What You Promised (Anything for Love, Book 4) Read online

  “Yes, sir,” John said, but probably hadn’t got the first clue what Matthew was rambling on about.

  Leaving John to concentrate on his duties, Matthew returned to the ballroom. He would begin his mission to empty the house by dropping a few discreet hints in Lord Parson’s ear. But the blasted man had disappeared.

  Chigwell, Mullworth and Mrs Wilson were conversing near the terrace, and so he thought to try there.

  “Lord, watching you wipe the grin off Boden’s face was the highlight of the evening.” Chigwell slapped Matthew on the back. “Parker-Brown scurried off into the night, his chin dragging the floor.”

  “I imagine he has rushed home to assess his accounts,” Mrs Wilson remarked with a cackle.

  “You must be in the mood for celebrating,” Chigwell said. “Let’s play a drinking game.”

  Bloody hell. If they consumed any more brandy, they were liable to make a mess of the floor. “With a little over an hour left until I must bid you all goodnight, I think your time would be better served mingling.”

  That was a polite way of saying ‘find someone to fuck and then begone’. As the vulgar remark formed in his mind, a wave of disgust swept over him. He was tired of playing parent to the weak and perverted.

  “An hour?” Mullworth moaned. “That doesn’t give a man much time.” With an open mouth, he scoured the crowd. “Damn. There’s no one here who takes my fancy.”

  Mrs Wilson nudged the slack-jawed devil. “Oh, there must be someone you’ve had your eye on. Someone who gets the old blood boiling. And don’t look at me. I choose my men as I do my meat.”

  Chigwell chuckled. “What, you mean thick with a juicy covering of fat?”

  “No, you fool.” Mrs Wilson hit Chigwell’s forearm with her folded fan. “I mean young, lean and tender.”

  Matthew feigned amusement. “As the average age of the gentlemen in here must be forty, I’d say you’re out of luck.”

  “I’d say we are all out of luck.” Mullworth’s eyes widened as he spotted someone amongst the sea of heads. “Then again, it seems Chandler here might be the only one guaranteed a jolly time this evening.”

  Matthew followed Mullworth’s gaze to the woman approaching. Like a snake slithering through the grass, Lucinda Pearce weaved through the crowd. She joined them, her forked tongue flicking over her lips as she scanned Matthew from head to toe.

  “You know Chandler is closing the doors early tonight,” Mullworth grumbled for the umpteenth time.

  “Early? But he can’t.” Lucinda trailed her fingers over the neckline of her bodice. “The night has barely begun. Is a win at the tables not cause for celebration?”

  It was. But he intended to commemorate the moment in private.

  Mullworth sighed. “I don’t suppose you’d forgo a dalliance with Chandler and bring a desperate man some comfort?”

  “Of course not.” Lucinda’s sharp tone quickly mellowed. “But it wouldn’t hurt to hear your proposition. At the very least, I might find someone else who interests you.” Lucinda turned to Matthew. She wore the same sultry grin he’d seen a hundred times before. “Don’t go anywhere, Chandler. I shall be right back.”

  Lucinda sauntered off with Mullworth. With any luck, she’d find someone else to stalk, someone else to stare at with her beady eyes. Indeed, his patience for her games had reached an end.

  Mullworth’s comment irritated him, too. It didn’t matter how affectionate he was with his wife. People still assumed he would frolic with the likes of Miss Pearce. Tales and gossip had no effect on him, but the last thing he wanted was to hurt Priscilla.

  Perhaps the time had come to focus on more worthy pursuits. To progress one had to reassess one’s priorities. Painting was his love. So why the hell was he wasting time entertaining degenerates? People who vilified his home and abused his character.

  “Chandler. Are you so drunk you’ve lost the use of your faculties?” Chigwell’s amused voice disturbed his reverie. “Did you not hear what I said?”

  “Forgive me. No.” Matthew looked up and noted Chigwell was alone.

  “We’re leaving.” He slapped Matthew on the back. “I’m to give Mrs Wilson a ride home whereupon she is to make a thorough assessment of my person and decide if mature beef is just as tasty as veal.”

  “Then for your sake, I hope you come up to scratch.”

  Chigwell patted him on the back. “I intend to suck in my stomach and give it my best effort.”

  In his eagerness to reach Mrs Wilson, who was waiting on the stairs, Chigwell rushed off. But Matthew was not left alone for long.

  “And so you find yourself without friends again, Matthew.” Lucinda mocked. “Perhaps you should make more effort to nurture relationships.”

  “What’s wrong, Lucinda? Are you tired of Mullworth already?”

  “Mullworth is hardly what one would call a virile specimen of a man, whereas you radiate strength and a powerful, masculine energy. Indeed, it is the reason I have decided to give you one more chance. There is a comfortable sofa in the parlour, I recall. And you would be surprised what we could achieve in an hour.”

  For the love of God, the snake had shed her skin and had no recollection of their earlier conversation.

  “How many times must I tell you? I love my wife.” The truth hit him so hard he jerked his head. Bloody hell. “I love my wife,” he repeated with a slight hint of surprise as his mouth curled up into a smile. “There is not a woman on earth who could tempt me to be unfaithful.”

  Lucinda drew back ready to spit venom. “Then you’re a fool, a damn cuckold. I’ve seen the way she dances with men.”

  “No, you’ve seen the way she dances with her husband.”

  “I’ve seen the way she flirts around Lord Boden. You know he’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants. I don’t suppose he expected it to be so easy, but surely you didn’t think he’d leave here without winning something.”

  Anger flamed in Matthew’s chest. He grabbed Lucinda by the arm. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  She sneered. “I’m talking about the note Boden sent pretending to be you. The one left in your wife’s bedchamber while you were busy dancing. I’m talking about the secret liaison to meet in that delightful summerhouse in the garden. No doubt she will be there now, believing her husband couldn’t wait to kiss her again.”

  Panic rushed through his body like a vine, its twig-like tentacles crawling into every available space. “My footman would never have given permission for a man to go upstairs.”

  “Of course, Boden had a little assistance. You’d be surprised how helpful your staff can be when a lady feels unwell. But I should hurry. I fear you might already be too late.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Am I? Why don’t you see for yourself? I saw Lord Boden in the garden a few minutes ago.”

  It couldn’t be true. He would have seen Priscilla enter the ballroom unless she’d used a different entrance into the garden.

  “Any lady would be shocked to find a strange man in the dark when she thought she’d be meeting her husband,” Lucinda continued. “But Boden is a large man who can be very persuasive, particularly when drunk.”

  What option did he have? He could speak to John, race upstairs to check Priscilla was still in her chamber, but what if Lucinda was right? Boden had consumed far too much brandy, and Matthew had witnessed the look of resentment in the lord’s eyes.

  “I want you out of my house, Lucinda.” With gritted teeth, he mumbled a curse. “I want you out of my house now. Never come here again.”

  An arrogant grin formed on her lips. “And what about my membership? Surely—”

  “Get out of my house!” Matthew waved at Robert who was standing guard on the stairs. The footman rushed over. “Escort Miss Pearce from the premises. Ensure she has transport home. Inform Hopkins that she is no longer welcome here.”

  “It is of no consequence,” Lucinda said, thrusting her chin in the air. “These parties used to be
fun. But your wife has turned you into a dull, rather tiresome bore.”

  Priscilla had saved him from an empty, lonely existence. She encouraged him to be a better person.

  “This world was once a fantasy. But it is a fantasy based on falsehoods. Look closely at the real people behind the masks, and you’ll find it is just a horror show full of freaks.”

  Lucinda chuckled. “And the real horror is taking place in the summerhouse as we speak.”

  “You should be thankful you’re not a man else you’d not be standing,” he said and then turned on his heels and raced out through the terrace doors and into the night.

  Chapter 21

  Matthew descended the terrace steps two at a time. Despite the lit braziers and lamps dotted around the perimeter of the garden, it was too difficult to distinguish faces in the dark. Lucinda had mentioned the summerhouse, and so he ran across the grass and darted behind the large topiary hedge.

  The small wooden building sat nestled in the north-west corner of the garden. Although he’d spoken to Priscilla about auctioning the key, the room was always unlocked.

  Coming to within a few feet of the tiny house, he crept up to the door. The sound of breathless pants and moans confirmed someone was inside. If Boden had touched a hair on Priscilla’s head there’d be hell to pay.

  Murder was the only thought on Matthew’s mind when he opened the door and marched inside. Despite a red mist descending, he recognised Boden’s broad frame towering over his quarry hidden in the shadows. Indeed, the guttural groans and smacking of lips awakened a rage so intense he could barely focus.

  Lunging at Boden, Matthew grabbed the collar of his coat and dragged him back.

  “What the hell?” With arms flailing Boden struggled to keep his balance as Matthew shook him like a disobedient pup.

  “I’ve tolerated your conceit and your arrogant comments. But I warned you, lay a hand on my wife and you’ll not live to see another day.”

  Just for good measure, and because he’d been itching to do it for weeks, Matthew released Boden and punched him hard in the stomach.

  With a loud groan, the lord’s head fell forward so fast his chin almost hit the floor. “What the bloody hell was that for?” Boden clutched his stomach as he tried to straighten. “I’ve not touched your wife. I’ve not seen her since … since the card game.”

  “You had your tongue down someone’s throat.”

  “This is a private matter.” Boden wobbled and shuffled to block the identity of the figure hiding behind the plant in the corner. “It is no concern of yours who I spend my time with.”

  “Who is she?” Every bone and fibre in Matthew’s body told him it was not Priscilla. This lady had been a willing partner, and he trusted his wife implicitly.

  “I do not have to answer to you. Why do you care?”

  “Miss Pearce said you’d lured my wife out here. While I’m confident she was lying in the hope of causing me distress, I’ll not leave until I learn the identity of your partner.”

  What was his problem? All the ladies present swopped lovers regularly.

  “This is an outrage.” Boden threw his hands in the air. “Can a man not have his privacy?”

  “Not in my home, no.” Matthew peered around Boden’s shoulder. “I suggest you come out and show yourself so we can all go about our business.” He glanced at Boden. “These parties are an opportunity for members to partake in illicit affairs. You have no need to fear anyone’s censure.”

  “I fear no one,” Boden spat. “And it’s an affront—”

  “It doesn’t matter, Lawrence,” the mystery figure interjected in a cool, masculine tone. “I’m certain we can be assured of Mr Chandler’s discretion.”

  The gentleman stepped out from the shadows. His golden hair was ruffled, his lips swollen. The blush rising to his cheeks made him appear timid, angelic.

  “Mr Musswell,” Matthew said in as calm a voice as he could muster under the circumstances. But it wasn’t anger that flowed through his veins. Indeed, seeing the look of vulnerability pass over Boden’s face caused a rush of satisfaction. “Forgive me. I fear Miss Pearce likes to cause trouble. Had I not been concerned for my wife’s safety, I would not have disturbed your … your evening.”

  “That blasted woman,” Boden snapped.

  Mr Musswell placed a hand on Boden’s sleeve. “She has had her suspicions for some time. A woman scorned will always seek revenge.”

  Matthew cast his mind back a few months. He recalled talk of a liaison between Mr Musswell and Lucinda Pearce.

  “Revenge is certainly on her agenda,” Matthew agreed. “The lady cannot cope with rejection. She can be irrational when things don’t go as she planned.”

  Musswell sighed. “No doubt she finds this whole situation amusing and is probably watching us from the garden.”

  “Oh, there is no need to worry on that score,” Matthew said arrogantly. “Miss Pearce has left. I revoked her membership, told her she’s not welcome in my home.”

  “You did what?” Boden punched the air, the strenuous activity causing him to sway and stumble. “Damn it all. God knows what she’ll do now.”

  “Calm down, Lawrence. Anger serves no one but the Devil.”

  Lucinda was nothing more than a gossip, a courtesan who trampled over people to get what she wanted.

  “The woman has no power over you,” Matthew said. “No person in their right mind would accuse a lord of a criminal offence. If she spreads rumours, you must deny them. Indeed, it would not take much to have her refused entry to every ball and soiree.”

  “Mr Chandler is right, Lawrence. You give the woman too much credit.”

  Matthew nodded. “What you do in your personal lives is of no consequence.” This was not the first time he had chanced upon a similar situation. “But may I advise that you be more discreet in future. Conducting a liaison so openly is courting trouble.”

  “It’s that bloody brandy,” Boden cried. “I am normally a man in complete control of my urges.”

  Matthew shrugged. “Perhaps you should have had the port. It was a particularly good bottle. Indeed, my wife had a new decanter brought in just before the game.”

  Boden’s eyes widened. “Yes … yes. Perhaps you’re right.”

  “Indeed, I find brandy affects one’s facial expressions. You appeared to develop a twitch before playing a knave. An excessively arched brow equated to a queen.”

  Boden’s face turned beetroot red. He mumbled and stuttered but couldn’t form a coherent word.

  “Are you all right, Lawrence,” Musswell enquired. “Are you ill? Is it the brandy?”

  “Now, I shall leave you gentlemen to your business.” Matthew tugged at the sleeves of his coat and brushed imagined dust from his lapels. “I hope to see you tomorrow, Lord Boden. I shall look forward to ripping up my vowel and watching it burn. When you play cards again, you should refrain from drinking brandy. Twitches are often mistaken for silent communication, and I’m certain you would hate for others to think you a cheat.” Matthew inclined his head. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

  With a grin stretching from ear to ear, Matthew left them to their affairs. He had taken but two strides across the lawn when he heard Boden’s frustrated curses rent the air. While annoyed with Lucinda for causing mischief, finding Boden in a clinch with a male lover was a fitting reward.

  Matthew was still smiling to himself when he entered the ballroom, but Robert’s frantic gesture from his position on the stairs banished all amusing thoughts. Perhaps Lucinda refused to leave and was intent on making a scene.

  Matthew strode over. “What is it, Robert? Please tell me you got rid of her.”

  “No, the … the lady, sir. She’s had an accident, tripped and tumbled on her way out. She hit her head hard on the front steps.”

  Bloody hell!

  “All I asked you to do was escort her to the damn door?” This was probably another one of Lucinda’s games to get attention. “I assume we’re talkin
g of Miss Pearce?”

  Robert nodded. “Hopkins came looking but couldn’t find you.”

  “I trust she’s not dead.” Matthew accompanied the footman out into the hall. Relief filled his chest when he saw John standing to attention at the bottom of the stairs.

  “No, sir. She’s in the drawing room. We carried her and laid her out on the chaise.”

  “But she is breathing?”

  Robert nodded again. “She looks to be sleeping.”

  “Take me to her.” He had no desire to be alone in a room with the vixen.

  Hopkins appeared behind them, his breathless pants audible. “Sir, has … has Robert—”

  “Yes, yes. I know about Miss Pearce. Follow me, Hopkins.”

  They all marched into the drawing room, stood on the rug in the centre, shocked to find no sign of the injured Miss Pearce.

  “Where the hell is she?” Matthew stabbed his finger at the empty chaise. “Where the hell has she gone?”

  “But I don’t understand.” Robert scratched his head. “She was here a few minutes ago.”

  With his heart pounding hard in his chest, Matthew scanned the room. “Well, she’s not here now.” He strode over to the window and searched behind the drapes, noticed the slight breeze coming from the gap between the sash and the ledge. Surely she’d not climbed out of the window? “Why the blazes did you leave her alone?”

  You’d be surprised how helpful your staff can be when a lady feels unwell.

  Miss Pearce’s words had come back to haunt him.

  “Perhaps she felt better, sir, and wandered back to the ballroom.”

  “Then let us go and speak to John.”

  They returned to the hall.

  “After Robert and Hopkins carried Miss Pearce to the drawing room, at any point did she return to the hall?”

  “No, sir. Other than Mr Chigwell and Mrs Wilson, I’ve seen no one else.”

  Hopkins cleared his throat. “I was in the ballroom at the time, sir. It was John and Robert who carried Miss Pearce into the room and made her comfortable.”

  Matthew blinked and shook his head, somehow hoping it would solve the problem with his hearing. He shot around to face John. “Are you telling me you left the stairs unattended?”