“Miss Cleveland,” he said to Claire with a short bow. “A pleasure to see you again.”
Anne had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from reminding the handsome earl that he’d pretended to not even remember Claire just the day before. Either he was lying then or lying now, and for some reason the fact that his gaze seemed warm when it looked at her sister made her irritated beyond sense.
Claire’s blush was pretty and delicate. How she managed that Anne would never know. Her sister had the unnerving ability to look lovely even when flustered, angry, or sad. Whereas Anne’s blush turned her a vivid shade of scarlet, anger tended to make her blotchy and wild-eyed, and crying made her nose red and her eyes puffy.
Sometimes life could be extremely unfair.
Davenport turned to her then and gave her the faintest nod of his head. “Miss Anne.”
Before she could respond, he turned back to her sister. “I know this is most inappropriate, but if you could find it in your heart to indulge an overindulged earl, I would very much like a private word….”
Anne glanced over with a sinking sensation she couldn’t name. This was it, what she and her family had prayed for. He would propose to Claire. She should be overjoyed. Yet a startlingly unpleasant sensation had her gaze darting between Claire and the earl as if she might intervene.
Claire, for her part, was still doing that pretty, simpering blush as she batted her eyes at the earl. To both of their surprise, he hadn’t finished. “With your sister,” he said.
Anne stared at the earl, who was waiting for Claire to respond to his request for time alone with Anne. Claire turned to her, her pretty arched brows raised in question.
Anne shrugged. Why would he need a moment alone with her when it was Claire he was proposing to?
Clearly someone needed to speak so she cleared her throat as delicately as possible. “Excuse me, my lord, but did you mean to direct that question to me?” Moving to Claire, she gripped her sister’s elbow, giving her arm a squeeze of solidarity. This was it. The moment they had all been hoping for. She tried to summon up happiness, or at least some sort of satisfaction. Instead, she felt ill. Swallowing down the sick sensation, she forced an even tone. “Though it is inappropriate, indeed, I’d be inclined to step outside if it is what my sister wishes.”
Davenport’s eyes glinted with laughter. She knew without a doubt that he was remembering the way she’d sent her maid out of the room just the day before. But her reputation was an entirely different matter. She had little to lose, whereas Claire had everything. Besides, it wasn’t as though she was denying the young lover a chance to be alone with his intended, she had every intention of doing everything in her power to help this engagement be as expeditious as possible.
This was, after all, everything she had hoped would happen after her talk with him yesterday. So why was she still clinging to Claire, loath to leave her sister alone with the legendary rake.
“My apologies for the confusion,” he said, not trying to hide the laughter in his voice. “But I meant to ask your sister, Claire, for a moment alone with you.”
She exchanged another questioning look with Claire, but her sister looked just as confused as she felt. Yet again, it fell on her to speak.
“But… But why?” Anne asked.
Davenport’s head fell back as he let out a short bark of laughter that did odd things to her insides. “Why, indeed?” He turned his attention back to Claire, ignoring Anne’s question. “Miss Cleveland, I assure you that I have no ill intentions toward your sister. But, you see, I have come to ask for her hand in marriage and for this I would prefer a bit of privacy.”
Anne’s entire body went numb. Blood rushed from her head, making her lightheaded. Surely she’d heard wrong. He couldn’t possibly mean what he’d said. He was teasing, that was it.
He continued on, seemingly oblivious to the gaping stares of the two women before him. Three, she supposed, if she counted Greta, who was still hovering in the doorway.
He gave Claire a polite smile. “You do understand, do you not?”
After another silence, Anne was shocked even further when Claire nodded quickly, her hand reaching over to squeeze hers, which still rested on her arm. Then Claire’s reassuring squeeze turned into a firm grip as she wrenched herself free from Anne’s clinging grasp.
Anne could do little more than stare and stutter protests as Claire gave her a helpless shrug before backing out of the room, tugging Greta along with her.
When the door shut behind them, Anne was all too aware of the fact that she was alone with Davenport. Again.
This could not be happening. Surely there was some mistake.
She stared at the earl who looked entirely too at home in this house. “You have it all wrong,” she cried, not bothering to follow any sort of etiquette as she was fairly certain that no rules of etiquette applied to a situation such as this. She rushed forward, crossing the distance to where he stood leaning against a desk. “You were supposed to propose to Claire.”
He grinned. “Was I now?”
“Yes! You were.” She shook her head. He was being deliberately obtuse. He was teasing her, toying with her. That, more than anything, broke her out of her stunned state. Pulling herself to her full height, she set her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. “If this is your attempt to humiliate me, it is not appreciated.”
His brows shot up in what looked to be honest surprise. “Anne, I didn’t—”
“We both know that I am not a respectable option, but Claire is, and I made it very clear that our situation is…” She faltered, family pride temporarily flaring up alongside anger. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him just how dire their situation. “I made it clear our current state is a delicate one, and to tease me or, more importantly, my kind, sweet sister, that is too much. You cannot come here and give her hope that—”
He gripped her waist and pulled her close. Before she could register the shock of feeling his hard, warm body pressed to hers, he leaned his head down, and all thoughts were driven out of her skull. She opened her mouth to say… something. Heavens knew what. But then his lips closed over hers, effectively cutting off her speech.
For countless seconds she stood there, too stunned to push him away. And then, much to her chagrin… too curious. His lips were warm and firm against hers. She could feel his breath against her skin and it made her tingle. His body was so close, she could feel the heat coming from him. She felt stunned, like a bird that had flown into a window.
Her heart started to race. And then his lips moved, slowly at first. Surprisingly gentle as they glided over hers, teasing her lips apart. She gasped when his tongue touched her bottom lip. He took advantage of her gasp to probe deeper, his tongue slipping into her mouth with an insistence that felt possessive. Like she was his to explore.
Lord help her, she allowed it. Her body seemed to be acting entirely of its own volition, or maybe it was just responding to his. She wasn’t sure she could have stopped him if she wanted to.
And she didn’t want to.
He pulled her closer so she was pressed against him fully and the heated intimacy of it made a noise escape her throat, but it wasn’t exactly a cry of protest. It was rather more like a moan or a whimper. It begged him to continue even as a distant part of her brain came awake, telling her this was foolish and incredibly imprudent.
He was to marry Claire. What was she doing kissing her sister’s fiancé?
That sisterly loyalty was what finally gave her the strength to push him away and spin around. Pressing a hand against her lips, she tried to regain control of her senses. Her breathing ragged, she closed her eyes and willed her mind to work once more.
His hands on her shoulders did not help matters. The touch was hardly inappropriate but it sent her mind into chaos as she resisted the impulse to lean back against his hard chest. And now she knew just how hard it was. Hard and muscular in a way she’d never be able to forget.
“Anne.” His
voice behind her was low and surprisingly tender. “Please, don’t turn away from me. Rant and rave all you like, but I’d like to see your eyes when I ask you this next question.”
She spun around so quickly his hands fell away. “Are you still pretending you are here to propose to me?” Anger was a welcome refuge. Really, he was taking this too far. The mischievous glint in his eyes did nothing to appease her.
“I am not pretending anything. I realize I ought to speak with your brother first, but I wanted to make sure you were agreeable to the idea.”
Her brow furrowed as she studied his eyes, his expression, trying to find some hint of what sort of game he was playing.
His lips—oh heavens, those lips—twisted up into a lopsided smile that made her heart gallop. “Do you know how beautiful you are when you’re looking at me as though I’ve lost my mind?”
Her heart squeezed painfully. Beautiful? Her? Did he really think so or was he still teasing? Either way, his words left her breathless, as did that knowing little smile. Oh sweet mercy, she’d thought she’d gotten over her childhood fantasies where this man was concerned, but apparently not. Moving away from him, she struggled to make sense of this new turn of events. “What are you about?” she asked, turning to face him from a safe distance.
His smile grew and she knew without a doubt how he’d earned his nickname. He was too tempting by far, and there was a naughtiness about him, even when he smiled, as though he were forever up to something wicked.
“Might I suggest you have a seat,” he said, motioning toward the settee. “You seem quite perturbed considering I am here to make all of your problems disappear.”
She fell into the seat he’d indicated, not to make him happy but because her legs seemed to have lost the ability to function. He would make all their problems disappear? That meant she’d been right from the start. He was here to marry her sister and save them all.
Too many emotions were coursing through her to name. Relief was the easiest to understand. He would do it. He’d save them from financial ruin.
She stared up at his wicked smile and then whispered, “Oh, please don’t toy with my emotions, my lord. Have you really come to propose to Claire?”
He sat beside her and his soft laughter made her temporarily forget everything except for how nice his laugh sounded when it was genuine.
His hand reached out and stroked a lock of her hair back from her face. “My dear Anne, how many times do I have to tell you that I am here for you, not your sister.”
She shook her head. “But that doesn’t make any sense at all. You cannot marry me—”
“Why not?” he demanded. Oh heavens, when he used that tone it was impossible to forget that he was an earl. He sounded affronted to be told he could not do something, even if it was as ridiculous as marrying her.
“Because you cannot,” she insisted. She could feel heat rushing to her cheeks as she silently begged him to not make her say it aloud.
His jaw was set stubbornly and his brows were low as he fixed her with a glare, demanding that she answer.
“Claire is the one with the dowry,” she started.
He waved a hand. “I have no need for money.”
She swallowed a nervous laugh at that. How nice it must be to be able to wave aside a small fortune as though it was nothing. “But she is the eldest, and—”
“What do I care for her age?” he asked. With a teasing twinkle in his eye, he leaned forward, “You are of a marriageable age, are you not?”
She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. Of course she was, as he very well knew. “A gentleman does not ask after a lady’s age.”
His answering grin made her heart thump and her mind blank. What had she been saying?
Cocking his head to the side, he studied her as he trailed one finger down her cheek to her chin. Using that finger, he tipped her chin up so she was forced to meet his gaze. For a moment she couldn’t breathe at what she saw there. Undisguised desire. A fiery heat that made her shiver with its intensity.
No, not just its intensity. She shivered because she recognized it, the same heat coiling low in her belly and making her ache for something she could not name.
“Any further objections or shall I assume you’re amenable to a wedding?”
She blinked rapidly. “You cannot be serious.”
One corner of his mouth hitched up. She saw it and soon found she couldn’t look away. Her eyes were firmly fixed on his lips as he spoke again. “You keep saying that but you have not given me a single reason why my suit would be in jest.”
Her eyes flickered up and met his. He was serious. Sweet Lord in heaven, he was serious. “But…” She swallowed. There could be no doubt that he’d heard the rumors surrounding her. Even if it wasn’t commonly whispered among his peers, he’d said the word himself only the day before. “But my reputation is not….” She licked her lips. Oh drat, this was a topic she’d never had to address before. As she’d never been courted, it had never mattered, not to anyone but her. “There are questions surrounding my birth that would tarnish your title.”
Her gaze had lowered as she’d spoken but his soft laughter had her looking up once more.
“Do you really think the Devil of Davenport has a stainless reputation to protect?”
She blinked at him. He really meant it. Shock made it difficult to breathe, let alone speak. “But why me?”
Oh heavens, that hadn’t come out right. By the way his eyes danced with laughter, he knew it too. It sounded as though she didn’t value her own worth, and that was not it at all. Licking her lips, she attempted it again. “What I mean to say is, you could have your pick of women. And I have little to offer….”
No, that wasn’t right either. She found herself scowling at his cravat, as she searched for the proper words.
His fingers came to her chin again and once more she found herself looking up at him as he tipped her head back. For the first time since he’d arrived, there was no laughter in his eyes nor teasing in his tone. “Anne, you are the first young woman I’ve met who strikes me as a partner.”
Heat rose in her cheeks at the unexpected compliment. At least, she hoped it was a compliment.
“I can’t imagine any other woman of the ton appearing in my drawing room and insisting I marry their sister, can you?”
She let out a breathless laugh at that. No, she couldn’t. Though how that made her adequate to be a countess was less obvious.
“I admire your loyalty and tenacity,” he said. Once again she was struck by the utter lack of teasing. She didn’t think she’d ever heard him be quite so serious in all her life. A warmth spread through her chest as the words settled into a space she hadn’t known was empty.
With a small grin, he leaned in and added quietly, “You are willful and stubborn when it comes to protecting your family.”
Her heart melted within her chest. No one had ever made “willful and stubborn” sound so lovely.
“Some might even say you are bullheaded,” he added.
“Most wouldn’t find that to be an admirable attribute,” she felt compelled to say.
He lifted one shoulder in an arrogant gesture that said clearly he cared not what ‘most’ thought. “You are kind and empathetic,” he continued, as though now that he’d started rattling off her attributes, he was obliged to finish. “Two traits that are necessary for a countess.”
Her brows rose in surprise. She wouldn’t have thought kindness and empathy would be high on any earl’s list of wifely traits. At her reaction, his eyes warmed. “Well, they are necessary for my countess, at least. My great aunt is no longer able to act as my emissary among my tenants, and I think we all know that I do not possess the diplomatic demeanor necessary for bringing baskets to the sick and whatnot.”
She found herself laughing at the image of the great Devil of Davenport bearing a basket of food and sundries.
“How is your great aunt?” she asked. He seemed surprised by the question but r
eally, he had mentioned her first and Anne had always admired her from afar. She seemed to Anne a shining example of how to withstand the gossips of society with strength and grace.
“She is… not well,” he said slowly. With a small shrug he added, “She is getting old and not recuperating from illnesses as quickly as she once did.”
Anne’s heart squeezed painfully at the flicker of pain she saw in his eyes before it was gone just as quickly. His hand moved down from her chin to her neck before resting on her shoulder. The slight caress made her uncomfortably warm and extremely conscious of the skin he’d just touched. It still tingled as though he’d stroked her with a branding iron and not his hand.
“My aunt is one of the reasons I’ve decided that you would make an excellent wife,” he continued.
The word “wife” coming from those lips made her feel temporarily weightless, and air became difficult to breathe.
“How so?” she asked.
“Because I’ve seen her lead the households and interact with every sort of servant, merchant, and tenant. It requires a woman who can balance strength with empathy, and clear-headed intelligence with devotion and loyalty.”
She found herself staring at him as though mesmerized. Did he really see her that way? The warmth in her chest spread outward, making her feel cozy and content as though she were curled up next to a fire.
He raised both hands and cupped her face between his palms, his fingers hot and firm against her skin. “So, what do you say, Miss Anne? Will you be my countess?”
There really was no choice, was there? By marrying him, she would save her family and their home. She refused to think what her answer would be if her home and family were not at stake.
“Yes,” she said, her voice firm and resolute.
She saw him grin before he lowered his head and sealed the deal with a kiss that left her shaking.
The Earl of Davenport: Wicked Regency Romance (Wicked Earls' Club) Page 4