My Kind of Earl

by Vivienne Lorret

  That was the moment when Jane understood that it was possible to love someone and to keep falling in love with them over and over again. Her heart turned in a joyful revolution beneath her breast.

  The thick evidence of his renewed arousal was unmistakable and her body responded to this with a sweet clench.

  She sighed, smiling when he kissed her again, softly, endlessly, threading their hands together. And a long while later, after he had her whimpering and unable to bear the emptiness inside her, he slowly eased into the damp, tender constriction once more.

  Chapter 29

  It was after dawn and Jane hurriedly tucked the combs in her hair as Raven fastened up the back of her gown. “Now I understand why my friend Winnie and her husband Asher have lingered so long on their honeymoon. It would have been so lovely to stay just as we were all day, perhaps even for weeks.”

  He chuckled and kissed the back of her neck. “I’m not a machine. Though, I’d do my utmost to perform to your alarmingly high standards.”

  “I didn’t mean . . .” She trailed off and blushed, looking at him over her shoulder. “Actually, I might have meant precisely that.”

  Yet, even as she said the words, every subtle shift and movement afforded her the intimate knowledge that the inner workings of her body had altered. She was sore in places she’d only ever noticed in anatomical sketches. And a good, long soak in a hot bathing tub would certainly ease those aches. But there wasn’t time.

  Their loveplay had lasted longer than she’d realized. They’d lingered over kisses and tender caresses that had joined more than merely their anatomy, but their very breaths and souls. Gazing into his eyes as her body had welcomed each deep, slow thrust, she’d felt as if every question her heart had asked throughout her life had finally been answered.

  She knew she would never be the same. Never share such a deep understanding with someone as she did with him.

  “I don’t want you to leave,” she said, sagging back against him, reluctant to acknowledge the distant clap of servants’ footsteps in the hall as the house awakened.

  His arms stole around her waist on a possessive growl. “Tell your parents that you’re visiting your friend, then come to me. Wear the veil so no one knows and we’ll spend all day in bed. All week. Hell, all month.”

  “I’m giving the children their examinations this morning. My other brothers will be arriving the day after tomorrow for holiday and—Oh!” She gasped and turned in his arms, her hands skimming over his broad chest and shoulders to the silken black locks at his nape with familiarity. “Tomorrow is the first of December . . . your birthday.”

  He blinked. A bemused grin tipped up the corner of his mouth like one side of a weighing scale. “My birthday. I don’t think I’ve ever said those words aloud before. Orphans, as you might imagine, only think those types of things. Let those thoughts out and you open yourself up to all types of unfriendly hazings.”

  “Then you’ve never celebrated, at all?” she asked, hiding the twinge of pain in her heart when he shook his head ruefully. “Well, that is going to change. The children and I are going to bake you a cake and have you over for tea.”

  “Oh, goody, more lessons on how to lay a napkin on my lap,” he chuckled, but his gaze was soft as egret feathers as he held her and bent to press his lips to hers.

  But before they kissed, a large crash sounded in the hall, shaking the floor at their feet.

  Raven chuckled. “Toboggan races again?”

  She turned toward the door as a chill skated down her spine. Something was wrong. “That wasn’t the twins. One of them would be cheering. And Phillipa would have dashed in here by now if it was Charles.”

  And as she took a step, she recognized the discordant pained moan that echoed down the corridor. “Raven, I think Henry is hurt.”

  * * *

  Once they reached the hall, Raven saw Henry in a tangle of broken toboggan parts and a portion of the railing that had been severed in the middle of the staircase. The young composer was lying on his side, grimacing in pain and clutching his arm.

  “Where can I find your family physician?” Raven asked before they reached him. Jane answered him in a strained whisper and he dashed away from Holly House to fetch their neighbor a quarter mile down the lane.

  He returned with Doctor Lockwood within minutes, after having demanded an immediate audience with the master of the house. Apparently, used to such interruptions, Lockwood was not offended by Raven’s brusque mannerisms and came without delay.

  When he returned to deliver the doctor, Jane had already fashioned a splint around Henry’s arm. On the outside, she appeared perfectly calm, reassuring not only her injured brother but each of her siblings that all things broken could be mended. She even asked if one of them could name the bones in the arm.

  But in her eyes, Raven saw her fears and doubts, wondering if her brother would heal properly and be able to fulfill his dreams as a pianist and composer. And he saw her interminable love for her family. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for them.

  The thought gave him pause.

  He ached with the need to pull her into his arms, to hold and reassure her. But to do so would irreparably damage her reputation. He saw that now, clearer than ever. So, he clung to the shadows, ensuring that no servant looked his way and her parents didn’t see him as they rushed past.

  His place wasn’t at her side. She needed someone who had a name. Someone who came from a solid, respectable family. But he still existed in the shadows of uncertainty, on the fringes between her world and his. And she seemed to know that, too.

  I don’t expect to marry you . . . I haven’t even had time to consider how we would fit into each other’s lives.

  Those words had been a relief then. Now, they scratched at his conscience, itching inside his head like a whirring cyclone of dried leaves and pine needles.

  Before he left, even in the midst of all the chaos, she still found him. Across the vast hall, her gaze sought his for comfort. He held it for as long as he could, then nodded with a promise to return later.

  He hated leaving her. And he felt no peace in his thoughts as he rode against a bracing morning wind, plagued by one single question—How did he fit into her life?

  * * *

  When Raven returned to Holly House after midnight, he still didn’t have the answer to the question that had plagued him all day. The only thing he knew for certain was that he wanted to see Jane, and to ask her how Henry was faring.

  The door to the conservatory was unlocked, the only light within came from the pale orange glow of the embers beneath the iron stove’s curfew and the gray moonlight shining down through the domed ceiling. But Jane wasn’t there.

  He found a letter on the cushion of the chaise longue, with his name scrawled in her familiar hand. And, for just an instant, a jolt of fear trampled through him.

  As he reached for the folded page, his mind started to spin in circles with the countless nightmares that could be written within. Of all the different ways the rug could be pulled out from under his feet.

  Last night was a mistake . . . We live in two different worlds. I see that now . . . I don’t really love you after all . . .

  Raven inhaled a fortifying breath before he opened it.

  Then he exhaled with a smile.

  Inside, there were no words, but an interior sketch of the house—every room, because she was meticulous in the best possible way—and a tiny x inside a corner chamber on the second floor.

  A few minutes later, he knew that he wouldn’t have needed the sketch at all. The powdery fragrance of lavender drew him to her door and inside, where he turned the key in the lock.

  He found Jane asleep in a pale yellow chair by the hearth.

  She looked so small and vulnerable with her legs curled up on the cushion beneath the tucked hem of her nightdress. The soft fan of her lashes drifted shadows against her cheek. A spill of glossy curls rested on the arm of the chair. A book lay unatten
ded on her lap, and a sputtered chamberstick sat on a rosewood drum table beside her.

  She’d waited up for him as long as she could, it seemed. The thought brought another smile to his lips and a swelling warmth inside his chest.

  He crossed the room to kneel in front of her and slipped the book from beneath her hand, setting it aside. She stirred, her fingers flexing over his, and her lips tilted upward even before she opened her eyes.

  “You’re here,” she whispered.

  He leaned in to kiss those tender-padded fingertips and kitten-soft palms. “How did you fare today, and how is your brother?”

  Her free hand combed through his hair in gentle soothing strokes that eased away all the irritations that built during these long hours apart. He found himself resting his head on her lap and pulling her close.

  “Henry will be fine in a month or two,” she said. “Doctor Lockwood is confident that the break will mend without any lingering effects, as long as he avoids all toboggans in the near future. Which shouldn’t be difficult now that it’s in one hundred and seventy-four pieces.”

  Leave it to Jane to know the exact number. “You counted them?”

  “The children did. It helped to keep their minds off their worries. Most of them were concerned for Henry. The twins, however, were lamenting over the fact that, with only one toboggan left, there would be no race down the hill toward the canal on Christmas Day and no way to win. They were quite sore at their brother and told him outright that he should know better.” She yawned and bent to kiss his head, lingering to rest her cheek there. “He is fourteen, after all. And he’d never been given to flights of recklessness before.”

  Raven could feel the turn of her thoughts. “Did you ask what compelled him?”

  “After the good doctor and our parents left the room, Henry told me that he is in love,” she said with a soft smile. “Apparently, his muse lives in the village near the boarding school. She is the loveliest creature in the entire world, of course. But the heart-thief is also poor, has no family connections, and he knows that our parents would never approve the match. So, in his own dramatic way, he decided that getting tossed out of school and engaging in other wild behaviors would show Mother and Father that he wasn’t worth their high expectations. He wants them to wash their hands of him so that he can have a life of his own choosing.”

  She sighed, the smile fading from her eyes as she averted her gaze to worry a loose thread from his sleeve.

  He took her fingertips and kissed them again. “And what did you tell him?”

  “I assured him that he can depend upon the rest of his family to support him in whatever life he chooses, and that I would always be here for him.”

  A faint shiver rolled through her body and into him. It reminded Raven of what she stood to lose if they’d been caught this morning. She would have been sent away, like her friend.

  He hadn’t been thinking of the risks she’d taken. He’d only been lost in his need for her. And so he’d claimed her as his own . . .

  But was she truly his?

  “We’ll need to be more careful from now on,” she said, her thought mirroring his. “On the nights you come here into my bedchamber, you’ll have to leave by dawn. And I will go to your house as often as I am able.”

  His conscience pricked at him. This wasn’t what he wanted for her. She deserved more than these clandestine encounters and the deception of her family. She deserved the world handed to her on a tray that she could dissect at will in order to discover its contents.

  “Oh, and here. This is for you.” She twisted to slip a folded page from beneath the chamberstick and handed it to him.

  Still bothered by his thoughts, he sat back on his haunches and stared blindly at it. But when he blinked and realized what it was, his heart started racing in panicked beats.

  It was another of her sketches. This one was of a tree filled with slanted charcoal slashes, and on most of the branches hung names and dates written in ink.

  A Northcott family tree. And his name was there, too.

  He stared at it, speechless. All his life he’d wanted a family. All his life he’d wanted to know his name. So then why, for the past weeks, had he done nothing but doubt all the evidence shown to him?

  But Raven knew why. Fear.

  Fear of a hand clamping down on his shoulder and capturing him as he tried to run for freedom. Fear of the cupboard doors closing him in the dark, the click of the latch, and the quiet that came before the rats scurried in through the hole in the wall. Fear of losing his place if he didn’t whore out his own body. Fear of dying on the wharf with nothing to show for his life.

  Fear had taken too much from him. It was time to be done with it.

  No more, he thought, and he stared at the page. Emotion stung the back of his eyes, clogging his throat, and he didn’t know what to do with it.

  “Happy birthday,” she whispered. “Of course, it is only the past seven generations. I’m afraid that I shall need to complete more resear—”

  He cut her off with a searing kiss. Fitting his mouth to hers, he let the deluge of his overflowing heart fill her. She had made all this possible. And, in the process, she’d pushed her way into his life and embedded herself into his very soul. He wouldn’t even be surprised if part of it was indelibly stained pink.

  Gathering her in his arms, he stood and carried her warm body to her small canopied bed. He lay down, facing her so that their heads rested upon the pillow. And for the next few hours, he simply held her and kissed her until they both fell asleep.

  Raven awoke before dawn with Jane’s drowsing head cradled in the crook of his shoulder and her hand over his heart. All of the questions and confusion that had overwhelmed him these past weeks had vanished from his mind in a soft cloud of lavender.

  Everything was clear.

  He knew the life he wanted, and it was with Jane. But he also knew that her parents would never let her marry a mere orphan with no cemented family ties.

  The only way he could keep her, would be to claim his birthright. Completely.

  Chapter 30

  December

  Later that morning, Raven discovered that negotiating with the Earl of Warrister was like dealing vingt-et-un to a seasoned Captain Sharp.

  They sat across from each other in the library as they’d done on the first day, each one carefully sizing up the other.

  There was a triumphant gleam in the old codger’s gaze. “That’s all settled, then. I’ll give a formal announcement at Aversleigh’s ball next week.”

  That would be perfect, he thought, already imagining Jane’s reaction as he was introduced as Merrick Northcott. He would keep it a surprise until then. And after the ball, he would ask her to marry him and they would begin a new life together.

  He wasn’t afraid of the unknown any longer. There was nothing waiting to pull the rug out from under him. Jane would never be this certain of his true identity otherwise. He trusted her unequivocally and knew that she would never lead him astray if she had the smallest doubt.

  So, he was taking the plunge.

  “But no sooner than that,” Raven said, keeping his elbows perched on the armrests. He knew that if he gave in too easily, Warrister would only ask for more.

  “Then you’ll live here starting that night.”

  They’d had this particular discussion several times in the past weeks, but Raven was always firm. “No. I’m keeping my own house. I’m a grown man, after all.”

  The earl shook his head. “No. There’s just too much for you to learn. Or were you under the impression that gentlemen of the peerage fritter about all day, ringing for their servants and riding through the park? Spend their nights gaming and whoring?”

  Well, actually . . . Raven thought wryly but he earned a dark, exasperated look.

  “Just as I thought,” Warrister said. “You’ll have investments and estates to manage, tenants to look after, farms to oversee, along with a hundred other things. I’ll need time t
o teach you.”

  Estates and lands? That sounded like an inheritance that he didn’t really earn. “I don’t want to be handed anything. That isn’t why I’ve come here.”

  “You’re a Northcott and my heir. Whether you like it or not, these responsibilities will fall to you,” he said, his features set and immovable. “Had I found you as an infant, you would have been raised in my house. I’d have had a lifetime to prepare you, but that time is coming swiftly to an end.”

  Raven didn’t want to think about losing the man he’d only just discovered. But even he knew death was an inevitable part of life. And, during whatever time they had left, he realized with a pang of yearning, he wanted to make the earl proud.

  He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about estate management.”

  “You have a sharp mind from the work you’ve done for Mr. Sterling. And from what Sanders tells me about your house, you’ve got a good head for property and for knowing what repairs would need to be done. I used to manage it all on my own,” he said, looking down at his gnarled hands only to shake his head. “But I’ve had to rely on my stewards for too many years.”

  Raven offered another short, conciliatory nod. “I’ll need to give proper notice to Reed Sterling. He is not only my employer but like a brother to me. I won’t abandon him.”

  “Understandable,” Warrister said, then sat forward with a glint in his eye, as if he felt he’d gained the upper hand. “And you can keep your house as long as you hire servants.”

  He paused, considering. “I will concede only to hiring a cook for the time being.”

  “I want you here in the mornings to break your fast and we’ll discuss your duties while my mind is still sharp.”

  “My lord, I highly doubt there is a time of day when your wits are not edged with the precision of a cutpurse’s blade,” Raven said, surprised his palms weren’t sweating by now.

  “Grandfather,” he said with resolute tenacity. “You’ll call me grandfather from this point forward. Is that clear?”