9781618859594HerDeviantLordPimentel (2 page)

Chapter One

Bastian Wycliffe,
the Earl of Wendelhem, gently tucked Mary Elizabeth’s petite hand into the
crook of his arm and silently prayed the
demmed
gel would cut their stroll short. For each time he escorted her about, she
prodded him to make her his official mistress. A thought that on most days he
abhorred, though with each passing day, the benefits outweighed the
inconveniences.

He had only just
begun to move forward and had spent the last month sober. After the sotted mess
he had become all those months ago, he had nearly destroyed any respectability
he had left. His man of affairs tended to his properties out of town, while he
sorted himself out. He also had to make amends to Madame Martine for his
previously obscene behavior.

Not only did he
apologize to the brothel owner, but after explaining, in great detail, what his
needs were, he paid handsomely for her to assign him a wench who wouldn’t take
exception to his requirements.

Mary Elizabeth’s
beauty and feminine wiles distracted him well enough. Her hair as black as coal
and pale violet eyes had captivated him the first time she had pleasured him at
Madame Martine’s establishment. The young woman had been willing to learn how
to pleasure him with her submissiveness. Not once did she fuss over being
bound, nor did she scold him when he punished her with a spanking for not
taking his cock all the way in her mouth.

In fact, since
that first night she had entered the room, whenever they were together, the
unconventional beauty insisted that she be punished. His cock stirred from its
flaccid state into a semi-erect position as she boldly flagged a carriage,
stopping the driver.

“You there! Might I have a word with Lady Morton?”
   

The driver bowed
and stepped down to seek permission from his mistress. Lady Eloise Morton, the
daughter of Lord Hamish Morton, who had inherited his title and family’s meager
fortune, had had to endure an embarrassing let down last season. The Earl of
Bridgeton had made his intentions clear from the get go, but her dear mama
would see the truth for it was. Her precious daughter was to be made a fool of,
and he couldn’t help but empathize with the girl.

“What do you think
you are doing, Mary Elizabeth? This is highly irregular, and I do not approve
of how you are blatantly drawing attention to us.”

“Why on heaven’s
earth are you upset, Bastian? I, for one, am extremely pleased with our
arrangement, and I always knew that we would have a special bond. One that you
obviously do not mind all of London to witness, as we are walking about so
openly in Hyde Park.” She huffed with displeasure before continuing her rant,
“Besides my dear, I desire to speak with an old friend, is all.”

The moment she
finished speaking, the carriage door opened, and an un-amused Lady Morton
glared at his companion. “What is it that you desire to speak with me about,
Mary Elizabeth? I have not got the time to be stopping, nor the patience for
your drama. Besides, being seen with you is scandalous enough.”

“I simply wanted
to point out that what I always told you was true—that I am worthy of being
courted by an earl. What do you have to say now at my inability to fit in with
the rest of town?”

“Henry,” Lady
Morton shouted. “Drive on, and do not stop again.” The carriage door slammed in
their faces.

Mary Elizabeth’s
hand gripped his arm. All he could do was pat her hand. “Calm yourself, dear.
Next time, do try to avoid making a spectacle of yourself. London is hardly a
forgiving place, and I suppose that this will be gossiped about tonight whilst
she is entertaining company.”

“I only meant to—”

“It matters not
what you meant. I, for one, could do without scathing gossip for a little
while. You, madam, should be grateful for the privacy we are afforded for the
time being.”

The wench scowled,
crossed her arms over her chest, and pouted. “Honestly Bastian, I have no idea
why you haven’t moved me into your townhouse yet. Martine has made it quite
clear that if you do not make a decision soon this arrangement will end. There
are other lords who will be happy to make me their mistress. Surely, you can
make a decision on the matter soon?”

Christ! The woman is determined to make me mad.
“And I have already told you that I am undecided on the matter, Mary
Elizabeth. But let me make amends by taking you to Vauxhall this weekend. I am
positive that you will appreciate the entertainment, and perhaps if I can
rearrange my schedule, we could continue to the city of Bath. What do you say
now of my indecision?”

Her frown faded,
and instead he found her lips curling into a mischievous smile. The gleam in
her eyes was all the approval he required. Hopefully, the distraction would be
enough to keep her insistence at becoming his mistress at bay.

* * * *

“Mrs. Weylen, are
you sure that you really want to go to London?”

“I am. Enough time
has passed, and I am eager to see how much has changed since my departure to
the country.”

Cordelia Waite,
formerly the Duchess of Downsbury, watched her companion quizzically. Were it
not for the old woman’s quick thinking, kindness, and generosity, she and
Matthew would have never survived that terrifying night. It had taken days
before she had awoken, and many nights after that for her to recollect how she
had ended up in the country.

Her blasted
husband, the conniving prig that he was, had shipped her off in secrecy for the
remainder of her confinement. With the expectation that she would give up the
child. What he had not expected, however, was that she had a plan all her own.

She had intended
to send word to her beloved Wycliffe and deliver the unthinkable
ultimatum—trade in all his wealth to travel with her to the Americas and begin
a new life together, but when Missus Miller had taken that nasty fall, she had
postponed her trip for a bit. The elderly woman needed more help with her
trading business, and she would have been the only one who could have cared for
her.

Cordelia’s love
for the earl meant more than all the wealth and power her husband had.
‘Twas
an unfortunate thing that the Duke of Brimley had
been caught in the crossfire.
His poor
widow.
She would make amends with the dowager duchess before she left
England. The poor dear had a right to know that the rumors of Brimley siring
her child were nothing more than gossip.

Although, it was
no secret how much of a scoundrel he truly was. The man sorely lacked any
scruples and had not one care for those he hurt. One could say the same about
the type of marriage she and Richard had. They both had been adulterous, and
while she would never apologize for her affairs, she only wished she had found
a way to annul the marriage in its infancy. So much hurt could have been
avoided. Not to mention the scandal.

Now a year later,
she was planning to face Wycliffe and make the proposition she had desired to
years ago. And finally announce a little surprise.
But first things first
. If she had heard proper, the dowager
duchess was now addressed as the Marchioness of Stoughton, so she had to make
sure the driver knew exactly where they were going.

“Has Matthew been
readied for our journey, Missus Miller?”

“He has, though
he’s decided to fall asleep again.”

Bah! If he fell asleep now, he will be up all night again.
’Twas
terrible enough she had barely
slept these last few nights and that tonight would be the same, but if she kept
him up now, then he would be sour and restless for their ride into London.

“Very well. Are we
ready then to leave?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Excellent. Please
tell Davy that we shall be travelling to Stoughton Hall first, and from there,
we will backtrack to the nearest staging inn.”

The ride went
faster than Cordelia had expected. Matthew slept for the entirety and still
slumbered peacefully in her arms. Even despite the rumbling of thunder in the
distance and flashes of lightening. When the wagon came to a stop, she handed
the babe over to the dour-faced old woman. Her gentle eyes, warm and caring
most times, now had a worrisome glare to them.

“Mrs. Weylen, I
know not of your previous troubles, but I do not think now is the right time to
address them. It appears that hell is about to unleash its fury upon us, and if
you do not hurry, the child will get catch the death of him.”

“I promise, ma’am,
I will not be long. I have only come to say my piece, and then we will be on
our way.”

Missus Miller
waved her arms with impatience as Cordelia climbed down the rickety steps of
the carriage and walked the gravel path to the main house. Today was the first
time she would witness the grandeur of Stoughton Hall.

About to use the
knocker, the door opened before the iron clasp even touched the door. “Can I
help you?” the grey haired, brown-eyed butler asked.

“I was hoping to
speak with the dowager duchess…err…I mean, Lady Thompson. That is, if she will
see me.”

“May I tell her
who is calling?”

“My name is, Mrs.
Wey…Cordelia Waite, the Duchess of Downsbury.”

He glared at her
with suspicion. “Just a moment. Please wait here inside—there’s a seat just by
the alcove—while I see if she is taking visitors.”

The marchioness’
voice carried into the foyer as she moved closer, “You must have it wrong,
Lewis. Cordelia has been dead for some time now. There must be a mistake…”

The marchioness
stopped talking the moment she saw Cordelia. Her face paled, and she quickly
raised her hands to muffle a cry before swooning into the arms of the butler. A
maid walking by the front entrance screamed. Suddenly, all of the house
appeared.

When Lord Thompson
came to his wife’s aid, he glanced at Cordelia and then back to his wife. About
to take the marchioness into his embrace, he looked at her again, only this
time, he registered who she was. “Your Grace, what are you doing here?”

“I have come to
clear my—”
Boom.
The sound of thunder
crashed above them. Off behind her, she heard her son wailing as lightening
rippled through the sky. She looked back at the wagon as rain pelted it
mercilessly. “I have to go now, I cannot stay.”

“Your Grace,
please, come in. Your servants are welcome as well. Just have the driver take
the coach over to the stable.”

Cordelia waved to
Missus Miller. The old woman transferred the crying baby to Cordelia’s arms
before she ran off to tell Davy where to bring the cart around.

The
marquess
ordered the butler and the maid to take his wife
to their room, stating he would be along shortly. Then, he addressed Cordelia.
“Your Grace, if you will follow me, you can warm up by the fire. Can we provide
the baby a dry blanket?”

“You are most
kind, my lord.”

He waved to
another maid, who left, only to reappear with a fresh gown and blanket. “Allow
me,” the young woman offered to take the now calm babe.

“No, just leave
the items here, and I will tend to my son. Thank you.”

The maid curtsied
and took her leave.

As she undressed
Matthew and wrapped him in the dry clothing, she looked up at the
marquess
and frowned. “I truly meant no harm in my stopping
here, Lord Thompson. I know not of what horrid gossip has been spread, or what
my husband has been told. All I want is to let your wife know that I had no
relations with Henry, nor did I have any designs on him.”

Cordelia rocked
her son to sleep while she continued, “The fact of the matter is, I have no
intentions of ever returning to Richard, but I am in need of your assistance. I
need to see Bastian right away. He is the only reason why I have travelled this
distance. The earl and I have much to discuss.”

Lord Thompson
looked at the child and then back to her. “You should know that I do not blame
you in any way, however, I am not sure Isabel will say the same. Her life was
nearly ruined, and my sisters as well, by your husband. How do you think London
will react to learn that you are still alive?”

“I care not for
what they think, because they will never learn of my return. Let me assure you,
Lord Thompson, once my business with Bastian is finished, I will happily return
to my humble life in the country with my son. The accident was providence’s way
of giving me a second chance at life. And while I had hoped it would have ended
differently, I have learned much these last few months.”

The
marquess
frowned. “Your Grace—”

“Please do not
address me as such. Cordelia Waite no longer exists. Remember that always. To
the world, I am a widow by the name of Mrs. Weylen.”

“Very well, Mrs.
Weylen. You are welcome to stay here. Get some rest, and know that you are
safe. When you are ready, and my wife is calm enough to talk, we shall discuss
your plans.”