Enticing the Earl (2 page)

Still, perhaps she could ask for a wardrobe as one of her terms of engagement, Lauryn told herself. That would solve the problem quickly.

Was that typical of courtesans? She wished she knew more of such women. But really, how could she be expected to? Ladies were never informed about that side of life. Lauryn bit her lip. The earl must not know her background, or he might not retain her—even the notorious Earl of Sutton might have some scruples.

She would just have to hope for the best. She balled her hands into fists, wondering if she had the nerve to carry through with such an outrageous, highly improper scheme.

If anyone found out, she would be ruined for life. Still, it wasn't as if she expected to ever have the chance to marry again; she had no money to attract another husband, and she expected her first husband's property, even if they should get it back, would stay with his family line. It would be different if she had borne him children, but—

What would her father, her sisters, say?

Perhaps they would not have to know.

Even if the earl agreed to such an arrangement, he would surely tire of her quickly. She had a dim idea that men like that did, and didn't the maids' gossip bear that out? Then she could return to her real life. And courtesans did not go into company with ladies of quality. Lauryn knew that much!

She would use an assumed name, staying away from anyone who knew her, and no one in London did know her, as she had not been out in company, not having the clothes or the money to do so.

And she was not an innocent young thing, virginal and untouched. She was a married woman, or at least, a widow now, but the main thing was she had experience in the marriage bed. She would not be shocked, Lauryn told herself, and she could—she hoped—keep him interested for a few weeks, at least, enough to make their bargain valid.

She paced up and down again for several hours, trying to think of possible loopholes, likely weaknesses in her scheme. Was there any better way to save the squire's home? She could think of none.

Finally, she stared into the looking glass again and observed the look of determination on her face. She tucked a few straying locks into place before she picked up her simple bonnet trimmed with black ribbon.

If she were going to do such a thing, she had to do it now before she lost her nerve, Lauryn told herself. She checked on the squire, who still slept, his breathing heavy with the aftermath of too much drink.

She hesitated for a moment at the door to the hall. Was she really going to go through with this insane idea? It was madness.

But a thrill of excitement moved inside her at the thought of living with a handsome lord, of being indiscreet, of kissing and romancing an experienced lover—surely she deserved a few weeks of being wicked after spending most of her life obediently toeing propriety's line.

After Robert had died, she had ached for him, and their bed had seemed so painfully lonely. She had been so agonizingly aware of how much her body had craved a man's touch….

Could she not be wicked just briefly, just once? Surely a man who had sought out so many women must know how to please a lady…or any woman at all!

And it would be for a greater good, if she could retrieve the squire's land. She couldn't bring back Robert, but she could give his father back his home.

Taking a deep breath, Lauryn headed down the stairs.

At the bottom of the landing, she almost bumped into the hotel owner's daughter, a quiet, rather shy young woman, who must be a year or two older than Lauryn herself. They had chatted a few times since Lauryn and the squire had taken up residence here.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Harris?” Miss Mallard asked.

“Yes, I just—I wasn't looking where I was going, forgive me.” Lauryn paused for a moment and gave the other a brief smile. “I may be going out of town for a time if I—if I get a post with a—ah—noble family. Would you—could you keep an eye on the squire for me? Sometimes he doesn't think about ordering dinner when he gets into a despondent mood.”

“Oh, the poor man misses his son, I'm sure.” Miss Mallard shook her head. “And it will be worse with you not here. I will try to make sure he remembers his meals, without being too intrusive. You take care.”

“Thank you,” Lauryn told her. And then, feeling that she had done what she could, she pushed open the outer door and stepped into the courtyard.

Sutton was halfway through a stack of letters, most of it
business and all of it, sadly, demanding his personal attention, when his butler coughed from the doorway.

It was the
your attention is needed, truly needed, my lord, or I would not interrupt you
cough, so he reluctantly raised his head.

“There is a young lady to see you, my lord. She says the matter is urgent.”

“At this time of day?” Sutton knew his tone was skeptical, but most young ladies of the Ton were still abed at nine in the morning, or at the most out riding in Hyde Park, where they could be seen by other fashionable ladies or admired by young sprigs of fashion.

He had been up late himself, playing cards at a smoky gaming hell in a disreputable part of town, but he never indulged himself by sleeping late when he had business to be seen to, and besides, he hoped to leave London by tomorrow.

His half brother Carter was at the Lincolnshire estate, and if left to himself, was sure to get into trouble.

And what the hell did she want of him?

“Did you make my excuses?” The butler was usually good about shielding him from those kindly souls collecting for good works or from matchmaking mamas foolishly endeavoring to introduce him to giddy daughters. “I am in no mood for charity seekers.”

“I did, my lord, but she is quite—ah—persistent,” Parker said, his usually bland expression covering some emotion Sutton could not quite read.

The earl was aware of a flicker of curiosity.

“Very well, show her in, but warn her I have time for only a short interview.” He put the paper, a ship's bill of lading, back on his desk.

At first glance, the female who entered his study did not seem particularly prepossessing. Of medium height, dressed in shapeless, drab black garments, her figure was obscured, and beneath a bonnet that had seen better days even before it had developed a fatal droop, her face was hard to make out.

But when, standing, he motioned to a chair in front of his desk, she sat down and loosened the hat, removing it so that he got his first good look at her, his interest quickened. She had the face of a classical beauty, pale skin and delicate features, with hair of a pale reddish gold. She met his gaze with her chin up and a defiant intelligence burning in her clear green eyes, and that stirred his curiosity even more.

“How may I help you, Miss—?”

“Smith, Mrs. Smith,” she said quickly. “I–I have come to you seeking employment, my lord.”

“Indeed.” He paused, not sure how to go on. She might be poverty-stricken. Indeed, she looked it in a genteel kind of way, as a country parson's daughter might, but she was, in her speech and her deportment, also obviously a lady, so how on earth she could expect to serve in his household, he could not think. She could not mistakenly think he was married with children, and be looking for a post as a governess? It was about the only situation in which indigent ladies could earn a respectable income. He opened his mouth to disabuse her of the notion, when she spoke again.

“I realize–I realize this is unexpected, but–but I have need of a position, and I–I have reason to think that you have a vacancy—that is, that is I have heard gossip—I mean, I have heard comment—”

She stopped again, her face flushing as she seemed to search for words. She was not looking for a post as governess, he decided.

Fascinated, Sutton gave up trying to guess. This was too entertaining, even though he knew it was too bad of him to be amused by her discomfort.

“I wish to obtain a post as–as a courtesan,” she blurted.

Sutton knew that his eyes must have bulged. “What?”

“Yes,” she said, looking relieved that the word was out. “That's it. I realize I have no recommendations—”

The earl had to hold his breath to keep from whooping—he wanted to laugh so badly he had to ball his fists and stiffen his whole body. “I see. That is a problem,” he managed to say.

She stared at him anxiously. “But I do have experience, my lord, and I assure you that you would not regret taking me on.”

With a surge of heightened awareness flooding his whole body, he had a sudden image of tipping her over the desk and “taking her on,” then and there. He drew a deep breath.

Perhaps she also realized how the term could be construed. Blushing, she turned her gaze toward the marble surround of the fireplace.

“Indeed,” he said, his tone neutral.

Oh, God, he thought, wondering that he had been so bored this morning that he had longed to walk out on the desk full of business and social correspondence. Now he wanted to roar with laughter and—and more. He wanted to tilt up that heart-shaped face and try out those “experienced” lips and see just how much of a hoax this all was!

What in hell was she playing at?

“And what kind of wages are you expecting, may I ask?” he inquired, his tone very polite.

“Oh, the–the usual,” she said, her voice airy. She waved one hand. “A–a new wardrobe, of course.”

He nodded. “Of course.” He would burn that black gown she currently wore with absolute pleasure, he thought. It made her look like a pudding insufficiently cooked. But her slim hands and the well-shaped ankles he had had a glimpse of when she had sat down suggested that her figure deserved much better.

She glanced at him, as if to gauge his response. “You may–you may shower me with jewels, if you like,” she suggested.

Sutton swallowed another shout of laughter, managing with some effort to keep a straight face. “I will consider it,” he said instead.

Had she been reading the worst of the scandal sheets? This must have to do with his recent “retirement” of his poorly chosen and short-lived—ah—
courtesan
, as this surprising guest chose to call it;
harpy
would have served for his last companion,
greedy
,
scheming
,
selfish
, and
untrustworthy
were a few other terms that came to mind.

“But the main thing,” she went on, and this time he saw the effort it cost her to keep her voice level and her expression calm, “the main thing is—I should like a small estate.”

“Really?” Watching her, he narrowed his brows. “That is quite a costly proposition, Miss—Mrs. Smith.”

“It does not have to be close to London,” she added quickly. “So it does not have to be quite so costly, my lord. In fact, it can be a good deal farther away, perhaps in the North Country, somewhere like Yorkshire….”

So that was it, the earl thought grimly. Had Squire Harris sent this innocent to get back what he'd lost? If the man had done this in cold blood—what was she, young wife, daughter, what?

His face must have shown his disgust, because the young lady in front of him looked alarmed. Sutton tried to smooth out his expression.

“Yorkshire, you say?”

Still watching him anxiously, she nodded.

“It seems to me I might have recently won a small estate such as that in a card game. I will turn out the contents of my pockets and peruse my winnings. Then I will give some thought to your proposition. But now it is your turn.”

“My turn?” She stared at him as if he had turned into a bear from the circus.

“I must see a sample of the wares if I am to consider buying,” he told her, his tone pleasant and noncommital. “That is a reasonable request, as you know.”

Her eyes widened, and she looked as if she might slide off the chair. But she pulled herself together quickly.

“Oh, oh, of course, my lord,” she stuttered. “What do you wish me to do?”

“Take off your gown,” he ordered.

W
ondering if her ears had heard the words correctly,
Lauryn stared at him. Take off her clothing, here and now? Had the man no shame?

“I–I can't!” The words burst out without conscious mandate from her brain. If her plan was to work, yes, of course he would have to see her unclothed, but—in his study in the middle of the morning? Without even the pretense of wooing? How cold-blooded could any man be?

“Of course, you need help with your buttons,” the earl said calmly. He stood up and came around the desk toward her.

Lauryn jumped to her feet in alarm and just stopped herself from backing up and running out the door. If she did that, she knew she would never be able to come back, and her precious plan would be for naught.

But she thought she couldn't breathe. Without seeming to notice her panic, the earl went behind her and slipped a button through its hole at the back of her well-worn black gown. She felt his fingers, warm on her skin, even through the fabric.

And he was so tall that he seemed to tower above her; his breath stirred her hair—why had she been moved to take off her bonnet? Robert had stood only ten inches above five feet, a decent enough height for a man, but the earl was so tall that—

She couldn't think. She felt her dress loosen as he continued to slip the buttons free of their confinement, and the bodice sagged. She grabbed it before it could fall. She couldn't really take it off, could she? Could she go through with this?

Did she have a choice?

Not if she wished to follow through on her outrageous plot….

The earl walked back around to lean against his wide mahogany desk and observe her, his expression so impersonal that she felt an urge to kick him. “You may remove your gown any time you are ready, Mrs. Smith. Unless you are having second thoughts. Perhaps you have reconsidered your offer?”

Was he deliberately taunting her? Did he suspect something? He must not!

Spurred on, she slipped one arm out of its sleeve, holding on to the prim neckline of her day gown in order to hold it high, then slowly withdrew the other arm, still gripping the bodice so that not an inch of her cleavage was revealed. She watched him as she did so and could not help but see a change in his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to maintain a dispassionate countenance.

She'd show him second thoughts!

Now she lowered the gown slowly, very slowly, so that a curve of pale skin was exposed. Then the thin creamy muslin of her shift and her light corset were revealed, the curves of her breasts showing clearly above the restraints of the corset as she allowed her day dress to puddle at her feet.

He blinked and appeared to take a deep breath.

“Ah, I fear we shall have to go to a deeper level,” he pointed out, and his voice sounded a bit husky. “We have really not scratched the surface of the matter, so to speak.”

Show him her naked self? Here and now? In a pig's eye!

“But first,” she retorted, having regained her balance, “I might ask the same of you, my lord?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, his glance wary.

“You may also remove your clothes,” she noted, her tone demure. “Do I not have the right to also examine how sound is the compact I am making?”

He opened his lips, but nothing came out.

Expression calm, Lauryn waited. It was a totally spurious argument, of course. The man had such wide shoulders, such a trim waist, and such an obviously well-made body—no padded tights or creaking corsets necessary for the earl—that a closer look was unnecessary. Add his well-built body to his ruggedly handsome face, with its dark eyes, dark hair, slashing brows, strong nose and chin, and he would have had no—and she knew he had never had—problems attracting women of any class or status.

“Ah, I see your point,” he murmured.

But instead of backing down, as she had expected, his next actions gave her a jolt of surprise and shock.

He put his hands to his carefully arranged neckcloth and pulled it loose, then unwound it unhurriedly from about his neck. He allowed it to fall to the desk, draping it unheeded across the piles of paper.

Surely he wasn't going to undress!

Lauryn knew her lips had fallen open, and she hoped she had not gasped aloud. No, no—this was not what she had meant to occur. Oh, dear lord!

One part of her mind spoke coldly—
It will have to happen sooner or later, you ninny
! But the other side said,
Not yet, not yet, we have to build up to it
—
if he has an ounce of sensitivity in him
—but perhaps men who felt any sensitivity were not men who hired courtesans.

Now he was tugging off his tightly fitting, exquisitely tailored jacket. Oh, heavens, oh, heavens, what was she to do now?

And all the time he watched her, observing her reaction. Lauryn tried to stay calm, tried to maintain her air of business as usual—wasn't that what a woman of the world would do? It was her best guess, anyhow. But she feared she must have gone pale. At any rate, her hands felt cold and she knew her heart was beating fast.

His waistcoat came next; he unbuttoned the silver buttons with alarming speed. And now the earl's hands dropped to his white linen shirt. Just how far was he going to undress? And what would happen then?

Lauryn's hands might still be cold, but other parts of her body were becoming strangely warm and quivery.

He lowered his hands to pull his shirt over his head—

The door to the study opened, and the butler stood in the doorway.

Lauryn gasped, and the earl abruptly dropped the tails of his shirt back into place.

“Yes, Parker?” he snapped.

“Ah, beg pardon, your lordship, but your agent is here—”

“Put him in the book room, and tell him I will be with him presently,” the earl said, his tone still curt.

Withdrawing in some haste, the butler shut the door behind him.

Lauryn fought a dreadful desire to giggle hysterically. Worse, she thought that the earl—who glared at her suspiciously—knew precisely why she bit her lip and almost dared not breathe. If she laughed, she feared he might become quite angry. And he had not yet agreed to the bargain, she told herself. That cured her of the desire to laugh.

“As you can see, I have business to attend to,” the earl pointed out, his tone austere.

“Of course, your lordship,” she said, keeping her own voice meek. “I would not wish to take up too much of your time. So, do you feel I should be suitable for the post?”

What he thought, Sutton told himself, was that she was a minx—and he still wasn't sure who had put her up to this, or why. Was it possible she was really doing this on her own? Or was the squire—it had to be he—forcing her into a disgraceful situation?

It mattered, because if she were someone's cat's-paw, he could not allow her to be treated so badly. If, on the other hand, she had chosen to engage in this mad venture on her own, then–then–then he knew just what he might chose to do to those luscious lips and curving breasts—

He shook his head to clear his thoughts—

“You don't think so?” she said, her voice distressed. “But I had hoped that we might be well suited, my lord.” She began to dress and gathered her things.

He realized she had taken the motion for an answer.

“Ah, no, that is, I mean, yes, we will suit nicely, I should think.” He realized he was making little sense, but at least the panic in her eyes had eased, and she had unclenched her hands.

She blinked at him. “You mean you will? Employ me?”

“Yes, at least, I have decided to give you a trial engagement,” he told her, keeping his expression bland. “We'll say two weeks, and if both sides are amenable, and all is satisfactory, two weeks more, and then we shall be open for possible extensions.”

He had a sudden vision of the horrible scene that had ended his last affair, and he said quickly, “But keep in mind, this is a purely business arrangement. There will be no talk of love or lasting commitment, no suggestion of anything more between us than mutual pleasure and physical enjoyment.”

She nodded slowly. “Of course. I would expect nothing more.”

He added, speaking more gently, as he remembered her first stipulation, “I'm planning to leave London tomorrow, so we'd better make our plans quickly, don't you think? If you will wait in the small room just down the hall, I will send for my valet, whose name is Boxel. He will accompany you to a good dressmaker to have your measurements taken.”

She stared at him.

“For new gowns,” he reminded her.

His newly acquired paramour dropped her bedraggled bonnet on the floor as she impulsively clasped her hands together, then she blushed again, even more deeply than before. “Oh,” she said. “I mean, yes, of course. Thank you, my lord.”

He nodded.

Retrieving her bonnet, she left the room with a bemused expression on her face, and Sutton told the footman to ask his valet to come down to speak to him, wondering what on earth the man would say when he was told his errand. Boxel had been with his master since long before Sutton had achieved his title, and he never hesitated to speak his mind.

Nor did he now.

“She don't look like no light o'love to me, yer lordship,” the servant told him. “I took a peek at 'er in the anteroom. Yer sure ye know what yer doing? This is likely to end up costing ye dear, and I don't mean just in coin.”

“It is not your place to suggest to me that I might be an idiot, Boxel,” the earl said, his tone stern, thinking that none of the other staff would dare to intimate such a thing.

Sadly, the stout servant with the balding head looked unimpressed.

The earl's frown deepened. “Just see to it that she orders a reasonable amount of clothing and have it sent on to the country. I plan to leave town tomorrow.”

The servant rolled his eyes, but he turned toward the hall. “Don't say as 'ow I didn't warn ye,” he muttered, going out the hall door, although his expression showed only the proper mixture of respectful obedience.

Sutton grimaced at his back. If this woman turned out to be trouble, Boxel would never let him hear the end of it. He should probably just send her away and be done with it. What did he care about the squire's pitiful estate, anyhow?

But the earl pictured the way that fine-textured gold hair curled at the base of her long neck, where a strand or two came loose from her severe updo at the back of her head, and he thought of how it would be to shake free the whole contraption and release the mane of hair, free it from all restraint and let it fall in silken waves down her back, lying easily on her smooth skin—upon a naked body free of any corset or shift or other “proper” cover-up that would prevent him from seeing every inch of that enticing ivory skinned body…

Just thinking of the possibilities made him ache.

He had been relieved to see, when she had slipped out of her dowdy black dress and he had observed her more closely, that she was not a girl in her first season. Somehow that made it more likely that she was not being pushed into offering herself at someone else's bidding. He had noted the subtle signs of maturity around her eyes and mouth, the more ample breasts—he felt another surge of desire at the memory—of a woman, not just of a girl barely out of the schoolroom, and thus he could believe she understood what she was doing with this offer.

No, he didn't wish to send her away. He would risk the consequences, dammit all! He was no faint heart, afraid to take the first fence, afraid of what lay beyond—

When he picked up the bill of lading, he stared at it for a good five minutes before he realized he had no idea what he was seeing.

The valet was an older man who wore an expression of
unqualified disapproval. Lauryn thought his haughty politeness was much more alarming than his master's. The carriage ride made her tense with nerves, and she was relieved when she could step down at last and enter the couturier's shop. But then she found she had wasted the ride worrying about Boxel when she should have spent it thinking what she would say to the dressmaker. How did one explain that one had taken up a life of disrepute? Did the dressmaker have some code word for expressing that fact without excessive embarrassment to all concerned?

A young shop assistant was the first to greet them. “Yes?” Her glance at Lauryn's shabby black dress made her expression doubtful, as if they did not appear to merit an enthusiastic welcome. “Perhaps you are seeking the shop next door?”

Lauryn blushed, still not sure how to explain, but she had not allowed for the sheer efficiency, disapproval or not, of her escort.

Boxel fixed his stern stare on the shop assistant. “This lady is the companion of the Earl of Sutton. I believe Madame duPree will be pleased to assist her? Or should we take our business elsewhere, to the Austrian couturier on Bond Street, mayhap?”