The Danger in Tempting an Earl

by Sophie Barnes

  Too late, Barrymore spotted him. “Ah! Roxberry, just the man we’re looking for.” His eyes went directly to the flowers. “I don’t suppose those are for Lady Crossby,” he said.

  “No, they’re not,” Lucien said, approaching the pair with great reluctance.

  Barrymore’s eyebrows drew together. “Is there another lady we ought to know about?”

  “Just as long as it’s not my heiress,” Carlyle spoke. He tipped his hat at Lucien. “Roxberry.”

  “I can assure you that I have no designs on her,” Lucien said, “whoever she may be.”

  “But why are you returning with your flowers? Surely the lady who holds your interest wasn’t so cruel as to toss you out without accepting them?” Barrymore asked, his frown deeply serious.

  “No, it’s nothing like that,” Lucien said, not liking what such a confession would do to his pride, even if it wasn’t true. “I’m seeing the lady later and thought I’d pick up the flowers early, since I was out for a walk anyway—­grab the loveliest bouquet before anyone else has a chance to do so.”

  “Hmm,” Carlyle muttered. “I’ve always thought you were a sensible fellow, Roxberry. Apparently your practicality extends to every aspect of your life. Will you invite us in? I’d kill for a cup of tea right now.”

  Pasting a smile on his face, Lucien climbed the steps to his front door and plucked the key from his pocket. He placed it in the lock, took a deep breath and turned it. The door swung open to reveal a very perplexed-looking Parker, his eyes dashing about as he looked from one man to the other. Lucien tried to calm his nerves. He had to protect Katherine from the promise of scandal that presently stood in his foyer. “Parker,” he said. “If you’ll please take these gentlemen’s hats and coats and lead them through to my study, I’ll just see if I can find a maid to put these flowers in water.” He needed an excuse to go upstairs and tell Katherine to remain in her room until it was safe.

  “Surely your butler can do that for you when he’s done helping us,” Barrymore said. “Here, I’ll hold the bouquet for you if you like so you can take off your own coat.”

  What could he do without raising suspicion? Lucien muttered a silent oath as he gave the flowers to Barrymore and took off his greatcoat. “Thank you,” he said. He handed the garment to Parker and addressed his butler. “Please see to the flowers first, and then arrange for some tea to be brought in. I understand Carlyle has a particular craving for it.”

  “If it’s not too much trouble, perhaps we could have some sandwiches too? It’s close to luncheon, and I’m not sure I’ll make it back home before collapsing from hunger,” Barrymore said.

  Lucien stared at him. By all means, invite yourself. He wanted to toss both men out, but that would be exceptionally bad form. Praying for patience and a heavy dose of divine intervention, Lucien pasted a smile on his face and nodded. “Excellent idea. Parker will see to it right away. This way, gentlemen!”

  Standing aside, Lucien waited for his guests to enter his study before closing the door behind them. Suggesting that each man take a seat, Lucien strolled around to the opposite side of his desk and paused, his gaze dropping to the piece of paper lying on the surface before him. It was a letter—­a dinner invitation, to be precise—­addressed to his sister. The writing curled with elegant swirls, which he instantly recognized as Katherine’s. It looked unfinished—­halted in midsentence. He frowned. Apparently she’d chosen to oppose his wishes and during his absence had ventured not only downstairs but into his study as well. Once Barrymore and Carlyle departed, he would have to remind her of the danger she faced and how lucky it was that she hadn’t been sitting at his desk just now when they’d all walked in.

  Moving between his chair and the desk, Lucien sat down across from his guests and smiled. “So tell me, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

  “Well . . . ,” Barrymore began, “rumor has it that Lady Crossby is no longer in residence at Cresthaven. ­People are wondering where she might be. Apparently she’s vanished into thin air.”

  “Surely you must be mistaken,” Lucien told him. He leaned back and stretched out his legs but was met with resistance. Soft resistance. Looking down, he spied the obstacle and had to fight for immediate composure. By God if the little minx wasn’t staring right back at him from underneath his desk. Had she no consideration for her own safety? Removing his attention from her strained expression, he straightened himself a bit and leaned forward so his elbows rested on the table.

  “Whatever the case,” Carlyle said, “it’s presented the opportunity for a new bet in White’s betting book—­one with stakes so high that many are likely to fall into debt.”

  “Are you able to share the specifics?” Lucien asked. He was trying desperately hard not to look down at Katherine for fear that Barrymore and Carlyle might think something amiss.

  “Of course,” Carlyle murmured. He shifted a bit in his seat, his large frame looking marginally uncomfortable in the much smaller chair. “The bet is in regard to her whereabouts. Everyone wants to know where she is and especially whom she’s there with. As you already know, most ­people have you in mind, although there are some who’ve recently mentioned Starkly. Apparently she was also seen talking to him at the ball, and since both of you are in Town, then surely she must be here too if she’s carrying on an affair with either one of you. However, there are those who believe she’s left the country, while others think she might still be at Cresthaven after all. You know her better than anyone, Roxberry. If you have any idea as to where she might be and the gentleman whose company she’s keeping, then perhaps you’d be kind enough to advise us.”

  “That doesn’t sound very fair,” Lucien muttered. “Nevertheless, I will tell you that she did indeed come to Town.” He heard a muttered oath from beneath the desk, which he hastily covered with a cough. “However, she quickly left again—­alone, I might add. It was my understanding that she would be journeying back to Cresthaven, but if you say she’s not in residence, then my guess in regard to her whereabouts is as good as yours, gentlemen.”

  “Then she has left the country,” Barrymore said. “Everyone knows her parents are in Scotland. It’s possible she followed them there.”

  “In this day and age, anything is possible,” Lucien said. “Though I personally would not bet on it.”

  “Then what would you bet on?” Carlyle asked, his eyes widening with expectation.

  “Nothing,” Lucien replied. “I don’t gamble, you see. Especially not when I’m likely to lose.”

  “Then perhaps you can tell us if there’s been some development in the other matter. We’ve told everyone who mentioned Starkly that they were being absurd and that if she were to attach herself to any gentleman, it would be to you. Be honest with us, Roxberry. Will you be saying your vows soon?” Barrymore asked.

  “I don’t see how I can,” Lucien said. Although he didn’t look at her, he could sense Katherine’s desire to leap out from under the desk and give them all a piece of her mind. “I mean, if Lady Crossby is not to be found in Society, then surely she must be out of Society, in which case there’s little chance of a forthcoming marriage between the two of us, when I am here in Town.”

  “Well, dash it all,” Barrymore exclaimed just as the tea and sandwiches arrived. “We were both betting that you would marry her within the next two weeks by special license. Indeed, we stand to lose a great deal if you do not.”

  “All I can tell you is that no plans have been made.” Reaching for a sandwich, Lucien sank his teeth into the soft bread. Barrymore and Carlyle both followed suit. “But I will say this. Each time I’ve mentioned marriage to the lady, she has denied any wish to venture down that path again.”

  “You will not ask her again, then?” Carlyle asked, his cheeks filled with food.

  With his focus on the bet, the young earl had apparently forgotten his manners—­not that Lucien care
d. He shrugged, reached for his teacup and took a sip. It was blessedly hot. “I don’t know. I believe it will depend on whether or not she can accept that I am by far the better chess player.”

  Something hard came down over his toes. Her fist, no doubt. Lucien grimaced, and unfortunately the expression did not go unnoticed. “Something the matter?” Barrymore asked.

  “The tea was hotter than I expected,” Lucien lied. “I believe I’ve burned myself.”

  “Well, we shan’t take up any more of your time. I think we’ve learned as much as we’re likely to, however little that may be.” Barrymore rose, as did Carlyle. “Thank you, Roxberry.”

  “My pleasure,” Lucien said, rising as well. He came around the desk and crossed to the door. “I’ll see you out.”

  As soon as they’d left, Lucien expelled a deep breath. Disaster had been averted—­for now. Turning around, he prepared to return to his study, but he spotted Katherine instead, her slim figure hurrying toward the stairs. “And where, pray tell, do you think you’re going?” he asked.

  She froze and turned toward him, her eyes refusing to meet his. “To my room.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a word with you first.” He swept his arm toward the door of his study and waited for her to go toward it. She did not. Lowering his arm, he took a slow breath and fought for patience. “I suspect that you and I are about to have an argument, Kate, and if that is the case, then I’d rather keep it to ourselves than share it with the servants. Now, if you please.”

  She looked undecided for a moment, but then she turned about and headed back the way she’d come, her posture stiff and decidedly unwelcoming. It didn’t have much effect on Lucien. He still wanted to kiss her in spite of his annoyance. “Would you care to explain yourself?” he asked as soon as they were alone.

  With raised chin and straight back, she stared back at him. She would not be cowed, for which he could not help but admire her. Instead, she looked quite prepared to defend herself and, if need be, accept the admonishment that she surely expected him to give. “I wished to write an invitation to your sister. I did not think that you would mind if I used your stationery.”

  “Don’t vex me, Kate. You know this has nothing to do with the damn stationery.”

  Her lips flattened into a thin line. “Very well. I suppose you wish me to apologize to you for thwarting your wishes.”

  “It would be a start.” He hated himself for sounding so strict, but his constant worrying over her had come to a crux when he’d discovered her under his desk. “I do believe I specifically asked you to avoid the downstairs rooms when I am not here in case an unexpected visitor might arrive and see you. The least you could have done was inform Parker of your whereabouts. What if they’d seen you, Kate? The scandal would have been irreparable!”

  “I’m sorry, Lucien, but if you recall, it was your idea to bring me here. You only have yourself to blame.”

  He gritted his teeth. In a sense she was right. “All I ask is for you to employ a bit of common sense. Yes, I insisted you stay here so I could protect you, but casting blame will be of little help if you are found out.”

  She glared at him. “I feel as if I no longer know you. You’re harder than you used to be . . . less forgiving and less . . . kind. You unsettle me these days, Lucien, and I find that I do not care for it.”

  Closing his eyes for a brief second, he shook his head. She was the one who drove him to behave the way he did. His constant concern for her well-being weighed heavily upon him, the fear of losing her forever present in his mind. “I am only worried.” In fact, he was sick with it.

  “I appreciate that.” Her tone softened. “And I will do my best not to disappoint you again.”

  Something about the way she said it, the inflection of her words, gave him pause. He had to kiss her, even if she would break his heart in return. However great the pain he might suffer, he could not allow her to think that she would ever disappoint him. It was his fault that she did though. Due to past experience, she thought herself undeserving of a man’s affection. She did not trust that he would accept her the way she was—­that he would not care about the discolored marks upon her skin. But rather than lessen the distance between them, he’d broadened it with his own fears of rejection. In short, he’d been careless with her trust.

  Looking at her now, her hands clenched at her sides, her posture proud, there was no denying that she was attempting to hide her vulnerability and the pain she surely felt in response to the lack of attention he’d given her recently. If only she understood that he was clinging to sanity by a very thin thread, that if he went to her, he’d want to drown in everything she had to offer. He wanted her as his wife, but she had already told him no twice before. Who was to say that she wouldn’t do so again?

  On a deep breath, he went to her, his footfalls soft upon the carpet. She didn’t move, but she didn’t look the least bit welcoming either. Indeed, she appeared wary, which he could understand. “I fear that I am the one who has disappointed you, Kate.” He stopped before her, reached for her hand and raised it to his lips so he could kiss her palm.

  Her breath caught. “I feel as if my life is spiraling out of control.”

  “Because of me?” he asked.

  “Because of everything.” Her fingers quivered. She was not immune.

  Lucien gazed back into her eyes and saw the fear-tinged pain that lurched there. “I have made you suffer, though it was not my intention to do so.”

  “It’s all right. I understand.”

  “So you have said before, but I don’t believe that you actually do.” Lowering her hand, he placed it over his chest and held it there. “My heart grows frantic whenever you are near.”

  “So does mine,” she whispered.

  She pulled at him with her essence, and he was powerless to stop her. He’d decided not to kiss her again unless she was willing to marry him, but it couldn’t be helped. She was already in his arms and his lips were soon upon hers, nibbling and kissing until she uttered a sigh that drove him wild.

  Without thinking, he backed her up against his desk and lifted her up so she could sit on the edge of it, his hands pulling at her skirts, creating a space for him to stand between her legs. He kissed her harder, pouring into her the passion he’d kept at bay since he’d last held her in his arms. She intoxicated him with her scent—­a crisp flavor of lemon, softened with honey. It only made him hungry for more.

  “Lucien,” she murmured, her fingers digging at his shoulders as he kissed his way along the curve of her neck. “I didn’t think you wanted me anymore.”

  He should have challenged himself to a duel if such a thing had been possible. The pain his stupidity had caused her was unforgivable, but he had every intention of making it up to her now. With a swift tug of her bodice, he bared her breasts, their fullness just as glorious as he remembered. They filled his hands and he kissed his way toward them, his thumb scraping a nipple just before he took the tender flesh in his mouth.

  Katherine groaned, her back arching toward him, offering him more. “I want you,” he muttered. Reaching between them, he placed his hand against her and slowly circled the area that would give her the greatest pleasure. She shuddered, her breath a little uneven. There was something so exquisitely erotic about touching her like this through the layers of her gown. “I will always want you,” he whispered.

  Sighing, she tilted her hips. “More,” she begged, her words sending waves of hot desire straight to his groin. How he longed to give her more, to take her right there on his desk in broad daylight. He considered it—­the urge to do so was powerful indeed—­but he had promised himself that he wouldn’t. Not until she agreed to marriage.

  Regrettably, now was not the time to pose such an important question. Not unless he wished to manipulate her answer, which he did not. Later, he promised as he pushed his fingers against her
, increasing the friction while his mouth returned to hers. He thrust his tongue inside, speaking without words of his greatest fantasies, of his desire for her and of what was in his heart.

  On a jagged groan, she came apart, her hands clutching him close as she shivered with ecstasy. “I love you,” she whispered against his shoulder. “God help me, I love you so terribly much.”

  He should ask her now, and he prepared to do so as he leaned back a little so he could help her adjust the bodice and skirt of her gown. Cupping her face between his hands, he looked at the beautiful features he’d loved for so long. “Kate,” he murmured, his heart thrashing about like a caged beast. “I—­”

  There was a knock at the door. Lucien closed his eyes and willed the unwelcome person away. This could not be happening. He was about to propose to the woman he loved, to assure her of his devotion, and he was being interrupted. The knock came again.

  “Will you get that?” Katherine asked.

  Lucien gazed past her at the window beyond. “I suppose I must,” he said with reluctance. Stepping back so she could slip off the desk, he paused for a moment to appreciate the color he’d brought to her cheeks. “This conversation isn’t over,” he promised. “We have much to discuss, you and I.”

  Her lips parted, but she said nothing. Lucien went to the door and opened it to find Parker on the other side of it. “I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion,” he said, “but it appears you have another caller.”

  Lucien groaned. His house was suddenly being overrun. “You may tell them that I am not at home.”