Page 13 of Of Lies and Earls (Inglorious Scoundrels #2)

T he last week had been the hardest of her life.

The conversation with Robbie and Rosie had gone somewhat better than the one with Elise—and yet, somehow, worse.

Elise had held Rosie on her lap, her face impassive as Honoria tried to explain to the children that she would be leaving soon. Caldwell sat beside her , his calm presence a balm to her frayed nerves.

Both Robbie and Rosie had asked questions Honoria couldn’t answer.

How could she explain that she was fleeing a monster? That she feared for her life? That she had been living a lie since the moment she entered their world?

By the end of the conversation, Rosie had convinced herself that Honoria wouldn’t really leave at all.

Robbie had fallen into a brooding silence that reminded Honoria painfully of his uncle when something troubled him.

Nothing had been resolved. In fact, Honoria felt worse than before.

And the days that followed only rubbed salt in the wound. Rosie barely left her side. Robbie carried a constant sheen of sadness in his eyes. And Elise… Elise ignored her completely, pretending she had already left.

On the night of the masquerade, Honoria sat in Lydia’s carriage, her fingers trembling as she adjusted her bodice for the hundredth time that evening, her valise sitting by her side.

The crimson silk of her gown was so fine and luxurious it felt almost sinful against her skin after years of serviceable cotton and wool. But the low cut made her feel uncomfortable. Exposed. It had been ages since she’d worn something so revealing.

She reached up to check her wig, ensuring it remained securely pinned, then adjusted her mask to make sure it fully concealed her face.

Across from her, Lydia sat in a midnight blue gown, her face half-hidden behind a vixen mask. Usually chatty when they were around each other, both of them were quiet, lost in their deep thoughts.

Honoria’s mind kept returning to the letters she’d written to the children. She couldn’t leave them without a word but couldn’t stomach the idea of in-person goodbyes. The night she had told them she was leaving soon had been painful enough.

Now she was questioning her choices. She wondered if what she wrote was sufficient, if she should have written something else, or not written anything at all.

No, that would not have been a good decision. They deserved to know that she hadn’t disappeared into thin air, but that she had left forever and was too much of a coward to tell them in person.

She had left the letters on her bed, where Mrs. Clarke would surely find them when she came looking for Honoria first thing in the morning. She would hand them to the children at breakfast, and they would read them in the company of their guardian, with the governess and a nanny by their sides.

The carriage slowed, joining a line of vehicles before Hades Hell.

They had arrived.

Honoria let out a deep breath, turning her thoughts into the current situation. She’d have plenty of time to grieve about the children. For now, she had a mission to accomplish.

A footman opened the carriage door, offering his hand to assist their descent.

As Honoria stepped down, her heart was ready to jump out of her chest, her hands shaking in trepidation, fear, and excitement.

As they entered the grand ballroom, Honoria’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t know what she expected of the masquerade ball, but it was grander than she’d ever imagined. The place was filled with flowers, candles, statues and even fountains. People, bathed in the golden light, moved in time with the music. Along the walls, others watched the proceedings while sipping on their drinks. Some were so emboldened by their hidden identities, they were involved in scandalous activities, right there in front of everyone.

They moved deeper into the throng, scanning the crowd. The viscount—Lydia’s former beloved and the target of tonight’s mission—was supposed to be waiting near the entrance, but there was no sign of him.

Honoria’s gaze swept the room, taking in the elaborate decorations, the musicians on the dais, the servants weaving through the crowd with trays of champagne, the Earl of Caldwell standing flanked by three gentlemen—

What?

She stopped cold, her gaze fixed on her employer.

It was unmistakably him! Unlike the other men, he wore his spectacles instead of a mask, and his jaw was darkened with several days’ growth of beard. He looked tired, almost haggard, and entirely out of place amid the revelry.

“Oh, no!” Honoria gasped, her hand shooting out to grasp Lydia’s arm.

What was he doing here?

Her heart hammered against her ribs with such violence she feared it might be visible through her bodice. He detested balls, the loud music, and the crowds. He had avoided scenes like this like the plague. Yes, he had rejoined society at his aunt’s insistence, but this masquerade was nothing like the respectable events the marchioness had him attend.

Yet there he was. Did he have to go out on the very night Honoria made her escape?

What if Rosie had a nightmare again and came looking for him? She would then go looking for Honoria and find her room empty as well.

Oh, no, would she see the letters? Would she bring them to Elise to read in the middle of the night when Caldwell would not be there to reassure and comfort them? When the nanny and governess slept blissfully?

Blast!

“What’s wrong? Do you see Art?” Lydia asked, her gaze following Honoria’s fixed stare.

“No!” Honoria exclaimed, horror tightening her throat. “The earl! My employer is here.”

Lydia frowned, clearly puzzled by Honoria’s reaction. “So what?”

“You don’t understand! He can’t be here. He doesn’t know I am here.” The words tumbled out in a frantic whisper.

“Yes, and he still won’t know because he won’t recognize you,” Lydia reassured her. “Nobody will.”

Honoria squeezed Lydia’s arm and dragged her toward the edge of the hall, away from the crush of bodies. “You don’t understand,” she hissed, anxiety making her voice sharp. “I didn’t know he would be here. I never leave the house at night if I think he might be away. Little Rosie has nightmares.”

“What are you on about?” Lydia’s brows knit.

Honoria let out a shuddering breath, trying to calm herself enough to explain. “One of the earl’s wards, the youngest one—she has nightmares and always looks for him at night. If she can’t find him, she comes to me.”

“And she will tell him in the morning that you were gone?” Lydia spread her arms, clearly confused. “Why does it matter? We shall be gone from London by then.”

“Because!” Honoria cried, then lowered her voice as a passing couple glanced their way. She turned her face to her friend. “Lydia, I care about those people. I care about little Rosie. I don’t want her to suffer. She will be so scared.”

Lydia studied her for a long moment, then sighed. “Well, you can’t go back now. It’s too risky. Besides, we are leaving in less than an hour.”

Honoria nodded distractedly, worrying her lower lip between her teeth, her gaze never leaving the earl’s tall figure across the room. “Then I’ll persuade him to leave.”

“No.” Lydia shook her head emphatically, then repeated with more force, “No! How are you going to do that?”

Honoria nervously smoothed her skirts. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe you should leave it alone then,” Lydia suggested, her voice softening. “It’s not your responsibility anymore.”

The words stung, though Honoria knew they were meant kindly. Not her responsibility. Soon, none of them would be.

But they were still hers tonight.

“I have to try.” She squared her shoulders, hoping to infuse herself with confidence.

Lydia studied her face for a moment, then nodded. “Fine, but I’ll go with you.”

Linking arms, they began to make their way through the crowd toward the earl. They had taken only a few steps when Lydia stopped abruptly, her body going rigid.

Honoria leaned closer, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s here.” Lydia’s voice was barely audible as she discreetly pointed toward the refreshment table. There, standing beside an elaborate champagne fountain, was a tall, dark-haired gentleman in evening dress. He wore all black except for a crisp white shirt, an immaculate cravat, and a single red lily tucked into his lapel. His gaze was fixed on the entrance as though waiting for someone.

Viscount Thornton. The man who had broken Lydia’s heart and then discarded her without a second thought.

Honoria felt the tension in her friend’s body and slowly withdrew her arm. “Then you should go to him.”

“I can’t leave you alone,” Lydia protested, though her eyes never left the viscount’s figure.

“We can’t afford to waste time,” Honoria reminded her. “You do what we came here to do. I’ll do what I think is right for the family I am leaving behind. And we shall meet in the carriage once we are done. Do you concur?”

Lydia hesitated, clearly torn. “I can’t leave you alone.”

“I won’t be alone,” Honoria reassured her. “I shall be with the earl. No matter what happens, I trust him. He is an honorable man.”

* * *

“I have arranged the most scandalous harlot for you,” Lucien Drake said, nudging Caldwell with his elbow. “Just like I promised. You will remember tonight forever.”

Caldwell squirmed inside his clothes. Everything was too tight, too hot, too heavy. “Right. Good.”

“Don’t be so tense. You will thank me yet,” Drake said with a grin.

Caldwell didn’t think so. He didn’t feel confident about the entire arrangement. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to spend the night in the arms of an experienced woman—he did. But he didn’t quite know what to expect, how to behave.

He didn’t feel comfortable around strangers. Being naked in front of one, kissing, touching her, felt too intimate. But that was the point of tonight. To step out of his perceived comfort and experience something new. Something pleasant. Something to lose himself in.

But it wasn’t just that.

He had never thought of marrying prior to this year. He was content with his solitary life—aside from the occasional physical need, which he handled on his own. But lately… he’d become weary of spending the nights alone.

Yes, he could have sought a mistress. But that would have required him to socialize with ladies who would welcome his advances. How would one even seek such an arrangement?

It all seemed quite daunting.

Yet the idea of marrying solely to have someone to warm his bed seemed hollow. If he did decide to marry, it would be to a woman he genuinely liked. Wanted. Desired.

But in all his thirty-six years, there was exactly one woman to whom he had felt such strong feelings.

Miss Hart.

He understood, rationally, that it was likely just her constant presence that stirred his desires. She had saved him from drowning in panic when the children came into his life. She’d been his anchor through those turbulent months.

He had never allowed himself to view a servant in a romantic light.

But Honoria was different. She came from landed gentry. She was more than a housekeeper—almost a mistress of the house. The children adored her. She was almost his equal.

Almost.

And that almost was enough to stop him from acting on his desires. She was in his employ. Her livelihood depended on his goodwill. She might not dare refuse him for fear of being dismissed without a recommendation. And if she did refuse him, the children would lose the woman who had become essential to their lives.

Not that it mattered now. She was leaving his household. Acting on his feelings now would be beyond selfish.

This left only one other option—hiring a harlot.

He let out a breath.

The lights blurred before him, the music turning into noise. Here we go again.

He never felt comfortable in loud, noisy places. After a while, he found himself retreating into the dark corners of his mind. That was one of the reasons he didn’t like social events.

Well, perhaps it was for the best that he was about to engage in a tryst. At least there, the music wouldn’t be as distractingly loud, the lights wouldn’t flicker around him, and he would be alone with a woman.

“Good,” he finally said, his mind not yet caught up with his mouth. “Lead the way. Where should I go?”

Drake pointed him to a row of secluded spaces, separated by thick crimson curtains. “The third one from the left is yours. You can go in there and wait for the woman to appear.”

Caldwell nodded, still gathering his wits. “Should I say something to her, or…?”

Drake let out a guffaw. “My poor friend. No. No words will be necessary. When she comes in, you go straight to her and kiss her. She’ll do the rest. Wait—” He grabbed Caldwell by the sleeve just as he was about to step away. “Actually, if you like what she’s doing—or how she feels—feel free to tell her. Women like reassurances.”

Caldwell frowned. “Such as?”

Drake waved a careless hand. “If she touches you where you like it, just say it feels good. Tell her she’s beautiful, even if she’s not. Tell her you like how wet you make her, because if she finds you desirable, she will be wet, you understand? If she’s not, then—”

“Thank you.” Caldwell clapped Drake on the shoulder, desperate to end the embarrassing conversation and already regretting asking for advice.

He quickly disengaged from his friend, grabbed a glass of wine on his way out, and downed it in two large gulps.

Leaving the empty glass behind, he stepped into the room beyond the curtain.

It was pitch black. Thank God.

And calm.

It was not as quiet, but the music did not dominate the space. It felt… peaceful.

He removed his spectacles with trembling hands and tucked them carefully into his waistcoat pocket. Without them, the world became a soft blur. He couldn’t see much in the dark anyway—perhaps that was for the best.

A few minutes passed.

Still, no one came.

Was this some sort of joke? It would be just like Drake to pull his leg in this way. Yet, that almost seemed the better outcome.

He paced the room, heart pounding so loudly he thought it might echo through the masquerade hall, even with all the music roaring. Perhaps he should leave. Go home. Lie in his warm bed.

He’d wasted enough time.

But just as he turned to go, the curtain shifted.

A woman stepped into the room, silhouetted against the light behind her. He couldn’t make out her features, but he saw a black mask covering her cheeks and nose. And… were those cat ears on top? Propped against her dark locks styled in elaborate curls.

“You came,” he said, and the relief in his voice surprised him.

She stepped farther into the room, her silhouette now swallowed by the dark. “My lord,” she whispered, breathless.

The sound of her voice sent desire coiling through him. Gooseflesh covered his skin, blood pooling low in his stomach, then settling in his cock.

Drawn by an inexplicable pull, as though she held power over him, he crossed the room and cupped her warm cheek.

She gasped. In surprise or encouragement, he couldn’t tell.

“I’m here to—” she whispered, but he didn’t let her finish.

He knew why she was here.

He lowered his head and kissed her.

* * *

“I’m here to convey a message from your household,” Honoria was going to say.

She repeated the phrase several times while making her way to the mysterious room Caldwell had entered. She was going to tell him there was an urgent matter and that he needed to return home immediately.

Instead, the brute kissed her. Her.

His housekeeper.

The woman he barely acknowledged during their daily briefings. The woman who had loved him in silence for years and dreamed of being kissed by him every single day.

Of course, he had no way of knowing any of that. He thought she was a harlot.

Honoria froze in his arms, her body going rigid.

He paused and pulled away, ever the gentleman.

“Is this wrong?” he murmured against her lips.

“No,” she breathed, the word escaping before she could think better of it.

Of course, it was wrong. She was his housekeeper .

But in that moment, with his warmth surrounding her, his scent of leather and bergamot and something uniquely him filling her senses, she couldn’t bear to end it.

So, she whispered, “It’s right.”

Then she rose on her tiptoes and kissed him again.

Her arms wound around his neck, her body pressed to his as if drawn by some irresistible force. His hands roamed her back and waist, leaving fire trails in their wake.

She moaned, pressing closer, her tongue slipping into his mouth. He grunted his approval, his tongue meeting hers—tentative at first, then bolder, more confident. His lips left hers to trace a path along her jaw, down the column of her throat, and Honoria couldn’t suppress a soft moan.

The sound seemed to inflame him further. His arms tightened around her, drawing her impossibly closer, his mouth moving lower, to the tops of her breasts, his tongue scorching a trail down her skin.

She should have stopped him. Delivered her message and slipped away into the night. But it felt so—so good.

And who did it hurt? He wanted this too.

It seemed he didn’t care who he was kissing.

While she… Well, she had wanted this for three long years. And now that it was finally happening, she was going to savor every moment.

In an hour, she’d be gone from his life. Forever.

But right now, she could have this one perfect moment. A sweet memory to carry with her.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered against her skin.

She was. With desire, with guilt, with the knowledge that this was their first and only night together.

She couldn’t speak, afraid her voice might betray her. All she allowed was a breathless whisper. “Don’t stop.”