The Wrong Woman
Authors: Kimberly Truesdale
Tags: #Romance, #Historical, #Regency, #Historical Romance
Contents
The Wrong Woman
Unexpected Love #1
by Kimberly Truesdale
THE WRONG WOMAN
A Toast and Tea Publications Book / March 2013
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2013 by Kimberly Noelle Egolf
Cover art “Morning Toilette” by Christoffer Wilhelm Eckersberg, used under Wikimedia Commons License.
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The name vzyl refers to an entity and not any registered user with the same name.
I hereby acknowledge that I have shared this book without
permission from the ebook owner if I earn profit or rewards for providing access to this ebook.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real people, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-0-9858537-2-3 (Ebook)
To all my friends — online and off — who helped me conquer the second book blues.
“His heart was formed for softness – warped to wrong”
~ George Gordon, Lord Byron, from
The Corsair
Prologue
I hate him. I hate him.
The three words revolved in Thomas Davenport's head as he stared across the dark surface of the card table at his opponent. No, his
nemesis
. After this last defeat that is what the laughing devil across the table from him had become.
But the man did not seem to realize it. His drunken friends had gathered around and were congratulating him, pounding him on the back and shaking his hand, yelling for more drinks and planning how to spend the hoard their friend had just acquired. And all the while the devil kept laughing.
The muscles of Thomas' jaw worked slowly as he clenched his teeth together. He would not let them see his distress. Thomas tried to focus on the corner of the table in front of him, but the sight seemed to mock him as much as the boisterous men did. There against the dark felt surface lay two hands of cards, one winning, one losing. The losing one belonged – not for the first time tonight – to Thomas. The winning one belonged – also not for the first time tonight – to the cold devil across from him.
“Well played, Davenport,” the icy voice seemed bored in the midst of the excitement. “Bad luck this time, though. What's it been now? Five games?” The rejoicing friends paused in their mirth to witness this exchange. Thomas' lip curled in contempt. He did not answer. This seemed to ignite their glee, as his nemesis leaned back smugly in his chair.
“That's almost five thousand pounds you now owe me?” Thomas still did not answer. He could not form any thoughts beyond his hatred. The group of over-privileged, overgrown boys stared at him, waiting for his response. But Thomas kept silent. If he spoke, he would unleash the violent rage their mocking provoked in him. Instead, he breathed heavily through his nose and clenched his fists on the arms of the chair.
When his nemesis realized there was no further sport to be had, he leaned forward in his chair, as if to rise, and smiled, “Well, boys, I believe I have won enough from Mr. Davenport this evening.” The men chuckled into their drinks. “Shall we retire somewhere private to celebrate my victory?” He placed careful emphasis on the word private. Thomas understood his exclusion.
His opponent stood, slowly unfolding his tall frame from the chair, and reached across the table to shake hands. Thomas' rage built inside of him. Shake hands! The devil expected him to shake hands, as if this had been nothing but friendly sport? No. He would not do it. Thomas felt the other man’s eyes on him, waiting. He could not, could not. Thomas kept his seat, digging his fingernails into the cushioned arm of the chair. Thomas stared him down, showing he was not afraid. He did not waver even when a look of concern briefly crossed the other man's face. Thomas would not weaken for anything.
Finally, the devil gave up. With a shrug, he dropped his hand and turned away from the table, leading his friends off to a different, more exclusive, part of the club with promises of plentiful wine (and a few choice women).
Thomas watched them walk away, the contempt on his face becoming more pronounced the further away they moved. The devil had made a fool of him tonight. His inheritance was gone. All of it. He'd gambled it away, taking chances with his future. But it was no matter at all to his nemesis whether he won or lost. It was all a game to that smiling ass.
It had always been that way. The devil and his friends had been four years before Thomas at school. They had ruled there like they ruled the club now, as if they were entitled to everything they had. And they never thought of anyone else.
As he watched their retreating forms swaying in uneven lines toward the private rooms of the club, Thomas vowed that he would make them consider just exactly what was important to them. He would punish them all. And he would start with the devil himself.
Miles Shepherd, Baron of Revere would be punished. And when Thomas had him in his grasp, he would take great pleasure in laughing coldly in the devil's face and then walking away.
Chapter 1
Miles Shepherd sighed heavily to the three men standing near him. “I've got the devil of a headache tonight.”
“But the delights of last evening were worth it, were they not?” Michael Tremain asked and raised his eyebrows at his companions. All three grinned.
Miles had spent the previous evening, as he spent most of his evenings, in the club gambling with the friends who stood around him now. But last night they had outdone themselves with the amount of liquor consumed. And all day Miles had paid for it.
Miles Shepherd, Michael Tremain, Lawrence Blume, and John Riley were a formidable quartet at the card table. At school together over a decade ago, they'd developed their card-playing skills instead of studying. They'd fleeced nearly every bright young man who had come to school.
Now they spent their time doing the same thing to gullible young men like Thomas Davenport, who they'd played last night. He'd thought he could beat them.
Stupid child
, Miles had thought to himself. He'd almost felt sorry for the boy. But he could not deny that they had thoroughly enjoyed the spoils. It was a wonder any of them were standing at all at the moment.
At the reminder of his overindulgence, Miles began listing a little to the side. The swirling bodies on the dance floor in front of him were a bit disorienting, and the colors started to blur in front of his face. He blinked a few times to clear his head, but it didn't help. It was not often he overdid it with the wine, but he'd been enjoying himself too much to quit. Miles blinked again and shifted his gaze back to the stationary men next to him.
“All right there, Revere?” Tremain laughed and patted his friend's shoulder.
“Of course,” Miles grumbled.
“You looked a little unsteady there for a moment, chap.”
Tremain was a tall, thin man who'd made it his mission in life to enjoy every sensual delight society offered. Wine and women had so far turned out to be his favorite indulgences. A year ago, though, he'd shocked his friends by declaring his engagement. He'd wooed and wed a pretty young woman in her first season. Miles had thought marriage might slow his friend down a bit in his other pursuits, but the constant rush of town delights hadn't stopped. Tremain frequently acted as if he weren't even married. And Mrs. Tremain had shown herself happy to act the same way. Miles did not understand their marriage at all, but he had long ago left the whole thing alone.
“What about the red head in the corner?” Riley asked a little too loudly, piercing through Miles' head.
Blume laughed. “You don't want that one.”
“Why not?”
“Haven't you learned anything is the past decade, man?” Tremain chided.
“What?” Riley was confused.
“The way she's waving that fan around,” Miles enlightened his friend.
“The fan?” The man seemed lost.
“It's trouble, Riley. A woman that eloquent with her fan has been practicing hard to catch herself a husband.” Blume waved his hand in imitation of the girl's fan and winked suggestively at Riley. The other men chuckled.
“Well, would it be so bad to have a woman who knows what she wants?” Riley asked, drawing a groan from the others.
“How have you remained so innocent after all these years?” Tremain exclaimed.
“If you are looking for a happy marriage, my friend, steer clear of a woman with too much interest in getting her own way.” Blume was unable to keep a touch of bitterness out of his voice. His friends fell silent for a moment, unsure what to say.
Lawrence Blume had followed in Tremain's footsteps and gotten himself married about six months ago. His vast inheritance more than made up for his squat stature and square face. At least one woman had decided she didn't mind it. Mrs. Blume was at home on the country estate at the moment. In a moment of drunken confession a few nights ago, Blume admitted to his friends that his wife despised him and wanted him only to do his duty to produce legitimate heirs and leave her at peace in the country.
Poor Blume
, Miles thought. He hadn't expected to
love
his wife, of course. None of the four friends expected that. But Miles imagined that it must have been a rude shock to find out that his wife had not one ounce of love for him.
Finally, Riley's eye lit on another woman.
“On the dance floor. The dark-haired beauty dancing with Brandon.” The men contemplated her.
“Quite a beauty,” Tremain agreed. Miles noticed a gleam in his eye that spoke more than his words. He might have to watch Tremain around this girl, especially if Riley took a fancy to marrying her.
They'd come tonight in spite of their pounding heads in order for Riley to survey the new crop of young women. And for Tremain to survey the eligible married women who might be game for what he called “a unique arrangement.” Tremain claimed that the short two months that made up the Little Season were the best time for such things. The society matrons forced to stay in London while their husbands attended Parliament found ways, both acceptable and not quite so, to stave off their boredom.
“Nice figure,” Miles observed half-heartedly. The girl was pretty, but she didn't spark his interest in any significant way. None of the women he had seen tonight appealed much to him.
Not that it matters what attracts me
, Miles thought. Though he'd not yet told his friends, unwilling to endure their constant ridicule for the next two months, Miles had also determined to find a wife soon. Ever since Mama had discovered that Tremain and Blume had married, she'd been pressuring Miles to settle down. After all, Mama had reminded him, he was over thirty now. It was expected that he would take a wife and start a family. And then her most damning words: You are the heir and must produce a son. It's what your father would have wanted.
It was expected of him. It was his duty. It was what his father would have wanted. Ever since his brother's accident eleven years ago, Miles had been powerless in the face of those arguments. He'd been determined to do just what everyone expected of him. It was easier than making his own decisions.
“Revere?” Blume was addressing him.
“What?”
“Refreshment?”
“No, thanks. I'll stay here and observe.”
“Let us know if any irresistible women appear while we're gone,” Tremain grinned at him. Miles smiled back. He never thought too hard about Tremain's actions, knowing they would not quite sit well. But the man's constant good humor and joy in life were hard for Miles to resist. Some evenings Miles had fun only because Tremain teased him into it.