The Earl's Passionate Plot (13 page)

He stared after her. She'd literally run from him, so eager to be away from his touch. He couldn't really blame her, either. He'd run from himself if he thought it would do any good.

He turned back to the window and grabbed up one of the decanters. Damn, what an idiot notion to dump it all out. He smashed the decanter against the far wall. The sound was only temporarily satisfying. Once all the little shards had settled, he was still alone with himself in the silence.

Alone. The way he'd been for so long and the way he had planned to remain. It was an unbearable thought now. Mariah Langley had shined some kind of light into his dark corners and he was not content to retreat to them again.

But what could he do? She'd rejected him and she'd left. Definitively.

Well, she'd left. She'd not truly rejected him, since all he'd really offered her were insults and ruin. It was unreasonable to expect anyone
not
to reject such things. He could never fault her for being unreasonable.

Damn it all, but he could not fault her for anything. She knew nothing of him but that he was
self-centered, rude, and a derelict. What on earth was there in that to recommend him? Nothing, save his ridiculous title.

But that did count for something, didn't it? True, he never expected to share it with anyone, but what if he did? No matter how worthless he was, that title meant something. His wife would enjoy the benefits of it; she'd be a countess, mother to noble-born children and respected everywhere she might go.

Would that be of interest to Miss Langley? As much as he hated the fact of his parentage, it suddenly dawned on him that because of it she might see beyond his many obvious failings. Was there even the slightest chance that she'd be willing to trade in her status as the bastard child of no one for the decorum that came with bearing a title?
His
title?

For so many years he'd refused to let himself contemplate such a thing, but right now it seemed there was nothing else he could think of. He could offer his title to Miss Langley and she might even consider it.
He could offer her legitimacy, and he could promise to care for her mother and sister. Yes, that might just motivate her. She might decide that she wanted a title, after all. In the process, then, she'd have to take him with it.

That is, unless she accepted the bloody little curate first.

Well, he'd simply not let that happen. If he was going to live his life pining away like this, he sure as hell wanted to know he'd done all that he could. If she was truly to be rid of him, he'd make sure she had to reject an honest to God decent proposal.

He grabbed up his coat and stormed out into the darkened corridor, his footsteps echoing until they were drowned out by the sounds of music and laughter as he approached the ballroom. The footman cowered as he swept into the room, searching the small crowd for Miss Langley's form. The shimmering
peach colored gown she'd been wearing would show her to excellent effect in the gleaming light here. He watched the dancers, examined the few ladies sitting in chairs, and it was obvious she wasn't here.

"So you are here, my lord," Mrs. Renford said cheerfully as she came up to greet him. "I'm happy to see you've returned."

He couldn't be bothered with pleasantry just now. Only one thing mattered and he needed to find her.

"Where is Miss Langley?"

"Mariah? Well, I have no idea. She was here a few moments ago. Perhaps she has gone to confer with the servants on some matter or other."

A nauseating thought entered his mind.
Skrewd
. Where was Mr. Skrewd?

Nowhere, it seemed. The room was as vacant of him as it was of Miss Langley. The blood in Dovington's veins turned cold.
She'd gone off with her lover. He was too late.

But he knew where they'd go. Only one place made sense. With everyone here in the house enjoying the ball, it would be easy for the couple to steal away for some private moments outside.
In that damn hut.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said, barely recalling propriety and giving her the requisite bow. "I must tend to something."

Someone else tried to speak with him, but he paid no mind. He caught a brief glimpse of Ned off in the corner with Miss Renford, but he didn't bother to acknowledge their existence. There'd be plenty of time to greet Ned and to tell Miss Renford she was the prettiest belle at her very first ball. For now, he was storming back out of the ballroom.

Back to the darkened corridor, past the study and toward the turn at the far end. Beyond that, he found the narrow door that led out to the garden, the side garden that was little in use
and overflowing with lilacs. He followed the path until he could see the outline of the hill where the little hut was. Sure enough, he could make out a faint light in the window. The hut was not empty. Shadows darkened the window and as he approached, he heard the unmistakable sound of laughter.

He knew nothing of the last few steps he took. All he was aware of was the urgency, the need to get himself in through that red door as quickly as possible. He had to stop them, no matter what they were up to.

The door banged open, dishes rattled on a nearby shelf from the force of it. Dovington ducked his head and peered in. One dim taper flickered on the table, the light spilling over the cramped room. His eyes adjusted readily.

There she was. Just as expected, his eyes fell on her and she was not alone. She was sprawled on the floor, her gown rumpled carelessly and her arms wrapped tightly around... a puppy?

"What the devil...?"

She sat up quickly and tucked her ankles carefully under her skirts, patting her hair and pushing the puppy off of her before it upset the already daringly low cut of her gown.
Another puppy took its place, dancing on her and wrestling with its partner. A third appeared then, clambering over the others and flopping its soggy pink tongue. Miss Langley, however, looked past the wriggling little masses of black and white fur and glared up at him.

"What are
you
doing here?"

"I should ask you the same."

"As if it's any of your business what I'm doing here."

"Of course it's my business.
This is my property and I'll not have you bring shame on it, rollicking on the floor of a bachelor's house!"

"I am rollicking with puppies, sir. You find that particularly shameful?"

"Of course not, but... where is Mr. Skrewd?"

"
Dancing at the ball, I presume."

"Then why did you come here?"

"For the puppies. I thought they might... well, I am looking after them, that's all."

"And why should you be looking after Mr. Skrewd's puppies?"

"Because they are not all Mr. Skrewd's puppies. These two are spoken for. I've selected them for..."

She didn't finish, though he gave her ample time. "For whom?"

"One is for Ella. I was going to surprise her after the ball."

"I see. And the other?"

"It's for... someone else."

"And I want to know whom."

"It doesn't matter. I doubt he really wants it, anyway."

He
? By God, she had another man to be giving gifts to? He'd throttle the man, whoever he was.

"Who, damn it?
Give me his name."

She thought long and hard before answering. When she finally did, she fairly spat the word at him.

"You."

"Me?"

"Yes,
you
. I thought you might... it doesn't matter now."

"It does matter! Why on earth did
you think you needed to give me a puppy?"

"Because you were sad. It's idiotic, I know, but
when you left three days ago you seemed so defeated by everything your father did to you, how he left you... I just thought that perhaps if you had someone—something—who cared about you... well, I thought you might want something like that. Apparently I was wrong."

Wrong
? Hellfire, no, she wasn't wrong. She was absolutely right. She was right about him, and she was right
for
him. He was going to pull her up into his arms and tell her so right now.

Unfortunately, someone plowed into him from behind and he went sprawling onto the floor, flailing
inelegantly in monumental effort not to land on Miss Langley or any of the puppies. He succeed, but only barely. When he could catch his bearings he realized he was now sitting roughly beside Miss Langley, gazing up at Mr. Skrewd.

"Er... sorry," the curate said awkwardly. "
I saw the door open and I thought the puppies might have escaped so I came running. Forgive me, sir, but I didn't see you there."

"So you were planning to meet Miss Langley here," Dovington said.

He was ready for a fight, but the obvious confusion on the curate's face told him there might not be need for that, after all.

"No, I came for... er, is everything quite well, Miss Langley?"

Mr. Skrewd seemed concerned for her, but his eyes were on everything in the hut
but
her. He seemed to be searching for something. Dovington glanced around but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary, other than two grown people and a threesome of extremely happy puppies scattered about the floor.

Pushing past the open door came the mother of the pups. Dovington recognized Bess and she apparently recognized him. She sniffed first the puppies to assure herself of their well-being, then she went to licking the earl straight on his face.

"Were you looking for your dog, perhaps, Skrewd?" he asked.

Miss Langley giggled, and helped pull the shaggy beast off of him.

"No, I... er..."

"He was looking for me."

Dovington could hardly believe his eyes. From behind a curtain that apparently covered the doorway into what was, most likely, a tiny bedroom, Miss Vandenhoff appeared. She smiled sheepishly and blinked huge, frightened eyes.

"But please don't be angry with him, sir!" she insisted. "It was my idea for us to meet here, not his."

"To
meet
here?" Dovington asked because, for the life of him, he just couldn't make sense of any of this.

Miss Langley appeared just as confused, her face screwed into a puzzled frown as she tried to put her hair and her clothing to rights.

"Why should you be meeting Mr. Skrewd?" she asked. "I thought you were at the ball?"

"I was, but..."

Miss Vandenhoff didn't continue. Her eyes filled up with tears and Dovington knew he'd lost any hope of ever figuring this out. Clearly he'd left rational thought behind when he'd decided to come storming after Miss Langley, so it only stood to reason that he was completely at a loss now. On the floor. In a hut. Covered in puppies.

"Please don't cry, Mable,"
Mr. Skrewd said to her. "This isn't your fault."

He trod on both of Dovington's legs as he scrambled over them in an effort to get to Miss. Vandenhoff. Miss Langley's skirts may have suffered some treading, too. Eventually, though the curate reached the weeping heiress and things became only slightly more bizarre as she threw herself into his arms.
The curate pressed her against his chest and kissed the top of her head.

"Papa wants me to marry the earl,
" she cried into Mr. Skrewd's shoulder. "But I just can't do it! I don't love him. I love you!"

Dovington glanced at Mi
ss Langley and asked quietly, "Did you know about this?"

"Absolutely not," she assured him in a whisper as the lovers hugged and cooed and reassured each other nearby. "Did you know she thought she was supposed to marry
you
?"

"Er, perhaps I never actually mentioned to her father that Ned would be my standin."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I see. So all this time you've had me trying to manage things for you but nothing was even close to settled already."

"And a fine job of it you've done," he replied, not very much appreciating the tone of accusation in her voice. "Just think how downcast Ned will be when I tell him that
—"

But it appeared as if he wouldn't have to tell him anything. Ned was going to see for himself. The young man burst through the door, his boots stamping on the rough floor and his voice booming.

"Skrewd! Where are you? You've got to help me out! I'm desperate, man. My cousin wants—"

He stopped short when his eyes
focused in the dim light and his mouth hung open as she took in the scene. He gaped first at the couple in the doorway, then at Miss Langley sitting on the floor in a stunning silk ball gown, then finally at Dovington. It seemed prudent to allow the lad as much time as he needed to contemplate things, so the earl simply stared at him and waited.

"There's a puppy gnawing on your boot," Ned finally stated.

Dovington glanced at his foot. "Yes. So there is."