From London With Love: Disgrace and Desire / The Captain and the Wallflower

From London with Love

Disgrace and Desire

Sarah Mallory

The Captain and the Wallflower

Lyn Stone

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Disgrace and Desire

Extract

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

The Captain and the Wallflower

Extract

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Copyright

Disgrace and Desire

Sarah Mallory

‘You know what people are saying about you and Mortimer?’

She recoiled a little.

‘I neither know nor care,’ she retorted.

‘I would not have you dishonour your husband’s name, madam.’

Her eyes darkened angrily.

‘How dare you suggest I would do that?’

Her eyes darted fire, and she moved forward as if to engage with him. Jack could not look away: his gaze was locked with hers and he felt as if he was drowning in the blue depths of her eyes. She was so close that her perfume filled his head, suspending reason. A sudden, fierce desire coursed through him. He reached out and grabbed her, pulling her close, and as her lips parted to object he captured them with his own. He felt her tremble in his arms, then she was still, her mouth yielding and compliant beneath the onslaught of his kiss.

SARAH MALLORY was born in the West Country and now lives on the beautiful Yorkshire moors. She has been writing for more than three decades—mainly historical romances set in the Georgian and Regency period. She has won several awards for her writing, most recently the Romantic Novelists’ Association RoNA Rose Award in 2012 (The Dangerous Lord Darrington) and 2013 (Beneath the Major’s Scars).

For Dave, Roger and Norman, my very first heroes!

Major Jack Clifton dragged one grimy sleeve across his brow. The battle had been raging all day near the little village of Waterloo. The tall fields of rye grass had been trampled into the ground as wave after wave of cavalry charged the British squares between bouts of deadly artillery fire. A smoky grey cloud hung over the battlefield and the bright colours of the uniforms were muted by a thick film of dust and mud.

‘Look,’ said his sergeant, pointing to the far ridge. ‘That’s Bonaparte up there!’

A nervous murmur ran through the square.

‘Aye,’ Jack countered cheerfully. ‘And Wellington’s behind us, watching our every move.’

‘So ’e is,’ grinned the sergeant. ‘Well, then, let’s show the Duke we ain’t afraid of those Frenchies.’

Another cavalry charge came thundering towards them, only to fall back in a welter of mud, blood and confusion. Jack rallied his men, knowing that as long as he stayed calm the square would hold. A sudden flurry of activity caught his attention and a party of soldiers approached him, carrying someone in a blanket.

‘Lord Allyngham, Major,’ called one of the men as they laid their burden on the ground. ‘Took a cannonball in his shoulder. He was asking for you.’

The bloodied figure on the blanket raised his hand.

‘Clifton. Is he here?’

Jack dropped on one knee beside him. He averted his eyes from the shattered shoulder.

‘I’m here, my lord.’

‘Can’t—see—you.’

Jack took the raised hand.

‘I’m here, Tony.’

His calm words seemed to reassure Lord Allyngham.

‘Letters,’ he muttered. ‘In my jacket. Will you see they are sent back to England, Jack? One for my wife, one for Mortimer, my…neighbour. Important…that they get them.’

‘Of course. I’ll make sure they are sent tonight with the despatches.’

‘Thank you.’

Jack glanced up at the sergeant.

‘Take him back, Robert, and get a surgeon—’

‘No.’ The grip on his hand suddenly tightened. ‘No point: I know I’m done for.’

‘Nonsense,’ growled Jack. ‘We’ll have the sawbones patch you up—’

The glazed eyes seemed to clear and gain focus as he looked at Jack.

‘Not enough left to patch,’ he gasped. ‘No, Jack, listen to me! One more thing—do I still have my hand?’

Jack glanced at the mangled mess of blood and bone that was his left side.

‘Aye, you do.’

‘Good. Can you take my ring? And the locket—on a ribbon about my neck. Take ’em back to my wife, will you? In person, Jack. I’ll not trust these damned carriers with anything so dear. Take ’em now, my friend.’ He gritted his teeth against the pain as he struggled to pull a silk ribbon from beneath his jacket.

‘Be assured, Tony, I’ll deliver them in person,’ said Jack quietly, easing the ring from the bloodied little finger.

Allyngham nodded.

‘I’m obliged to you.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Good woman, Eloise. Very loyal. Deserved better. Tell her—’ He broke off, wincing. He clutched at Jack’s hand again. ‘Tell her to be happy.’

Jack dropped the locket and the ring into his pocket and carefully buttoned the flap.

‘I will, you have my word. And if there is anything I can do to help Lady Allyngham, be sure I shall do it.’

‘Thank you. Mortimer will look after her while she is in mourning but after that, keep an eye on her for me, Jack. She’s such an innocent little thing.’

A sudden shout went up. Jack looked up. For the past few moments he had been oblivious of the noise of the battle raging around him. Allyngham opened his eyes.

‘What is it, why are they shouting?’

All around them the men were beginning to cheer.

‘The French are in retreat,’ said Jack, his voice not quite steady.

Allyngham nodded, his cracked lips stretching into a smile.

‘Damnation, I knew the Duke would do it.’ He waved his hand. ‘Go now, Major. Go and do your duty. My men will look after me here.’

An ensign at his side nodded.

‘Aye, we’ll take care of him, sir,’ he said, tears in his eyes. ‘You may be sure we won’t leave him.’

Jack looked down at the pain-racked face. Lord Allyngham gave a strained smile and said, ‘Off you go, my friend.’

Jack rose and followed his men down the hill in pursuit of the French, who were now in full flight.

‘Steady, lads,’ he called, drawing his sword. ‘We’ll chase ’em all the way to Paris!’

In the drawing room of Allyngham Park, Eloise stood by one of the long windows, gazing out across the park, but the fine view swam before her eyes. There were two sheets of paper clutched in her hand and she glanced down at them before placing them upon the console table beside her. It would be useless to try to read while her eyes were so full of tears. She took out her handkerchief. It was already damp and of little use in drying her cheeks.

‘Mr Mortimer, my lady.’

At the butler’s solemn pronouncement she turned to see Alex Mortimer standing in the doorway. His naturally fair countenance was paler than ever and there was a stricken look in his eyes.

‘You have heard?’ She forced the words out.

‘Yes.’ He pulled a letter from his pocket. ‘I came over as soon as this arrived. I am so very sorry.’

With a cry she flew across the room and threw herself upon his chest.

‘Oh Alex, he is d-dead,’ she sobbed. ‘What are we going to do?’

She felt a shudder run through him. For a long while they sat on the sofa with their arms around each other. The shadows lengthened in the room and at last Eloise gently released herself.

‘It says he d-died at the end of the day, and…and he knew that the battle was won.’ She dabbed at her eyes with the edge of the fine linen fichu that covered her shoulders.

‘Then at least he knew he had not died in vain.’ Alex had turned away but she knew he, too, was wiping away the tears. ‘I had the news from a Major Clifton. He enclosed Tony’s last message to me.’

Eloise rose and took a deep breath, striving for some semblance of normality. She walked over to pick up the papers.

‘Yes, that is the name here, too. He says Tony gave him our letters to send on.’ She swallowed painfully. ‘Tony knew what danger he was facing. He…he wrote to say goodbye to us.’

Alex nodded. ‘He bids me look after you, until you marry again.’

‘Oh.’ Eloise put her hands over her face. ‘I shall never marry again,’ she said at last.

Alex put his hands on her shoulders.

‘Elle, you do not know that.’

‘Oh, I do,’ she sobbed, ‘I doubt there is another man in the world as good, and kind, and generous as Tony Allyngham.’

‘How can I disagree with that?’ He gave her a sad little smile. ‘And yet you are young, too young to bury yourself away here at Allyngham.’

She held up Tony’s last letter.

‘He has asked me to ensure that our plans for the foundling hospital go ahead. You will remember we discussed it just before he left for Brussels.’ She sighed. ‘How typical that when he was facing such danger Tony should think of others.’

He took her hand, saying gently, ‘My dear, you will be able to do nothing until the formalities are complete. You will need to summon your man of business, and notify everyone.’

‘Yes, yes.’ She clutched his fingers. ‘You will help me, will you not, Alex? You won’t leave me?’

He patted her hand.

‘No, I won’t leave. How could I, when my heart is here?’

Chapter One

It was more than a year after the decisive battle at Waterloo that Jack Clifton returned to England. As he rode away from his comrades and the army, which had been his life for more than a decade, there were two commissions that he had assigned himself before he could attend to his own affairs. One was to return Allyngham’s ring and locket to his widow, but first he would make a trip to a small country churchyard in Berkshire.

The little village outside Thatcham was deserted and there was no one to see the dusty traveller tie his horse to the gatepost of the churchyard. Jack shrugged off his greatcoat and threw it over the saddle. The rain that had accompanied him all the way from the coast had eased and now a hot September sun blazed overhead. He strode purposefully between the graves until he came to a small plot in one corner, shaded by the overhanging beech trees. The grave was marked only by a headstone. There were no flowers on the grassy mound and he was momentarily surprised, then his lip curled.

‘Who is there but me to mourn your passing?’ he muttered.

He knelt beside the grave, gently placing a bunch of white roses against the headstone.

‘For you, Clara. I pray you are at peace now.’

He rose, removed his hat and stood, bareheaded in the sun for a few moments then, squaring his shoulders, he turned away from the grave and set his mind towards London.

Eloise clutched at her escort’s arm as they entered Lady Parham’s crowded reception rooms.

‘I am glad you are with me, Alex, to give me courage.’

‘You have never wanted courage, Elle.’

She managed one speaking look at him before she turned to greet her hostess, who was sweeping towards her, beaming.

‘My dear Lady Allyngham! I am delighted to see you here. And honoured, too, that you should attend my little ball when everyone is quite desperate for your company! Some expected to see you in the summer, but depend upon it, I said, we will not see Lady Allyngham until the Little Season. She will not come to town until the full twelve months’ mourning is done. As the widow of a hero of Waterloo we should not expect anything less. And Mr Mortimer, too. Welcome, sir.’

Lady Parham’s sharp little eyes flickered over Alex. Eloise knew exactly the thoughts running through her hostess’s mind and felt a little kick of anger. Everyone in town thought Alex was her lover. Nothing she could say would convince them otherwise, so she did not make the attempt. Besides, it suited her purposes to have the world think she was Alex’s mistress. She had seen too many virtuous women hounded by rakes and roués until their resolve crumbled away. At least while the gentlemen thought she was living under Alex’s protection they might flirt with her but they would not encroach upon another man’s territory. Yet occasionally it galled her, when she saw that knowing look in the eyes of hostesses such as Lady Parham.

Twelve months of mourning had done much to assuage the feelings of grief and loss that had overwhelmed Eloise when she had learned of Tony’s death. Through those lonely early weeks Alex had always been there to support her and to share her suffering. He was a true friend: they had grown up together and she loved him as a brother. She did not want the world to think him a deceitful womaniser who would steal his best friend’s husband, but Alex assured her he was happy to be thought of as her cicisbeo.

‘If it satisfies their curiosity then we should let it be,’ he told her, adding with a rueful smile, ‘Much less dangerous than the truth, Elle.’

And Eloise was forced to admit it kept the wolves at bay. Now she fixed her smile as she regarded her hostess, determined no one should think her anything less than happy.

‘Mr Mortimer was kind enough to escort me this evening.’

‘La, but you need no escort to my parties, dear ma’am. I am sure you will find only friends here.’

‘Yes, the sort of friends who smile and simper and cannot wait to tear my character to shreds behind my back,’ muttered Eloise, when her hostess had turned her attention to another arrival. Angrily she shook out the apricot skirts of her high-waisted gown.

‘They are jealous because you cast them all into the shade,’ remarked Alex.

‘I did not think it would be so difficult,’ sighed Eloise, ‘coming back into society again.’

‘We could always go back to Allyngham.’

‘If I were not so determined to get on with fulfilling Tony’s last wish to build a foundling hospital I would leave now!’ muttered Eloise angrily. After a moment she squeezed Alex’s arm and gave a rueful little smile. ‘No, in truth, I would not. I have no wish to be an outcast and live all my life in the country. I am no recluse, Alex. I want to be able to come to London and—and dance, or visit the theatre, or join a debating society. But I could do none of these things if you were not with me, my friend.’

‘You could, if you would only hire yourself a respectable companion.’

She pulled a face.

‘That might give me respectability, but I would still be vulnerable. Even worse, it might make people think I was on the catch for another husband.’

‘And is there anything wrong with that?’

‘Everything,’ she retorted. ‘I have been my own mistress for far too long to want to change my situation.’

‘But you might fall in love, you know.’

She glanced up at him and found herself responding to his smile.

‘I might, of course, but it is unlikely.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘I have some experience of a sincere, deep devotion, Alex. Only a true meeting of minds could persuade me to contemplate another marriage. But such a partnership is very rare, I think.’

‘It is,’ said Alex solemnly. ‘To love someone in that way, and to know that you are loved in return, it is the greatest blessing imaginable.’

Eloise was silent for a moment, considering his words.

‘And I could settle for nothing less,’ she said softly. She looked up and smiled. ‘But these are grave thoughts, and unsuitable for a party! Suffice it to say, my friend, that I am very happy to have you as my protector.’

‘Then you must also accept the gossip,’ he told her. ‘It is no different from when Tony was in the Peninsula and I escorted you to town.’

‘But it is, Alex. Somehow, the talk seems so much more salacious when one is a widow.’

He patted her arm.

‘You will grow accustomed, I am sure. But never mind that now.’ He looked around the room. ‘I cannot see Berrow here.’

‘No, I thought if he was going to be anywhere this evening it would be here, for Lord Parham is an old friend. Oh, devil take the man, why is he so elusive?’

‘You could write to him.’

‘My lawyer has been writing to him for these past six months to no avail,’ she replied bitterly. ‘That is why I want to see him for myself.’

‘To charm him into giving you what you want?’ asked Alex, smiling.

‘Well, yes. But to do that I need to find him. Still, the night is young; he may yet arrive.’

‘And until then you are free to enjoy yourself,’ said Alex. ‘Do you intend to dance this evening, my lady?’

‘You know I do, Alex. I have been longing to dance again for the past several months.’

He made her a flourishing bow.

‘Then will my lady honour me with the next two dances?’

Alex Mortimer was an excellent dancer and Eloise enjoyed standing up with him. She would not waltz, of course: that would invite censure. She wondered bitterly why she worried so about it. Waltzing was a small misdemeanour compared to the gossip that was spreading about her after only a few weeks in London—already she was being called the Wanton Widow, a title she hated but would endure, if it protected those she loved. Eight years ago, when Lord Anthony Allyngham had first introduced his beautiful wife to society everyone agreed he was a very lucky man: his lady was a treasure and he guarded her well. During his years fighting in the Peninsula he had asked Alex to accompany Eloise to town, but it was only now that she realised the full meaning of the knowing looks they had received and the sly comments. It angered her that anyone should think her capable of betraying her marriage vows, even more that they should think ill of Alex, but since the truth was even more shocking, she and Alex had agreed to keep up the pretence.

The arrival of the beautiful Lady Allyngham at Parham House had been eagerly awaited and Eloise soon had a group of gentlemen around her. She spread her favours evenly amongst them, giving one gentleman a roguish look over the top of her fan while a second whispered fulsome compliments in her ear and a third hovered very close, quizzing glass raised, with the avowed intention of studying the flowers of her corsage.

She smiled at them all, using her elegant wit to prevent any man from becoming too familiar, all the time comfortable in the knowledge that Alex was in the background, watching out for her. She was surprised to find, at five-and-twenty, that the gentlemen considered her as beautiful and alluring as ever and they were falling over themselves to win a friendly glance from the widow’s entrancing blue eyes. The ladies might look askance at her behaviour but the gentlemen adored her. And even while they were shaking their heads and commiserating with her over the loss of her husband, each one secretly hoped to be the lucky recipient of her favours. Eloise did her best to discourage any young man who might develop a serious tendre for her—she had no desire to marry again and wanted no broken hearts at her feet—but she was willing to indulge any gentlemen in a flirtation, secure in the knowledge that Alex would ensure it did not get out of hand.

It could not be denied that such attention was intoxicating. Eloise danced and laughed her way through the evening and when Alex suggested they should go down to supper she almost ran ahead of him out of the ballroom, fanning herself vigorously.

‘Dear me, I had forgotten how much I enjoy parties, but I am quite out of practice! And perhaps I should not have had a third glass of—oh!’

She broke off as she collided with someone in the doorway.

Eloise found herself staring at a solid wall of dark blue. She blinked and realised it was the front of a gentleman’s fine woollen evening coat. She thought that he must be very big, for she had always considered herself to be tall and yet her eyes were only level with the broad shoulder to which this particular coat was moulded. Her eyes travelled across to the snow-white neckcloth, tied in exquisite folds, and moved up until they reached the strong chin and mobile mouth. For a long time she felt herself unable to look beyond those finely sculpted lips with the faint laughter lines etched at each side. It was quite the most beautiful mouth she had ever seen. A feeling she had never before experienced thrummed through her. With a shock she realised what it was. Desire.

Summoning all her resources, she moved her glance upwards to meet a pair of deep brown eyes set beneath straight black brows. Almost immediately she saw a gleam of amusement creep into those dark eyes.

‘I beg your pardon, madam.’

He spoke slowly but did not drawl, his voice deep and rich and it wrapped around Eloise like a warm cloak, sending a tiny frisson of excitement running down her spine. Really, she must pull herself together!

‘Pray think nothing of it, sir…’

‘But I must, Lady Allyngham.’

She had been enjoying the sound of his voice, running over her like honey, but at the use of her name she gave a little start.

‘You know who I am?’

He gave her a slow smile. Eloise wondered if she had taken too much wine, for all at once she felt a little dizzy.

‘You were described to me as the most beautiful woman in the room.’

She had thought herself immune to flattery, but she was inordinately pleased by his words. She did not know whether to be glad or sorry when she felt Alex’s hand under her elbow.

‘Shall we get on, my lady?’