The Earl's Enticement (Castle Bride Series) (18 page)

As he drew close, the guests not yet in a vehicle scurried to find their places. He approached Helene’s barouche. She scooted over, brushing her skirts aside to make room for him. Leaning forward, providing him and any other male within viewing distance a clear view of her ample cleavage, she curled her mouth into a seductive smile.

“My lord, allow me to introduce my cousin, Count Otto von Schnitzer and his son, Freidrick. Otto darling, this is the neighbor I’ve told you
so
much about. Roark, the Earl. . .”

Yelping, the puppy escaped the younger man’s arms and jumped to the floor. Cowering in the corner, head lowered, its entire body quaked in terror.

Roark considered Freidrick. From the corny-faced rash covering the lad’s face, he guessed the whelp to be about eight and ten. The boy’s expression was one of bored arrogance. He regarded Roark with the haughtiness of one who is overly indulged and fully aware of his elevated station.

Helene glared at her cousin. “I told you not to bring that beast along.”

Distaste written on her face, she edged the terrified dog away from her with her toe. Freidrick grabbed the pup by the nape of her neck, causing another yap of pain.

“
Stillsitze
,” he growled harshly.

He forced the puppy to sit on his lap, his hands clamped around her small brownish-red form. She whimpered, regarding Roark with soulful brown eyes.

His gut knotted, and he fisted his hands. One more cry from that pathetic animal, and—

As if he read Roark’s thoughts, Freidrick made a pretense of gently petting the dog, a cocky smile skewing his petulant mouth. Insolent cur.

The count had yet to say a word in reprimand to his son. He stared over Roark’s shoulder, a salacious smile curving his thin lips. His bulbous eyes glowed with lust. Roark followed von Schnitzer’s gaze.

Adaira sat demurely in the landau. Her gaze roamed the wagons, locking onto Roark’s for a lengthy moment before widening in fright when she met the count’s eyes. She dropped her attention to her lap. Roark didn’t miss the flush staining her cheeks, or her hand clenching around the parasol’s handle.

Odd, she appeared truly disconcerted.

Westbrook passed near the landau. She spoke to him. He paused, spearing Roark an almost indiscernible look, before answering. Even from where he stood, Roark saw her stiffen and strain settle on her face. She jutted her adorable chin upward, and sparks flew from her expressive eyes.

No doubt about it. She’d learned who she’d be sharing the landau with. Blast Westbrook’s efficiency.

Helene stared at the butler making his way to her carriage. “I cannot imagine why you surround yourself with all these . . . these decrepit souls, my lord.”

Her strident voice demanded Roark’s attention.

He glanced at her. She shifted her position, and her breasts heaved upward with the movement. Was it because he’d become accustomed to Adaira’s slenderness or was Helene even more rounded? She stared at Westbrook, the merest hint of distaste etched on her beautiful face.

Count von Schnizter yawned, making no effort to cover his mouth, before muttering, “I’d prefer to not expose my son to
das
undesirable riffraff.”

He ran his forefinger along his thin mustache.

Or himself, Roark wagered, irked at the count’s arrogance.

Roark had hand-selected every member of his staff. After his sire’s death, he’d dismissed the entire household without references. Not once had any of them made a single effort to aid him or his mother. They’d been more concerned with their monthly wages, turning a deaf ear and blind eye to the abuse doled out by their employer.

Instead, Roark offered positions to those no one else would consider for employment. His compassion resulted in a fiercely loyal, as well as competent, household.

Helene wiggled her gloved fingers imperiously at the butler and footmen. “Surely there are places for their kind,” she whispered.

She’d never voiced this attitude before. Roark considered her for a moment. A poised, attractive woman, with no hint of malice in her lovely eyes looked back at him. Had lust blinded him to her true nature? Was she trying to impress the count by ridiculing others? That spoke volumes about both of them.

Roark adjusted his hat, and tugged his gloves on more firmly, lest he say what burned on his tongue. Resting a hand on the barouche’s side, he smiled at her.

“You are absolutely correct, Mrs. Winthrop.”

She tilted her head and puffed out her chest, basking in her perception of his approval. Meeting her cousin’s eyes, she smiled confidently.

“Their place is with me,” Roark said.

She deflated like a windless sail.

Westbrook reached them, and his impassive gaze skimmed the occupants of the carriage. “Please pardon the wagons’ delay, my lord. The eating utensils were overlooked.”

“Ah, Westbrook, what would I do without you? I’ll be to my conveyance in a moment. Please inform Miss Ferguson.”

“Directly, my lord.” With a regal nod, Westbrook moved away.

“What? You’re not joining us, my lord?” Helene sputtered. She cast a desperate glance at Count von Schnitzer and offered a grimace for a smile. “But I assured Otto, as the highest ranking peer in attendance, he’d have your undivided attention.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Roark’s focus moved to include the count, “but I’ll be escorting Miss Ferguson.”

Helene’s eyes narrowed, and she pursed her lips, casting Adaira a dismissive look. “Is she another soul you feel the need to rescue? You are far too kind, my lord. Did I detect a limp when she tripped on the stairs?”

She tossed a glance Adaira’s way. “I cannot quite tell what kind they are as she’s hiding behind her parasol, but I’m certain there are marks of some sort on her face. Pox perhaps?”

Roark choked on an oath. Was Helene serious?

She reclined against the velvet squabs in triumph, satisfaction curving her lovely mouth. “That’s it isn’t it? You pity the girl. Come now, it’s admirable to be sure, but you alone cannot save all the wretches of the world.”

Roark eyed her. She’d kept this side of her nature well-hidden. Until now.

She smiled an invitation, desire sparkling in her sky blue eyes. “Though, I do find a compassionate man
very
attractive.”

It would seem Helene wasn’t as sweet-tempered and amiable as she’d affected for all these months. Just as well he’d already decided to terminate their association before this weekend ended.

“On the contrary, there’s absolutely
nothing
amiss with Miss Ferguson,” Roark said.

He spun on his heels and, with a fast-paced stride, marched toward the waiting landau. He’d permit no one to scorn his staff. They’d suffered enough already.

Guinevere bumped about his ankles, almost upending him more than once as he made his way to his carriage. She anxiously wagged her feathery tail, her bottom wiggling in anticipation. “Yes, you can come too.”

He scratched behind her ears. “Miss Ferguson won’t dare ring a peal over me with you chaperoning.”

Stepping into the landau, he met Adaira’s accusing gaze. She lifted her nose, and with the air of a duchess, turned her head the other way, giving him the cut indirect.

CHAPTER 18

Adaira itched to smack Lord Clarendon.

He’d manipulated the traveling arrangements to force his unwelcome presence on her. The landau bounced, and his thigh brushed hers. He shouldn’t be sitting beside her at all, let alone this near. A large, hairy dog snoozed on the opposite seat. The animal was his lordship’s excuse for taking the seat beside her.

And
he
was the one concerned about appearances. She barely suppressed a snort. Of course, as they were in full view of all, nothing untoward could be suggested.

Another dip in the road shifted the carriage once more. His hip and leg brushed hers—
again
. Was he doing that on purpose? She sliced him a peek through her eyelashes.

An unrepentant grin framed his handsome mouth.

He was, the lout.

Nevertheless, her stomach fluttered. Why did he have to be so very dashing and so blasted good looking? It would be much easier to dislike him if he were ugly as the devil.

Shifting away from his distractingly hard leg, she breathed out a long, slow sigh. Her vexation wasn’t aiding her cause, and apparently served to amuse him. She’d prove to the boor she could act the part of a lady, if required. She’d do it if it killed her. He’d not find her wanting.

She inched her gaze upward. His leather-clad hands rested on his thighs. Buff pantaloons stretched across ridiculously muscled thighs and his—

She jumped her gaze past
that
part of his anatomy.

A black jacket, so form fitting she’d no idea how he managed to move about in it, was spread taut across his equally impressive shoulders. A topaz pin glinted in his perfectly tied neckcloth.

Her gaze riveted on his neck, she asked, “What are you about?”

A low timbre rumble began in his chest. His laughter caused the cravat to shift up and down. Funny, she’d never noticed it doing that before. But then, she’d never been as aware of a man before either. Fiend seize it, he muddled her.

“Do you expect my neckcloth or the pin to answer you?” He chuckled again.

Adaira compressed her mouth to prevent the smile teasing her lips from emerging. She met his amused gaze. “I presume you have a purpose for our traveling arrangement?”

He lifted her gloved hand, running his thumb to-and-fro across the top of the fabric. Sparks, darts, tingles—drat she didn’t know what they were—streaked up her arm and other places.

Staring at him, she yanked her hand away. She rubbed it on her skirt trying to get the sensation to stop. There was strength of character in those insufferably blue eyes, and something she’d never expected to see directed at her.

Attraction.

It rattled her. She drew in a deep, calming breath. Good God, how could he be attracted to her?

Don’t react. It will give him more fuel.

Angling her head, with a great deal more composure than she felt, she met his penetrating gaze and waited for him to answer her question.

He flicked a silk flower on her hat. “You look lovely today.”

“Thank you.” She said no more, just waited. He was stalling.

He gestured in the dog’s direction. “Guinevere. She’s blind in one eye.”

“Indeed.”

Adaira
would
wait him out. Curling her toes in her shoes kept her from tapping them in impatience. Or kicking him.

“I also have a blind mule and a deaf sheep,” his lordship announced proudly.

Adaira clenched her hands, bit the inside of her cheek, and made a strangled choking in the back of her throat trying to suppress her laugh. It gushed forth in loud peals. She slapped her hand over her mouth, but couldn’t control her hysterical giggling.

“A deaf sheep? Are all of your animals needy in some way?” She sat up straighter and gripped his forearm. “Do you have an owl in the library?”

The earl drew himself up, and pretended to look down his nose at her. “And what, pray tell, is wrong with having an owl in one’s library? Are they not wise?”

Adaira shook her head, and between bouts of giggles, said, “You are hopelessly absurd.”

She sat back, folding her arms across her chest, while trying to balance her parasol. “My, my. It seems you are a fraud, my lord. Why, no self-respecting member of the peerage keeps an owl in his library.”

“He does if he raised her from a fledgling. I found her beneath a tree. She must have fallen out. She has deformed feet. Sophie would never have survived in the wild. I couldn’t let her die,” he said softly, his voice low.

Adaira watched him from the corner of her eye. What kind of man surrounded himself with servants and animals others would cast aside? It revealed far more about his character than his rigid adherence to society’s rules.

Why, he violated what most members of the
ton
would do every day. The man was a sham. Or else, much more complex than she’d imagined. For some odd, inexplicable reason, the idea was comforting.

She scrutinized the dog. Guinevere lay on her back in a most indecorous manner. She groaned, and a peculiar squeaky whoosh emanated from her followed by an unholy smell.

Roark’s startled gaze collided with Adaira’s. A flush stole up his face. “Holy mother of God! What did she eat?”

Adaira was too busy laughing and gasping into her handkerchief to answer him. The driver’s shoulders were shaking so hard, she feared he’d wreck the conveyance.

“Well, that certainly is not the impression I wanted to make. I cannot very well expect decorum for others when that beast,” Roark flicked his hand at the dog, “is causing me to color.”

Guinevere opened her good eye, thumped her tail once, and went back to sleep.

Adaira smiled. “She’s charming. What happened to her eye?”

“I don’t know. I found her beside the road abandoned and starving when I was on my way to London a few years ago.” He shrugged. “I inherited my love of dogs from my Aunt Beatry, my father’s elderly aunt,” he added by way of an explanation.

“She lived at Cadbury, but died when I was very young. I’ve left her chamber untouched. Somehow, it seemed wrong to toss the things she was so fond of, even if they are hideous.”

The earl almost looked vulnerable before an aloof mask slid into place. “We’re nearly to the lake. There’s the matter about which I wanted to speak to you.”

Adaira sighed, pretending to inspect the piping at her wrist. “The horses, I know.”

“You’ll be compensated, of course.”

The arrogance was back in place.

“My lord, I’m creating a breed. There’s nothing comparable in all of Scotland or England.”

“I’m truly impressed. They’re brilliant.”

She flicked a glance at him, then focused on the glittering indigo a short distance off.

“Women are allowed very little control over their lives, as you well know. I’m aware you think me completely uncouth, but everything you object to about me truly is about control. What I wear or say. What activities I should participate in. Whom I should or shouldn’t associate with.”

She spared a glance in his direction. His face was impassive, although he appeared to be listening intently.

Shifting the parasol, she said, “I’ve acquiesced to your demands, and to have the one thing, the most important thing in my life simply appropriated from me—”

And even more galling, she’d essentially given his lordship that right when she imprisoned him. With the threat of Newgate, or worse, dangling over her head, he knew it too. Still, she pressed her case.

Adaira shook her head. “I won’t tell you commandeering Fionn is acceptable. It’s not. I’m quite certain you have some fine horseflesh. That’s not enough with the line I’m developing. It should have been my decision to make, and you, Father, and Ewan stripped me of that choice.”

Unbidden memory bubbled to the surface. Just as she’d been stripped of her innocence four years ago, even if she couldn’t remember precisely what had happened because she’d fainted.

Fuming inside, she silently rebelled. Her restraint amazed her. Yet, her resolve to act the part of a refined woman of breeding, to prove to the earl she could, helped her keep a tight rein on her tongue and temper. Besides, there’d been no discussion of consequences if she failed to do as he bid and behave with deportment.

What would he do if she botched things?

She waited for him to say something. Silence hung heavy and awkward between them. She turned against the seat to face him more fully. His brows furrowed, his gorgeous lips compressed, he stared at his hands, lost in thought.

At long last, he lifted his gaze to hers. “You’re right.”

Her eyes snapped to his, and she almost dropped the parasol. “I am?”

“Yes. You are, about the horse breeding, that is. I’ve been unfair and exploited the situation to my own advantage. That was wrong.”

His lordship’s mouth slid into a half-smile.

Egads, she did so like it when he smiled.

So did her body. All sorts of unfamiliar sensations centered in her womanly place.

Jaw slack, Adaira gawked at him. Did he truly apologize and admit to being unfair? Did he say he was wrong? She pinched her hand. This was no dream. Who was this kind, considerate man? Where had the trow got to?

His gaze hovered on her breasts before lifting to her face. She tried to keep her features serene. Her nipples, wretched things, were pebble hard against her gown.

He chuckled. “Do you know how expressive your eyes and face are? I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

Adaira averted her gaze in embarrassment. “You know no such thing.”

Dear God, he couldn’t know the tips of her breasts were hard enough to crack an egg with. And between her legs. . .?

Well, all manner of odd things were happening in that vicinity. One strong bump of the carriage and she’d skid right onto the floor, so damp was the region. It was mortifying.

With his forefinger, he touched her jaw and gently turned her face back to his. “I do. You are astounded I apologized and admitted I was unjust. You also cannot believe I admitted I acted selfishly.”

She lowered her lashes, finding it unnerving to stare in his perceptive eyes. He was too insightful by far. Did he know what her body was doing as well? A fresh wave of heat coursed through her.

She’d bet Fionn he did.

Lord Clarendon’s thumb brushed her jaw. “Do I have the gist of it?”

“Yes,” she admitted reluctantly.

He had her all muddled, reading her mind, and her body, like a book. Yet, she couldn’t find any way inside his stoic facade. It was most perilous to be so vulnerable to one’s enemy.

Especially one so attractive.

She drew in a steadying breath, determined to stop her fanciful musings and her suddenly skipping heart. “Well then, what are we to do about it?”

Oh, for the love of God. Must she sound like a breathless ninny?

His lordship’s eyes glittered with mirth, but he kept his features schooled. “I propose, since the stud is already at Cadbury, you inspect each of the mares I was considering breeding with him. You can say yay or nay as you see fit.”

Adaira eyed him doubtingly. “What about the three already pastured with him?”

The carriage slowed, and his lordship swung his head around to view the wagons that followed. Seemingly satisfied, he returned his attention to her. “None are in season. I was but getting them acquainted with Fionn.”

The landau rolled to a stop behind the other vehicles beneath a stand of monstrous Oaks. Guests immediately descended, their excited conversations disturbing the once peaceful grove.

Adaira didn’t believe him. Skeptical she challenged, “What if I decide they are all inferior?”

He shrugged. “So be it. I’ll be no worse off than I was before.”

“Oh.”

He’d conceded much too easily for her peace of mind. Bother, but the man blew hot and cold.

He chucked her lightly under her chin. “Now, put a smile on that beautiful face. . .”

Adaira gasped, her eyes narrowing to irate slits. A young man had tossed a small puppy onto the grass from his barouche’s open door. “I’ll box his ears!”