Wedding Night With the Earl

by Amelia Grey

  “Indeed I do, but I don’t know what it is. Perhaps you are a young lady who enjoys the thrill of being chased by all the handsome bachelors in England?”

  She granted him a soft, teasing smile that showed beautiful even teeth. She even laughed a little, a lilting sound that swept over him like a cooling breeze on a rare, sultry summer day. Chances were she had no idea how instinctively sensual she was. He would love to be the one to awaken her womanly desires.

  “I don’t run either, my lord.”

  Though her voice was breathy, her eyes, her expression, challenged him to continue their lighthearted conversation. The devil take it, Adam had never been able to ignore a challenge. She was flirting with him, and he was devouring every moment of it as if he were a hungry animal. And after more than two years on the northern coast, perhaps he was.

  All right, she had him right where she wanted him. The lure to play this out her way was too great to ignore. He had to take the enticement she had been laying out before him, whether intended or not, since he’d first caught sight of her. He meant to see she didn’t win this battle between their wills.

  “I don’t like to lose, Miss Wright. What will it take for you to dance with me?”

  She looked as if she were pretending to think about that and then said, “It will take a miracle.”

  Adam blew out a laugh. Softly, but a real laugh. He couldn’t remember the last time it had actually felt good to laugh.

  “I’m afraid that if I ever had favor with the one who bestows miracles, I lost it long ago.”

  “So did I, my lord.”

  Her eyes turned sad again, her words almost wistful again. The way she looked at him changed the rhythm of his heartbeat. Something moved deep inside him, and he knew what it was. Attraction. Deep, primal attraction that sank into his loins and buried there. He didn’t want to be drawn to her, but he was. He couldn’t stop the pull she had on him, and he didn’t want to try.

  Right now, more than anything, he wanted to dance with her, to touch her hand, to caress her fingertips, to circle her waist and twirl her under his arm. He wanted to lose himself in the joy of feeling a woman in his arms, a woman he wanted to be close to.

  “Dance with me,” he said, and knew the words came from the depths of his heart and sounded far more earnest, and way more desperate, than he’d intended.

  She blinked slowly. He could see deep emotions gathering in her eyes and settling on her face. Somehow he knew she was feeling what he felt. She wanted to dance with him, too. For a fleeting moment, his heart soared. Though the quadrille was almost over, she was going to say yes.

  Instead, she moistened her lips, swallowed, and said, “I don’t dance, my lord. I have never danced and I never will.”

  Her voice was clotted with emotion and hampered by sudden erratic breathing. He saw a flash of anguish in her eyes. Why did a request to dance evoke such a response from her? A desire to draw her to his chest and soothe her grew inside him.

  Before he could respond to her, she said, “Now, please excuse me, my lord.”

  She turned away, and that was when he saw she used a cane.

  Oh, hell!

  She relied heavily on it to walk, but her shoulders never dropped and her back never bowed. Disbelief assailed him. All the time he stood in front of her, he never saw the cane in her hand. How had that happened? It must have been hidden in the folds of her gown. He must have been too intrigued by her countenance, her eyes, and her words to notice that she supported herself with a cane.

  Adam felt as if all six feet four inches of him flattened to the floor. He let out a frustrated sigh. That had to be the worst blunder he’d ever made. Fate was definitely making it up to him for all the times it saved his life when he was younger. Why hadn’t she just told him?

  The music came to an end, the sound of hands clapping and feet tamping on the dance floor quieted. He started to go after Miss Wright to apologize, but she’d been too quickly swallowed up in the group leaving the dance floor.

  And what would he say to her, anyway?

  Damned if he knew, but he had to try to find a way to let her know he wasn’t being heartless. That was, if she ever agreed to speak to him again. He turned and looked over at Bray and Harrison. They both quickly glanced away from him. They had watched him stand there and talk to her, and neither of them had made a move to come to his aid. He should kill both of them. Yes, strangling them with his bare hands might feel damn good right about now.

  He strode over to them with purpose and said, “You two bloody blackguards let me walk over there and ask Miss Wright to dance knowing she couldn’t. You are supposed to be my friends. Which one of you wants to die first?”

  Bray and Harrison each quickly pointed to the other and said, “Him.”

  “I should tie up both of you with a boulder and rope and send you straight to the bottom of the Thames.”

  “Please, not me,” Bray said, clearly holding his laughter in check. “You know I hate a cold swim.”

  “I’m not interested in such a black, watery demise either,” Harrison said, hiding a smile by wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “But you can’t say we didn’t try to warn you not to ask her to dance.”

  “Not very hard,” Adam muttered.

  “I thought we tried very hard, didn’t you, Harrison?” Bray said, the edges of his lips quivering.

  “I know I did,” Harrison agreed. “You’ll remember, Adam, I even tried to hold you.”

  “And that’s the only reason I’ve decided to spare your lives.” Adam stopped and hesitated. “What do you know about her?”

  Bray cleared his throat and said, “Not much. This is her second or maybe third Season. She seems to spend time at the parties with a group of ladies who call themselves the Wilted Tea Society.”

  Adam frowned. “What kind of name is that?”

  “A dreadful one,” Harrison said. “I’ve heard it’s in reference to the fact that the ladies are not old enough to be dried-up weeds on a shelf as true spinsters, but most of them are getting older and still unwed, so they are only slightly wilted.”

  Adam harrumphed at that idea. Miss Wright was not in any way slightly wilted. “Do you know what happened to her?”

  “I’m remembering her leg was injured in a carriage accident, but I can’t be sure,” Harrison said.

  “It was,” Bray added. “Everyone in her family was killed but her. And from what I heard, she almost died.”

  That would be devastating to anyone. “Recent?” Adam asked.

  Bray shook his head. “I don’t think so, but just how long ago it was I don’t know. I’m afraid I don’t know any details.”

  “Sorry, ol’ chap. Neither do I,” Harrison said when Adam looked to him for more answers.

  Adam remembered seeing sadness in her eyes before their conversation had begun. Perhaps she’d been thinking about the accident. And what about the wistfulness he’d sensed in her as well? Why was that on her lovely face? Was it because she couldn’t dance?

  Suddenly, Adam had the outrageous thought that he could teach her to dance, if she’d let him. He didn’t know where that thought had come from, but he let go of it quickly. He didn’t even know what was wrong with her leg, or foot, or whatever the hell it was that caused her to limp and need a cane.

  Adam would acknowledge that he felt empathy and a tenderness for her. She had obviously been hurt, but pursuing a young lady for any reason was not in his plans.

  Would never be in his plans again.

  “She lives with the duke, his brother, and their sister,” Bray offered. “But for how long I don’t know.”

  “I do know she’s not without beaux,” Harrison offered. “As you would imagine, being that she’s the duke’s only unmarried niece. I think several eligible bachelors have called on her the past two Seasons. I heard that more than a handful have put pressure on the duke for her to accept their proposal. She’s refused them all.”

  “Perhaps they’ve all m
ade as big a blunder as I just did,” Adam said, grumbling more to himself than his friends.

  “I doubt that.”

  “Harrison,” Bray admonished with a roll of his eyes and a slight shake of his head.

  Harrison cleared his throat. “Sorry, Adam. I mean, I can find out more about her if you want.”

  “I don’t,” Adam said quickly. “I’m capable of asking her anything I might want to know.”

  “Fair enough. We’ll leave it up to you.”

  “Look,” Bray said, “why don’t we skip dinner here and go over to White’s for a few drinks and a game of cards and billiards?”

  “I’m staying here,” Adam said. “You two go ahead.”

  He couldn’t leave until he spoke to Miss Wright again. She aroused protective feelings in him that were unwelcome and unsettling, but he had to talk to her again. He wouldn’t allow himself to be interested in her no matter how lovely and clever she was. All he wanted to do was let her know he hadn’t meant to be so lame-headed. And he intended to find out what was wrong with her leg. Was it her hip, her knee, or her ankle that caused her problem?

  “I don’t plan to stay for brandy after the dinner, but I do plan to stay for the meal. How about you, Bray?”

  “Same here,” he said. “Unless, of course, Adam needs me to stay.”

  “Better yet,” Adam said with a rumble in his voice, “why don’t you two go home to your wives? I’m sure they need you. I just discovered that I can still get in trouble without your help.”

  “Indeed you can,” Harrison said. He tried to hide his smile again, but the quiver at the corners of his mouth betrayed him, and suddenly he and Bray were laughing out loud.

  Adam twitched a smile, too. He couldn’t stay angry with his friends. Besides, it was his fault that he hadn’t noticed Miss Wright held a cane. She must have thought him a nodcock with the way he was demanding she dance with him.

  He’d enjoyed Miss Wright’s flirting and banter, and though his body was telling him he desperately wanted to, he couldn’t pursue her.

  Chapter 6

  That deep torture may be called a hell

  When more is felt than one hath power to tell.

  —The Rape of Lucrece, 1287–88

  Katherine was mortified.

  No, she was horrified.

  No, it was worse than either of those, but she didn’t think there was an adequate word to describe just how she felt. The earl had actually asked her to dance!

  A weaker woman would have fainted, thrown herself out the window, or jumped off the balcony. All Katherine could do was sigh. Quite heavily, as she gathered her tattered wits about her and, with the aid of her simple wooden cane, walked away from Lord Greyhawke.

  She quickly melted into the crowd leaving the dance floor. Not much bothered Katherine anymore, and she couldn’t remember a time that anyone had gotten the best of her, but the earl had done just that with his simple, perfectly legitimate question.

  Long ago, she’d learned to live with her troublesome leg. After all, it had been more than twelve years since the accident and ten since she’d reinjured her leg and made it worse by falling down the stairs when she was nine. For a while she’d pitied herself, and then for a longer time she’d used it as a shield against other hurts, and on a few occasions she had been known to wear it like a badge of honor. Now it had become a part of her and she seldom thought about it. If she rose to walk, she picked up her cane first.

  Katherine was used to people staring at her, knowing it was odd for someone so young to use a cane. She’d used it every day since she was nine years old, and she’d never had anyone fail to recognize that she held it. When she’d looked up at the handsome, powerfully built gentleman standing before her, her heart had started beating so wildly that she’d thought it might burst right through her chest.

  Of course she couldn’t answer him when he first spoke to her. One, because she was mesmerized by his gorgeous brandy-colored eyes; two, because no one had ever asked her to dance before; and three, because at that moment she would have given everything she owned to have been without blemish and able to say yes to the handsome stranger.

  As they’d talked, she’d realized the persistent earl hadn’t seen her cane. He hadn’t even noticed when she’d glanced down and seen that it was hidden in the folds of her gown. When he’d first talked to her, he’d seemed distracted and perhaps a bit on edge, but after they’d conversed for a short while, he’d relaxed and seemed to enjoy their banter.

  Why couldn’t he have just come up to her and started a pleasant conversation about the music, or her uncle, or the weather? That’s what a normal gentleman would have done. But no, arrogant rogue that he was, he’d startled the daylights out of her and caused her heart to race by asking her to dance.

  And he had been devilishly brash, overconfident, and way too clever about it, too! Imagine him saying he wasn’t asking her to marry him. What kind of man said a thing like that to a young lady? Especially one he’d never been properly introduced to. Katherine sighed again. Obviously the kind of man who made her stomach tighten, her breath quicken, and her heartbeat race.

  His thick, shiny brown hair was surprisingly long for the current style. It had been neatly pulled back in a queue and tied with a thin strip of leather. Younger gentlemen seldom wore queues anymore. But it had made him look rather dashing. Exceptionally daring. And way too dangerous for her sensibilities.

  Katherine knew very little about the Earl of Greyhawke other than that he’d left London after his wife died and hadn’t returned, as far as she knew, until tonight. She’d never given the man any thought. She’d never had reason to because he hadn’t been in London since her debut. If she had thought about him, she would have expected him to be older since most of the eligible gentlemen who had been married were much older than the earl. And even though he’d surprised her greatly with his request that she dance with him, he was easily the most intriguing gentleman she’d met since her making her first appearance in Society.

  She was drawn to the strength she’d sensed inside him, and his tenacity, too. He wasn’t tentative or awkward when talking to her, as were some of the gentlemen who had tried to win her favor over the last couple of years. What had impressed her most about the earl was that he hadn’t treated her as if she were a delicate flower that might fall apart petal by petal if he said the wrong thing to her. But perhaps that was because he obviously didn’t know she held a cane.

  Dared she add the captivating earl to her list of possible husbands? Her stomach tightened at the thought. But she’d better not. Especially since he’d asked her to dance. He’d been so eager to join the quadrille, no doubt he enjoyed the pastime very much. She’d already decided to mark off all the gentlemen who loved to dance, and it was best she stay with that plan.

  “There you are,” Madeline Dormer said, sweeping up from behind Katherine, taking hold of her elbow, guiding her out of the dance floor traffic and over to a nearby wall. “Wasn’t that fine-looking gentleman you were talking to just now the mysterious Earl of Greyhawke? Of course it was. I don’t know why I’m asking something that I already know the answer to.”

  “Is he mysterious?” Katherine asked.

  “Oh my, yes, he is,” Melba Tiploft answered Katherine as she came up beside Madeline and joined them. “This is the first time he’s been in London in over two years. Two long years, I might add. How did you manage to merit a conversation with the beast, my dear?”

  “Don’t be dull, Melba,” Madeline said. “She’s the duke’s niece and this is his dinner party. That’s how she managed.”

  “The beast?” Katherine queried Melba. “Lord Greyhawke?”

  “Don’t you know?” Melba questioned, her pale blue eyes showing surprise. “I thought everyone had heard.”

  “Remember, she’s led a sheltered life,” Madeline said.

  “No, I haven’t,” Katherine argued. Even though she knew it to be true, she didn’t like hearing anyone say it.
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  “My dear friend, if you don’t know why he is called the beast, you have. But I’m happy to enlighten you. For a time after he left London he was referred to as the beast because he was so distraught after his wife died trying to have their child that he destroyed the inside of his house. Isn’t that right, Madeline?”

  “That’s what all the gossip columns said, so it must have been true. At least, most people agree there is always some truth in what the scandal sheets say. I mean, they don’t make up their news.” Madeline’s eyes turned dreamy and her voice softened. “I can’t imagine what it must be like to love someone that much, can you?”

  Katherine’s heartbeat slowed. She could. But then maybe that was because she understood uncontrollable grief. She’d loved her family that much. After they were killed and only she was left alive, there were times she felt like destroying everything in sight, too.

  But to her friends she simply whispered, “No, I hadn’t heard that about him.”

  “Oh, Katherine,” Penny Marchfield said as she sidled up beside the much taller and buxom Madeline to form a line of females in front of Katherine. “Every young lady in this room had her eyes on the Earl of Greyhawke the minute he stepped through the doorway. I’ve never heard such whispering as was going on after he appeared. And who should be the first young lady he talks to? You! Didn’t you just want to melt into a puddle?”

  “When did you meet him?” Melba continued with the conversation, her eyes filled with mocked accusation. “And why didn’t you tell us you had met him?”

  “How could you keep from telling us, is what I want to know?” Penny exclaimed.

  “But never mind that,” Melba added quickly. “You must tell us all about him. And right now.”

  “Indeed you shall,” Madeline echoed. “We won’t let you go anywhere until we’ve heard all. I’m sure the duke approves of him, yes? I mean, he must. He’s an earl!”

  Penny sighed softly. “He looks just the way I imagined a rake of the highest order to look. Tall, broad shoulders, and too dangerous for words. I think he would make all the angels in heaven swoon if he walked by them, don’t you?”