The Earl of Her Dreams

by Anne Mallory

  He snorted at his initial assumption. After chasing the man for over a week he was reasonably sure that nothing short of an Act of Parliament was likely to make Freewater relinquish his grip. The journal had hooks into nearly everyone in the ton. Webs and relationships. Too many prominent people connected to one another in lewd or ill-advised arrangements. Husbands would be calling for blood, women would be forced into seclusion. Anthony had acknowledged that anyone who had frequented illicit house parties, taverns, and brothels where he was present was mentioned.

  Unless Anthony had deliberately left him out, Christian was likely mentioned in a number of those entries. He had committed many a debauchery alongside his friend. Not that it mattered if he was named. It wasn’t as if he had the respect of his family to lose. He had made his own way in society, and it would withstand scrutiny. Hell, the “good” ton that would be implicated would overshadow any of Christian’s exploits.

  No doubt Freewater had already read Anthony’s journal, so the entries were already compromised, but the damage would be much greater if the actual document was released to the public in all its glory. Anthony would either be strung from society’s rafters or be the most notorious man to survive a hundred duels.

  That was if he survived his ladylove leaving him over the exposure.

  No, Christian would take the journal back. And he didn’t much care how he had to do it.

  Christian pressed his ear to the wall, listening as Freewater again started yelling for a maid.

  As she exited the room, Kate ran into Sally. The maid was on her way to answer Mr. Freewater’s summons.

  “Pardon me, Sally, I wasn’t watching where I was stepping.”

  The maid’s eyes remained downcast. “It was my fault, sir.”

  “No it wasn’t. Do you need help with Mr. Freewater?”

  Sally shook her head and looked at the poker in her hand. “I was just on my way to stoke the fire in the common room.”

  Kate shifted the garments and reached for the poker. “Here, allow me. I need a distraction.”

  Sally looked at her questioningly, but handed her the implement. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Think nothing of it. Have a good night, Sally.”

  Sally smiled. “Good night, sir.”

  Kate headed for the common room, stooping momentarily in the hall to pick up a linen handkerchief. Freewater bellowed again from his chambers as Sally knocked on his door. Raised voices, muffled but still audible, came from the common room. Curiosity made Kate walk more softly.

  “The bitch won’t touch you now.”

  Kate abruptly stopped outside the door.

  “Don’t call her that!” Lawrence Lake’s angry voice echoed from within the room.

  “I can call her anything I want.” Kate leaned in closer to hear Julius Janson’s lowered words. “Soon we’ll be married and she’ll be my bitch to do with whatever I want.”

  “I’ll kill you before that happens.”

  “Yeah, let’s see you attempt it. Can’t differentiate a pistol cock from the wee one attached between your legs.”

  “Why doesn’t anyone else see what you are?” Lake asked, a tad desperately.

  Kate peered around the door to see Janson lean into Lake’s face. “What, that I’m a real man? That you will always be second best? At bat, in the field, to me.” He shot a cocky grin. “Now I need to go find my future wife and feel those curvy hips, silky and smooth.”

  “You won’t touch her.”

  “She likes it when I touch her, Lake. She whispers my name in her dreams. When she touches herself in the bath. Screaming with her head thrown back as I pound into her.”

  Lake’s fists knotted. “Go to the devil, Janson. I’d send you there now if I knew I wouldn’t be thrown out of here and unable to keep an eye on you.”

  “Tut, tut, Lake. Hiding behind the Wickets again like the pansy you are. Make sure to change your nappy before the next match.”

  Janson sauntered out onto the balcony, leaving a raging Lake to punch the hardwood wall Janson’s head had been leaning against moments before.

  Kate waited a few moments before entering the common room. “Good evening.”

  Lake looked up from rubbing his knuckles and issued a distracted greeting in return, his lip still swollen from the taproom fight.

  Kate added a log and quickly stoked the fire, hoping to leave before the emotional pressure in the room exploded.

  “What is it about beastly men that women bloody love?”

  Kate blinked. “Pardon me?”

  “You look like a nice enough man, but I’ll bet women don’t look at you twice.”

  Kate didn’t know whether to be insulted or amused. Christian had commented earlier about Daisy not noticing her as a man. Really, if she maintained this line of thought, she might as well grow some chest hair and add a cocky swagger to her step.

  The devastated look on Lake’s face caused sympathy to bloom instead. “I can honestly say that most women do not look at me twice, you are correct.” Kate decided to find the humor in the situation.

  He shook his head. “No one notices a monster in their midst when they don’t choose to. Not if he is the team hero or the worshipped man about town.”

  Kate felt the bloom grow. He obviously held a tendre for Mary, who was promised to Janson. The innkeeper clearly thought Janson a right sporting fellow, and couldn’t look past his hero status in cricket. She wondered how Mary felt. Her face, happy and kind like her father’s, became unreadable around Janson and Lake. Maybe Mary saw more than people credited.

  “If it would make you feel better, if I were a female, I wouldn’t go for the likes of Julius Janson.”

  “Too bad you aren’t a female.”

  “Er, yes, too bad.” Kate replaced the poker next to the fireplace grate. “Don’t let a man like Julius Janson get to you, Mr. Lake. It is what he wants above all other things. Even more than the girl you fight over.”

  Lake’s mouth dropped in surprise, but before he could respond, Mr. Tiegs entered the room. The two large men who shadowed him were nowhere to be seen.

  “Rough night, Mr. Lake?” he asked, swinging a pocket fob. An aura of power emanated from his every word. He was quite attractive in a rough way.

  Lake’s eyes narrowed before they clouded over. “One of the longest nights of the year.”

  Kate grabbed the opportunity to leave. “If you two gentlemen would excuse me.” Kate nodded at both men.

  “Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Kaden,” Tiegs drawled.

  Kate paused. She didn’t know how Tiegs knew her name; she was beneath most people’s notice in her disguise. There was something very disquieting about the man. There was something disquieting about Christian too, but they were disparate feelings, as if the two men both held power, but in different ways.

  “You too, Mr. Tiegs. Mr. Lake.”

  Kate let her thoughts wander as she trooped downstairs with the items she had mended. Men lingered in the taproom, and a few women had joined them, including the vivacious widow Olivia Trent, dressed in green satin. Her quieter companion, Francine, complemented her in blue. They created a splash of color amid the dully clothed men. Mrs. Wicket had looked upon them both with a measure of disdain, so Kate could only speculate as to their reputations.

  She dropped off the mending in the office, grabbed something to eat in the kitchen, and after a quick gab with Bess, the cook, Kate headed for the stairs.

  She had barely reached the first step when the hall clock started to sing. Kate’s breath became shallow and started coming out in pants. One, two. She pressed herself against the wall and closed her eyes as the chimes continued. Five, six. She should have been in her room for the midnight chimes. On the other hand, she would rather break down in the stairwell than in front of Christian Black. Nine, ten. She put a hand to her damaged ear. She couldn’t breathe. Twelve. The bell pealed and echoed the last strike in a parody of a farewell.

  Kate forced open her eyes, thankful
no one had happened upon her. She took a shaky step up, then another, and another, turning right when she reached the landing to go out to the gallery for some air.

  Opening the door, she was assailed by pungent cigar smoke. Memories of home overwhelmed her. This was not the full-bodied, mellow scent of her father’s expensive imported Spanish leaf, but the sharp, cheap version her brother and his cronies preferred.

  In the dark, all she could see was a pinpoint of a burning ember and the glowing outline of Janson puffing on a cigar. The frigid air hit her face and she shivered, her breath creating puffs big enough to put the cigar smoke to shame. The sweat that had beaded her brow froze in the cool blast. The weather had definitely changed from the morning. The locals believed they were due for a snowstorm, and she was inclined to agree.

  Janson gave her little notice as she walked around him toward the other end of the balcony. She leaned over, resting her elbows against the cold wooden railing and cradling her cheeks. Would her fright response over the chimes ever cease?

  If her father were here he’d laugh with her and tell her she was acting like a ninny. But her father wasn’t here, and she had never missed him more. There was no one here for her now. No friends to fuss with over ribbons in the village, no one to giggle with over a dashing man passing through town, no beaus to flirt with, no one to read with on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Those times were long past, although they had occurred less than six weeks ago. That life was all but closed, and unless she could arrive in London at the right moment, all would be for naught. She would be without family and without a penny to her name.

  And even then she would have a long way to go before she could gain back a smidgeon of the careless verve of her youth. While all her old friends from the village might still laugh and cajole the men in their midst, Kate had lost the will for the art. She touched her covered left ear. No dashing young man would even want her now. The derogatory peals of her brother’s and Connor’s words rang in her ears like the chimes of the clock.

  Two large dark tabbies yowled below. Well, at least the cats had companionship tonight. She turned to lean back against the railing and tucked her arms into her chest.

  Of the four rooms with direct access to the gallery, only Janson’s and Olivia Trent’s were lit. The Crescents had long since retired, and Desmond was still in the taproom probably waiting for Janson to return. Kate tried to catch her breath in the cold air, but she only succeeded in coughing.

  She dropped her arms, her fingers skimming the cold wood railing as she glanced inside the common room to see Lake and Tiegs talking. Tiegs ran his fingers along the chain of his pocket watch, while Lake intensely watched the movements. She wondered what they were discussing. What kind of information could a man like Tiegs have for a man like Lake?

  She shivered again. Now that the chimes were done, she could try and get some sleep. If only she could get rid of Black. She was still unnerved from the taproom. Who would have thought him the chivalrous type? And the way his muscles corded beneath her fingers, even through the jacket he wore. She could have stayed in that position all night, and wasn’t that just a frightening thought.

  Perhaps his gallantry was a ploy to get her between the sheets. But a man like Christian Black could do far better than a damaged girl like Kate.

  With that depressing thought she walked past Janson again and into the warm hallway.

  She opened the door to her room, intent on having it out with Christian again. Perhaps she could revive the seed of chivalry. Yes, better to concentrate on that than on what lay beneath his clothing.

  She stepped inside and froze.

  Golden skin and rippling muscles stared back.

  She couldn’t stop the thought that perhaps chivalry was overvalued as Christian stood shirtless by the bed, with his fingers lingering on the buttons of his trousers.

  Chapter 5

  What type of sorcery did you employ this time? I won’t have it, and your denials mean nothing, just like you.

  The Marquess of Penderdale

  to Christian, age fifteen

  Her bottom hit the door, and it closed with a clack. She jumped at the sound, and her hand rose to her chest to still her racing heart.

  “Wh-what are you doing?”

  “I’m taking off my trousers.”

  “I see that,” she snapped, heat licking her cheeks. “Why are you removing your trousers?”

  “They restrict me when I’m sleeping.” He moved his fingers over a button and quirked a brow.

  “You aren’t sleeping!”

  “Not at the moment.”

  She rubbed her suddenly moist hands against the rough cotton weave of her breeches and said a bit desperately, “B-but, you can’t sleep here.”

  “Tsk, tsk, Kate. You’re stuttering, and I thought we’d already been through this.” He shook his head in mock resignation.

  “We have. Multiple times, if you will recall.”

  “Buck up, Kate. I’ll toast up the bed for you. No need to fear I’ll leave you cold.” He smiled devilishly and undid the last fastening.

  She examined the knotty floorboards with interest, waiting for the thud of heavy cloth striking wood.

  As the silence stretched on, she risked a glance upward to see him still standing motionless before her, bare-chested, with his thumbs hooked into the top of his trousers, buttons redone. If Daisy were here she would surely be in euphoria by now. Kate had just overheard Daisy talking to Bess, the cook, about chests and big hands.

  She peered at Christian. He did have large hands, capable, although more graceful than utilitarian. What had Daisy said about chests? That she loved it when men had large, capable hands to handle a well-developed chest. Well, Christian certainly had capable hands.

  Heat licked her skin again as her thoughts caught up to her. She noticed his predatory smile and realized she’d been staring like a starving woman.

  She lifted her chin and marched to the bed, snatched the counterpane, and dragged it to the rickety pine chair in the corner. She pulled the spread around her shoulders and cocooned herself in it, then plopped onto the hard, uncomfortable chair.

  “Honey, what are you doing?”

  “Don’t call me honey. My name is Kate Simon. Mr. Kaden to you.”

  He sighed. “Kate, get into the bed.”

  “No. I’m not sleeping with you.”

  “I’m not going to steal your virtue. Not when I could relieve you of it so easily,” he drawled.

  She gasped in outrage. “You are a blackguard.”

  He shrugged, an easy smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Not much fun to be anything else.”

  “What’s wrong with being a gentleman?”

  “Dull, dull, dull.”

  “I’ll have you know that gentlemen deserve the utmost respect. And they treat ladies in kind.”

  “Never knew a lady who dressed like a lad.” His voice grew sly.

  Angry heat stole into her cheeks, and she wondered if it would be a permanent condition for the night. “And I never knew a gentleman who would say such a thing.”

  He leaned back against the bedpost and crossed his bare forearms. He was an artist’s delight—a tall, lean, muscular Adonis. Blast him, why couldn’t he just put on his shirt?

  “And how many times do I have to tell you that I’m not a gentleman.” He shuddered. “Dead boring. Now get into this bed.”

  He unfolded his arms and reached for a plain white shirt, the muscles in his stomach stretching beneath the golden light of the lamp as he did so.

  Kate swallowed, and it took her a moment to remember what they were arguing about.

  “You just claimed you weren’t a gentleman. Why would I climb into bed with you?”

  He smoothed the shirt down over his chest, and she swore she could still make out the definition beneath. “Because all the ladies like to bow and curtsy and trade staid witticisms with gentlemen, but none of them want one in their bed.”

  “Of all th—”
/>
  “It’s true.” He leaned his head back against the post, peering at her lazily from under half-closed eyelids. “Ask the widow downstairs. Or ask her companion. Even the dour Mrs. Wicket could probably tell you that Mr. Wicket is a jolly underachiever between the sheets.”

  “This conversation is finished.”

  “Are you a prude, Kate? How depressing.”

  “I’m not a prude, I’m just not a…not a trollop.” She jerked the counterpane higher.

  “You don’t have to be a trollop to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh, Kate. You merely have to have the passion and fire to revel in it.”

  The word all but dripped from his tongue. If her face and body were going to remain this heated, perhaps she wouldn’t require the coverlet after all. “Well, there will be no reveling tonight.”

  “It’s a damn shame, that.”

  “Good night, Mr. Black.”

  He sighed. “Kate, get into the bed.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll carry you over here and deposit you myself.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  He lifted a brow.

  All right, so perhaps challenging him hadn’t been the smartest rejoinder.

  “I wish to sleep in this chair.”

  “No you don’t.”

  “I don’t wish to sleep with you, Mr. Black, no matter what charms you think you possess.”

  Or what her body thought otherwise.

  “I have no use for unwilling or contrary females, Kate. Until you choose to revel, you are quite safe.”

  “Hardly reassuring.”

  “You will freeze in that chair.”

  “Quite possibly.”

  He tapped a rhythm against the post with his finger. “Looks quite uncomfortable. You’ll end up in the bed sooner or later.”

  “I highly doubt that. Now leave me be.”

  “Fine. But you’re going to get a stiff neck and Lord knows what else. When you relent, feel free to crawl right in.” He motioned to the bed magnanimously and then pointed to her bare feet. “I’ll even let you warm your pinkies on me.”