Twilight with the Infamous Earl (7 page)

Emily clutched the high back of the chair. Her gaze shifted from him to the doorway. “A Lord of—what? Did you say
vice
?”

He bit his tongue off before he apologized for a nickname he was not responsible for creating. “Yes. It is silly name I and my six friends have been stuck with since we were—”

“Uh, damn puppies?” Her lips pursed as she fought back a smile. “It is hardly a comforting recommendation to your good character.”

Was she teasing him? The realization gave him hope that he had not frightened her off. He slowly approached the chair she was using as a shield until they were face-to-face.

“What if I told you that we deserved it?”

“Then I would assume you and your rebellious cohorts were very bad boys,” she said breathlessly.

“Men,” he corrected. He pressed his right knee into the thick cushion of the chair so he could close the distance between them. “And yes, we have garnered a certain reputation with the
ton
. However, a few of us have become respectable. They have married and sired heirs.”

Emily had courage. Nor did she back away when his mouth was mere inches from hers. “But not you,” she said.

Frost shrugged. “Not much point. Someone has to maintain our notoriety. It might as well be me.”

His lips twitched in anticipation. He longed to pull her closer and silence her with a thorough, satisfying kiss. When he was finished, everyone would know what mischief the naughty wench had been up to.

“So this business about kissing me. Is this about securing your reputation?”

“Not precisely.”

“So how does this work? Do you spend your evening chasing after ladies? Is there a particular number? How many allow you to catch them?”

“No one is letting me
do
anything,” he muttered, unhappy with the direction of her questions.

Emily gasped. “Then you force yourself upon them.” She leaned closer. “There is a dreadful name for that sort of gentleman, you know. I am amazed Lord and Lady Fiddick granted you entry into their respectable town house.”

“You are cleverly twisting my words, Emily. No one is being forced, damn you!” he snapped, his desire waning into an urge to throttle her. “This is not about the
ton
or the nickname they gave us. Here and now, this is about me and you. Is it wrong of me to want to kiss you?”

Her cheeks warmed to a rosy pink at his declaration. “Yes,” she said, drawing away from him. “Because I am not my sister.”

Frost did not know how to respond to the nonsensical comment. He had never met her younger sister. “What the devil are you prattling on about?”

“Gentlemen filled the drawing room with flowers, wrote her poetry, and fought duels over her. She was a raving beauty every man longed to kiss. Not I.”

“I disagree. If you would stand still, I’ll prove it.”

“Ah, I see,” she said, nodding. “I am the first lady to spurn you.”

“No,” he said gruffly. “There have been others.”

“Hmm … too few, in my opinion. You have my sympathies, Lord Chillingsworth.” Emily patted him on the cheek and walked away.

The chit was leaving. Frost scrubbed his face. How had she turned the tables on him? Any other woman would have melted in his embrace and begged for him to kiss her again.

She set her empty wineglass down on one of the tables and headed toward the door.

“Wait. A moment, Miss Cavell,” he said through clenched teeth since it came close to begging.

Frost charged after her when she refused to halt. He caught up to her just as she stepped out of the parlor. He spun her about; she had to grasp his shoulders to keep her balance.

“We are not finished with our discussion.”

Emily glared at him. “Do you know the difference between you and the young lords that you threatened earlier?”

“No. Nor do I care.” Snarling at her would not soften her disposition toward him. Where was the charm he was known for? He had yet to ask a single question about her hatred for Nox. Frost took a deep breath. “What is the difference?”

“Only a small one,” she said too sweetly. “Your pranks require more sophistication than theirs. Although I believe—mm—ph—”

He used his mouth to silence her. It was the smartest course, since the woman had the ability to castrate a man with her tongue. There were other, more tantalizing and pleasurable uses for the organ.

At first, Emily held her ground. She was as rigid as a board in his arms, and her mouth was as yielding as a threatened clam. Frost had stolen his first taste of her, and he regretted his rough handling. Almost. Her rambling explanation about her sister had revealed that the lady had not been kissed.

He was the first man to experience the passion she kept hidden.

His lips softened against hers and she drew in a ragged breath. Closing his eyes, he breathed in her scent. She smelled faintly of orange blossoms. He kissed her lightly, an unspoken apology for his anger. Emily’s response was as generous as her heart. Her lips, unschooled in the art of kissing, parted and beckoned for him to take more.

It was an invitation he could not refuse.

Slowly, he worshiped her mouth. He caressed the plump padding of her lower lip with his lips, using the tip of his tongue as a teasing whip to moisten his path.

When he lifted his head, he stared down into the fathomless depths of her hazel eyes. The green and gold rings glowed with the rising passion she likely did not recognize within her. Unfortunately, Frost was very aware of his body. He was aroused and feeling reckless. A part of him longed to drag her back into the small parlor and lock the door. The Fiddicks’ sofa would suffice as he kissed Emily in other delectable areas of her body.

It was the most difficult thing he had ever done, but he released her and stepped back.

“Lord Chillingsworth.” Emily stared at him with bemused wonder in her gaze as if she had never truly seen him.

“We have moved beyond formality,” he said, pleased that he had figured out a way to sweeten her disposition. “My friends call me—”

“Frost!”

Emily stared at him, her distress apparent. Almost being caught in a torrid embrace with a Lord of Vice had turned her ardor to ash, and she was probably vexed with him again. Annoyance flashed across his expression as he noticed his sister and Dare were to blame for this intrusion. How the devil had they found him? He had not told Regan that he would be attending the ball this evening.

“Regan and Dare, this is unexpected,” he said, genially, while his gaze silently ordered them to
go away
.

“Lady Fiddick told us you were here,” his sister said, stepping away from her husband to kiss Frost on the cheek. “I told Dare that I would not believe it until I saw you myself.”

Dare stood behind his wife with his arms crossed. His attention shifted from Frost to Emily, and there was a question in his gaze. How much had the couple seen? Enough, he assumed.

The bravado Emily had displayed during their argument had left her. She stood quietly beside him, most likely wishing she had escaped before they had drawn spectators.

There was nothing he could do to ease her embarrassment. It was best to get through the introductions. Maybe she wouldn’t look so miserable once she learned that they had been interrupted by several members of his family.

“Regan and Dare, I would like to introduce you to—”

His sister brought her hands to her lips. “Emily … Emily Cavell. My goodness, is that truly you?”

Frost’s eyebrows rose. “You are acquainted with Emily?”

The lady in question frowned at him for using her given name, but she was smiling when she walked toward his sister. “Lady Regan.” She curtsied.

“Oh, I will have none of that from you,” Regan said, embracing the startled woman.

Puzzled, Emily glanced at him and then his sister. Why was she so surprised that he had a sister? Granted, the resemblance was subtle, but she was looking at him as if he had been hatched by chickens.

“Oh, how are you? I love your dress. Which shop did you use? Will you be staying in London for a few months? Oh, goodness, I cannot believe it is you!” Regan babbled on.

“Nor I.” Emily nodded and smiled as she decided which question to address first. She noticed Dare standing behind Regan and must have thought it was too rude to ignore him. “Is this your husband?”

“Yes.” His sister extended her hand to Dare, and he joined his marchioness. “Emily, may I present my husband, Lord Pashley.”

His friend took Emily’s hand and bowed. “A pleasure, Miss Cavell. Our friends call me Dare,” he said, clearly amused by his wife’s joy over discovering an old friend.

“Emily,” she said easily, and Frost was tempted to kick his friend for his gallantry.

“How did you meet my sister?” Frost inquired, his curiosity getting the better of him. Although the Cavell surname was vaguely familiar to him, he could not recall his sister playing with a girl named Emily.

Regan and Dare’s arrival had given her an excuse to ignore him, but she could not avoid replying to his question. “Miss Swann’s Academy for Young Ladies. She was four years older, but Regan’s exploits were legendary and an inspiration to the other girls.”

His sister grinned cheekily at him. “You are kind to say so, Emily, but I highly doubt the other girls were inspired by my antics. In fact, I was in trouble so often Miss Swann ran out of punishments.”

Before Frost could press her about the punishments she had failed to mention, Regan grabbed Emily by the hands and said, “Let’s go into the parlor and chat awhile. I have so much to tell. Do you recall Nina and Thea? They are in town. We must plan an outing!”

She and Emily entered the parlor, with Regan capable of holding both sides of the conversation. Neither lady gave any thought to the gentlemen. Frost wondered if they were even allowed to join them.

He started to follow, but Dare caught him by the arm.

“You might want to wait,” he said enigmatically.

“Why should I?”

Dare’s pointed glance at the front of Frost’s trouser had him reaching for—Christ, no! He covered the proof of his waning arousal with his hand. Had Emily noticed?

“Splendid. No wonder Emily was gaping at me as if I possessed two heads!”

Dare burst into a fit of laughter.

Frost groaned and pressed his fingers against his eyelids. He chuckled, still able to appreciate the humor of his predicament. “Do you think Regan noticed?”

“Fear not, old friend. It was barely noticeable, and the ladies were distracted.”

“Now you are just being cruel,” Frost said, disgruntled.

“Stop whining,” his brother-in-law said cheerfully. “It is your fault for kissing Miss Cavell in the corridor. Usually you are discreet.”

“I am discreet. My intention was to question her, not kiss her,” he said, and then recalled that he had never ruled out kissing. He did not believe in denying himself, and now that he had kissed Emily, he wanted to do it again. “She was taking slices out of me with her sharp tongue. Kissing her was a clever defense.”

Dare nodded, understanding lighting his gaze. “You did not anticipate liking it, eh?”

“I
always
like it, Dare. I just didn’t think I would like it that much,” he confessed grumpily.

“Tread carefully, gent. She’s Regan’s friend and an innocent.” His friend held up his hand to silence Frost from issuing an angry retort. “Ravishing innocents brings a man nothing but trouble. Besides, if you break Emily’s heart, you will earn your sister’s wrath.”

“I can handle my sister,” Frost replied with confidence. “And I have no plans to bed Miss Cavell. The kiss was an aberration. I will keep my hands off her.”

Dare grunted but did not offer his opinion.

Frost was grateful. He often lied, but never to himself.

There was a first time for everything.

Chapter Eight

Lord Chillingsworth was the man called Frost.

In mind-numbing disbelief, she sat next to the man’s sister—an older girl she had liked and secretly admired for her courage to stand up to her tormentors—while she struggled to maintain her composure.

Why does it have to be him?

Shouldn’t she have sensed that the charming, beautiful man who had swept into her life was the devil in disguise? And then there was Regan. How could she share blood with such a heartless creature?

“How did you meet my brother?” Regan asked.

Emily’s attention switched from the doorway, where she only caught a glimpse of Lord Chillingsworth’s elbow, back to his sister.

“Ah, well…” She cleared her dry throat. “A man was selling his stepdaughter on the streets after her mother died, and I found myself in a bit of trouble when I interfered. Your brother’s timely arrival prevented anyone from getting hurt.”

“My brother has always loved a good fight,” she said candidly. The affection for her older sibling was evident. “And he abhors bullies.”

Emily absently nodded as she glanced again at the doorway. Lord Pashley laughed, but she was too far away to overhear Lord Chillingsworth’s response. “He even took responsibility for Katie. He said that he knew someone who could help her.”

Regan’s reaction put to rest any lingering concern that she might have held for Katie. “He must have approached Catherine for assistance.”

“Your brother did not divulge names.”

“Catherine is the Marchioness of Sainthill. The lady has some interesting friends,” Regan confided, her emerald-and-diamond earrings glittering as she tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “Her husband is one of Frost’s friends.”

“Is he one of the Lords of Vice?” she asked bitterly. In hindsight, the nickname suited the man called Frost perfectly.

“Yes, as is my husband,” she added, noting her friend’s frown. “I am surprised my brother mentioned it. Since Hunter’s marriage to Grace, he has been rather cranky about the whole subject.”

“Why?”

“All of his friends have married,” she simply said. “He is the last remaining bachelor, and I often wonder if he feels obligated to maintain their reputation. Dare and the others have considered shutting down Nox, but Frost won’t even consider it.”