Teaching the Earl

by Amelia Hart

  While she might temporarily hiss at him they mustn't, not here, they would be caught, her protests never lasted long. Not when he held her as he did, firmly commanding, and kissed her with gleeful ruthlessness, his hands under her skirts or lifting her breasts from their minimal constraints. Fashionable evening dresses offered little resistance. Neither did she.

  Oh, he delighted her. Though it was terribly difficult to hide giggles and sighs and be silent. He was unexpectedly playful sometimes, and she liked that best of all-

  "Elizabeth," he said, and his voice was a purr. Her gaze shot to his and caught that intent expression she recognized so well, no doubt a reflection of what he saw on her face as she had such thoughts. "You know you only have to ask." He turned her hand over so he could circle her palm with a thumb.

  Her eyes drifted closed, and she swallowed hard. Her nipples tightened within her morning dress. That was not the thought over which she had hesitated. Yet it was certainly a viable replacement. "Chris," she said in soft acquiescence.

  She heard the legs of his chair slide over the floor, and he tugged her to her feet. She came without hesitation, wrapped her arms around him and clung like some vine, languid with anticipation.

  "Shall I carry you?" he said, his voice husky with more than amusement.

  "I'm not sure I can walk." Her knees trembled.

  "You'll be late for Mrs Holbrook."

  "She won't mind. Only ten minutes."

  "Possibly a little longer." His breath was hot in her ear.

  "Possibly."

  "I'm sorry I'm so late," she called, out of breath as she trotted across the ballroom to the Holbrooks. They smiled at her with calm benevolence.

  "Don't worry about it even a moment," said Julia Holbrook. "You haven't missed much."

  "It looks magnificent. Where did you find so many flowers?"

  "Do you think it's too much?" But Julia did not look anxious.

  "Oh no, it's divine. And the scent! I could smell them the instant I walked in through the front door." Servants hurried about with vast bouquets of spring flowers, and the fragrance of them was rich and heady.

  "All your guests will be sneezing their heads off," said Mr Holbrook. Elizabeth noticed he held Julia's hand, mostly concealed in the folds of her skirt.

  "None of the servants are."

  "Maybe those that are prone to sneeze are hiding in other parts of the house, busy with different tasks."

  "I suppose that's possible. Ah well. We can open the doors if it becomes overbearing. It's a surprisingly warm day."

  "Not long until the Season is over."

  There was such an air of subdued excitement and connection beneath their commonplaces, it was difficult not to blush. Elizabeth recognized it too well. If she had not been there, perhaps their conversation would have been much more intimate. She felt as if she intruded.

  "I wrote down a list of everything I've needed to do to prepare for this ball," said Julia to Elizabeth, turning away from her new husband, "in correct order and with the approximate amount of time required for each thing. Also a list of suppliers, though I had that from another friend. I trust her word that they're the best people though, as they've done very well for me."

  "Oh! Thank you so much for going to so much trouble. I didn't mean to put you out."

  "Not at all. It's good to have it all written down. It will help me to remember, next time I must do this again."

  "I'll copy it out then, and send back the original."

  "Also a friend of yours is here. Perhaps he is sensitive to the flowers, because he said he'd wait in the library to see you."

  "A friend?"

  "Yes. The brother of one of my pupils, from my first teaching position. I had no idea you knew each other. Michael Seton. He dropped in to call today, said he knew you'd be visiting and-You don't look pleased. I assumed he knew you'd be here because you told him so. I was glad of a chance to see him again after so long. Is he not a friend of yours after all?"

  "I know him. He kindly escorted me about town when I first arrived back from Devon."

  "Yet you should see your face. Have you had a falling out? I did think it a little peculiar he should seek you here and not at your home. But then I decided he wanted to see us both."

  "He did something unpardonable. I haven't had the chance to speak to him about it. I would like to tell him exactly what I think of him."

  "That sounds ominous," said Colin Holbrook with a chuckle. "Have at it."

  "I shall, if you don't mind. Which way is the library?"

  They both pointed to a nearby hallway. "Second door on the right," said Julia.

  Anger rose within her as she walked in the direction indicated. How dare he involve her friends like this? It was so improper. What did he think to gain from it?

  She flung open the door so it swung back and banged against the wall. Michael jumped, and spun.

  "What are you doing here?" she said, glaring at him, her tone low and ominous.

  "Elizabeth!"

  "Yes, of course it's me. How did you know I'd be here?"

  "One of your servants told me."

  "What? Have you been bribing my servants? Michael! What on earth will they think of you? Of me? This is disgraceful."

  "How else am I to find out anything when you won't write to me?"

  She gaped at him, shook her head in disbelief. Did he remember nothing of their last meeting, when he had assaulted her, felt Chris's wrath, seen them intimately embracing and called her a whore? How could he imagine any connection continued between them?

  "Why intrude on my friends in the name of seeing me? What do you hope to gain from it?"

  "But . . . but you signaled you wanted to meet. I thought this the most discreet course."

  "I signaled? What on earth do you mean?"

  "The necklace. You wore the necklace to my aunt's ball. You knew I'd be there, and you wore it."

  "I-Whose ball? Which necklace?"

  "Mrs Goring's Ball. And the necklace I gave you. The sapphire necklace. As soon as I saw it I knew you'd forgiven me." He trailed off uncertainly in the face of her incredulous stare.

  "You gave me the necklace? How was I supposed to know it was from you?"

  "The letter I wrote. I left the necklace with a letter."

  "There was no letter. You left one?"

  "On your dressing table."

  "In Hensleigh Park?” Disgust clutched her to think of him creeping around her bedchamber. “Are you seriously saying you rode all the way to Hensleigh Park to leave me a necklace on my dressing table? Are you insane?"

  "In love. Not insane. In love. I love you. Even though you've deceived me, betrayed me with Lord Carhampton, I still love you. I will love you forever."

  "That sounds exactly like insanity. How is it I betrayed you with my husband?"

  "He never loved you. Nor you him. You did not even consummate your marriage."

  "How did you know that? As if it's any of your business, you little toad. To think I once liked you. Ungh! I was an idiot."

  "The housekeeper told me. His groom told her Lord Carhampton abandoned you on the road, and she knew you never shared a bed."

  "That prying, sneaking-" Mrs Harrow had just lost her position. The instant she had pen and paper she would write to Chris to turn the woman off without a character. And she would discover which of the servants in the London house had done the same. No one would sell private information about her. "You paid her to tell you?"

  "And to deliver the necklace and letter. I needed an ally in the house, if I was to rescue you."

  At least he had not been in her room. "And where exactly were you, my brave rescuer?" she said sarcastically. "I never saw hide nor hair of you the whole time I was there."

  His fists clenched, his face closed. "My father came after me. He dragged me back to London."

  "Oh, exceedingly manly."

  "He pays my allowance," he said, brows lowering resentfully in the face of her scorn. "Without it I h
ave no way to support you."

  "And I suppose he'd gladly continue paying it to support us both if I was such a fool as to flee with you?"

  "He'd have to."

  "Would he? I truly think you're a candidate for bedlam."

  "If I'm crazy it is for love of you. Only tell me I may hope-"

  "No! No you may not hope. Have you heard nothing I've said? I'd think you a scoundrel, if you had not fouled up this whole thing so thoroughly. Instead you're just a nuisance. When I get home I'll throw that necklace in the cesspool."

  "But it cost-Don't do that. If you don't want it, return it. As a-As a token of the affection we once had for each other."

  She eyed him. He had once seemed an elegant stripling, on the verge of becoming a suave man about town. Now he was ridiculous; and apparently also stricken for funds.

  "I will return it. But you are not to come to my house, and I will certainly not come to yours."

  "The Holbrook Ball. We'll both be here. I am escorting Mama, and you're sure to be invited. Bring it with you, and simply pass it to me."

  "I'll leave it on that table." She pointed with a stiff arm. "I've no wish to meet with you again, so don't imagine you may speak to me or have any contact."

  "Elizabeth, don't be so harsh. My only crime is to love you-"

  "No, your crime is to thrust yourself in where you're not wanted or welcome, and to try to destroy a marriage sanctified by God. Crime enough!"

  She flung herself out of the room without waiting to see if he had more to say, bubbling over with rage. How dare he encroach on her so, with no regard for her wishes?

  She stayed for the rest of her visit with the Holbrooks, determined not to be chased away by his presence. She did not see him emerge from the library, but then she was not looking out for him. Colin and Julia examined her with some curiosity, but when she did not mention Michael, and instead asked determined questions about every arrangement she could think of for the ball, they too pretended the meeting with him had not happened.

  She would get that necklace out of her house and be done with him. Let that be an end to it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The butler offered him the mail on a silver salver. Chris took it and flicked swiftly through the pile. Invitations, more invitations. Elizabeth could-Here was one from Devon, and the handwriting was unfamiliar. He set the other envelopes aside and opened this one with a flick of a thumbnail.

  It took him only moments to master the contents, and he was on his feet and barking orders.

  "Ulrich, have Galloway pack basic clothing for two days and see a horse is saddled. I'm off to Hensleigh Park. Where is her Ladyship?"

  "In her chamber, preparing for the Holbrook Ball. I hope there's nothing amiss, my lord."

  "An accident on the farm. A man crushed nearly to death."

  "I'm sorry to hear that."

  "It's his family that must be thought of now."

  "Of course, my lord."

  But Chris was already out of the door.

  _____

  "Good heavens, Kirkland. You've made it so tight. I can barely breathe. Please loosen it a little."

  "Not if you wish the dress to fit," said her maid, looking up from tying the ribbons of her stays.

  "It was not so tight a fortnight ago, I'm sure."

  "No, my lady. But things were different a fortnight ago, if you don't mind my saying."

  "Were they? What do you mean?"

  "Only that milady is more bountiful now."

  "Do you think I've been overeating? There have been a great number of very good dinners lately. Perhaps I could reduce."

  "I think it has more to do with missing your menses this month, my lady."

  "I-Oh. Oh that. I-Good heavens. Does that mean what I think it means?"

  "One can't be certain, just yet. But chances are good. Another month and you can be sure."

  "You're suggesting I'm carrying a child?"

  "I believe so."

  "Heavens," Elizabeth whispered, and sat abruptly, the strength going out of her knees. So very quickly. Exciting and terrifying at the same time. If it was true.

  Should she tell Chris? Would it be better to wait until she was sure?

  No, she could never keep such a thing secret for a day, let alone a month. She leapt up.

  "Quick! The dress. Put the dress on. Hurry!"

  She helped ease the gauzy fabric into place, and waited in a fever of impatience as buttons were fastened.

  "That will do. No, not the gloves or jewels yet. I'll return in a moment."

  She swooped out of her chamber, and ran straight into Chris.

  "Oof. Goodness."

  "I'm sorry. I was coming to find you. There's news from Hensleigh Park. The Reverend Swinton sends word James Thompson has been crushed by a collapsing wall, and is not expected to survive."

  "Oh my." She raised a hand to her mouth in shock. "That's terrible. Oh, I know him. He's the man with the gap in his teeth here, and the smile." She indicated a curved line that swept from ear to ear.

  "Yes, that's him."

  "His poor family. They must be beside themselves."

  "I must go to them, and let them know they will be taken care of. Let him know it too, if I can get there in time."

  "Oh." She tried not to let her face fall. It was dreadfully selfish, to wish he need not go, when the Thompson family were in such straits. Selfish to imagine someone else could pass on Lord Carhampton’s reassurances. She knew how he liked to put heart into his tenants. And this was a sore blow. Chris and Mr Thompson had worked together, labored side by side. Chris must feel the loss very keenly.

  She could not tell him she might be pregnant. Now was not the time for such news.

  "Don't look at me like that," he said. "I should have been back on the estate days ago. If the workers had been properly supervised, this might not have happened."

  Was he saying it was her fault, for keeping him here? "You can't know that."

  "I can't know otherwise, can I?"

  Even the implied accusation hurt. But he did not mean to accuse, of course. He was only agitated. Distracted.

  She drew herself up.

  "Certainly. Go, by all means. I'm not trying to keep you."

  He frowned at her, and turned away without another word.

  Yes, certainly distracted. Knowing him, he felt towering guilt. He did have such a habit of assuming responsibility for everything, as if he had the power to shift the earth in its course. She would not take it personally.

  Though it would have meant a great deal if he had kissed her farewell, or said he hated to go, or would miss her.

  She watched him hurry back down the stairs and disappear into the passage that led to the stables at the back of the house. He did not turn or come back. She waited another minute to be sure.

  Finally she sighed and returned to her bedroom to finish dressing for the ball.

  _____

  The moon was high, and his bad-tempered horse was fresh and restless. He held her to a trot through the crowded streets, and even when traffic thinned he kept the moderate pace. They had far to go tonight, though he would change horses on the way.

  Strangely enough, as he rode it was not James Thompson whose face lingered in his mind's eye, nor that of the man's wife or two children.

  For all they had labored together, the man had been simply another body beside his, barely noticed. He should have known him better, should have taken the time to understand his character. He had been too wrapped up in his own grief, and numb to everything around him. Now he would never know James Thompson, for it was likely too late.

  But even these depressing thoughts could not fix his mind on the man.

  Instead he kept seeing Elizabeth's face, Elizabeth's still figure, with a deepening sense of unease.

  She had not taken the news well.

  Not only James Thompson's injury - which had left her brow furrowed, her mouth twisted - but even more, the news of his departure. When
he said he was going, her face had sagged dramatically. It was almost as if-Without meaning to, he hauled back on the reins, and his horse halted, snorted then did a sideways jig and shook her head in impatience.

  What had she been thinking, to make her expression change that way? What had she read into his words? He had spoken quickly, not weighing up what he said, or considering how she might interpret it.

  Her response had been more than pained compassion for the Thompsons. It had been personal. He was almost sure of it. What exactly had he said?

  That he should have gone days ago. That was it. And of course the reason he had stayed was her bargain with him. Though it had become also his own enjoyment, lately. Another reason to feel guilt: that he should play while others labored to bring him prosperity, and now died for him. The way of the world, of course, but nothing he had learned to feel comfortable about.

  Did she think he regretted their bargain?

  Did she imagine he rejected it? Rejected her?

  There had been that moment when she stood tall, gave him a cool stare and told him to go, and that she did not keep him. He had not thought her words significant at the time. What if he was wrong? What if they were a challenge?

  And then he had simply left her, without another word, or tender farewell, or any sign he thought all was well between them.

  What had he done?

  What if, even now, she thought he had severed their agreement and abandoned her? What if the disappointment on her face, the flash of dismay before she set her mouth and told him she would not keep him, had been because she thought it was over between them? Thought he returned to the estate, and left her to pursue her own life in London, as she had suggested she would.

  He swore loudly, and his horse tossed her head as if in vigorous agreement.

  He was wrong to go. The shock of the news, his own feeling of responsibility, had made him react without thinking it through. James Thompson did not need Lord Carhampton at his bedside. He needed a written, binding promise of support for his family - if that could reach him in time. If not, his family needed it.

  He could send it to the Reverend Swinton. The man would go to Thompson's house to read it out to Thompson - if he was not there already, keeping vigil. Or read it to his family, if he had already succumbed to his injuries. Then they would be at peace about their financial future, free to mourn their tragedy without fear of what was to come.