Improper Match: Scandalous Encounters Read online

  Improper Wager

  Scandalous Encounters

  by Kristabel Reed

  Copyright © 2015 by Kristabel Reed

  Smashwords Edition

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  This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Formatted by: CyberWitch Press

  Chapter One

  London

  September 1817

  “Strathmore has an excuse for turning into a house-bound bore,” James Hamilton complained as he lounged indolently in the carriage seat across from Edmund. His hat tilted low over his eyes to keep out the offending morning sun.

  As far as Edmund Pembroke, the Earl of Granville, could tell the words sounded disembodied as his friend hadn’t moved at all. The only oddity, today at least, was the single ladies’ glove hanging precariously out of Hamilton’s coat pocket. Usually it was a comb in his hair or something equally absurd.

  An hour ago Hamilton’s footman surprised him, inquiring as to Mr. Hamilton’s whereabouts. Edmund didn’t know why the footman had not gone directly to the Club, the most likely place for Hamilton to be, nor why Hamilton tasked the servant with reminding him of a supposedly very important meeting.

  However, Edmund agreed to assist the footman and here they were. In the carriage, the smell of cheap perfume surrounding Hamilton, as they made their slow way across town.

  The glove in Hamilton’s pocket clearly told Edmund he’d been with his mistress. Perhaps a new one. It was always hard to tell with Hamilton.

  Edmund and his friend, Strathmore, had been rather indiscreet with their dalliances while traveling the Continent. But if they added both their indiscretions together, it wouldn’t come close to the number of James Hamilton’s conquests. Edmund was positive there wasn’t a woman out there capable of taming that bachelor.

  “But you.” Hamilton raised his gaze and glared at Edmund. “You should’ve joined me at the Club last night. What pressing matters could’ve possibly kept you from such entertaining company?”

  Hamilton waved the glove at him, as if it was all the temptation Edmund needed. Rolling his shoulders in a dismissive shrug, Edmund ignored Hamilton. His own tastes had never run to such loose women, even if he had enjoyed his fair share.

  “I was with my steward. We were finishing the final details for Octavia’s birthday,” he said exasperated.

  Hamilton sat up just slightly. “There should be quite a number of eligible ladies at your sister’s party.” He grinned, looking far more awake at three in the afternoon than he usually did. “Please have Digby remind me of it.”

  Edmund refrained from making a cutting remark about Hamilton’s reliance on his servants. But he did wonder how the other man managed to have such a good head for business when it seemed he was continually otherwise occupied.

  The carriage rolled to a stop and Hamilton looked out the window. “Why are we here?” He turned to Edmund, a slightly affronted look on his face. “I thought you were to deposit me on my doorstep.”

  “Terribly sorry to ruin your schedule, but I have other priorities this afternoon,” he said, not terribly sorry at all. The door opened and Edmund stepped out. He turned back to Hamilton and added, “My driver will deposit you on your doorstep. I’m in search of a gift at the bazaar.”

  Hamilton leaned forward, still bleary-eyed. “A gift for what?” His grin widened and turned wicked. “A gift for whom?”

  Edmund stared at him as if Hamilton was a dribbling fool. “Do you never listen when I speak? Octavia’s birthday,” he said slowly, enunciating every syllable.

  Hamilton leaned back and waved his hand dismissively. “Oh.” He sighed and said in a wearied voice, “I’m bringing one of those bottles of wine.”

  Slightly annoyed, though he didn’t know why he bothered, Edmund bit back a sigh. “Strathmore’s wine?”

  Edmund didn’t know why he asked — of course Hamilton meant Strathmore’s wine. It was the man’s standard gift for everything. At the rate Hamilton bestowed the wine, Strathmore’s wine cellar would soon be empty.

  The other man cracked opened an eye. “It’s the best,” he drawled.

  “Bathe before your meeting.” Edmund stood back from the door. “Your perfume is entirely too pungent.”

  He slammed the carriage door and called up to his driver. “Take Mr. Hamilton to his townhouse, then return home. I’ll hire a hackney.”

  The driver nodded and flicked the reins, calling to the horses as he did so.

  Edmund turned and walked into the Bond Street Bazaar, a large indoor market with high ceilings and wide aisles. And one of the few places on Bond Street he thought he’d find a gift refined enough for his sister; he hadn’t the time to commission anything. Along the sides, vendors called out a variety of wares, everything from fabrics to books to ribbons. It was a veritable woman’s utopia. If not necessarily his.

  He didn’t exactly know what he planned to buy Octavia for her birthday. And the bazaar was a cavernous array of confusion.

  It teemed with shoppers haggling and inspecting the various trinkets as the afternoon sun streamed through the skylights. The entrance smelled of too many perfumes, but wasn’t quite the assault on the senses as Hamilton was. Edmund quickly and easily moved past the first few stalls, sidestepping the crowds and the more overenthusiastic merchants.

  Left of the labyrinth that made up the bazaar were several flower vendors with a small laughing girl on the counter. To the right, Edmund spotted a perfumer surrounded by a gaggle of well-dressed women. He hesitated for a moment, eying the perfume bottles over the women’s heads.

  No perfume. Not today.

  Turning in the opposite direction, Edmund sidestepped a woman with three children and a yapping dog and strode deeper into the bazaar. Several men in uniform walked slowly along the stalls with several women around them. Edmund easily stepped out of their path only to find himself directly in front of a couple clearly in the midst of an argument.

  It was easier to navigate Napoleon’s cannons than it was to walk through this bazaar.

  Of course he chose one of the busier days to shop for Octavia. On the second floor balconies small groups of well-dressed gentlemen lounged lazily on the many chairs, talking loudly. He dismissed the men, but wondered if any interesting artwork hung along the second floor today.

  Maybe he’d look after he found Octavia her gift. He’d put it off long enough as it was.

  He wandered past a laughing group of women and up to one of the booksellers. Octavia had a wide range of reading interests, however, and though he knew she’d be pleased with a book, Edmund quickly dismissed purchasing her one as a gift.

  He stood just at the bookseller’s and surveyed the bazaar. Maybe he should ask one of the ladies to help. What he should’ve done was drag Hamilton with him. If anyone was an expert at finding the perfect gift for a woman, it was Hamilton.

  Edmund wondered if his very important meeting was with another woman or actual business. Either way, he was
on his own.

  With a sigh, he crossed from the booksellers to a line of merchants devoid of customers. Edmund scanned through the ribbons and fabrics very much out of his depth and not at all interested in the wares.

  Until he spotted the hair combs.

  Laid out on velvet trays, they sparkled in the afternoon sun. Some were silver; a few boasted gold accents or brightly colored stones. Each one held its own unique design, filigree or a starburst of pearls. Edmund picked up an ivory comb with garnets shaped into a flower.

  Hair combs seemed the perfect gift. Octavia wore them constantly.

  “Quite the extensive collection,” Edmund said to the man behind the counter. Then, positive he’d regret admitting as much he confessed, “I may be out of my depth in this choice.”

  “Those are not your only choices,” the old man said with a happy smile.

  Edmund watched the glint of a very expensive sale shine in the merchant’s eyes. The other man bent behind his counter and smoothly lifted another polished wooden tray holding a dozen more combs.

  Shaking his head, Edmund set down the ivory and garnet comb and looked at the new additions with a raised eyebrow. Perhaps a book was the easier gift. He glanced over his shoulder at the booksellers then resolutely turned back to the combs.

  Octavia would love a pair of combs.

  And he refused to take the easy, Hamilton, way out and purchase her a gift he found the simpler to choose. She was his sister and at the very least, he could buy her a present she’d love.

  “Are you looking for something simple?” the old man asked and pushed a tray with unadorned combs closer. “Or a more ornate style?” Another tray of beautifully fancy combs appeared on the counter.

  Helpless, Edmund looked up but the old man continued to smile warmly. That glint of a sale tempered now, and only helpful curiosity shone through. Edmund sighed; he had no idea what he wanted — what Octavia would like. Before he could admit such a thing, however, a woman appeared next to him.

  “Pardon,” the woman said cheerfully to the merchant. “Have you anything more in amethyst?”

  Edmund looked up at the voice with some vague notion of asking the young woman her opinion. Nearly anyone’s opinion was better than his when it came to gifts such as this. Instead, he felt the breath rush out of him.

  He blinked to clear his vision, but the stunning woman beside him did not disappear. She smiled across at the old man who unerringly reached once more behind his counter to offer a tray filled with amethyst bracelets.

  Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight chignon and a dozen curls lay along her neck and shoulders. She didn’t stand in a pool of sunlight, nothing so cliché. But the light did highlight her hair, made her skin luminescent.

  Good Lord. He sounded like Hamilton. Perhaps spending so much time with his friend affected him.

  Shaking his head, Edmund pushed all fanciful thoughts away. He was not a fanciful man. Practical yes. He managed a wit from time to time. Fanciful? He shook his head again, banishing those thoughts.

  The stench of Hamilton’s cheap perfume had no doubt clouded his mind.

  However the fact remained, Edmund wanted to ask this woman her opinion. The fact he also wanted to ask for her name, what she was doing the rest of the afternoon and if she’d care to spend it with him should matter. Somehow it did not. It was hardly proper to do so, let alone want such things from a woman he hadn’t even met.

  And he did not wish to damage her reputation in such a public place.

  Was she alone?

  The nameless woman glanced over her shoulder. Edmund followed her gaze to another woman on the opposite side of the bazaar who stood at the ribbon merchant’s. A servant? No, too well dressed for that. A friend? Either way, the woman was clearly not alone.

  How was he to elicit her opinion on such an important matter as Octavia’s gift? More importantly, how could he find out who she was?

  Turning back to the merchant, who’s faded blue eyes danced with undisguised mirth he nodded in the direction of the dark haired goddess. Goddess? Good Lord, he really did need to stop listening to Hamilton’s poetic overtures to every beautiful woman who crossed his path.

  “Would you mind enquiring of the young woman which of these she prefers?” Edmund asked politely. “Which set would make a brother look a triumph in his sister’s eyes?”

  The merchant’s smile widened and he turned to the young lady expectantly. She remained silent, a slight smile curving her lips upward clearly playing along. The merchant repeated Edmund’s words exactly.

  “May I please see the trays a trifle closer?” she asked, gaze intent on the merchant.

  Edmund grinned, amused, as she peered down at the combs. Before she continued her perusal, she glanced up at him, a mischievous look in her deep green eyes. She looked back at each tray, from the simplest ones to the most ornate.

  Her finger tapped on her chin and Edmund was warmed to realize how seriously she took his roundabout request.

  Finally she picked a pair of combs in silver and gold. The gold moved along each comb’s handle to form lush rose vines that wove intimately together. Each vine was topped with glittering rubies.

  Careful not to look at Edmund, she held out the combs to the merchant. That same mischievous smile played around her lush mouth.

  “These. This as a gift would be a triumph.” Her grin broadened. With utter fascination he watched her lips pull wide. “And please inform the gentleman who inquired that I might find him a most exceptional brother.”

  And with that, came the natural close to any conversation he might have with this beautiful woman with her knowing eyes and her captivating smile. Suddenly he was frantic to think of something else to ask her — anything else. And he was very rarely frantic.

  There had to be more to this conversation. He refused, absolutely refused, to let her slip away.

  She returned her gaze to the tray of amethyst bracelets and Edmund latched onto this new avenue of conversation. “Please,” he said rather rushed to the merchant.

  Grimacing at his own over eagerness, as if he were still a schoolboy trying to woo his first girl, Edmund swallowed hard and said in a slightly more modified tone, “Might you ask the young lady if there is a bracelet as well for such an auspicious occasion?”

  Edmund saw her head jerk up in surprise. But she couldn’t hide her amused smile as she waited patiently for the merchant to dutifully repeat the question.

  “Any young lady would be satisfied with the combs alone,” she told the merchant quite seriously.

  Her gaze drifted to the side and though she did not turn her head to look at Edmund, he caught her eyes on him for the briefest of moments.

  “Yes,” he agreed quickly, mind racing to keep their conversation moving forward. “But as I have such a unique opportunity to engage the assistance of one so refined, I’d like to take the opportunity to purchase additional gifts.”

  Edmund stopped when he realized how that sounded and cursed his sudden inability to speak coherently. With a smile he tried to temper he added, “For other occasions, of course.”

  The young lady turned to look over her shoulder, presumably at her companion. With a nod, she returned the merchant’s smile and agreed. “All right.”

  How did one go about soliciting a young lady’s name without a proper introduction? He couldn’t very well ask the merchant, that was hardly proper and Edmund had worked so hard to keep this interaction so.

  But he absolutely could not let her walk away without learning who she was. He intended to call on her.

  Surprised, he paused. Yes, he wanted to call on this woman.

  He hadn’t such an amusing, such a diverting interaction with a woman in… far, far too long. He found conversations at balls and dinner parties tedious at best, yet this woman intrigued him with her wide smile and laughing eyes.

  Over an indirect discussion about lady’s combs and jewels, Edmund enjoyed her presence more than he had anything since return
ing to England four months ago.

  Perhaps a small gift for her assistance? Or really, other than them and the merchant who seemed thrilled to have such a high sale plus a chance to play matchmaker, did it matter if Edmund simply asked her?

  Hardly the height of respectability but again, no one was around to witness the inappropriate exchange.

  Hamilton might applaud him; hell Hamilton would’ve already had her name and address.

  Before Edmund had the chance to decide if he cared what anyone else thought and throw every bit of caution to the wind, a high-pitched scream erupted behind them.

  Jerking around, more screams erupted from the patrons. For a single heartbeat, he didn’t understand why they screamed, but followed their gazes upward. Tendrils of fire twisted and turned down one of the larger columns from the balconies overhead.

  Fire raced across the ceiling, around the domed skylights. With an astounding speed he never witnessed, the fire skittered down from the second floor, already consuming the staircase.

  Moving on instinct, Edmund reached out for the woman. She’d already stepped from his grasp, stepped farther into the main bazaar, screaming for her friend.

  Two men raced between him and her, pushing her even farther away. Pushed her into the growing chaos. He couldn’t let the mob swallow her.

  He wouldn’t.

  Chapter Two

  “Annabelle!” she yelled, already starting for the growing crush ahead, straight into that crowd, already pushing and clawing their way over each other to escape the fire.

  Edmund elbowed his way past several men, shoving them aside. He lunged for her, grabbed her arm. “No,” he ordered, “they’ll trample you.”

  He dragged her several steps back, out of the crush. The fire twisted its way up the large central columns and raced across the lower ceiling. Curled its way back toward them.

  “What about Annabelle?!” she shouted, struggling in his grasp.

  “Can you see her?” he shouted back.

  She turned, straining for her friend, for this Annabelle. Even over the cacophony, he heard her breath hitch. “No,” she admitted, voice strained, a mere whisper of sound.