A Wicked Way to Win an Earl (6 page)

Delia drained the glass of wine. “It's only for two weeks. We'll just stay away from him,” she comforted herself as she crawled under the covers. “It won't be difficult. Far beneath his notice . . .”

She dropped off to sleep, dreaming of a bare chest, unbuttoned breeches, and bold, seeking hands.

*   *   *

Lord Archibald leaned against his cue. A cheroot dangled from his mouth and his eyes were trained on the billiards table. Alec leaned across the green baize and lined up his shot.

“What was the outcome of that business with the rustic chits from Surrey?” Archie asked, just as Alec drew back his cue. “Bloody awful shot, Carlisle,” he crowed when Alec's ball veered far left of his target.

Alec scowled. Archie hated to lose at billiards. “It remains to be seen.” He took up his own cheroot from a tray on the side table. “The matter bears further investigation.”

“Come, now, Carlisle—at least tell me if she's pretty or not.”

Alec drew on his cheroot. “I don't know.”

“You don't
know
? Why the devil not? This isn't a difficult question.”

“I didn't notice a devastating bosom.” He thought of the angry glare Miss Somerset had given him when she'd caught him sneaking a look.

Archie grinned. “Yes, well, perhaps if you'd started with her face, Carlisle . . .”

“I couldn't see it properly. She was covered in mud and it had grown dark. And before you ask,” he added, “I couldn't see her hair, either. Not one strand. Her bonnet appeared to be nailed to her head.”

“Not a promising start,” Archie said. “Or a very promising one, depending on how you look at it. Robyn's attention span is shorter than most. It doesn't sound as though she's the sort to hold it for long.”

“Where is Robyn? I haven't seen him all evening.”

Archie shrugged. “Shepherdson.”

Nothing further needed to be said. If Robyn was out with Lord Shepherdson, they wouldn't see him again tonight.

“Robyn wasn't here to welcome her to Bellwood,” Archie pointed out. “That's a good sign, isn't it? He can't be
that
enamored of her.”

Alec snorted. “You assume Robyn remembers what day she's arriving. I'd be surprised if he even remembers what day of the week it is today.”

“Still, a silly little country lass may be just what you need, eh?”

“She's not silly. Just the opposite. She's clever. Sharp-tongued, too.”

Archie grimaced. “Clever, sharp-tongued, and plain? Dreadful combination.”

“I never said she was plain.”
That blush that had stained her cheeks right before she retired this evening . . .
“I said I couldn't see her well enough to tell.”

“Oh, she's plain. Or at least she doesn't have the legendary Chase beauty. You'd have noticed
that
. What color are her eyes? Does she have
des yeux de feu bleu
?”

Alec stared blankly at his friend. “What the
devil
are you on about?”

“Come, now, Carlisle. Surely you've heard of ‘the eyes of blue fire'? Who was that Greek chit? The one with snakes for her hair?”

Alec wasn't drunk, but this conversation made him feel as if he were. Still, he'd known Archie since they were lads. The best course of action was to follow along. “Medusa.”

“Right. That's the one. Back when Millicent Chase was the toast of the
ton
, the gentlemen swore her eyes were such a beautiful, perfect blue, they could turn a man to stone.”

“Part of him, anyway,” Alec said dryly.

Archie laughed. “They used to take bets at White's on who would be the next to fall under the spell of
des yeux de feu bleu
. I recall my father falling into raptures about Millicent Chase's eyes. He was one of her suitors, you know.”

Alec grinned. “Your father was a scandal and a rogue, Archie.”

“Yes, well, like father like son, and the apple and the tree, and all that nonsense.”

Alec's grin faded. He hated those expressions, probably
because his own father had been a cold, manipulative bastard.

“I didn't see the color of her eyes, either,” Alec said. “They were dark.”

“Dark blue? Like blue fire?”

“Blue fire,” Alec snorted. “What nonsense. Bloody hell, Archie. Why not just wait and see for yourself? I'm sure she'll be at breakfast.”

Archie shook his head. “I must remain in suspense until dinner tomorrow night. I have to leave early in the morning. I'll return to Bellwood in the evening.”

Alec smothered a laugh. “Ah, yes. I forgot. Aunt Bettina is visiting.”

Archie nodded glumly. “She's Lady Humphries now, and she's dragged old Humphries along with her on her visit. Poor sod. Why in God's name they felt compelled to marry, I'll never understand. She's almost as rich as King George. What need has she of a husband?”

Alec shrugged. “She did gain a title from the marriage.”

“What would induce Humphries to wed again, then? He doesn't need Aunt's money.”

“Perhaps they had certain, ah, physical needs—”

Archie cringed. “Not another
word
, Carlisle. She's sixty-five if she's a day, and Humphries is at least seventy! It's too hideous to contemplate.”

“You say the same about every marriage.”

“Quite right, too. I have no wish to be leg-shackled. You must be mad to even consider it.” He frowned darkly. “Do you have an understanding with Lady Lisette yet?” Archie sounded as if he didn't want to hear the answer.

“No. Not yet. But I expect the business will be concluded by the end of the house party.”

“Business, eh? What a romantic way to put it. What about the other matter?”

“As I said, it bears further investigation, but I doubt Delia Somerset will prove to be a serious problem.”

“Too bad,” Archie said with a disappointed sigh. “Think how amusing it could be if she did.”

Alec took one last draw on his cheroot. “Sorry, old boy. You'd better prepare yourself for another long, dull, tedious house party.”

By the time she became aware of the sound of hooves behind her, it was too late.

Delia turned in time see a very tall rider on an absurdly large black horse galloping toward her through the trees. The huge hooves sent up a spray of gravel with each pounding stride.

Drat.

It had been such a promising start to the day, too. It was early yet, but the sun was beginning to emerge from behind some wispy low-lying clouds, and the air was fresh and cool. She'd just reached the middle of the long walkway that led up to the estate and she'd stopped to admire the view of the house from there. She cocked her head. Even the ivy that climbed up the outside corner of the left wing looked perfect, as if a giant hand had draped it just so for maximum artistic effect.

Now her walk was spoiled. For one wild moment she considered running in the opposite direction. Ridiculous, of
course—it would be unspeakably rude to flee, not to mention cowardly. Well, she was no coward. Delia straightened her shoulders and pasted a polite smile over her gritted teeth. Perhaps he was in a tearing hurry to be somewhere.

Somewhere
else
.

“Miss Somerset.” Lord Carlisle reined the horse to a halt beside her. “I'm surprised to see you up so early this morning.”

Delia had to crane her neck to look up at him. If he didn't dismount, it might mean he wouldn't linger. “Good morning, my lord. I do tend to rise early. I suppose I keep country hours.”

He dismounted and Delia suppressed a sigh. He had nowhere else to be, then. He took the horse's reins in his hand and walked over to her.

He intended to join her on her walk, then.
Drat.

“I'm surprised to see
you
up this early, my lord. Not very fashionable, is it?” Delia cringed a little when she heard the bite in her voice. She'd promised Lily she'd do her best to keep her tongue in check.

But he didn't answer. The uncomfortable silence continued to stretch between them until at last Delia peeked at him from the corner of her eye. He was staring at her. In fact, he was studying her with such furious intensity she felt a flush begin to rise from her chest into her cheeks. She jerked her gaze away.

What in the world was he staring at? She raised a hand self-consciously to her hair. The pins had come loose. She'd woken this morning longing to get a walk before breakfast. She hadn't expected to see anyone, so she'd simply twisted the heavy locks into a knot at the back of her neck and slipped into a dark blue walking dress. She hadn't even worn a bonnet.

For heaven's sake! Was the missing bonnet so shocking? At least her clothes were
buttoned
!

He cleared his throat. “Ah, I see you've rid yourself of the mud.”

He actually had the nerve to sound shocked! Had he imagined she wouldn't
bathe
? “Yes, my lord. Imagine my relief when I discovered it wasn't permanent.”

Delia bit her lip. Her tongue seemed to sprout barbs whenever she spoke to Lord Carlisle. Instead of the swift retort she expected, however, there was another silence. She turned to him in surprise. “Lord Carlisle?”

He'd stopped walking and was standing in the middle of the path. He went still as his dark, dark eyes wandered over her face and figure. He started at the top of her head, taking in the loose strands of hair. He lingered on her eyes, on her mouth, and on the open neck of her gown, and then moved leisurely over her plain blue walking dress.

Delia was speechless, both at the intense perusal and the expression in his eyes. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but his expression was strange, familiar . . .

Oh! A furious blush stained her cheeks. Yesterday.

I'm an impatient man, especially when it comes to . . .

Dear God.
Fornication.
She'd seen a hint of that same look in his eyes during their ill-advised argument about fornication.

Delia glanced up, as if fascinated with the trees above them. She looked down and studied her feet. She fidgeted with the skirts of her blue walking dress. Anything to avoid meeting those assessing black eyes.

“You look completely different. I wouldn't have recognized you from yesterday.” His tone was faintly accusing.

Delia narrowed her eyes. “Well, then, my lord, it's fortunate for both of us I couldn't fail to recognize you. You're forever burned into my memory.”

Blast it!
She clenched her fists in frustration. It had sounded like . . .

“Is that so?” He grinned. “Well, I'm flattered.”

Like she was paying him a compliment. Judging by his smug grin, he'd decided to take it as one. Delia huffed out a breath and crossed her arms over her chest. “If you choose,” she said, struggling to keep her tone bland.

“Tell me, Miss Somerset,” he said in a low voice. “In what way am I burned into your memory?”

She blinked. His tone sounded almost suggestive
.
Surely not.

“In every way,” she snapped back without thinking, and then she wanted to bite her tongue out.
Again.
What was the matter with her? She'd been known to carry on reasonable conversations with gentlemen before, all without blushing and stammering like a schoolgirl.

Lord Carlisle threw back his head and laughed. “The reason I ask,” he said, taking a step closer to her, “is you've seen more of me than most young ladies.”

Ha! Delia doubted it. Surely his female companion from yesterday had seen far more of him than she had, and more than one time, too, she'd wager. Not that it mattered to her, of course. One time had been more than enough for her. It was one time too many, in fact, even if he did have intriguingly smooth skin on his chest.

Besides, there was something odd going on here. Was he
flirting
with her? No! It was impossible. It was ridiculous. Why would he bother to flirt with her? It was out of the question he'd single her out for any particular attention.

And yet . . . that had sounded like an innuendo, and he was watching her now as if he were a spoiled child and she a sugary sweet. Delia pursed her lips into a thin, disapproving line.

She was
not
going to flirt with Lord Carlisle.

She didn't flirt with aristocrats. Flirting with an aristocrat was about as wise as poking a bear with a sharp stick. One might escape unscathed, but the odds were against it. Aristocrats were vain. They were idle and arrogant and generally
untrustworthy. Gentlemen of the
ton
were shiftier than most. At their worst they were downright dangerous.

“I did see more of you than I wanted to. I'm sorry to have embarrassed you.” Her voice dripped with acid sweetness. “Perhaps it would be wise for you to limit the exposure of your parts in the future? Especially in public.”

“Oh, I'm not embarrassed, Miss Somerset.” He held her eyes. “Merely curious. Which of my
parts
did you find the most memorable?”

Delia placed her hands on her hips. “I found your disregard for propriety the most memorable, my lord.”

He chuckled. “Come, now, Miss Somerset. There's no need to be coy.” He stared down at her, his eyes glinting with amusement. Lord Carlisle was teasing her, all right, and not innocently, either.
But why?
It didn't make sense.

Whatever the reason, he seemed to be enjoying himself. How irritating.
Coy indeed
. Well, if he wanted to see coy . . . “Very well, my lord.” She lowered her eyes demurely. “There was one thing.”

He leaned just a little closer. “Yes?”

She had his undivided attention now. “Well,” she said, struggling to keep the amusement out of her voice. “I did notice your . . .” She paused strategically. “Your back.”

“My back?” He sounded puzzled.

“Yes. It's very broad, isn't it?” She peeked up at him through her lashes. Should she twirl a lock of hair in her finger? No. That might be a bit too much. “Your shoulders are very wide, too, and your arms are long and muscular. I noticed them, as well.”

“Did you?” He seemed to find this far more promising, if she could judge by the intrigued look on his face.

“Oh,
yes
. When I first came upon you, I couldn't even see your, ah, companion. You towered over her and your . . .” Heat surged into her face. “Your, um, body is so large, you obscured her completely.” She shook her head as though she
couldn't quite believe a mere mortal man could have such amazing physical attributes. “I confess at first I wondered what you were doing to that tree. Then I spied her up against it. I believe you were
holding
her against the tree, in fact.” She fluttered her lashes.

His eyes were rapt on her face. “You noticed a great deal, didn't you?” He seemed to be having a bit of trouble catching his breath.

“Oh, I'm very perceptive, my lord,” she purred. “But there is one thing that caught my attention more than anything else.”

“What was that?”

Delia bit her bottom lip to smother her smile. He sounded almost painfully curious. “I noticed, my lord, even given your superior height, your broad shoulders, your long arms, and your impressive musculature, your friend managed to get away from you quite easily.”

Lord Carlisle blinked at her.

“I mean, one minute she was there and the next she was gone.” She tapped her finger against her bottom lip, as though she couldn't quite account for it. “I almost thought I had imagined her. She was at such a disadvantage, too. Physically, I mean. She
was
pinned to the tree, was she not?”

There was a silence; then Lord Carlisle straightened and stepped away from her. Delia choked back a laugh. Oh, his expression! It looked as if a reluctant smile and an annoyed frown were fighting a duel on his face! At last, one corner of his mouth lifted. “She was not pinned against her will, if that's what you're asking.”

“Of course not, my lord. Still, she vanished so quickly. One quick tug to pull down her skirts and she was gone. Do you think she wanted to get away from you?” Her eyes were wide and innocent.

“Ah, well. She wanted something, at any rate,” he replied, grinning when her blush deepened. “What do you think it
was? Because I think I know. I think she wanted me to pull her skirts
up
.”

Delia's mouth dropped open in shock. Oh, the wicked man! She was gathering her wits together to deliver a scathing reply when all at once her thoughts scattered like billiard balls at the cue strike. An image rose in her mind, startlingly clear. Lord Carlisle's hand, lifting the woman's skirts. Higher, then higher still . . .

Her eyes darted to his hands. He still held the horse's reins. He hadn't felt the need for riding gloves this morning. Bare, tanned skin stretched taut over large, capable hands, lightly dusted across the back with crisp dark hair.

Delia swallowed. A memory nagged at her, a kaleidoscope of images. Had she dreamed about his hands last night?

She heard Lord Carlisle draw in a quick, sharp breath, and her eyes flew back to his face. He was gazing at her, riveted, and his own eyes had darkened. He'd noticed her staring at his hands. She was sure of it. She'd given herself away.

A second ticked by. Another.

Delia's heart began to thump wildly in her chest. She must be mad to play with him like this. He was an earl, for pity's sake.
Bear, Delia
.
Sharp stick
.

Lord Carlisle wasn't one of the shifty ones. He was one of the dangerous ones. “Isn't it time we return to the house, my lord?” she asked a little desperately. “Surely they've held breakfast for us?”

He brushed the questions aside. “Shall I tell you what I find most memorable about you?” His rough, silky voice brushed across her nerve endings.

“No! That is,” she said, striving for a calmer tone, “I would rather you didn't.”

“Your eyes,” he said, as if she hadn't spoken. “They're remarkable. I can't think how I didn't notice them last night.”

Delia just resisted the urge to squirm. “Are you trying to flatter me, my lord?”

He shrugged. “No. I'm simply stating the truth. I can't be the first person to remark upon your eyes, Miss Somerset? They're an unusual color. They're your mother's eyes, aren't they?”

Delia stiffened. “Yes.” She did have her mother's eyes, and he wasn't the first person to remark on them, but she had no wish to discuss either her eyes or her mother with Lord Carlisle.

“I thought so. I never saw her, but I believe she was famous among the
ton
for her startling blue eyes.”

“She was famous among the
ton
for any number of things, my lord,” Delia replied tightly. “But I'm sure you're far above paying attention to idle gossip.”

“It's only gossip if it isn't true, Miss Somerset.”

“It's neither here nor there now, is it?” She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “My mother is dead, and as far as the
ton
is concerned, she's been as good as dead for many years now. It's an old story. I'm sure there's more diverting gossip to be had.”