How the Earl Entices

by Anna Harrington

  She stirred as she awoke, taking a moment to clear the sleepy confusion from her mind as she sat up and glanced at the dark room around her. Then she looked down at the trundle bed that he’d claimed for the night instead of pushing his luck and trying for a repeat of last night’s sleeping arrangements. Better that he hadn’t, given the way she looked, all deliciously sleep-rumpled, with her hair lying in a riot of thick toffee-colored curls down her back and the loose neck of her gown sliding down to reveal a smooth, bare shoulder.

  He’d lied to her last night when he’d denied attempting to seduce her. God knew he’d been doing just that. Given half a chance, he’d unrepentantly do it again.

  “Ross?” A hint of panic rose in her voice at not finding him near.

  “I’m here,” he called to her through the darkness.

  With a soft sigh that she wasn’t alone, she brushed a hand through her hair to push the unruly curls away from her forehead. “What are you doing?”

  “Watching.” He turned back toward the window, his gaze once more falling to the soldiers below who paced the corner of the yard to keep their blood circulating against the chill of the damp night.

  Behind him, he heard the soft rustle of the covers as she slipped from bed. “The soldiers?”

  He nodded, his eyes following them in the halo of light from the stable lamp. “They’re waiting for the night coach.” He felt her come up behind him, his body instantly alert with the nearness of her. When she remained behind him, lingering fearfully in the shadows, he assured her, “They don’t suspect us.”

  “How can you be certain?”

  “Because they would have arrested us by now.”

  That blunt truth didn’t put her at ease. Instead, she came forward just long enough to peer down at the soldiers, to see for herself that they weren’t a threat, then stepped aside.

  He expected her to flee back to bed, especially since she’d spoken less than half a dozen words to him since they settled into the room. Instead, she remained just behind him at his shoulder. Close enough that he could catch the faint scent of jasmine that surrounded her like a cloud and sense the warm softness of her body. Close but not touching, and driving him mad with frustration.

  “I forgot that you used to be a soldier,” she said quietly.

  “In a different lifetime.” More truth lingered behind that than he wanted to admit.

  “This must be so very difficult for you.”

  Not difficult. Hell. He was in hell. He rasped out the quiet confession, “My world has ended.”

  He heard the quiet catch of her breath at that soft revelation and felt her hesitate, so attuned had he become to her. He thought that comment would drive her back to bed for certain, to maintain the distance between them that had formed that afternoon in the carriage. Instead, she slowly placed her hand on his bare shoulder.

  Her soft touch was absolution. The sensation spooled through him like a ribbon, tying the two of them together in the darkness and giving him solace.

  “Everything I believed in has turned out to be a lie. The men I admired, the ones whose careers I wanted to emulate—” He shook his head, still watching the yard below, even though the soldiers had boarded the night coach and were now waiting to leave. “Wentworth welcomed me with open arms the day I arrived at the embassy in Paris, did you know that? To bring me into the fold and guide me on the right diplomatic path so that I could serve England to the best of my abilities.” Bitterness burned on his tongue. “His patriotism was only a charade.”

  She said nothing, but in that silence he felt her sympathy. Her fingers tightened against his shoulder, then slid down his arm in a reassuring caress that soothed the simmering anger he’d carried with him since the moment he’d discovered Wentworth’s treachery.

  “I’ve wanted nothing more in my life than to serve England. That’s why I became a soldier, why I took a diplomatic position when the wars ended.” He wanted to make her understand— No, he wanted to share this part of his life with her because he knew she would understand. The only woman who could, now knowing what depths that service had taken him to. “I wanted to serve my country beyond the wars and into the peace.” Then he shared with her the secret that he’d kept from everyone, including his brother. “To know that I’ve earned the right to serve in Parliament, rather than being there only due to fortune of birth.”

  “You have.” She squeezed his arm. “In so many ways.”

  If only he could believe that himself. With a sigh, he lifted her hand to his lips, to place a kiss on her palm, then lowered it to his chest. “My country thinks I’m a traitor.”

  Instead of pulling away, she laced her fingers through his. “Only until you show them those pages.”

  “But I did commit treason. I stole those names and carried them out of France—”

  “To save the life of every man on that list.” Her voice was as quiet as the sleeping inn around them. “That wasn’t treason. That was heroism.”

  He squeezed his eyes closed against the doubts that whispered inside his head, putting voice to his worst fears. “And if I prove no better than Wentworth in the end?”

  “You’re already better.” Her fingers curled into the hard muscle of his chest, as if she could hold his heart in her hand and keep it safe. “So much more than you realize.”

  A shudder tore from him, and in its place came comforting warmth. Her touch proved to be a benediction. It was the belief in him that he’d been seeking since that afternoon, when he’d revealed everything. The forgiveness and blessing he needed to keep going, to survive.

  They stood together like that for a long moment, with his heart beating strong beneath her fingertips, and the closeness of her made him ache. Unable to resist, he turned toward her and cupped her face in his palm, then lowered his head to kiss her—

  She moved her mouth away only a hairsbreadth before his lips touched hers. Stepping back, she slipped away from him.

  “That’s not…” She swallowed hard and twisted her hands in that tent of a night rail she insisted on wearing, as if distrusting herself not to reach for him. “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Seems like a fine idea to me,” he murmured, wanting very much to find solace in her arms tonight. “One we’d both enjoy a great deal.”

  Her lips parted delicately from the temptation he presented. She was a widow and knew the pleasures a man could give her, and a longing for exactly that showed in every inch of her. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  But the stubborn woman shook her head and took another step backward, increasing the distance between them. Instinctively he knew not to follow, no matter how much he wanted to.

  “You’re wrong,” she countered.

  “I’m not.” He arched a brow to punctuate his point. “You kissed me twice in front of the soldiers.”

  “I had to convince them we were married.”

  “One kiss would have done that. There was no need for a second, unless you simply wanted it.” He pinned her with a look so blatant in its declaration of desire that she shivered. “If you wanted something as small from me as a kiss, just think of what other pleasures I could give you if you allowed yourself to accept them.”

  Accept them…as if he were giving her a gift. He nearly laughed at the irony. The truth was that the gift would be his, to show him that she trusted him enough to make herself vulnerable to him in the most exposed way. To prove that she glimpsed the good still inside him.

  “None of that matters,” she whispered, yet he noted with a tightening of his gut that she didn’t deny it. Even now her voice dripped with so much need that it trembled. “What matters is Ethan.”

  That snapped him up straight. What the blazes did her son have to do with this? “I told you. You’ll have my help with his inheritance. Nothing will change that.”

  “Not if we…if we…” She gestured her hand toward the bed, unable to say the words. After all, speak of the devil…although at that moment, Ross would have sold
his soul for one night with her and the absolution he knew he’d find in her arms. “It will only cause problems between us.”

  “That won’t happen.”

  She challenged, “So you’ve walked away as good friends with every woman you’ve ever bedded? You’ve never had a bad parting afterward?”

  Christ. He couldn’t answer that, not without lying. Her sharp mind was one of the things he liked best about her. Until right now.

  “Then you’d better stay on your side of the room,” he warned, deadly serious. “Because if you touch me again, I won’t be able to resist stripping off that frumpy gown of yours.” He paused to emphasize exactly how serious he was. “With my teeth.”

  Her eyes widened like moons at that declaration, one he wholly meant to keep if she dared come closer. Understanding how completely earnest he was, she took another step away. Smart woman.

  His frustration burned hot. To tamp down his rising desire—and other shamelessly rising things—he moved to the other side of the window, putting further distance between them. He forced his thoughts away from Grace and back to London and what awaited them there. It was as good as a dunk in cold water.

  “If I’m to have any chance of being exonerated,” he said quietly, “then I have to get to St James’s Palace to see the king.”

  “They’ll arrest you as soon as you arrive.”

  He slid a sideways glance at her through the shadows. “Then I have to get there very carefully.” When she didn’t find his dry attempt at humor amusing, he turned back toward the window and the now deserted inn yard below. “I’ll need help.”

  “We’ll need help,” she corrected, unaware of how that single word, uttered with such resolve, pierced him with pleasure. “You’re thinking of your brother, aren’t you?”

  Not taking his eyes away from the window, he smiled. She’d begun to understand how he thought. “Yes.”

  “The authorities will be watching. How will you send a message to him?”

  How, indeed? He couldn’t send a message directly to Christopher, she was right about that. Nor would Kit accept it unless he was certain no one had seen it being delivered. Yet it wouldn’t arrive at all without the help of someone the authorities would never suspect, someone removed from his social circle yet close enough to the periphery to make contacting Kit appear wholly innocuous. Someone who knew the risk yet would be willing to help anyway, simply out of love for England, for duty and honor—

  Or for the sheer excitement of it.

  “Evelyn,” he murmured as the solution struck him.

  “Who?”

  He stifled a laugh. She would be perfect! “Evelyn Winslow.”

  “Who is Mrs. Winslow?”

  “Miss Winslow.” A young woman with more daring than prudence. One who loved adventure and excitement to the point of distraction. And the very last person whom the authorities would suspect knew anything about his whereabouts.

  “Is she someone special to you?”

  Right then, Evelyn Winslow might just be—“My salvation.”

  “I see.”

  He looked up at the odd tone of her voice. He didn’t dare let himself consider the delicious possibility that Grace was jealous. Or how a less scrupulous man might use that to his advantage to fill the long night ahead. “She’s my cousin Robert’s sister-in-law.”

  But that admission didn’t relax her. She remained as uneasy as before as she folded her arms over her chest. “Someone you trust, then?”

  “I trust you, Grace.” Although he had every reason not to, given that she was keeping secrets of her own. But when she’d had the opportunity to betray him, she’d kept his confidences. For that, she’d earned his loyalty. “Our situation would be much easier if you’d trust me.”

  He turned and sat down on the windowsill, kicking his long legs out in front of him to physically keep her away. Sweet Lucifer, even now all of him ached to be buried between her thighs, to feel her writhe beneath him until she broke with pleasure. If she kept up this tension between them, then God help him.

  “But I do trust you.” She purposefully misunderstood his meaning by adding, “I wouldn’t be sleeping in the same room with you if I didn’t.”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t be,” he drawled in a wicked murmur, unable to help himself from trailing a shamelessly lascivious gaze over her. “I am a Carlisle, after all.”

  Her sensuous lips twisted into a wry smile at that reminder, drawing his eyes to her mouth…to that delectably kissable, wholly eager mouth of hers. And if she kept that up—

  God help her.

  “And who are you?” he asked. Despite her claim to the contrary, she didn’t trust him enough to reveal her true identity.

  “I can’t tell you, you know that.”

  “Not until you know whether I’ll be able to help you or be set swinging at Newgate, you mean,” he drawled with a touch of resentment. This new turn of conversation was doing wonders to tamp down his lust.

  “Not until I’m certain that Ethan cannot be harmed.”

  “He won’t be.” Then, just because he was in a self-punishing mood tonight, he added, “As long as you stop putting him in danger yourself.”

  Her eyes blazed in the darkness. “I have dedicated my life to keeping him safe. I would never put my son—”

  “Then stop taking unnecessary risks. Your acting ability is quite impressive, and I nearly applauded this afternoon in the carriage. But then, with the soldiers—“ He gestured in aggravation toward the inn yard below. “You need to stop doing that because sooner or later you’re going to come up against someone who sees through your act.”

  “Like you?”

  He ignored that bait. “I don’t want you to be hurt because of me.”

  Grace stared at him, as if sensing the raw honesty behind that. “What do you care about me? I’m nothing to you but a means of getting to London.”

  She was becoming so much more. Heaven help him when she realized it.

  He pushed away from the windowsill and pulled himself up to his full height as he slowly stalked toward her. Standing her ground, she let her eyes roam over him, taking him all in. Bare chest and bare feet, with only his trousers doing a poor job of keeping any part of him covered, given how the sight of her in the shadows, all bed-ready and warm had him nearly hard.

  “I mean it, Grace. Don’t take any more risks for me.”

  “I’m not doing it for you.” But there was no conviction in her voice.

  “Then you can stop doing it completely. I’ll keep my word to help you once we reach London. If not me, then Kit and my cousins. Ethan will have everything he deserves, I promise you.” He reached out and tucked a curl behind her ear. Then he opportunistically sifted his fingers through her silky tresses as he drew his hand away. “But I won’t allow you to be hurt. Understand?”

  She stared at him defiantly for a moment. Then she grudgingly nodded.

  “Now go back to bed and sleep. You’ll need rest for tomorrow’s travels.”

  Knowing to take his victories wherever he could, he returned to the window, to keep watch a little longer into the night. And to keep away from her before he took more than a caress of her hair. Behind him, he heard her footsteps as she returned to bed and the soft rustle of fabric as she nestled down beneath the warm blankets.

  It took all his strength not to follow her.

  Chapter 13

  London

  Two Evenings Later

  Christopher Carlisle lifted a glass of Madeira from the tray of a passing footman. He leaned a shoulder against the Grecian column at the edge of the Marquess of Totteridge’s ballroom and cast a bored glance around the crowded room.

  No one dared approach him. Word had flowed through the ton faster than the Thames through London that Ross was wanted for treason, and the news had made him a social pariah by proximity.

  Not that Kit had ever cared what polite society thought of him. He had his work with the Home Office to give his life purpose. And now,
he had a new mission—redeem his brother’s good name.

  Which was the only reason why he was here tonight, why he’d attended a musicale this afternoon, and why he would drop by as many of the clubs tonight as he could tolerate once he’d left this ball. And at each place he went, letting himself be cut. He needed to be visible to show the world that he considered the news about Ross to be ridiculous, and to remind them that the Earl of Spalding occupied a respected place in society and would again as soon as the charges were revoked.

  Hiding would only fuel the gossip.

  Yet how much longer could he continue the show? In the four days since Ross had been declared a traitor, the invitations had already stopped coming and his name stricken from the guest list at White’s. In truth, he was only allowed into the ball tonight because the soiree came so quickly on the heels of the treason declaration that the invitation was already in the post and so Lady Totteridge had been unable to rescind it. But sweet Lucifer was it entertaining! He smiled with private amusement at the way the merry widows tripped all over themselves to catch a good look at him, how the innocent young misses gave him wide berth, how the men simply ignored him.

  Not all. A few longtime friends had greeted him when he arrived, to tell him that they hoped the charges would be dismissed and to offer their support. He was certain their loyalty was helped along in no small part by his cousins’ devotion. The Duke of Trent and his brothers refused to believe that Ross was a traitor. Sebastian Carlisle wielded a great deal of power these days, and no one wanted to cross him. Neither did they want to be at odds with Robert and Quinton, both of whom were now successful in their own right and highly influential in all quarters.

  But most were happy to cut him, and Kit was happy to keep a list of their names for when this whole mess ended and they once again wanted the favor of the Earl of Spalding.

  If it ended.

  He hadn’t heard a single word from Ross since his brother fled Paris, and dread sat like a lead ball in his chest as he feared the worst. From what little information he was able to gather from his contacts within the War Office and the Court of St James’s, Ross was most likely dead. The last time anyone could pinpoint him he’d boarded a fishing boat in Le Havre to cross the Channel right as the storm hit. There was no record of him disembarking on English soil.