Redeeming the Earl

by Jenn Langston

  Rebecca felt sick. She couldn’t listen to this anymore. How did Charles survive this? And why would he want to marry again, holding all these vile memories inside him?

  “And last it was Allison. She didn’t live long enough to carry a child. Her penchant for swimming in the river, regardless of the danger, caught up with her.”

  After stopping the phaeton in front of her father’s townhouse, Charles turned to her. She bit down hard on her lip to keep it from trembling. He spoke the truth. Everything about him made sense now.

  His reluctance to share himself was because of the horror he’d experienced. Even his dislike of kissing stemmed from how he needed to distance himself. Whether he knew it or not, deep scars had formed inside of him.

  “Now you know the truth about my past.”

  Grateful for his trust, she nodded, then allowed him to assist her down. When she offered him a good day, she retired directly to her bedchamber and threw herself on the bed.

  From the beginning, she set out to learn the truth about the earl. However, now that she had, she couldn’t even print it. He would know she was the author of the Unscandal Sheet, and besides, she refused to betray the faith he placed in her.

  An idea struck her and had her practically flying across the room to get to her pen and parchment. If she hurried, she could have it delivered to Mr. Brinter today and have this distributed the day after tomorrow.

  Excitement moved through her with each stroke of the pen on the paper. She only hoped Charles would appreciate it.

  Charles stared into his almost empty glass of brandy. He couldn’t understand why men felt the urge to over-imbibe this stuff. Jumbled thoughts already paraded through his mind, and he had consumed very little.

  Did he want to drink more? He couldn’t be sure. After all, part of him did. Perhaps if his mind gave into the alcohol, he wouldn’t be able to see Rebecca’s repulsed face after he told her about his past. Would she ever look at him the same? Did she believe, as so many others did, that he had lied to her and in fact murdered his wives?

  Picking up the glass, he downed the rest. Why had he told her anything? Although unburdening himself had felt good, he shouldn’t have chosen her to be the one to take in all the details.

  “What are you doing?” Francis stood in the doorway looking shocked and appalled. “I’ve never known you to drink.”

  “Did we have an appointment today?” Charles couldn’t believe he’d forgotten. Normally he found his memory to be infallible.

  His nephew strode in the room and dropped himself in the chair across from the desk. “No, but Mother said you hadn’t left your house since I was last here three days ago. I came, in part, to find out why.”

  “I find this place to be comfortable, don’t you?”

  “I suppose, but how does remaining in your comfort help you get an heir?”

  Charles blinked, trying to clear the fogginess from his thoughts. “Perhaps I don’t need one. I have you, after all.”

  “How many of these did you drink?” Francis grabbed the decanter of brandy from the desk and replaced the cap before placing the bottle on the sidebar.

  Letting out a sigh, Charles leaned back in his chair. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “With you like this, I don’t know if I should tell you my main reason for coming here.”

  “Then you can bring my brandy back and join me. Or not.”

  After shaking his head, Francis pulled a sheet of paper from his waistcoat and set it on the desk. “You’ve been exonerated. My initial reaction was that no one would believe it, but apparently this sheet holds more power than I thought.”

  “What you talking about?”

  Charles reached out and grabbed the parchment. The Unscandal Sheet? Realization dawned, and he quickly scanned the print.

  There is one among us I feel has a tale that is long overdue. You know of whom I speak. His name has been on your lips, just as his presence has been in your ballrooms and at your dinner tables. The Earl of Dunmore.

  The question that brought about his scandal is simple. How can a man be widowed four times in five years? Naturally accusations direct themselves to the earl himself. But where are our facts?

  This quandary encouraged me to do my research, and I thank the many others who joined me in doing so. By observation, I noticed Lord Dunmore appeared just as any other man of the upper class. The overheard conversations, as well as the ones I shared with him and others on the subject, also proved the man to be exactly what he ought to be.

  What have been your observations, I have to ask. That he is congenial, well mannered, and proper? Or perhaps you have noticed his readiness to dance, stroll, and befriend anyone willing to accept him? Are these the signs of a person with malicious intent?

  In addition to this research, our own monarch, the Prince Regent himself, who has been privy to more details than we, has declared him innocent. Now I ask, what more proof do you need?

  Based on these facts, your observations, and other knowledge I have obtained during my investigation, I have an answer for you.

  In conclusion, I must offer the sincerest apology from myself and the rest of London to Lord Dunmore. Although your circumstances have been tragic, you are innocent of the crimes we punish you for.

  Charles couldn’t stop staring at the paper. Why had the author changed their mind about printing his story? Why did people actually believe this? What other knowledge had been obtained? Who was the author?

  His mind spun with questions and brandy. The timing of this publication seemed too perfect for him. Clearly Rebecca intended to reject his offer, so did this mean he could actually have a chance to find someone else? That idea didn’t sit well with him. He wasn’t sure he wanted someone else.

  “What do you think?” The excitement in Francis’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

  “That this is the worst story the Unscandal Sheet has printed. There are no facts, no witnesses, and no proof. Why are people accepting this?”

  “Aren’t you pleased? Or did you prefer your notorious reputation?”

  Charles let the sheet fall from his fingers and drift down to the desk. “Of course I’m happy about this. I just don’t understand, and I don’t like being unable to fully comprehend every situation.”

  With a shake of his head, Francis chuckled. “You really shouldn’t drink brandy any more. I told you. The respect everyone has for this sheet is unusual. Whatever is printed on these pages is truth, or at least it gives people enough information to question what they originally believed. Either way, I say we celebrate.”

  Knowing he would never have his questions answered didn’t sit well with him. With his money, he could attempt to locate who printed this, but he knew his efforts would be in vain. He’d already done a preliminary investigation and discovered the trail others had begun. Too many people stood between that sheet and its author. In addition, for some reason those people weren’t interested in money to reveal what they knew.

  “I say we test your theory. My reception so far has been quite cold, at least when Prinny wasn’t around. As of an hour ago, I’ve been invited to dinner tomorrow evening. I haven’t sent my acceptance. Would you care to join me?”

  Francis cleared his throat. “I would love to, but I have a woman who has already promised me her evening. I would hate to disappoint her.”

  Shaking his head at the youth, Charles wondered if he would have been as wild as his nephew had Nicole not taken him under her care. It didn’t matter, he knew better now.

  The next night as he sat at dinner in Lady Laramie’s house, he discovered the truth behind Francis’s beliefs about the Unscandal Sheet. Apparently, the invitation to this event came as quite an accomplishment. Very few people had enjoyed such an honor.

  Even more curious
was the treatment he’d received. From the moment he entered the room, the other guests welcomed him like they’d known him for years. Well, everyone except Rebecca.

  Although her eyes found him multiple times, caution and concern were in their depths. Perhaps this sheet brought about an opposite effect on her. Or had his confession given her a distrust of him? Regardless of her reason, he tried to respect her wishes by ignoring her, but it proved to be a difficult battle.

  “Lord Dunmore,” the Duchess of Donetic said, pulling him from his concentration on his soup. “I understand you have had very few trips to London. Are you enjoying your stay so far?”

  Charles nodded. Honestly, he didn’t know how to answer that question. His overall opinion of his time here changed from day to day.

  “London is very different from the country,” he added.

  “Yes. My good friend Rebecca Doutree and I were just discussing the difference earlier.” She looked down into her soup as she slowly stirred the liquid. “Rebecca also mentioned how the two of you have become better acquainted.”

  Caught off guard, Charles sat silent. Why would Rebecca be talking to her friend about him? Did that mean she had considered his proposal? Without thought, his eyes sought her out.

  She was smiling at Baron Berwick with a light in her eyes that made his hands clench. Jealousy surged through him. He wanted to be the one to put such pleasure in her eyes. Charles’s gaze drifted to her lips. They should be reserved for him as well.

  “Why her?” The tiny voice of the duchess barely touched his ears.

  Anger flushed his skin. Why did everyone discount her? She was by far the most beautiful creature he’d laid his eyes on, and she had more compassion than he’d ever seen in one person.

  Forcing his attention to the Duchess of Donetic, the fury drained from him. The concern on her face cleared up her meaning. She wasn’t asking because she didn’t understand his decision. Her fear was for her friend. She thought he would kill Rebecca. His anger returned.

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I refuse to participate in this conversation.”

  She nodded. “Of course. I simply wanted to tell you that despite her age, Rebecca is a sweet girl and unused to the games some people play. With her being such a gentle person, it is our obligation to care for her. I’ll not have anything bad happen to her.”

  “Your protectiveness for your friend does you justice. Rest assured, I share those feelings for her.”

  With that, he turned his attention to the woman on his left. Apparently she had a niece with a desire to meet him. If he was deemed good enough for a member of this lady’s family, why couldn’t the duchess see him the same for Rebecca?

  Thankfully dinner ended without another word regarding Rebecca. However, as soon as he entered the drawing room, he saw her sitting with the Duchess of Donetic. If they were speaking of him, he hoped the duchess didn’t intend to express her concerns. He already had enough trouble obtaining Rebecca’s consent without adding disapproval from her friends. Before he could make his way over and discover anything, Rebecca’s father approached him.

  “Dunmore, we haven’t seen you around lately. I expected you to visit after our last conversation,” Lord Burford commented. “I hope you haven’t lost interest.”

  “I apologize. I was unaware of your expectations of my presence.”

  The viscount took a long drink of the port he still held in his hand. “I see. Now, I just wanted to remind you of your rights. I have already granted my daughter to you, so there is no reason to delay the marriage.”

  Charles clenched his teeth. He would never force a woman to marry him. After his last wife’s death, he found reason to believe Allison had been coerced into a union with him by her father. The knowledge ate at him, and he refused to allow such a thing to happen again. He would only wed a woman who wanted him on her own terms.

  “I understand, but I would prefer to handle this in my own way.”

  “As you wish, however, my blessing only extends until the moment the next man offers for her. I would hate for you to miss out due to your issues with timing.”

  Irritated, Charles put his shoulders back. “If you expect a better-suited candidate to come forward, perhaps I should rescind my offer.”

  The viscount’s Adam’s apple bobbed furiously. “That isn’t necessary. I just wanted you to be aware that you might not be the only man interested. Just a friendly warning.”

  After another sip of his drink, Lord Burford looked at him with eyebrows raised. Meeting his stare, Charles saw anxiousness in the man’s eyes. Turning away, he released Lord Burford from the challenge. Instead his gaze rested on Rebecca. She deserved a better father.

  “Thank you for the warning.”

  At that, Charles left his company and moved to the opposite side of the room. Rebecca had to suffer with her father similarly to how his sister had. Why did men put so little stock in daughters? The reality of his situation brought him up short. He’d been no better than his father. He gritted his teeth. Something would have to change. Women were not to be hastened away to the closest man.

  He felt his features soften as he looked upon Rebecca. Men would be lost without those daughters. When her luminous blue eyes met his, he froze. The shy smile spreading across her face did uncomfortable things to him.

  In such a short time, she had torn him up on the inside, and he feared he’d never be the same man again.

  Chapter 6

  Rebecca spun around in a circle, trying to take everything in. Lady Laramie’s ballroom was covered in every shade of her favorite color—blue. The outrageous themes and extravagant decor had made this ball the talk of the Season every year.

  Delicate glass balls hung from the ceiling, shimmering in the glow of the candlelight. She truly felt as though she were under the sea. Something black with spikes covering it caught her eye. Charmed, she reached out to touch it when a shadow cast over her. She shivered, knowing who it was.

  “Miss Doutree, may I have this dance?”

  She didn’t respond, for she didn’t need to. Charles took her arm as though she belonged to him and drew her into his embrace. The sound of the waltz moved through her, but it didn’t have nearly as much of an effect as the man himself.

  Unable to meet his gaze, she fixed her attention on his chest. He had dressed in a rich blue waistcoat that fit the theme marvelously. As her thoughts moved to visions of how he would look without the garment, she again surveyed the room as they swirled through it. Like the mythical creatures in the sea.

  “You are very quiet this evening. I’m unaccustomed to this level of silence from you,” Lord Dunmore said, his voice low.

  Her cheeks heated. For some reason all her tutoring to remain silent normally disappeared in his presence. Of course he would notice silence this evening. However, tonight she was too swept up in the magic to think of speaking.

  “I’m sorry, my lord.”

  “Don’t apologize. Just talk to me.”

  Lifting her face, she looked into his eyes. Surprise took her breath away. He honestly liked when she talked to him. No one, not even her family, relished hearing her voice for very long.

  “What do you want me to talk about?”

  He smiled. “I really enjoy when you do that.”

  “Do what? Ask questions?”

  “Well, not exactly. Your questions tend to be . . . difficult. I was referring to your voice. Every once in a while, I suppose in an unguarded moment, your voice is higher. The sound seems more natural. I like it.”

  Her mouth dropped, and he chuckled. How could he prefer her natural voice over the lower tone she’d adopted? A tingling sensation moved over her and made it difficult to swallow. It was as if this man truly liked her for who she was.

  “Are you saying you prefer this?” she asked, us
ing her normal voice.

  “Yes. The ease at which it flows from your mouth”–his attention dropped her lips–“is very pleasurable.”

  The remainder of the dance, she couldn’t speak. Her heart beat rapidly and her body stung. The dance, which usually provided such enjoyment, now slowly tortured her.

  Their bodies swayed to the music, tantalizing her every time they touched. She began to fantasize about doing all those things with him that her brothers had talked about doing with countless women. When the song finally ended, she was breathless and could barely see straight.

  “Would you care to see the garden?” The low tenor of his voice indicated he shared her feelings. “I’ve heard they are not to be missed.”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Without a word, she allowed him to escort her through the doors. As usual to Lady Laramie’s style, the garden had been magnificently decorated. The effect of the candles and draped material made her feel as though she were walking across the ocean floor.

  “Does she decorate like this often?” Wonder shone through his words.

  “Every Season she throws a ball. Last year she chose a savannah. I believe her goal is to create something everyone will remember the entire year.”

  “I would say she has achieved that.”

  When they stopped at a private location, she turned to face him. He was so handsome, merely looking at him hurt. But he was so much more than that. She’d never met anyone like him before.