My Brown-Eyed Earl (9 page)

The lamb cutlets, asparagus, and fish on her plate looked and smelled delicious, and she realized she was ravenous. She took a bite of lamb dipped in cucumber sauce and sighed as it melted in her mouth.

“Good?” he asked, clearly amused.

“Divine.” And before she knew what she was doing, she washed down the delectable bite with the lovely claret.

“How are your sisters—Elizabeth and Juliette, is it not?”

Meg raised a brow. “I am surprised that you remember their names.”

He made a show of placing his hand over his heart. “You wound me, Miss Lacey. We were practically neighbors growing up. I remember a lot of things.”

“For instance?”

As the earl leaned forward, the candlelight accentuated his cheekbones and jaw. He spoke softly, creating an intimate space around them. “I remember riding through the fields, urging my horse over a hedge, and falling out of my saddle. I hit the ground so hard that my head rang for days.” He drummed his long fingers on the table and smiled as if it were a treasured memory. “I remember nicking my father's brandy and drinking till I was ill—all over the rug beneath his desk.”

Meg wrinkled her nose. “How positively charming. Have you no pleasant recollections? Something a bit more appropriate for dinner conversation, perchance?”

A roguish smile spread across his face, and a wicked gleam lit his eyes. “I have a pleasant memory or two. Unfortunately, the most pleasant ones happen to be the
least
appropriate.” With that, he speared a hunk of meat with his fork, popped it into his mouth, and chuckled, as though inordinately pleased with himself.

He seemed to delight in pushing the boundaries of polite behavior—and making her feel uncomfortable. Well, turnabout was fair play.

Meg swallowed a tender morsel of asparagus, fortified herself with another sip of claret, and leaned back in her chair. “I suppose that one of the inappropriate memories you cherish is spying on me while I swam in the lake.”

His devilish grin vanished, and his throat worked like he was having difficulty swallowing his manly mouthful of meat. “I should explain,” he managed to choke out.

“I quite agree. Please, take your time,” she said sweetly. “I've waited eight years to hear your explanation; a few more minutes won't kill me.”

Meg congratulated herself as she lifted her fork and savored a bite of fish. It tasted a bit like victory.

 

Chapter
EIGHT

 

Will hammered a fist against his chest, dislodging the hunk of lamb in his throat, then chased it with a healthy swig of brandy.

Dear Jesus. Certain experiences from a man's past—particularly during the ages of 13 to 18 years—were best left undiscussed. The lake incident qualified as one of them.

He'd assumed Miss Lacey would want to avoid the topic as much as he did, if not more so. After all,
she
was the one who'd been caught swimming nude in the lake. Weren't vicar's daughters supposed to be modest and meek?

Apparently, no one had informed Miss Lacey. An errant curl dangled from her temple, all the way to the swell of her breasts, which were covered in their entirety by her abomination of a dress. A crime, that.

Her lips parted in expectation, and her eyes dared him to speak the truth. She would not be content with platitudes or niceties. She was willing to relive her profound humiliation—in order to see him squirm.

“Are you certain you wish to discuss this?” he asked.

She raised her chin. “I don't think we should let it fester any longer. Tell me, Lord Castleton.
Why
did you think it acceptable to spy on me?”

“It was August in Oxfordshire,” he began.

“Yes.” She rolled her eyes. “I was there.”

“Do you want to hear my version of the story, or not?”

Heaving a sigh, she nodded.

“Patience, Miss Lacey. If you're always in a rush to get to the end, you miss all the fun.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Your wisdom abounds.”

“Thank you,” he replied solemnly, as if her compliment had been sincere. “It was August,” he repeated, “and everyone in the household was hot and irritable. I'd argued with my father that morning.”

“About what?” she asked.

“He said I wasn't taking my studies seriously enough.” He grinned at her. “That was true, incidentally. I didn't take
anything
seriously. But I suspected that my father's foul mood had less to do with my poor study habits than with … well, let's just say he had his own problems.” Financial difficulties of his own making, to be specific—but Will saw no need to air that dirty laundry. “I didn't have to be a scholar to know it was in my best interests to leave the house. My cousin, Thomas, had just left for London, so I grabbed my fishing pole and headed for the lake alone.

“The air was heavy and still—the way it feels when an afternoon storm is brewing. But it hadn't rained in two weeks, and the lake was lower than usual. I walked to my usual fishing spot and cast my line, but nothing was biting. I couldn't return to the house, so I started walking along the shore.”

She sniffed, skeptical. “And you just happened to end up near my family's house?”

“I think I'd been hoping to find you,” he said. “I erroneously assumed you'd have your clothes on.”

“While I was swimming?” she asked, incredulous.

Damn, he was enjoying himself. “No. I thought you might be out for a stroll … or fishing.”

Her brow creased. “But we were barely acquainted. Why would you seek me out?”

“I didn't plan to; my feet simply took me there. And when I realized where I was … well, I hoped I'd see you.”

“Why?”

“As I said, my cousin had returned to London. You were a serious, thoughtful girl. I thought you'd be a good listener.”

“You wanted to
talk
with me?”

Will raked his fingers through his hair. What in hell had made him admit that? “Maybe. I wouldn't have walked to your front door and knocked, but I hoped I'd see you on the path.”

She shot him a cynical look. “That doesn't explain why you were staring at me from behind a tree trunk.”

“No, I suppose it doesn't.” He stroked his chin, choosing his words with care. “When I heard splashing, I ran toward it, expecting to find you and your sisters fishing or wading. But when I reached the shore, it was you, alone—swimming in the middle of the lake like you'd been born with gills, dipping below the surface, then emerging, sleek as an otter.”

She blinked and tilted her head, waiting for him to continue.

“At first, I just stared in admiration. You swam better than Thomas.”

“But not you?” She rolled her eyes again.

Chuckling, he said. “That's hard to say, Miss Lacey. One day we shall have to put it to the test.” He met her eyes and turned serious. “The point is that I stared because I found you mesmerizing. Not just your nakedness, but
you
. The way you glided across the water. The way the sunlight reflected off your skin. I'd never seen a creature so free … or so beautiful.”

She swallowed as she stared back at him, her green eyes a storm of emotions.

“And the truth is,” he continued evenly, “that I haven't seen anything as beautiful since.”

*   *   *

Meg could barely breathe.

Everything the earl had said was improper. Good heavens, he'd referred to her
nakedness
. And at the dining table, no less.

His scandalous recounting had transported her back in time, to that day in the lake. Cool water had kissed her deliciously naked skin and swirled around her legs while the sunlight warmed her face. For a few blissful, stolen moments, she hadn't been a poor vicar's daughter, but a water fairy—magical, powerful, and free.

There was no denying it; his wicked words thrilled her. Like a feather slowly brushing over her bare skin, they teased and tantalized, awakening every inch of her body. She was all too aware of his gaze now, lingering on her mouth, neck, and breasts. Her heart beat faster; her nipples tightened, tingled, and strained against the confines of her stays. A sweet and seductive pulsing between her thighs made her squirm in her chair. It was all too difficult to fathom.

He had watched her and found her beautiful.

Even more unbelievable, his heavy-lidded gaze suggested that he still did.

But she could not allow herself to be taken in by his charms or overwhelmed by her own undeniable physical reaction. He was her employer—at least for now—and nothing more.

“That is quite a story,” she managed.

“I told you it would be worth the wait.” His wicked grin told her he knew the effect his words had on her. He paused a beat, and his expression turned serious. “Do you believe me?”

God help her, she did. Oh, she knew rakes like him were quite capable of spouting pretty lies in order to bend women to their will, but she'd caught him off guard. In the centerpiece's flickering candlelight, she'd seen a glimpse of the boy he'd been. She was sure that he'd revealed more than he intended.

And that it was the truth.

“I believe you.”

She could almost see the air rush out of his lungs.

“Then I am forgiven?” he asked hopefully.

“Are you apologizing, my lord?” She raised an eyebrow expectantly. Heady feelings aside, she could not make this too easy for him.

“That's a difficult question.”

She snorted. “I don't think it's difficult at all.”

“I would not apologize for being momentarily dumbstruck by the sheer beauty of a rainbow, nor for appreciating the awesome power of a storm.”

Oh, he was good. Still.

She leveled her gaze at him. “Rainbows and storms aren't capable of feeling abject humiliation. They don't experience the helplessness that comes from having one's privacy violated. And most important of all, rainbows and storms can't…” She closed her eyes momentarily and breathed through her nose.

“Yes?” Lord Castleton leaned toward her.

“… they can't be
naked
.” Blast it all, now
she
was discussing nakedness at the dining table.

“Your point is well taken.” He removed the napkin from his lap, placed it next to his plate, and pushed his chair back slightly. To make room for those long, muscular legs, she supposed. But then he reached across the corner of the table and took her hand, enveloping it in his own and sending a frisson of excitement through her limbs. She reminded herself to breathe.

“I do owe you an apology, Miss Lacey. I hope that you will forgive me for forgetting my manners and losing my head at the sight of you swimming in the lake. I'm sorry for the embarrassment and hurt I caused you. I'm sorry that I spoiled whatever friendship we might once have had.” His thumb brushed lightly over the back of her hand, as he spoke, distracting her from his words.

But somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew they were the
right
words.

“I forgive you,” she said.

He sighed with the sort of relief one reserved for passing a particularly difficult exam or for narrowly escaping a precarious fall. “Thank you, Meg.”

Not Miss Lacey, or even Margaret, but
Meg
. Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged. Only a handful of people in the entire world called her Meg. They were the ones who knew about her fear of spiders and her weakness for chocolate—the ones she stayed up with, talking, crying, and laughing until the wee hours of the morning. Her inner circle.

“May I call you Meg?” He asked as though he already knew her answer would be yes. As though he were the Prince of Rakes, used to having his wishes granted in these sorts of matters.

“I don't think—”

“I'll still address you as Miss Lacey in front of the twins,” he assured her, as if he'd deftly eliminated her only possible objection.

“I don't anticipate us spending a significant amount of time together when the girls are not present.” Still very aware of the pressure of his hand on hers, she could not imagine why she didn't pull away. Clearly, any contact with him impaired her ability to think properly about what was, well, proper. Blast.

“Perhaps then,” he said smoothly, “you can humor me. Permit me to call you Meg whenever we're alone, unlikely as those circumstances may be.” He made a great show of looking around the spacious dining room populated by only the two of them, then shot her his signature smug grin. “In turn, you may call me Will. Whenever you like.”

“Will,” she repeated, more for her own ears than his. The name sounded innocuous enough, and they
had
been neighbors once.

What was the harm in allowing it? In eliminating surnames and titles they would simply be peeling away an unnecessary and often stiff layer of formality. It was akin to her dressing without a corset.

Far from prudent, but no one else would know. And after the earl had apologized, the least she could do was make a token gesture in return.

“Very well,” she said evenly. “You may call me Meg when we are in private.” Then, because she didn't want him to think she was in favor of throwing
all
the rules of propriety to the wind, she quickly added, “But now I must take my leave and prepare the girls' lessons for tomorrow. We have a busy day.”

She pulled her hand away and stood, ignoring the way her fingers still tingled from his touch.

He frowned as he rose. “Will you be working in the library?”

“No,” she said breezily. She did not want to risk having him join her there. She'd peeled away quite enough layers for one evening. “I believe I shall retire to my room.”

“Very well. I'll escort you there.”

 

Chapter
NINE