Intentions of the Earl (Scandalous Sisters, Book 1)

by Rose Gordon

  “I think our discussion is complete,” he said, regaining his feet.

  “Good riddance,” Brooke mumbled to his retreating back.

  Briefly glimpsing the back of Gateway as he stopped for a moment to talk to Andrew, Brooke turned her eyes back to the yard to watch the different players at their various games.

  Her eyes were presently on the pall mall players when Andrew took a seat on the ground right next to her. “Our horses are waiting when you’re ready,” he whispered in her ear.

  Brooke couldn't stop the smile that took over her lips. “I’m ready now,” she told him excitedly. She had been anxiously waiting to leave because she hadn't secured permission to do so. Instead, she'd given a note to the butler to deliver to her mother right before luncheon, telling her she had left to go on a picnic and would return shortly. The note had been vague about where she was going and when exactly she would be back, but Brooke didn’t care.

  Andrew helped her to her feet and led her to where the horses were saddled and waiting for them. “Miss Bluebell,” Andrew said as they approached her mount.

  “She’s just as magnificent up close as she was across the field,” Brooke whispered, stroking Bluebell’s mane.

  “Yes,” Andrew agreed. “She is quite the beast.”

  Andrew helped her up onto her horse, then mounted his own.

  Brooke watched in quiet awe as Andrew swung his leg over the back of his massive stallion. He sat up on his horse and adjusted himself in the saddle. Brooke was fascinated by the picture he made. It was like his massive body was part of the horse’s. It just looked so natural that he would be on the back of a horse. She couldn’t help it—she just sat there and stared at him.

  It wasn’t until she met his curious, blue eyes looking back at her that she jerked her eyes away. “I was just…ah…just making sure you mounted all right,” she stammered.

  Andrew’s face formed an expression of pure amusement, but he didn’t laugh. “I am quite capable of mounting my horse, among other things.”

  Brooke’s face flushed. “That will be enough of that type of talk, my lord,” she managed.

  This time Andrew did laugh. “One day, you might enjoy such conversation.”

  “I assure you, I will never enjoy such a conversation,” Brooke told him. Her voice had gained a sharp edge to it.

  They rode their horses down a little tree-lined trail that led away from the house. “All right,” Andrew allowed. “We shall talk of something else. How are you finding this party?”

  Brooke was thankful for his change of conversation subjects. “It has been lovely so far. I have enjoyed meeting many new people, eating new dishes, and of course, having a break from London.”

  “A break from London?”

  “Yes, a break. You know, time away from balls, pressure, and gossip,” Brooke replied, trying desperately to forget about what gossip she'd witnessed yesterday. She was still determined to not ask him about it, but she also didn’t want him to know she knew anything about it.

  “Gossip,” Andrew mused. “Are you telling me that you have heard not one jot of gossip since coming to this party?”

  Brooke tried to keep her expression bland, but her face heated up nonetheless. “Well, I have heard some gossip, I confess,” she stated. She couldn’t lie and say she’d heard none. He wouldn’t believe that for a second.

  “Anything you find ‘juicy’, as they say?” he asked. His eyes were looking over at her instead of the path in front of them.

  Brooke felt his scorching eyes on her as if they were boring holes into the side of her face. She dared not turn her head and meet them, or she might undeniably give herself away. “None that I have heard do I believe to be true,” she said, her voice a little higher than usual.

  “You’ve heard some, then?” Andrew asked quietly, still looking at her.

  “Yes, I’ve already said that.”

  “And how do you know that what you heard wasn’t true?”

  “I just do not believe that the person who I heard such gossip about has the type of character to prove the words correct,” she said as smoothly as she could. For some reason he wanted to talk about this. What she couldn’t comprehend was why. Why would a man wish to talk about gossip? He obviously knew she knew, and he was trying to get her to acknowledge it.

  “That’s a very admirable trait about you, Brooke,” Andrew said without a hint of his thoughts being betrayed in his voice.

  Brooke moved her head slowly to look at him now. When she caught his eyes, they were full of disbelief. “Why do you look at me that way?” she inquired.

  “Which way?”

  “As if you do not believe what I say?” The man was looking at her as if he believed she was a liar, and that rankled her.

  Andrew stopped his horse, which led to Brooke having to stop hers if she wanted to hear what he had to say, and she did. “It’s not that I don’t believe what you say. In fact, I do believe it. It’s more that I don't believe you would so easily dismiss horrible gossip about my past with such little knowledge that you have of me.” His words were even and smooth, but in his eyes, the truth was evident.

  Brooke reached over to him, and for the first time she was the one to touch him first and without any warning, she slowly ran her hand up and down his forearm before giving him a light reassuring squeeze. “I suppose we’re talking about the same thing. Yes, I heard gossip about you and your family last night,” she acknowledged. “I don’t believe it. I have no proof to support any of it. Therefore, like all gossip I hear, I don’t hold it against the person until I find that it’s true.” She gave him a sweet, tilted smile.

  Suddenly Andrew’s bewildered face turned to one of pain, as if he’d been punched. “And if the gossip were true?” he choked out.

  Brooke’s eyes narrowed. Did he even know what she’d heard? How much of that gossip was he trying to own up to? Even if what she'd heard was true and he technically was a bastard, did any of it really matter to her? True, she had decided earlier she was going to stop at nothing (or nearly nothing, for the time being) to win a marriage proposal, and accept, naturally—which would then lump her in to the gossip—but did any of these claims really change her true feelings for him?

  In a split-second she had her answer. No, none of what she heard last night would change her opinion of him. She didn’t care about his mother’s activities. Whether she was a recluse or a woman of ill repute, it mattered naught to Brooke. She’d learned in her short time in England that a lot of women kept company with men who were not their husbands. Did it truly matter anymore how wild his father had been? He was dead now. As for Andrew’s schooldays, they were of no account to her.

  Brooke locked her eyes with Andrew’s. “Even if what I heard last night were true, I have no call to change my previous opinions.”

  Andrew looked relieved, but only momentarily. Then his face took on a grim look and white lines formed around his mouth. “Then you must not have heard it all,” he said dully.

  “I heard plenty of damning gossip,” she snapped, trying not to smile at Andrew’s look of surprise at her word choice.

  He quickly recovered his features. “May I ask what you heard?”

  “You may ask,” Brooke said sweetly, “but I shan't tell you.”

  Andrew’s face turned a fraction darker, which caused Brooke’s smile to dim. Glancing at the watch pinned to her bodice, she said, “You have exactly one minute to clear up whatever you think you must. After that, I shall never speak of this again.”

  Before Brooke knew what was happening, Andrew started talking at breakneck speed. “My parents had a spat soon after their wedding. I don’t know why. It ended up with him packing her away in Essex to a country estate he owned. Nine months later I was born. Some question my parentage because of his absence, including at times my father. I don’t believe there is a question. I look identical to him at this age.

  “My parents never reunited, nor did my mother ever have any other chil
dren. My father was a drunkard and a gambler, who died in a duel eight years ago. My mother became a recluse. She comes to London rarely and our relationship is strained at best.”

  Andrew’s face took on a contemplative look as if he didn’t know what to say about his relationship with his mother. With a shake of his head, he muttered, “I guess you’ll hear this at some point anyway. The reason for our strained relationship is we had depended on each other so greatly when I was young. However, when I started school and I was mocked because of her past and our close relationship, I decided to cut all ties with her in order to have an easier time.”

  Brooke nodded. All of this she’d heard about, but his explanations made sense. Every last one of them. “I heard those rumors last night, however, your detailed explanations, or at least the ones you were able to spew in sixty seconds, makes the rumors pale in my mind.”

  “You don’t care about any of it?” Andrew asked uncertainly.

  “Not one whit,” she said with a simple smile.

  Chapter 20

  Andrew felt relieved and on edge at the same time at hearing Brooke’s words. She wasn’t going to render their relationship void because of some trivial—and if he said so himself irrelevant—gossip. Some London ladies would run screaming as fast as their slippers would carry them at just the hint of gossip, but not his Brooke. She didn’t turn a hair.

  At the same time, unease was quickly creeping in. She wasn’t going to let gossip taint their relationship, but he was going to destroy it all by himself within the next few days.

  After finding what he considered the perfect picnic spot, Andrew stopped his horse and dismounted. “I should think this spot will do for our purpose,” he said, looking around.

  The spot he’d chosen overlooked a small lake. Actually it was more of a large pond, but that wasn’t important. A few surrounding trees offered both shade and seclusion. The area where the picnic blanket would be laid was made of a thick, green carpet of grass. It would be absolutely perfect for eating and maybe a few other activities…

  His mind snapped back to present when Brooke cleared her throat. “Right,” Andrew clipped. He walked over to where Brooke was still seated on her horse and reached his hand up to help her down.

  “Thank you, my lord. I began to despair that I was going to have to sit upon Bluebell and eat oats with her while you enjoyed our picnic alone.” Her voice was light and full of humor.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I was just scouting out the best place for our picnic and it slipped my mind that you were waiting.” That sounded weak even to his ears.

  “It’s all right,” Brooke assured him. “I just have a feeling that what’s in there,” she said, pointing to the picnic hamper that Andrew had taken off his horse and was now holding, “is better than what’s in there—” she pointed to the saddlebag where Bluebell’s apples and oats sat.

  “I assure you, what’s in here is much better,” Andrew said, giving the hamper a little swing. “Shall we?”

  “Yes.” Brooke placed her hand on his proffered arm.

  Andrew laid out the blanket and made sure to position it the best he could to be out of view for anyone who might happen by. He intended to ruin her, but he didn’t want to do it today.

  Once the blanket was in the perfect location, Andrew unpacked the hamper. He pulled out two cheese wheels, some bread, strawberries, a few pieces of chicken, a bottle of lemonade, and two glasses. Finally, the hamper was emptied and he looked to Brooke to take a seat, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking around her surroundings.

  He knew what she saw: a little area that had a wall of trees on three sides, and only a little grassy stretch then the banks of the lake, pond, or whatever, on the fourth side. They were so secluded even their horses couldn’t see them. Andrew thought she might panic. “If this won’t do, we can move,” he offered, hoping she would refuse.

  “No,” Brooke said breathlessly. “I have no objections to where we eat. I was just admiring the beauty of it.” She waved her hand to indicate that she was taken with all her surroundings.

  Relief flooded him. He didn’t want to move an inch. This was the perfect spot to steal a few kisses, and he was looking forward to stealing as many as he could. He might even try to do more than just steal a few paltry kisses if she’d let him. He’d like to run his hands through her hair again or perhaps somewhere else, too.

  Andrew forced his mind away from such lustful thoughts before his body gave him away. First, he needed to get her to sit down. “Would you like to take a seat,” he invited, patting a spot on the blanket right next to him.

  Brooke took a seat next to him. But not too close. That could be fixed. He smiled at her when she stiffed because he scooted so close to her their thighs were touching.

  “Can I interest you in some chicken?” he asked, reaching behind them to grab two pieces of chicken.

  “Thank you.” She licked her lips but didn’t reach out to grab one of the offered pieces.

  Andrew registered her reluctance. “It’s just us. You don’t have to be so formal as to cut it.”

  Her face lit up and he let out a little chuckle, accompanied by a wide grin. When Brooke grabbed the piece of chicken and bit a huge chunk out of it, Andrew let out a shout of laughter and shook his head. “You’re something else.”

  “I have no idea if that is an insult or a compliment. Coming from you, I shall assume the worst,” she managed in between bites of chicken. “But I forgive you,”

  “Have no fear. It was not an insult in the least,” Andrew said jovially. “I would be afraid to insult a woman who can tear apart a piece of chicken so savagely. It’s no longer a mystery to me as to why the colonies won their independence. If the country is full of people like you, England never stood a chance.”

  Brooke laughed. “No, the real reason England lost is it was too hard for their soldiers to shoot straight with their vision impaired by their wig powder and spiky hats falling in their eyes.”

  Andrew laughed at her jest. He had never understood wearing a silly wig or even hair powder. He had never attempted to, and felt no shame in that. Thankfully, the trend was becoming less common by the time he reached his majority, however, there were still a few who felt the need to wear a wig or powder.

  “You don’t powder your hair—why is that?” Brooke asked curiously.

  He shrugged, took the chicken bone from her, and put it by the basket. “I’ve never felt the need. Some feel that it allows them to be seen as older and wiser if their hair is white, whether naturally or because of powder. I personally do not put much stock into that idea. And on a personal note, I find the wigs and powders to be annoying, hideous, and smell of a very foul odor.”

  Brooke giggled. “A foul odor?” she asked him while she licked the chicken juice from her fingers.

  “Yes, most of the powders used are held in place on the hair by fat—pig fat to be exact,” Andrew stated and took satisfaction when she curled her pretty lip. “Let’s not talk of this any longer. I hate to see how your lips react,” he said in a husky voice. “I would much rather they be used for other purposes besides sneering and curling up in disgust.”

  “Oh,” Brooke said in surprise.

  Andrew leaned closer to her. His face was now less than an inch from hers. She swallowed as he reached up with his right hand and ran his fingers along her jawline. Brooke’s lips parted and her eyes grew round with wonder as he continued to rub her jaw with his thumb while gently massaging her neck at the same time. “Does this feel good?” Andrew asked huskily.

  “Yes,” she gasped in reply.

  He closed that last bit of space between them and his lips took hers. He kissed her slow and gentle, taking time to enjoy the feeling of her lips on his. His left hand took hold of the other side of her face and touched her jaw and neck the way his right hand had.

  Slowly, Andrew sought to deepen their kiss and ran his tongue along her lips until she opened her mouth. When she let out a short
gasp, Andrew let his hands fall from her face and onto her shoulders, where he rubbed them in small, circular motions with his thumbs.

  “Is something wrong?” he panted, when she suddenly pulled away from his embrace.

  Brooke’s look of confusion did not change when she said, “No.” Nor did her look change when she looked down and took notice of his hands on the front of her shoulders, with his thumbs tucked inside of the top of her gown.

  “Do you want me to continue,” he asked hoarsely, praying she’d say yes.

  Brooke didn’t say yes, nor did she say no—she just gave a single nod.

  Before she could change her mind, Andrew took charge of her mouth again. This time it was not as gentle, it was more demanding and intense.

  Her hands grabbed onto his shoulders and slid slowly up and down his arms, inspecting every bulge and plane as they went. Her action reminded Andrew of what he wanted to do. His hands left her shoulders and went to her side, taking pleasure in the way her soft body felt through her gown. He'd hoped she didn’t wear a corset, and was pleased to learn she didn’t. His hands slowly glided up and down her ribs several times before moving higher.

  Brooke flinched and let out a little shriek. “It’s all right,” he assured her quietly. “I’ll only do what you want me to, nothing more.” The words were spoken, and he meant them now. He just hoped he could keep that promise in a few minutes.

  Brooke needed no more convincing and pulled his head back down to hers. This time it was her turn to be in control of their kiss. Andrew groaned and he rolled her onto her back. He carefully ran his thumbs along the sides of her soft breasts. As she relaxed more under him, his caresses got bolder.

  She let out an excited sigh when he ran his thumbs under and around the sides of her breasts. “Do you like that?” he asked between kisses.

  “Yes, oh yes,” she breathed.

  He had certainly gotten lucky with Brooke. Not only did her body respond to his, but she openly admitted to enjoying his kisses and touches.