The Earl I Adore (6 page)

“Speaking of solo,” Evan interjected quickly, wanting to spare the girl from having to either give in or further refuse, “it occurs to me, Miss Wembley, that I never completed the introduction with my sister yesterday. Julia has only just arrived, and is in need of a friend or two, I
should think.” Friends who were of the
female
persuasion.

Now that he said it, he realized it was true. Miss Wembley might even be a good influence on his sister. She at least would never pick up and travel halfway across the country on a whim. And who knew? Perhaps if Julia had a few female friends in town, she'd be less inclined to spend time with the young bucks dangling after her.

Warming to the idea, he smiled encouragingly. “When you are recovered, I'm certain Julia would be grateful were you to call on her.”

Mother and daughter exchanged a quick glance before turning to him in unison. Mrs. Wembley beamed at him, obviously delighted by his suggestion. “What a wonderful idea! Sophie has always been my little magpie. I'm certain she and your sister shall become fast friends.”

At that, he wondered whether she was already planning the wedding, or merely the betrothal announcement. And what was this magpie nonsense about? Miss Wembley was about as talkative as his horse. Thankfully, she didn't seem at all as ambitious as her mother. She did seem to appreciate his suggestion, however.

“Thank you, my lord. I'd be honored.” Dimples bracketed either side of her mouth as she offered him a small but sweet smile.

“Excellent. Shall I have a carriage sent 'round on Thursday or Friday, perhaps?”

“No!” Mrs. Wembley flushed and cleared her throat. “That is, I'm sure she'll be on her feet before the day is out. How about tomorrow afternoon?”

Evan had to work not to show his irritation. While he was more than happy to have Miss Wembley visit tomorrow, her mother's anxiousness to push them back into
each other's company made him want to rescind the offer altogether. The only thing that kept him from doing so was the look of mortification on Miss Wembley's face.

It was a look he knew and understood well. He, more than anyone, knew that one could not be held accountable for a parent's sins.
Shouldn't be,
he silently amended, knowing full well how often people were.

“Very well,” he said, dipping his head in consent. “If you are feeling suitably improved by tomorrow, send a missive and I'll dispatch my carriage to collect you.”

He stood and straightened his jacket, more than ready to conclude the visit. “I must be on my way. Thank you for the refreshments.”

“Oh, but you haven't finished your tea, my lord.” Mrs. Wembley gestured to the mostly full cup on the sofa table and fluttered her eyelashes hopefully. Evan gritted his teeth. If she thought to keep him there, she could think again. His patience at an end, he grabbed the cup, lifted it to his lips, and downed the entire contents in three long swallows. The tea had cooled in the past few minutes, but was still hot enough to burn a path down his throat. The flavor of the vile stuff was enough to make him grimace, but he stoically refused to show it. Returning the empty cup to its saucer, he nodded briskly to his gaping hostess. “Good day, Mrs. Wembley, Miss Wembley. I can show myself out.”

With that, he turned and escaped from the room, breathing a sigh of relief when he made it to the street. He liked Miss Wembley well enough, but her mother was another story altogether. He'd have to be careful not to allow the woman to get her hopes up for something that would never happen. He'd be damned if he would ever find himself in the parson's noose.

T
he earl's townhouse looked every bit as opulent as his carriage—and that was truly saying something. As they glided to a stop, Sophie gazed out the open window to the towering building rising from the hillside.

The stone was the same as the façade on her own rented townhouse, but the likeness stopped there. Here, the buttery yellow stone was carved into pillars and scrolls and all sorts of beautiful design elements. The windows were both wide and tall, undoubtedly reaching from floor to ceiling. Black wrought iron railings covered the lower half of the uppermost windows, in addition to lining the walkway to the front door.

She knew he didn't own the house, which begged the question, who exactly could afford to rent such a place? She stifled a nervous giggle. The answer, of course, was an earl.

The coach shook as the driver dismounted and came to open the door. Sophie drew a deep breath and smoothed an anxious hand down her skirts. Lord Evansleigh was giving her exactly the chance she needed, even after Mama had acted so appallingly obvious yesterday, and Sophie intended to make the most of it. Smooth curls, carefully
chosen jewelry, her best afternoon gown—she was leaving nothing to chance.

Well, nothing except the very real possibility of not being able to get a proper sentence out in his company. She'd been able to relax a little yesterday, which actually allowed her to sound like a normal person in the earl's presence, but that was in her own drawing room, without the man's sister hearing their every word.

Lynette, who had sat quietly across from her for the whole of the ride, offered an encouraging smile. Sophie smiled back, grateful for the servant's small gesture of support. She could do this. Talking was what she did best, for heaven's sake. She just needed to get over the fact that the very sight of the earl set her stomach to knots.

Within minutes she was waiting in the beautifully appointed drawing room, trying for all she was worth to sit still. The soft greens and polished golds would have been calming were she anywhere else but the earl's private residence. Was it her imagination, or did the room smell like him? She breathed deeply, remembering the scent of him as he'd carried her through the Ballroom.

“Miss Wembley?”

Sophie glanced up as the woman from the ball who had been so familiar with Evan made her way to the seating area. She felt a little silly for her reaction that night now that she knew the woman was his sister. “Lady Julia, how do you do?” Sophie stood and offered an awkward little curtsy, favoring her right ankle.

Waving a dismissive hand, Lady Julia returned Sophie's smile with a somewhat brusque one of her own. “Do please sit down. I wouldn't want you overtaxing your ankle on my account.”

“It's much improved, I assure you,” Sophie replied, though she did accept the offer to sit. She waited as Lady
Julia settled onto the settee and smoothed out her skirts. Her gown, a lovely pin-striped white muslin day dress with perfectly puffed sleeves and braided satin piping, was easily worth more than Sophie's entire wardrobe combined. Her golden-brown hair, so much like her brother's in color and texture, was arranged in perfect little finger curls threaded with a ribbon that matched the piping of her dress.

Sophie sat up a little straighter, oddly self-conscious. She was quite used to socializing with those of superior wealth and status, but there was something about Lady Julia that was intimidating. Perhaps it was the fact that she was Evan's sister, but Sophie didn't think so. Was it fair to say she was standoffish when they hadn't even spent a minute in each other's company yet?

Stifling the urge to start talking—because heaven knew she wouldn't stop once she got going—she laced her fingers together and waited for her hostess to speak first.

Thankfully, Lady Julia didn't keep her waiting too long. “I must say, Miss Wembley,” she said, folding her hands primly in her lap and leveling her gaze squarely on Sophie, “this is something of a first. Evan doesn't usually invite people to call, and he certainly doesn't do so on my behalf. I wonder what has him doing so now.”

Good gracious, but that was blunt. Sophie blinked, at a loss as to how to answer such a question. “I'm sure I don't know,” she hedged, suddenly wishing she had turned down the earl's offer to come today. For some reason, she had imagined his sister to be much like him: kind, genial, quick to put one at ease. Stupid assumption, really; of her own sisters, Pippa was the only one who was even remotely similar to Sophie.

Lady Julia tilted her head, inspecting Sophie as though she were an animal in an exhibit. “The way I see it, there
are two possibilities. Either my brother has an interest in you personally, which I highly doubt, or he feels you would be some sort of appropriate chaperone for me, which is equally unlikely, given your age and unmarried status.”

Ah, so apparently they were moving from blunt to rude. Good to know. “I can't purport to understand his lordship's decision. He asked, and I accepted. Nothing nefarious or underhanded about it, at least not from what I could tell.” No wonder the earl thought his sister needed a friend. If this was her normal behavior, the woman probably didn't have any.

“I see,” she said, in the way one does when one doesn't really see at all. “Well, I can assure you that I have no need—” She abruptly stopped talking as Evan strode into the room.

Thank God.
Sophie didn't know how much more she could take of the interview. She never did waste her time with people who didn't wish for her company. Her mother did enough of that for the both of them.

Smiling toward her savior, Sophie watched as he made his way to the seating area. His long legs were encased in a pair of off-white breeches that contrasted with the navy blue of his jacket quite nicely. His cravat was simply tied and his hair was left unbound, skimming the tops of his shoulders. As always, the sight of him warmed her. “Ah, good, I see you've met.”

Sophie nearly snorted, despite the fluttering nerves that seemed to get worse with every step closer he took. They'd met all right, though she wouldn't necessarily call that a good thing.

“Yes. Miss Wembley and I were just having a little chin-wag.
Lovely
girl,” Julia said, not bothering to conceal her sarcasm.

Evan slowed in the process of taking his seat, looking to his sister with the sort of caution one shows a cat with its claws out. “I agree completely. What were you discussing?”

Even if Sophie had been her normal chatty self, she still wouldn't have touched that question. She watched Lady Julia with interest, curious to see what she would say.
Just pushing the limits of rudeness with Miss Wembley, dear brother. Would you pass the tea?

Lifting her chin, Julia easily met her brother's gaze. “We were discussing the possible reasons you might have invited Miss Wembley to visit. Because, frankly, I can't imagine why.”

At the very least, the woman was honest. In an odd way, Sophie could appreciate that in a person—even as, at that exact moment, she wanted to snap her fingers and magically disappear. Evan's jaw tightened to a hard line. Turning away from his sister, he peered at Sophie with those gorgeous, nearly hypnotic icy blue eyes. And icy was exactly the word for them at that moment.

“Please accept my most sincere apologies, Miss Wembley. You were invited because I consider you to be a friend.”

“Really?” Lady Julia said, her voice rife with disbelief. “You seemed to hardly know her when we spoke of her on the way home from the ball.”

“Julia,” Evan barked, making both Sophie and the churlish sister jump, “that is quite enough. Miss Wembley, would you please excuse us for a moment?”

Her heart still pounding from the shock of his raised voice, Sophie nodded. She started to stand, but he put a hand to her wrist, brushing the fine hairs with his bare fingertips. Sucking in a sharp breath, she froze. Evan was touching her. On purpose. Skin to skin.

“Please, stay.” His voice was much gentler this time, and against her will she met his gaze. “We'll be back in a moment.”

Without another word, he stood, tugged his sister to her feet, and stalked from the room with her in tow. Sophie sat there, gaping after them long after they had disappeared from sight. What in the world had just happened?

Blowing out a breath, she looked down at the place where their skin had met. Gooseflesh covered her forearm. She rubbed her hand over her arm and shivered. No matter what happened when they returned, the whole visit was worth it for the handful of seconds his fingers had warmed her wrist. Yes, it had felt amazing, but more than that, it reiterated what she already knew.

She really, really wanted the earl. She couldn't let Lady Julia, Marianne, or even her own mother ruin her chances. Straightening her shoulders, Sophie made herself a promise. When Evan and his sister returned, she would swallow her nerves and show them both the person she really was. Evan had called her a friend, which was a step in the right direction. With any luck, he'd be calling her countess before the month was out.

*   *   *

If sororicide had been legal, Julia would have been in serious trouble.

Evan stormed up the stairs, propelling his sister along by her elbow. She must have sensed his fury, because she wisely refrained from speaking as he looked for a room far enough away that he could be sure Miss Wembley wouldn't hear their argument.

Deciding on his own bedchamber, he yanked open the door, pulled his sister inside, and slammed the door
shut with enough force to rattle the walls. The heavy gray curtains were closed to keep the summer sun out, but there was enough light to easily make out the room's dark and imposing furniture.

Releasing his hold on her elbow, he wheeled around and glared at her, his nostrils flaring. “What in the name of God has gotten into you? How dare you insult that poor girl so disgracefully?”

She didn't have the decency—or the intelligence, if she knew what was good for her—to look contrite. She glared right back at him, her eyes as resentful as a reprimanded child's. “I don't need some sort of keeper, Evan.”

“After that little stunt of yours, I beg to differ,” he retorted. “Regardless, what the hell does that have to do with you behaving like an ill-bred harpy?” He was at a complete loss as to what was happening to his once kind sister. She had always been dry-witted and candid, but this was beyond the pale. Hurting an innocent person's feelings? It was as if he didn't know her at all.

Her hands went to her hips. “You said you trusted me, yet not even two days later, this ‘friend' whom you hardly know shows up at the door.” Her words were angry, her chest stained red above the white fabric of her gown.

He threw up his hands. “What are you talking about? She's younger than you are—how do you imagine she's here to be your keeper?”

His sister narrowed her eyes. “So you are saying you didn't intend for her to keep an eye on me?”

“What, am I running a bloody spy ring? She is a good person, very sweet and agreeable, and I thought she might be a good friend for you. Since when is it a capital offense to try to introduce you to prospective acquaintances?”

“Oh, so she's a friend for
me
, is she?” Julia gave a
disbelieving snort. “More likely you're the one interested in her. I'm beginning to wonder if you are as dedicated to our agreement as you purport to be.”

“I'm not interested in her!” he roared, his anger boiling over. Where the hell was all this coming from? He'd never given her reason to doubt him. He dragged a hand through his hair, gritting his teeth as he tried to rein in his temper. “I may have hoped she'd be a positive influence on you, but I honestly also thought she could make your time here more enjoyable. Forgive me for making such an egregious error in judgment.”

For the first time, she looked unsure. “You truly have no interest in her?”

“She's an acquaintance. Nothing more.”

The air whooshed from Julia's lungs. “Oh.
Oh
,”
she said again, the truth of his words sinking in. She slowly wilted onto the crimson cushion of the bench at the foot of the bed. “My apologies, then. I was wrong to jump to conclusions.”

“I'm not the one you need to apologize to,” he replied, not bothering to filter out his annoyance. Why, for the love of God, did he keep subjecting Miss Wembley to such indignities, however unintentionally? He had thought it was a
nice
thing to introduce the two of them.

Julia looked up, regret darkening her eyes. “Yes.” She drew a long breath before getting to her feet. “Will you come with me?”

“As if I'd leave her alone with you,” he grumbled, though his anger had dissipated to worry. Julia wasn't herself, and he felt further than ever from being able to discover why. He didn't want to keep Miss Wembley waiting, but he intended to get to the bottom of Julia's uncharacteristic reticence. “I wish you'd tell me what has you acting so oddly.”

She stood, her eyes unreadable in the dim light. “And I wish you would quit analyzing my every move. I'm away from home for the first time in my life, Evan. Of course I'm going to act a bit differently. Come now, we mustn't keep our guest waiting.”

He sighed and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Sooner or later, I will figure out what's bothering you.”

“So you keep saying. I'd assure you that there is nothing to uncover, but I imagine my breath would be better spent apologizing to Miss Wembley.” With a determined lift of her chin, she headed for the door.

Shaking his head, he followed after her. There'd be time to chew over the topic later.

They made their way back downstairs, both more subdued. He was not looking forward to the next few minutes. Dealing with offended women was never his strong suit—particularly when the offense was so well warranted. Affixing an apologetic smile on his stiff lips, he entered the drawing room.
What the devil?
He stopped and looked around, confusion creasing his brow.