They call him the Devil Earl-a scoundrel and accused murderer who grew up on the violent London streets. A proper young lady risks more than her reputation when consorting with the roguishly handsome Hero Fiennes Tiffin , but Lady Josephine Langford...
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Exhaustion claimed her the moment she walked into her bedchamber. Her bed called to her like a siren's song. It was all she could do to remain patient while Jenny helped her out of her clothing. She wanted to simply rip it off and fall into bed. Dealing with Hero was always tiring—and exhilarating. Which only served to make it more tiring.
She had to keep her wits about her at all times, although this morning they'd seemed to settle into a kind of companionship. Perhaps they would become friends and when he married Mabel and they moved more frequently within Josephine's circle of acquaintances, the blasted earl would at last accept her invitations. Or at least his wife would.
Josephine had been drawn to him that first night—that first ball. But what she felt now ran more deeply. She wanted to know everything about him. Once she knew everything, perhaps she'd no longer be intrigued.
She crawled into bed, yawned, and told Jenny, "Wake me at two."
She needed to pick up the invitations. And even though Amelia would be appalled, Josephine was determined to send one to Hero. If for no other reason than to irritate him. He wouldn't come to the ball, so what was the harm?
Amelia would never know, and it would give Josephine a sense of satisfaction.
Before she was even finished contemplating Hero's reaction, she was asleep. It seemed as though only seconds passed before someone was gently shaking her shoulder.
"My lady? My lady?"
She squinted. "What time is it?"
"Two o'clock."
Groaning, she threw back the covers.
"A package arrived," Jenny said. "I put it on your secretary."
"A package?"
"Yes, my lady. From Lord's."
"Lord's?" The shop specialized in the finest of accessories. But Josephine hadn't purchased anything there of late.
Her curiosity piqued, she padded in bare feet across the room to her secretary where she spied the oblong package. She unwrapped it to reveal a gorgeous hand-painted floral glove box. Inside, lying on the puffed satin, was an exquisite pair of cream colored kidskin gloves.
"Is something amiss, my lady?"
Only then did Josephine realize that tears dampened her eyes. How silly. She never wept.
"Was there no note?" she asked.
"No, my lady. The gent who delivered it said simply that the package was for Lady Josephine Langford."
Of course, there'd be no note, because if there was, she'd have to burn it. The gloves were from Hero. Her injured hand was too sore, but she couldn't resist having Jenny help her tug the glove onto her uninjured one. It was a perfect fit.
