Carole Mortimer - A Regency Lady's Scandal

Caro had left a note on her bed telling her sisters not to worry about her, of course, but other than that she had not confided her plan of going to London to either Diana or her younger sister, Elizabeth, before fleeing the family home in Hampshire two weeks ago, before their guardian could arrive to take control of all their lives. A man none of the Copeland sisters had met before, but who had nevertheless chosen to inform them, through his lawyer, that he believed himself to be in a position to insist that one of them become his wife!

What sort of man did that? Caro had questioned in outraged disbelief. How monstrous could Lord Gabriel Faulkner, the new Earl of Westbourne, be that he sent his lawyer in his stead to offer marriage to whichever of the previous earl’s daughters was willing to accept him? And if none chose willingly, to insist upon it!

Never having been allowed to mix with London society, none of the Copeland sisters had any previous knowledge of their father’s heir and second cousin, Lord Gabriel Faulkner. But several of their close neighbours had, and they were only too happy to regale the sisters with the knowledge—if not the details—of his lordship’s banishment to the Continent eight years previously following a tremendous scandal, with talk of his having settled in Venice some years later. Other than that, none of the sisters had ever heard or seen anything of the man before being informed that not only was he their father’s heir, but also their guardian.

They had all known and accepted that a daughter could not inherit the title, of course, but it was only when their father’s will was read out after his funeral that the three sisters learnt they were also completely without finances of their own, and as such their futures were completely dependent upon the whim and mercy of the new Earl of Westbourne.

But as the weeks, and then months, passed, with no sign of the new earl arriving to take possession of either the Shoreley Hall estate, or to establish any guardianship over the three sisters other than the allowance sent to them by the man’s lawyer each month, they had begun to relax, to believe that their lives could continue without interference from their new guardian.

Until, that is, the earl’s lawyer had arrived at Shoreley Hall three weeks ago to inform them that the new Earl of Westbourne was very generously prepared to offer marriage to one of the penniless sisters. An offer, the lawyer had informed them sternly, that as their guardian, the earl could insist—and indeed, would insist—that one of them accept.

Diana, the eldest at one and twenty, was half-promised to the son of the local squire and so was safest from the earl’s attentions. Elizabeth, only nineteen and the youngest of the three, had nevertheless declared she would throw herself on the mercy of a convent before she would marry a man she did not love and who did not love her. Caro’s plan to avoid marrying the earl had been even more daring.

Desperate to bring some adventure into her so far humdrum existence, Caro had decided she would go to London for a month, perhaps two, and seek obscurity as a lady’s companion or governess. And when Lord Gabriel Faulkner arrived in England—as his lawyer had assured them he undoubtedly would once informed of their refusal of his offer—then Diana, incensed by the disappearance of one of her sisters, would reduce the man to a quivering pulp with the cutting edge of her legendary acerbic tongue, before sending him away with his cowed tail tucked between his legs.

A month spent in London, possibly two, should do it, Caro had decided as she excitedly packed her bag before creeping stealthily from the house to walk the half a mile or so to the crossroads where she could catch the evening coach to London.

None of Caro’s plans had worked out at she had expected, of course. No respectable household would employ a young woman without references, nor the dress shops, either, and the small amount of money Caro had brought with her had been seriously depleted, as instead of being taken into the warmth and security of the respectable household of her imaginings, she was forced to pay a month in advance for her modest lodgings.

In fact, until Drew Butler had taken pity on her, allowing her to sing at Nick’s, Caro had feared she would have to return home with her own tail between her legs, before the earl had even arrived in England, let alone been sent on his way by the indomitable Diana!

Dominic had been watching Caro’s expressive face with interest as he wondered what her thoughts had been for the past few minutes. ‘You know, you could simply put an end to all this nonsense by returning from whence you came,’ he said persuasively.

A shutter came down over that previously candid sea-green gaze, once again alerting Dominic to Caro’s definite aversion—maybe even fear?—of returning to her previous life. Once again he wondered what, or who, this beautiful young woman was running away from.

And what possible business was it of his? Dominic instantly rebuked himself. None whatsoever. And yet he could not quite bring himself to insist that Caro must go home and face whatever punishment she had coming to her for having run away in the first place.

What if it were that bullying father she was running away from? Or the brutish husband? Either of whom would completely crush the spirit in Caro that Dominic found so intriguing …

She shook her head. ‘I am afraid that returning to my home is not an option at this point in time, my lord.’

He raised dark brows. ‘So you have already informed me. And between times, is it your intention to continue turning my hair prematurely grey as I worry in what scrape you will next embroil yourself?’

‘I do not see a single grey hair amongst the black as yet, my lord.’ Amusement glittered in those sea-green eyes as she glanced at those dark locks.

‘I fear it is only a matter of time.’ Dominic pulled a rueful face, only to then find himself totally enchanted as she laughed huskily at this nonsense. He realised, somewhat to his dismay, that he was as seriously in danger of falling under this woman’s spell as Butler and Ben—and possibly Osborne—so obviously were.

It was a spell Dominic had no intention of succumbing to. Bedding a woman was one thing; allowing his emotions to become engaged by one was something else entirely. It was about time he changed his tactics; if he couldn’t persuade Caro to leave London by simply asking her, he would have to try a more direct approach …

Caro took an involuntary step back, her eyes widening warily, as Dominic rose slowly to his feet, his movements almost predatory as he moved around the desk to cross over to the door and slowly turn the key in the lock.

‘So that we are not disturbed,’ he murmured as he moved so that he now stood only inches away from her.

She moistened suddenly dry lips as she tilted her head back so that she might look up, fearlessly, she hoped, into that arrogantly handsome face. ‘It is time I was leaving—’

‘Not quite yet, Caro,’ the earl murmured huskily as one of his hands moved up to cup the side of her face and the soft pad of his thumb moved across the pouting swell of her bottom lip.

‘I— What are you doing, my lord?’

‘You called me Dominic earlier,’ he reminded her huskily.

Caro’s throat moved convulsively as she swallowed. ‘What are you doing, Dominic?’ she repeated breathlessly.

He shrugged those broad shoulders. ‘Endeavouring, I hope, to show you there could be certain … benefits to becoming my mistress.’

Caro’s knees felt weak just at the thought of what method this man intended using to demonstrate those ‘benefits’. She so easily recalled the feel of that hard and uncompromising mouth against her own the night before, the feel of his hands as they ran the length of her spine to cup her bottom and press the hardness of his body intimately into hers. ‘This is most unwise, my lord.’