A Wicked Way to Win an Earl

by Anna Bradley

  Polly nodded to Lily. “Your bath is ready too, miss. I have a supper tray for you as well.”

  “Delightful. Night, Delia,” Lily said, hurrying off to her own room without a backward glance. “You’ll feel more yourself when you’ve bathed.”

  “Do you need help with your dress, miss?” Polly asked.

  Delia shook her head. “No, thank you. I can manage.”

  Polly curtsied and followed Lily, pulling the connecting door closed behind her.

  “Well, that’s Lily for you,” Delia mumbled to herself. “Not a speck of dirt or mud to be found on her anywhere, but ready to sacrifice a limb to get to her bath.”

  She couldn’t blame Lily, though. The bath looked like heaven. Polly had poured some kind of subtly scented oil into it. Delia picked up the pretty cake of soap and sniffed at it. Yes, it was the same scent. Jasmine perhaps?

  Scented swirls of steam rose temptingly above the water and beckoned to Delia, who nearly ripped off her dress in her eagerness to get into the bath. She did take the time to wipe the worst of the mud off her body with a damp towel beforehand, however. She had no desire for a second mud bath today.

  “Ahhhhh.” She could not restrain a moan of pleasure when she was up to her neck in the scented water. It was bliss to be surrounded by the pure, delicate fragrance of the oil. Even the water felt softer. Did the scented oil make it so? Or did the aristocracy enjoy better water than the rest of England?

  Delia lingered in the bath until the warm water had soaked into every one of her sore muscles. When it started to cool, she ducked her head under to rinse the worst of the mud from her hair; then she washed it with the cake of soap and rinsed it again.

  She’d changed into her white cotton night rail and was drying her hair by the fire when there was a knock on the hall door. “Yes?”

  Polly entered the room with a supper tray. “Your supper, miss,” she began, but stopped when she saw Delia. “Oh my, you look ever so much better!” Polly clapped a hand over her mouth and turned bright red. “That is . . .”

  Delia smiled. “It’s all right, Polly. I know I looked a fright when I arrived.”

  “Will you be needing anything else tonight, miss?”

  “No, I don’t think so, thank you. I’m off to bed. Good night.”

  “Good night, miss.”

  But Delia didn’t go to bed. She rose and crept to the door that connected her room to Lily’s and listened. Silence. She eased the door open and peered in. She assumed the lump in the center of the bed was her sister. All she could see of her under the thick coverlet was a tangled mass of curling dark blond hair, but the lump snored like Lily.

  Delia backed out of the room and closed the door with a quiet click. Good. Lily needed to rest. Now if she could convince her own body to succumb to sleep, all would be well. She should be exhausted. She glanced at the supper tray Polly had left. She should be ravenous, too, but instead of eating, she retrieved the goblet from the tray and left the food untouched. Maybe the wine would help her sleep.

  Today’s coach accident had been minor, but Delia had been terrified when the axle broke. The coach had lurched and shuddered and skittered madly across the road before it at last staggered to a stop. How must her parents have felt when they realized their carriage was careening into a ditch? Delia heard the terrified screams of the horses and the sound of splintering wood in her nightmares as if she’d been there.

  Their mother wouldn’t have wanted them to come to Bellwood. Oh, Millicent Chase hadn’t been bitter about being shunned by the ton. She’d never regretted her decision to marry Henry Somerset. Delia’s parents had been madly in love.

  But Millicent knew every unsavory truth of the life she’d left behind. The posturing. The idleness and vanity. The arrogance and vindictiveness. The cruelty. She hadn’t hidden these truths from her children. Her mother wouldn’t have wanted two of her beloved daughters tangled up in such a world.

  Lord Carlisle’s world.

  Delia drained the glass of wine. “It’s only for two weeks. We’ll just stay away from him,” she comforted herself as she crawled under the covers. “It won’t be difficult. Far beneath his notice . . .”

  She dropped off to sleep, dreaming of a bare chest, unbuttoned breeches, and bold, seeking hands.

  * * *

  Lord Archibald leaned against his cue. A cheroot dangled from his mouth and his eyes were trained on the billiards table. Alec leaned across the green baize and lined up his shot.

  “What was the outcome of that business with the rustic chits from Surrey?” Archie asked, just as Alec drew back his cue. “Bloody awful shot, Carlisle,” he crowed when Alec’s ball veered far left of his target.

  Alec scowled. Archie hated to lose at billiards. “It remains to be seen.” He took up his own cheroot from a tray on the side table. “The matter bears further investigation.”

  “Come, now, Carlisle—at least tell me if she’s pretty or not.”

  Alec drew on his cheroot. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know? Why the devil not? This isn’t a difficult question.”

  “I didn’t notice a devastating bosom.” He thought of the angry glare Miss Somerset had given him when she’d caught him sneaking a look.

  Archie grinned. “Yes, well, perhaps if you’d started with her face, Carlisle . . .”

  “I couldn’t see it properly. She was covered in mud and it had grown dark. And before you ask,” he added, “I couldn’t see her hair, either. Not one strand. Her bonnet appeared to be nailed to her head.”

  “Not a promising start,” Archie said. “Or a very promising one, depending on how you look at it. Robyn’s attention span is shorter than most. It doesn’t sound as though she’s the sort to hold it for long.”

  “Where is Robyn? I haven’t seen him all evening.”

  Archie shrugged. “Shepherdson.”

  Nothing further needed to be said. If Robyn was out with Lord Shepherdson, they wouldn’t see him again tonight.

  “Robyn wasn’t here to welcome her to Bellwood,” Archie pointed out. “That’s a good sign, isn’t it? He can’t be that enamored of her.”

  Alec snorted. “You assume Robyn remembers what day she’s arriving. I’d be surprised if he even remembers what day of the week it is today.”

  “Still, a silly little country lass may be just what you need, eh?”

  “She’s not silly. Just the opposite. She’s clever. Sharp-tongued, too.”

  Archie grimaced. “Clever, sharp-tongued, and plain? Dreadful combination.”

  “I never said she was plain.” That blush that had stained her cheeks right before she retired this evening . . . “I said I couldn’t see her well enough to tell.”

  “Oh, she’s plain. Or at least she doesn’t have the legendary Chase beauty. You’d have noticed that. What color are her eyes? Does she have des yeux de feu bleu?”

  Alec stared blankly at his friend. “What the devil are you on about?”

  “Come, now, Carlisle. Surely you’ve heard of ‘the eyes of blue fire’? Who was that Greek chit? The one with snakes for her hair?”

  Alec wasn’t drunk, but this conversation made him feel as if he were. Still, he’d known Archie since they were lads. The best course of action was to follow along. “Medusa.”

  “Right. That’s the one. Back when Millicent Chase was the toast of the ton, the gentlemen swore her eyes were such a beautiful, perfect blue, they could turn a man to stone.”

  “Part of him, anyway,” Alec said dryly.

  Archie laughed. “They used to take bets at White’s on who would be the next to fall under the spell of des yeux de feu bleu. I recall my father falling into raptures about Millicent Chase’s eyes. He was one of her suitors, you know.”

  Alec grinned. “Your father was a scandal and a rogue, Archie.”

  “Yes
, well, like father like son, and the apple and the tree, and all that nonsense.”

  Alec’s grin faded. He hated those expressions, probably because his own father had been a cold, manipulative bastard.

  “I didn’t see the color of her eyes, either,” Alec said. “They were dark.”

  “Dark blue? Like blue fire?”

  “Blue fire,” Alec snorted. “What nonsense. Bloody hell, Archie. Why not just wait and see for yourself? I’m sure she’ll be at breakfast.”

  Archie shook his head. “I must remain in suspense until dinner tomorrow night. I have to leave early in the morning. I’ll return to Bellwood in the evening.”

  Alec smothered a laugh. “Ah, yes. I forgot. Aunt Bettina is visiting.”

  Archie nodded glumly. “She’s Lady Humphries now, and she’s dragged old Humphries along with her on her visit. Poor sod. Why in God’s name they felt compelled to marry, I’ll never understand. She’s almost as rich as King George. What need has she of a husband?”

  Alec shrugged. “She did gain a title from the marriage.”

  “What would induce Humphries to wed again, then? He doesn’t need Aunt’s money.”

  “Perhaps they had certain, ah, physical needs—”

  Archie cringed. “Not another word, Carlisle. She’s sixty-five if she’s a day, and Humphries is at least seventy! It’s too hideous to contemplate.”

  “You say the same about every marriage.”

  “Quite right, too. I have no wish to be leg-shackled. You must be mad to even consider it.” He frowned darkly. “Do you have an understanding with Lady Lisette yet?” Archie sounded as if he didn’t want to hear the answer.

  “No. Not yet. But I expect the business will be concluded by the end of the house party.”

  “Business, eh? What a romantic way to put it. What about the other matter?”

  “As I said, it bears further investigation, but I doubt Delia Somerset will prove to be a serious problem.”

  “Too bad,” Archie said with a disappointed sigh. “Think how amusing it could be if she did.”

  Alec took one last draw on his cheroot. “Sorry, old boy. You’d better prepare yourself for another long, dull, tedious house party.”

  Chapter Five

  By the time she became aware of the sound of hooves behind her, it was too late.

  Delia turned in time see a very tall rider on an absurdly large black horse galloping toward her through the trees. The huge hooves sent up a spray of gravel with each pounding stride.

  Drat.

  It had been such a promising start to the day, too. It was early yet, but the sun was beginning to emerge from behind some wispy low-lying clouds, and the air was fresh and cool. She’d just reached the middle of the long walkway that led up to the estate and she’d stopped to admire the view of the house from there. She cocked her head. Even the ivy that climbed up the outside corner of the left wing looked perfect, as if a giant hand had draped it just so for maximum artistic effect.

  Now her walk was spoiled. For one wild moment she considered running in the opposite direction. Ridiculous, of course—it would be unspeakably rude to flee, not to mention cowardly. Well, she was no coward. Delia straightened her shoulders and pasted a polite smile over her gritted teeth. Perhaps he was in a tearing hurry to be somewhere.

  Somewhere else.

  “Miss Somerset.” Lord Carlisle reined the horse to a halt beside her. “I’m surprised to see you up so early this morning.”

  Delia had to crane her neck to look up at him. If he didn’t dismount, it might mean he wouldn’t linger. “Good morning, my lord. I do tend to rise early. I suppose I keep country hours.”

  He dismounted and Delia suppressed a sigh. He had nowhere else to be, then. He took the horse’s reins in his hand and walked over to her.

  He intended to join her on her walk, then. Drat.

  “I’m surprised to see you up this early, my lord. Not very fashionable, is it?” Delia cringed a little when she heard the bite in her voice. She’d promised Lily she’d do her best to keep her tongue in check.

  But he didn’t answer. The uncomfortable silence continued to stretch between them until at last Delia peeked at him from the corner of her eye. He was staring at her. In fact, he was studying her with such furious intensity she felt a flush begin to rise from her chest into her cheeks. She jerked her gaze away.

  What in the world was he staring at? She raised a hand self-consciously to her hair. The pins had come loose. She’d woken this morning longing to get a walk before breakfast. She hadn’t expected to see anyone, so she’d simply twisted the heavy locks into a knot at the back of her neck and slipped into a dark blue walking dress. She hadn’t even worn a bonnet.

  For heaven’s sake! Was the missing bonnet so shocking? At least her clothes were buttoned!

  He cleared his throat. “Ah, I see you’ve rid yourself of the mud.”

  He actually had the nerve to sound shocked! Had he imagined she wouldn’t bathe? “Yes, my lord. Imagine my relief when I discovered it wasn’t permanent.”

  Delia bit her lip. Her tongue seemed to sprout barbs whenever she spoke to Lord Carlisle. Instead of the swift retort she expected, however, there was another silence. She turned to him in surprise. “Lord Carlisle?”

  He’d stopped walking and was standing in the middle of the path. He went still as his dark, dark eyes wandered over her face and figure. He started at the top of her head, taking in the loose strands of hair. He lingered on her eyes, on her mouth, and on the open neck of her gown, and then moved leisurely over her plain blue walking dress.

  Delia was speechless, both at the intense perusal and the expression in his eyes. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but his expression was strange, familiar . . .

  Oh! A furious blush stained her cheeks. Yesterday.

  I’m an impatient man, especially when it comes to . . .

  Dear God. Fornication. She’d seen a hint of that same look in his eyes during their ill-advised argument about fornication.

  Delia glanced up, as if fascinated with the trees above them. She looked down and studied her feet. She fidgeted with the skirts of her blue walking dress. Anything to avoid meeting those assessing black eyes.

  “You look completely different. I wouldn’t have recognized you from yesterday.” His tone was faintly accusing.

  Delia narrowed her eyes. “Well, then, my lord, it’s fortunate for both of us I couldn’t fail to recognize you. You’re forever burned into my memory.”

  Blast it! She clenched her fists in frustration. It had sounded like . . .

  “Is that so?” He grinned. “Well, I’m flattered.”

  Like she was paying him a compliment. Judging by his smug grin, he’d decided to take it as one. Delia huffed out a breath and crossed her arms over her chest. “If you choose,” she said, struggling to keep her tone bland.

  “Tell me, Miss Somerset,” he said in a low voice. “In what way am I burned into your memory?”

  She blinked. His tone sounded almost suggestive. Surely not.

  “In every way,” she snapped back without thinking, and then she wanted to bite her tongue out. Again. What was the matter with her? She’d been known to carry on reasonable conversations with gentlemen before, all without blushing and stammering like a schoolgirl.

  Lord Carlisle threw back his head and laughed. “The reason I ask,” he said, taking a step closer to her, “is you’ve seen more of me than most young ladies.”

  Ha! Delia doubted it. Surely his female companion from yesterday had seen far more of him than she had, and more than one time, too, she’d wager. Not that it mattered to her, of course. One time had been more than enough for her. It was one time too many, in fact, even if he did have intriguingly smooth skin on his chest.

  Besides, there was something odd going on here. Was he flirting
with her? No! It was impossible. It was ridiculous. Why would he bother to flirt with her? It was out of the question he’d single her out for any particular attention.

  And yet . . . that had sounded like an innuendo, and he was watching her now as if he were a spoiled child and she a sugary sweet. Delia pursed her lips into a thin, disapproving line.

  She was not going to flirt with Lord Carlisle.

  She didn’t flirt with aristocrats. Flirting with an aristocrat was about as wise as poking a bear with a sharp stick. One might escape unscathed, but the odds were against it. Aristocrats were vain. They were idle and arrogant and generally untrustworthy. Gentlemen of the ton were shiftier than most. At their worst they were downright dangerous.

  “I did see more of you than I wanted to. I’m sorry to have embarrassed you.” Her voice dripped with acid sweetness. “Perhaps it would be wise for you to limit the exposure of your parts in the future? Especially in public.”

  “Oh, I’m not embarrassed, Miss Somerset.” He held her eyes. “Merely curious. Which of my parts did you find the most memorable?”

  Delia placed her hands on her hips. “I found your disregard for propriety the most memorable, my lord.”

  He chuckled. “Come, now, Miss Somerset. There’s no need to be coy.” He stared down at her, his eyes glinting with amusement. Lord Carlisle was teasing her, all right, and not innocently, either. But why? It didn’t make sense.

  Whatever the reason, he seemed to be enjoying himself. How irritating. Coy indeed. Well, if he wanted to see coy . . . “Very well, my lord.” She lowered her eyes demurely. “There was one thing.”

  He leaned just a little closer. “Yes?”

  She had his undivided attention now. “Well,” she said, struggling to keep the amusement out of her voice. “I did notice your . . .” She paused strategically. “Your back.”

  “My back?” He sounded puzzled.

  “Yes. It’s very broad, isn’t it?” She peeked up at him through her lashes. Should she twirl a lock of hair in her finger? No. That might be a bit too much. “Your shoulders are very wide, too, and your arms are long and muscular. I noticed them, as well.”