Three times tempted, p.1
Three Times Tempted, page 1
Three Times Tempted: A Scandal in Mayfair Book 3
By
Anna Campbell
Copyright © 2022 by Anna Campbell
annacampbell.com
ISBN 978-1925980073
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 Claire Ravaux
Table of Contents
Prologue
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
Excerpt from One Wicked Wish
About the Author
Prologue
Prestwick Place, Buckinghamshire, June 1816
A furious hammering at the main door downstairs woke Stella Maddox, Countess of Halston, from deep sleep. Beside her, her husband was stirring, too, and his arm tightened around her shoulders in a way that she couldn’t help but read as protective.
“What the devil is all that blasted row?” Gray said sleepily.
“It sounds like an emergency.”
He dropped a kiss on her lips and rolled out of bed. Stella heard a rustle and a couple of scrapes before light bloomed from the candle on the nightstand. She pushed up against the pillows and couldn’t help stealing a second to admire how magnificent her husband looked without a stitch to cover him. By heaven, she was a lucky girl.
As he met her eyes, a smile curled his expressive mouth. “If you keep looking at me like that, whoever is downstairs breaching the peace will have to wait.”
With a low laugh, she stretched out against the sheets, even as the knocking persisted. She was no closer to dressed than Gray was, and a month of marriage had confirmed her confidence in her power to arouse him. Behind his ruffled dark head, the gold clock on the mantel read a quarter to three.
“Perhaps you should go and find out what’s going on, then you can come back to me. Who needs sleep?”
That wolfish smile broadened, as green eyes conducted a swift but comprehensive survey of her naked body. “Certainly not me.”
The racket came to an abrupt end, which must mean that Philpott the butler had risen to answer the door. “Don’t be long.”
Once Gray had gone, Stella tugged a nightdress over her head and wrapped a royal blue silk robe around herself. But when she appeared on the landing above the hall, all thoughts of dalliance with her new husband vanished like smoke in a stiff breeze.
Below her, Gray faced down her odious uncle, the Earl of Deerforth. The uncle who had disowned her in unforgivable terms. She’d never expected him to speak to her again – much to her relief. Ten years of servitude in his household had taught her to loathe Charles Ridley.
Whatever crisis brought him here must be dire indeed. One thing hadn’t changed since their last meeting. He was still spitting with anger and puffed up with arrogant bluster. He was shouting at Gray about something, as Philpott and a couple of footmen moved around lighting candles.
She came down a couple of stairs. “Gray, what’s happened?”
Her uncle’s face turned red with rage as he watched her descent. “Where is she, you traitorous bitch?”
“Philpott, Lord Deerforth is leaving,” Gray snapped, as Stella descended the last few stairs to stand beside him. “Now!”
“My lord, if you’ll come this way,” Philpott said in his stoic manner.
Deerforth ignored the butler and glared at Gray and Stella. The hatred in his eyes was nothing new either. “What have you done with her? I’ll tear this house apart before I let you keep her from me.”
As fear set cold claws into her soul, Stella frowned. “Has something happened to Imogen?”
A paroxysm of fury distorted Deerforth’s features, and he loomed toward her in unmistakable threat. “As if you don’t know.”
Stella shrank back behind Gray, who stepped between her and her uncle. “I’ve asked you to leave,” he said in the voice of command. “You can do it on your own two feet, or the servants will throw you out. Your choice.”
When Stella placed a hand on her husband’s arm, she felt his vibrating rage. “Gray, wait.” She made herself meet her uncle’s eyes. There was anger there. There was always anger there. But she saw other things, too. Worry. Desperation. Fear. “Stop carrying on like a mad bull, Uncle, and tell us what has happened.”
Her uncle sucked in a breath and managed a halfway sensible response at last. “Is she here?”
“No.”
His eyes narrowed, and his hands clenched at his sides as if he battled the urge to shake the truth out of her. “She’d run to you if she ran anywhere.”
“That might be true, but I haven’t seen Imogen since you tossed me out of your house and told me never to darken your door again. Did something happen at Hamble Park?” Imogen, Deerforth’s daughter and Stella’s cousin, had lived at the family estate in Gloucestershire for the last few weeks. Ever since the scandal surrounding Stella’s marriage to Halston had curtailed her first London season.
“No. She’s always been happy there.”
It was true. Imogen fancied herself as a gardener, and she filled her days ordering the outdoor staff around.
“Perhaps she went for a walk and got lost,” Stella suggested, desperate to come up for an innocent reason for her cousin’s disappearance.
That idea made Deerforth snarl. For once, Stella couldn’t blame him. Gloucestershire wasn’t the South American jungles. And Imogen was familiar with her immediate surroundings and all the neighbors.
“Some of her clothes are missing, and her maid says she’s taken things like her hairbrush.”
Stella frowned, seriously worried now. She shared a concerned glance with her husband. This sounded very much like Imogen had left on purpose.
“When did you last see her?” Gray asked.
The footmen bowed and left them alone. At a nod from Gray, Philpott remained.
“A month ago.” As his rage ebbed, her uncle sounded lost and bewildered. “I arrived home yesterday from London to discover the household in an uproar. She hadn’t slept in her bed. There’s a note.” With shaking hands, Deerforth tugged a crumpled paper from his pocket and gave it to Stella.
Well, that put paid to any notion of Imogen’s disappearance being accidental. Stella smoothed the letter out so she could read it.
Dear Papa,
By the time you get this, I’ll be far away. Don’t worry – I’m safe and happy.
Your affectionate daughter,
Imogen.
“But that says nothing,” Stella said, increasingly concerned as she passed the paper across to Gray.
Deerforth released a heavy sigh. “She’s missed you. So it seemed to make sense that…”
“You have my word that she’s not here,” Gray said. He looked at Stella. “This smacks of an elopement to me. Had she set her heart on a young man?”
It smacked of an elopement to Stella, too. “I sometimes thought—”
Deerforth lurched toward Stella again. “If you’re involved—”
Gray pushed him back. “You will not touch my wife. Do you imagine if Stella knew anything, she wouldn’t tell you? Can’t you see she’s worried sick?”
“It’s terrible timing,” her uncle said. “I’ve invited Lord Chippenham down to pursue his courtship. He’s due next week.”
Stella’s certainty that her cousin had run off with some mysterious lover hardened. Lord Chippenham was a middle-aged widower with a grown family. Deerforth favored the match because he wanted the man’s support in parliament.
Imogen had never been interested in her unappealing suitor. Even more telling, Imogen had just turned twenty-one, so now she was legally able to marry without her father’s permission.
“She doesn’t want to marry Chippenham,” Stella said, wishing with futile regret that she’d pushed Imogen to confide in her. But during those few weeks in London, she’d been so engrossed with falling in love with Gray that she’d taken her eye off her cousin.
“Who did she talk about instead?” Hope sparked in Deerforth’s beady eyes. “If she fancied some fellow, she must have said something.”
“No, she never mentioned anyone.” Stella took Gray’s hand. Like her, he must know that if Imogen had set her heart on an eligible gentleman, she wouldn’t have had to run away. That meant the gentleman she’d eloped with wasn’t eligible.
Deerforth groaned and sagged, looking older than his sixty years. “God damn it, she’s fallen into some fortune hunter’s hands. I know it.”
Gray turned to Stella. “We need to go to Hamble Park and see what we can find out.”
“Yes, you’re right.” Stella looked across at Deerforth. “Have you spoken to Harriet Comerford? If Imogen confided in anyone, it would be Harriet.” Harriet was Lord and Lady Lumsden’s daughter, and she and Imogen had always been inseparable.
“Harriet’s still in London enjoying her season.” Resentment edged Deerforth’s words, although he bore most of the blame for the scandal that had brought Imogen’s stay in London to a premature end.
“I doubt if she’ll talk to you,” Stella said. “I need to go up to Town. But someone should still go to Hamble Park. Someone who won’t terrify the servants into silence.”
“I won’t have you—” Deerforth began.
“I’m offering my help. Take it or leave it.” Gray regarded him with weary dislike. “Otherwise I’ll go to London with Stella and see what we can learn there.”
“I’ve talked to everyone in the household.” Bullied more like, Stella couldn’t help thinking. Lord Deerforth was an incorrigible tyrant. “Nobody knows anything. I haven’t asked the neighbors yet, because I want to save my girl from scandal.”
“It’s too late for that,” Gray snapped. “We need to make sure she’s safe.”
Deerforth’s anger gained ground again. “This is all bloody Eliot’s fault. If he’d watched out for his sister, instead of chasing notorious strumpets, none of this would have happened. He should be here now, not in Paris enjoying himself.”
Eliot, Imogen’s brother, had recently married and was currently in France on his honeymoon. Despite Stella’s overriding concern for Imogen, she couldn’t help thinking that her uncle had had a bad few weeks. He’d lost his unpaid dogsbody of a niece; scandal had enveloped the family; he’d disowned his son; now his daughter had run away.
It was almost a pity that she was too worried right now to appreciate Deerforth’s well-deserved comeuppance. “We need to go now, Gray. If Imogen has fallen into some rake’s clutches, the sooner we rescue her, the better.”
“I agree.” Gray regarded her uncle down his haughty nose. “Are you willing to let me come to Hamble Park and interview the servants? I realize that Stella would find out more because the staff know her, but Harriet Comerford is our best hope of discovering where Imogen’s gone. I doubt if she’ll break Imogen’s confidence to me, whereas she might to Stella.”
By rights, Deerforth should be grateful. But clearly the words “thank you” stuck in his craw. He merely nodded to Gray, unable to hide his loathing, even now. “My coach is outside.”
Stella read Gray’s barely hidden horror at the prospect of being cooped up with her boorish guardian all the way to Gloucestershire. “I’ll ride,” he said. “It will be faster.”
“And I’ll set out for London as soon as I’ve dressed.” Despite everything, she couldn’t stifle a twinge of pity for Deerforth. Pity he’d despise, she knew. “I’ll place a bedroom at your disposal, Uncle, and have some refreshments and hot water brought up. The Chinese room, I think, Philpott.”
“Very good, my lady.” Philpott bowed and left to make arrangements.
Stella’s mind buzzed with possibilities, none of them good. What on earth was Imogen playing at? She’d tried a ploy like this in London. In fact, her scheming had inadvertently brought Gray and Stella together. But this current situation seemed altogether more serious. And out of character for the person that Imogen had become.
During her weeks in Town, Imogen had seemed to mature from the spoiled, impulsive girl she’d once been. But this escapade hinted that she was as harum–scarum as ever. If it turned out that her disappearance was another childish prank, Stella would box the little minx’s delicate ears.
Although a prank might offer the best outcome. If Imogen was wandering the kingdom with her seducer, the scandal would eclipse the gossip that had recently engulfed the Ridley family. Not to mention that Stella loved her cousin and hated the idea of her making an unwise marriage. Or worse, being ruined and abandoned.
“She could be back at Hamble Park, waiting for you,” she said to Deerforth.
“Do you think she’s up to some game?” Gray asked.
“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Although something about that terse note told Stella that this time, Imogen wasn’t pretending to elope.
“If it turns out that this is some trick, I’ll join you in London.”
Gray wouldn’t want to stay under Deerforth’s roof any longer than necessary. He’d never liked the man, but Lord Deerforth’s violent reaction to his niece’s marriage had tipped dislike over into detestation.
“Stop yapping and get ready to go,” Deerforth growled.
Stella watched Gray’s jaw shift, as he ground his teeth against ordering the man to mind his manners. Especially when he was in someone else’s house. Not to mention that at this moment, Deerforth needed help from that someone else.
She admired his control. So much was at stake. Gray liked Imogen. More than that, he understood how much the girl meant to Stella. Over their month of marriage, she’d come to realize that in loving her, this marvelous man made an unconditional commitment to her causes. If Imogen was missing, Gray would do everything in his power to find her. He’d even put up with her oaf of an uncle to follow Imogen’s trail.
Stella squeezed his hand. “Thank you, my darling.”
His quick smile spoke volumes of love. “Anything for you, my love.”
It sounded like idle flattery, but Stella knew that he meant it. She drew a deep breath and felt her churning fear settle. At least a little.
Another thing she’d discovered about Gray was that he was a supremely competent man. And nobody knew Imogen better than she did. Between the two of them, they’d track down her runaway cousin.
As she turned to face her uncle, some small, selfish part of her couldn’t help but regret that this brouhaha shattered her blissful idyll here at Prestwick Place. After so many unhappy years, she’d started to find a home for herself. Even the thought of parting from her husband while she went to London weighted her heart.
“I wish…” she said in a low voice.
Gray’s grip on her hand tightened. “I know.”
She sighed and stepped away. “Uncle, let me show you to your room. We’ll go as soon as we can. With any luck, this is all a storm in a teacup.”
Her uncle didn’t look reassured. Nor did Stella have great confidence in her optimistic predictions.
Imogen, what on earth have you done? And where on earth are you?
Chapter 1
Comerford House, Lorimer Square, Mayfair, London, Two Months Earlier
Lord and Lady Lumsden’s garden in London was unusually large for the capital and on a cold spring night, dark enough to feel a little eerie. The music from the crowded ballroom jangled in the sinister atmosphere, as Lady Imogen Ridley penetrated deeper into the thick shrubbery.
In such freezing weather, nobody came outside to catch a breath of fresh air or to find privacy for a naughty assignation.
Except her.
Her shiver wasn’t completely a response to the chill, although her blue silk ballgown hadn’t been designed for wintry temperatures. This had all seemed such a lark when she’d come up with her plan to tryst with a dark and dangerous rake in an isolated gazebo.
But that had been when she was warm and safe in her luxurious bedroom on the other side of Lorimer Square. Right now, she felt vulnerable and alone, and she was too aware that her cousin Stella would ring a peal over her head because of her recklessness.
Not to mention the way her volatile father would stamp and shout and in general act like a bear with a sore head.
There were a few lanterns along the path. But the sparse lighting only made it more obvious that she was heading into the shadows to meet a stranger with a bad reputation. She hoped to heaven that Stella, her companion and governess, had found the note announcing her scandalous intentions. She’d left it out in open view, after all.
What if Stella had respected her privacy? What if Imogen was on her own in the dark? On her own, apart from a notorious rake.
