Intentions of the Earl (25 page)

“That’s a very admirable trait about you,
Brooke,” Andrew said without a hint of his thoughts being betrayed
in his voice.

Brooke moved her head slowly to look at him
now, when she caught his eye she saw an expression of disbelief.
“Why do you look at me that way?” she inquired.

“Which way?”

“As if you do not believe what I say,” Brooke
answered bluntly. That was the best sugarcoating Brooke could
manage. The man looked at her as if believed she was a liar, and
that rankled her.

Andrew stopped his horse, which led to Brooke
having to stop hers if she wanted to hear what he had to say, and
she did. “It’s not that I don’t believe what you say. In fact, I do
believe it. It’s more that I don't believe you would so easily
dismiss horrible gossip about my past with such little knowledge
that you have of me.” His words were even and smooth, but Brooke
saw in his eyes that his brain was still at war about absorbing all
of this information.

Brooke reached over to him, and for the first
time she was the one to touch him first and without any warning,
she slowly ran her hand up and down his forearm before giving him a
light reassuring squeeze. “I suppose we’re talking about the same
thing. Yes, I heard gossip about you and your family last night,”
she acknowledged. “I don’t believe it. I have no proof to support
any of it. Therefore, like all gossip I hear, I don’t hold it
against the person until I find that it’s true,” she said softly
and gave him a sweet tilted smile.

Suddenly Andrew’s bewildered face turned to
one of pain, as if he’d been sucker punched. “And if the gossip
were true?” he choked out.

Brooke’s eyes narrowed. Did
he even know what she’d heard? How much of that gossip was he
trying to own up to? Even if what she'd heard was true and he
technically was a bastard, did any of it really matter to her?
True, she had decided earlier she was going to stop at nothing (or
nearly nothing, for the time being) to win a marriage proposal, and
accept, naturally, which would then lump her into the gossip, but
did any of these claims really change her true feelings for
him
?

In a split-second she had her answer. No,
none of what she heard last night would change her opinion of him.
She didn’t care about his mother’s activities. Whether she’s a
recluse or a woman of ill repute, it mattered naught to her. She’d
learned in her short time in England that a lot of women kept
company with men who were not their husbands. Did it truly matter
anymore how wild his father had been? He was dead now. As for
Andrew’s schooldays, they were of no account to her.

Brooke locked her eyes with Andrew’s. “Even
if what I heard last night were true, I have no call to change my
previous opinions.”

Andrew looked relieved, but only momentarily.
Then his face took on a grim look and white lines formed around his
mouth. “Then you must not have heard it all,” he said dully.

“I heard plenty of damning gossip,” she
snapped, trying not to smile at Andrew’s look of surprise at her
word choice.

He quickly recovered his features. “May I ask
what you heard?”

“You may ask,” Brooke said sweetly, “but I
shan't tell you.”

Andrew’s face turned a fraction darker, which
caused Brooke’s smile to dim. Glancing at the watch pinned to her
bodice, she said, “You have exactly one minute to clear up whatever
you think you must. After that, I shall never speak of this
again.”

Before Brooke knew what was happening, Andrew
started talking at breakneck speed. “My parents had a spat soon
after their wedding. I don’t know why. It ended up with him packing
her away in Essex to a country estate he owned. Nine months later I
was born. Some question my parentage because of his absence,
including at times my father. I don’t believe there is a question.
I look identical to him at this age.

“My parents never reunited, nor did my mother
ever have any other children. My father was a drunkard and a
gambler, who died in a duel eight years ago. My mother became a
recluse, she comes to London rarely and our relationship is
strained at best.”

Andrew’s face took on a contemplative look as
if didn’t know what to say about his relationship with his mother.
With a shake of his head he muttered, “I guess you’ll hear this at
some point anyway. The reason for our strained relationship is we
had depended on each other so greatly when I was young. However,
when I started school and I was mocked because of her past and our
close relationship, I decided to cut all ties with her in order to
have an easier time.”

Brooke nodded. All of this she’d heard about,
but his explanations made sense. Every last one of them. “I heard
those rumors last night, however, your detailed explanations, or at
least the ones you were able to spew in sixty seconds, makes the
rumors pale in my mind.”

“You don’t care about any of it?” Andrew
asked uncertainly.

“Not one whit,” she said with a simple
smile.

Chapter 20

Andrew felt relieved and on edge at the same
time at hearing Brooke’s words. She wasn’t going to render their
relationship void because of some trivial, and if he said so
himself irrelevant, gossip. Some London Ladies would run screaming
as fast as their slippers would carry them at just the hint of
gossip, but not his Brooke, she didn’t turn a hair.

At the same time, unease was quickly creeping
in. She wasn’t going to let gossip taint their relationship, but he
was going to singlehandedly destroy it within the next few
days.

After finding what he considered the perfect
picnic spot, Andrew stopped his horse and dismounted. “I should
think this spot will do for our purpose,” he said, looking
around.

The spot he’d chosen overlooked a small lake,
actually it was more of a large pond, but that wasn’t important. A
few surrounding trees that offered both shade and seclusion. The
area where the picnic blanket would be laid was made of a thick
green carpet of grass. It would be absolutely perfect for eating
and maybe a few other activities…

His mind snapped back to present when he
heard Brooke clear her throat. “Right,” Andrew clipped. He walked
over to where Brooke was still seated on her horse and reached his
hand up to help her down.

“Thank you, my lord. I began to despair that
I was going to have to sit upon Bluebell and eat her oats with her
while you enjoyed our picnic alone.” Her voice was light and full
of humor.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I was just
scouting out the best place for our picnic and it slipped my mind
that you were waiting.” That sounded lame even to his ears.

“It’s all right,” Brooke assured him. “I just
have a feeling that what’s in there,” she said, pointing to the
picnic hamper that Andrew had taken off his horse and was now
holding, “is better than what’s in there,” she pointed to the
saddlebag where Bluebell’s apples and oats sat.

“I assure you, what’s in here is much
better,” Andrew said, giving the hamper a little swing. “Shall
we?”

“Yes,” Brooke affirmed, then placed her hand
on his proffered arm.

Andrew laid out the blanket and made sure to
position it the best he could to be out of view for anyone who
might happen by. He intended to ruin her, but he didn’t want to do
it today.

Once the blanket was in perfect location,
Andrew began to unpack the hamper. He pulled out two cheese wheels,
some bread, strawberries, a few pieces of chicken, a bottle of
lemonade and two glasses. Finally, the hamper was emptied and he
looked to Brooke to take a seat, but she wasn’t looking at him. She
was looking around her surroundings.

He knew what she saw: a little area that had
a wall of trees on three sides, and only a little grassy stretch
then the banks of the lake, pond, or whatever, on the fourth side.
They were so secluded even their horses couldn’t see them. Andrew
thought she might panic. “If this won’t do, we can move,” he
offered, hoping she would refuse.

“No,” Brooke said breathlessly. “I have no
objections to where we eat. I was just admiring the beauty of it.”
She waved her hand to indicate that she was taken with all her
surroundings.

What a relief, Andrew thought. He did not
want to move, this was the perfect spot to steal a few kisses, and
he was looking forward to stealing as many as he could. He might
even try to do more than just steal a few paltry kisses if she’d
let him. He’d like to run his hands through her hair again, or
perhaps somewhere else, too.

Andrew forced his mind away from such lustful
thoughts before his body gave him away. First, he needed to get her
to sit down. “Would you like to take a seat,” he invited, patting a
spot on the blanket right next to him.

Brooke took a seat next to him. But not too
close, he noted. That could be fixed. He smiled at her when she
stiffed because he scooted so close to her their thighs were
touching.

“Can I interest you in some chicken?” he
asked, reaching behind them to grab two pieces of chicken.

“Thank you,” she replied automatically and
licked her lips, but didn’t reach out to grab one of the offered
pieces.

Andrew registered her reluctance. “It’s just
us; you don’t have to be so formal as to cut it.”

Her face lit up and he let out a little
chuckle accompanied by a wide grin. When Brooke grabbed the piece
of chicken and bit a huge chunk out of it, Andrew let out a shout
of laughter and shook his head. “You’re something else.”

“I have no idea if that is an insult or a
compliment, coming from you I shall assume the worst,” she managed
in between bites of chicken, “but I forgive you,”

“Have no fear; it was not an insult in the
least,” Andrew said jovially. “I would be afraid to insult a woman
who can tear apart a piece of chicken so savagely. It’s no longer a
mystery to me as to why the colonies won their independence. If the
country is full of people like you, England never stood a
chance.”

Brooke laughed. “No, the real reason England
lost is it was too hard for their soldiers to shoot straight with
their vision impaired by their wig powder and spiky hats falling in
their eyes.”

Andrew laughed at her jest. He had never
understood wearing a silly wig or even hair powder. He had never
attempted to, and felt no shame in that. Thankfully, the trend had
started going out by the time he reached his majority, however,
there were still a few who felt the need to wear a wig or
powder.

“You don’t powder your hair, why is that?”
Brooke asked curiously.

He shrugged and took the chicken bone from
her and put it by the basket. “I’ve never felt the need. Some feel
that it allows them to be seen as older and wiser if their hair is
white, whether naturally or because of powder. I personally, do not
put much stock into that idea. And on a personal note, I find the
wigs and powders to be annoying, hideous, and smell of a very foul
odor.”

Brooke giggled. “A foul odor?” she asked him
while she licked the chicken juice from her fingers.

“Yes, most of the powders used are held in
place on the hair by fat, pig fat to be exact,” Andrew stated and
took satisfaction when she curled her pretty lip. “Let’s not talk
of this any longer. I hate to see how your lips react,” he said in
a husky voice. “I would much rather they be used for other purposes
besides sneering and curling up in disgust.”

“Oh,” Brooke said in surprise.

Andrew leaned closer to her. His face was now
less than an inch from hers. He noticed she swallowed as he reached
up with his right hand and ran his fingers along her jawline.
Brooke’s lips parted and her eyes grew round with wonder as he
continued to rub her jaw with his thumb while starting to gently
massage her neck at the same time. “Does this feel good?” Andrew
asked huskily.

“Yes,” she gasped in reply.

He closed that last bit of space between them
and his lips took hers. He kissed her slow and gentle, taking time
to enjoy the feeling of her lips on his. His left hand took hold of
the other side of her face and began to touch her jaw and neck the
way his right hand had.

Slowly, Andrew sought to
deepen their kiss and ran his tongue along her lips until she
opened her mouth. When she let out a
short gasp, Andrew let
his hands fall from her face and onto her shoulders, where he
rubbed them in small circular motions with his thumbs.

“Is something wrong?” he panted, when she
suddenly pulled away from his embrace.

Brooke’s look of confusion did not change
when she said, “No.” Nor did her look change when she looked down
and took notice of his hands on the front of her shoulders, with
his thumbs tucked inside of the top of her gown.

“Do you want me to continue,” he asked
hoarsely, praying she’d say yes.

Brooke didn’t say yes, nor did she say no,
she just gave a single nod.

Before she could change her mind, Andrew took
charge of her mouth again. This time it was not as gentle, it was
more demanding and intense; as if he were afraid she would slip
away at any minute.

Her hands grabbed onto his shoulders and slid
slowly up and down his arms, inspecting every bulge and plane as
they went. Her action reminded Andrew of what he wanted to do. His
hands left her shoulders and went to her side. He could feel her
soft body under her gown. He'd hoped she didn’t wear a corset, and
was pleased to learn she didn’t. His hands slowly glided up and
down her ribs several times before moving higher.

Brooke flinched and let out a little shriek.
“It’s all right,” he assured her quietly. “I’ll only do what you
want me to, nothing more.” The words were spoken, and he meant them
now, he just hoped he could keep that promise in a few minutes.