Page 4 of Chloe and the Devil (Regency Spinsters Alliance #2)
CHAPTER FOUR
At that moment, Chloe dearly wished to lift one of her gloved hands and punch the cold and condescending Duke of Hellsmere on his aristocratic nose with her covered knuckles.
Even thinking of doing such a thing, followed by seeing the surprised and indignant expression which would no doubt ensue, succeeded in bringing the smile to Chloe’s lips that had been missing these past few hours.
“Did I say something to amuse you?” he bit out.
There was nothing in the least amusing about the situation Chloe now found herself in.
Then perhaps she was becoming hysterical? From the stress and strain it had put her under?
Whatever the reason for her levity, it was sadly misplaced. “I apologize.” She sobered immediately. “It is ungrateful of me to have found anything humorous in your manner when you have taken the trouble to answer my summons so expeditiously.”
He seemed to grow several inches taller as he once again looked down the length of his nose at her. “I do not allow anyone to summon me,” he assured coldly.
As Chloe had guessed would be his response to having received one from her.
Nor was it the truth when Chloe knew that Hellsmere and her father always responded immediately to any request from the Prince Regent when he wished to speak with them.
But she wasn’t the powerful Prince Regent, Chloe acknowledged with an inner wince. Nor would her antagonizing Hellsmere, for any reason, be in the least helpful in facilitating his assisting her.
Which, she readily admitted, she was in desperate need of!
She drew in a deep breath before speaking. “This evening, I discovered that one of my private journals has gone missing from my bedchamber.”
Hellsmere looked at her blankly for several long seconds, a frown creasing the skin between his eyes. “Your diary has gone missing?” he finally said slowly.
“Not a diary,” Chloe dismissed. “A journal. Papa has given me those journals as one of my gifts every Christmas since I was twelve years old.”
“You are referring to those small black leatherbound notebooks I have watched you unwrap and then spend the morning scribbling in every Christmas Day since?”
“Yes.”
He frowned. “Is not a journal in which you write down your…personal thoughts and aspirations the same thing as a diary?”
“It is not the same thing at all,” she snapped in irritation.
One eyebrow arched. “In what way does it differ?”
“I keep a social calendar as a reminder of the invitations I have accepted or refused. I do not, nor have I ever, kept a diary or journal in which I list my personal thoughts and aspirations,” she said derisively.
“Then what do you write in your journals?”
“Stories.”
His expression remained blank. “Stories?”
Chloe winced at hearing his incredulous tone. “Yes, I have, for some time, been writing stories to amuse myself.”
“What sort of stories?”
She shrugged. “Ones rooted in my observations of the human condition and the various consequences of their actions. For almost the whole past year, these stories have appeared in weekly installments in a well-known publication,” she added as he continued to look at her blankly.
Hellsmere’s lids narrowed. “Your stories have been published?”
“I wish you would not continue to sound so incredulous at the possibility!” she scorned. “As I told you earlier, I am not the complete nincompoop most in society believe me to be.”
“I am aware of that?—”
“Are you?”
“Yes,” he rasped. “Does your father know what you have been about?”
She grimaced at the thought of telling her papa about her published writings. Admittedly, he had praised her when she was a child in the nursery and had scribbled stories in her textbooks and then presented them to him to read. But a lady in Society, a Lady in Society, did not deign to do anything so…so plebeian.
It was the second reason why Chloe had joined the Spinsters Alliance. Because no respectable gentleman in Society would wish for, nor would he encourage, his wife to continue to write stories that were published for public consumption.
The first reason for her joining the alliance was now standing in front of her.
Her deep and unwavering love for Lucien Lyons would not allow her to deceive another man into believing she could ever love him as she had known herself to always be in love with this man.
She snorted. “What do you think?”
Hellsmere’s nostrils flared. “What I think is that he would never have permitted you to do such a scandalous thing had he known of it.”
It was because she was also aware of what her papa’s reaction might be that Chloe had not dared to publish her stories in her own name. To do so would have caused a scandal she might never recover from. One which she knew the ton would relish gossiping about for years to come.
“Good God…!” Hellsmere suddenly gave a harsh gasp, his eyes widening incredulously. “Can you possibly be— Damn it, are you the author named Charles King who has been publishing stories these past ten months and whom every man and woman in Society is gossiping and speculating about in regard to their identity?”
“Except for you and Papa,” she drawled.
“Except me and your father, who, if he had read them, would no doubt have recognized the style of writing,” he stated in a hard voice.
Chloe knew that the guilt of what she had done must be in her expression.
Much as it had irked her to have to do so, circumstances dictated that Chloe send her stories to the newspaper under a male pseudonym. She had chosen the name Charles King.
She had not considered this to be too much of a leap from her own name of Chloe Lord. But enough so, she had believed, and been proven correct, that the editor would at least initially consider reading the story she sent him rather than immediately throwing it away once he realized a woman had written it.
She could see by the deepening of the disapproving scowl on Lucien’s brow that he had already ascertained the answer to his own question.
* * *
Lucien knew, from the way Chloe’s gaze refused to meet his own, that she was indeed this author Charles King everyone in Society had been gossiping about for months. The ladies behind fluttering fans, the gentlemen seated in their clubs, usually with a glass of brandy in their hand and a decanter at their side.
All while they impatiently waited for the next installment of the story to appear in the next publication.
Chloe was quite correct in guessing Lucien had not read a single word of those stories.
Mainly because, he was told, Charles King wrote stories of adventure which featured a man and a woman as the main characters. There was, he believed, also the hint of a romance between the two.
Lucien had always preferred to read tales of the knights of old, like Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe , or the epic wars in The Iliad and the challenges of The Odyssey , both by Homer. All of them books Lucien had read at school and had enjoyed rereading several times since.
Except Charles King was really Lady Chloe Lord , and she was completely responsible for writing those stories of love and adventure the ton so enjoyed.
And it would seem that, if Lucien had understood Chloe correctly, someone had stolen one of the journals in which she wrote down those stories. Which would immediately identify her as being that elusive author.
How this could have happened, when Chloe claimed no one knew of Charles King’s true identity, Lucien had no idea.
The obvious answer was that someone had to have now discovered the truth.
Quite what they were going to do with that information, Lucien had no idea. But if they had stolen the journal so that he or she could blackmail Chloe, then he would expect her to be hearing from that blackmailer very soon.
Whoever the thief was, they no doubt knew of the catastrophic effect such a scandal would cause so soon before Gabriel and Lily’s wedding, and they intended to use that information as leverage for ensuring their demands were met.
“Am I right in thinking the only reason you are now confessing all to me is because you wish me to identify the blackmailer and take back the journal before any scandal can occur?” he prompted coolly.
“Yes.”
“As I thought.” He nodded. “When did the journal disappear?”
“Sometime today. Or possibly yesterday,” Chloe corrected with a frown. “But it could not have been before that because I wrote in the journal two evenings ago.” A blush brightened her cheeks at this admission.
“You are sure you have not just misplaced it?”
“I am very sure that the last time I saw my journal, it was sitting on my bedside table, and now it no longer is,” she insisted.
“But you believe it must have disappeared sometime today or yesterday?”
“It has been so busy in the house this past week with all the people coming and going because of the wedding that I cannot narrow it down to a more accurate time,” she defended when she must have seen the irritation in Lucien’s expression.
He tempered that impatience in his need for more information. “Who has been in the house these past two days?”
“There is all of the household staff, of course, possibly as many as twenty, including the gardeners and grooms, who might have entered the house if they had a reason for doing so. There is also Jacobson, Papa’s secretary.”
He nodded. “Who has visited from outside the household?”
Chloe thought before speaking again. “Papa’s lawyer and his clerk called yesterday because he wished to change his will before the wedding to ensure Lily will be well taken care of if anything should ever happen to him. Papa’s tailor called this morning with two of his assistants so they might carry out any last alterations to his wedding attire.”
“That is five more people.”
“I have not finished,” Chloe said with a wince. “Several of my friends also visited St. Albans House this afternoon, including Lily, so that my seamstress, who had brought along three of the ladies who are employed by her, could carry out any last alterations necessary to the bride and bridesmaid dresses. Mrs. Ashford does not normally make house calls,” she confided. “But she agreed to do so this time after Papa had explained how big the wedding party was to be, and that he wanted only the best materials and most fashionable seamstress to provide the gowns to be worn at the wedding of himself and his future duchess. Darling Lily had already expressed a wish to have all the other five members of the Spinsters—five of her closest friends,” she amended, “as her bridesmaids.”
Lucien eyed her wryly. “Your father has told me of your infamous Spinsters Alliance.”
Her cheeks bloomed with color. “There is nothing infamous about six friends deciding they do not wish to marry any of the fortune-hunting halfwits, young or old, who are so prevalent in Society.”
“Except one of your number is now about to marry your own father.”
“Who is far from being a fortune hunter or a halfwit!”
“Indeed.” He sobered in the face of her indignation on St. Albans’s behalf. “I have had no opportunity to inquire as to how you feel about one of your close friends having defected from the alliance, so soon after it was created, so that she might marry your beloved papa.” No one who had ever seen St. Albans and his daughter together could ever doubt the deep love and regard they had for each other. Lucien would hate for that relationship to be damaged, for any reason.
“How do I feel about having darling Lily in my life as my stepmother and my friend, always? I am ecstatic,” Chloe assured him without hesitation.
Lucien was pleased by her answer. “And do the other members of the Spinsters Alliance feel the same way?”
“They are all as happy for Lily as I am.” She nodded. “Papa invited them all to luncheon one day so that he might ask their permission to marry Lily,” she explained proudly. “He has also been generous enough to pay for all the bridesmaid gowns, as well as Lily’s wedding gown, after I explained that several of our friends’ families do not have access to the necessary funds to purchase new clothing,” she confided.
Lucien knew that Lily’s parents, the Earl and Countess of Truro, were not as wealthy as they wished to appear. Although he knew Gabriel had stepped in anonymously to alleviate the worst of his future in-laws’ lack of funds.
“So, it would seem there has been a total of at least thirty-five people coming into and out of the house in the past forty-eight hours?” Lucien drawled.
“Thirty-six, counting you.”
His lids narrowed. “I believe we are both aware I would have no reason to enter your bedchamber, let alone steal one of your journals.”
“Of course you would not,” she stated hollowly.
His jaw tightened at the way she kept her gaze averted from meeting his. “I am also discounting your father and yourself.”
“How kind of you!”
Lucien had no patience for her sarcasm.
Mainly because nothing either of them said would change the fact that should Chloe ever be identified as the author Charles King, her reputation, even though or perhaps because she was the daughter of a very wealthy duke, would never withstand the scandal that ensued.
Such a furor so close to Gabriel and Lily’s wedding day could not be allowed.
It would not be allowed if Lucien had anything to say about it.
“Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?” Lucien nevertheless demanded.
“Do such a thing…?” Chloe repeated softly.
“To write gratuitous stories for the masses.”
“They can hardly be referred to as such when the majority of people living in London cannot read, and many of those that can, do not care to do so,” she scoffed. “For example, am I correct in my belief you have never read one of Charles King’s stories?”
He bristled. “Certainly not.”
She eyed him scathingly. “Then I fail to see how you could possibly know they are gratuitous stories, let alone meant only to be read by the masses?”
Lucien instantly realized he was guilty of making an assumption based on what he had heard others say.
Possibly aided by the fact Chloe was a woman.
Which was bloody arrogant of him, as well as insulting to Chloe’s intelligence. An intelligence Lucien was well aware of, even if most of Society was not.
Even with the possibility of a scandal, a part of him could not help but feel admiration for Chloe’s accomplishment. Not only had she had the patience to write in the first place, but she had also somehow stirred the ennui of Society enough that they had clamored to read the stories she had written as Charles King these past ten months.
But another part of Lucien worried whether he would be able to find the journal and the person who had stolen it before they had the opportunity to reveal Chloe as being the author.
Embroiling her in a scandal from which she might never recover.
* * *
Chloe felt less than reassured about the success of regaining possession of her journal, when she could so easily discern the worry in Lucien’s usually arrogantly confident expression.
And this was before she informed him of the content of the writings in the particular journal that had been stolen.
But perhaps she did not need to tell him that yet? Might never need to tell him if the journal was returned to her without his having opportunity to read its contents.
It had been awkward enough admitting to having published stories under the name of Charles King. She did not relish telling him of the fantasies she had written in the missing journal. Fantasies she had written only for her own consumption, and which she had never intended to be read by anyone else.
She had been, as Lucien described it, scribbling in her journals for years. Because of that, she’d had twelve or more completed stories already written when she had decided to send one of them to a newspaper with the idea of having it published. She had been overjoyed when her story was accepted. To date, she’d now had half a dozen of those stories appear in print, a chapter at a time.
The sexual fantasies in the missing and very private journal had been her way of paying homage to the memory of her very first kiss and what might, if Lucien had not put a stop to it, have come after.
Because the erotic vignettes in her journal hadn’t ended with the exchange of a single passionate kiss.
No, Chloe had used her writer’s imagination, along with several books she had found on the top shelf in her father’s library, to take their lovemaking further. To envisage what would have happened if Lucien had followed her to her bedchamber and the two of them had made love together, not just once, but all night long.
And because she had never intended that anyone else would read it, she had used the real names of the two lovers. Lucien and Chloe.
Which meant the contents of the missing journal could not have been more damning if she had gone out into the street and given it to a town crier to read out at the top of his voice to the whole of London!