The Scoundrel and the Lady (Lords of Vice) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Get Scandalous with these historical reads… The Rogue’s Conquest

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Robyn DeHart. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Scandalous is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Alethea Spiridon

  Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill

  Cover art from Deposit Photos and Period Images

  ISBN 978-1-64063-259-2

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition September 2017

  To my faithful readers who’ve driven hundreds of miles to meet me, who’ve bought their first ereader just to get my books (Angie!), and who continue to support me…these stories are for YOU!

  And to my husband Paul, a.k.a. the Professor, you are my favorite hero ever.

  Prologue

  May 1850

  Inside the offices of the Daily Scandal, London

  Merritt Steele read over the article one last time, searching for any errors. It would seem that Lord Prescott had not only lost his fortune through a series of embarrassingly bad investments, but he’d been caught sleeping with his younger brother’s wife. The newspaper’s patrons would devour the story, as well as the rest of the on-dits that would be in this week’s offering.

  It had been nearly four years since Merritt had taken over the paper and shifted it from a standard broadsheet to one that fed the never-ending hunger for scandal and gossip among London’s elite. The change had resulted in the Daily Scandal becoming the fastest selling paper in all of London and Merritt himself becoming one of the wealthiest men in all of England.

  Someone knocked on his office door.

  “Enter,” he said without looking up from his proofing.

  “Merritt, there is a Mr. Brewer here to see you,” Rand, Merritt’s assistant and oldest friend, said.

  “Who?” he asked, as he glanced up at Rand.

  “He’s a solicitor. Said he must speak to you immediately as it is of the utmost importance,” Rand said.

  “Indeed. Well, then send him in.” He glanced at his watch. “This cannot take too long. We have to finalize the rest of these pieces before we go to print tomorrow.”

  Rand nodded then disappeared for a moment before returning with a short, paunchy man with a balding hairline and small wire spectacles perched on his squat nose.

  “Mr. Steele, you are an incredibly difficult man to find,” the solicitor said.

  “I don’t believe I’ve been hiding,” Merritt said.

  Rand turned to go, but the solicitor stopped him. “We shall require a witness for this.”

  “Official business?” Merritt asked, unable to hide his curiosity.

  “Indeed.” He handed Merritt a card. “My name is Irving Brewer, and I am the solicitor of the Earl of Ashby.” He waited as if somehow this news would mean something significant to Merritt.

  “I suppose this Lord Ashby has sent you to protest something we printed about him in the paper,” Merritt said. “I can tell you that if we print it, we have first verified it. We are in the business of reporting scandals, not merely gossip.”

  “I should have said the late Earl of Ashby.” Mr. Brewer frowned. “May I sit?”

  “If you must,” Merritt said. “Rand, you too.” Both men sat across from Merritt’s desk. “Mr. Brewer, I am a very busy man. If we could move along with whatever has brought you to my offices?”

  “Yes, of course.” He dug into the satchel on his lap and rifled through it before pulling out a small stack of papers. “Did you know that the Earl of Ashby was your cousin? On your mother’s side.”

  Ah yes. So the Lord Ashby in question was that earl. A distant cousin of his mother’s. Growing up, he met the earl only a handful of times, occasions on which the earl had summoned his mother to visit. The old man was pompous and condescending, rude and domineering. But, as Merritt’s mother had said bluntly, too rich and powerful to be ignored.

  Merritt felt a frown weigh down his brow. “We were very distantly related.”

  “Yes, well, you are his cousin. Or rather, were his cousin. He has died.”

  “My condolences,” Merritt said drily.

  Mr. Brewer said nothing for a long moment, as if he expected more of a reaction from Merritt. Then, finally, he cleared his throat. “You are his heir, Mr. Steele. You are now the Earl of Ashby.” He set the papers on Merritt’s desk.

  Merritt reached forward and snatched up the papers.

  Rand did his best to hide his chuckle but ended up releasing a bark of laughter.

  Merritt couldn’t even look up to glare at his friend. Instead, his attention was set on the words in his hand. “How is it possible that all of the other heirs before me have died?”

  “Very bad luck, it would seem,” Mr. Brewer said. “Two infant sons, three nephews, and another cousin.”

  “All dead?”

  “Well, not at the same time, you understand. As I said, a run of very bad luck. And now the title falls to you,” Mr. Brewer said. “I require your signature on the last page.”

  “I don’t want to be an earl,” Merritt said.

  Mr. Brewer looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. “But it comes with a significant estate as well as the obvious status and a seat in Parliament.”

  “Yes, though it also seems to come with a curse of death.”

  Mr. Brewer released a shaky laugh. “Certainly not. As I said, you sign that last page, and you will officially be the Earl of Ashby.”

  Merritt made no move to sign anything. This was asinine. A sum of no more than five collective hours in the man’s presence certainly did not qualify Merritt to be the man’s heir. He had always understood the earl to be a distant relative, someone they visited out of familial duty and not because there was any chance at all that he might be close enough to inherit.

  Granted, his mother had died when he was not more than fifteen, so they hadn’t much discussed her family line.

  “It shouldn’t be any problem for you to locate a buyer for this newspaper,” Mr. Brewer said. “Then you can begin your life anew.”

  “Sell the paper? Why the devil would I do that?” Merritt asked.

  Mr. Brewer cleared his throat. “It is not customary for earls to have paid positions.”

  “I don’t give a damn what is customary for earls. This is my paper, and I’m not selling it, nor am I leaving my position as editor,” Merritt said.

  “My apologies for upsetting you,” Mr. Brewer
said. “You can certainly manage the newspaper. I am not in the position to tell you what you can and can’t do.”

  Merritt nodded once then glanced again at the stack of papers that would irrevocably change his life. But it didn’t have to change everything.

  “Lucy,” Rand said quietly.

  “Pardon?” Mr. Brewer asked.

  “My sister,” Merritt said. “She will be over the moon about this advancement in our social status.”

  “Excellent,” Mr. Brewer said.

  Merritt paused once more before scrawling his name on the last page.

  “Now then, I suppose I should refer to you as Lord Ashby,” Mr. Brewer said. “Please do feel free to call upon me in the future.”

  Merritt nodded noncommittally as the solicitor left his office.

  “Do not say one word,” Merritt warned Rand.

  “This changes everything,” Rand said, ignoring Merritt’s threat.

  “No, it changes nothing.”

  “Don’t be so foolish. You cannot be one of them when you have spent the last four years making every jest at their expense,” Rand said.

  “Nonsense. This merely affords me closer access to the scandals.” Though he was hell-bent on keeping true to that statement, he wasn’t foolish enough to deny that this would change some aspects of his life. An earl. He was a damned earl.

  Chapter One

  London, 1851

  Lady Iris Bennington adjusted the strap of her parasol so that it hung loosely from her right wrist. Today was important. She had been waiting for this opportunity since joining the Ladies of Virtue three years before: the day when she could become instructor to a new member. The new recruit walked next to Iris, matching her every step. Millicent Harris had an impeccable reputation and an eye for detail; so it was that she had been invited into the ranks of the Ladies of Virtue.

  To those outside of their elite group, they seemed nothing more than a group of ladies providing funds to the needy. In truth, they did far more. Lady Somersby saw to it that all her ladies were well trained in the art of personal protection, as she herself had been years before while she’d worked undercover, posing as Queen Victoria. Their training proved useful in putting a stop to pesky crime inundating their London streets. Iris had become quite accomplished at stopping pickpockets. And they did all this while maintaining their own personal reputations.

  “We are to simply walk normally as if we were doing nothing more than shopping with the rest of the people?” Millie asked.

  “Precisely,” Iris said. “An opportunity does not present itself on every outing, thank goodness. Though, the number of times I intercept a would-be criminal on any sort of errand might surprise you. Somedays it seems we are inundated with them.”

  “What if we cannot resolve the problem without making a scene? Then, are we to do nothing?”

  “Of course not! No, in any situation like that, we discreetly try to learn the identity of the people involved. Sometimes a great deal of work goes into managing a particular situation. Lady Somersby plans many of those endeavors herself.”

  “What kinds of endeavors?”

  “Many things. For example, several of our ladies have assisted in rehabilitating some street girls and training them to be scullery maids. Along those lines, we have stepped in when there has been a household particularly cruel to their servants. Workhouse conditions, factory conditions—we work for the betterment of our society as a whole.”

  “And try to right any wrongs we come upon?” Millie asked.

  “Precisely.”

  “And if we are unable to do things in a quiet manner?” Millie asked.

  “Lady Somersby has contacts who can take care of most situations that might bring into question one of our member’s reputations,” Iris said.

  Millie smiled widely, showing off her rather large teeth. “I hope you will not believe me too eager or silly if I admit that I am so very excited about joining your ranks.”

  Iris saw a suspicious man out of the corner of her eye, and she positioned herself to be closer to him. He circled behind Millie, but the girl seemed not to notice as she continued chatting about the thrill. Iris reached up to her hat and swiftly removed a hatpin. In one movement, she had stabbed it into the man’s thigh.

  “If you scream, everyone here will know what you’ve done,” she whispered as she walked behind him. “Hand me the jewels, and no one will be the wiser.”

  His eyes bulged in pain, and he gripped his thigh. Blood began to spot his trousers around her bejeweled pin. He handed her the two items.

  “I suggest you take your leave. Perhaps gainful employment would be a better idea,” she said.

  The man eyed her warily, then turned and slipped into the crowd.

  He’d likely return, but he was finished for the day, which meant that Iris had done her job.

  She moved back to Millie, who was still talking, but now staring at a lovely hat in the milliner’s shop window.

  “That’s very pretty,” Iris said. “Here.” She held out the bracelet that the man had swiped from Millie’s wrist.

  Millie accepted the bracelet. She shook her head, then her mouth fell open.

  “I’ll be one moment.” Iris walked away. “Lady Glenwood,” she called out.

  The matron stopped and turned.

  “I do apologize for heckling to you on the street, my lady,” Iris said as she reached the older woman. “I believe you dropped this.” She held out a necklace clustered with rubies and diamonds.

  Lady Glenwood’s gloved hand went to her throat, then she smiled. “Thank you, my dear. I had not even noticed it was gone.”

  “Yes, well, I am glad I found it for you. You might want to get the clasp checked,” Iris said.

  “Indeed, I might. Thank you again.”

  “’Tis my pleasure.” Iris gave a slight curtsey, then she maneuvered through the crowd back to Millie.

  “I never even saw anything happen,” Millie said.

  “Yes, it is difficult at first to notice.”

  “Who was it?”

  “A petty thief, merely a pickpocket. I’m glad that I discovered him before he had an opportunity to take any other pieces. It can get challenging to try to return items to people if you aren’t certain to whom they belong.”

  “That is amazing,” Millie said. “You are amazing!”

  Iris felt herself grow warm with a blush. “I have been doing this a while.” But she was good at this task. She’d personally taken down more thieves than any of the other members of the Ladies of Virtue. She was accomplished, and she could not deny it was extremely gratifying.

  “I’m not certain I can ever do this,” Millie said.

  “Ah, you can. It takes time and training. I was once where you are now.”

  The rest of Iris’s day had gone as well as her afternoon on Bond Street. She’d had a lovely dinner at her friend Harriet’s house. The Duke of Lockwood had the best chef in London, so the food there was always a treat. Then Iris had gone home eager to see her brother, Jasper. He had been back from Eton for less than three months, and she still reveled in his presence.

  It had been just the two of them for the better part of a decade now, and she’d missed him desperately while he was away at school. But now he was in London with her for good.

  Except he wasn’t home. At least, not yet. She concentrated on documenting the incident with the thief she’d interrupted on Bond Street, describing his appearance and the pieces he’d taken. This particular step had never been required by Lady Somersby. Still, Iris preferred to have a record.

  She glanced at the clock on the mantle again and noted yet another hour had passed with no sign of her brother. Reading hadn’t helped, as she couldn’t keep her mind on the words on the page. Instead, she’d contemplated every wretched thing that could happen to Jasper out on the streets of London. Yes, he was considered a man now, but at only ten and eight, he still seemed a boy to her. Her baby brother.

  Though it was
customary to send boys to school starting at age ten, Iris had felt that Jasper was likely still grieving their father’s death. And then their mother had died, and Iris had kept Jasper at home for another three years. She’d provided him with the very best private tutors, but he’d hated being at home when the other boys his age were already away at school. Their situation had been unique, though. Not everyone understood that, but she knew her brother best. He had needed the support of being at home. Needed the structure that only she had been able to provide. It was what had gotten them both through their grief.

  She stood and left the parlor and made her way to his study. He did not use it overly much, since she still managed all the household books, but it was his study, so she’d always made do with the front parlor. His desk, the same their father had used until his death. She smoothed her fingers along the carved wood on the facing of the desk, wondering how much Jasper remembered of their parents. He never spoke of them, and she never asked.

  Several pieces of mail, mostly invitations, littered the top of the desk. In the center sat the most recent edition of the Daily Scandal.

  She came around the desk and sat, cracking the paper open. Had her brother been reading this rag? Perhaps no one had informed Jasper that believing such gossip would not assist him in fitting into Society. It would only hinder his relationships if he chose to believe such slander.

  Of course, she had always been curious about this newspaper. She had heard others speak of it and the delicious stories found within its pages. But she’d been leery of it, considering gossip caused undue scandals and heartache. She saw it every year during the Season.

  She set down the newspaper then picked it back up.

  Curiosity got the better of her, and she glanced down at the printed words. No one could force her to believe or spread anything she read within the pages. There was no harm in reading a little. She had, of course, seen a few issues at Harriet’s house because her friend’s mother was a devout reader. Iris, however, clung to the advice her mother had given her shortly before what was to have been her debut; gossip is hurtful and a waste of words. That debut had been canceled when her father had died abruptly, but the advice still survived. But reading a paper hardly constituted gossiping, as long as she didn’t repeat anything she read.