Lady Beaumont's Daring Proposition
Author
Eva Shepherd
Reads
16.9K
Chapters
21
A playful Victorian romance that sizzles! A proposition so scandalous… Even the wild viscount will be shocked! Lady Emily Beaumont has buried herself away from Society after being deceived by a rake so disastrously in the past. When she encounters the devilish Jackson Wilde, she knows he's exactly the sort of man a young, sensible woman should avoid at all costs! But Emily realizes that if she is to remain a spinster all her life, Jackson might pose the perfect opportunity — to experience the delights of being his mistress!
Chapter One
The night Jackson Wilde, Viscount Wickford, had his life changed for ever started out like any other. He dined at his London club, played a round or two of snooker. He then proceeded to visit various drinking and gaming establishments throughout the city, deliberately selecting ones his father, the Duke of Greenfeld, would describe as dens of iniquity and lascivious vice.
As the night turned into early morning, the dens became more iniquitous, the vices more lascivious and the décor decidedly seedier. Friends with more refined tastes than Jackson—and you didn’t have to be particularly refined to be included in that category—dropped off as the night wore on, until, somehow, he found himself in the dark back alleys of the East End, alone and completely lost.
Well, not completely alone. He’d spotted several large rodents scurrying along the gutters and a few mangy cats out on the prowl, presumably in pursuit of the scurrying rodents. But apart from those undesirable companions the area appeared completely deserted.
He looked up one narrow alleyway, the walls so close they appeared to almost touch. Then he turned and looked back in the direction he had come, taking in the identical red brick walls, appearing black in the light of a half-moon, and the broken cobblestone paths, glistening from a recent rainfall.
‘They all look the same,’ he said to no one in particular, his voice echoing off the walls.
‘And they all smell the same,’ he added under his breath, not wanting to offend the rats and cats who called this alleyway home, but unable to ignore the acrid stench of coal smoke, the putrid stink of rotting garbage and rat droppings, and the other less savoury smells whose origin he’d rather not know.
A loud snore drew his attention to a pile of rags in a doorway. It seemed he was not the only human inhabitant after all. He approached the sleeping vagrant but was stopped in his tracks by the overwhelming smell of raw alcohol. This man obviously needed to sleep off whatever demon drink had got him into this state, even more than Jackson did, and was unlikely to provide any useful advice on how Jackson was to wend his way back to his Kensington townhouse.
There was nothing for it. He was going to have to acquire that backbone his father always told him he was severely lacking and work his way methodically through this warren. It shouldn’t be too hard. After all, he’d aways managed to find his way out of the maze at the family’s Norfolk estate. And had been even better at getting himself lost so his father couldn’t find him, and make good on his promise to once again beat some sense into his wastrel excuse of a son.
His not so fond memories of his father were interrupted by a shrill scream, piercing the night air.
‘Did you hear that?’ He looked towards the sleeping vagrant, who merely snuffled in his sleep and rolled over, as if such sounds merely provided the usual background noise to his slumber.
The woman’s scream came again—louder, shriller, more desperate. Orientating himself towards the sound, he sprinted through the labyrinth, hoping and praying he was heading in the right direction.
Another cry ripped through the air, along with the sound of men’s laughter.
He was close.
He turned yet another identical corner and found the source of the distress call. A young woman was pinned up against a wall, surrounded by a group of baying males. Her terror delighted the taunting men, whose faces were contorted with looks of cruel pleasure.
‘Come on, darling,’ one man said, pulling her towards him. ‘You promised us a good time. So now deliver on that promise.’ He grabbed the front of her dress, her cries for help drowning out the sound of tearing fabric and the accompanying men’s laughter.
‘Stop,’ Jackson called out as he rushed forward, fists raised. Later, when he had time to consider his actions, he would admit it might have been better to take a moment to assess the situation and devise a plan of action. Boxing had been his strongest subject in school. It was, in fact, the only subject he excelled at, but even a man who had shown some prowess in the ring should have known better than to take on five or six assailants all fired up and looking for trouble.
But at the time he didn’t have the luxury of hindsight, and thinking things through had never been one of his strong suits. So, instead, he threw a punch at the nearest man, and had the satisfaction of seeing him fall to the ground, before his four or five companions turned in his direction.
‘Run,’ he yelled to the young woman. She took action immediately, sliding past the distracted men and disappearing around the corner.
As he faced the furious men, it became increasingly clear he should heed his own advice, turn tail and run as fast as he could, but in the time it took to come to that conclusion it was too late. The huddle of men surrounded him, making escape an impossibility. No option was left but to fight.
His fists flew out again, landing with a painful crunch in a second man’s face. Jackson smiled as he watched the cur stagger backwards. But it was to be the last time he smiled for some time. Fists continued to fly in every direction, most of them landing on Jackson’s face, chest, stomach and anywhere else the men could reach in the ensuing melee.
Somehow, the cobblestones defied gravity and rose up to meet him, smacking him in the face with a powerful force that made the men’s punches feel like soft slaps. In the mayhem, self-preservation took over. He rolled into a tight ball, protecting his head, and prayed the men would show some pity and leave him to nurse his injuries.
Sinner that he was, he did not expect his prayers to be answered. They weren’t. Boots replaced fists as the men indulged themselves in a kicking contest, treating him like a rugby ball stuck in a scrummage.
‘That will teach you for ruining our fun,’ one panting man said as he finally ran out of energy. ‘Now, where did that little whore go?’
‘If we don’t find her, we’ll be back to finish off the job,’ another man added, giving Jackson a final kick in the middle of his back for good measure.
And with that the alleyway fell silent. Jackson could only hope they did come back. That would mean the young woman had managed to escape and her safety would provide some compensation for having the life almost kicked out of him. But if they did return, Jackson did not wish to remain such an easy target. He would at least try and make them work for their sport.
With much wincing, groaning and moaning, he pulled himself along the alleyway, seeking somewhere, anywhere, to hide. At a pace that would put a snail to shame he dragged himself to a corner, hoping the dark night would disguise the tell-tale trail of blood. He wedged himself between the wall and a pile of rotting rubbish, its fetid smell mixing with the metallic scent of his blood. In this uncomfortable refuge he drifted off, not caring if it was to sleep or to death, just wanting to free himself from the unbearable pain wracking every inch of his body.
Jackson forced open his eyes. Through narrow slits, he looked up at the most glorious sight he had ever beheld. He was in heaven and a bewitching angel was watching over him. If he’d realised heaven would be so, well, heavenly, he would have paid more attention during those interminable sermons his father had dragged him to every Sunday.
The old preacher at their local church would have had Jackson’s undivided attention if he’d revealed that heaven was populated with chestnut haired beauties, with velvet brown eyes, honey-coloured skin and decidedly kissable red lips. His gaze moved lower. And the preacher most definitely had omitted to mention that angels also had devilishly curvaceous bodies. If he had, Jackson was sure to have remembered.
He tried to smile at the beatific sight, but his swollen lips would not allow it, so instead he contemplated what was potentially a sacrilegious thought. Was it wrong to lust after angels? That was a subject the preacher never raised. But surely, for Jackson, heaven would not consist of cherubs sitting on fluffy clouds and playing harps, but would be full of alluring women, eager to satisfy his every whim.
There was only one way to discover the answer to this deep, theological question. He needed to put it to the test.
‘Kiss me, my angel,’ he said through thick, swollen lips.
Thick, swollen lips?
Wouldn’t his suffering be relieved when he reached heaven? He vaguely remembered the preacher mentioning something about that.
The halo of soft light surrounding the celestial being grew brighter, becoming almost painful and forcing him to close his eyes. Excruciating agony ripped through his entire body as he emerged further into consciousness. Even his toes and fingers were screaming out in pain.
He made a concerted effort to sit up, but his angel placed her lovely hand on his shoulder to stop his progress.
‘You mustn’t move,’ she said.
‘Aren’t you going to kiss me and relieve me of my suffering?’ He repeated, more in hope than expectation.
‘You will behave yourself while you’re here, Jackson Wilde,’ she said in a voice that lacked the compassion he would expect from an angel. ‘And you will treat the nursing staff with the respect they deserve. No one will tolerate any of your misbehaviour. I can tell you that right now.’
Despite the pain, he forced his eyes open again and attempted to get a better look at his chastising angel. She came fully into focus. With a complaining groan he sunk back down on to the bed, his response more a reaction to his predicament than the state of his body.
Lady Emily Beaumont was frowning down at him. No one, except a man whose mind was groggy with excruciating pain, would ever mistake that strait-laced do-gooder for an angel. He closed his eyes to block out the disapproving sight.
His father had been proven right. Jackson had been sent straight to hell.
Emily could hardly credit it. Even with his face bruised black and blue, his blue eyes almost swollen shut, and his dark blond hair encrusted with blood, Jackson Wilde was still a handsome man.
But good looks such as his had no effect on her whatsoever. Not when she knew exactly what sort of man he really was. She had met men like him before. Men who cared about no one except themselves, and whose only purpose in life was to have a good time.
He was the sort of man any sensible young woman would avoid at all costs. Unfortunately, most young women were not nearly sensible enough and could not see what was patently obvious to Emily. Men like him were not to be taken seriously. They used women for their own amusement and, when they tired of them, they moved onto the next one.
Kiss me, my angel, indeed.
Even in this state he could not resist the temptation to flirt and charm. That just showed the man’s true character.
And yet, despite his reputation, every debutante seemed to be under the illusion she would be the one to tame Jackson Wilde. The one he would marry, settle down with—the one to change his ways.
Emily shook her head in disbelief as she looked down at the Viscount as he drifted off to sleep on the hospital bed.
He was not a man she had hitherto shown much attention, but at the few Society balls they had both attended, she had witnessed young women all but throw themselves at him. It was as if he cast some sort of spell over those innocent debutantes and easily had them dancing attendance on him.
They all chose to ignore his reputation and the antics reported about him in the scandal sheets. All because he was good looking, debonaire and would one day inherit a dukedom.
She scanned his face, covered in a mass of cuts and contusions. It was obvious what had happened to him this evening and how he had got into this state. He would have tried out his charms on the wrong woman, and some man had given him his comeuppance. Hopefully this would teach him a valuable lesson, although in reality there was little chance of that. Men like him never changed.
And if he tried to flirt with her again, he would soon discover she was no gullible debutante, or chorus girl impressed by his wealth and status. Nor was she a bored married woman looking for some excitement. She was a woman who would not be toyed with.
Emily would like to think this immunity to men such as him came from innate intelligence and the ability to see through the attractive façade to the real, shallow, selfish man beneath, but she knew this was not so. It was wisdom that had come from bitter experience. A bitter experience she would never repeat. So Jackson Wilde could try all his charming tricks on her, flirt and flatter as much as he liked, he would find it was all simply a complete waste of his time and energy.
He opened his eyes again and once more tried to smile at her, stopping immediately when the crack on his bottom lip parted, causing Emily to join him in wincing.
‘So, is this heaven or hell?’ he asked, rather nonsensically.
‘You’re in the Hope Charity Hospital. An institution that treats the deserving poor.’
He attempted a laugh, which quickly turned into a cough. ‘And the occasional undeserving rich.’
‘You were brought in early this morning by some local men. Matron has assessed you and says you have little more than bruising and cuts, but you were unconscious when you arrived, so they want to keep an eye on you to make sure there is nothing more serious. Once a bed is available, you’ll be moved to the ward.’
‘In the meantime, can I assume you or one of the other nursing angels will be bathing my fevered brow and tending to my every need?’
Emily stared at him in disbelief as he actually attempted to wink his swollen eye.
‘I have already told you, while you are here, you will respect the nursing staff,’ she said, enjoying being able to assert her authority and put this self-entitled man in his place. ‘You will not charm them, flirt with them, or,’ she waved her hand in the air as she attempted to grasp the words, ‘do anything else inappropriate.’
His attempt to smile was thwarted when the crack in his lip parted further. ‘Believe me, as much as I’d like to do something inappropriate, I don’t think I’ll be able to for quite some time. So your virtue, and that of the other nurses, will be safe for now.’
‘I’m not a nurse.’
He slowly eased his eyes open a little wider, as if assessing her. ‘If you’re not a nurse what are you doing here, tending to me?’
That was a good question. Matron had informed her, in a rather sniffy tone, that one of ‘Emily’s people’, a man dressed in formal evening clothes of white shirt, white bow tie and black swallow tail jacket, had been brought in and she should go and see to him as the nurses were all busy. Emily had resented the implication. The nurses and other staff at the Hope Hospital were her people, not this man. She may have been born into the aristocracy, but she much preferred to identify with those who gave their time to helping people less fortunate than themselves, rather than idle, privileged men like the one in the bed who thought of nothing more than endlessly enjoying themselves.
But Matron ran the wards and to have questioned her authority would have only confirmed that ferocious woman’s suspicions that Emily was merely a dilettante, passing her time with no real commitment to the hospital. Plus, she had to admit, she was curious to discover the patient’s identity. Few of Emily’s so-called people would venture into the East End. When they did, it was usually for disreputable reasons.
‘Well, I can tell you how I did not end up in here,’ she said in her most reproachful voice. ‘It wasn’t because I got into a brawl and came out the loser.’
‘No, I’m sure if you got into a brawl, you’d be the victor, no matter how brawny the opponent.’
Emily straightened her spine, determined to not let this insult affect her. So what if she had never been the belle of any ball she had reluctantly attended? So what if she was four-and-twenty and still unwed? She had found a place where she was needed, where she felt valued, and she would not let this ne’er do well undermine her confidence or accuse her of being anything less than feminine.
‘Well, if you’re not going to tell me how you got here, can you at least tell me how I got here?’ he said. ‘My last memory is of rotting away in a God-forsaken alley behind a pile of rubbish.’
‘You were lucky. Some men found you and carried you into the hospital.’
He spluttered an attempt at a laugh. ‘I think we have a different definition of lucky.’
‘At least you will now get the treatment you need and will soon be able to leave and be tended at home by your family physician.’
He touched his face and winced. ‘I think it might be best if I hide out here until the worst of the damage is healed.’
‘What’s wrong? Are you worried that your lady friends will be less than impressed by you, now that you’ve lost your good looks.’
‘Why, Lady Emily, I’m flattered that you believe I possess good looks, and that you assume I have more than one lady friend I wish to impress. You make me sound like quite the lothario.’
She didn’t have to make him sound like a lothario. That was exactly what he was. Jackson Wilde was known to run with a fast set that surrounded the Prince of Wales. The stories of what Queen Victoria’s son and his friends got up to were a topic of constant salacious gossip and difficult to ignore.
‘Well, perhaps you should take your present condition as a warning,’ she said. ‘You might not remember how you came to be in Hope Hospital, but you must have some memory of how you came to be in this condition.’ It was none of her business, but strangely she wanted to know, if for no other reason than it would confirm all her suspicions about him.
‘I’m afraid that will have to remain a secret.’
‘I suppose it involves a woman.’
He attempted to laugh again. ‘Doesn’t everything bad that happens to a man involve a woman, in one way or another?’
It was just as she suspected. ‘In that case, you probably got no more than you deserved.’ That was a bit harsh, but his smug manner was irritating. He’d been up to no good. That was obvious. And with a woman he should not have been with. He’d taken a beating because of it, and still he acted as if it was all a bit of a lark.
‘That’s the same thing those men said as they laid into me with their fists and boots.’
‘And I don’t suppose even that will convince you to change your ways?’
‘Never. It will take a lot more than a beating and a stay in a hospital to change the habits of a lifetime.’
Why was she even bothering? If a beating wouldn’t change him then he was hardly likely to listen to a lecture from her. Men like him were incorrigible. It didn’t matter how many women they hurt, what mayhem they caused—they just went on blithely breaking hearts and destroying lives without a backward glance.
‘Are you going to introduce me to this patient?’ a voice behind her said.
Emily turned to see that Dr Gideon Pratt had entered the cubical and was standing just inside the green curtains. She smiled at him in welcome. Gideon was everything she could possibly want in a man and as far removed from the likes of Jackson Wilde as it was possible to get. While Jackson had a reputation as a libertine who spent all his days and nights in pointless pleasure, Gideon was hard working and dedicated to improving the conditions of the less fortunate.
She was so grateful he had come into her life and reminded her that there were good men in the world. After her devastating first Season—and the humiliation of falling so hopelessly for that reprobate Randall Cochran—she had thought she would never meet a man she could trust. That was until she met Gideon.
‘I didn’t realise you were rostered on today,’ she said as he approached the bed.
She was always well aware of Gideon’s roster and made a point of being on the wards when he was working. She also constantly hoped he would suggest they spend time together on his days off. Something that was yet to happen.
Perhaps that was why he was here, because he was seeking out her company. That could almost be seen as a romantic gesture, something else that Gideon had hitherto not been one to indulge in. Not that she expected it of a man who was both serious and level-headed, but still, it might be nice, just on the odd occasion.
‘I’m not rostered on, but I heard that a special patient had been admitted, so I thought it best I come in and offer my services.’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ Emily said, impressed by his dedication. ‘There was a rather nasty accident at a local foundry and several men were rushed in with severe burns, but I believe the nursing staff have it under control.’
Gideon tilted his head and nodded it towards the bed.
‘Oh, and we’ve had one man admitted with some relatively minor injuries,’ she explained. ‘But there’s certainly nothing special about him. As soon as there’s a bed available he’ll be transferred to the ward.’
Gideon gave a small laugh as if she was making a joke, something she certainly was not doing.
‘Are you going to introduce me to this patient?’ he asked again.
‘Why? Shouldn’t you try and find the special case you were referring to?’
Gideon actually rolled his eyes at her, as if she was playing some sort of game.
‘Oh, I see.’ It was apparent that Jackson Wilde was the special patient he was referring to, and that special label had nothing to do with his medical condition.
Gideon moved closer to the bed and his demeanour as he looked at the Viscount was full of respect and admiration. For a moment Emily wondered if he was impressed because Jackson Wilde was a titled man, then dismissed that as unfair. Gideon was not like that. He had presumably heard a man of substance had been admitted and merely wanted to pay him extra attention, but only in the hope of securing further financing for the hospital. He was always thinking of others.
‘It looks like you’ve been in the wars. How did a man such as yourself end up here?’ Gideon asked.
Before Jackson could answer and say something offensive about getting into a brawl over a woman, Emily leapt in. ‘He was admitted early this morning. It’s obvious he’s been in a fight of some kind.’
‘Well, you’re in the right place,’ Gideon said. ‘The care you will receive in this hospital will be as good as any you will get anywhere else in London.’
Emily smiled at Gideon. He was right. Gideon was a talented doctor, and Emily was constantly heartened to have the affections of such an impressive man. She was also somewhat chastised by her momentary doubt in his inherent goodness. It was shameful that, even for a moment, she had thought him impressed by Jackson Wilde’s title. Of course he would be interested in the Viscount, because of the good he could do the hospital. And he was right. She too should be thinking of the financial support he could provide the hospital, rather than lecturing the man on his miscreant behaviour.
‘Would you be so kind as to fetch some water, cloths and bandages,’ Gideon said, turning to Emily. ‘And ask a nurse to come and clean the patient’s wounds while I examine him.’
‘Matron has already performed an examination and said there’s nothing much wrong with him.’
Gideon raised his eyebrows but made no comment.
‘Of course, I’ll see if I can find an available nurse,’ she said, knowing that questioning a doctor was frowned on almost as much as questioning the matron.
‘And please inform the nursing staff that we have an important patient who must take priority.’ He sent her a smile that suggested he expected her to be in complete agreement.
Emily looked down at Jackson Wilde and wondered whether special treatment would be a waste of effort. Men like Jackson Wilde frittered away their money at the gaming tables or spent it lavishly on chorus girls and actresses. They were not known for being benevolent donors to worthy causes. But if anyone could get this man to change his ways it was Gideon. Even if it was just by setting an example of how a good man behaved.