Barefoot in Hyde Park (The Hellion Club Book 2) Read online

  Barefoot in Hyde Park

  The Hellion Club, Book Two

  by Chasity Bowlin

  © Copyright 2020 by Chasity Bowlin

  Text by Chasity Bowlin

  Cover by Dar Albert

  Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.

  P.O. Box 7968

  La Verne CA 91750

  [email protected]

  Produced in the United States of America

  First Edition January 2020

  Kindle Edition

  Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.

  All Rights Reserved.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  License Notes:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook, once purchased, may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for you and given as a gift for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. If this book was purchased on an unauthorized platform, then it is a pirated and/or unauthorized copy and violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do not purchase or accept pirated copies. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work. For subsidiary rights, contact Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.

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  Dearest Reader;

  Thank you for your support of a small press. At Dragonblade Publishing, we strive to bring you the highest quality Historical Romance from the some of the best authors in the business. Without your support, there is no ‘us’, so we sincerely hope you adore these stories and find some new favorite authors along the way.

  Happy Reading!

  CEO, Dragonblade Publishing

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Chasity Bowlin

  The Hellion Club Series

  A Rogue to Remember

  Barefoot in Hyde Park

  What Happens in Piccadilly

  Sleepless in Southhampton

  When an Earl Loves a Governess

  The Duke’s Magnificent Obsession

  The Governess Diaries

  The Lost Lords Series

  The Lost Lord of Castle Black

  The Vanishing of Lord Vale

  The Missing Marquess of Althorn

  The Resurrection of Lady Ramsleigh

  The Mystery of Miss Mason

  The Awakening of Lord Ambrose

  A Midnight Clear (A Novella)

  *** Please visit Dragonblade’s website for a full list of books and authors. Sign up for Dragonblade’s blog for sneak peeks, interviews, and more: ***

  www.dragonbladepublishing.com

  Amazon

  Dedication

  One day, my husband will get tired of having books dedicated to him. But not yet. So to my dear husband, I say thank you. Thank you for all that you do to support me on this crazy journey. And thank you for showing me that the kind of love I write about isn’t just fiction.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Publisher’s Note

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Chasity Bowlin

  Dedication

  About the Book

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  “Pandora’s box has been opened. Every time I touch you, you will want more…”

  “Do you think perhaps you could ravish me just a little bit?”

  “I hate telling you that you’re beautiful,” he whispered. “It seems like such a weak description of all that you are.”

  “Your grandmother may shun such extravagance, but I see nothing wrong with showing one’s appreciation with jewelry.”

  “I’m not holding you to keep you from leaving. I’m holding you because it’s a way of showing you how precious you are to me.”

  About the Book

  Lillian Burkhart could not be more different from her half-sister, Wilhelmina. Suspecting that she is more like their wastrel father, she struggles against the wildness inside her, trying desperately to be the proper young woman that Miss Euphemia Darrow has reared her to be. But when she’s discovered walking barefoot in Hyde Park by none other than the grandson of the elderly dowager duchess who employs her as a companion, her failure is complete.

  Lord Valentine Somers, Viscount Seaburn, has been playing a part for so long that he no longer recognizes himself. As a soldier, he’d risked life and limb. Now, as a spy for Whitehall, he’s risking his very soul by using his skill with cards to gain entree to circles he wants no part of. Feigning the ennui of a debauched dilettante who treats women and money as if they were both in unending supply, he’s immediately struck by the beauty, vivacity and innocence of a lovely barefoot nymph… who happens to be his grandmother’s companion.

  Given an ultimatum by his grandmother, marry or be disinherited, Val offers for Lillian on a whim. And she accepts in order to claim her own familial bequest. But theirs isn’t a normal engagement… not when someone keeps trying to murder his betrothed. Uncertain if it has to do with Lillian’s inheritance, his own inheritance or the enemies he’s made over the years, Val knows he will do whatever it takes to protect her… but he didn’t expect to fall in love with her.

  Chapter One

  The grass was cool beneath her bare feet and there was a hint of spring in the air about her, but that was only wishful thinking. Spring was still months away despite the unseasonable warmth of the day. But her mind wasn’t on the hedonistic pleasures of traipsing barefoot in the park, with the sun bright overhead, though that was precisely what she was doing in that moment. It wasn’t even on the fact that if she was caught behaving so recklessly, in a manner that was such an utter breech of decorum, she would no doubt be sacked from her very good position with her grace, the Dowager Duchess of Templeton. No, her mind was ensconced rather firmly on the conversations that had just taken place in the somewhat dingy and definitely very dirty office of a legal firm that appeared to have more dust than clients.

  “Miss Burkhart, this is a sizable bequest,” the solicitor’s nasal drone replayed in her mind. One could accuse the poor man of being many things, but no one could
ever accuse Robert Littleton, Esq. of being lively. The tiny little man, with his balding pate and frayed cuffs, had not appeared to be a very successful solicitor. But he had been rather kind to her, even in their short acquaintance.

  “But only if I marry?” Her reply had been skeptical. It all sounded utterly impossible to her. But the solicitor had been rather insistent. Her mother’s aunt, a woman she’d never even heard of much less met—though given that her own mother had died when she was very, very young and she’d spent all of her life in one school or another where her father would not have to be bothered with her—had left her a fortune. But that fortune could only be claimed on the condition that she marry and not follow in her mother’s disgraceful footsteps. Of course, it seemed reasonable that if her great-aunt had been aware of her mother’s headlong and ill-fated journey on the path of ruin that she might have intervened for her niece rather than just for the illegitimate child that was the direct result of said fall from grace.

  Lillian had said as much to the solicitor who had then informed her that her great-aunt had been unable to locate her mother prior to her mother’s passing. It wasn’t until the marriage of Lillian’s half-sister, Wilhelmina, being announced in the papers, with all the scandal and kerfuffle that had accompanied it, that the frail and failing woman had any inkling of where to find her long-lost grandniece. Of course, he hadn’t actually said she was frail and failing, but it had been strongly implied with the sense of urgency he had pressed upon her regarding her decision.

  So there she was, employed as a companion to a dowager duchess who had the personality and temperament of a rabid bulldog, while her sister was off to the countryside with her handsome new husband whom she was completely enamored with. Effie was busy with new students who appeared to be as trying as Lillian herself had been. And she was alone. There was no one to whom she could go to for advice about her rather unusual situation. It wasn’t simply that she was alone, though. It was something much, much worse.

  Lillian was lonely. She’d always been alone—apart from everyone else somehow, including Willa. But it had never bothered her before. This was something different. Was it jealousy over her half-sister’s marriage? She certainly didn’t begrudge her half-sister’s happiness, but was it so terribly wrong to want some for herself? Would marriage bring her happiness? She’d never thought so, but now it could bring her financial security, something she’d never truly known.

  “Probably not,” Lillian muttered aloud. “I’ve never been very good with rules.” Marriage, it seemed, invariably came with a great number of them. That bit in the vows about “obeying” set her teeth on edge.

  Even as a girl, Lillian had struggled with following along with what was expected of her. She liked and respected Euphemia Darrow, headmistress of her former school and now a dear friend. Even then, she’d found it nearly impossible to obey her. There was a recklessness in Lilly that had always left her straining at the bit of anything or anyone who tried to control her. She didn’t understand it herself, but there it was. She yearned for freedom. The funds her great-aunt wished to bestow on her as a marriage settlement could afford her that freedom, but only if she gave up all of her personal liberty first. Unless she could find someone who would offer her a marriage of convenience, a marriage where they would, after a suitable amount of time, live their own separate lives.

  At least, she thought, as a spinster companion earning a wage, she was entitled to make her own decisions about things. A husband would surely ruin all of that, unless she found someone who suited her needs.

  “What a terrible muddle it all is,” she mused aloud. She sounded like a forlorn child, but as she rather felt like one, there was little point in castigating herself for it.

  *

  Lord Valentine Somers, Viscount Seaburn, had taken a path through the park, not because it was shorter, but because it would delay the inevitable. He was not at all looking forward to calling on his grandmother. She would pester him about getting himself a wife. Then she’d threaten to cut him off as she always did. Then she’d point out his cousin, Elsworth, who would become the heir to the dukedom if he failed to produce a male child from whatever ill-fated union he entered into with whichever poor, unsuspecting woman was foolish enough to fall for the notorious Somers’ charm.

  Normally, he could easily withstand her scheming, manipulation, browbeating and whatever terrible maladies threatened her health as a direct result of his bad behavior. But there were things his grandmother did not know. Things that he feared might actually see an end to the old bird if they were to come out. Despite the manner in which they plucked at one another, he loved her terribly. And what was about to take their family by storm was not something any of them were fully prepared to deal with, certainly not some poor unsuspecting society miss who had the great misfortune to set her cap for him.

  The events looming ahead were certainly things that would make his taking a wife very complicated, indeed. The exalted Somers clan now hovered on the brink of social ruin, and only he could see the precipice on which they teetered. Even his worthless cousin who’d put them there was utterly clueless. Damn Elsworth, he thought. Damn him to hell. It would serve the addlepated sod right if Val were to let it all come crashing down around his head.

  Val rounded a bend in the path and stopped in his tracks. It was an entrancing sight, a barefoot goddess in a plain dress, muttering to herself and appearing as forlorn as he felt. Of course, he was also very willing to be distracted from the task that lay ahead of him. So he watched her, taking in every last and ridiculously fetching detail, including her slightly exaggerated and pouty frown. Oddly enough, he didn’t find her pretty in spite of that frown so much as because of it. Her face was delightfully expressive, her dark hair swept back into a simple chignon that highlighted the length of her neck and the gentle curve of her cheek. Her full lips were pursed and her brows were drawn together in what he could only categorize as consternation as a bonnet, the ugliest creation in the history of millinery, dangled from her fingertips. Another glance at the bonnet and he was hard pressed to call it anything other than a crime, no less than an assault on the senses.

  As if he’d summoned the creature with his own disparaging thoughts regarding her choice of chapeau, a bird swooped in and attacked the bonnet. The bird tugged at the ribbons looped so haphazardly about her delicate fingers until it could make off with its prize.

  “Oh, you rotten beast!” she cried out.

  And as Val watched, she proceeded to hoist up her skirts and attempt to climb the very tree where the offending bird had taken refuge. Perhaps it was that he was distracted by the shapely curves of her calves, or perhaps it was that he was rather taken aback by her clear mastery of the art of tree climbing, but by the time it occurred to him to offer assistance, she was halfway up the magnificent oak. She’d set her sights on her target and would not be dissuaded. The bird, as if sensing that its days were numbered, flew away and left the offending bonnet tangled in the branches.

  The girl shimmied over onto the branch which swayed rather alarmingly beneath her weight. Still, she was determined.

  Val was torn. He wanted to call out a warning, a caution for her to be careful. At the same time, as high up as she was, he couldn’t risk startling her. It was a situation he’d have not been in at all if he hadn’t been distracted when he stumbled upon her. Fetching or not, it appeared the girl was practically a lunatic and clearly lacked sufficient regard for her own life.

  When she’d reached the bonnet, her dilemma became apparent. There was no way for her to hold the hideous thing and climb down at the same time, nor could she put it on as the terribly floppy brim would no doubt obscure her view. As if she’d been aware of his presence all along, she looked directly at him. “Would it be possible for you to assist me, sir?”

  Definitely a lunatic. Rather than state what was clearly obvious, Val asked, “How I may be of assistance to you, Miss?”

  Unceremoniously, she tossed the bonnet
to him. “Guard that with your life. If that foul, wretched fowl comes back for it, shoot him or stab him if you happen to have the means to do so on your person.”

  And then, standing there holding a bonnet that was too ugly to have warranted nearly so much trouble, Val began to laugh in spite of it all. His life, and the things he was forced to do in it, had taken a toll on him. One he certainly hadn’t recognized until it was much too late and any semblance of joy was gone from it. But this madcap girl, with her bonnet and her personal vendetta against a misbehaving crow, had prompted him to laugh as he had not in years. It was a remarkable feeling. He was still laughing as she shimmied down the tree.

  His laughter died abruptly when, a few feet from where it might have actually been safe to jump, she lost her footing. Rushing forward, the bonnet dropped to the ground in his haste, he caught her before she did herself serious injury. Though he did hear her gasp of pain as her ankle struck a protruding tree root.

  Setting her down at the base of the tree, he said, “Let me examine your ankle.”

  “Are you a physician then?” she demanded in a caustic tone.

  “No, but I am familiar enough with broken bones to recognize one,” he replied just as tartly.

  “I will, but first you must retrieve my bonnet. If I return home without it, my employer will be… perturbed,” she finished rather lamely.

  “Perturbed?” he repeated as he retrieved the hideous bit of frippery. “I should be perturbed to see you wearing it. It’s terribly ugly, you know?”

  “That’s rather the point,” she replied. “My employer feels that I am too attractive for my current position and circumstances. As such, she has taken it upon herself to dress me in a manner that will not invite undesirable attentions.”

  He was tempted, for a moment, to ask what sort of attention she did desire. But it was obvious to him, regardless of her unorthodox behavior, that she was not the sort of woman who would understand such a double entendre. She was, despite her rather hoydenistic tendencies, an innocent. With that thought in mind, he kept his examination of her ankle as perfunctory, proper and brief as possible. “It does not appear to be broken, but I do believe you have quite a sprain. I doubt very much that you’ll be able to walk back to your place of employment. Allow me to see you home in a hansom cab.”