“Take a drink,” he said. “It will help.” His mouth twitched slightly. “And if it doesn’t, I can slap you on the back a few times if necessary.”
She shot him a don’t-even-think-about-trying-that look, and then did as he suggested, taking several soothing sips of tea. “Thank you,” she said, suddenly feeling flustered. He often had that effect on her, even when she wasn’t making a spectacle of herself.
William might have teased her a bit more, but since they had an audience, he refrained. “Always at your service,” he murmured, coming around to settle himself beside her on the sofa.
“So you were able to come,” Libby said. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
“I promised to try, and here I am.”
From Miss Hurst’s questioning glance, he surmised Libby hadn’t mentioned the possibility of his joining them. No wonder she’d looked faintly shocked at his arrival.
“Was the shopping successful?” he asked.
“I suppose so,” Miss Hurst said, setting her cup down.
“You don’t know?” he asked. He leaned forward to accept a cup of tea from Libby.
“Well, I didn’t actually see the written order. Your sister Elizabeth immediately took charge of it.” She gave him a meaningful look.
“Ah,” he said. “Don’t let her bossiness bother you. That’s just Libby treating you like family.”
Lord Peyton let out a bark of laughter, which earned him a withering look from his wife.
Libby turned to William. “Would you like a sandwich or some biscuits?”
“No, thank you. The tea will be sufficient.” He crossed one leg over the other, then balanced the cup and saucer on his thigh.
“Made any headway in discovering who was behind that betrothal announcement?” Lord Peyton asked.
Miss Hurst looked surprised by his brother-in-law’s question.
“Not really. Whoever did it made an effort to cover their tracks. I’m almost positive it’s a political rival. Is it absolutely critical I know which one?” He shrugged. “I’d like to know who’s behind it, but it’s not as if I’d demand a dawn meeting on the green even if I discovered the culprit’s identity.”
“Naturally not,” Peyton replied. “But if I were you, I’d still want to know. It’s no small thing that this mischief led to you and Miss Hurst becoming engaged, even if it is just until this all blows over. Although, as a man of honor, there really wasn’t any other course open to you.”
“Fortunately for me, Miss Hurst has turned out to be the most delightful of fiancées. And the truth is, she’s protecting my interests just as much as I’m protecting hers.”
Her expression turned skeptical, and he suspected she wanted to dispute these statements, though she didn’t. Instead she said, “I hope you aren’t just letting the matter drop. I don’t like the idea of an unknown enemy lurking in the background.”
“I’ve hired an investigator, a former Bow Street Runner, to do some digging, but so far he’s turned up nothing. Admittedly, his efforts are hampered by our need for the strictest discretion. He doesn’t know about the false betrothal announcement, only that I suspect a political rival is trying to undermine me in some way.”
“Oh,” she said doubtfully. “That doesn’t sound very promising for producing results.”
“Perhaps not, but the fewer who know the truth about our betrothal, the better. For now, we’ll wait and see what he can find out. Although I can tell from that frown forming on your brow this doesn’t meet with your approval as a plan of action.”
“Because ‘wait and see’ seems less of a plan of action and more a plan of giving up.”
He laughed at that. “Would you be happier with it if we scheduled a driving lesson to break up the tedium of sitting and waiting?”
“I would, though you could double my happiness by making it two lessons,” she suggested, giving him a saucy smile.
“Two, then.” William shook his head in mock resignation. “Thank heavens I don’t have to meet you across the negotiating table.” He found it hard to deny her anything when those blue eyes of hers softened and lost some of that aloofness she was so fond of cloaking herself in.
“We’ll leave the two of you to work out the details of your driving plans,” Libby said briskly, coming to her feet. She turned to Peyton, who was polishing off the last of the sandwiches. “Robert, come along. I need to consult with you on some household matters.”
“Yes, dear.” Peyton shot William a look as if to say Be warned. This is what marriage does to a man.
They’d barely exited the room before Lydia said, “I hope you don’t mind, but James and I should be going. We’re dining with his mother and she insists on keeping country hours even when she’s in town.”
“I should be getting along as well,” Miss Hurst said, coming to her feet.
“Oh, no.” Lydia waved a hand indicating Miss Hurst should retake her seat. “William can keep you company for a bit. I’m sure Elizabeth will be back shortly. No need for you to rush off yet.”
“Well, I’m not sure—” Miss Hurst began. He could tell her desire to wait politely for Libby’s return was at war with her suspicions about his sisters’ true motives.
“No.” Lydia again gestured for Miss Hurst to sit back down. “You and Will need to…to discuss your plans for the upcoming lessons,” she said, her words tumbling out in a rush. And before Miss Hurst could protest further, she and Chatworth departed.
Miss Hurst sank back onto the sofa. She stared at the empty doorway a few seconds before turning to William with a perplexed look. “Am I being overly suspicious, or did they just leave us alone together on purpose?”
“From the way they practically bolted from the room, I’d say it was definitely on purpose.”
She frowned at that. “Well, it’s rather odd, don’t you think?”
He leaned forward and deposited his empty cup on the tea tray. “No, I don’t find it odd. A little unexpected, but given that it’s my sisters, I don’t find it odd at all.” Her mouth pressed into an unhappy line, and though she didn’t say anything, he had the distinct feeling she wanted him to do something about his sisters’ obvious attempt at matchmaking.
“There’s no point in telling them not to meddle, because they’ll do it anyway,” he said.
“Well, no matter their motivation, you needn’t feel obligated to keep me company,” she said.
“I don’t feel it’s an obligation.” He gave her a lazy smile. “A challenge maybe, since you seem eager to be rid of me, but not an obligation.”
“I didn’t mean to give you the impression I don’t welcome your company. Merely giving you an out if you didn’t wish to go along with your sisters’ scheming.” She smoothed the fabric of her skirt, then folded her hands in her lap. “You know, in case you had something else you needed to attend to.”
“Very thoughtful of you.” He reached for a biscuit. “But I’m at loose ends for the next few hours. Which means I’m all yours for the moment.” He grinned and popped the shortbread into his mouth.
“Lucky me.” She smiled as she said it though.
“Since we have a moment of privacy…” He looked at her hands primly clasped in her lap. “I hope you liked the ring I sent.”
“I…yes. It’s very lovely.” She held out her hand so he could see the ring on her finger. “It’s much finer than anything I own, which makes me nervous to have it in my possession. Be assured that I’ll do my best to keep it safe until I return it to you.”
“I’m not worried about that,” he said. “I just hoped you liked it well enough that you wouldn’t mind wearing it.” She drew in a sharp breath as he took her slim hand in his, holding it lightly, pretending to study the ring, but really admiring her slender, tapered fingers, enjoying the warm feel of her skin against his. “I like the way it looks on your hand.” He met her gaze. “Almost like it belongs there.”
He wasn’t sure why he had added that last part, except he was curious to see
how she reacted to the idea. Her response was much as he expected.
Her eyes turned wary and with a shaky laugh, she pulled her hand away. “It would look good on anyone. It’s a beautiful piece of jewelry.”
“Not on anyone,” he murmured. “Not in my opinion.”
Her lips parted and for a moment he saw the same yearning in her eyes he’d seen on their carriage ride when he’d nearly given in to the impulse to kiss her. He fought a similar urge now, but he hesitated to act on it, caught between the dictates of prudence and desire.
The sound of children’s voices drifted in from the hallway, interrupting the moment and effectively ending the opportunity to kiss her. Miss Hurst turned toward the doorway.
“Libby’s children must be returning from an outing,” William said. They couldn’t see them yet from their vantage point, but the increasing volume of the young voices indicated they were coming nearer.
“I didn’t realize your sister had children,” she responded. “Although if I’d thought about it, it seems logical. After all, she’s older than you, and I presume has been married to Lord Peyton for a while.”
“For eight years,” he told her. “She has three rambunctious boys.”
He’d no sooner finished saying this when cries of “Uncle William, Uncle William, you’ve come to visit” filled the sitting room as two of his three nephews surged in and ran up to him like a couple of eager puppies. A harried nursemaid followed them, issuing an apology for their behavior. She was accompanied by his youngest nephew, a sturdy toddler who had a thumb firmly planted in his mouth.
“Peter, Henry,” William said sternly. “There’s no need to act like ruffians. Mind your manners now, and bid Miss Hurst a ‘good afternoon.’”
“Sorry, Uncle William,” Peter said. He and Henry turned contrite gazes toward Miss Hurst and said in unison, “Good afternoon, Miss Hurst.”
“Good afternoon,” she replied. She smiled as she took in their disheveled appearance. Grimy streaks marked their clothes, their legs, and their faces. “From the quantity of dirt you’ve accumulated, I’d say you’ve had a fun outing.”
They nodded enthusiastically. “We threw rocks in the pond,” said Peter, as if imparting a fascinating fact.
“And sailed our boat in it,” Henry said. He leaned forward and rested a grubby hand on her knee. “I almost fell in,” he added, half whispering this confidence to her.
“Really.” She widened her eyes and spoke in a voice meant to convey the appropriate amount of awe and reverence that the boy seemed to expect from sharing this revelation. “You have had an adventurous afternoon.”
Their heads bobbed in agreement, and he could see that they were charmed by her.
His youngest nephew came to stand next to her, staring at her with large solemn blue eyes. He pulled the thumb out of his mouth. “Up, pwease,” he said.
“You needn’t—” William began, because the toddler was as grubby as his brothers. She ignored him and lifted the little boy onto her lap.
“I don’t mind,” she said. “I like children.” She turned back to the boys. “Now which one of you is Peter and which is Henry?”
“I’m Peter,” the elder boy informed her. “And he’s Henry,” he added, pointing to his middle brother.
“What’s your name?” she asked, addressing the chubby youngster perched on her lap.
He blinked at her a moment, then without extracting the thumb he’d reinserted in his mouth said something that sounded like “Wiwa.”
Not surprisingly, Miss Hurst glanced toward William with a confused expression. “I’m afraid you’ll have to translate for me.”
“William,” he supplied. “His name is William.”
“Your little namesake,” she murmured.
He rather envied his namesake just then, for young William had snuggled against her cozily, and rested his head on her shoulder.
“Uncle William, won’t you please give us a horsie ride?” asked Henry. “Pleeease,” he wheedled, leaning toward William with a wide-eyed hopeful look.
William let out an exaggerated sigh and grimaced. “Haven’t you outgrown my horsie rides yet? You have your own ponies to ride now.”
“No!” “No, sir!” The denials were swift and emphatic.
“Here goes the last shred of my dignity,” William said wryly. “Provided you’re not too missish to view me in only a shirt and waistcoat.”
“I think I can withstand the sight of you so casually dressed,” she said, looking amused at this turn of events. “I’d say it’s more a question of whether your pride can absorb the blow.”
“We’re about to find out.” He stood and tugged at the sleeve of his jacket. It proved stubborn, a result of the fashionable styling that required the garment fit him like a second skin. “Do you mind?” He stuck out an arm toward her.
“Perhaps I should ring for help,” Miss Hurst said, blinking up at him innocently. “I’m not sure I’m up to the challenge of divesting you of Weston’s immaculate tailoring.”
He gave her a sardonic look because she’d guessed correctly. He did indeed get his jackets from London’s premier tailor. “Just give my sleeve a brisk tug, will you? One good pull to get it started and I can manage the rest.”
“I hope so,” she murmured. She hesitated, then reached for his cuff with both hands, little William sitting placidly between her outstretched arms. She gave a firm pull on the garment and it shifted slightly. His cuff now rested halfway along his hand, and the effect was almost as if she cradled his hand between hers. She frowned and gave it another tug, and this one freed enough of his arm so that he was able to shrug it out of that sleeve. After that, it was an easy matter of loosening the jacket’s grip on his other shoulder so he could slide it off. He draped the garment over the sofa back and turned to his nephews.
“Coin flip to see who goes first?” he asked, reaching into his waistcoat pocket and drawing forth a guinea. The boys nodded. “Call it, Peter,” he said, flipping the coin high in the air.
“Tails,” Peter replied.
They all watched as the coin arced through the air. He deftly caught it, and slapped it on the back of his hand, displaying it to them all. Even little William leaned forward to take a look. “Heads,” William called out. “Come on, Henry. You go first.” William went to his knees, then crouched low on all fours, hoping he didn’t look like too great a fool to Miss Hurst.
His nephew clambered onto his back and clutched his cravat. “Giddyap, Uncle William.”
William shot a quick glance at Miss Hurst, who was smiling at the spectacle of him playing horse for the boys, but—and this heartened him—it was a friendly smile, not a derisive one. He proceeded to caper about the room on all fours, bucking and weaving and jouncing young Henry, who laughed and squealed with merry delight. Peter sat beside Miss Hurst on the couch, laughing as he shared in the fun.
When he finally arrived back at the sofa, William was breathing heavily from his exertions. He was sure his cravat was worse for wear, he suspected his cheeks were reddened, and his hair was falling over his forehead in a manner he knew would displease his valet.
He lifted his hands from the floor and balanced on his knees, then reached for Henry’s shoulders, and flipped the boy over his head and onto the sofa by Peter. “Next,” he said, dropping back to all fours.
Peter climbed onto William’s back and they were off, “galloping” and bucking around the room, until, breathless and sweaty, William delivered him back to their starting point. As he’d done with Henry, he flipped his nephew over his back and onto the sofa. He came to his feet, flexed his spine a couple of times, and reached for his jacket. “Looks like I can skip my session at Gentleman Jackson’s this week,” he joked, referring to the popular London boxing establishment visited by many men of the peerage.
“Horsie, pwease,” young William said, reaching his arms up to him.
He studied the boy a moment, then said, “Why not? As long as Miss Hurst is willing to help
hold you on.” He turned to her. “Do you mind?”
Little William turned and patted her cheek with a chubby hand. “Pwease,” he coaxed.
“How can I resist such a sweet request?” she said, nodding her acquiescence.
Once again William went down on all fours. He looked over his shoulder at her. “I’m ready for you to lift him on.”
She stood and set the boy in place, gently holding her hands under the boy’s arms to keep him from falling during the ride. They circled the sitting room at a relatively sedate pace, but it was enough to make the little boy gurgle with delight.
William was keenly aware of the way her legs brushed against his ribs as they made their way around the room, of the scent of roses that filled his nostrils with her every step, of the tantalizing glimpses of trim ankles he had as she walked beside him. It was easy to imagine that this could be the two of them with a child of their own.
He wondered, did the same thought occur to her?
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Libby’s voice came from the doorway. “What are you children doing in here?”
The young nurse who’d been watching them from a chair by the door jumped up. “Oh, my lady, I apologize, but the children ran in before I could stop them and—”
Lady Peyton cut her off. “Leave aside the explanations for now, Mary. Please take the boys to see their father in his study, and after that, see that they get a good wash before they eat.”
Mary curtsied and went to do her mistress’s bidding. Miss Hurst lifted young William off his back and passed him to the girl’s waiting arms. Peter and Henry offered quick farewells, then followed Mary from the room.
“I’ll be back shortly,” Lady Peyton said in a distracted voice, and then she too swept out of the room in a rush.
He and Miss Hurst both stood where they were, eyeing the nearly closed door.
“It seems Libby does expect me to get on with the task of courting,” William said thoughtfully.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Miss Hurst said. “Maybe it was an unconscious action on her part to nearly close the door.”
Not the Kind of Earl You Marry Page 12