“I believe I can make a plow that will do three furrows at a time,” Henry said, as if he was still deep in thought and having an epiphany at the same time. “Two shire horses and a seat on top of the yoke that houses the plows. And there would be the yoke for the horses …” His eyebrows cocked as a grin settled on his face. And then he seemed to realize his arm was still around Hannah. “Oh, pardon me,” he said as he quickly removed it. He changed hands on the reins and then moved to take Hannah’s gloved hand and place it on the arm that had been around her back. “Just in case,” he said as he noticed Hannah’s questioning look.
Hannah grinned, trying hard to put out of her mind the feel of his thigh beneath her hand as she moved to steady herself a moment ago. It was solid muscle. He obviously rode a horse or exercised regularly. And now his arm, under the same gloved hand, felt just as solid.
“By the way, Lady Charlotte sends her regards,” Henry said as he negotiated the phaeton between two ancient barouches just inside the entrance to Hyde Park. Their occupants, looking at least as old as the equipage in which they rode, were waving to one another just as he made the turn.
Surprised at the mention of Charlotte Bingham again, Hannah angled her head up to stare at Henry. She also wanted to avoid being recognized by Lady Fennington. Should the dowager viscountess notice she rode unchaperoned, she was quite sure she would be the topic of drawing room conversations for a week. At least the earl blocked her from being seen by Lady Fletcher, although the baroness wasn’t much of a gossip. She was George Bennett-Jones’ aunt, in fact, and would probably encourage Hannah to take a turn with an eligible bachelor, chaperoned or not, and would probably offer to provide the equipage, too. “May I ask when you spoke with her?” Hannah wondered, hoping to keep the surprise out of her voice. She and Elizabeth Bennett-Jones had said their goodbyes to Charlotte not even a fortnight ago. The daughter of an earl and betrothed to a duke, Charlotte had departed for Sussex with the intention of marrying when she turned oneand-twenty. Hannah remembered that day would be Saturday.
“Yesterday, in fact,” Henry answered, expecting to feel a sense of disappointment at having to say the words aloud. Charlotte should have been his wife. Instead, she would be marrying the Duke of Chichester. He realized he had accepted Charlotte’s devotion to her duke, though. She would be a duchess, a role she had planned to play for her entire life. But, once again, Henry was left looking for a countess.
Or, perhaps not, if Lady Hannah was of a mind to marry him.
He could imagine taking her as his wife. He had already imagined what he might do to her in his bed, already imagined her as his countess. He had already voiced his intention to take her as his wife, although he wasn’t sure Hannah had given his earlier litany any serious thought.
When he glanced over to find Hannah regarding him, a look of anticipation animating her fairy tale princess features, a sense of calm settled over him. His eyes darted to the horse, just a quick look to be sure it was following the road, before he gave her his full attention.
She was a lovely woman. Not a classical beauty, nor as beautiful as Charlotte, but very pretty. Very soft and fair and princess-like. And she smelled like honeysuckle. He had to resist the urge to plant his nose into the space along the column of her neck just so he could inhale the scent of her. And those lips. Perfect rosebud lips just begging to be kissed. He could imagine kissing those lips. Every night and every morning and perhaps several times throughout the day. He wondered if she would allow such a thing. Sarah certainly wouldn’t.
The thought of Sarah brought him back to reality.
Hannah was still regarding him, her lips parted slightly. “Is she … well?” she asked finally, deciding the earl wasn’t going to offer any more information about her friend. He seemed to be staring at her, in a way that suggested he was remembering something. She hadn’t wanted to interrupt his thoughts, especially when she thought he looked like he was about to kiss her. Her belly did a little flip at that thought, sending a sensation of soft pleasure coursing through her. She had to resist the urge to look down at her bodice to be sure her breasts were still hidden beneath the pelisse she wore. They felt too heavy. She was sure her nipples were puckered. Heat pooled between her thighs. A slight flush rushed up her body, turning her face that pale pink. Again.
And if Henry didn’t maintain a tighter rein on the horse, they were going to end up on the grassy lawn to the side of the carriageway. She reached out with a gloved hand to grasp his larger hand.
“Oh, pardon me,” Henry said suddenly, his hands suddenly tightening on the ribbons. The horse tossed his head in response but straightened his progress on the path.
“A penny for your thoughts.” The words were out of her mouth before Hannah realized she had said them.
Trying hard to suppress a grin of embarrassment, Henry shook his head. “I was … woolgathering. Which is a horrible thing for someone such as me to admit to when I find sheep so …” He paused, not sure if he should tell her of his disdain for the livestock that were so important to the region where his lands were located. Oxfordshire could boast of the Cotswolds, and while the region was synonymous with sheep, his lands were devoted to farming. And farming was what he did. It was how he had made his living before he inherited the earldom. And he continued to do it, although he did so because he could not imagine not doing it. One of the few members of the aris
tocracy who worked for a living, Henry could actually afford not to, should he choose. But he was used to laboring in the fields surrounding Gisborn Hall. Just because he had inherited an earldom and enough money so he could spend his days in leisure didn’t mean he intended to live like his peers.
“Offensive?” Hannah offered, not quite sure if it was the correct adjective.
Henry glanced over at his passenger, finding the word perfect. “Yes. I’m a farmer. I don’t own sheep. Nor will I ever. Nor are there any on my lands.” His words were delivered with a firmness that suggested he despised the sources of wool that were so important to the economy of Great Britain.
“Should there be?” Hannah countered, her expression one of puzzlement.
Henry laughed. “Not if you ask me.” He reached over to where her hand was resting on his arm, his gloved hand patting hers. “But they are a fixture of the Cotswolds,” he added with a shrug. “And, in answer to your earlier question, when I left the Wainwright estate yesterday, Lady Charlotte was busy with her decorating project for the duke’s house. I expect Wainwright has asked for her hand by now. He planned to do so after I left them to return to London.”
Hannah sighed, her face brightening at the news of her best friend. “I am very relieved to hear it,” she said with a grin. “There was gossip suggesting her cousin tried to have her killed, and other gossip that had her father on his deathbed at St. Bart’s.”
Henry cocked his head. “And he is … not?” he wondered, his brows furrowing. He had heard the very same gossip shortly after he had met with the Earl of Ellsworth. Although he never went to White’s, he did visit Boodles during his occasional visits to London.
Dipping her head, Hannah shook it before returning her gaze to meet his. “He has a bump on his head, but apparently wanted everyone to believe he was going to die. He wanted to learn if his nephew was truly as awful as he feared.”
Henry gave her a sideways glance. “And?” he urged her to continue.
“He is. He’s been arrested for theft and attempted murder,” she answered, her voice kept low, as if she were afraid of being overheard. “I tell you only because …”
She paused suddenly, not wanting to admit she knew of his betrothal to Charlotte.
“Because it is important to me,” Henry stated, glancing again in her direction. He wondered if what Hannah knew of Bingham’s condition was really the case. Was the man truly recovered? Or was he on his deathbed? And would the authorities truly arrest a man who was due to inherit the Ellsworth earldom? It seemed rather unlikely to
him. Members of the ton seemed impervious to matters of the law. “But Lady Charlotte is under Wainwright’s protection now, so I can rest easy knowing she is safe from her own cousin.”
Hannah nodded, feeling a sense of relief at learning of her friend’s current situation. Charlotte would be married soon. With Elizabeth already married and with child, and Charlotte about to be wed, it just left Hannah without a betrothal in place. “So, what brings you to London, my lord?”
Henry had to resist the urge to say, “You do.”
And then he couldn’t help himself.
“You do, my lady,” he said aloud, holding his breath as he tried to guess how she would react. “And you’re supposed to call me ‘Gisborn’,” he added.
He was not surprised by the sight of her slightly parted lips, of her face as her expression changed from delight to puzzlement. He directed the horse to pull into a parkway along the side of the path where a tree provided shade. After he jumped down from the phaeton, he tied the reins around the trunk of the tree and stepped to the side of the phaeton where Hannah sat. Holding his hands up as if he intended to bodily capture Hannah, he noticed her widened eyes at how far down she would have to step to make it to the ground. “Place your hands on my shoulders, and I’ll do the rest.”
Hannah did as she was told, and suddenly she was floating to the ground, Henry’s hands planted firmly on either side of her waist. Once her feet were under her, she expected he would let go. But he stood before her, his heavy lidded eyes letting her know he wasn’t about to let go. Instead, his lips came down onto hers in a very light, feathery kiss that tickled as well as tantalized. It was over too soon, she thought, and she was disappointed when he straightened slightly.
“I meant what I said earlier,” he said in a quiet voice. “Lady Charlotte recommended I call on you. She thought … that is,” he closed his eyes for a moment, as if seeing her before him was too much of a distraction. “I believe she was right in thinking we might suit one another for marriage. So, I would ask if I might be allowed to court you,” he got out finally. “Your father has already given his permission,” he added, not sure if that bit of information would help his case or not.
Hannah stared up at Henry, her lips still parted slightly as she considered his words. He was talking seriously of courting and marriage. Not like he had back at the house, where she had been left to think his comments were made in jest. And Lady Charlotte had recommended he call on her. Surely Charlotte had been his first choice for a wife, though.
Had he wanted Charlotte because he felt affection for her? Or was it because of a dowry? No, he was an earl with somewhat of a fortune, so a dowry couldn’t explain why Charlotte was his first choice. But why had Charlotte recommended her? “Tell me, Gisborn. Do you have just one mistress? Or several?” Hannah asked then, her manner quite matter-of-fact. The question had worked in Elizabeth’s favor at one point.
Henry stared at her for several seconds, stunned by the question. Gently bred ladies didn’t speak of mistresses. Or ask gentlemen about their arrangements with their mistresses. “I don’t employ a mistress,” he finally answered with a shake of his head. Then he realized he needed to tell her about his son. And about Sarah. “I have a son with a woman I have known since we were children.” When Hannah did not seem to take offense at the comment, he continued, “Although I love her and have asked her to be my wife on several occasions, she has steadfastly refused. She is not of the ton and thought I required a wife who was.” When Hannah continued to regard him, her expression not changing in the least, Henry swallowed. “As a… an illegitimate child, my son cannot inherit, so I seek a wife with whom to have legitimate children. Heirs,” he stated with a shrug, thinking that at any moment, Hannah would ask him to drive her home, and tell him she never wanted to see him again.
So he was rather surprised when Hannah placed her hand on his arm and turned, as if she intended them to walk on the crushed granite path leading away from the carriageway. They began to stroll, neither saying anything right away.
Hannah remembered Elizabeth’s description of her first foray into Hyde Park with George. They, too, had stopped and walked along such a path, although it wasn’t to discuss such serious subjects as bastard children and mistresses.
Hannah was quite sure it was so they could engage in stolen kisses behind a hedgerow.
“What is your son’s name?” Hannah wondered, her face not indicating how she felt about hearing of Henry’s son and the woman he claimed to love.
Henry could not have been more surprised at Hannah’s simple question. “Nathaniel. Nathan,” he amended quickly, keeping his attention on where they were going as much as on her.
When he didn’t offer more information, Hannah asked, “And how old is Nathan?”
Henry increased the speed of their walk, still a bit surprised at how calm Hannah seemed. Wouldn’t any other woman of the ton give him the cut direct for having mentioned something as crass as a bastard child? But then, Hannah had mentioned mistresses. “He is ten. A tutor is seeing to his education this year, but he will go off to Abingdon School in the fall,” he said, wondering if that information might help his cause a bit.
After all, what potential wife would want an illegitimate child underfoot whilst trying to raise legitimate heirs? The thought made him bristle, but at the same time, he could understand why a wife would not wish there to be daily reminders of a man’s past indiscretions.
Nathan is not an indiscretion. I loved Sarah. Love Sarah, he amended to himself.
“So soon?” Hannah countered, her brows furrowed as if she were truly concerned about a boy being sent off to boarding school.
Henry lifted one shoulder. “I was eleven when I went off to Abingdon,” he countered. “And thirteen when I went to Eton, and seventeen when I went to Oxford.”
Hannah regarded him with a bit of surprise. From his earlier comments about being a farmer, she wouldn’t have expected him to attend the same schools where so many of the gentlemen of the ton had been educated. “So, you knew you would be an earl someday?”
A chuckle erupted from Henry, a rather pleasant sound given the man had seemed so serious only a moment ago. “Someone did, I suppose.” He considered asking her why she didn’t request he take her home immediately. He still half-expected her to do so. And she still hadn’t answered his question about whether he could court her, although she hadn’t dodged the question, either.
“I only ever had a governess until I went to finishing school in town,” Hannah said wistfully. “I was rather jealous of my brother. He had a tutor, of course.”
Henry grinned. “Ah, yes. The older brother,” he said as he remembered the marquess mentioning an heir. “Is he in Town now?”
Shaking her head, Hannah sighed. “He’s a naval officer. I’ve no idea where he is, nor have I seen him since …” Her voice trailed off as she considered just when it was she last saw her older brother. “Our mother’s funeral,” she finally realized. “Goodness, it’s been over two years since he was in Town!”
Secretly glad she hadn’t turned into a watering pot at the mention of her mother’s funeral, Henry found her revelation about her brother’s absence amusing. “Do you miss him now that he’s in the Navy?” he wondered, realizing conversation came easy with the chit. He could imagine speaking with her like this on a regular basis; over breakfast, should she rise early enough to join him, of course, or at luncheon, although he wasn’t always good about coming in from the fields to eat (however, knowing she would be there might be the impetus he needed to do so), and during dinner, for propriety’s sake they would dine together every night. He was about to imagine them conversing in bed, perhaps after having made love, when sleep was just about to claim them as they held one another. But he found she was gazing up at him rather expectantly, and he had to put the thought from his head. “I apologize …”
“You were woolgathering again, weren’t you?” Hannah accused with a teasing grin.
Damn! So the chit had a sense of humor, too. “Guilty as charged, my lady. So…” And then he realized he had forgotten the question he had just asked her only a moment ago.
“I do miss my brother, although not because Will was particularly loving or a joy to be around,” she answered in a tone that suggested she had just said the very same words only a moment ago. But she was smiling as she said them, making Henry realize she had forgiven him.
He frowned, wondering what kind of brother William Slater was to his sister. “It sounds as if there’s a story or two there,” he hinted. The path on which they walked suddenly split into two; Henry led them along the path to the right, thinking perhaps it circled around and would bring them back to the same place.
Hannah dipped her head, the pink flush appearing where her bonnet didn’t hide her neck from view. “I will have to know you much better before I tell those tales,” she countered lightly. She raised her head back up to find him looking down at her with a much more serious expression than she was expecting to see. “What is it?” she asked, wondering if she had spoken out of turn.
“I was serious. About what I said back at the phaeton. About … courting you,” he stammered, chastising himself for making such a cake of his declaration.
“I know,” Hannah said with a nod, her slight smile not indicating how she felt about the topic.
“So, may I?” he countered, taking the hand that rested on his arm and bringing it to his mouth. He placed a kiss on the back of her gloved hand, tempted to peel back the fabric until he could expose her knuckles and kiss them directly.
“I thought you already were,” Hannah whispered, an eyebrow cocked into a teasing arch.
Henry’s face split into a huge grin. “You minx!” Glancing about to be sure no one could see them, he cupped her face with one hand while he placed his other at the small of her back at the same time his lips met hers.
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