The Untamed Earl (6 page)

 

CHAPTER FIVE

Owen set his horse, Apollo, to a gallop. He'd ridden out to the countryside just past town today in order to see a bit of horseflesh he was considering buying. Of course, the horse had been no Apollo, but the sleek Arabian was an incomparable. He stroked the horse's dark silky mane. The new animal would be for training. Training and selling. Owen's favorite and only decent pastime and one with which he augmented his monthly allowance. He'd decided to purchase the stallion. He had only to make arrangements with his father's stable master first.

As Owen rode back toward the tollhouse just before the road that led into London, he cursed his latest bit of misfortune. Namely his obligation to marry Lavinia Hobbs. Damn it. He wasn't even left to handle it how he saw fit. He should have known that not only would his father meddle in his affairs with Lady Lavinia, but his mother would, too. To the tune of planning a ball with Lavinia's mother, the duchess, for the express purpose of inviting Owen and giving him a chance to court the duke's daughter. His parents should bloody well know he didn't need their help courting anyone, let alone some boring little drip of a duke's daughter, no matter how “difficult” she might be. But hadn't that always been his parents' attitude when it came to Owen? He never made the right decisions himself, did he? Never quite measured up to his father's expectations. No. His father had made up his mind about Owen a long time ago. Well, he bloody well would measure up this time. Whether Lavinia Hobbs liked it or not.

So the lady wanted to fancy herself in love? Very well. Owen was more than confident in his own charm. He'd had ladies declare their undying love for him after just one night in his bed. Certainly, he couldn't take an innocent to bed, but that wouldn't keep him from being charming. In fact, the lady he'd spent the last two nights with assured him of his appeal when he left her bed this morning, reminding her that he never spent more than two evenings with the same female companion. There were far too many others to meet and choose from. But she'd seemed pleased with his performance, too. They all were. How much different could the chaste courting of a “difficult” young lady be?

As he neared the tollhouse, Owen drew up the reins to signal Apollo to stop. The horse tossed his head and slowed accordingly. There was a small queue at the tollhouse and Owen waited impatiently behind a rickety cart filled with vegetables and occupied by a poor farmer.

When the farmer finally was next in line, the sounds of raised voices caught Owen's attention. Apparently, the farmer and the gatekeeper were having a disagreement about something. Owen maneuvered Apollo closer to hear the conversation.

“But I can't afford it,” the farmer said. “Last time we came through, it weren't so much.”

“I don't set the prices,” the gatekeeper replied. “Parliament's decided to raise taxes. That's all I can tell ye.”

“But I won't have any more money till I can get me goods ta the market in London.”

“Ain't me problem,” the gatekeeper replied. “And ye're keeping this fine gent behind ye from passing. Out of the way if you can't make the toll.”

The farmer glanced at Owen. Shame marked his haggard features. “I'm sorry for the trouble, me lord, but me daughter's sick and me wife wanted me ta take her to the surgeon what lives near St. Paul's.”

Owen glanced into the back of the man's rickety cart to see a thin child lying on an even thinner bed of hay, amongst the vegetables. She was wrapped in a dirty old blanket and coughing as if her lungs might explode.

Owen swallowed the lump in his throat. He pulled his purse from his inside coat pocket, loosened the string, fished inside, and tossed the farmer a sovereign.

“This is far too generous of ye, me lord,” the man said with tears in his bleary eyes.

Owen nodded at him. “Think nothing of it, sir. Just see to it that your daughter receives the care she needs.”

“I surely will, me lord. Me wife thanks ye and I thank ye.”

Owen glanced back into the cart in time to see the little girl close her eyes and drift back to sleep.

Owen paid his own toll and kicked Apollo's flanks to set the horse in a gallop toward town. He needed to get back immediately to prepare for the ball. But as he rode, he knew for certain that child's image would haunt him.

 

CHAPTER SIX

That evening, Owen stood in the Duke of Huntley's town house at a bloody ball planned in anticipation of him wooing the duke's daughter, and Owen had yet to see the lady in question.

And he was bloody well getting impatient. Owen was used to being the one making ladies wait for his arrival, not the other way around. As a result, he was becoming increasingly surly. He glanced around the large, crowded ballroom. Where was a footman with some brandy when one needed it?

“Where is this blasted girl?” he whispered to his sister, Cassandra, who had just arrived with her husband, Swifdon, at her side. Cassandra had floated in looking fresh and pretty in lavender silk, her blond hair piled atop her head and a stunning row of diamonds around her neck. Cassandra had never been a disappointment to their parents. Quite the opposite, actually, she'd been their favorite child. Right up until she'd tried to marry a mere captain in the army, regardless of the fact that he was the second son of an earl. Until, that is, Julian's older brother was murdered in France and the captain conveniently turned into an earl overnight. Cassandra and Julian had been devastated, but that unfortunate turn of events had recaptured the Monroes' interest and approval. Funny, that. But despite the difference in their sex and circumstance, Owen had always loved his younger sister, even if they hadn't been particularly close as children. He would do anything for Cass and she, him. He didn't doubt it.

“I don't see her. You do remember what she looks like, don't you, Owen?” Cass asked with hint of humor in her voice.

Owen tapped a finger against his temple. “She's blond, isn't she?” He couldn't remember. And he'd been testing his memory all week over it. His regular set of friends had proved no help, of course. They didn't remember the look of one particular little Society miss any more than he did. Instead, at the hells, they'd done nothing but unmercifully tease him about being caught by the parson's noose and offered him another drink and another hand of cards. Both of which he'd readily accepted. As usual.

“No. She's not blond at all. Her hair is dark brown,” Cass said. “And you've been introduced before, so it would be odd for me to attempt to introduce you again. Do try to search your memory.”

Swifdon snorted. “Excellent start, Monroe.”

Owen rolled his eyes. “Fine. Just point her out when you see her, won't you? I need to get this over with.” He was still searching for a footman. A duke, of all people, should bloody well have more footmen at hand.

Cass shook her head. “What a romantic.”

“If you don't like my methods, why have you come?” Owen scowled at his sister.

Cass shrugged. “You're in a fine mood tonight. But if you must know, Mother asked me to. She insisted that we have a good showing. I fear she's worried for the Monroe reputation.”

Swifdon laughed aloud at that.

Owen glanced around for a footman again. A drink was long overdue. “Of course they wanted to emphasize that
I'm
not the only family member. What a disgrace
that
would be.”

Cass frowned. “I only meant—”

Poor Cass. His sweet sister. She always believed the best of him despite every bit of evidence to the contrary. “No. I understand,” Owen replied. “No need to explain. Besides, I'm hardly worried. If the duke and duchess didn't approve of me, they wouldn't be discussing the marriage contract with our estimable father already, now, would they?”

Cass inclined her head toward Owen. “True, but I don't believe it's the duke and duchess whom you need to impress. It's Lady Lavinia herself.”

Owen gave his sister his most infamous grin. “I've never had a bit of trouble charming ladies.”

Cass's blond brow arched. “I fear you may have met your match with Lavinia. She has a reputation for being a bit … difficult.”

Owen eyed his brother-in-law. Swifdon coughed into his hand, but Owen strongly suspected it was done in an effort to cover his laughter.

“Yes, I've heard as much,” Owen replied to Cass. “Difficult, eh?”

“Just a bit … prickly,” Cass replied.

“No matter.” Owen's grin widened. “I've found few ladies who can resist my charms. When I
choose
to be charming, that is.”

“So modest, dear brother,” Cass said, rolling her eyes. “Though I must admit, I'm looking forward to your interactions with Lady Lavinia. I cannot wait to see if she can, ahem, resist your charms. I think it's high time you settled down, you know.”

“Ah, the refrain of the married. They always think everyone else should marry as well,” Owen replied.

“It isn't half bad, Monroe. You really should try it. Though it makes all the difference when it's done with the correct partner.” Swifdon pulled his wife's gloved hand to his lips and kissed it, his eyes shining with what Owen could only assume was love.

Owen pressed a hand to his flat abdomen. “Blast. I had too much to drink last night, Swifdon. Don't induce my nausea.”

A footman walked past just then, carrying a silver tray filled with champagne glasses. “Ah, there you are, my good man,” Owen called out.

Swifdon snorted. “I thought you said you had too much to drink last night.”

Owen grabbed one glass for himself and one for Cass. Swifdon followed suit. “I did have too much to drink last night, which is why I'm sorely in need of
another
drink at present,” Owen said with a grin, downing the contents of his glass quickly.

Cass frowned at her brother and slapped him on the shoulder with her fan. “Don't be so—” She stopped short, staring at something beyond Owen's shoulder. Owen turned to look.

“There she is,” Cass breathed.

“Who?” Owen saw only a room full of ladies and gentlemen in a dazzling array of colorful evening attire. No one in particular stood out.

“Lady Lavinia, of course,” Cass replied, rolling her eyes again.

Owen's gaze scanned the room “Where?”

“She's over by the potted palm. I believe she's talking to her sister.” Cass nodded toward the far end of the room.

Owen glanced over to the potted palm that rested in a corner where two dark-haired young ladies were speaking. He squinted but could not see either's face. Blast. “Which one is she?”

“Really?” Cass's face wore an exasperated expression, and her free hand rested on her hip.

“I cannot see their faces,” Owen protested.

Cass sighed and nodded toward the two. “The one in peach.”

Owen wrinkled his nose. “Do you mean orange?”

Cass snapped shut her fan and expelled a deep breath. “I mean peach.”

Owen turned back to look. Fine. The other girl was wearing light blue, at any rate. He handed his empty champagne glass to another footman. “I'll be back.”

“Best of luck, old chap.” Swifdon clapped him on the back.

“I don't need luck,” Owen replied with yet another grin. He straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin, and took off toward the potted palm. If he could get this over with quickly enough, he might be able to salvage this evening and get in a rousing game of cards at one of the hell clubs on the other end of town.

He casually strolled over to where the ladies were speaking. The one in orange quickly turned and made a funny little squeaking sound.

The one in blue turned to look at him. She was a beauty, tall and thin with dark hair and blue eyes that seemed to contain … hostility. In fact, she looked entirely unimpressed. It was not a look he was used to seeing from a lady. Thank heavens it was the one in orange he was after. He turned his gaze toward her. She was shorter with an eye-catching bosom, and curves that made his hand itch to caress them. Moreover, she had a twinkle in her eye that said she found their meeting … amusing. Why?

“Ladies,” he said, bowing at the waist and giving them his most persuasive smile, the same one that had been known to charm the stays off many a lady of the
ton.
He'd been told more than once that his dimple could be practically irresistible.

“My lord?” the one in orange said amiably. The twinkle remained in her eye.

“And you are?” the blue lady said, arching a dark brow and curling her lip.

He straightened back to his full height. “It wounds me that you don't remember me, my lady.”

She did not present her hand. “Be that as it may, I don't,” she responded. Owen fought the urge to shudder. He glanced back and forth between the two again. The lady in orange couldn't possibly be Lady Lavinia. The one in blue certainly seemed the more
difficult
of the two.
That
one seemed like a viper. He'd do well to steer clear of her. She might be his future sister-in-law, but that didn't mean they needed to spend much time in each other's company. He turned his attention to the orange.

“I am Lord Owen Monroe,” he announced. After all, it seemed fair that they didn't remember him either. Until Cass had pointed her out, he hadn't remembered Lavinia himself. No bother.

“I know who you are,” the lady in orange said, smiling up at him with a dreamlike expression on her round face. Upon second look, she
was
a beautiful little thing. Smaller than her sister but infinitely more appealing, with wavy dark hair and the most warm, appealing brown eyes framed by thick black lashes.

He smiled at her. Why had his father thought this might prove difficult? Why, the girl was already practically eating from his palm. “That makes it infinitely easier for me to ask you to take a turn around the room with me.”