Page 1 of Ironvine

ChapterOne

Charles

Who is that woman?

“You sure you’re not coming?” His brother’s hand squeezed his shoulder, pulling his attention away from the flare of feminine glory he’d spotted in the distance.

“Coming where?”

“This one’s mouth is not to be missed, I tell you. She’s a damned good piece. I’m going to hire her to come to the house tonight for us both.” On a laugh, Hugh left his side and headed down one of the many intricate dark walks of Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens, winding shadowy paths which were a favourite haunt of lovers, prostitutes, pick pockets, and all sorts of colourful villains.

“I’ll come with you.” Matthew, a friend of theirs from the country, darted after Hugh.

Charles didn’t want to be serviced by a whore. He wanted to find out who this girl was.

He and Hugh had been coming to Vauxhall, London’s leading venue for public entertainment outdoors, almost every night this week like everyone else, and Charles hadn’t seen any such sample of feminine splendour. Splendour, in fact, had been hard to come by, but he was a picky bastard.

This one was sheathed in a glowing blue gown, just a rise of bosom exposed, elegant jewels dripping from her earlobes, jewels in her hair, not gaudy, simple. Lovely ringlets of hair, a long neck. An elegant profile withal.

She’d do nicely, wouldn’t she?

He pushed up against the wall. Something was familiar about this one. The torches lighting the many pathways of the Vauxhall gardens cast a peculiar magical glow everywhere. Perhaps he was seeing a vision. But no…something else, it was something else, he was sure of it. He’d have to point her out to Hugh once he finished with the prostitute.

Hugh had joined Charles in London over a month ago to attend every damned social event the ton had to offer. His brother, the newly named Earl since their father’s recent death, was on the prowl for a wife.

But not because he wanted to marry. He had to in order to inherit the rest of his money. Their father had left that particular point in his will a surprise. If Hugh had gained the title and still wasn’t married by the age of thirty, he would lose half his income and would not regain the other half for another ten years.

Hugh had been livid, and although Charles had been shocked, he also had been secretly amused. Their father had been quite a scoundrel himself, yet he always upheld the responsibilities to the family title above all else.

And everyone else.

Hugh had two weeks left. Still, no girl had caught his eye for a bride.“If I’m going to be stuck with some woman for the rest of my days, she’d better be pleasing to my eye and pleasant to be with,”he’d remarked.

Hugh had been out of the swirl of the ton in London the past two plus years, and his return was heralded by all, especially the ladies, and most especially their ambitious mothers. He’d swiftly made up for lost time on the social carousel: a bored Marchioness, a couple of young widows, a married Portuguese noblewoman whose husband had come to England to speak at Parliament this week, and of course, plenty of whores at his favourite clubs and at private parties with their friends.

It had become a tedious task to scout for candidates at every single social occasion, at every morning walk in St. James Park, but he did it. It was his duty to his brother, to their family.

Father had been pushing Hugh to marry for years to prepare to take on his role as the Earl of Ryvves, but Hugh had refused. He was much too busy enjoying his longtime mistress, the very married Duchess of Oakley.

However, upon discovering their father’s deadline for marriage, Hugh promptly broke things off with Her Grace and set on a course for hunting down a bride and marrying immediately. Great wealth was a mighty motivator.

The crowd was thick here tonight. So many making merry, as if the pleasure gardens offered something so incredibly fresh and novel. He liked being out of doors rather than inside a crowded ballroom or someone’s home, but he’d grown accustomed to Vauxhall’s offerings and weary of the endless procession of well-dressed people he knew and knew of.

“Montclare.” William Treharne, an old friend from the country, dipped his head at him as he and his wife, Amanda, walked past. She caught his eye, lifting her chin as she shot him a sharp look dripping with disdain. He averted his gaze.

Since their dalliance had ended badly almost two years ago, Charles had shown Amanda only indifference, and she had shown him that cold disdain. He’d known her and William forever; they’d all grown up together in the country. Amanda had been the prettiest girl, the most accomplished, the wittiest, and the vainest and arrogant. She had been almost engaged to his best friend, Brandon. But when Brandon’s father had suddenly sent him on a trip to the West Indies, she’d gotten impatient and bored and married his cousin William.

Charles had found her to be exquisitely challenging at the beginning of their brief affair. She’d made it quite a game between them. He enjoyed games, and together they played a number of them. But then one of those games hurt Brandon and his new wife, Justine, which led to Brandon and his cousin William having a terrible falling out that had never been repaired.

Charles had not been proud of the consequences of his selfish actions and that was when he’d broken off with Amanda. He’d kept his distance from her and her husband ever since.

But Amanda enjoyed casting him a dismissive look or a sardonic comment in society. He knew it gave her a sense of power to do those things for she was attempting to maintain a connection between them, a bitter one. He knew she could not fathom a man no longer being consumed with her, especially one who’d ridden her.

He brushed all those thoughts away and kept his focus on the delightful girl in the distance. Fireworks burst and crackled in the sky over them. Laughter and shouts rang out, and she turned her face upward, laughing at the artificial starlight over her.

Beautiful.

He’d like a bite of her himself.

---