The Earl of Sunderland

by Aubrey Wynne

  “I haven’t played since I was a boy.”

  She saw him standing in her side vision, his hands clasped behind his back. Black suited him, made him more enigmatic. “Perhaps we would be evenly matched then?”

  “Ha! I’d pull caps with you on that. I doubt I would make a good show of it.” He tilted his head and studied her. “Do you enjoy physical exercise…other than walking? Do you ride?”

  “Of course, but my mare was a bit long in the tooth to bring. Papa mentioned something about finding me a nice mount soon. He said Lord Falsbury would be arriving soon?”

  “Unfortunately, I just got a letter from him this morning. He won’t be here for another week or two. The estate in the south of London needs more repairs than he thought. Finding good tradesmen these days you can trust isn’t easy.” He watched the game for a moment. “I’d be happy to take you and Lord Boldon on a tour of our lands.”

  Those ridiculous wings began again in her stomach, along with the silly smile. She looked over at Eliza, an I-told-you-so smirk on her face. “That would be very generous of you, my lord. I’m sure the views are beautiful.”

  He grinned, his eyes crinkling in jest as his gaze swept from her head to her shoes and back up. “Yes, the view is quite lovely.”

  Chapter 11

  “And suddenly you just know…it’s time to start something new and trust the magic of beginnings.”

  Meister Eckhart

  Mid July 1815

  Kit had chosen a little red roan mare for the ride. When the groom retrieved the sidesaddle, Lord Boldon laughed. “If it wouldn’t appall you, put an astride saddle on her. I’m an overly indulgent father, I admit. If we are not riding in a group, and on our own property, I allow it.”

  He nodded to the groom. “May I ask if I will next see your daughter in a pair of buckskins and Hessians?” The idea wasn’t appalling at all. The sight of Lady Grace’s backside, molded by a pair of men’s breeches made his blood hot.

  Boldon laughed. “No, no. I think if you are considering furthering your…friendship with my daughter, there are certain aspects of her personality you should be aware of sooner than later.” With that tidbit, he turned and mounted his bay gelding, putting him through several paces.

  Lady Grace approached in a forest green riding habit and matching hat with a feather that swished back and forth as she moved. The long skirt billowed around her, but the bodice was snug. She smiled and waved as she approached.

  Kit rubbed the horse’s nose as the groom saddled her. “Oh, how I’d love to be you today. Take good care of the lady,” he whispered in the animal’s ear, “or you answer to me.”

  “I hope I didn’t make you wait.” She circled the mare, a deliberate eye to the mare’s legs and haunches. “She looks sturdy, and lovely coloring.”

  “Your father said you would like her.” She intrigued him with her combination of intelligence, beauty, and maternal tendencies. And athletic? He wanted to see her gallop across a field and jump a hedge. And if the hat blows off, so much the better.

  Lady Grace clapped her hands when she noticed the saddle then bit her lip. “So you’ve discovered my secret.”

  “Blackmail... I may need a second career if Eliza has a boy.” He beckoned to the groom, who appeared a moment later with his black stallion.

  Lady Grace’s eyes lit up at the sight of the horse. “There are some prime bits of blood in your stable, my lord. Your stallion is no exception. What is his name?”

  “Lance,” he answered. “When I bought him at Tattersall’s, the man’s daughter had named him Lancelot. My regiment would have laughed me off the battlefield. So I kept Lance and chopped the lot.”

  Her eyes lit with humor. “Now I have information not commonly known. And the mare?”

  “This is Dottie, so called because of the speckled coat.” He motioned to the horse. “Would you like help up or do you prefer a mounting block?”

  “Your assistance, my lord, would be much appreciated.” She tossed her crop into her right hand. Kit cupped his hands and Grace placed her foot within it. He gave her gentle boost up, and she swung into the saddle with ease.

  The day was cloudy and threatened rain as the three of them and the estate manager set off. They traveled at a steady trot for the first quarter of an hour. Satisfied that Grace was as competent as predicted, he issued a challenge. “Let’s race to the hedges,” he said, pointing in the direction of a field of grazing sheep.

  “I’m out,” called Lord Boldon then looked toward the estate manager. “Let’s take a look at the sheep while they play. I’m thinking of adding a herd myself.”

  “Happy to, my lord,” the man answered and the two trotted off.

  “The hedge is the finish line? And the winner?” Grace challenged him back.

  “Yes, and the loser forfeits dessert at dinner.”

  “Never! On the count of three. One, two—”

  She smacked her mare with the crop and with a leap, the animal bolted. Laughter floated behind her. He made an indignant sound and chased after her. The two animals ran neck and neck for a few moments. The sound of hoofbeats pounding the earth filled his ears, scraps of dirt and clover left in their wake. Lady Grace was an excellent rider, gripping the horse with her legs, bent forward slightly with a light hand on the reins, giving the mare her head. Exhilaration colored her face. She was stunning. Then Kit focused on the race, and his larger steed took the lead. He pulled up in front of the hedges, turned his horse on its hindquarters, and waited for the loser with a grin.

  A blur of horse and rider whirred past his head, taking the hedge in a graceful arc. She pulled back on the reins, squeezed with her right leg, and the horse pivoted on its hindquarters. With a kick of both boots and light smack of the crop, they reversed direction. Kit stood his ground as Lady Grace leapt over the hedge again, her skirts flying behind her, cheeks bright with excitement. They slid to a stop, the mare’s nostrils flaring, and turned to face him.

  “If you are trying to impress me because you lost the race, you have succeeded. Nicely done, my lady.” He bowed from the saddle. “However, you lost.”

  “Did you not say the hedge was the finish line?” One eyebrow arched arrogantly.

  “Yes, but—”

  “I crossed the finish line. You did not. It is you who shall forfeit his very favorite sweetmeat to me.” The smugness in her eyes was irritating and delicious. He wanted to kiss that look off her face.

  His laugh was loud and spontaneous. He’d been duped. “I concede to a clever opponent.”

  They fell in next to each other at a brisk walk and turned toward the herd of sheep. “My brother’s admiration for you grows each day,” she commented as they slowly made their way across the pasture. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a man who enjoys children.”

  “I haven’t had much experience with them, to tell the truth. He’s brought back some of my best memories playing here as a child with Carson. Believe me, he’s given far more to me these past weeks than I have given him.” Sammy had driven back the darkness of grief and brought the light of remembrance to the forefront. Now he remembered the laughter, the mischief, the bond he and Carson had shared. The troubled, self-destructive brother was fading to the background. Kit was thankful to the boy for that.

  “What was it like growing up as a twin?”

  People were always curious about twins and assumed that if two people looked alike, they were alike. “Wonderful and ghastly,” he answered with a grin. “Our father took little notice of us during our childhood. Our mother believed a governess had more experience at raising children. But we were never lonely because we had each other. We were confidantes and the best of friends. Carson was corky as a child, moving from one activity to another, never finishing one project before starting another, pulling terrible pranks on family and guests. I was often blamed for his tricks, or put myself in the middle to save his hide.”

  “So he became the buck and you the Corinthian.”

  “H
a! Yes, my brother never slowed in his pursuit of pleasure. His reputation for debauchery began at university, never refusing a challenge or wager. He was a better horseman than me, but I excelled at archery and shooting.” It had been a sore spot of Carson’s that his aim was inferior to Kit’s. “He had his faults but he was a gentle soul at heart and his loyalty unwavering once given.”

  “You were close but very different, it appears.” She saw past his mask, exposing his secrets, enticing him to trust her.

  “I wish others had noticed the disparity. I struggled against Carson’s reputation until I took my commission. His notoriety was connected to one face, and I happened to have the same appearance.” He grimaced, remembering the frustration of the whispers and looks when he was mistaken for his brother.

  “Did you envy him the title?”

  “Never. He hated the responsibility of being the heir and tried several times over the years to switch places. It would never have worked, of course, though he was right. He was better suited to the role of second son.” The old regret niggled at his conscience.

  “Your grief is still raw.” The sympathy in her voice made him blink. “The loss must have been devastating.”

  “I cannot explain it. The bond we possessed went beyond familial love. We knew each other’s thoughts, could give a warning or comfort with a look. He was my other half, and I don’t know if I will ever be whole again.” He gripped the reins as he spoke, the words forming without his consent. Lady Grace did not want to hear the melancholy whining of her host. “I apologize, my lady, I’m not usually a mawkish rattle with my guests.”

  She laid a hand on his rein, her green eyes misty as she slowed the horse to a sedate walk. “My lord, there is nothing insipid about your loss. I understand the hollowness that comes with losing one so close to your heart. My mother was my closest friend. I was only fifteen when she died and will never fill the void from her death.”

  Her empathy eased the ache. The caress of her soft tone, the offer of comfort in her eyes made him long to reach out and pull her from her horse. Kit wanted to bury his face in her hair, breathe in her scent of vanilla and citrus, press her warm body against his.

  “Thank you.” He took a deep breath, his heart lighter when she withdrew her hand. “It seems we have much in common, my lady. How did you cope?”

  She gazed at her father as they grew closer. “My father was inconsolable for weeks. Between him and an infant, I stayed busy. My mother had prepared me. I knew how to run a household, but the task was daunting without her help or advice. But I managed.”

  “Your father placed a great deal of responsibility on your shoulders.” He admired her audacity. Many girls that age would have wallowed in self-pity. “It shaped your character and made you independent.”

  “Too much, I fear.” Her grin was contagious, and he smiled back.

  “How so?”

  “It has made me cautious of marriage. I do not want to be under the thumb of some husband who wishes me to obey his every wish. Most men expect a woman to be bacon-brained and be content with bearing his children and creating lovely needlework.” She reached out to stroke the mare’s neck. “I cannot see myself in such a role. I’d rather lose my head than my independence.”

  “So you’ve found ways to avoid a season in London in order to preserve your pretty head.” She was a complex, captivating female who presented a challenge to any man preferring a wife with substance. He desired her; he liked her. It was an unsettling combination.

  A raindrop plopped on her skirt, making a black circle against the green material. “It appears the weather may cool our horses for us, my lord.” They both squinted at the dark, swollen clouds hanging low in the sky. Grace hadn’t noticed them before. The moisture cooled her heated skin. Lord Sunderland’s confession had touched her. There was so much more to this man than what he chose to reveal. The earl was a complicated man. She envied his strength and steadfastness. He’d spoken of his brother’s loyalty, but he embodied that trait.

  His handsome face, etched with remorse and sorrow, had brought tears to her eyes. How she had wanted to wrap her arms around him, stroke his dark hair, and murmur soothing words in his ear. A man with such pride, who could open his soul as Sunderland had, sent a wave of compassion and longing through her body. And now he was reading her like a well-practiced poem.

  “I am afraid if I did accept a proposal, I’d end up the jilt and ruin my family’s reputation. So I will sacrifice my matrimonial happiness for the name of future generations.” She pressed her lips together, determined not to giggle at her own folly.

  “You are educated in the subject of rationalization, I see,” he teased.

  “So I’ve been told before,” she agreed. “I would lose more than I gain by marriage. Not only my independence is at stake, but my family. There is no one to run the household, be a mother to Sammy, or a companion to my father.”

  “Not even a duke could persuade you?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

  “It depends.”

  “On his appearance, his wealth, or both?” His tone had changed to irritation and she bit back the grin.

  “On his willingness to live at Boldon. I would refuse to be a tenant for life anywhere else.”

  Grace realized her father and the estate manager had been joined by two more riders. An older woman, still lovely with pale hair and blue eyes, sat sidesaddle on a smart chestnut with another man on a large gray horse.

  “Did you enjoy your gallop?” her father asked as they joined the foursome. “May I introduce Lady Rafferton? We met in London last year, and she lives on the neighboring estate.” She was a lady of quality, judging by the navy riding habit and hat. Her fine leather gloves held the reins with the ease of one used to being on a horse. The light-haired man next to her, dressed in a plain shirt and coat, must be a manager or groom.

  Lord Sunderland tipped his hat. “Lady Rafferton, it has been too many years. You are lovely as ever.”

  “How kind. I believe you grow more handsome each time I see you,” she quipped back, bestowing him with a gracious smile. “I am planning to visit your mother next week to offer my condolences. I have only just returned from Scotland, where my daughter was married. I hope we will have a chance to talk longer. It appears the weather is interrupting this time.”

  A knot wrapped around Grace’s stomach and squeezed. He was flirting with this beautiful creature, moments after his compliments to her. The rake. What flummery. Oh god. Why do you care? she thought. They made their farewells and headed back to Falsbury. Jealousy burned her throat, a new sensation. She didn’t like it.

  Determined to rid herself of the disagreeable emotion, she confronted the earl. “It seems the lady is an admirer, my lord.” She clenched her jaw at his chuckle, and clucked to her horse to pass him by. His teasing would not work this time.

  “Lady Rafferton is a close friend of my mother. She appears younger but is ten years my senior.” He pulled up next to her, ignoring her cut. “It is humiliating to remember how smitten I was as a boy.”

  Unexplained relief bubbled up inside her, and she rewarded his words with a brilliant smile. His olive skin, still dark from his military years on the field, made the cream-colored cravat almost white. Her eyes lingered on the wide mouth and firm lips that now softened in a smile, revealing his pearly teeth. God help her. She’d have to proceed with care, or this harmless flirtation might snare her heart. That was not something she cared to risk.

  Chapter 12

  “The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.”

  Lord Byron

  Late July 1815

  Kit strolled into the drawing room, scanning the small group for Lady Grace. She was never far from his mind, intruding on his thoughts throughout the day. Her satin skin and yielding lips. That body wrapped in a snug riding habit, her chest heaving after a long canter and those liquid green eyes laughing at him, sent his blood rushing. Last night she invaded his dreams, thoug
h he admitted it was a sight better than the nightmares he was accustomed to after battle.

  They had been out for a ride when it began to rain. A cabin had been close by, and Kit had started a fire. When he turned, she had peeled the wet clothes from her body. A goddess with her arms held out to him, the fire casting golden shadows against her skin. He had woken this morning drenched and panting. Thinking of the dream now, a powerful lust surged through his loins. Cold ice cream from Gunter’s, he thought. No, not chilling enough. A dip in the lake in April. Ah, that’s better.

  Once in control of his desire, he paused beside the rosewood sofa table to pour a glass of burgundy. Only his mother and another female perched on the sofa. She beckoned to her son with excitement. “Do you remember Lady Rafferton? She stopped to offer her condolences.”

  “Yes, we met up last week when I was out for a ride with Lord Boldon and Lady Grace.” The viscountess lived on a neighboring estate and was a frequent visitor. They often joined one another’s hunts in the fall. He was impressed again by her youthful appearance. Blonde waves swept above a slender neck, curls strategically loosened around the face and nape. A gown of pale rose, with the same flower embroidered across the hem, hugged a still slender figure. He took her extended hand, bowed low, and placed a kiss on her gloved fingers. “I could never forget the woman who broke my heart as a boy by marrying Lord Rafferton.”

  “And now you have grown into a man yourself. I wager you have most of the London debutantes smelling of April and May.” Her smile faded, her blue eyes sincere. “I do apologize for not coming sooner. Horrible business for your family.”

  He inclined his head. “And your husband? He is well?”

  “Oh dear, you didn’t know? He’s been gone…two years?” Lady Falsbury looked at her friend, eyebrows raised.

  “Three. I am a widow now, my lord. So you see? Your broken heart may at last mend.” She tapped her fan against his forearm. “Are you here for long or just a brief visit?”