Only an Earl Will Do (8 page)

Dear God, how could she be in the situation she now found herself? Panic threatened to consume her, and she seized a glass of wine from a passing footman. Taking a few sips in quick succession did nothing to calm the nerves that rioted her body.

She refused all offers to dance, in no mood for conversation or idle talk of the latest scandal or new family in town. All she wished for was the comforting solace of her bedroom, to leave and never come back to this viperish world that would eat her and her son alive should they know the truth.

It was one of the reasons she loathed high society so much in her youth. The smearing and lies, all done so others could advance within their social sphere. The devious deals made when it came to marriage, fathers giving over daughters for a title, and daughters giving away love for money.

She bit her lip, furious at herself for becoming one of them. A member of the ton who had bowed down to society’s standards and married a man she did not love while she was carrying the child of another. She was going to hell. Of that she had no doubt.

Excusing herself, she walked out into the gardens, and then proceeded toward a hedge where a stone bench sat secluded in the foliage. Fragrances of trimmed lawns and flowers met her senses. A slight wind moved the leaves, swaying the branches to-and-fro and making her gown cling to her legs.

Spying the bench illuminated in the moonlight, she made her way over to it and sat, sighing her relief that she was finally free from the claustrophobic ballroom. She raised her face to the sky and took a much-needed, calming breath.

“Elizabeth?”

She jumped up and only managed to stifle a yelp. Henry stood in the shadow of an old oak, the outline of his body as familiar to her as her own, not to mention his voice that she was wont to forget. “How did you come to be here? Were you following me?” she asked.

He stepped out of the shadows and walked toward her. His dark hair and eyes gave him an air of danger while possessing none. He was not a man Elizabeth could ever fear. Not in that way, at least.

“I saw ye distress when speaking to Lord Riddledale and followed you when ye snuck away. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Elizabeth sat back down. “You didn’t frighten me.”

“What is wrong then, lass?” Henry joined her at the bench and moved to take her hand, but then seemed to think better of it and folded them in his lap. He sighed, the sound tinged with sadness, and something inside her eased. Right at this moment she wouldn’t mind a friend, someone to tell her it was all right, that what she’d done, she’d done out of fear and love.

He took in the gardens, his presence reminding her of their past. Of how they could sit for hours in silence, saying nothing at all, and neither one feel the need to fill the quiet with meaningless chatter.

“It was nothing, truly. Do not concern yourself with me.”

“I will always be concerned when it comes to ye.” He turned toward her, the moonlight casting half his face in shadow, but not enough that Elizabeth couldn’t see the sincerity in his gaze.

A flutter took flight in her stomach. Looking at him now made her yearn for the past to be so very different. Of them, together, married…happy. “You should leave before you’re seen with me.” She didn’t want him here, this close, consuming her every thought when she had so many others bombarding her mind. Just his company made it hard for her to think straight. His mere presence was intoxicating.

He lifted her chin and pulled her around to meet his gaze. A quiver of awareness shivered down her body and pooled in her core. This was wrong, and yet, never had she felt so right as she did this very moment with Henry.

His gaze searched hers before he said, “Why do ye continue to push me away? Can ye not find it in your heart to forgive our past mistakes, as I have forgiven you for marrying Newland? Believe me when I say I truly thought leaving for America was the right path for us. I had a title, yes, but nothing else. I wanted more for you, Elizabeth.”

“I’ve hated you for so long, Henry. I’m not sure if I can forgive you.”

Henry seized her face, his eyes beseeching her to alter her thoughts. “Damn it, lass. Say ye forgive me so we might be friends at least. I’ll not push you for more, even though I want a lot more from ye than mere friendship, but it’s a start, and we must start somewhere.”

She frowned, torn as to how she should answer. To say they were to be friends felt like a betrayal to him. Even forgiving him for not coming back and marrying her, she’d still not told him the absolute truth. Her brother’s words floated through her mind that she ought to tell him of Samuel. No, no, she could not do that. Not unless it was absolutely necessary and, at this point, it was not.

“You wish to be friends?”

“I do.” He grinned, and her heart thumped hard in her chest.

She smiled a little. “I would like to be your friend, Henry.”

He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, meeting her gaze. Heat coursed between them, hot and wild, and the breath in her lungs expelled. For the life of her she couldn’t look away even though she knew she should. If they were to be friends, this fierce attraction that had always been between them needed to stop.

Elizabeth stood and started toward the house. “We should return.”

In two strides Henry was before her. His cologne wafted from his heated skin and she shut her eyes, hoping to control the reaction she had to him. It didn’t work, for his image was etched on her mind, forever engraved and never to be removed. Of a large, muscular Scot, long dark locks and fierce blue eyes that had melted her heart the moment she’d laid eyes on him. Of his wide shoulders and delectable legs that were very nice beneath a kilt.

“I never took you for someone who ran. Are ye afraid of me, lass?”

“More than you know…” The words left her lips, and the moment they did she wanted to rip them back. Worse was that Henry heard her utterance and reveled in them if the anticipation and determination in his gaze was anything to go by.

He stepped toward her, coming closer than he ought. A delicious shiver of expectation rippled through her. It had been so long since she’d kissed a man, and not just any man, but Henry.

She shouldn’t want to lose her head with him, but a wicked part of her longed for it. Months after he’d left, Elizabeth had longed to be held within his arms, to have him make everything perfect once more. But if they were to be friends from this night on, they would have to keep a platonic distance from each other. It could prove challenging if he looked at her as he now was, with dark hooded eyes that spoke of sin and pleasure.

Even with so little effort he pulled at her heartstrings.

“Elizabeth, lass…” His gaze beseeched her, making her resolve falter. “I missed ye so much. So very much.”

The sound of crunching gravel and laughter on the terrace pulled her from the fog of desire, and she stepped back, giving them both much needed space. “Friends, Henry, and nothing more.”

…

Henry took a calming breath and righted his cravat—anything but to reach for her. “Then friends we shall be.” How could anyone refuse such a bonny lass as Elizabeth?

She smiled, and Henry wanted nothing but to yank the minx into his arms and kiss her senseless no matter what they’d agreed—or better yet, into sense where she would agree to marry him and move to Scotland.

“I hope from this night we can move forward and carry on without any emotions involved.”

Not bloody likely.
He raised his brow but didn’t reply, merely held out his arm to her. “Shall we return?”

“Yes.” Her hand shook a little when she clasped his arm and he smiled, knowing that she wasn’t as unaffected as she portrayed. Friends they now may be, but not for long.

Not if Henry had anything to do with it.

He would win his bonny lass back yet.

Chapter Six

The following morning, Elizabeth sat in the library of their townhouse, her mind going over what Lord Riddledale had said the night before, not to mention her almost kiss with Henry…

She sighed, remembering his mouth, hungry against hers, that even now made her stomach clench in desire. An emotion she’d not felt since the day he’d left England. And damn Lord Riddledale for impinging on her life. How dare the brute threaten to disclose her disgrace with Henry by the lake in order to make her marry him. He was the very devil. She rubbed her brow, knowing she would have to tell Josh of her latest dealings with the ass.

Speaking of the gentleman himself, he walked into the breakfast room and went straight to the eggs and ham, piling his plate with kippers and anything else he could see.

“Hungry this morning?” she asked, taking a sip of tea.

He nodded, mumbling a reply as he ate a piece of bacon. “I am,” he said at last, grinning. “The season this year is taxing on one’s health. I need sustenance.”

Elizabeth eyed his mountainous piled plate. “Late in last night, were you?”

He grinned, throwing another large serving of eggs into his mouth. “Maybe.”

“Well, since you’re in a good mood I need to tell you something.”

Her brother eyed her, and his chewing slowed. “Why do I get the feeling my jovial mood is going to be severely diminished by the time we’re finished speaking.”

“Probably because it is.” She pushed her plate away, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “Lord Riddledale has proposed once more, but this time he’s threatened me.”

Her brother’s fork cluttered to the table. “What?”

For a man who’d probably spent a good deal of the night carousing London’s East End, he’d sobered quickly at her words.

Elizabeth nodded. “Oh yes, he offered with the added threat of ruining me.”

“The bastard did not.” Josh threw his napkin on the table, his mouth set in a severe line she only ever saw when he was livid, which wasn’t very often. “What were his exact words?”

“Well,” she said, meeting his gaze. “He stated that he had seen Henry and me the day we were beside the lake.” Elizabeth let her words trail off, knowing how much the memory of that day was something that sparked her brother’s ire as quick as a clap. “Lord Riddledale threatened to go public with that slanderous titbit unless I became his wife.”

“I’ll kill him.” Josh ran a hand through his hair, making his combed, perfectly set hair stand on end. “How dare he.”

She shrugged. “He’s desperate to make me marry him, I suppose, for whatever reason, and one I cannot fathom. I’ve never given him any inclination as to feelings that went any deeper than friendship. And I certainly do not like him even as that any longer.”

“Did he mention Samuel?”

Elizabeth’s eyes flew wide and she met her brother’s hard gaze. “No. Why would he?” she paused, thinking over the situation. “You think he suspects Samuel is not Newland’s son?”

Josh frowned. “It’s a possibility we should expect. If the blaggard has no qualm bringing up your ruin in an attempt to make you marry him, I’m sure he’d have no uneasiness at bringing up your son, or even suggesting that Samuel was sired by another to seal the deal.”

Elizabeth stood, pacing beside the dining room table. The thought that Riddledale knew of Samuel’s correct father was not something she’d even thought to consider. The repercussions of such a truth coming out would ruin her whole family. And should Riddledale know of such a thing, she would indeed have to marry him. A shudder of revulsion slid down her spine, and she clasped the table for support. “Oh dear God. What if he knows and just hasn’t played his final card in this game?”

Josh stood and came over to her, turning her so he could see her face. “We will deal with such problems if they do in fact arise. And you are not to draw attention to yourself by worrying about things that may not happen. We know Riddledale is watching you, wanting you, so do not give him any reason to suspect you of anything more than he has already accused you of.”

She nodded, taking a calming breath. “Very well. I’ll continue on as before and hope he only knows of what Henry and I did that day and nothing else.”

“I’m sure should he have known anything more he would’ve mentioned it, Elizabeth. Now come,” he said, helping her to sit again. “Finish your breakfast, and tell me what your plans are for the day and this evening.”

Elizabeth sat spooning porridge into her mouth and not tasting a morsel of it. She listened as her brother prattled on about his plans and she nodded and agreed when required, but her attention was not on the conversation at hand.

Her mind whirred with the thought that Riddledale could go public with her ruin should she refuse him. That if he did know of Samuel’s heritage, and she continued to deny his suit, there was a possibility that Henry could find out about his child and not from her.

The thought of telling Henry of her predicament flittered through her mind, but no sooner had she thought it than she squashed it like a bug. He would hate her, loathe her for her handling of the situation, even if others had played them and the situation occurred because of someone’s spite.

Her eyes smarted, and she sniffed. She’d made such a mess of things. Whatever was she going to do? Right at this moment the only sane course seemed to flee the country and move to Europe. They had family in Rome. It could work…

Elizabeth took a sip of tea, wishing it was laced with brandy. A lot of it.

…

Later that night, dressed in a deep emerald gown, Elizabeth passed her evening cloak to a waiting maid and followed her family into Lord McCalter’s receiving room for a dinner party followed by music and card games.

Alice took her arm, and her sister chatted about her latest run-in with Lord Arndel and how she’d made him dance, something the gentleman apparently loathed to do. Elizabeth’s reply halted on her lips when her attention snapped to Henry. He nodded slightly in welcome, and she knew he was thinking of their time together in the gardens the other night. Her own thoughts had gone straight to that location when spying him, the idea of being near him again, talking as they once had forefront in her mind.

She licked her parched lips, taking a glass of champagne her sister handed to her before they made their way across the room to stand with a group of other ladies with whom they were acquainted.

Lord Dean greeted them and declared he was to take her into dinner. Elizabeth listened with half interest as he spoke of the weather and the latest town gossip of a young debutante who’d run away to Gretna Green. Much to her annoyance, her attention kept snapping back to the other gentleman present, whose gaze burned her soul each time she was engaged elsewhere. This would never do if their relationship were to remain platonic.

She was being absurd. A sigh escaped. She was such a fool, and it helped no one to lie to oneself.

Elizabeth downed her glass of champagne faster than she ought and turned her attention to Lord Dean, focusing on his moving mouth and the words coming out of it. Surely if she watched him speak she’d know what he said.

It didn’t seem to be the case.

Much to her dismay, Lord Riddledale chose that exact time to stride into the room, his sister, Lady Emily, on his arm. Elizabeth held back an unladylike curse, knowing she wouldn’t be able to ignore him with his sibling in tow.

Conversation swam around her, and she took a moment to admire the latest fashions the women wore, their silk gowns and extravagant hair adornments glistening in the candlelight. Henry stood beside his American cousins, Miss Andrews’s pursuit of him continuing, it seemed, with the lady concerned hanging off his arm and word like a ninnyhammer.

Her eyes raked over Henry’s attire, his tight skin breeches, long black coat, and gold and silver threaded waistcoat that suited his dark features, making him look like a pirate ready to plunder or, more fitting, a Scottish highlander ready to raid English settlements.

Lord Dean held out his arm to walk her into dinner, and she placed her hand upon his sleeve. They walked into the dining room in silence, and she smiled at Miss Andrews when she noted she was to be her dinner companion, although it hurt her face to do so. Lord Dean held out her chair and then went to sit across from her, her brother Josh seated beside her.

Her brother conversed with the woman beside him, but the silence from Miss Andrews was deafening as the first course of soup and marrow pudding was placed before them. Elizabeth spooned a delicious mouthful of soup and listened with little interest while Miss Andrews complimented the chef and their host’s beautiful table arrangement to anyone who would listen.

Elizabeth took in the extravagant fruit platter running the length of the table and conceded it was beautiful, but not to the point where gushing admiration was required. A simple compliment after service would’ve sufficed.

“Lady Newland, I wonder if I may ask how you came to know Lord Muir? We haven’t had much chance to get to know each other, and I gather you knew him from his youth.”

Elizabeth patted her mouth with her napkin. “Lord Muir came to live with us a few years before leaving for America. He was under the guardianship of my father, the Duke of Penworth, after his own had sadly passed away.”

Miss Andrews puckered her mouth in thought, bringing to attention her overuse of rouge on her lips. “Henry is a true gentleman. I’m surprised he needed guidance from your father.”

Elizabeth coughed, choking a little on her soup. What was she implying? That her father, a duke no less, wasn’t fit to guide an earl?

Miss Andrews’s attention snapped to Henry sitting across from them. Unaware he was the current on-dit, Henry continued with his animated conversation with her sister Victoria. He threw back his head in laughter, a deep throaty sound that shot a pang of envy straight through Elizabeth’s heart. She looked away, not wanting to be reminded of all that she’d lost.

“Henry is an attractive man, is he not?” Miss Andrews smiled, her eyes dreamy, no doubt with imaginings of the two of them married.

Elizabeth shut her mouth with a snap. Henry? Miss Andrews was now calling him by his Christian name? “I have no opinion on the matter, Miss Andrews,” she replied.

Miss Andrews snorted. “I find that highly unlikely.”

“You don’t believe me?” Elizabeth leveled her gaze with the obnoxious woman whom she was starting to despise.

Miss Andrews chuckled. “Perhaps it is your breeding that blinds you to the harder sex and their looks, but believe me, Lady Newland, Henry is one of the handsomest men I’ve ever known. And never have I known a gentleman to toil as hard as he did when working for my father. His drive to succeed had him retire to bed early most nights. I do not know what his deep need for success was due to, but he never deviated from his goal. No matter how hard I tried to divert his lordship’s ways.” The woman giggled. Giggled! “And I did try very hard.”

Elizabeth ignored the woman’s telling words and remembered to breathe. She looked down to her plate as the aroma of lobster tail, the next course, met her senses. At least she knew one of the reasons why Henry had been determined to succeed. And it wasn’t due to the little minx sitting beside her.

“Is society here in London much different from what you are used to?” Elizabeth asked, hoping Miss Andrews would expand on her association with Henry. The thought of them socializing together, having intimate conversations, made anger simmer beneath her skin.

“Only in the sense there are not as many titled families in New York as there are here. We do not need such trivial matters to show off our wealth.”

Elizabeth took another sip of wine, unable to ignore the insult. “Well of course you don’t, you simply speak of it aloud.” Miss Andrew’s eyes narrowed, and Elizabeth could feel the hate radiating from her.

“I formed a close association with Henry when we were home in New York. And between you and me, Lady Newland, I wait in hope that he’ll ask for my hand.”

Elizabeth nodded, the urge to scratch the woman’s eyes out almost impossible to deny. “You have reason to believe he has formed an attachment to you?” She cleared her throat, hating the fact her voice sounded distraught and that there was a lump in her throat the size of an orange. Henry had almost kissed her only a few nights ago—surely he would not act with such rashness without honorable intentions.

Miss Andrews’s smiled gleefully. “Of course! As a widow I don’t think I’ll shock your sensitivities by telling you Lord Muir kisses very well,” she whispered. “I must declare that his bottom lip, just the slightest bit plumper than the top, is delightful to nibble on. If I was not so in love with him, I’d most assuredly be in lust.”

Elizabeth adjusted her seat and fought not to bring up all that she’d eaten.

Henry had kissed Miss Andrews? Had kissed another woman? Pain mixed with anger sliced through her, and she ground her teeth. “I’m sure his lordship’s declaration of love and an offer of marriage is not far away, Miss Andrews.” Elizabeth spooned the moist white lobster meat into her mouth; the seafood tasted like the dirt between cobbled streets.

“Perhaps,” Miss Andrews replied with a devilish glint to her eyes. “Maybe it will even be tonight.”

Elizabeth couldn’t reply even if she wanted to. She’d heard enough of the woman’s relations with Henry to last a lifetime. The lobster was taken away and was replaced with an assortment of game birds garnished with vegetables.

The picture of Henry taking Miss Andrews in his arms in a passionate embrace flittered through her mind, and her eyes smarted. She focused on her food and nothing else, less others notice her upset. She was being absurd, a silly woman, looking further into stolen moments with a man who, if Miss Andrews was correct, handed them out often and without care.

Elizabeth fleetingly gazed at Miss Andrews and didn’t miss the triumph written plainly across her features. She took a good sip of wine. What Henry did with Miss Andrews, or had done, did not matter. They may have thought themselves in love years ago, but miscommunication and her marriage had put paid to that. Henry was free to see and like whomever he wanted.