How to Wed an Earl

by Ivory Lei

  “Yes,” Lucas said, hardly hearing his own voice. “I’d forgotten about that. I intend to go home to give her the news about Olivia’s impending nuptials myself.” Among other things, he added silently as his heart pounded wildly in his chest.

  Penelope was in Ravenstone! Thank God. Lucas gave Blakewood a distracted nod and walked out of the ballroom without another word. There was only one thing on his mind as he gave instructions to his coachman.

  Lucas was going home.

  • • •

  “You look lovely, my lady, if I may say so.”

  Penelope finished rearranging her skirts and gave Finchley a distracted smile. She was going to an important meeting, and she was determined to make certain things went the way she wanted them to. She might have failed in her marriage, but she refused to fail in this.

  “I don’t understand why the man who is offering a home to the horses Colonel Martin sent wants to meet at the inn. Ravenstone is only a ten-minute drive, and he’d be able to see the horses then.”

  Finchley looked away and cleared his throat. “Perhaps he is exhausted after a long journey and would like to be able to retire immediately after the meeting.”

  “I would’ve been happy to offer him accommodation at Ravenstone.”

  “I believe he is hoping to receive your invitation,” he sputtered.

  She rolled her eyes. “Then why didn’t he visit Ravenstone in the first place?”

  Finchley’s face took on the look of a trapped hare. “I don’t know, my lady, I am not privy to the gentleman’s thoughts … Oh, look, here we are!” he said with an air of desperation as the coach stopped in front of the Horse and Farrier Inn.

  Finchley opened the door for her and helped her alight. “I will stay here, my lady, and keep the coachman company while you have your meeting.”

  She smoothed her skirts one last time. “Wish me luck.”

  Finchley beamed at her before he ushered her into the inn’s private salon and promptly closed the door behind her with a precise click.

  She walked further into the room, her heart kicking up like a wild horse when she saw Lucas emerge from behind the wingback chair that faced the hearth.

  Dear God, he had found her. She fought the urge to yank the door open and flee.

  “I see you’re still in the habit of meeting strange men in private salons,” he said quietly as he stalked up to her.

  For a moment, she could only stare at him in confusion. What was he doing here? Was he angry? She was about to apologize for running away before she remembered she had told this man she loved him and he hadn’t cared. What do I have to apologize for!

  She recovered from her surprise and stood her ground with a verbal attack. “My God, but you are as persistent as a skin rash!”

  Lucas’s brows rose at her peevish tone, but he didn’t comment on her unflattering analogy. “You gave me quite a scare, you know. You left without a word to anyone, and you took my butler with you.”

  “I apologize for the inconvenience, my lord,” she said sarcastically. “As you have seen, Finchley is fine. Though I cannot vouch for his health after I’m through with him for conspiring against me.”

  “He’s in my employ; his loyalty is to me.”

  “Ah,” she said. “So you’ve come all this way from London to lecture me on household hierarchy?”

  His sharp features were suddenly bleak with remorse. “I’ve come here to bargain with you.”

  She sucked in a deep breath. She was about to tell him she wasn’t interested in any more of his bargains when she noticed the documents laid out on the low table next to the chair he’d just vacated.

  “I’ve had weeks to think about how we are to go on from here. I didn’t want to just barge back into your life, seduce you and take over, as I did before.” Lucas gestured to the table. “Those papers give you complete control of the Ravenstone estates while they are under my name. It’s all legal — you can keep as many unwanted horses or any other animals you want to keep, and you can use the profits from the estates to fund Colonel Martin’s endeavors.”

  He was giving up control of his estates? The ones he’d tried to save by marrying her? She opened her mouth to speak but he silenced her with a raised palm.

  “I would hand the estates to you if I could, but because we’re married, this was the only way you could have control of them. You can speak to a solicitor and review the documents if you want to.”

  She shook her head. “No, that’s fine. I trust you.”

  One side of his mouth kicked up in a faint, half smile. “I am giving you control of the estates because it’s the only thing of value I have to give you.”

  She felt dazed. “Why?”

  “Because I would rather live my life under your mercy than to be without you ever again,” he rasped.

  “Oh, Lucas — ”

  “You were right,” he continued. “I’ve been living in the past for way too long, but I didn’t realize it until you left me, until you showed me what a bleak future I had without you in it.” Naked pain slashed his features. “If you would give me another chance, nymph, I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for the way I’ve treated you.”

  She didn’t know what to say. This was beyond anything she had ever expected from him. Lucas was giving up everything he thought was important. For her. It was an unbelievably amazing gesture. But it wasn’t what she wanted at all.

  “I love you, Penelope,” he choked out, as if the words were being gouged from his chest. “It took me awhile to realize it, but I do now. I want you to have a choice, which is why I brought these documents. You don’t have to share my bed if you don’t want to, but please don’t leave me like that again, sweetheart.”

  “Lucas — ”

  “The other documents on the table are divorce papers.”

  Her head snapped up. “You’re going to divorce me?”

  Lucas fixed his gaze just beyond her left shoulder as if he found it too painful to look at her. “The control of the estates is yours whether you stay married to me or not,” he said hoarsely. “As far as I’m concerned, you deserve it after all you’ve suffered because of them. I’m not bribing you to stay married to me. If you don’t want to be my wife any longer,” he paused to clear his throat, “I can at least know I’ve done what I could to make you happy.”

  “What?” She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or hit him. She had a feeling she would end up doing all three.

  “It’s your choice, nymph. I want you to know that whatever you choose, you will be provided for.”

  Oh, her poor, tormented, fierce warrior. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and love him until all his hurt was healed. Instead, she chose to punish him a little bit for all the pain he’d caused her. “I don’t need to share your bed ever again?”

  Lucas hauled her against his shaking frame. “I want to share my life with you, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Because without you, nothing in my life has meaning. Let me see you at dinner and breakfast and let me hold you at night. Let me be your home. Let me share my life with you, and I’ll give you anything you want. Everything you want.”

  Happiness pierced her heart. How could any woman deny a man who was willing to give up everything to keep her? He was hers. After a lifetime of waiting, he was finally hers.

  She walked over to the table and flung the papers in the fireplace — that’s what she thought of his bargain. Then she faced him and raised her eyes to meet his.

  “You are everything I’ve ever wanted,” she whispered.

  Lucas groaned as he reached for her and claimed her lips in a desperate kiss that was filled with yearning. She held him to her and kissed him back, a sweet kiss that spoke of a love that not only demanded, but forgave all.

  “You’re everything I’ll ever want,”
she said against his lips.

  Lucas held her tighter, giving her another fiercely tender kiss, and she gloried in it. For once in her life, she had a home. She pulled back and looked into his eyes.

  “There’s one thing I want to discuss before we get carried away,” she said, only half joking.

  Lucas tensed. “What is it?”

  “Were you really serious about my not sharing your bed?”

  His dark eyes searched hers intently. “Is that what you want?”

  “No,” she admitted. “I want to share myself with you, too. All of me.”

  Lucas hugged her tight. “Good.”

  “Besides, we’ll make wonderful parents,” she added.

  “You’ve always been the soul of modesty,” he teased before claiming her smiling lips again in a sweet kiss.

  “I love you,” she told him when he finally raised his head.

  Joy was evident in his features, making him look much younger. “I was afraid I’d never hear you say that again.”

  Her lips twitched in amusement. “Me either,” she admitted. “Lucas?”

  “Yes, love?”

  “How did you find me?”

  Lucas laughed and kissed her again. “Someone reminded me that you like to hide in the most obvious places.”

  About the Author

  Ivory was born in the Philippines and lives in Carlisle, United Kingdom, with her husband and their perpetually hungry canine. She’d love to hear from you. Contact her through www.ivorythewriter.wordpress.com or through her twitter handle @ivory_lei.

  A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance

  (From Shadow Beneath the Sea by Joanna Lloyd)

  Saturday, April 24, 1915

  Lillian wrapped the cigar case in brown paper and, holding the string down with one finger, pulled it into a bow. “There you are, Mr. Reilly. This was the last box, but I kept them for you because I know they’re your favorites.”

  The man gave a short tug at his pointed beard and reached for the parcel. “It’s not just the cigars that are my favorite,” he said with an exaggerated wink. “I don’t walk two blocks out of my way just for these.” At the sound of a loud cough from a far corner of the shop, Mr. Reilly shoved the parcel under his arm, tipped his hat to George, and left the shop.

  Irritated at George’s subtle displeasure over her banter with the customer, Lillian waited for him to speak. He completed the display of expensive cherry wood and maple pipes in a glass-fronted cabinet before giving her his attention.

  “I don’t like that man. I wish he would buy his cigars elsewhere.”

  Lillian picked up a duster and flicked at one of the shelves. “You don’t like him or you don’t like me talking to him?”

  “Both. And if you would agree to my proposal, you could stay at home and not be subjected to the likes of him each day.” George ran two fingers down his thick moustache, smoothing it over his top lip.

  “I’m sorry, George, I can’t give you an answer yet.” She swallowed her guilt as the look of anticipation on his face changed to disappointment. Perhaps she should accept. Although he was more than ten years older and widowed, George would always treat her well, he made a decent living, and she liked him. And he was honest, a quality sadly lacking in her household. Thoughts of her father caused her to look up at the clock nailed above the shop door. If she left now, she would have time to enjoy the walk down to the wharves without hurrying.

  With one hand reaching for her small, blue hat and the other gripping a large carpetbag, Lillian gave George a thin smile. “If you don’t mind, George, I have an errand to run for Pa, and I must go.”

  “Is it something I should be aware of? He does work for me, after all.”

  She turned to face a small mirror and made a show of adjusting her hat. “I’m not sure exactly. An arrangement with a business contact for some merchandise for the shop.” She gave a vague wave of her hand and stepped out into the street before George could question her further. It was better neither of them knew the full details of Pa’s “errands.” They usually involved something on the shady side of the law.

  A loud yell caused her to jump back onto the curb as a motorcar coughed and sputtered around the corner, sending a spray of gravel and dust at her skirt. With the corner of her jacket held over her nose to mask the sharp exhaust smell, she ran across the street before she was assaulted by another of the dangerous vehicles.

  There was still time before she had to be at the Hudson River Wharves to meet her father’s contact, so she headed for Battery Park. Earlier in the week, she had seen a notice announcing an afternoon concert in the gazebo — a string quartet. Her lips spread in a slow smile, and she began to hum her favorite Mendelssohn piece. Her steps quickened and soon matched the tempo of the violin concerto playing in her head. The music flowed into the second movement, and she twirled with her arms spread outward, the carpetbag billowing from her right elbow. As the symphony reached a crescendo, she marched through the entrance to the park.

  When she reached the gazebo, the members of the string quartet were already tuning their instruments, so she slipped into the midst of the gathering crowd. There must have been more than one hundred people, some sitting on rugs on the ground and others on small chairs. Children ran and played between the adults, and an air of expectancy rippled through the audience.

  Finally, ensconced between a family with four children and an elderly couple, Lillian focused on the musicians releasing their first magical notes, like fairy dust, into the air. The hair on the back of her neck bristled as the violin and the clarinet brought to life Beethoven’s stirring melody. Then the warm, mellow tones of the cello shimmied over her skin and curled her toes. With her eyes closed in rapture, she swayed, oblivious to those around her, lost in the symphony. The music leached the loneliness, guilt, and longing from her being, and for those few treasured moments, she wasn’t Lillian Marshall; she didn’t live in the Lower East Side; and she didn’t have a scoundrel for a father.

  Papa’s love of music was the one good thing he had given her. Still clinging to the remnants of his privileged English upbringing, he would take her as a small child to Covent Garden to listen to the orchestras and bands. Once, after a big win at poker, he took her to the opera — an experience to cherish forever. She had continued to feed her obsession as she’d grown older, seeking out symphony recitals and band concerts, especially free events in the parks. George had even bought them tickets to see Dancing Around at the Winter Garden Theatre. Unfortunately, he had fidgeted with boredom throughout and shown no interest in discussing the performance afterward.

  An elbow in her side as the crowd broke up jolted Lillian back to reality, and with a shock she realized she had missed the arranged time to meet her father’s contact. Regardless, she hurried through the crowd, clinging to the possibility the man might have waited for her.

  Focused on her predicament and not watching her step, she stumbled over a brown shoe. With a mumbled apology, Lillian tried to squeeze between the wearer of the shoe and his friend, both standing near the back of the crowd. But the friend jumped in front of her and clasped her arm.

  “Whoa there, my beauty. Allow me to be of assistance. Plenty of room right here beside me if you’d like to stay.”

  Annoyed at the delay, Lillian shook his hand from her arm, dodged around him, and when he blocked her again, she stomped on his foot. At his yelp of pain, she frowned up at him. “As you can see, I don’t need your assistance.”

  The other man laughed and bowed to Lillian. “Thank you, dear lady, for putting him firmly in his place. He needs that at least once every hour.” She raised her eyes and was rewarded by a dimpled smile and fair, tousled hair. A twist of excitement looped through her as their eyes met. Embarrassed at her ridiculous response to a handsome face, she lowered her head and pushed through the crowd, away from the two men, tow
ard the gate.

  Over the rapid thumping of her heart and the murmur of the crowd, she heard the young man call out, “Wait! I don’t even know your name!” And that’s how it would stay. Such a gentleman would run a mile if he discovered her background. “A pity,” she sighed. The burst of sensation that had her stomach jumping as if a swarm of locusts had been let loose was a small moment of pleasure, one she would hold onto and weave into her dreams.

  Once through the gate, Lillian took off at a run, dodging pedestrians and horses, ignoring muttered protests as she weaved her way toward the wharves. She reached the fence at the Hudson River Wharves, breathless, clutching at a sharp pain in her side. First she rattled the fence to get attention, then called out to a group of men gathered near a small building. After ignoring her calls for some minutes, a large, swarthy man strolled over to the fence and lifted his eyebrows in question.

  “Briggs. I’m looking for Gerry Briggs. Is he here?” she asked.

  “Who wants to know?” The man’s eyes ran up the length of her body, and he winked.

  She shuddered at the insinuation. “I’m here on behalf of Walter Marshall. I have come to pick up a parcel.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “This is starting to sound a bit suspicious. Perhaps I should fetch the foreman.”

  Fear, closely followed by a hot, rising anger at the demeaning situation in which her father had placed her, made it difficult to respond. A slow grin spread across his face, and he stepped through a gate in the fence, moving to her side. “It wouldn’t have something to do with a shipment of silver snuffboxes, now would it?” At her sharp intake of breath, he nodded. “Unfortunately Mr. Briggs has finished for the day, but I may be able to help you. Of course I will require payment for my trouble.”

  “I’m sorry, but I have no money.” She knew exactly the payment he wanted, and it had nothing to do with money.

  As she spoke, he flexed his right arm and ran a hand down his bulging bicep as if to show her what was on offer. He then traced a dirty finger down her arm. “No money, what a shame. How else could you pay me, I wonder?”