Intentions of the Earl

by Rose Gordon

  “I think you do,” Andrew countered, not unkindly.

  “All right, you had your moment of confession earlier, now shall be mine. I assume you spoke to Gateway about our conversation on the lawn. It’s true that I kissed Gateway. I found our time together in the garden disgusting and nothing that I'd wish to repeat, not even in a nightmare, and I told him as much. As for other gentlemen I’ve kissed,” she gave a shrug, “there weren't so many. But there were a few. However, I feel no guilt about it. I know without a doubt that you’ve kissed more females than just me, and I expect no explanation about those kisses, therefore, I shall not give you one.”

  Her words brought him up short. Everyone knew boys past the age of fourteen had kissed a multitude of women, and it was impolite for women, even their wives, to ask them about it. Yet, women were only supposed to kiss their husbands, and maybe their fiancés. Brooke had always found that to be unfair.

  “Is it fair to assume by your reaction to my kisses today that you do not feel an aversion to them?” Andrew asked, raising his brow.

  She flushed. “Why would you ask that when it's so obvious?” she accused in a tight tone.

  “Because I wanted to see your face color,” he replied honestly.

  “I shan’t give you that privilege in the future,” she said sternly, hoping it was true.

  Andrew waved his hand dismissively. “How unfortunate for you that you cannot control it.”

  “I can, too,” she countered sternly. “I’ll prove to you I can. Say whatever you wish, and I shall not give you the satisfaction of my face changing.” She was generally good at playing games with her sisters about not talking, laughing, or blinking, so how difficult could this actually be?

  “How about I describe to you in explicit detail what I was going to do to you if you were not wearing that confounded binding,” Andrew teased, his eyes alight with amusement.

  Brooke held her determination, he had not said anything specific, but she began to have serious doubts that this would work when she took notice of his eyes and sly smile.

  “Do you remember how I was kissing your shoulders and neck?” When Brooke nodded, his smile became wolfish. “I would have continued to kiss you like that that on any part of your body that was bare. Which, had it not been for those confounded bindings, would have been your breasts,” Andrew said in a husky voice. “I do believe, Miss Banks, you just lost.”

  Brooke just stared at him. She could feel her skin get hotter and knew she had colored just as he had predicted. Drat this man. How could he do this to her? His words brought her back to lying beneath him on the blanket as his hands and lips caressed her.

  Brooke sniffed and inclined her head. “You, sir, are no gentleman,” she proclaimed. Then she gave Bluebell a slight kick to increase her speed.

  From behind her, she heard Andrew snort and laughingly say, “No gentleman, indeed.”

  Bluebell trotted toward the house at a moderate pace with Brooke atop laughing as she thought of Andrew and their picnic together.

  She hadn’t noticed Andrew hadn’t caught up with her yet when not far ahead of her on the path came Liberty careening toward her. Her sister's face was flushed and she was waving her hands wildly, she actually looked as if she were running away from a band of attackers who were bent on burning her at the stake.

  “Liberty, what’s the matter?” Brooke shouted to her sister.

  “Him!” Liberty exclaimed. “That awful, dratted man is the matter. I swear, Brooke, I cannot abide him a moment longer, we must hatch a plan to send him back to whatever hole he crawled out of.”

  Brooke didn’t need to ask who Liberty was talking about, she knew. She thought there was something a little bizarre about Mr. Grimes, but nothing that would lead to any rational human being having such an adverse reaction to him. “What happened now, Liberty?” she asked as she slowed her horse to a walk.

  Liberty opened her mouth to tell her when Brooke put up a hand and said, “This time, please do not leave any crucial parts out of the story.”

  Her sister turned a little pink, but shook her head as if to shake off any guilt about leaving out why Mr. Grimes had insulted her the day before. “We were playing bowls; you know that game where your roll your wooden ball toward the target, which is called a jack.”

  “I do not think that I need a run down on how the game is played, Liberty,” Brooke exclaimed rather rudely. “Just get on with what happened. I haven’t got all day, and I am not particularly comfortable atop this beast.”

  Her sister nodded. “I wanted to play. When I asked to join, nobody told me no, but several players lost interest, including Mr. Grimes.” She gave a little sniff. “I called him back, and talked him into playing.”

  Brooke rolled her eyes. Knowing Liberty, it was more likely she had coerced him into playing.

  “We began to play and everything was going well until someone suggested we bowl in teams. What I had not realized when I agreed was that I would have to partner Mr. Grimes. I tried to act gracious—even though he was snarling—and took my spot next to him. When his turn came, someone rolled him a bowl from the rack and he made no move to catch it and it rolled right on my toe.”

  Brooke tried not to laugh at her sister’s outrage at what she knew was probably an accident. “What happened next?”

  “He mumbled an incoherent, and insincere might I add, apology, took his bowl, and sent it toward the green. I was still upset about my toe, which seemed to be of no concern to him, so I might have…well, I may have overreacted a bit in retaliation. But that is no excuse for what he did afterward.”

  Brooke held up her hand again and gave Liberty her piercing stare before demanding, “What exactly did you do?”

  Liberty’s face went redder and said very quietly, “I may have elbowed him.” Then her eyes began to burn with rage and she went on with her story, “But not as hard as he would have everyone believe. I pretended I needed his help, and when he came up behind me, I quickly dropped the ball to the ground and brought back my elbow, where I made direct contact, you would have been proud.” Her bight smiled faded when Brooke didn't immediately congratulate her.

  “What happened after you elbowed him?” Brooke asked sharply, piercing Liberty with her gaze.

  Liberty just stood still and stared over Brooke’s shoulder. Brooke turned her head to see what Liberty was looking at. There, just a few feet away, Andrew was sitting on his horse listening intently to Liberty’s story.

  “Miss Liberty, do you know where you hit the man?” Andrew asked carefully.

  Brooke looked at him with a puzzled look. Why should it matter where the man got hit?

  “I—I don’t know,” Liberty stammered. “In his midsection, I expect.” Her brow furrowed in confusion and her mouth was set in a prim line.

  “You don’t know?” echoed Brooke. “He didn’t say?”

  “No, because a gentleman does not discuss body parts in mixed company,” Liberty said archly, inclining her head.

  Brooke flushed. Liberty’s comment reminded her of her earlier conversation with Andrew about her breasts.

  Andrew coughed. “What happened next, Miss Liberty?”

  “Well, he let out this high pitched yelp. That’s how I knew I had not truly injured him; his reaction was too false to be of true pain. He leaned over for a minute before hobbling away. I thought that would be the end of it. But then Papa summoned me and said I must make amends.” Liberty’s tone had gone from excited to full of hatred. “I saw Mr. Grimes was in the room, and that beast had the nerve to say, ‘I would prefer that she just stay away from me from this point forward, that’s the best way for her to make amends.’

  “I felt like elbowing him again for that comment, even with Papa standing in the room. Papa said that was not good enough, since we were going to have to be in one another’s company for as long as we are in England, we cannot have a rift or some such nonsense.” Liberty’s tone was bitter and had a bit of irritation mixed in. Taking a deep br
eath, she finished her drama. “Papa kept saying how I was to make amends by doing anything Mr. Grimes demanded, then he left. I was in that room alone with Mr. Grimes for no more than two minutes before he started to unbutton his clothes! So I grabbed the closest book to me and threw it at his head before I ran from the room screaming.

  “That man wants my virtue!” Liberty exclaimed hysterically, her body started to shake uncontrollably. Her lower lip quivered, and a sob choked her as she tried to firmly declare, “I shall not give it!” She swiped at the tears that had snaked down her cheeks. “Please, Brooke, hide me and go talk to Papa,” she pleaded “Tell him that…that...creature wants to take away from me the only thing I truly own.” She fell to the ground and curled up into a small ball.

  Brooke looked to Andrew, hoping that he would help her down from her mount without her having to ask.

  As if he read her mind, he was down and helping her down as quickly as he could, then led the horses back to the stables while Brooke comforted her sister.

  “Liberty,” Brooke said softly, “have you told me everything?”

  When Liberty shot her a hurt and angry look, she knew Liberty had not left any details out this time

  Why did she always miss these situations between Liberty and Mr. Grimes? More importantly, what was she going to do now?

  Chapter 22

  In the blue salon, Mr. Paul Grimes was lying unconscious on a settee dreaming of what his life might have been like had he decided to join the military rather than the ministry.

  He dreamed of horses, swords, guns and the smell of gunpowder. Oh, that smell seemed so sweet right now. He’d trade almost everything he had to be in the military and be smelling gunpowder. He took another deep whiff, trying to sniff up as much as he could before he woke up to his hellish reality.

  “That’s it, take another deep breath,” he heard a familiar voice coax.

  Who was he to argue? He inhaled as deeply as he could, then coughed. That was not the smell of gunpowder, it was some nasty smell that he recognized as smelling salts. His eyes snapped open. He was expecting to see Mrs. Baker, an older woman from his church who carried around those nasty salts with her everywhere, but instead he was greeted by John and Carolina Banks.

  Carolina was sitting right next to him on the settee holding a bag of salts, her husband was sitting in a chair right next to her. His face looked worried as if he’d been given bad news about someone and was about to have to break it to them.

  “Mr. Grimes,” John said solemnly.

  “Please, call me Paul.”

  “Paul,” John started again. “Do you know why you were unconscious?”

  Unconscious, thought Paul. He knew he was sleeping, but not unconscious. “I was unaware that I was unconscious,” he replied and tried to force himself to sit up; but his head began to throb when he moved and he laid back down as quickly as he could.

  With his hand, he reached up to rub his face and felt a huge bump the size of an egg on his forehead. Then it all came back to him. The game of bowls, getting hit in the unmentionables, John seeking him out after the baron told him what happened, the Banks family meeting, and him and Liberty being alone for a few minutes.

  That last event is what led to his current headache. He had been so angry and upset that he felt like he was choking. That’s when the devil in disguise, also known as Liberty, threw a heavy tome at his head. Once again, her aim had been dead on and he now sported the bump to prove it.

  “On second thought, I do know why I was unconscious,” he corrected.

  Carolina looked relieved that he had figured it out, clearly she had no idea that it could have been caused by Liberty.

  John, on the other hand, looked almost sick. He measured his words carefully before he finally spoke. “How did it come to pass?”

  “A flying book,” Paul bit off.

  Carolina let out a little peal of laughter. “A flying book?” she asked, trying to keep a straight face.

  “Yes, a flying book,” Paul confirmed flatly.

  Carolina must have really thought he was delusional because she pressed him, “How did this book take flight? Did it have wings?” She giggled again at her own joke until John placed a hand on her shoulder.

  Paul had had enough. At present Carolina was quickly becoming just as irritating to him as Liberty was. “Actually, the book did not have a pair of wings. It did not need them. It would seem that your demon…er…I mean daughter, gave the book enough of a heave that wings weren’t necessary to carry the book all the way across the room to meet its target: my forehead.”

  Carolina gasped. “I am so sorry. I’m also sorry for my jest, and I am even sorrier for my daughter’s actions. I shall speak to her immediately.”

  “Why did she throw the book?” John asked gravely, ignoring his wife’s words, but holding her arm so she couldn’t find Liberty until they both knew the whole tale.

  Paul shrugged. “I haven’t a clue.” He really didn’t He tried to think back to what had happened. He knew she had been furious ever since that bowl accidentally hit her foot. He had tried to stop it, but had not gotten a good hold on it and it kept rolling. But that was why she elbowed him, not why she threw the book. His mind raced forward to the conversation in the salon, he remembered asking that her parents keep her away. He remembered they wouldn’t agree to that. Then they left.

  What happened after they left? Nothing. He couldn’t remember anything happening at all. They stared at each other for a moment before he jerked his gaze away. He was so mad he didn’t want to even see her. He may be a man of God, but he was still a man, and anger was something he couldn’t always hide.

  Paul was trying to think hard about the earlier events and rubbed his chin. Then his fingers brushed something. It was his cravat. Why wasn’t that laying flat on his chest? Then he remembered exactly what happened.

  “I do believe I may remember what transpired.” His face pinched up in confusion. “Though I remember it, I have no idea why it caused Miss Liberty to throw a book at me.”

  “That’s all right, Paul, just tell us what happened,” John said as smoothly as he could. His body looked like it was tensing up and his hand tightened on his wife’s arm. His face looked especially hard and tortured.

  “I was sitting here, wishing she would just go away, when I started feeling overly warm. I felt like I was about to choke to death on my own cravat, so I undid it, and the top button of my shirt in order to get a little air. Less than a second later, this giant brick of a book came flying at my head. The next thing I know I’m dreaming of being a soldier and sniffing gunpowder, which turned out to be Mrs. Banks smelling salts.”

  John’s face was blank, except a puckered brow. “I shall speak to my daughter immediately,” John stated with such a harsh voice that startled Carolina and Paul so much they both jumped in unison. John abruptly let go of his wife, shot up out of his chair and started for the door.

  “That will not be necessary…” Paul started.

  John quickly turned back and leveled an icy glare at Paul. “It is necessary. You stated earlier you wanted to avoid her presence. Now, you shall have your wish.” John strode back toward the door then turned back around again to speak to his wife. “Carolina, after I am finished talking with her she may be in need of some consoling. That will be your job, be warned.”

  John stomped out the door, slammed it, and stomped as if he were going off to war all the way down the hall in search of Liberty.

  Carolina stayed in the room with Paul and waved her salts in front of her own face, repeatedly saying, “Oh dear.”

  ***

  By the time John found his daughter, who had been hiding from him for several hours, his ire was sky high. He had long ago decided he was not going to demand a reason for her actions, nor did he even care what reason she did or didn’t have for her behavior. He just walked into the room where she was sitting all curled up on a settee by the window. She had tears on her cheeks and her face was whiter than
a lily with little blotches of red on her cheeks. He took one look at her and thundered, “Liberty, your recent behavior toward Mr. Grimes is unacceptable. From this point forward, you are not allowed out of your mother’s sight. Is that understood?” John looked over at his daughter who had not spoken, nor made any move to agree or disagree with his words. “You will not attend any balls, soirées, or any other social event until I say that you may. You, young lady, may very well be a spinster before I let you out into society again!”

  “But…but…” Liberty tried to speak between sobs.

  John understood she only wanted to tell her side of the tale, but he didn’t want to hear a word of it. “That’s enough,” he barked. “I have made my decision, and it’s final. You have five minutes to go find your mother. If I see you more than five paces away from her at any given time, I will personally load you on the next ship bound for America and you shall go back to New York alone and wait for us to return.”

  Feeling a little stab of guilt at his harsh words and threat, John decided to duck out quickly before adding to them with more heartbreaking words. Until today he’d never spoken so harshly to any of his family, but Liberty was determined to bring out the worst in him.

  Chapter 23

  Andrew lay in his bed that night thinking of Brooke. Her soft skin. Her flowing hair. Her bright smile. Her delectable body. He even smiled thinking of her bound breasts.

  To his mind she was the perfect woman. It was too bad that she couldn’t be his perfect woman. That thought made his smile disappear.

  She could never be his woman. He could not offer for her, and if he did, she would never accept him after what was about to happen tomorrow night.