A Disgraceful Miss

Julian Kenneway, Earl of Vinedale, has a secret: he is in love with innocent debutante Angelica Fortney. She’s the one thing he desires more than the tenuous peace he has regained since returning from India. Yet everyone, including Julian, believes he’s unsuitable for her—and seducing her could ruin both their lives.

But when a rival for Angelica’s affections arrives, Julian realizes he can’t lose her—and can no longer control his passion for her….

Book two of the Fortney Follies series.

When I originally sat down to write AN IMPRUDENT LADY, it was with the intent of writing a single story. But as I wrote Charlotte and Daniel’s tale, I got to know several key secondary characters and realized that they had a very compelling story to tell, too.

So, when my editor asked me to send more Undones, I went straight to the Fortney family where Angelica and Vinedale were practically begging me to tell their story. Sometimes proximity can breed familiarity…and love.

It is with great delight that I am able to share with you this new Undone short story, A DISGRACEFUL MISS, the second in the Fortney Follies series. It’s the story of Angelica and Vinedale, the daughter and best friend of our former hero, Daniel. Angelica struggles to find her place in the world, since everything she’s known about family has disintegrated around her, and Vinedale struggles against his overpowering feelings for his best friend’s daughter.

I hope that you enjoy their story and I would love to hear from you! Visit my website at www.elainegolden.com or email me at [email protected].

Happy Reading!

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“That girl will be the death of me, Vine.”

Julian Kenneway, the Earl of Vinedale, was leaning over his favorite billiards table at White’s, when Daniel Walsh made this declaration. Julian paused in assessing his next shot and glanced toward his friend.

Ten years Julian’s senior, Daniel wasn’t one for getting upset about much of anything. But now that Daniel was reunited with his beloved Charlotte, Julian wouldn’t sign any vowels betting on it. In fact, Julian couldn’t resist the opportunity to goad Daniel. Just a little.

“Your new wife already curtailing your leisure activities?” Julian asked. The scathing look he received nearly caused him to lose the serious expression he was trying to hold.

“I won’t dignify that remark with a response,” said Daniel. “It’s Angelica, not my wife. How’s a man supposed to maintain his sanity with a beauty like that on his hands? She’s catching the eye of every buck in town, and I want to throttle them just for drooling on her glove.”

Careful not to respond, Julian returned his attention to the table, took aim and released. The ivory cue ball hurtled across the felt toward its target, which sunk in the netted pocket with authority. A moment later, the cue ball followed with a dull
clack
. Disgusted, he yielded the table and stepped away.

“What, ho!” crowed Daniel as he eyed the slate field with a gleam in his eye. “That’s not your usual shot. Don’t believe I’ve ever seen you sink the cue like that before.”

Julian ignored him, his thoughts forestalled on Daniel’s earlier remark. “So don’t let them drool on her,” he said, the words tumbling out against his will.

“As if t’were that easy, Vine. Charlotte won’t let me interfere. Says it’s perfectly natural for a girl Angelica’s age to encourage the beaus.” Daniel rolled his eyes. “As if that should make me feel less put-upon.”

Left to hover between them, thick and silent as soot-laden fog, was the knowledge that Daniel didn’t have the right to interfere with Angelica. Insofar as the world was concerned, Daniel was Angelica’s brother-in-law; in reality, he was her sire. Just the prior year, Daniel had returned to England for the first time in nearly two decades and reunited with his childhood sweetheart, Charlotte Fortney. And had discovered Angelica was their child.

Daniel wasn’t even her guardian, so he couldn’t offer her more than the simple protection of a brother-by-marriage. He was relegated to the impotent role of escort-about-town.

“I swear, if I wasn’t there glaring a warning, they’d be drooling on her bosoms, as well—which, I’ve also noted to Charlotte, are too exposed. She claims the gowns are of a modest cut, but I remain unconvinced. Your turn.”

And lovely bosoms they were, too, Julian couldn’t help thinking. He admired them every chance he got, not that he would admit that to his friend. He rather liked his teeth where they were. Julian stepped toward the table, nonchalantly eyeing his next shot.

But… He frowned and paused, tightly gripping his cue stick. “Who’s been paying her undo attention?”

“Haversham, for one. I think he’s working up the nerve to approach Wainsborough.”

Julian froze. The Duke of Wainsborough, as the head of Angelica’s family, was her de facto guardian, which could mean only one thing. A marriage proposal was imminent.

Julian had known it was an eventuality—there was a reason they called the London season the Marriage Mart. But he’d considered it a distant concern. Had hoped it would be in the far distance.

Daniel laughed. “But little good it’ll do the man even if Wainsborough does give his consent.”

“How’s that?”

“According to Charlotte, the chit’s long since set her cap. Wouldn’t even consider Haversham’s proposal if he managed to choke it out coherently with seraphim standing as witness.”

Which was saying something. Haversham was a well-set marquess, which was sufficient to elicit the enthusiasm of every other husband-seeking hopeful in town.

“Who’s the lucky lad, then?” And why had Julian never heard this before? His heart hammered in his chest, dreadful and steady as a death knell.

“Lord Bradley Carston, apparently. Do you know him?”

“I know his family. Bradley’s a bit younger, so we didn’t attend university together. Second or third son, isn’t he?”

Was it getting hot in here? Julian tugged ineffectually at his high collar, mentally cursing the extra starch his valet used.

“Second son. Bradley’s been on the Grand Tour, so Angelica’s been biding her time till his return. Won’t take any of the other gentlemen seriously. For which I’m grateful, but my reprieve is nearly done. Rumor has it, Lord Bradley has returned.” Daniel sighed dramatically as he chalked his cue. “And, so, my demise is imminent.”

Julian’s heart plummeted.

God, if it were true, then Julian’s life was about to become a misery. Just the thought of Angelica attached to another man was enough to send him into paroxysms of malcontent. But to watch her dote upon one with affection?

Julian finally swung the cue stick, though this shot wasn’t much better than his last. When Daniel stepped up and quickly cleared the table of the remaining balls, he was relieved. He’d lost the desire to play, too distracted to concentrate further.

For, he had a secret. Something he couldn’t talk about with Daniel, the man he loved in place of the brother he’d never had and the father who had died just after his birth. Daniel had taught him how to eradicate the nightmares that haunted long after the vicious battles in India had been left behind. By the time Julian had deployed to Bombay with a fresh commission in the army, Daniel had been there long enough to be numbed by it all.

No, Julian couldn’t—wouldn’t—sacrifice the filial bond that they shared because he was weak.

Because he was in love with Angelica.

The new Burlington Arcade was alight with midday activity. Open for trade only a few weeks, the neat row of shops was already a favored haunt of the most dedicated fashionists. The finest jewelers, milliners, tailors and other vendors of stylish demand were showcased in regimented glass stalls, like so many fine bloodstock at a Tattersalls auction. The arcade was even more pleasing than a visit to Bond Street, for the glazed roof that spanned the wide pedestrian boulevard protected the patrons, allowing for a leisurely stroll despite inclement weather.

Since the day appeared incapable of producing anything but water in all of its various forms, the arcade had seemed the perfect place to search for a gift. Angelica hadn’t expected it to be quite so busy. The shopkeepers were juggling customers at least four deep, which meant a longer wait than she had the patience for.

Angelica waved her footman on and left another crowded shop. Perhaps she ought to try Bond Street after all. Surely they’d have something appropriate for Daniel—her
father
, she reminded herself for the hundredth time. She eyed the ceaseless drizzle of rain at the end of the arcade and hesitated. She was determined, but without a direction on what to purchase, she was more likely to get soaked through than she was to find a suitable gift elsewhere.

She moved to a tailor’s shop and studied the stacks of brightly colored cravats displayed within the bow window. It wasn’t exactly customary for an unmarried woman to be seen gaping into places where men’s unmentionables were fitted, but there you have it. Angelica had two older brothers—
uncles
, she reminded herself—that it would be assumed she was shopping for. It wasn’t as if she planned to actually enter the establishment.

Dismissing the cravats as both too boring and too easy, Angelica peeked beyond the display and into the depths of the shop, desperate for something better. She was almost tempted to pop her head in and ask the proprietor for a suggestion, when she spotted a familiar figure within.

It was neither the line of his jacket nor the dark curls that struck her as familiar. No, it was the distinctive tilt of his head, as if he were studying something particularly intriguing. The look that never failed to make her insides feel as if they had turned to hot rice pudding.

As a former soldier, Vinedale was generally as far from scholarly as a man could get, but he had a tendency to scrutinize even the smallest detail as if he might see straight to its essence. It was most disconcerting to be the subject of such study, and she wondered what had captured his attention.

When Vinedale waved his hand to summon the shopkeeper, she knew him for certain and, before she even realized what she was about, she rapped briskly on the glass pane to get his attention. He turned, and she felt the full impact of his quicksilver gaze.

She waved cheerfully as her stomach turned to pudding again. As it turned out, the queer sensation seemed to have less to do with a simple look and more to do with Vinedale’s presence in close proximity to her. He had a knack for leaving her…unsettled. As if her blood ran faster and her skin prickled in heightened awareness.

Vinedale smiled then made a gesture to indicate she should wait while he completed his business.

Since he was a close friend of Daniel, she had spent some considerable time around the earl herself. Nowadays, she was almost…eager to see him. Not that she ever thought about it or sought him out because of it. Much.

Angelica pulled up the cashmere shawl that Vinedale had given her this past Christmas. It was a lovely warm fabric, one she particularly enjoyed rubbing her cheek against when she had a quiet moment of reflection. And sometimes, if she were completely honest with herself, when she did think about Vinedale.

He was, of course, completely ill-suited for her. He had a good ten years more than her that he wore as if they were twenty. But that wasn’t unusual for men who had once served in the military. It was as if the brutality of each battle drained bits of their life and left an echo of the horror of war behind.

And perhaps it did. It seemed at times, with both Daniel and Vine, that when their guard was down, the remnants of pain and despair shone clearly in their eyes. Daniel wore his as if he’d earned it. Vine disguised his with humor.

Vinedale concluded his business and exited the small shop, a tiny bell chiming behind him. Her footman drifted away to lounge against a shop front.

“Good day, Lady Angelica,” he said as he sketched a bow. “Fancy meeting you here. What brings you to the arcade this fine day?”

“Just your sort of day, is it, Vinedale? You must be in ecstasies, because I don’t believe the sun has made an appearance in nearly a fortnight.”

His smile was the crooked one that always gave her a little thrill.

Wrong. So wrong, this feeling.

“Indeed it is. It’s just the sort of day to lie about and do nothing but indulge in things best not mentioned in public.”

She raised a brow. He was teasing her, as usual; the glint in his eye suggested something wicked. And her impulse was to rise to the challenge.

Brazenly, she ran her gaze down, then back up his figure in assessment, and his smile deepened. “You haven’t an ounce of sloth in you, Vine. Certainly your presence here belies your claim.”

Vinedale sighed dramatically. “You have found me out. Such things require sufficient distraction at hand,” he said. Then he straightened and his expression eased, as if he were caught at something he oughtn’t be doing and sought to distance himself from it. He shrugged. “As to what I’m about, I suspect it’s the same as you. Searching for a gift for Daniel.”

Of course he was. Charlotte would have invited him to dinner. Vine was always included in family gatherings in the Walsh household.

Why hadn’t she realized this sooner? Now she would worry over what to wear. Not that she was dressing to impress Vinedale, of course.

“Yes, indeed, and a poor time of it I’m having, too.” Angelica raised her gloved hands to illustrate how empty they were and her reticule swayed at her wrist. “He isn’t the easiest to choose for.”

Vine laughed. “What do you give a man who has it all?”

“Well, he does seem to have everything.”

“Now that Charlotte’s back in his life, I think he’d agree.”

“Have you any suggestions? I’m rather desperate.”

“Well,” he said, brow furrowed. “You might consider— Whoa, there, chap!” Vinedale lurched suddenly to the side. A laborer, struggling with long boards of timber, had lost control of his burden and knocked Vine in the ribs, dislodging his hat. Vine regained his feet and turned toward the fellow with a thunderous frown. “Why in the blazes aren’t you hauling that lot in the back lane? You could injure someone!”

“Oh, dear,” Angelica murmured, then bent to retrieve his hat. She brushed at the top, trying to remove the sooty smudge on the once immaculate felted-beaver.

As she stood, something slammed into her, causing her to stagger and drop Vine’s hat. By the time she realized it was a body, and a rather small one at that, the person was gone without so much as an apology, dashing toward the street.

A quick mental inventory assured her nothing was broken or likely even bruised, with the possible exception of her wrist. It stung. She rubbed at the joint, and then peeled back the top of her glove to take a closer look, only to feel her stomach sink.

“My reticule! It’s been stolen!” Angelica spun, looking for her errant footman to lend aid. Unfortunately, he had his hands full of the man who had accosted Vine.

When Vinedale dashed past, racing after the thief, her heart stumbled.

Certainly, she wanted her purse returned, but what if the ruffian had a knife? Vinedale might have once been an army officer, but he wasn’t one any longer.

Angelica turned to her footman. “Do something! You must go after them and help Lord Vinedale!”

“Apologies, my lady, but I’ll have to let loose this one,” he said as he struggled with the laborer amidst discarded wood planks, “to go after the other.”

No one seemed inclined to help; in fact, the other patrons hastened into one establishment or another, or pointedly avoided her gaze. Nor was there a constable about.

What if Vine were hurt, lying bleeding on the cobbles?

Her heart seized at the image. The coin she could replace, but there’d be no replacing Vinedale if something serious were to happen.

Without another thought, Angelica turned and hastened into the wet mist after him. She dashed down the street, ignoring the damp that seeped into her clothing, her hair. Even the sunlight was weak and watery. On instinct she raced down the street until she heard the sounds of a struggle.

She paused at an alleyway and peered down it, searching for the source of the noise, but the dim light made it difficult to be sure she’d found Vinedale. Since she wasn’t about to dash pell-mell into an unknown area that smelled suspiciously like mews—she might be rash but she wasn’t foolish—she hovered in indecision.

Then she heard him. Or rather a shout that sounded like Vinedale on the tails of a suspiciously meaty-sounding thud. Her heart leapt into her throat.

Had he been injured? Angelica hastened into the alleyway.

It
was
Vinedale, and he was alone. He leaned back against the filthy brickwork, hunched over and clutching his head.

“Vine!” she said as she raced to his side. “Are you all right?”

Vine’s gaze was blank, as if he were focused on some internal vision, then he blinked and it cleared. The one eye, anyway. The other was hidden beneath his hand. “Angelica? What are you doing here?” He pushed away from the wall.

“I’ve come to make certain you’re all right. What were you thinking to chase after that criminal? What if he’d been armed? You could have been killed!”

“I’m an ex-soldier. I don’t make it a habit to go about unprotected.” The knife in his free hand glinted menacingly, and he struggled to regain his breath. “Couldn’t very well let the
thug
steal your purse.” He flashed a crooked grin. “Can’t encourage them, you know. They’ll try to make off with all of the pretty girls’ reticules.”

Vine thought her pretty? It was the first time she could recall he’d ever given her a direct compliment. Her fingertips tingled in response.

“You caught him, then?”

He grimaced. “I’m afraid not. Damnable filcher nearly took out my eye with a stick. Slipped away before I could snag him.”

When he dropped his hand to show her the damage, Angelica thought for a moment she’d faint. She’d never seen someone’s face…quite like that before.

Two dark rivulets of blood marred the side of his face and dripped from a nasty wound at his eyebrow. The alley tipped in her vision and she felt cold from more than the damp weather. Vinedale’s strong grip on her upper arms held her upright, but she felt as limp as a piece of string.

“You don’t look well. Are you all right?” Vine shook her slightly, and her surroundings straightened.

“Yes,” Angelica whispered, then gained her voice. “I’m fine. But you’re not, Vine. Here!” She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed the mass to the wound. “Hold still a moment. We need to stop the bleeding then get you to a physician. It looks terrible.”

He grunted but let her minister the wound. She held the makeshift bandage in place and scanned his features, checking for other damage. Which, thankfully, appeared to be none.

And then she realized that she’d never been quite so close to him before, and she stilled. His hair was ruffled, sticking out wildly, and his cravat was askew. Heat rolled from him, carrying his scent.

But his eyes… His eyes burned into her, simmering with emotion. No doubt it was from the fight, but something deeper, darker, shifted within their depths. Angelica bit her lip, worrying the flesh as her thoughts jumbled.

Vinedale followed the movement, staring at her mouth as if he couldn’t look away. As if he were a starved hound fixed on a plump hare.

Breathless, Angelica murmured something inconsequential then held her breath. Waiting and, perhaps, hoping. For a kiss? Surely not from Vine.

He leaned in and hesitated a breath away, as if expecting to be put off. Her pulse stuttered then his lips pressed to hers like a warm embrace.

Angelica held her breath, stunned. Uncertain.

She’d never been kissed, so she had nothing to compare it to, other than her imaginings and embarrassed, inquisitive peeks as Daniel stole a few from Charlotte. Was this all there was?

Then his mouth turned, shifted on hers, and the kiss changed. Intensified. Ensnared her and urged her to join him, to meld her breath with his. It was desire, pure and simple. The moist, delicious invitation to sinful delights that she had only read about in the novels she hid under her bed.

Vine’s kiss awakened in her something she hadn’t known existed, opened the door to possibilities she’d barely imagined. The buzz of awareness, the thrum of excitement she always felt around him was now magnified. Forever changed. Helpless to the temptation of his kiss.

Something like a mewl escaped her, a sound she’d never before made, but now it seemed all she was capable of in the onslaught. Vine growled in response and deepened the kiss, ravaging her lips, urging her to open, to meet the allure of his tongue. When she shyly swiped her tongue across the edge of his top lip, she was rewarded by a groan and his hands gripped her hips, pulling her into a rough embrace. Seeking more. Her insides melted like beeswax, as molten desire seeped through her veins.

She’d never felt like this before. Her blood pounded in her ears, and when he pulled back and stared, this time his eyes glowed like liquid silver, alight with passion. His lips glistened and his breathing was ragged. For a moment, she thought he’d kiss her again, then his head lifted like a stag catching a predator’s scent, and he pulled away just as a small group of men clattered into the alleyway.

Angelica was still holding her handkerchief to his brow. It slipped from her hand as he stepped aside, distancing himself.

The constable had arrived in search of a thief.