Chapter One
London, May 1820
Few things were more terrifying than Almack’s on a Wednesday night.
When an unmarried man in possession of a fortune entered the room, young women straightened their shoulders to put their bosoms on display, donned smiles, and went on the hunt, with their mamas acting as guides. Likewise, if a gentleman wanted a wife with a dowry and a good family, he merely had to show up and survey the options. Anyone who attended knew what they were getting themselves into.
Tonight, he wasn’t the one hunted. Emma was. And the chit seemed to be having the time of her life.
As the evening progressed, the room filled with wedding-hungry mamas and white-muslin-clad dewy-eyed girls who should be in a schoolroom—not in the arms of these decrepit lechers, most of whom were old enough to be their fathers.
His sister swept by in the arms of a man who, if his hand crept lower than Emma’s waist, would be dead by morning. Bow Street might never find the body. Not all of it, anyway.
The stark color palette for gentlemen attending the assembly rooms was another annoyance on his growing list of grievances against this evening. Cal sighed, running a hand over his black embroidered waistcoat. It would be a shame to spoil this perfect cravat with blood—Kingston would have a fit, and exceptional valets were hard to find—but if young Lord Cleavage-Ogler didn’t rein in those wandering hands, the linen would be collateral damage. Cal narrowed his eyes and tried to send a silent threat to the man holding his sister.
He’d thought he would have weeks before Emma waltzed in these hallowed halls. Permission to waltz was precious and not something you could plan for if you were a debutante brand-new to the Season. He’d watched in silent dismay as one of the Almack’s patronesses had given her blessing. The woman had sent a beaming smile at the top of Emma’s gold curls as his sister made a perfect curtsy.
“A fellow Saint Albans girl? And so lovely too! Waltz, enjoy, and please pass along my regards to Headmistress Lunetta. It’s been an age, and I owe her a letter.”
Damn.
Cal turned to one of his closest friends, Adam. “Puppy, I’ll give you one hundred pounds to marry my sister—on the condition that you never touch a hair on her head.” It was said in jest and desperation, but once the words left his mouth, the idea gained appeal. Someone stable, reliable, and honest like Adam would be ideal for headstrong Emma. Adam worked for him now but would gain a tidy fortune upon his next birthday. He didn’t have land or a title, but he was a gentleman’s son and had character.
“No thank you. Emma’s a beauty, I’ll grant you that. But my pockets aren’t so dusty that I need to sell myself just to relieve you of your brotherly duty.” The Puppy, known to everyone else as Adam Hardwick, nursed a glass of lemonade, grimacing with every swallow.
The famous Almack’s refreshments claimed another victim. “I object to your strong moral fiber. But I hate to see a friend suffer. Here. Brandy helps the lemonade go down easier.” Cal slipped a small flask from his waistcoat pocket.
“Don’t they need lemons to make lemonade? Whatever this is, it has never met a lemon. I’d bet my final shilling.” Adam dumped a generous serving of liquor into the small punch cup.
“Are you down to your final shilling? Because again, I offer one hundred pounds.”
“Watching you suffer is better than a king’s ransom.” The Puppy took a tentative sip and made a grunting noise Cal assumed denoted relief.
On the dance floor, Emma’s partner said something to make her laugh. The charming sound rose over the notes of the orchestra, complementing the music. All around the room, heads swiveled toward her like sharks scenting blood in the water.
“Two hundred pounds. What if I dare you?” Even to his ears he sounded desperate.
“I hate saying no to a dare. But I’m not that gullible.” Adam didn’t even have the grace to sound apologetic or look away from watching the action on the dance floor.
“Why? Only an hour ago you said she was beautiful.”
“She looks too much like you.”
There could be no doubt he and Emma were siblings. But thanks to his father dipping his quill in every available inkwell, the same applied to several others in the room. The fair hair and dark eyes were distinctive. At least the number of his father’s by-blows present tonight ensured three—no, Lady Wallace just arrived. So there were four eager mamas who wouldn’t be pushing their daughters toward Calvin as potential matches. As silver linings went, it left much to be desired.
“Did you know your left eye twitches? It hasn’t stopped since Emma’s partner splayed his fingers towards her bum.” Adam said it to tease, but he wasn’t wrong.
The betraying eye twitch made itself known again, and Cal couldn’t do anything about it. “For that, I’m taking my flask back. Get your own liquor, Puppy.” He tucked it inside his coat.
“It’s almost empty anyway.” Adam took a healthy swig of the considerably doctored lemonade.
Cal glared at the couple on the dance floor. “Don’t you think they’re too close? Where’s a patroness when you need one? I should have kept her in school for another year.”
“Eighteen is a perfectly respectable age to come out.”
“Sisters are the bane of a man’s existence. There is nothing worse than launching them into society.”
His friend raised a brow at him. “I realize you’re being dramatic, but try not to be an arse. I can easily think of a dozen worse things—several of which I witnessed firsthand on the way here tonight, and one in particular I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. And considering I know exactly who my worst enemy is, that’s saying something.”
