One Wicked Wish

  One Wicked Wish: A Scandal in Mayfair Book 1

  By

  Anna Campbell

  Copyright © 2021 by Anna Campbell

  annacampbell.com

  ISBN 978-1-925980-04-2

  These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Anna Campbell.

  Cover art by Hang Le

  E-book Formatting by Web Crafters

  www.webcraftersdesign.com

  Dedication:

  To my dear friend Karyn Brinkley

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Comerford House, Lorimer Square, Mayfair, London, April 1816

  As she slipped through the dark garden, Stella Faulkner pulled her paisley shawl tighter around her shoulders. Like most of her clothes, including the teal gown she wore, the shawl was a hand-me-down from her cousin, Lady Imogen Ridley.

  Tonight she didn’t much care that the shawl’s pattern made her complexion look like mud, she was just grateful for the warmth. The calendar might say it was spring. The temperature proclaimed that winter lingered past its welcome.

  If her cousin was so determined to rush headlong to ruin, why the deuce couldn’t she pick a warmer night to do it in? However cold it was, Stella had to stop her. It was her duty as a chaperone, not to mention that she had a sincere fondness for Imogen. She was worried sick about the mess the girl was getting into.

  Music and the rise and fall of talk and laughter drifted from the house behind her. Lord and Lady Lumsden hosted one of the balls of the season, so the place was packed with London’s great and good.

  Not long ago, Stella had been on the edge of that glittering crowd, although nobody in their right mind would call her great. And if anyone knew of her past, they’d struggle to think of her as good either.

  All the mansions lining Lorimer Square were blessed with large gardens. More in optimism than expectation, Lady Lumsden had placed torches along the paths, in case her guests wished to take the air. The garden remained unfrequented because the air, sadly, was freezing.

  Stella shivered again and pulled the shawl even closer. If her cousin was indeed outside, she’d be turning blue to match her fashionable silk ball gown. If the little minx must elope in April, why the devil didn’t she have the nous to elope by daylight and wearing suitable clothes?

  Although a daring moonlit flit from a ball would appeal to the girl, Stella supposed. Most harebrained romantic schemes did, plague take the silly chit.

  In this distant corner of the garden, torches were fewer and farther between. Stella’s vision had adjusted to the dimness, and the full moon helped. Ahead loomed a dark construction that could only be the gazebo she sought. She marched up to it, climbed the half-dozen wooden steps and set foot inside, expecting to surprise the two lovers clasped in each other’s arms.

  To her dismay, the building was empty.

  Tiny flickering lamps in the ancient Roman style lit the small wooden summerhouse. But the glow from the niches didn’t reach very far. Stella assumed that was the point. Never in her life had she seen a place more designed for assignation. There was even a brazier filled with hot coals in the middle of the floor, so any adventurous lovers didn’t get frostbite.

  So where was Imogen? Was Stella too late to stop her from making a terrible mistake? Surely not. It was only a few minutes since she’d seen her cousin disappear from the ballroom, and the letter Stella had discovered on the girl’s dressing table asked her beau to meet her at the gazebo in the Lumsdens’ garden at eleven.

  All day, Stella had tried to get her cousin on her own so she could talk some sense into her. But Imogen had proven elusive, spending the afternoon with her friend Lily Bilson and arriving at the ball with the Bilsons’ party.

  In the grip of rising apprehension, Stella glanced around the building. What in blazes could she do now?

  She supposed if her cousin had already run off, she must tell her uncle, but if she did, the fat would well and truly hit the fire. Was there any chance that Imogen was yet to arrive? Was it worth waiting? Stella would much rather convince the girl in private that running away with a rake was unwise than report her to her surly father.

  Her cousin was clever, if inclined to follow her impulses and rue her rashness later. But if one caught her in time, she’d listen to good advice. Sometimes.

  Or was Imogen already on her way to Gretna? In that case, perhaps Stella should go back inside and find Imogen’s brother Eliot. He might have some idea how to quash a scandal, and he was renowned for his even temper.

  At least Eliot wouldn’t tear strips off Stella for failing in her duties. He knew his sister was no saint. Whereas her father had far too rosy a picture of his daughter’s docility.

  Extending her gloved hands over the brazier and breathing in its scented smoke, Stella struggled to decide whether to betray her cousin or look for her somewhere else. With every second, telling her uncle became the obvious choice.

  Then someone would have to chase after Imogen, which meant endless ructions and her cousin’s reputation in tatters. Not to mention Stella hauled over the coals because she’d allowed this to happen.

  “You’re not who I expected to see,” a drawling baritone said from the shadows. “At least at first.”

  Stella started and backed up a few steps on shaky legs. Her eyes darted around the dark space.

  A point of red flared from the window seat beneath one of the latticed windows. Whoever shared the space was smoking a cheroot. If the brazier hadn’t been filled with perfumed pastilles, she’d have smelled the tobacco.

  “Show yourself,” she said sharply, although a queasy feeling in her stomach told her she knew who this was.

  A long-suffering sigh was the response. She had no difficulty in picturing the superior expression on his high-bred face.

  A black shape unfolded from the seat and rose with a languid ease that was an insult in itself. Stella could make out enough of the man now to confirm that she was right about his identity.

  So she felt no surprise when he stepped into the light. Or what light there was, which wasn’t much. “Lord Halston.”

  Her perfunctory curtsy made his long, expressive mouth curl in sardonic appreciation. “Very polite.”

  “I’ve been taught to respect my betters,” she said grimly, and knew that neither of them would describe him in those terms.

  The earl was tall and lean, and his every movement expressed lazy grace. He was dressed in black, although his white shirt and neckcloth created pale patches in the gloom.

  In this light, his saturnine face was all angles and hollows. But she didn’t need illumination to recall those sculpted features and the hooded green eyes that seemed to notice everything. After two weeks of observing him across crowded b
allrooms, she was well aware that his indolent air was deceptive.

  “I’m waiting for your fair cousin.”

  Stella was so flustered to find herself alone with Lord Halston that only now did the true significance of his solitude strike her. She released a gasp of relief. Imogen hadn’t turned up for the rendezvous. “I’m looking for her.”

  “If you find her, pray tell her that it’s bad form to invite a gentleman to a tryst, then fail to appear.”

  Imogen must have come to her senses before she did anything silly. Thank God. “A pity that she disappointed you,” Stella said with a hint of irony.

  As he fixed that unreadable gaze on her, the hand holding the cheroot made a dismissive gesture. A black silk sling supported his left arm. For the last few weeks, London had buzzed with tattle about Halston’s latest mistress shooting him after he handed out her marching orders.

  “I wouldn’t exactly say I’m disappointed. I’m sure you can amuse me perfectly well in your cousin’s place. In fact, I might even say I’m delighted with how events have turned out.”

  Just like that, threat bristled in the air. Nerves pinged in Stella’s midriff, as she drew herself up to her full height and glared at him. She was a tall woman, but to her regret, she didn’t measure up to Lord Halston who was well over six feet.

  “I doubt it, my lord.” Her voice was almost as cold as the air. “How will your reputation as a rake survive, if people find out that you wasted your masculine wiles on me? There’s not much cachet in flirting with a middle-aged governess of no attractions and no distinction.”

  “How wrong you are. Anyway I’m amused already.” His low chuckle sent another wave of unease washing through her. This shiver had nothing to do with the perishing cold. “But I’m touched to discover that you have my welfare at heart.”

  He stopped as if expecting a reply, but wisdom kept her silent. She needed to bring this discussion to an end, but not just yet. First, she had to discover how far things had progressed between Halston and her cousin.

  When she didn’t speak, he went on. “Nor would I precisely say that flirtation is my goal.” He paused again, which gave her time to worry about what he meant. “Or not flirtation for its own sake, at any rate.”

  “You wanted to seduce my cousin?”

  “Not at all. I want to seduce you.”

  Dear God, that was unexpected. Every hair on her skin lifted, and fear coiled in her stomach. Fear, and a reluctant fascination. Because she’d noticed him and wanted him, however out of reach he was. He was so dark and dangerous and forbidden. How could she resist?

  Through her astonishment, she realized that he couldn’t mean it, so she returned a light answer. “It’s too cold to contemplate sin.”

  “It’s never too cold to contemplate sin. Although I didn’t mean that I planned to jump on you this minute.”

  “Well, that’s a mercy.”

  Her dry tone made him laugh. “Not to mention that these wooden seats would be damned hard on the knees.”

  He was incorrigible. She didn’t for a moment believe that Halston had any serious designs on her virtue, although some imp inside her enjoyed the back and forth between them. “I’m not worthy of your attention, my lord.”

  “But then you’re not seeing with my eyes,” he responded with a smoothness that stirred her disquiet. She knew this was a game, but he sounded like he meant what he said.

  Lord Halston raised the cheroot, drew on it one last time, then dropped it to the marble floor. As he extinguished the stub with one elegant foot, Stella studied him. Was he so lost to morality that in her cousin’s absence, any female would do instead? Even a lowly governess?

  She decided that must be the case. If only that knowledge made her despise him, but she was no angel herself. The shameful truth was that she’d noticed Lord Halston’s louche attractions from the moment she saw him at her first London ball.

  How could she not? He prowled through the ton like Satan seeking congenial company to drag down to hell with him. Those sensual features promised endless pleasure to the lucky woman he chose to steal away.

  Nonetheless Stella was no fool. She knew which side her bread was buttered on. A dalliance with Lord Halston, however appealing, was a diversion she couldn’t afford.

  To her regret.

  “Yet you came out here to meet my cousin. I didn’t even know you were acquainted with her.”

  One of the greatest shocks in finding that letter was learning that Imogen had linked up with this reprobate. Stella had never seen them dance together. She’d never even seen them speak.

  In general, Halston didn’t seem interested in debutantes. Stella recognized Imogen’s many qualities, but something inside her insisted that an innocent like her cousin wasn’t Halston’s usual quarry.

  Although perhaps, given the interest he expressed in Stella, he wasn’t as discriminating as she’d assumed. She didn’t know him beyond what she’d seen. She’d never spoken to him before.

  Almost every night since she’d arrived in London, Stella had attended a ball, but not as a guest seeking an evening’s pleasure. She’d been relegated to sit against the wall and observe the gaiety. Such was the role of a companion.

  She reminded herself once more that Halston could be nothing to her, other than a face to fit to her overheated fantasies when she lay in bed at night. In his presence, memories of those sultry dreams made her stomach pitch with secret embarrassment.

  Which still didn’t explain when he and Imogen had cooked up an elopement.

  “I don’t know your cousin,” he said calmly. He stopped as if he considered further. “I mean, I know who she is. She’s pretty and an heiress and accounted one of the catches of the season. But we’ve never been introduced.”

  For pity’s sake, what was going on? None of this made sense. And in the meantime, Stella turned into an icicle. She shifted closer to the brazier, even if that meant shifting closer to the libertine lord. “So what are you doing here?”

  “She wrote me a note, asking me to meet her in the gazebo in the Lumsdens’ garden at eleven.”

  “And you came? Are you hoping to get your hands on her fortune? I imagine your habits are expensive.”

  “You don’t pull your punches, do you?” To her surprise, that sounded like praise.

  Stella stamped down a traitorous spurt of pleasure. “I hadn’t heard of you being in Queer Street.”

  He gave a short laugh. “To Hades with you, this is none of your damned business, but as they stand, the Maddox coffers are adequate to my needs.”

  She was glad that in this light, he wouldn’t see her chagrin. He was right. It was the height of bad manners to discuss a man’s financial affairs. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  No, she wasn’t. Not really.

  Stella frowned and spoke before she recalled that she was a staid poor relation and not this man’s social equal. “If Imogen’s a complete stranger, why in the name of all that’s holy are you planning to elope with her?”

  “Elope?” He’d come close enough to the brazier for her to make out his expression. For the first time, genuine surprise wiped the mocking amusement from his face. “Why in hell would I elope with your cousin?”

  It seemed that Imogen had been busy with more than just her correspondence. At last, Stella understood what happened here. She should have twigged that some scheme was afoot when she found that indiscreet, unfinished letter to Halston left out in the open.

  She cursed herself for not being awake to her cousin’s antics. Most of the time she was. But the mention of Lord Halston had turned her usually reliable brain to porridge. Much as his presence now threatened to do.

  Her cousin hated London and wanted to go home. Not only that, but her father had already chosen a suitable suitor in John Jerrold, Baron Chippenham. A power broker in parliament with prosperous estates in Cheshire. From the first, Imogen had made it clear that she didn’t share her father’s preference for the sto
ut, self-important lord.

  Stella could almost admire the girl’s ingenuity in trying to spoil her father’s plans, even if her ill-conceived plot had landed her chaperone in Halston’s disreputable company. “You and I are victims of my cousin’s scheming, my lord.”

  One dark eyebrow tilted in enquiry. “Oh?”

  “I believe I was meant to catch the two of you alone together and report the indiscretion to Lord Deerforth.”

  “With what purpose?” Halston frowned. “I’m too downy to let some presumptuous miss gull me. I’ve weathered plenty of scandals. I can weather another one. If she relied on me to propose to save her reputation, she relied in vain.”

  “I very much doubt that she expected you to propose. It’s your dreadful reputation that made her settle on you.”

  Another grunt of laughter escaped him. “By all means, don’t spare my feelings.”

  Stella didn’t bother apologizing. Her manners or lack of them didn’t matter at this stage. “She wants her father to send her back to Hamble Park in disgrace. She’s been begging to leave London since she arrived.”

  Amusement creased his cheek. “She’s an unusual debutante, then.”

  “She is. And clever, if at times impulsive.” She might have plumbed the reasons behind Imogen’s behavior. But the puzzle remained of what Lord Halston was doing out here alone in the cold. “Why on earth did you agree to meet her?”

  This time, his chuckle held a rueful note that she couldn’t help but like. “Perhaps because I hoped that if I drew the ewe lamb aside from the herd, the sheepdog might follow.”

  “The sheepdog?”

  “You’re not that slow, my dear Miss Faulkner. I’ve already told you that I want to seduce you.”

  He had, hadn’t he? And she’d dismissed his statement as purely opportunistic. Imogen wasn’t here. She was. But now his intentions toward her sounded much more calculated. And to her alarm, they sounded like they predated this meeting in a freezing gazebo. “Me?”