A Wicked Way to Win an Earl

by Anna Bradley

  “Lovely!” one young lady exclaimed, looking as if she were about to swoon with excitement. “It looks like a miniature Vauxhall Gardens!”

  “Come, ladies,” Charlotte said, observing the crush. She linked her arm with Lily’s on one side and Ellie’s on the other. “We may be able to overpower the stampede if we all stay together.”

  Eleanor took Delia’s arm. “My goodness. Look at young Miss Entwistle! She seems to have forgotten herself entirely. Why, she almost trampled poor Mrs. Pennyworth under her heels. Perhaps she’s anticipating a romantic interlude in the gardens. Though that seems rather unlikely, given the gentlemen are still at their brandy.”

  “Shall we visit our pavilion, ladies?” Eleanor caught Lily’s arm and headed toward the terrace doors.

  Delia floated through the doors, drawn forward by Ellie and the gentle glow of light from the garden. Flickering lanterns glimmered overhead in the leaves and lined the pathways at her feet. She’d never seen fireflies, but she’d read about the tiny little insects that carried miniature lights on their bodies. This was what it must look like when thousands of them gathered together and their combined light set everything around them aglow.

  She drifted along, not minding her direction. She made turn after turn, stopping here and there to admire an elegant arch or a display of flowers. At the end of the path in front of her she could see a pavilion decorated with lanterns and long swathes of white silk, caught at the corners with extravagant bunches of white flowers. She moved toward it until she found herself standing alone at the farthest end of the garden.

  “Delia!” Lily called, but her voice was drowned out by the soft music that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once, as if it rose from the air of the garden itself. The musicians were hidden among the shrubberies and behind pavilions and graceful groupings of statuary.

  “You must see the Chinese pavilion at the end of this walk . . .” Lily’s voice became fainter and fainter and then faded away as Delia melted into the light surrounding her. Eleanor no longer held her arm. Lily and Charlotte had disappeared.

  It was almost as if she’d never seen the garden before. It appeared more beautiful than ever tonight, perhaps because seeing Lady Carlisle’s joy in it made it so. Her face—when the footmen drew the screens aside, and again when her daughters kissed her—Lady Carlisle’s face had glowed as brightly as any light in the garden.

  To Delia’s dismay, tears blurred her eyes. They hadn’t yet started to fall when she heard footsteps behind her. All of the fine hairs on the back of her neck rose in reaction, as if someone had laid a warm hand there.

  She knew without turning it was Alec.

  “Your mother . . .” she began, but her throat closed before she could continue. How could she explain to him how it felt to watch the years being erased from Lady Carlisle’s face, or how affected she’d been at the depth of feeling between the countess and her daughters? “She’s . . . Your sisters are attached to her. She seems very happy tonight,” she finished lamely.

  “She hasn’t always been so happy. She’s an entirely different person, it seems, since . . .” Alec’s voice trailed off.

  He didn’t mention his father. He didn’t need to.

  Delia’s throat worked for a moment. “It must be wonderful to see her enjoy the happiness she deserves,” she said, her voice choked.

  There was a pause. “Your mother,” he began, surprising her with the uncertainty in his voice. “You and your sisters were attached to her?”

  She stiffened, as she always did at any mention of her parents. She was never sure she’d be able to speak of them, and her voice caught a little. “Yes. Very attached. To both our parents. We miss them terribly.”

  “I envy you that.” There was a trace of bitterness in his voice. “I don’t miss my father at all.”

  She looked away from him, down toward the river. “To struggle to love someone, or to watch a beloved parent suffer for years in an unhappy marriage, would be as painful as losing them too soon, I think. My parents were so happy together. All our memories of them are joyful ones.”

  Delia was horrified as soon as she heard her words hanging in the air between them. Her own mother could have been in Lady Carlisle’s place, trapped in a loveless marriage with Hart Sutherland. “I didn’t mean—”

  “We haven’t known each other long,” Alec said, his dark eyes softer than she’d ever seen them before. “But I know you’re not cruel.”

  He bowed then and began to turn away. She thought he’d leave her, but at the last moment he hesitated, took her hand, and raised it to his lips. “I’ll see you in the foyer at six o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  The kiss was utterly proper. Brief. His mouth merely grazed her glove. His hand did not touch her skin. But she felt the kiss in her chest, her stomach, and all the way down to her toes.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Alec paced across the black-and-white marble floor of the foyer, snapping his riding crop against his polished black boots and grumbling to himself.

  I said six o’clock. Where the devil was she?

  “Good morning, my lord.”

  Alec swung around to face the stairs. Delia was descending, wearing a tight-fitting midnight blue riding habit trimmed in black cord around the neckline and bodice. Two very bright blue eyes peeked out from under a jaunty black hat with dangling dark blue satin ribbons.

  Alec swallowed. “You appear to have slept well. You look . . .”

  Captivating. Delicious. Tempting.

  “. . . refreshed.”

  At least one of them had slept. He’d been on the verge of escaping to his chambers last night after a tedious evening admiring Lady Lisette when Eleanor had cornered him in the hallway. Eleanor’s lectures usually had about as much impact on him as being pelted with a ball of yarn, but this one had the force of a cricket bat. His ears were still ringing. She’d demanded an explanation for the sudden change in seating arrangements at dinner, and then she’d rung a peal over his head about his unforgiveable carelessness in exposing Delia to the notice of the other guests.

  He’d be deaf by now if Eleanor knew the whole truth.

  He offered Delia his arm. “It’s a fine day for a ride.” He led her through the foyer toward the stables. “Thomas will accompany us with provisions.” He gestured to a footman who stood next to the door holding a small hamper.

  His highly strung black stallion, Ceres, danced impatiently in the stable yard. Next to Ceres was a sedate dappled gray mare, the horse he’d chosen for Delia. Alec looked at the horse and then glanced down at her in her smart blue habit and saw at once he’d made the wrong choice. She didn’t say so, but she quietly vibrated with disappointment. Even the ribbons on her hat quivered with it.

  “Dawkins!” Alec called. A stooped, gray-haired man appeared at the stable door. “Please saddle Athena. I believe Miss Somerset prefers a livelier mount.”

  “Oh,” Delia breathed as Dawkins led out a sleek golden-brown horse. Athena was several hands higher than most mares, with a lovely arched neck and surprisingly dainty feet. “She’s lovely!”

  “She is, isn’t she?” Alec rubbed the horse’s neck. “She was sickly when she was born, but to see her now, one would never guess it.”

  Delia reached up to stroke the horse’s soft black nose. “Eleanor and Charlotte told me about Athena. They said she was a weak foal, and you nursed her for a year until she started to show promise. To hear them tell it, your actions were nothing short of heroic.”

  She looked up at him with a smile that started at her lush lips and ended with her eyes.

  Alec was startled into smiling back at her as the memory of that summer rushed back to him. His triumph with Athena had also been a triumph over his father, who’d wanted to have the foal shot.

  But then reality intruded like a stinging slap to the face. He doubted either his sisters
or Robyn would describe him as heroic now. He hardly even saw them anymore. And he had no right to enjoy Delia’s smiles, not when he was doing everything in his power to make sure Robyn didn’t. “That was a very long time ago. Will Athena do?” His voice was clipped.

  She blinked at his dour tone, but nodded. “I would love to ride her.”

  “She’s a lively horse. Are you sure you can manage her?” His tone implied he had his doubts, because it would be easier to get through the day without touching her if she didn’t smile at him.

  It worked. Her smile faded and her jaw set with determination. “Of course.” She marched coolly over to the block and turned and looked back at him, waiting. Alec had the distinct impression only impeccable manners kept her from stamping her foot.

  “If you would, Dawkins.” Alec gestured to the groom to bring Athena over to the block, and Delia swung up onto the horse with easy grace. Alec allowed himself one tormenting moment to admire her straight, slender back and the way the riding habit tightened around the long slim line of her leg; then he forced his eyes away. He’d seen enough. She sat Athena beautifully.

  He set off at a brisk trot, then eased into a gallop as they cleared the stable yard. He liked a hard ride, so he gave Ceres his head. Delia matched his pace easily. The horses’ hooves pounded the ground and sent up great splashes of mud and turf. The countryside was completely open here. He’d been riding across the same endless rolling green hills since he was old enough to mount a horse. As a child he’d spent hours exploring the marshes, a wonderland of wild birds and fascinating plants, and lingering in the bluebell wood when it was in full bloom.

  It was too early in the year for the May bluebells. By the time the flowers spread like a deep blue blanket in the dappled sunlight under the trees, Delia would be long gone from Kent. Alec jerked on Ceres’s reins and the horse whinnied a little in protest. It was absurd he should feel a sting of regret when he was going to such lengths to hasten her departure. By the time they returned to Bellwood late this evening, her name would be on the lips of every guest at the house party. He was still considered a rake by most of society. Worse, as far as the ton was concerned, he was a rake who was as good as engaged to Lady Lisette. They would all claim to be shocked that Delia would ride off alone with him, but they would excuse him for luring her away. Even Lady Lisette would excuse him.

  It wasn’t fair, but it was the way it was.

  It was done, and he didn’t want to think about it anymore. Not while they were miles from Bellwood and Robyn and the ton. Delia would be gone tomorrow. It was selfish, but for today he wanted to pretend there wasn’t any of this ugliness between them. Just for today, they were simply out for a ride on a sunny spring morning.

  They had been out for several hours when Alec reined Ceres to a stop at the crest of a grassy knoll. He swung down from the horse’s back and walked over to Delia. He held out his hand to assist her to dismount, but before she could accept it, he impulsively wrapped his hands lightly around her waist and lifted her down.

  Shouldn’t touch her, but it’s just for today. She’ll be out of reach tomorrow.

  “My lord!” She gave a little squeal of surprise that weakened his knees. “I’m perfectly capable of dismounting by myself.”

  “Undoubtedly.” Alec resisted the urge to hold her against his body as she slid to the ground. “You’d do Rotten Row credit,” he added honestly, surprising himself.

  Thomas handed the hamper to Alec and disappeared to water the horses. Alec spread the picnic blanket out on the grass, shrugged off his coat, and plopped to the ground. He looked up at Delia and patted the spot next to him on the blanket.

  “I won’t bite you, Delia.” He gave her an intentionally wolfish grin. “Make yourself comfortable.” He took a large bite out of a shiny apple he’d unpacked from the basket, holding her eyes as he did.

  It wouldn’t do to have her too comfortable.

  She gave him a suspicious look, but perched on the edge of the blanket, as far away from him as she could get.

  “I find it difficult to picture Rotten Row,” she said. “Vauxhall, as well. One of the ladies last night said your mother’s pleasure garden resembles Vauxhall, and I wondered whether it did.”

  Alec stretched his legs out in front of him. “Does it matter?”

  Delia hesitated. “It never did before.”

  Alec took another bite of his apple. “Then why should it now?”

  “If London has such a garden, then it must be more than the dirty, crowded city I always imagined it to be. I never wished to see London before, but now I wonder if to miss it is to miss something indeed.”

  “London is dirty and crowded,” Alec said, “and teeming with crime, poverty, and disease. But you do miss something if you never see it. It’s a fascinating city, both appalling and magnificent at once.”

  Delia glanced at him with raised eyebrows, as if she’d expected condescending amusement, and was surprised at his sincerity. “Yes. I suppose places are just like people that way. Appalling and magnificent.”

  “You sound as if you have someone in particular in mind.”

  Delia laughed a little. “No one who is both at once. But you did warn me those of the ton who remember my mother will remark on our presence here, and they have done. Many of them more kindly than I expected, come to think on it, and the censure of a woman like the Countess of Cecil can be of no consequence to me.”

  Alec choked down the bit of apple he’d been chewing. He should feel nothing but triumph to find his plan was already working, but instead an unexpected, savage fury swept through him. His expression must have turned menacing, for Delia looked as if she wished she hadn’t spoken at all. “What does Lady Cecil find to disapprove of?”

  “Me. Lily. My mother. It’s not surprising, is it? Lady Cecil isn’t the type of woman who hides her disapproval.”

  “Your presence at Bellwood should be sufficient reason for Lady Cecil to treat you with politeness.” Alec’s body was rigid with barely leashed fury. “You are my sisters’ friends, and my mother’s guest.”

  “Oh, Lady Cecil is no match for your sisters. Your mother, either. If only more members of the ton were like Lady Carlisle,” she said with a sigh. “She is rather magnificent.”

  “But alas,” he said, making an effort to calm himself, “most resemble Lady Cecil—appalling.”

  Delia laughed and seemed to relax then. She peeked into the picnic basket and took out an apple.

  “Tell me,” Alec said, trying to tear his gaze away from the sight of her even white teeth nibbling at the juicy flesh. “I know you draw, and you’re a superb horsewoman. Do you sing and play the pianoforte? Speak French and Italian?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Some German, as well. What of it?”

  He shrugged. “Only that you have all the graces that distinguish a young lady of the ton. That’s the real reason Lady Cecil disapproves of you.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “Whatever do you mean? Why would Lady Cecil disapprove of me if I’m just like the rest of the ton?”

  That wasn’t what he’d said, and she wasn’t just like the rest of the ton. She wasn’t like anyone he’d ever known, but there didn’t seem to be any point in saying so. She’d be gone tomorrow. “It’s simple. Every reasonably attractive young lady with decent manners and even mild accomplishments is a potential rival for Lady Lisette.”

  “Reasonably attractive . . . decent manners . . . mild accomplishments. You’ll turn my head with your extravagant compliments, my lord.”

  “I only hope you’re not a gifted dancer,” he replied with mock seriousness. “I begin to fear for your very safety if you are.”

  “Oh, dear. Then I’m frightened indeed, for I dance divinely.”

  She was teasing, but Alec could easily imagine her lithe body floating across a dance floor. He cleared his throat. “If you were clumsy
and awkward, with bad skin and a lisp, Lady Cecil would welcome you with wide-open arms.”

  Delia cocked her head to one side, as if considering this. “I find that prospect even more terrifying than her disapproval,” she said with a mischievous little smile.

  Alec gazed into her thickly lashed eyes and thought of thousands of bluebells carpeting the forest floor. He could take her in his arms. He could kiss her and keep kissing her until he forgot all about Robyn, and the scandal between their families, and the shameful reason he’d brought her here today. He could plunder her hot, sweet mouth until everything else faded into oblivion.

  “Anyway,” she said, “Lady Cecil hasn’t anything to worry about. Accomplishments won’t make the ton forget my name.”

  No. The ton would never forget she was a Somerset, or forgive her for it. He couldn’t, either, and he’d do well to remember that instead of fantasizing about the taste of apples on her lips.

  But not now. Not today. Just for today, he didn’t want to remember it. “What, you mean Delphinium?” He gave her a teasing smile. “Named so because of your eyes. Delphinium, Lily . . .”

  He looked at her expectantly.

  “Iris, Hyacinth, and Violet.” She colored slightly. “We’re all named after blue flowers. My parents were a bit, well, whimsical.”

  “A bit,” he agreed, abandoning his efforts not to watch her lips. “What would your parents have done if one of you had been born with brown eyes?” His smile widened.

  She frowned thoughtfully. “Named her Poppy probably. Or Milkweed. Those are brown flowers, aren’t they? I suppose we should all be grateful to have blue eyes.”

  Alec laughed. He couldn’t help himself. He liked talking with her. It wasn’t just that she was clever and amusing—it was more that he was never sure what she’d say next, or what expression would cross her face. “Are you whimsical, too? Did you inherit that from your mother, along with her blue eyes?”