride be damned, he… he…

Tossing. Turning. Tangled. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Lorelei clawed at the slippery walls beneath her fingertips, cold and damp. Through miles and miles of dark, narrow corridors, she fought her way to the sobbing child. Yet the closer she came to the child, the more the air asphyxiated her.

Ahead, the flame of a single candle flared. She burst through the archway and… froze. Rowena Hollerfield hovered over the grand white wicker bassinet, draped in ivory tulle. She reached in and lifted the small infant, and his cries fell away. No! No, it could not be. Yet there she stood, cooing at the tiniest, most delicate being.

Her features were difficult to make out, but as Miss Hollerfield slowly turned, her head raised high, looking straight down an autocratic nose. Her elegant black hair, glittered with diamonds, and was arranged to perfection. Creamy white arms held out the baby where he dangled precariously. “Would you care to hold him?” Her voice was husky with sensuality.

Lorelei gasped. “Don’t. Don’t drop him.”

Miss Hollerfield’s full bright red lips parted, filling the chamber with laughter, her arms dropping, releasing her hold. The child tumbled free.

Lorelei dove for the bundle. “No!”

She shot up to sitting, her night rail drenched. Nightmare. Dear God. It was only a nightmare. Moonlight streamed across her chamber through sheer linings that covered tall, sashed windows. Pulse racing, she darted from the bed, ripped a lining straight from its rod, and fumbled clumsily with the window latch. Finally, the window gave way, and she fell over the sill and heaved in the cold night air.

As the rushing blood in her ears subsided and her breathing regulated, Lorelei drew back into the room, rubbing the chill from her arms.

The knob on the connecting door twisted.

“Well? What time did he return home?” Virginia Maudsley demanded.

Lorelei steadied her breathing and her hands before attempting to pour out a cup of tea for her friend. Morning sun filled the room, threatening another blinding headache. The brightness was in direct competition with the cheery yellow walls and spring-green fabric covering the settee and padding on the chairs.

She handed over Ginny’s cup. “Somewhere in the vicinity of three this morning.” The clock had posted three thirteen with forty seconds to spare. She hadn’t slept another wink after his attempt at the connecting door.

“I don’t think he had any idea you’d already left by the time he arrived last night.” Ginny sipped her tea. “Are you going to enlighten me? You looked as if you’d seen a ghost. I was most concerned.”

Lorelei could hardly stand to think of Thorne with that woman, let alone put the words to voice. How did one tell one’s friend, even one’s closest friend, that her husband had fathered a child with another woman? A woman everyone believed to be his previous mistress, but was indeed his current mistress. She bit back bile. Her marriage truly was over.

She steeled her resolve with a deep breath. “I’m leaving Thorne.”

“What? That’s impossible. Women can’t leave their husbands—”

Lorelei held up her hand, palm out. “Please, Ginny, lower your voice.”

“I refuse to believe it,” she sputtered. “Y-you love your husband. He’s nothing like Maudsley. Nothing…” This ended on a whisper.

Despair and guilt pierced Lorelei. Ginny’s husband was renowned for his debauched nature, his utter lack of consideration and respect for his wife. Thorne had never disrespected her—until last night. “Not only did he put my brother on a ship bound for Spain in the middle of a war, he… he’s fathered—never you mind. It’s just over, that’s all.”

Ginny’s widened eyes quickly shifted to understanding, then pity. The door to the morning room swung back.

Thorne, her too-handsome husband, waltzed in, acting as innocent as one pleased. Fury rushed her veins. Gallingly, he sauntered over and laid his lips on her cheek. “Good morning, my dear.” Minty breath teased her nostrils, his whisper flashing heat against her ear.

She flinched.

He straightened and bowed in Ginny’s direction. “Lady Maudsley, how lovely to see you, and so early. Did you not stay long at the Peachornsby rout? I lost sight of you after your short visit with Lord Griston.”

Lorelei shuddered at this information. Lord Griston was decidedly worse than Maudsley, though her reasoning was strictly one of intuition.

Ginny’s over-bright laughter filled an awkward silence. “Oh, Lord Kimpton, how amusing you are. We were there until the early morning hours, of course.”

Lorelei hid a slight smile. The “we” Ginny spoke of was Ginny and her drunkard of a husband.

“And how are the girls?” Thorne asked. With compressed lips, Lorelei watched him turn the charm on her friend. The man was a menace.

Voice dropped, eyes softening, Ginny said, “Irene and Cecilia are very well. Thank you for asking, my lord.”

Though tempted to roll her eyes at this blatant form of flattery, Lorelei dared not. Ginny’s children were four years apart in age, and she’d suffered four pregnancy mishaps between. Both males. Lorelei’s greatest fear was Lord Maudsley blaming Ginny for their deaths, since she’d yet to provide the earl with the requisite heir.

Ginny had never confided such, but Lorelei worried for her friend. Maudsley’s previous marriage was no secret, though no one spoke of the poor woman’s sad demise through childbirth when both mother and newborn daughter had perished. On occasion, Lorelei would catch a glimpse of bruises on Ginny’s wrists or forearm when the sleeve of her frock rose when reaching for a plate or her tea. Lorelei had no idea how to raise the topic, longing to express her concern.

“You must feel free to bring them by anytime,” Thorne was saying, jolting Lorelei back to the conversation.

Ginny blinked quickly, eyes shimmering suspiciously.

“More tea, Ginny?” Lorelei said, furious with Thorne. Why was he prolonging the inevitable? He was quite aware she would be leaving in two weeks.

Ginny tapped her serviette against her lips. “No. No, thank you, Lorelei—”

Snatching her hand, Lorelei begged with her eyes. Don’t leave yet, please.

A bright smile lifted Ginny’s lips. “Shouldn’t we be going, my dear, if we are to see the latest in Bertin’s hats and beat the crush on Bond Street?” Her amber eyes spoke volumes.

A depth of emotion rushed Lorelei, forcing her to swallow past the lump in her throat, moved by her friend’s unwavering loyalty. “Yes. Yes, of course. I’d almost forgotten.”

Ginny turned to Thorne. “Bertin’s nephews send the latest fashions from Versailles, you know.”

Thorne blinked under the assault of her friend’s wide smile. Lorelei disguised a burst of laughter behind a muffled cough.

“Ah, of course.” Was that disappointment that flashed in his eyes? Of course it was. He had but a fortnight to win over her affections. “A man knows his place when it comes to a woman and her hats,” he said.

A discreet knock interrupted the exchange as Oswald entered. “A message, sir.” He crossed the room holding out a silver tray with a missive. Lorelei could see right away the note was not from his lover. Curiosity choked her.

Thorne slipped the envelope into an inside pocket of his waistcoat without even glancing at it. “Thank you, Oswald.” His actions were as smooth as a St. Giles pickpocket.

“Enjoy your hat shopping, ladies. It appears I have other matters on which to attend.”

Before Lorelei could muster any defense, Thorne captured her hands and pulled her in for a kiss directly on her lips. She gaped at his audacity. Heat flamed her face and rushed every fiber of her being. “Lady Kimpton, we shall speak later.” The promise was whispered against her ear, sending her spine quivering in response. “You shan’t escape me forever, darling.”

Oh, but he was difficult to resist when he turned on that allure. Like a summer rain, his voice drenched her in a rush of warm water. Shaking her head, she stepped back and narrowed her eyes.

He didn’t bother waiting for an answer, just made his grand exit with a quick smile and short wave.

“Let us go,” she said sharply to Ginny, furious with her breathless tone.