An Earl Like You

by Caroline Linden

  She forced up her eyelids, hardly able to breathe. His hair fell around his face in inky waves, his eyes smoldered like coals, his grip on her was almost painful, and she came with a great gasp of joy. A wild grin lit Hugh’s face as he moved, harder and faster, and then broke. For a moment his full weight fell against her, pinning her to the tree so the bark bit into her shoulders and snagged her hair, but Eliza held him tight, bliss coursing through her veins. I love you, she thought fervently. Even if you never say the same to me.

  “I love you,” he whispered, his voice ragged.

  Eliza jerked, thinking she must have spoken aloud. “What?”

  “I love you,” he repeated, beginning to smile. “Did you not hear me the first time?”

  “No, I—” She stopped before she could say something stupid. Instead she threaded her hands into his hair and pulled his face to hers, kissing him hard, her mouth open, her heart bared. He kissed her back, his hands rough on her. “I love you, too,” she told him shyly.

  “That’s why I wanted you to myself,” he murmured.

  “You have only ever to ask,” she promised him with a little laugh, while her heart sang.

  He touched her nose, his smile lingering. “I plan to more often.”

  And Eliza felt that she would never know more happiness than she did in that moment.

  Chapter 25

  The evening of the Montgomery ball began splendidly, with no inkling of how badly it would end.

  Eliza wore one of her new gowns, of deep burgundy silk. She had always liked rich colors and finally felt at liberty to wear them in public. Georgiana had enthusiastically encouraged her to order this style as well, even though it was lower cut than usual and featured an extravagant amount of beading on the bodice.

  “Eliza!” gasped Henrietta when she went downstairs. “Your gown!”

  Her steps slowed before she determinedly kept going. What was wrong with her gown? Oh dear—she would make them all late if she had to change . . . “Yes?” She pinned on a bright smile and hoped it didn’t look anxious. “What about it?”

  “It’s magnificent!” Eyes wide, Henrietta circled her. “It sparkles when you move.”

  Eliza smoothed one hand down the bodice. Was sparkling a bad thing? Perhaps she hadn’t grasped the intricacies of ton fashion. She glanced at Edith, who also looked startled. “Is it too much?”

  “No, no,” Edith replied in surprise. “I intend to copy it on my next gown, if Mama will allow it.”

  “Once she sees how beautiful it looks on Eliza, I’m sure she will.” Henrietta looked up. Like her sister, she wore a lovely dress, in a shade of pastel pink Georgiana had once termed “virginal blush.” “Mama, have you seen Eliza’s gown?”

  “Oh my, no,” said the dowager as she emerged from the morning room. Like her daughters, she regarded Eliza with fascination. “It’s marvelous.”

  Eliza blushed with delight under their admiration. “Thank you. I didn’t want to be an embarrassment to anyone tonight.”

  “Goodness.” The dowager laughed lightly. “You outshine us all, my dear!”

  She knew that was not true. The dowager was still a beautiful woman, and her sage gown suited her fair coloring. Henrietta’s pink dress set off her dark hair, and Edith was as beautiful as an angel in her white gown, her golden curls fashionably arranged and a coral bracelet around her wrist. And—to her surprise—the ivory fan Eliza had given her.

  Startled, she met Edith’s eyes. The younger girl blushed, but obligingly spread open the fan. “How does it suit me? I’ve been waiting for a chance to carry it.”

  Edith had accepted the gift with quiet thanks, but never used it. Eliza realized she had unconsciously been looking for it every time her sister-in-law went out, and to see it on her wrist tonight made her heart soar. It felt like proof that she was truly part of the family.

  “It complements your gown perfectly,” Eliza told her. Edith’s smile was grateful.

  She barely heard the footsteps on the stairs behind her before Hugh appeared at her side. “I apologize for keeping you waiting,” he said, still tugging on his gloves. “I’ll be the envy of every man there, arriving with four lovely ladies.” Then he turned to face Eliza.

  Never before had she seen that expression on a man’s face when he looked at her—a startled amazement that rapidly gave way to something hot and lustful. She blushed under it, but not from shame.

  “Come, girls,” said the dowager behind her. “The carriage.”

  Eliza barely heard them bustle out, the butler and footman in attendance. Hugh reached for her hand and pressed his lips to her wrist. “My Lady Hastings,” he murmured, “you’ll cause a riot tonight.”

  Instead of giggling nervously and protesting, she arched her brows. “Do you think so? Oh dear. I only wanted to catch one man’s eye.”

  “Fortunate fellow.” His hand slid around her waist, urging her toward him. “What did you plan to do with him, once he was thoroughly bewitched?”

  “Dance with him. Perhaps go in to supper with him. Cause a small scandal by watching him all night.” She touched his cravat, straightening the pearl pin stuck through it. “Then take him home with me and make love to him until he can’t stand.”

  Sophie had told her it wasn’t wrong to say lustful, wicked things to her husband. Sophie’s advice was once again proven absolutely right when Hugh inhaled unevenly and lowered his head until his lips brushed her ear. “Temptress,” he whispered. “Precisely what I hoped you’d say, and now the thought of it shall torment me all night long.” The smell of him swamped her senses; his hand on her back slid down to linger a moment on her bottom. “I suppose we cannot beg off the ball and go directly to the lovemaking.”

  She smiled even though her heart was pounding, and her body had reacted to his touch. It ought to be a crime, the way he could reduce her to a wanton creature just by looking at her with hot, dark eyes. “Your mother and sisters are waiting,” she said breathlessly.

  “Which has nothing to do with my question.” Slowly he released her. “I shall hold you to that promise . . . to dance with me.”

  Flushed, she beamed at him. “I never break my word.”

  The Montgomerys had taken a set of large public assembly rooms for their ball, as it was to celebrate the betrothal of their daughter to the Duke of Warnford’s heir. The glittering elite of London society were in attendance, and Eliza felt dazed, as if the very air had become gilded, too fine for her to breathe. Georgiana was to attend, although Eliza didn’t see her. She would have to keep looking, since she did not want to spend this evening like a wallflower.

  But to her amazement, gentleman after gentleman solicited dances. They were all friends of Hugh’s, so she accepted—and found herself promised to dance with two earls, one viscount, the brother of a duke, and the heir to a marquess. One after another, they swept her away from her husband, although Eliza finally realized he was not dancing, aside from one set with each of his sisters.

  “With whom should I dance?” he replied when she asked him during supper. “The only woman I want to partner has promised every set.”

  She gasped. “You encouraged me to do it! They are your friends!”

  “I was wrong,” Hugh said. “Encroaching beasts, all of them. I might call out Fairfield for the way he looked at you.”

  Never had a man looked at her in any lascivious way, including Lord Robert Fairfield. Hugh was being silly. Still, it sent a shower of sparks through her that he would say it. “I hope you won’t,” she told him. “He asked me to save him a dance later in the evening.”

  Her husband looked annoyed. “He can be disappointed. I want you.” He whispered the last, intense and urgent.

  Eliza flushed hot from head to toe. “Hugh!”

  “I want to make you say my name all night long,” he breathed, as proper as anything except for the wicked things he was saying as they walked back into the ballroom. “I want to make you moan it, and scream it, and beg me to—”
/>   “Stop!” Scarlet-faced, she poked him with her fan.

  “You won’t say that once I get you into bed,” he went on in that wicked black velvet tone.

  Eliza knew. Even when he shocked her, she never wanted him to stop adoring her, wanting her, loving her. But now she would have to smile and dance with someone else while thinking about all the delicious ways Hugh would make love to her when they got home. “I’ll never make it through the next dance,” she said in a suffocated voice.

  “How fortunate your next partner is me.” He sent a speaking look at the approaching Lord Carrington, to whom she had promised the first dance after supper, and his friend obligingly spun on his heel and walked away.

  Eliza gaped even as her heart leapt. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s quite simple.” He stopped, trapping her hand with his own, on his arm. “I’ve discovered I don’t like to share my wife.”

  “It’s only a dance,” she said.

  He pulled her to him as the musicians began tuning their instruments. The next dance was to be a waltz. “It’s not merely a dance,” he said, suddenly serious. “It’s a chance to hold you close, to feel you move in my arms. A chance for all of London to behold my good fortune in being your husband. A chance to make you smile, because you love to dance. I wouldn’t want to miss a moment of that.”

  It was not possible to love someone more than she loved him at that moment. “No,” she whispered, gazing into his dark eyes. She didn’t want to miss a moment with him, either.

  The music began. Hugh took her hand and held her indecently close as they danced. Eliza felt as light as a feather, as if she floated above the floor in his arms. Hugh’s attention never wavered from her, and the knowing little smile on his face made it seem as though the two of them were alone in the room. They might as well have been; Eliza barely registered the guests around her.

  “Do you know,” she said shyly, “the first time you danced with me was the moment I began to fall in love with you?”

  “Was it?” Interest lit his face. “At Thayne’s ball.”

  She nodded. “No one else asked me to dance that night.” Oh dear—that made her sound rather pathetic. “Papa and I didn’t know anyone there,” she hastily added. “It was beautiful, but I expected to stand at the side of the room all night until you appeared.”

  His jaw tightened. “You should never spend all night at the side of the room.”

  “I didn’t mind.” She smiled at him. “In truth, I didn’t really want to dance with anyone else.”

  A vaguely satisfied expression crossed his face. “No?”

  “I danced with enough gentlemen during my Season to know why they wanted to dance with me. I would have rather stood at the side of the room.” Once it would have been mortifying to admit to anyone that men only danced with her because they were after her father’s fortune. Now it seemed as though those awkward dances and balls had been the hour before the dawn, when her hopes of a happily married future were dimmest. But tonight, when all her dreams had been realized and then some, every lonely evening was worth it.

  Hugh frowned. “Why did they want to dance with you?”

  She blushed. There was that forbidden topic again, money. “It was not for my charm or beauty,” she said. “Although I never had much of either, so perhaps I should be grateful you don’t seem to mind.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment. “Only those who know you can appreciate how much charm and beauty you’ve got.”

  Or are too kind to say otherwise, she thought, but did not say. Even so, his words brought a warm glow to her skin unrelated to the exertion of dancing. “But you didn’t know me then,” she pointed out. “You still asked me to dance, not once but twice.”

  “And that won your heart?” He asked it almost warily.

  “Well.” Eliza averted her eyes, knowing her face was red. “You also kissed me . . .”

  Hugh said nothing. When she finally glanced up, wondering if she’d said something wrong, he was watching her with shadowed, almost brooding eyes. “I did kiss you. That was the moment I knew I would marry you.”

  Her lips parted in astonished delight.

  His expression eased. A sensual smile curved his lips. “Subject to your agreement, of course. I was inexpressibly relieved when you said yes.”

  As if she would have said no. As if a girl like her might have turned down an earl like him, even if she hadn’t been madly in love and scandalously attracted to him. “Did you ever doubt I would accept?”

  His smile faded. “I don’t want to take you for granted.”

  Her throat felt tight. She had always been the quiet girl at the side of the room, the one who giggled from nerves and never said anything witty. No other man had ever complimented her beauty or her charm, or even suggested she had any. But Hugh—oh, Hugh had caught her by surprise, taking the time to really look at her and see her heart, flattening her defenses before she had time to raise them. She could not have dreamed of a more perfect husband.

  The waltz ended. Hugh’s hands lingered on her. “Who else have you promised a dance to?” he murmured.

  “Oh—Mr. Jennings, and Lord Edward Rivers, and . . . someone else,” she said, flustered. “Why?”

  “I feel very jealous tonight.” He winked and finally released her, retaining her hand to walk from the floor with her by his side. “Would you like some champagne?” He led her to a quieter spot at the back of the room.

  She gave an embarrassed laugh. “Do you know, I think I shall visit the ladies’ retiring room first.”

  He grinned. “Of course. I’ll fetch the champagne and find you when you return.”

  Chapter 26

  Eliza made her way through the crowded assembly rooms in search of the retiring room. She meant to apply a cool cloth to her forehead and let her rioting emotions calm down. If she had been raised as a lady of the ton, surely she would be able to feel this much and not let it make her knees weak and her heart race. Plain, shy Eliza Cross wanted to have a cup of tea in some quiet corner and marvel at what her life had become, but the Countess of Hastings needed to compose herself and glide back into the ballroom, ready for her husband’s hot, passionate glances and still able to dance and converse with aplomb.

  But the retiring room was as crowded as the ballroom. One young lady had torn her gown, and was sobbing in dismay as two maids fussed over it. In the back of the room, three matrons sat together chatting comfortably; one of them had her foot elevated on a hassock. Several other ladies were occupied with maids fixing their hair and blotting their brows, and there was almost as much noise as in the ballroom. Eliza got her own cool cloth and dabbed at her face. Her eyes were bright and her color was high, and her lips were set in a permanent happy curve. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror. She looked like what she was: a woman in love.

  When she went back into the ballroom, it was even more crowded. Jostled from the left by a group of dandies, squeezing past a clutch of giggling young girls in white, she tried to find Hugh. There were so many tall, dark-haired men in black jackets and breeches, it was not easy to spot him. But there he was, all the way across the room, on the other side of the dancers. He was talking to a beaming Henrietta and a handsome young man who held her hand on his arm. The dowager countess stood beside her daughter, smiling graciously. It looked for all the world as though the young man was asking Hugh’s permission to call on Henrietta. Eliza almost gasped aloud in delight at the thought.

  She was halfway to his side when someone said her name. She turned to see a man she did not know, bowing low.

  “I hope you’ll grant me pardon for introducing myself, Lady Hastings,” he said. “Sir Richard Nesbit, at your service. I wanted to offer my congratulations.”

  Eliza felt very self-conscious. “For what, sir?”

  “On your marriage. I knew your husband’s late father very well, and I’ve watched Hastings grow from a small boy.” He winked at her, with a roguish smile.

 
“Oh.” Eliza relaxed and even smiled back at him. An old friend of the family. “How kind of you, Sir Richard. Thank you.”

  “Old Hastings—your father-in-law, as would have been—was a great man, a capital fellow. He’d be pleased as anything to see his son married so advantageously.”

  Eliza hesitated, suddenly uneasy. No one would have called her a splendid catch; she was not eligible or beautiful or any of the things that made girls advantageous matches . . . except for one thing . . . Remembering Georgiana’s advice, she straightened her spine and replied formally, “I’m sure I don’t understand, sir.”

  He laughed. “You do, you do. Your father was set upon it, wasn’t he? He must be pleased to see his plans come to such fruition.”

  The smile was completely gone from her lips. Eliza stared at him, stony-faced, and said nothing.

  Sir Richard was not deterred. He leaned closer. “You understand now—yes, you do! He made a great match for you, and I can’t say I blame him. Hastings would have been the catch of the Season, if he hadn’t been drowning in debt—almost one foot in the Fleet. I’ll grant Edward Cross this—he never misses an opportunity. An old title, a decent young man, and all for a mere six percent premium.” He shook his head, still grinning broadly.

  “What do you mean?” Eliza heard her own voice, and it sounded alien and loud. “What are you accusing my father of?”

  “Accusing!” Sir Richard snorted. “He did it! I know, I sold him an old debt myself. Never thought I’d see a farthing of it, after young Hastings told me he hadn’t a feather to fly with and wouldn’t pay any but the most pressing of his father’s notes. Well, of course I sold it to Cross! Everyone did. He bought up every promissory note and debt of honor Hastings owed. What other choice did the boy have then, but to wed the man’s only daughter?” He chuckled again. “Cross bought him for you, and a fine bargain he made, eh? A countess!”

  The music and the conversation around her blended into a dull roar. Eliza felt numb. She wanted to call Sir Richard a liar, she wanted to slap her hands over her ears and run away, she wanted to stop thinking that his words made so much sense. A handsome, eligible earl. A sudden business dealing with her father, when Papa rarely did business with noblemen directly. So many calls and visits when Papa was away. Papa’s insistence that an earl could marry a girl like her if he wanted to.