Not the Kind of Earl You Marry

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Not the Kind of Earl You Marry Page 14

by Kate Pembrooke


  “I’d never trifle with a lady’s affections,” William assured him. True, he had kissed Miss Hurst and, in turn, been quite pleasantly kissed by her. Surely it couldn’t be considered trifling if they’d both wanted those kisses, and if he was willing to do the right thing in the event those kisses gave rise to a growing affection between them.

  Devil take it, affection or not, he’d do the right thing should the lady demand it. When a man kissed a woman he’d better be prepared to face the consequences. Which was why he didn’t make a habit of kissing anyone. Certainly not marriageable females, and, for the past few years, not even those with whom gentlemen of his class often dallied. Casual liaisons had never held much appeal to him—probably because of his own parents’ example of marital devotion and faithfulness.

  “Didn’t think you would,” Hurst said. “But felt it was my brotherly duty to warn you, in any case.”

  William crossed one knee over the other. “I admire your devotion to your sister’s interests. With four sisters of my own, I’d personally eviscerate any man who treated them in a less than honorable manner. Let me assure you again, I’d never do anything to hurt your sister.”

  “Thank God,” Phillip Hurst said with heartfelt sincerity. “I’m not the sort of fellow who relishes a dawn meeting on the park green.”

  “Nor am I,” William said with a wry grin.

  “Why on earth are the two of you discussing fighting a duel?”

  William scrambled to his feet and turned toward the doorway. Miss Hurst stood there, surveying them with narrowed eyes.

  Phillip Hurst, who’d also come to his feet, said, “Oh, you’re back, Charlotte. We were just saying that neither of us was the sort of chap who relished dueling.”

  “So I gathered,” she said, entering the room and coming toward them. William gestured to his recently vacated seat, indicating she might sit in it if she wished. She waved off the offer with her hand. She’d obviously just returned from her outing, as she still wore her bonnet and gloves, and she carried two wrapped parcels under one arm.

  “The question is,” she continued, her curious gaze traveling between the two men, “how the subject of dueling came up in the first place.”

  There was a long beat of silence before Hurst said, “Dash it, Charlotte. Who can say? It just came up is all, in the normal flow of conversation.”

  “You’re just trying to evade my question by posing one of your own. Now out with it, Phillip. I know by that guilty look on your face that there’s something you don’t want to tell me, and that it somehow concerns a duel.”

  “Actually,” William said, stepping forward and relieving her of the packages, “we were discussing the marriage settlements I had drawn up. We veered onto the topic of dueling because your brother made it clear that if I didn’t toe the line where you’re concerned, he’d have to defend your honor.”

  She surveyed them coolly for a moment. “You do realize, don’t you, Phillip, a duel at dawn would interfere with your breakfast habits.”

  “It would likely interfere with a great deal more than that,” her brother retorted. “Norwood is a crack shot.”

  She began to draw off her gloves. “As for marriage settlements, there’s no need for them since there’s not going to be any marriage.” She frowned as she untied her bonnet. “Honestly, does no one besides me remember this is only a pretend engagement?”

  She went over to a mahogany half-cabinet and placed her bonnet and gloves upon it. William held out his vacated chair, and this time she accepted the offer and sat down in it. There were a pair of empty chairs near one of the windows. William fetched one and placed it beside Miss Hurst for himself to sit on.

  Phillip frowned. “The engagement is real but temporary. There’s nothing pretend about it.” He shot a look at William that seemed to say See what I mean? Denial.

  “Think of it how you will. Marriage settlements are still unnecessary,” Miss Hurst said, her words clipped, her voice tight with irritation.

  “It’s for your protection,” William said. “Just in case.”

  “Just in case, what?” she asked, her blue eyes flashing at him with aggravation. “It’s hardly likely that I’ll find myself accidentally married to you.”

  William suppressed a grin. He did find her attractive when she sparked up like that. “True enough. You make your dislike of the notion of being married to me abundantly clear. However, it lends credence to our charade. If we truly intended to tie the knot, we’d draw up marriage settlements. And more importantly, it benefits you. Just in case.”

  Phillip nodded. “Norwood’s terms are quite generous, Charlotte.”

  “I don’t care. I’m not marrying him,” she said, making another thing very clear to William. Even if she’d enjoyed his kisses, she remained stubbornly opposed to the idea of a match between them.

  “Of course not,” Hurst said placatingly. “But he’s stipulated your dowry monies are to remain yours to do with as you see fit, as well as any family bequests you’re to receive. The provisions he made for you from his own funds are quite generous as well. Pin money, a quarterly allowance, access to an account with additional funds should you need them.” He nodded his head. “Very magnanimous if you ask me.”

  His sister gave him a look that said quite clearly she hadn’t asked him. “That’s all well and good, but as I said, it comes to nothing in the end.” After a moment, she added, almost tiredly, “We aren’t marrying.”

  Phillip Hurst shrugged and reached for a peeled orange from the fruit plate. “That’s up to you, isn’t it? If you don’t jilt him, the settlements will be binding. You might give some consideration to the fact that, aware of this, he still had them drawn up that way.”

  Charlotte Hurst’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Clearly, she was less delighted by these facts than her brother. William decided the sooner the topic shifted to something else the better.

  “I brought my curricle,” he said. “Would you like to have another lesson?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Charlotte stared at Lord Norwood, who looked utterly cool and collected. And too impossibly handsome for his own good. Or hers.

  Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

  She knew what he was doing by posing that question—dangling a carrot in front of her, trying to distract her and divert the discussion away from marriage settlements.

  I brought my curricle. Would you like to have another lesson?

  He’d dropped it in the conversation so casually, so offhandedly…a verbal sleight of hand if she’d ever heard one. The question was, would she take the bait?

  She rather thought she would.

  She’d been itching to take the reins again since their first driving lesson. And she ought to make the most of these opportunities. Heaven knew when she and Lord Norwood parted ways, Phillip wouldn’t be eager to take over as her driving instructor. However, she might be able to persuade him to if she’d already attained a basic level of competency.

  “I didn’t see it parked on the street,” she said, hedging a bit before she capitulated.

  “My groom was instructed to walk the horses around the block until I’m ready to depart.” He gave her a lazy smile that made her heart do funny things in her chest. “Shall we?”

  “Give me a moment to freshen up, and we can be off,” she said.

  “I’ll be waiting right here.” He paused, then added, “However many ‘moments’ it takes.”

  Ha! She’d show him she could defy the notion that ladies always kept gentlemen waiting too long. Charlotte hurried to her room. She wouldn’t mind running a cool cloth over her face and neck, and she ought to let her maid attend to her hair. On impulse, she’d ducked into a milliner’s shop while she was out and ended up buying a very modish bonnet, although not until she’d tried on several others, and her coiffure had suffered in the process.

  Ah, vanity, thy name is Charlotte. After all, she would have to wear a bonnet during their drive, so did the state of
her hair really matter?

  Yes. Yes, it did.

  And what’s more, if her maid, Sally, helped her change into her fawn-colored gown with cobalt-blue trim, it would be the perfect foil for her new bonnet trimmed with ribbons and silk cockades in the same bright shade of blue.

  Fortunately, the indefatigable Sally proved up to the challenge, quickly stripping Charlotte down to her undergarments, laying out the new outfit while Charlotte took a quick sponge bath. The efficient maid then spritzed her from head to toe with rosewater before helping her into the other dress and, finally, redoing Charlotte’s hair in a smooth chignon.

  A mere twenty-five minutes later (a miraculously short time, considering), she rejoined the gentlemen. Phillip sat hunched over an open ledger while Lord Norwood, who looked very much the gentleman at his leisure, was reading a newspaper. On catching sight of her, he came to his feet, then cocked his head and regarded her with an admiring expression, making the whirlwind effort worth it.

  Doubtless, the rush to get ready was why she felt a little breathless in his presence now. It had nothing to do with that warm intent gaze of his.

  “That”—he motioned up and down with his hand to indicate her person—“is nothing short of astonishing. I know to accomplish a similar transformation, my sisters would have required double that amount of time, if not triple.” He came to stand before her. “You’ve even changed your hairstyle,” he murmured.

  She blushed at the compliment and at the way his eyes continued to steadily regard her with undisguised admiration. “I’m surprised you even noticed,” she said, self-consciously reaching up to smooth her hair.

  “It’s very becoming,” he said, his voice a quarter-tone lower and vastly more intimate.

  A frisson of excitement chased up her spine and she felt a familiar tingling in her fingers and toes. She swallowed hard, trying to regather her wits. “Th-thank you,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice the breathless quality of her words. “Shouldn’t we be going?”

  “After you.” He made a sweeping gesture with one arm, indicating she should exit the room first. They took their leave of Phillip and made their way downstairs. Once they reached the front entryway, she stopped to don her new bonnet. He watched her in the mirror as she settled the bonnet on her head and began tying the ribbons.

  “Very fetching,” he commented.

  She eyed his reflection as she worked to get the bow just right. “I bought it today.”

  One corner of his mouth quirked up. “I’d say it’s money well spent.”

  “Flatterer,” she murmured. Finally satisfied with her efforts, she turned and faced him. “I trust you’ll behave yourself today.”

  He offered her his arm and they proceeded out the front entrance, where a groom stood with the horses. “Come now, Miss Hurst. Where’s the fun in that?”

  Where indeed? Nonetheless she gave him a quelling look before climbing into the curricle.

  They spent the next two hours driving in Green Park before taking a turn through the neighboring St. James’s Park. Lord Norwood taught her how to handle the reins in her left hand alone, and she proved fairly competent at this, though admittedly her efforts were helped by the scarcity of other vehicles in their vicinity. She was sure that’s why he’d chosen these less-fashionable parks for today’s drive.

  Finally, at her request, Lord Norwood retook the reins. He grinned. “Feeling it in your driving arm?”

  “My arm, my shoulders, my back. For something that looks so effortless, it’s quite tiring.”

  “Endurance comes with practice,” he said. “Let’s celebrate your progress with a visit to Gunter’s. An ice sounds good right now.”

  “An ice sounds heavenly,” she said. “You must be burning up wearing that dark jacket.” The sunny afternoon had grown warmer, and while he didn’t appear to be suffering from the heat, she had to believe he was, given that her own lighter-colored garments were becoming uncomfortably hot.

  He chuckled. “In hindsight, midnight blue wasn’t the best choice for such a summerlike day.”

  This was true as far as comfort went, but—and she had no intention of informing him of this—it was an outstanding choice for emphasizing his good looks, deepening the color of his eyes to a dark sapphire, reminding her (not that she needed a reminder) that the man could break a girl’s heart without even trying.

  They arrived at their destination in short order. The corner of Berkeley Square that housed the popular tea shop was a beehive of activity, with waiters hustling between the shop and the many carriages parked in the vicinity. A waiter hurried across the street to take their orders—a lemon ice for Charlotte, mint for the earl—before dashing back inside to collect the sweet treats.

  While they waited, Charlotte studied their surroundings. Plane trees shaded the curricle, parked as it was on the side of the street opposite the buildings. Trees, shrubs, and tall planters of flowers grew within the wrought iron railing that encircled the oval-shaped private gardens in the middle of the square. The only access to the parklike space was through a gated entrance, and only the residents of Berkeley Square had keys to unlock it.

  “I wonder if the people who live here take advantage of having a miniature park just for their pleasure,” she mused. “A wonderful oasis just beyond one’s doorstep.” The Hurst town house wasn’t located on a square with a keyed garden in the middle, but if it were, she’d have availed herself of it.

  “They do,” Lord Norwood said, “I occasionally see people entering or exiting it.” He shrugged when she turned a questioning glance in his direction. “I know because I live on the opposite corner over there.” He gestured to a spot located diagonally from where they sat, but the square’s greenery prevented her from being able to catch a glimpse of his residence.

  “So you’re one of those lucky enough to be able to enjoy it,” she said, not surprised to discover that he lived in one of the most fashionable areas in Mayfair. “I confess I’m a little envious.”

  “I’m fortunate enough to have access, although”—he grimaced slightly—“I may be risking your censure by admitting I almost never take advantage of it.”

  “Heavens, do you think me such a scold that I can’t make allowances for a busy man like yourself?” She hoped he didn’t, but she supposed she couldn’t really blame him if he did.

  He chuckled. “It’s probably just my own guilty conscience thinking I deserve a scolding, and knowing you’re one of the few bold enough to give it to me.”

  “Only when I think you truly need it,” she said, giving him a pert smile.

  “A debatable point. However, you’d better be on your best behavior. Lady Jersey is one of my neighbors at number thirty-eight. She might rescind your vouchers to Almack’s if you’re not nice to me. I’m a great favorite of hers, you see.”

  “I never obtained a voucher to Almack’s, although honestly, it’s never held much appeal for me anyway.” She tilted her head to the side and smiled. “I’ve never met any of the patronesses of Almack’s, much less earned their favor so that I could attend dances in the assembly rooms.”

  “I have vouchers, but rarely attend.” He gave a careless shrug. “The refreshments are dreadful—warm lemonade and unfrosted cakes—and on the whole, it’s a dull way to spend an evening. None of which,” he added dryly, “seems to dampen people’s fascination with it.”

  Charlotte arched one brow. “Careful. That’s a heretical speech to deliver so close to Lady Jersey’s residence. You may be placing your vouchers in danger voicing those opinions.”

  “Only if I’m overheard, and perhaps not even then.” His gaze grew teasing as he leaned over and said conspiratorially, “I’m a very eligible parti despite your own reluctance to have me.”

  “Whoever does eventually catch you will have to check that monstrous conceit of yours,” she said in mock seriousness, trying to ignore the way her skin prickled with awareness and failing miserably.

  He gave a short laugh. “No one will do it
so well as you, my dear Miss Hurst.”

  She was saved from having to answer by the return of the waiter. He carried a tray with a pair of crystal goblets and silver spoons. Lord Norwood gave the man some coins before reaching for the refreshments. He handed Charlotte a spoon and her goblet containing the lemon ice, which appropriately enough, had been molded into the shape of a lemon. Lord Norwood’s had been molded into the shape of a frog—a nod, obviously, to the green color of his ice and not the flavor.

  They ate in silence, the warm afternoon forcing them to eat quickly before the frozen shapes melted into colored pools of liquid. As she consumed her treat Charlotte became aware of the undisguised curiosity directed at them from the occupants of the nearby carriages. How long would it take, how many public appearances must they make, before people lost interest in them? Or did Lord Norwood always attract interest simply by virtue of who he was? He appeared oblivious to all the attention they were attracting. Or, at least, unbothered by it. She wasn’t sure which.

  The only other thing drawing people’s attention with an equal intensity was the front window of an establishment a few doors past Gunter’s. What was so interesting in that window? Nearly everyone strolling down the street stopped to take a look, and quite a few passersby proceeded to go inside. Her curiosity was piqued.

  She finished her ice just as the earl finished his. He took her goblet, then hailed a waiter to collect them.

  “What sort of business is that?” she asked, motioning with her head toward the area where a knot of people congregated on the walk.

  “I don’t know.” Lord Norwood glanced in the direction she indicated. “But it’s entertaining the masses, and doing a brisk business to boot. I’ve seen several people exit carrying packages. Do you fancy taking a look?”

  “I think I might,” she said.

  The waiter came to collect their empty dishes, and Charlotte asked him about the establishment.

  “I believe, madam, it’s an artist’s shop,” the waiter replied before hurrying away.

  Well, there was hardly anything unusual about that. Artists’ shops were scattered about town as profusely as daisies along a country lane.

 

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