It's been months since Lady Charlotte Chartwell's philandering husband met his untimely end at the hands of an angry mistress. But as miserable as he made Charlotte in life, his death proves to be an even harsher blow. For not a farthing of his fortune or estate have passed on to her, and as a ruined widow, she is destitute, penniless, and utterly without hope.
Then, as Charlotte is considering the worst, a man steps into her carriage. His intentions are quite indecent at first, but the more he learns about her, the more an unfamiliar—and undesirable—emotion creeps over him. Could it be compassion? Never! For this is Alexander Baxendale, third Earl of Hawksford. He is known throughout the ton as the Lord of Pleasure, dedicated to passion, ruthless in his pursuit of sensual gratification. Yet never in all his exploits has he met a woman who could intrigue him as Charlotte does. Can this mysterious beauty make him hang up his title and see to her pleasure alone?
Chapter One
London, England – January, 1830
Being a self-respecting lady born of impeccable culture and lineage -- at least on her father’s side of the family -- Lady Charlotte knew all too well that she was not supposed to wink, wave, smile, or nod in the direction of any man as a means of gaining attention. Especially from a hackney. But the pathetic jangling of the few coins that remained in the folds of her ribbon-drawn reticule reminded Charlotte that respectability was not only sorely exaggerated, but outright cumbersome.
Though she had tried these past few months through various means to earn her wage most honorably, it was quite pointless. For it all ended the same. In her dismissal.
As a kitchen maid for a banker, she’d been repeatedly propositioned by his scruffy, pudgy-fingered chef to hitch up her skirts. For better pay. After she had rejected his tasteless advances, he eventually claimed to the mistress of the house that she always burnt the soup, curdled the milk, and evaporated the tea. All of which of course was untrue, but all of which, of course, had still led to her dismissal.
As a house maid for a naval captain, she’d been further humiliated and fondled in close quarters by the butler, who was as determined as he was gangly. When she grew rather tired of dodging his eager hands and threatened to report his behavior to their employer, his retaliation resounded in her ears as he marched straight into the parlor and smashed an entire collection of vases. His accusatory finger not only resulted in the loss of her pension, but also all of her references.
And, yes. It ended in her dismissal.
Sadly, the reality of her situation was this: she had no further means of earning a penny, her scoundrel of a husband was dead, and due to his overly inconsiderate nature, his entire family -- including his four mistresses -- continued to be well-coddled by his
estate.
While she? She was left to languish in her father’s unfurnished townhouse with absolutely no annuity, still waiting for the cursed Court of Chancery to award her the one-third of her husband’s estate that was legally owed her. A portion of which she had brought into the marriage to begin with.
In the end, contesting her husband’s will had been more of an expense than she’d expected. It wasn’t until she was forced to pawn off her only corset (indeed) that she realized her financial situation was quite pressing. Not to mention depressing.
And so it was, the moment her hired carriage rolled into the most respectable part of the city, just outside of Hyde Park, Charlotte knew it was time to set aside her remaining pride and introduce herself to the genteel masses as being on the market. With
all the advances she had fostered since the death of her husband, she was certain an open invitation would secure much better payment.
Or so she hoped.
