A Properly Conducted Sham (Most Imprudent Matches #5)

Prologue

BOND STREET, LONDON - MAY 8, 1816

CHARLOTTE

The copper bite of blood kissed the air. My gaze flicked along the raucous stands surrounding the sweat-drenched boxing ring as I hunted for dark hair and eyes. A gentleman swayed into my side while pouring moonshine down his gullet. Its caustic scent dragged bile up the back of my throat. I swallowed hard.

I’d been here for more than a quarter of an hour with no sighting, but he would be here. He had to.

Of course, I ought not to be here. I should still be at home, drowning in black crepe, but that was no longer feasible. And Wesley had been unavailable every time I chanced the scandalous journey to his bachelor lodgings.

With the help of a few strategically placed shillings, my housekeeper had been assured of his attendance tonight. I would not leave without speaking to him—without his promise.

A jeering cry rose from the crowd as one of the men in the ring knocked the other to the ground. Mocking heckles followed. And then I saw him. Too handsome, sprawled across the bench seat and half-undressed in only his shirtsleeves and waistcoat.

For perhaps the first time in the years I’d known him, my belly didn’t flutter with anticipation at the sight of him, but rather nausea.

Across the room, he clapped a hand on the back of one of the men accepting wagers—most likely from that damned gaming hell, Wayland’s. Was every man in London determined to give that wastrel every farthing they had?

I ducked around the nearest drunkard, shoving through the crowd and down the stands with less ease than I was accustomed to. This was not a ballroom, and no one gave deference to my status as a lady. Many of the men in attendance were familiar, if only by sight. The women were not the sort I was acquainted with.

Though the distance was not great, the journey was perilous. A man backed into me, unseeing. He jostled me into another, even more unsteady fellow. His drink sloshed along my side. I was left soaked in a sticky ale with not even a hint of apology.

There was nothing to be done for it. If I left now, Mrs. C would have to bribe a maid all over again. I forged ahead, weaving around the swaying crowd. The buttery fragrance of ale clung to my bodice and skirts, leaving me even more queasy.

A lecherous hand made for my bosom and I smacked it away, pressing on. It did not warrant further thought. I could not afford to be missish. Not now.

Finally, after swimming through drunken masses over a floor wet with what I hoped was ale but rather suspected was something more revolting, he was within reach. And surrounded by others.

Gentlemen I had come to know through Wesley. Not friends—ladies were not friends with gentlemen—but acquaintances. Acquaintances I did not particularly wish to see me in such a place.

I stared, a few feet away, desperately willing him to make eye contact. But it seemed nothing about me was as riveting as the sight of men beating each other and the sickening sound of fist on swollen flesh.

Swallowing my pride and the nerves storming in my belly, I approached.

“Mr. Parker,” I said simply.

Five pairs of eyes shot to mine, brows raised to the heavens.

“Lady James, what in God’s name are you doing here?” Lord Christiansen asked. He was a short, bespectacled man that I knew Wesley only tolerated due to his flush pockets and fine port.

I ignored him, refusing to relinquish Wesley’s gaze. “I need to speak with you. Privately.”

Wesley’s attention shot to his compatriots.

“Now, please.”

“But the match?—”

“Result will be the same whether you’re watching or not,” Mr. Varley said quietly. “I think you’d best speak with her.”

I broke my stare to offer him a grateful glace, only to be met with wide-eyed pity. I shoved my shoulders back. I had no need of pity. I would leave this cesspool with a fiancé.

Wesley grunted, wobbling to his feet. He grabbed me by the wrist and dragged, leaving me to trip after him below the stands.

The floor here was more revolting than the steps would have indicated. And the activities taking place even more scandalous.

So distracted was I by the sight of one man taking another’s member into his mouth that I didn’t notice when Wesley stopped abruptly, and I crashed into his back.

“Why the devil are you wet?” he demanded, whirling around.

I ripped my gaze away from the shocking display only to find a man and woman engaged in a more traditional but no less salacious activity behind Wesley’s shoulder. Shaking away my prim, missish astonishment, my eyes found his dark, sharp gaze. “Someone spilled ale on me.”

“And what the bleeding hell do you want with me so badly that you couldn’t wait until the end of the match? Or better still, until we could meet properly?” The drink on his breath was so thick I could taste it. I beat back the answering swell.

A cheer rose from the crowd and his attention shot to the ring. His head bobbed to and fro as he struggled to peer between gentlemen’s legs.

“Wesley, please.”

“What?” he snapped, not turning back to me.

“I tried to call on you. You were never available.”

“Perhaps you should have considered the implications of that.”

“Why are you speaking to me like this?” Tears threatened to fall and I blinked them back. I did not cry. Not ever.

Years I had known this man. Years filled with teasing flirtation and lingering, lusty gazes. Years of promises of the future, the one we would have when Ralph’s age and drinking made a widow of me.

True, our single tryst hadn’t held a candle to the ones I’d seen in my dreams. But this wasn’t the man I knew.

“What do you want, Charlotte?” he bit out between gritted teeth, finally facing me once more.

“I am with child,” I blurted, the words slurring together.

He blinked slowly. Once, twice, a third time. “My felicitations,” he replied, something nasally and viscous in his tone.

It was my turn to stare stupidly.

“I don’t see what that has to do with me.” His lips twisted into a cruel smile. It wasn’t an unfamiliar expression on his handsome face. But it had never before been directed at me. My gut wrenched.

“But, Wesley…”

He raised a challenging brow and that was the moment realization washed over me. I knew what I should have known when he failed to call on me the morning after. What I should have understood when he was never available to receive me. Hell, a smarter woman would have known never to let him touch her.

I forged ahead, fueled by desperation and denial. “It is yours, you must know that. Surely you know that.”

“I know nothing of the sort.”

“Wesley, please. What about everything we spoke of? You said we would marry as soon as I was out of mourning. You—you said we were already wed in your heart.”

The man behind Wesley climaxed with a groan, then pulled free from his paramour and swayed off, still buttoning his stained breeches. The woman was left to right herself alone.

It was a heartbreakingly familiar scene from my marriage.

Wesley’s laugh was brittle and vicious, drawing my eyes back to his. His dismissal slid through my heart like a knife. “Charlotte, please tell me you are not that dim-witted. Do not make me lose the last shred of respect I have for you.”

I floundered, grasping desperately for something, anything to force his hand. “If you will not take responsibility, my father will be forced to call you out.”

This laugh was genuine, so full-bodied that he doubled over at the waist. “By all means, Charlotte. Please inform your father that his daughter is a strumpet. I’m certain this will be astonishing information to him.” His voice dripped molten sarcasm.

“You will be ostracized by the ton !” I flung the words pathetically, bile pooling behind my tongue once again.

“Darling, please do be serious. They’ve all seen you. All these years… Dressing the way you do… Flirting with every gentleman you meet… And as a married woman too.” He tutted. “They know as well as I do that there’s absolutely no way to know who the father might be. You’ve certainly had enough paramours. It could be anyone.”

“There was only you. Please, I love you.” My voice sounded so small, so hollow, so pathetic, even to my ears.

Cheers and groans rose in equal measure as a bell sounded—signaling match end. Wordlessly, Wesley stalked off, leaving me alone beneath the stands.

Without warning, my stomach abandoned the fight. I doubled over and emptied its contents with great retching sobs. Sick landed on my slippers and spattered my skirts. That was the moment I lost the war against my tears. I was pathetic. Truly pathetic.

A warm hand found my lower back and rubbed it soothingly at the same time another pushed back the curls from my forehead. “There, there,” a throaty feminine voice cooed. “You’ll be well, duckie.”

“Wha?” I asked blearily, not trusting my gut enough to turn to face whomever was touching me.

“You don’t need ’im.”

After another few heaves proved ineffectual, I felt confident enough to wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and turn to face her. It was the doxy who’d been taken against the wall only moments before. Her dress was righted, though she still looked thoroughly tupped with curls unbound and frizzed, cheeks flushed, and rouge smudged.

“What?” I repeated inanely.

“He’s cruel, that one. Better off without ’im.”

My stomach gave another threatening lurch.

“Come along now. There’s a back way out.”

That intelligence left me suddenly, desperately grateful for the bawd before me. I hadn’t considered what it would take to escape this hell. Especially now that I was more repugnant than the floor.

“This way,” she added, guiding me with a hand on my back as if I were a child. I couldn’t complain. I felt like a child, simple and ignorant.

At last, we found a door and she pushed it open for me. It led into a back alley, stinking of piss and other things I didn’t wish to consider. I gritted my teeth against more sickness and held my breath.

“It will be well, you’ll see, ducks.” She ushered me toward the street where the air was clearer. “Can you make it from ’ere?”

I nodded, searching for my carriage. I found it down the street and raised my hand to catch my footman’s attention. When I turned back to thank the woman, she was gone.

And I was alone, facing a life entirely unlike any I’d ever imagined.