How to Train Your Earl

by Amelia Grey

  Did she have a choice if she wanted to know? She nodded.

  “After a late night of more than a few ales and a pint of wine, Robert took a fall and banged himself around quite badly. Bruised his ribs and gave himself a cut lip and black eye. But he’s fine now.”

  That news sent a chill up her spine. Brina was suddenly reminded of when Harper’s lip and mouth showed the same signs, and her worry grew. Had he fallen too? “That sounds serious and painful. Why didn’t he go home?”

  “Who am I to say?” he answered with a wave of his hands. “He came to me, and I took him in. And he is better. I don’t think he wanted his family seeing him with his face swollen and in pain. Things like that can be embarrassing—for a young man to be so clumsy. They needn’t be concerned for him. He’s going to be all right. Best to get the worst past him before they see him, right? He’ll go home in a few days.” Harper took a step closer to her. “You keep this quiet, and I’ll make sure his family knows, but I can’t have them coming to my place to see him.”

  “All right,” she said, as a shiver of unease affected her whole body. Something wasn’t right about Harper’s story. She didn’t think a young man could fall and hurt himself so badly. “I’ll stay quiet.”

  “I knew you would. I trust you.” He gave her another genuine smile. “I’ll be off now.”

  “One more thing before you go,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t sound as suspicious or interfering as she felt. “I wanted to know what happened about the card club you were thinking of joining. You seemed very excited about it. Did all that work out to your satisfaction?”

  “Not yet. Mr. Remick is open to my joining and considering the possibility. He’s quite skilled and is teaching me a few tricks about the games. I should be hearing from him soon.”

  “Good,” she said, but really didn’t feel it was. “And Mr. Browning?”

  Harper smiled with confidence. “The same. We’re finding it’s better to have our own club where we can play with people we know are safe.”

  “Safe? That sounds disturbing, and I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Nothing,” he said with a quick smile and flippant tone. “It was an offhand remark that meant nothing. Listen, I don’t want to keep you.” He kissed her cheeks again. “Tell Mrs. Stockton how good it was to see her.”

  Not giving her time to question him more, he hurried out the door. He used the word “safe” and it troubled her.

  Julia came walking down the stairs, holding a pair of dark-brown boots. “These must be the right ones. They are the only pair in your room.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Placing them beside the front door, she asked, “Did you find out why Harper was here?”

  “You heard him,” Brina said, more defensively than she intended, but Harper had her afraid to say anything about what she really felt. “To check on the house.”

  “No, no, there was more to it than that,” Julia said, not letting Brina off the hook as easily as she’d hoped. “I think he was hiding something in his coat pocket.”

  “Hiding? What are you talking about?” She gave Julia a curious look.

  “You probably didn’t see it because you were so stunned to see him at all. I couldn’t tell what it was. He put his cloak on before he even reached down to give you a kiss. Didn’t you notice how strange that seemed?”

  Brina hadn’t noticed, but she knew he was clearly hiding things about Mr. Browning and the card club. That had her curious as well as worried, but she didn’t want Julia to know that.

  “What could he be hiding, and more to the point, why would he be hiding anything from us? I felt he was acting a little odd. Maybe even a little nervous, but so was I. Neither of us expected the other to be here, and it was quite unsettling at first.”

  “It was that and more,” Julia insisted, refusing to give up her stance on the subject.

  “You aren’t suggesting he was taking anything from the house, are you?” Brina said, not willing to go that far with her suspicions, but agreeing there was cause for concern.

  “I’m only commenting on my observation. I know Harper had something in his pocket, and it seemed to me he was trying to hide it with his cloak. I’m not saying he took anything from here. It could have been something he brought into the house with him that he didn’t want you to see, but whichever, he didn’t want you to ask about it.”

  Suddenly feeling warm, Brina unfastened her cape and laid it on the table with her reticule. She didn’t know what to think. Yes, it was disturbing Harper was in her parents’ home and that Mr. Browning had fallen and was convalescing at Harper’s home.

  “You may be right,” Brina admitted with some reservation. She’d known Harper all her life. She couldn’t start believing the worst of him. “But I’m not sure what I can do about a young man’s secrets or habits. And I don’t want to believe he was here for any bad reason.”

  Brina didn’t like doubting Harper’s story, but this was the second—no third—time Harper wasn’t acting himself when he was with her. And it didn’t help her feelings that Julia had been suspicious too. Something had turned Harper into a different person. No, someone. Mr. Robert Browning.

  Julia folded her arms across her chest. “Then, we’ll leave it at that.”

  “Yes,” Brina said more confidently than she was feeling. “Let’s do forget about this conversation with him and put our minds on something far more pleasant while we look through Mama’s painting materials.”

  “You lead the way,” Julia said. “I’ll follow.”

  Brina started down the corridor. She wanted to talk with Zane about this. The earl might be a scoundrel and gambler at heart, but she had no doubt he cared for his cousin. He would want to know that Mr. Browning had been injured. Zane had proven he was quite fond of Mr. Browning, but how could she mention this to him when she’d promised Harper she’d keep quiet about where he was and the fall?

  Besides, she couldn’t start relying on the earl to help her. She had enough worries about what she was feeling about him, the approaching end to the Season, and what would be expected of her if the earl kept all her mandates.

  Oh, what a troublesome man Zane was. If only he hadn’t come into her life and upset it just as she was getting her balance again.

  Chapter 19

  Zane placed his cup back into the saucer and set his empty plate to the side of the breakfast table. If not for Brina’s unusual terms, he would still be in bed at this hour. Thanks to her, he’d already had a rousing early morning ride in the curricle, followed by over an hour of fencing at his club. Now, he’d eaten scrambled eggs, toast, and a thick slice of ham as if he’d been famished.

  Since he was no longer staying up all night playing cards and sipping on a brandy, he found his energy level during the day had exceedingly improved. It was amazing how much one could get done in a day when he went to bed with the chickens—as he’d heard someone once say.

  However, all the good things that were improving his life couldn’t keep him from missing the stinging taste of a brandy, the satisfaction of winning a hand, or curb his desire to have Brina in his bed. His gaze strayed to the window overlooking the side garden. It didn’t seem to matter what he was thinking. He found a way to bring his thoughts back to her.

  Zane had never had to be proper about anything in order to win a wager. Skill had always accomplished it. He either won or lost on how tightly he stayed focused on the game before him and how well he read his opponent and the cards he’d laid down. It was difficult for most players not to show any emotion when they were in a well-matched game. Sometimes it was something as simple as squeezing the cards a little too tight with their fingers or breathing in a little too deep. The trick was to study enough men to know the small signs. Over the years, he had learned to discern when someone wasn’t playing fair too.

  And Brina Feld wasn’t playing fair.

  Whether or not she was doing so intentionally, he’d yet to completely settle in his mind. He didn
’t think so, but there was a little qualm of doubt that surfaced from time to time. Especially when she was so pliant and eager for his every touch, willing for him to thoroughly satisfy them both. Was she trying to get him to break his promise? She had said kisses were exempt but not anything else. He had no doubt her passion for him was real, but he had no doubt her desire to win their wager was real too.

  One other thing he was sure of—he couldn’t get her off his mind. Most especially when he imagined her lying in his arms, coming to life beneath him. Those images wouldn’t leave him alone. Day or night. When he was with her, it was almost impossible to hold back his desire. When he held her, felt her shiver, and sensed the beat of her heart racing along in time with his, it thrilled him.

  He had no doubt he was the first to awaken the sensual desires left dormant since her husband’s death. That pleased him. Zane wanted her to experience every one of them to their fullest. He was sure she wanted that too. As desperately as he did. And they would have, except for the minor consequence of their bargain. He was caught in an unfortunate cat-and-mouse game with her when what he wanted to do was strip off her clothing, lay her on the bed, and kiss her softly curved body until he was rigid with pain. And then make love to her all night.

  Grunting, he pushed away from the breakfast table and made himself more comfortable by placing the ankle of one leg on top of the knee of the other. Thinking about her so early in the day was not doing him any favors. Best he get her off his mind in a hurry. He picked up the Times and unfolded it.

  A quick glance at the headlines told him amazing things were happening all over the world. The East Indian Company was going to establish a settlement in Singapore. Zane remembered talking with Garrett Stockton about that possibility at a party the first night they met. The adventurer had been to Singapore and agreed that it was a long way from England. Zane wouldn’t mind going there some day. He wanted to get to know people whose cultures were different from his. But he would have to think on making the voyage. He wasn’t sure he’d be happy with so many long days at sea before reaching land.

  His eyes scanned down the rest of the front page. America was still trying to purchase Florida from Spain, and a steamship named Savannah had crossed the Atlantic in twenty-six days. The world was getting bigger and closer together every year. Reading those articles should keep his mind off Brina.

  For a few minutes.

  He shook out the newsprint and started on the article about the ship but had barely gotten two or three sentences into it when he sensed Fulton standing in the doorway.

  “Excuse me, my lord.”

  Zane lowered the paper and looked at the butler. “Yes?”

  “Your uncles and sister have arrived and are wondering if they might join you here or in your drawing room.”

  Hells bells. He hadn’t heard them at the door. They usually came in chattering so energetically, they could be heard all over the house.

  It seemed the earlier he rose in the mornings, the earlier his uncles arrived. And Patricia with them today too. That didn’t bode well. She was usually reserved for only the most important issues. What in the hell had he done this time to upset his family?

  “Have them come in here, Fulton, and see if they’d like tea or something to eat.”

  “No, we don’t need anything, my lord,” Hector said, coming from behind Fulton.

  Zane had even missed the familiar tap of his uncle’s cane on the wooden floor. He must have been deep in thought about Brina.

  Sylvester and Patricia followed Hector into the breakfast room. They all stopped at the head of the table, greeted him properly, and then proceeded to stare down at him with disapproving expressions.

  He refolded the paper, laid it aside, and rose. “Please, sit down and join me.”

  Sylvester remained staunch with his shoulders and back straight as a board, not moving a muscle. Patricia continued to stare at him but stiffly folded her arms on her chest and drummed the fingers of both hands on her forearms. Uncle Hector cleared his throat and bobbed his chin as he stared at Zane with great condemnation.

  For a moment or two he had no idea what he might have done to warrant the rebuking stares, but then, by chance he noticed the sleeves of his shirt. Times like these were what reminded him of how much he disliked family gatherings.

  “No,” Zane said with a little more force than he intended. “I can bloody well sit alone at my own breakfast table, in my own house, without wearing my coat.”

  “Well, of course you can do it, my lord,” Patricia said dryly, her tone almost as stiff as her frame. “The point is that you shouldn’t.”

  “And why would you want to?” Sylvester asked, obviously feeling the need to straighten his own perfectly tailored clothing. “It’s most undignified to present yourself that way.”

  “You need to remain respectfully clothed at all times for the benefit of your staff, if not for yourself,” Hector added to make sure he wasn’t left out of the criticism for what they considered such careless behavior for the mere satisfaction of being comfortable. “Besides, you are no longer alone. You have three guests.”

  “What?” Zane argued defiantly. “This is ridiculous. You aren’t guests. You’re family. And I doubt any of you or my staff would faint or go running to the gossipmongers for seeing me without my coat.”

  “Why take the chance?” Uncle Syl asked.

  Zane fumed and continued with his steely expression. He hadn’t asked to be the earl, but now that he was, he should be able to set his own standards in his own home. That should be the one place he could relax and be himself.

  Yet, all three remained unyielding in their posture, along with Hector agitatedly tapping his cane. Frustrating as it was, Zane only had two viable options. He could extend and hold out and ignore their bluster about his rights in his house, or give into their demands, find out what they wanted, grant it to pacify them, and send them on their way as quickly as possible.

  It was Sunday, for heaven’s sake. Each one of them should have been in church, not pestering him.

  “All right,” he declared in a nonconciliatory tone, swinging his coat from the back of his chair.

  This was why he didn’t know if he had the fortitude to be a good earl. This was why his uncle, his uncle’s son, and Zane’s cousin should have never been riding in that carriage together, should have never died and left the unimaginable task of dealing with this family to him. He simply wasn’t good at it.

  He would never be patient enough. He had been quite happy with his life as it had been before the title fell to him.

  Damnation, he wished it hadn’t.

  It wasn’t in his nature to want to please people. He wanted to live his life his way and allow others to do as they wished. No doubt the previous earl and the previous two heirs would have loved sitting at the breakfast table buttoned up to the neck, wearing a coat that fit like a glove but was a hell of a lot less comfortable.

  After shoving his arms through the sleeves and settling it properly over his shoulders, he walked over and held out a chair for Patricia. She smiled graciously, seeming perfectly happy now that he had donned his coat, and seated herself.

  Zane and his uncles then joined her around the table.

  “We wouldn’t usually bother you on the Lord’s day,” Uncle Syl said. “Your aunt Beatrice is in a dither. Her daughter, Thelma, wants to marry Mr. Aldrich Clark,” Uncle Syl said.

  That didn’t seem like earth-shattering news to Zane. “Patricia told me she unfortunately didn’t make a match last year, so I would think that’s good to hear she found someone to her liking,” he answered, thinking this was easy enough to handle. “I give my permission.”

  Patricia’s gasp, Hector’s grunt, and Sylvester’s harrumph left Zane no doubt that wasn’t the answer they wanted.

  “Do you know who he is?” Patricia asked in what could only be considered a scathing tone because he’d said something so incomprehensible.

  Zane sluffed it off as he al
ways had. If he got upset every time he displeased his sister or his uncles, he’d be in a perpetual state of agitation. “I don’t personally know him, but if she wants to marry him, why should I have any objections?”

  “His sister ran away from home over a year ago to become an actress,” Uncle Syl replied, as if that was the most horrible thing to have happened in London in years. “And we have it on good authority she was actually seen on stage at one of the theatres.”

  Patricia sighed heavily. “It was devastating to all the Clarks. Not only his family, as you can imagine. You must go to Thelma and explain why he’s not a suitable match and insist she needs to choose a different man to marry.”

  No. He wouldn’t do that.

  Zane looked at the three stern faces staring at him, remaining silent as he pondered.

  He could easily tell them how unreasonable they were sounding, but he had set a precedent with Robert—though his sister and uncles didn’t know about it. Was it unfair to allow Thelma to marry when he had prevented Robert from doing so?

  But there was a difference. Robert was planning an elopement to a woman almost twice his age, and without an ounce of social standing.

  Thelma’s case was different. Even so, he knew he had to handle this delicately.

  “We are all in agreement that Clark is a well-respected name in the ton, are we not?” Zane asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Patricia answered as if she adored every one of them. Quite so.”

  “Then what Mr. Clark’s sister has or hasn’t done is no reflection on what he might or might not do. Thelma shouldn’t be punished for what someone else has done. Tell Aunt Beatrice that as long as he has adequate allowance to take care of her daughter in a style that’s fitting, I see no reason to interfere.”

  “But what about the children?” Uncle Syl asked, looking at Zane as if he’d lost his mind.