The Fallen Woman (A Regency Romance) (2 page)

How could she, when it felt so good?

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Leona knew she was doing a very bad thing. His hand was caressing her in places she never thought a man’s hand would caress, but she let it happen. Good God, she didn’t even know his given name!

As he parted her legs, Leona wondered if she was becoming a harlot. She didn’t have much time to worry about it; however, because he was doing something to her that made her feel as if the lower half of her body was exploding into a thousand little pieces. She never knew it was possible to feel so wonderful—so alive!

Leona’s head was still spinning when Lord Wintergreen said, “I need to get you back.”

Leona grabbed her garments, which were strewn beside the bed, and clutched them to her body. Suddenly, she was very aware of her naked state. “Pardon?”

“To the ball. We need to get you back to the ball,” he went on. “Otherwise, won’t your father wonder where you’ve gone off to?”

Lifting her leg, Leona started to pull on her stockings. She didn’t even remember Lord Wintergreen removing them. Everything was such a blur. “Oh dear, of course! How long have we been gone?”

“Almost an hour.”

Her entire life was ruined in less than hour.

However, the consequences of her actions weren’t apparent right away. When she sneaked out of his carriage and slipped back into the ballroom, Leona hadn’t been gone long enough to raise suspicion. In fact, Mr. Cotton approached her and told her she missed their quadrille, voicing his regrets in such a casual manner, it was as if she’d never been gone!

Lord Wintergreen winked at her from across the room, and in her head, Leona was imagining a grand love affair. She thought they would meet up again and again, and he could make her feel wonderful for the rest of her life. She thought he might marry her, and they would live happily ever after.

Unfortunately, Leona’s happiness didn’t last long.

The next time she saw Lord Wintergreen, he seemed determined to avoid her. She tried to approach him several times, but he always found a clever way to excuse himself. If he saw her walking toward him, he started heading in the opposite direction. He acted as though she didn’t exist.

As if that wasn’t heartbreaking enough, Silly had some very important gossip to share with Leona at the end of the London Season.

“Did you hear about Lord Wintergreen?”

Leona tried to appear indifferent. “What about him?”

“Don’t pretend you haven’t been pining for him for months!” Silly teased her friend. Of course, she might not have teased her at all, had she any knowledge of Leona’s life-altering tryst. “I have some
very
interesting news concerning Lord Wintergreen.”

Leona held her breath. She hated when Silly kept her in suspense. “For goodness sake,
what?
”

“He’s gone back to Newcastle,” Silly said. “And wait until you hear
this
. The entire time he was in London, he had a fiancé in Newcastle. A fiancé! I always thought he was a cad, and this proves it. Did he, or did he not, flirt with every single young lady in this room?”

Leona swayed on her feet, and Silly grabbed her shoulder. “Oh dear…” she murmured. “Oh dear…”

“What is it?” Silly asked. “You’re not going to swoon on me, are you? You know, Leona, you could do far better than Lord Wintergreen. I told you he was a rake. He’s the worst sort of man. Truly! You could have any man in this room, and you know it. I know Mr. Cotton is infatuated with you… and don’t get me started on Lord Netherdale… or Mr. Quinton… or…”

Leona wasn’t listening anymore, because everything her friend said was wrong. Leona couldn’t have any man. In fact,
no
man would have her.

Not when she was carrying another man’s child.

Chapter Two

The viscount glared at his friend beneath heavy eyelids. It was too early to have to deal with this.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Andrew shouted as he pulled back the curtains, inviting light into the viscount’s dreary bedchamber. “It’s not natural to lie around in bed all day, old man. What time is it, anyway? Is it past noon yet?”

Tristan Nichols, otherwise known as Viscount Randall, narrowed his eyes until they were practically shut. The light through the window was an unwelcome guest—as was Andrew, at the moment. The viscount wanted to pull the blankets over his head and hide, but he thought it would look childish. “There’s nothing wrong with resting,” he blearily offered his own opinion.

“Until
half past noon
?”

“I don’t see why you’re raising a fuss,” chimed the viscount as his face erupted with a cavernous yawn.

“Are you ill or something?” Andrew asked. “You’ve locked yourself away in this grand old house. I hardly see you anymore. I’m here because I’m concerned about you. You’re completely wasting your life.”

The viscount’s cheeks elongated as he suppressed another yawn. “If I choose to idle away in bed all day, it shouldn’t be any of your concern, Andrew. You sound like my mother… or even worse, my old nursemaid. Now, go away.”

“So you can
rest
some more?” Andrew asked with a chuckle. “It’s a miracle your blankets haven’t turned into cobwebs.”

“I’m not resting, I’m… thinking. I’m deep in thought. You should try it sometime.”

“You were asleep when I got here,” Andrew noted with a sigh. “I can’t imagine you would be having many profound thoughts in your sleep.”

“My dreams are very elaborate,” the viscount countered sarcastically. “I thought I told you to bugger off.”

Andrew sat at the end of the bed, leaning against the bedpost. A wicked thought crossed his mind, and his curiosity was begging to be sated. He knew it was none of his business, but he had to ask. “When was the last time you’ve had a woman in here?”

The viscount groaned.

Andrew’s brow shot up. “
Never
?”

“I’m not going to answer that question. A gentleman doesn’t talk about that sort of thing.”

“Indeed he does… when he’s in the company his oldest and fondest friend!”

Grumbling, Tristan managed to pull himself into a sitting position. His hair pointed toward the ceiling in a very comical way, and he didn’t bother with rearranging it. “If you really must know, I haven’t been with a woman in nearly eight years. There. Are you satisfied?”

“Good God,
eight years
? No wonder you stay in here all day. I’d be depressed too, if I hadn’t--”

“I’m not depressed.”

Ignoring his friend, Andrew went on, “…hadn’t had a woman’s companionship in eight years! I don’t know how you do it! I couldn’t survive without the fairer sex. I can put in a good word with a few pretty young widows, Randall. You need only ask, and I’ll do it.”

“I don’t want a pretty young widow.”

“A pretty young wife, then? A chaste young thing? I know several.”

The viscount laughed. “You make it sound a great deal easier than it is.”

“It would be
very
easy for you!” Andrew insisted. “If you went out every once in awhile, attended a ball or two, you’d have loads of women to choose from. An attractive, rich, titled gentleman like you--”

Tristan clutched his stomach, and a roar of laughter took him. This time, his laughter was genuine. “
Attractive?
”

Andrew’s eyes fluttered sheepishly. “Yes, well… I don’t claim to be a judge of a man’s good looks, but I wouldn’t say you’re completely without appeal.”

Tristan shook his head. “I’m not as handsome as you, I daresay.”

Andrew wanted to protest, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was in possession of wicked good looks, and there was no denying it. To admit it would be vain, but to deny it would be foolish. “Well, you are far richer than I am. And you have your title.”

“But I wouldn’t settle for just any woman. I can’t stand silly girls,” Tristan sighed as he spoke. “I get along just fine without a wife, and I’ve had no one nagging me to find one since my father died. To be honest, you’re the last person I expected to nag me about my bachelor status.”

“Tristan, I…”

“Futhermore,” Tristan interrupted, “I am four and thirty. It’s not as if I’ve completely run out of time. You’re only a few years younger than me, Andrew. Why don’t
you
find a wife?”

Andrew sprung from the bed. “What? A few? I’m only nine and twenty! I have plenty of time!”

If his hitched eyebrow was any indication, Lord Randall wasn’t amused.

“Well, then… if you choose not to shackle yourself, I understand.
Completely
,” said Andrew, who started to twitch as soon as his own unmarried state was brought into question. “However, I wish you would find some time for your old friend every now and then. If you’d rather stay indoors than step out with Andrew Lamb, then… well… quite frankly, I’m insulted!”

“Insulted?” Tristan repeated. “Well, I can’t have that. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if I rolled out of bed every once in awhile. Besides, I think it’s time I gave my valet some work.” As he spoke, Tristan studied his reflection in the looking glass, which was adjacent to his bed. “He’s not earning his keep if he leaves my hair looking like this, is he?”

* * *

Even when he wasn’t shabby and bedridden, Lord Randall was no match for Andrew’s magnetic allure. As soon as they set foot in the assembly rooms, everyone drew a collective breath—and it wasn’t because they were surprised to see the viscount out of his apartments. It was because he was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with a man whose face put all others to shame.

As soon as he entered, Lord Randall wanted to leave. When the young ladies started to amass around them, it did nothing to improve his mood. He knew they were here for--

“Mr. Lamb!” one of the young ladies shouted, completing the thought in Tristan’s head. “It’s so wonderful to see you again!”

“Hello, Miss Gibson,” Andrew greeted his greeter. “You’re looking lovely today, as usual.”

Another young lady, vying for Andrew’s attention, snapped open her fan and started flapping it below her chin. Tristan wondered if the gesture was supposed to look charming. He thought she looked ridiculous.

A third young lady, whose copper-red curls were piled intricately on her head, started to bat her eyelashes. Lord Randall thought he could feel a soft breeze as she fluttered them. “Won’t you ask me to dance, Mr. Lamb? You dance so magnificently!” chimed the redhead. Her mouth formed an exaggerated pout as she spoke.

“Of course, Miss Tierney,” Andrew answered with a grin. “I would be most delighted. I can’t think of a partner I would like better.”

The other young ladies sighed in unison.

“Won’t you introduce us to your friend?” asked the girl with the fan, who had yet to be named.

Andrew looked happy to oblige. “Oh, you haven’t met Lord Randall?”

“
Lord
Randall?” one of the girls repeated.

“Yes. My friend happens to be a viscount. Does it surprise you?” Andrew made a gesture toward the ladies. “Randall, meet Miss Gibson, Miss Gibson, Miss Tierney and Miss Whitaker.”

He wasn’t supposed to remember all that, was he? He had hardly been paying attention until he heard Andrew say his name. Introductions and false niceties were of no interest to him. “Hello… ladies.”

“You’ll have to forgive my friend if he seems antisocial,” Andrew lamented. “Carrying on a conversation with strangers is one of his weak points. Now…” He turned to the redhead with uncontrollably fluttering eyes. “Miss Tierney, I believe we have a dance lined up?”

Miss Tierney squeaked with delight and grabbed Andrew’s arm. “Of course, Mr. Lamb!” She glanced over her shoulder as he led her away, as if to gloat to her companions.

With Andrew gone, Lord Randall was left with Misses Gibsons and… what was the other young lady’s name? Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead as he tried to recall it. He would have to give Andrew a verbal thrashing for leaving him with three girls, who were obviously very silly. And they were far too young for him. As he glanced at each of them, he decided that none of them could be any older than nineteen. He had no interest in wooing a child.

Or wooing anyone. He had no talent for flirting.

“I wish I had someone to dance with,” said one of the Miss Gibsons. “There are never enough young men to dance with.”

Tristan hoped she wasn’t eyeing him as a prospective partner. He didn’t know why he let Andrew talk him into making an appearance at this dreadful ball. There wasn’t anything he enjoyed about a social gathering like this.

“What about you, my lord?” the other Miss Gibson tried to bait him. “Do you dance?”

His stomach was in knots at the thought of leading a girl to the dance floor. “I, um… I’m afraid not, Miss Gibson. As I can hardly walk on my own two feet without stumbling, I would be a very poor partner.”

“Surely you jest!” Miss Whitaker exclaimed, swatting his arm with her fan. “I’ve never met anyone as clumsy as that.”

“Until now,” Tristan completed her thought. “Besides, Miss Gibson was asking for
young
men to dance with, and I’m hardly young.”