Earl of Charm: Wicked Earls’ club Read online

  Earl of Charm

  Wicked Earls’ club

  Maggie Dallen

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  The Reluctant Bride

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  December 1823

  * * *

  It was a dark, starless night when Alexander Gordon, The Earl of Charmian, let himself in through the front door of the family townhouse in Mayfair. The hour was late, and Alex expected his sister and the servants to be asleep.

  This was not the case.

  Music coming from the drawing room made him pause with the door half cracked before a blistery wind hurried him inside. He gaped at the lit candles lining the hallway as though the entire household was still wide awake.

  Shrugging out of his overcoat, he removed his hat. That was when he heard the sound that hadn’t graced these halls in the nine months since his elder brother’s tragic death.

  Laughter.

  His younger sister’s familiar laugh, along with another—a musical sound that seemed to rival the pianoforte as it trickled into the hallway.

  What on earth?

  He’d bent down to remove his snowy boots when a far more mysterious sound reached his befuddled ears.

  Barking.

  No, not barking. Snuffling. It was the crude sound of labored breathing and clogged sinuses, and it was the only warning he received before two little balls of fur and fat barreled down the hall in his direction.

  His housekeeper Mrs. Lange appeared behind them, frazzled and out of breath as she scurried behind them, coming to a halt and dropping into a hasty curtsy when she spotted him standing there, his snow-covered coat dripping onto the foyer’s rug as he tried to make sense of the spectacle before him.

  “What—?” was all he managed before one of the pugs stopped running in a tiny circle and lunged for his ankles.

  “Oh heavens,” Mrs. Lange cried, her wide eyes filled with horror at the sight before her. “We did not expect you home until the morrow.”

  “Yes,” he said, as he stared down at a panting little face. “I’d hoped to return before the snowstorm.”

  “Of course, of course,” she muttered, distracted by her attempts to corral the two dogs.

  “Who is here?” he asked.

  “Oh!” She straightened, abandoning her attempts to garner control over the pups and they both watched in horrified fascination as the smaller of the two sniffed the other one in the most unseemly manner.

  “I do apologize, my lord,” the housekeeper said softly.

  He remained quiet. He did not believe the dog’s current fixation on sniffing was Mrs. Lange’s fault, but he assumed the less said to acknowledge this situation the better. “Our visitors?” he prompted.

  There it was again. Laughter. He turned his gaze toward the drawing room, and Mrs. Lange did the same. “The Duchess of Redmayne, my lord,” she said, her voice still breathless from her earlier run across the foyer.

  “Ah.” His aunt. Mystery solved. Though, in fact, she was truly his great aunt, better known as Mrs. Gertrude Trumbolt, Dowager Duchess of Redmayne. Or, as she was known to Alex and his sister—Aunt Gertie.

  “Of course,” he muttered to himself as he headed toward the drawing room. Gertie always cause a stir when she arrived. Though they hadn’t expected her here for another week.

  Mrs. Lange seemed to read his thoughts. “Her arrival was a surprise, my lord.”

  Of course it was. There was nothing Aunt Gertie loved more than to cause a stir…those tiny, fur-covered balls of energy currently chasing one another around his feet was new, however. He hadn’t been aware his great aunt could bring any more chaos into their lives, but it seemed he’d underestimated her once again.

  Mrs. Lange took his coat from him, as well as his hat, and he headed toward the sound, oddly intrigued to see what scene was going on in this room that could bring such merriment and levity to a house in mourning.

  He strode into the room as befitting the new earl, which was to say, with his chin held high and no hesitation in his steps. In hindsight, he realized he really ought to have paused, if only briefly—but then how was he to know that he would be entering a room filled with a whirling dervish?

  It happened quickly. One moment he was standing and the next he was knocked off his feet, landing unceremoniously in a heap, along with two females. He saw his sister splayed beside him, her dark hair a haphazard mess as she grinned at him, breathless with laughter.

  If his sister was there, who on earth was this young lady in his arms? His hands automatically came up to steady the girl who’d landed atop him.

  No, not a girl. A woman. He became aware of chestnut-colored hair that tickled his nose and smelled of lilacs, and roses, and something fresh and invigorating, like the scent that filled the air after the rain. He was more acutely conscious of delicious curves and the slim waist beneath his hands. Her cheek felt like satin against his neck. Such soft skin. Her nose brushed against his neck as she shifted and another rush of lovely feminine scents overwhelmed his senses.

  “Ah, the prodigal son returns at last,” Aunt Gertie called from the direction of the pianoforte.

  Her nonsensical statement brought him back to his senses—he was hardly a prodigal son. He made quick work of removing the lovely-scented, soft-skinned strange female from his body. Having deposited her gently to his right, he scrambled up to his feet and then reached down with both hands, one to help his sister to her feet and the other to assist…her.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  Polite? Perhaps not. But Alex never had learned how to use words the way others did. His command of the English language was basic—he knew how to use them to ask questions and make statements. Meanwhile, everyone else of his acquaintance seemed to wield words like weapons or they threw them about like frippery and finery—beautifying, covering, and mystifying.

  “Really, Alex,” Tess said. Straightening her skirts, his sister tossed him a tolerant smile. “Must you be rude to our visitor?”

  “Oh no,” the strange woman interjected. “He was not rude at all. I was the ill-mannered one here.” The brunette turned her smile on him and he felt it to his very core. “I almost always wait to be introduced before careening into gentlemen.”

  “Yes, well…” He had no idea what to say to that. Her smile was sweet, but laughter danced in her eyes. For the life of him, he could not ascertain whether she was mocking the situation…or him.

  He straightened to his full height. “Yes,” he repeated. “Well…”

  Still no idea as to what he was expected to say.

  The stranger’s smile grew, and he watched with some fascination as her pretty pink lips widened, dimples appearing like magic as her crystal-blue eyes flashed with amusement. Her face was pretty. Not striking or beautiful, but pretty. Her nose was small, her eyes big, and her chin just a tad too small, giving her an innocent look that belied the mischief in her eyes.

  “Alex,” Aunt Gertie called out. “Meet my companion, Miss Clara Lovelace, daughter of the late Andrew Lovelace, The Marquess of Tarlow.”

  Ah. It clicked into place, and the moment her name registered with him, she seemed to know it because she flinched—the tiny facial movement there and gone in an instant. He’d caught it, however, because he was watching her closely…oh all right, perhaps he was staring.

  Fine. It was possible he was glaring.

  His brother used to tease him about having such an unpleasant facial expression. Not in
a mean way, it was just so at odds with his brother’s jovial demeanor. In his defense, Alex was hardly rude, he was rarely angry, and he was never cruel.

  He was merely serious. Studious. He always had been more interested in books and analysis than conversation and pleasantries.

  Smiling did not come easily to him, and laughter was a rarity in his life.

  Clara dropped into a curtsy, before straightening to meet his gaze with that twinkle in her eyes, as if she were laughing at him. Or perhaps she was just acknowledging that she knew that he knew who she was.

  Everyone knew, he supposed. If Alex had heard the rumors about her mother’s death and her father’s financial ruin, which had ended most tragically with his death by his own hand—then surely everyone knew. Everyone paid more attention to society’s scandals and gossip than he did.

  He tore his gaze away from hers, embarrassed to be caught staring.

  Fine, glaring.

  “I’m so glad you’re home.” His sister interrupted what might have been an awkward silence by throwing herself into his arms. He held her close, his chest tight with emotion at seeing her again.

  Tess was the youngest of the three. Only eighteen and already she’d witnessed far too much death in her life. Their mother to illness when Tess was only a small child, their father less than two years ago after a long, debilitating battle for his life, and then their brother Frederick. The eldest, the leader, and the one who really ought to be earl.

  No one said it, of course, but they all knew it. Every day that knowledge weighed on Alex, and every day he struggled in vain to fill the void Frederick had left in his wake.

  Tess held onto his arms as she pulled back with a grin. So like Frederick, with her brilliant smile and her easy chatter. She, like their brother, had inherited their father’s way with people. His talent for putting others at ease no matter what the circumstances.

  A talent he most decidedly did not possess.

  “We’ve missed you, brother,” she said, tugging on his arm to drag him over to Aunt Gertie, who still sat behind the pianoforte, her fingers skimming over the keys as if they were moving of their own accord.

  “You are just in time for lessons, dear,” Aunt Gertie said.

  “Lessons?” He looked from his great aunt to his sister, and risked a peek in Clara’s direction before looking away just as quickly when he caught her laughing at him.

  Or perhaps she was just smiling.

  Either way, her smile disarmed him. It seemed to say, I see you. Don’t bother trying to hide.

  He frowned down at his great aunt. “What lessons?”

  “Dance lessons, of course,” Tess answered, her arms held out wide as though she were dancing with an invisible partner. She began to move in time with the simple tune their aunt played.

  Alex turned to watch her, and then spun back to face his great aunt, and then turned once more to see where the new companion had gone. He stopped and stood still when he realized that he must have looked like a marionette, spinning about in some sort of newfangled dance of his own.

  The thought had him glaring at his sister, though she did not seem to notice. Even if she did, she would not mind. Like their brother, she knew that his glares and his frowns were just how his face had been cast. It was rarely, if ever, intentional.

  Even now, he was confused, not angry. It was just a case of heavy brows and a severe mouth that made confusion appear as annoyance. “But you’ve already had dance lessons,” he finally said, sputtering a bit as he tried to keep up with the ludicrous scene he’d stumbled upon.

  It was the dead of night, after all. Oughtn’t they to be in bed?

  That was precisely where he wished to be after a day of travel.

  “We didn’t expect you until tomorrow,” Aunt Gertie said.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “And I did not expect you until next week.”

  She tossed her turban-covered head back with a laugh. “Indeed.”

  No apology, and nor did he expect one. She was family, after all. Family was always welcome. Particularly this aunt who could do more to restore his sister’s grieving spirits than he could ever hope to do.

  He turned to Tess, who was now joined by Clara. He could now see what he must have interrupted just moments ago. The two women were turning about the room, with Clara taking the role of the man in a fast-paced waltz, thanks to his great aunt’s enthusiastic playing.

  “But haven’t you already had dance lessons?” he repeated, feeling rather like a daft old man, standing there in baffled confusion in the midst of their raucous joy and lighthearted dancing.

  “Not waltzing,” Tess called out. “Father was of the old-fashioned notion that waltzing was not appropriate, and then Frederick—” She cut herself off with a bite of her lip at the mention of their beloved brother. “He intended to hire a dance instructor before my debut, but…”

  Clara spun her around most handily and the conversation trailed off to the sounds of their laughter and Clara’s encouragement. “That is it. You have it! Tess, my dear, you are a quick study.”

  Alex moved to stand against the wall, lest he be trampled again, and took the opportunity to gather his wits as he watched the scene before him. It seemed his sister had already made a friend of their new guest if she was calling her by her nickname. It should not have surprised him as his sister had always shared their brother’s penchant for friendliness.

  Guilt nagged at him as he thought about his sister’s comments. He ought to have known she would need more guidance before her debut. The poor girl had been forced to sit out two seasons thanks to death and mourning. This upcoming season would at long last bring about her much-awaited debut.

  He scowled down at the carpet as he berated himself. It seemed these days that whenever he managed to get a firm grasp on one aspect of his new role in this household, he found that he’d failed in another. He’d just completed a successful visit to one of their properties, but it seemed he had been negligent in planning for Tess’s future, a situation he would remedy immediately.

  He let out a huff of frustration. Just as soon as he learned what exactly a young woman needed to prepare for her debut. He cast a look in Aunt Gertie’s direction. Perhaps it was for the best that she was joining them early for Christmastide. Not only would her presence help to restore his sister’s good spirits, but she could very well be the maternal figure they so desperately needed.

  Clara’s laughter filled the air again. She seemed to be laughing at something Tess had said, but Alex found himself watching the newcomer with fascination. She seemed to fit in quite well, considering she’d only just arrived in this household this evening.

  She pranced about the room looking for all the world as though she were the owner of this estate, and not him—the man hiding in the corner.

  “What else does she need?” he asked his aunt.

  “Who?”

  “Tess,” he said. “What does she need to know before entering society?”

  “Oh, my dear,” his aunt said with a laugh, her hands flying over the keys. “Do not fret. That is why I am here, and I brought my secret weapon.”

  They both turned to watch as the dancing ladies collapsed onto the settee with breathless laughter.

  “It is not normally done quite so…quickly,” Clara said as she gasped for air. He tried not to notice the way her bosom rose and fell as she struggled to catch her breath.

  He tried but he failed.

  “That is a relief,” Tess said. “I’d collapse before supper was served at this rate.”

  They both seemed to find this highly amusing, and Alex looked on with bemusement and more than a little tenderness as they collapsed into a fit of giggles. It had been far too long since he’d seen his sister laugh so much. Not since Frederick had been alive.

  “You see?” Aunt Gertie said with a warm grin as she watched them as well. “I have brought you assistance.”

  “I wasn’t aware I needed any assistance,” he said stiffly. He might
have been very well aware of his shortcomings, both as an earl and as a guardian, but he hardly enjoyed having them pointed out.

  “You don’t mind that we’ve arrived early, do you, dear?” His great aunt did not form this so much as a question than as a statement. “You see, I’d learned that the Hollisters will be at their family home for the holidays,” she said, her sidelong gaze met his with such mischief it could not be ignored.

  He stiffened at the mention of their neighbors. He liked the Hollisters, he always had. But no one had liked the Hollisters—more specifically, their daughter Olivia—more than Frederick. He and Olivia had been engaged to marry only weeks before the tragic hunting accident that had ended his life. But though their official engagement had been short, their courtship had been lifelong. Olivia was the same age as Alex, only two years younger than Frederick, and everyone had seen them as the perfect pair even when they were in the nursery.

  Frederick and Olivia. The fated couple. The perfect earl with his enchanting bride-to-be.

  They were the shining hope for their families, and now, with one ridiculous accident, it had all been destroyed.

  But his great aunt was not the only one who seemed to think that he ought to honor his brother’s promise by taking Frederick’s place as Olivia’s husband.

  His stomach churned at the thought. Not out of any great distaste for Olivia—she had always been lovely to him and to his sister. She was beautiful and refined. She’d make a fine countess.

  But he was not Frederick, and no one knew that better than Olivia. No one would feel the lack in comparison as keenly as she.

  Aunt Gertie must have misread his apprehension, because she came to stand beside him and patted his arm in a maternal gesture. “Do not fear, Alex. I have brought my young friend to benefit you, as well. Under her tutelage you will be sure to win the heart of your fair neighbor.”