Good Earl Gone Bad

by Manda Collins

  “My father,” she said through clenched teeth, as she stared at the door leading into the ballroom. “I have a few words to say to him.”

  Before Jasper could respond, she was wending her way through the throng of guests. Suspecting that she might do something she’d regret, he hurried after her.

  Lord Upperton, when they reached him, was in conversation with one of his cronies, Viscount Lindhurst, whom Jasper knew to be just as devoted to the gaming tables as Upperton. He didn’t notice his daughter was standing behind him until she tapped him on the shoulder.

  The flash of fear in his eyes before he masked it with ennui was almost comical.

  “My dear daughter,” Hermione’s father said languidly, “I didn’t know you’d be here this evening. What a delightful surprise.”

  If the man thought his daughter would give him a reprieve because they were in a public location, he’d underestimated the degree of her annoyance.

  “I cannot imagine you are nearly as surprised as I was this morning when Lord Saintcrow informed me that he had won my grays from you at the gaming tables, Papa,” she said with a smile that did not reach her eyes.

  Upperton’s eyes widened and he said with a jovial laugh, “Ah, my dear, you mustn’t bore my friends with our private family matters. I pray you will excuse us, Lindhurst. My daughter is having a fit of the vapors, don’t you know?”

  When Upperton grasped her upper arm in an attempt to pull her from the room, Jasper intervened. “You’d better unhand her, my lord,” he said quietly, his own hand gripped tight on the older man’s forearm. “Why don’t we retire to one of Comerford’s less crowded rooms.”

  At Jasper’s grip, Upperton scowled, but let Hermione go. Wordlessly, he allowed Jasper to lead them into the hallway beyond and into an empty parlor.

  When the door was closed firmly behind them, Hermione glared at him.

  “This is between Papa and me,” she said firmly. “I appreciate your help, but it is not necessary.”

  “Oh, let the man stay, Hermione,” Lord Upperton said wearily. “If for no other reason than to protect me from you.”

  Hermione’s expression darkened. “Then you admit that I have reason to be angry with you?”

  Lord Upperton moved farther into the room, which was clearly some sort of little-used antechamber—perhaps for keeping unwanted guests in suspense while the butler took their cards to the mistress of the house. With a sigh, he stared into the fire which burned merrily despite the tension in the room.

  “I did nothing wrong,” Upperton said, his back still turned, as if facing his daughter while he said it was too much even for his powers of mendacity.

  “Nothing wrong?” Hermione almost shouted. “You lost my grays at the gaming table! My grays. Which belong to me. Not you. Do you not acknowledge that at the very least it was untoward?”

  Jasper wanted nothing more than to make this right for her, but as a mere bystander he could not. He could see to it that her father faced her with his explanations, but he could hardly force the man to admit his guilt.

  When Upperton turned around, it was with an expression of paternal indulgence that even he found condescending. And the man wasn’t his father.

  “My dear daughter,” Upperton said with a fatuous smile, “I know you are unfamiliar with men’s business, so you will simply have to believe me when I say it could not be helped. I owed a debt to Lord Saintcrow, and he very kindly agreed to take the horses in exchange for it. It really could not be helped. And I must tell you how grateful I am to you for your forbearance in the matter.”

  Jasper had been there, and knew that Upperton was lying through his teeth. But this was one of those cases where the truth of the matter would do no good. Since Saintcrow had the horses in his possession now, it would take nothing short of a legal proceeding or some very strong persuasion to get them back.

  “My forbearance?” Hermione echoed, her voice softer now. As her father had spoken, she had slowly seemed to lose whatever strength her anger had given her. And in its place was a resignation that was far more difficult to see. “Papa, I am not a fool. And I do not admit that what you did was right. By law you might be entitled to my belongings, but ethically, what you did was a betrayal. And I’m not sure I shall ever be able to forgive you.”

  The silence that fell upon the little room was near deafening. Jasper wanted to speak, simply to relieve the tension. But he held his tongue. He was here to see that they didn’t kill each other. But the discussion was between Hermione and her father.

  Then, as if from long years of practice, Upperton stepped forward and touched his daughter on the shoulder. If her flinch upset him, he didn’t show it. Merely held on tight and said, “I understand you’re angry, daughter, but as I said, it was men’s business. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I said I’d meet some friends in the card room.”

  Hermione bit her lip, but said nothing. Just waited silently for her father to leave the room.

  When the door closed behind him, Jasper moved to stand in front of her. “All right?” he asked quietly. He wanted to take her in his arms, but they were not at that stage yet. If they ever would be. He was all too aware that his own frequent appearances at the gaming tables—no matter how he might think himself far more controlled than Upperton—could pose a problem for someone who had lost so much because of them. As Hermione had.

  Almost as if she’d overheard his thoughts, she said, “You were there last night, weren’t you?”

  At his nod, she turned away from him and moved to stand before the fire, where Lord Upperton had so lately stood.

  “Did you know that the reason we let the London town house and moved to Half-Moon Street was because he needed the money to pay back his debts?” she asked without turning. “My father has lost everything that isn’t entailed. And the estate is in such disrepair that the tenants whose families have lived on Upperton land for centuries live in squalor while he goes about his business as usual. Plays every night, convinced that he will finally win enough so that we can move back into the Upperton town house.”

  “I did not know it,” Jasper said softly, stepping forward to stand just a breath away from her. “But I am not surprised. With men like your father, it is almost a sickness. They cannot stop playing no matter how much they lose.”

  She turned. But didn’t seem surprised to find him so much closer. Instead she looked up, and lifted her hand to finger the diamond stickpin winking from the center of his neck cloth.

  “And do you also have this sickness?” she asked, not looking up. “Do you feel a compulsion to throw away your family’s money over the turn of a card?”

  “It’s not like that with me,” he said, though he knew that was exactly what a man who could not turn away from the tables would say. “It is something I enjoy. Something I am good at. That is all.”

  At last she looked up, and he saw skepticism mixed with some other emotion in her eyes. “Are you good at it?” she asked softly. And he wondered if they were still speaking about gambling.

  In the soft light of the little room, her skin was luminous, and Jasper found himself counting the tiny freckles ranged out over the bridge of her nose. “I’m very good,” he said, and knew that he, at least, didn’t mean gambling.

  Almost as if they were being pulled together by a magnetic force, he lowered his head and took her lips in a kiss as soft as a whisper.

  * * *

  His lips were softer than she’d imagined.

  That was the first thing that ran though Hermione’s mind as Jasper kissed her. The second was that she wanted more. And when she opened her mouth under his, she got it.

  Almost as if he were asking a question, his tongue slipped once, twice between her lips before she opened wider and welcomed him in. Then there was no hesitation. This was a man who knew exactly what he was doing, and as Jasper’s hands slid up her hips to rest at her waist, Hermione leaned in closer until her breasts were pressed firmly against his hard chest.

&nb
sp; The soft heat of his mouth on hers was utterly delicious, and as she learned to stroke her own tongue against his in a rhythm that felt familiar somehow, she gave herself up to the mindless pleasure of it. And when she felt his hand stroke up over her ribs to cup her breast, she gasped with surprise.

  “Easy,” he whispered against her mouth, even as he stroked his thumb over the awakening peak of her nipple. “Easy.”

  The sensation sent a shiver through her, and a flash of awareness down lower, where only her own hand had ever stroked. When her hips gave an involuntary jolt upward, she felt a hard reminder of just what this mindless passion could lead to.

  It must have broken the spell for Jasper as well, for he pulled back from her. And for a moment they stood with only a small space between them, breathless, Hermione’s hand at her mouth, as if checking to see that it was still her own.

  The sound of voices in the hall severed the connection completely.

  She had thought it unexceptional that her father had left her alone in a room with Mainwaring, but only because she felt so safe with him. He might be maddening at times, but she’d never been concerned that he would take liberties with her—not like she was with Lord Payne, for instance. But the sound of people outside the door—people who might very well discover them alone here, and thus compromise Hermione beyond repair—was enough to provoke her into panic.

  “We cannot be found here,” she hissed, seeing in relief that Jasper looked as concerned as she was.

  He glanced around the room, and she saw his eyes settle on a decorative screen in the corner. “Behind there,” he said firmly. And without having to be prodded, she hurried to where the screen stood behind a large fern, and slipped wordlessly behind it.

  She had thought Jasper would remain in the room at large, perhaps seated on the settee or with his back to the fire, but instead he crowded in behind her until she moved over to allow him to stand beside her. Thankfully, the fern in front of the screen would hide their feet, and the screen itself was tall enough to hide a man of Jasper’s height.

  They had no sooner made it into hiding than the door to the room opened with a snap, the newcomers’ conversation in progress.

  “I don’t see what business it is of ours,” Lord Atherton was saying, his slightly nasal tone more peevish than usual. He was a member of the Lords of Anarchy whom Hermione had not been particularly pleased to meet. “If the silly chit cannot keep her father from wagering with her horses it’s no concern of ours.”

  “I agree,” Mr. Leighton-Fox, another club member said, his voice disturbingly close to where Hermione and Jasper hid. “Why can we not take this opportunity to simply be rid of her? You thought it would be a point in the club’s favor to have a lady member, Payne, and it didn’t work out. There’s no reason why the club cannot simply revert to what it was before you became president. Without the criminality, of course.”

  Hermione stiffened at their dismissal and would have stepped out and given them a piece of her mind, were it not for Jasper’s hand clamping firmly over her mouth. She glared at him over his hand and tried to convey to him with her eyes that she was not best pleased with him at the moment. But he did not relent, and held a silencing finger up over his lips, and when his eyes seemed to ask if she would remain quiet, she scowled but nodded.

  Men were not her favorite people at the moment.

  “I quite understand your wish to let Lady Hermione go, chaps,” said Lord Payne in a placating tone that put Hermione’s back up even more. She had thought the club president was her champion if not her friend. “But we cannot simply revoke her membership because of her father’s behavior. He’s done nothing that any one of us wouldn’t have done if we found ourselves in the same situation. Besides, she is a fiery little thing and I have no doubt there’d be hell to pay if we were so unwise as to do something to cross her.”

  “You don’t mean to tell me you’re afraid of a lady, Payne,” said Mr. Leighton-Fox with a laugh. “Please say it’s not true.”

  He was right to be afraid of her, Hermione thought with a satisfied smile. She would not take kindly to being ousted from the club. Especially not after she’d worked so hard to get her membership.

  Lord Atherton clearly thought the same. “Woman scorned and all that, Leighton-Fox,” he said with a laugh. “Though I do wish we could get rid of her. But I don’t think we can revoke her membership. What I object to is having the club offer her the loan of a coaching pair. We might not have to revoke her membership if she cannot drive with us. It’s the perfect solution.”

  “I offered her the pair because the Lords of Anarchy take care of their own,” Lord Payne said sharply. “As was pointed out to me in rather annoying thoroughness by Lord Mainwaring this evening. And I do not take kindly to having the club’s loyalty questioned. Which is why we will see to it that Lady Hermione is able to drive out with us at the next possible opportunity.”

  “Mainwaring?” said Leighton-Fox with a scoffing tone. “He can’t even drive.”

  “Chooses not to,” Lord Payne said. “There is a difference.”

  “Why the devil would a man choose not to drive?” asked Lord Atherton, as if the very notion offended his sensibilities.

  “Father died in a carriage accident,” said Lord Payne tersely.

  At his words, Hermione glanced over at Mainwaring, whose stony expression was enough to tell her that the man’s words were true. She’d known his father was dead, of course. He was the earl, and had been the head of his family from a young age. But she hadn’t known his father had been killed in a driving accident. It clarified much. Like Lord Atherton, she’d thought it decidedly odd that Mainwaring didn’t drive, but it made sense now.

  “Mainwaring is beside the point, anyway,” continued Lord Payne. “I simply wanted the two of you to know that I expect Lady Hermione to be treated with every courtesy by the club members. No matter how you might resent the fact that she is a member. Am I understood?”

  The two men muttered their assent, and despite her earlier pique with Lord Payne, Hermione found herself feeling quite charitably toward him.

  “But what of the other horses?” Mr. Leighton-Fox inquired. “If you give her the bays, what are we to deliver to Canningham?”

  “Damn you, Leighton-Fox,” Lord Payne hissed. “No names. And the buyer can bloody well wait for delivery. He said he would not kick up a fuss if it took a while to find exactly what he wanted. And as he’s safely up north, he won’t know that we’ve taken possession of a pair he might like.”

  “Besides that, there’s nothing to say that we won’t get another pair that will do in the meantime,” said Lord Atherton. “Too bad S … Mr. S. got hold of the grays before we could get them back.”

  At the mention of grays, Hermione’s eyes widened. She felt Jasper’s hand on her shoulder and she was utterly still as she listened for Lord Payne’s response.

  “We’ve talked this to death, lads,” he said, much to Hermione’s disappointment. “Let’s just concentrate on ensuring Lady Hermione is happy as a club member. And we’ll figure out what to do about the other pair later.”

  The other two men murmured an assent and soon they were leaving the room.

  When the sound of the door closing behind them echoed through the tiny room, Hermione and Jasper slipped out from behind the screen and into the now empty chamber.

  “They were talking about my grays,” Hermione hissed, as if Lord Payne and his cohorts would be able to hear them through the four walls. “I’m sure of it.”

  But Jasper didn’t seem so sure. “They said Mr. S., though. Not Lord S.”

  “Do not be pedantic. It matters not if they said Mr. or Lord,” she said firmly. “They were talking about grays and this S. person getting them before the club could get them back.”

  Instead of agreeing with her, however, Jasper looked rather like her father when he was trying to placate her. “We can’t be sure what they were talking about. And even if they were talking about your horse
s, they very clearly think they are out of their reach.”

  Hermione stared at him. How could one go from feeling so very close to someone to feeling as if he were a complete stranger?

  “Why are you being this way?” she demanded. “You heard exactly what I did. And you aren’t stupid. Why are you pretending to be?”

  She watched as an expression of exasperation crossed his face, and Jasper ran a hand over his face.

  “Fine,” he said, “I heard what you heard. And yes, they very likely were talking about your horses. But this is not something that I wish you to become entangled in. For one thing it could be dangerous, and for another thing, as long as Lord Payne is protective of you, then you will remain relatively safe.”

  “Who are you to decide what I can and cannot become entangled in?” she demanded, her fists resting on her hips. “You are nothing to me.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. It was rather like challenging her father to a game of cards—there was no way Jasper would back down now. Which she realized as she watched his eyes darken.

  “I am very far from nothing to you,” he said, stepping closer, so that her bosom almost touched his chest. “Which I think I proved quite admirably before we were interrupted.”

  She quaked inside but refused to let him see it. “A few kisses don’t give you the right to order me around,” she said haughtily.

  “Don’t they?” he asked in a low voice, his gaze on her mouth. “I rather thought they did.”

  “Then you are sadly mistaken,” she said, oddly breathless.

  They stood there like that for the space of a few breaths before another sound outside the room reminded Hermione that they’d been out of the ballroom for some time now. If she didn’t wish to find herself in the position of being ordered about by Mainwaring for a lifetime, she’d better get out of this room, and fast.

  “I’m going to leave this room,” she said, stepping back from him with a glare. “You wait in here for a few moments so that we aren’t seen leaving together.”