Wedding Night With the Earl

by Amelia Grey

  “Ouch,” she whispered.

  “Ugh,” he grunted.

  And together they both whispered, “My apologies.”

  She looked around to see if her uncle or anyone else might have seen or heard their mishap, but there was so much chatter and scraping of chairs as others seated themselves that no one seemed to have noticed her head bumping the earl.

  Lord Greyhawke carefully seated himself and rubbed his chin. “Never let it be said you are soft in the head, Miss Wright.”

  A tremor of a smile threatened Katherine’s lips. She couldn’t help wondering if their meetings were destined to be a series of debacles. “And never let it be said that you can’t take one on the chin.”

  She once again placed the cane against the table between her and the earl. Something about it being there made her feel as if it were a shield to protect her from her growing attraction to him.

  “You do know our conversation earlier this evening would have been more congenial for both of us if you had simply told me you had injured your leg and couldn’t dance.”

  Katherine drew in a breath and settled her hands in her lap as she looked at the earl. The lines in his forehead and around the edges of his mouth and eyes had tightened a bit. Judging from his expression, she sensed he was a little piqued at her. For some wickedly good reason, it pleased her that she’d managed to get under his skin as he had hers. She had already surmised that he was not the kind of man anyone could easily get the best of, no matter the situation.

  “I seldom do anything the easy way, my lord.”

  “So I learned the hard way. I will keep that bit of information in the forefront of my mind for the rest of the evening,” he said, more under his breath than to her as he unfolded his napkin with a shake before laying it across his lap.

  Katherine had no qualms about placing the blame for their miscommunication squarely on his shoulders, where it rightly belonged. In a lighthearted tone she said, “I do have to admit that I was rather stunned you couldn’t see the very obvious cane in my hand.”

  He relaxed against the back of the too-small chair and folded his arms across his chest in a comfortable manner that was far too informal for a dinner party at a duke’s house. “How could I when I couldn’t take my eyes off your beautiful face?”

  Katherine’s brows drew together in disbelief, and then she relaxed and laughed lightly. “And I see I will have to keep in mind that you have no borders when it comes to flattery.”

  “I only rely on it when it’s deserved, Miss Wright.”

  “For some reason, I find I’m disinclined to believe that, my lord.”

  “It’s the truth.” One corner of his mouth lifted in an attractive half grin. “So rather than enlighten me as to your predicament, you decided to just limp away and leave me feeling about two feet tall rather than just tell me you couldn’t dance?”

  Limp away?

  No, he was more than piqued. He thought she’d duped him in some way, and he was downright annoyed. She decided to savor the moment. Clearly, he was accustomed to being in control of every situation and getting his own way. If he was uncomfortable, it served him right for missing what was before his disarming eyes. Besides, she was sure he was exaggerating; she couldn’t imagine a man of his size feeling just two feet tall, no matter the circumstance.

  Feigning concern, she said, “Two feet tall? Did you, my lord?”

  “I did and you know it,” he grumbled lightly, and picked up the glass of wine sitting in front of him. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

  She smiled sweetly to let him know she wasn’t in the least bothered by him and also to let him know it didn’t upset her that he was frustrated with her. “Should I have held up my cane and said, ‘Look at this, my lord’?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he answered. “Or a simple ‘I’ve hurt my foot’ would have helped immensely.”

  The temptation to needle him more was too great. She might as well keep the advantage while she had it. “I kept saying to myself, This man is obviously intelligent. He’s an earl. Surely he will soon figure out why I am declining his offer to dance.”

  He opened his mouth to respond, but a servant bent between them and ladled a vegetable broth into her soup bowl and then the earl’s.

  After the servant moved on, she added, “And for your information, my lord, I don’t limp.”

  He placed his glass back on the table. Amusement finally settled into his features. “Really?”

  “Yes,” she insisted, though why she’d said such an outrageous and untrue thing, she had no idea. She used a cane! Of course she had a limp. But that didn’t mean she wanted to admit it to him. “I’m positive.”

  “Hobble?” he asked cautiously.

  It was too late to back down now. Katherine shook her head. “Nor do I shuffle, stagger, or stumble.”

  “In that case, pardon me, Miss Wright. I should have said your ‘unusual gait.’ Is that better?”

  “Much,” she said pleasantly, thinking maybe it was all right that she’d made such a ridiculous statement after all. This was the liveliest conversation she could remember ever having. “And I’ll thank you to remember that.”

  “I’m not likely to forget anytime soon.”

  Feeling pleased with herself for holding her own and successfully matching wits with the handsome earl, Katherine lifted her spoon and tasted the soup. It was hot and delicious, as usual.

  From the corner of her eye, she noticed Lord Greyhawke hadn’t picked up his spoon. He was probably trying to come up with a way to get even with her. Let him try, she thought.

  She glanced over at him. “You really should taste your soup, my lord, or next you’ll be saying it’s my fault that it’s cold.”

  He chuckled, picked up his spoon, and then turned his attention to the guest on his right. The beautiful but elderly Dowager Countess of Littlehaven had asked him a question.

  Katherine quietly ate her soup while Mrs. Henshawe and Lady Littlehaven kept both her dinner partners busy. Katherine’s uncle Quillsbury was famous for his sumptuous five-course dinners, which included excellent wines and ports and didn’t take hours to be served. Having been a pampered duke for all his adult life, he had little patience for things that didn’t go his way. He wanted each course served as soon after the other as possible. Extra staff was always brought in to make sure everything went smoothly when he had a dinner party. He wanted the dining and fellowship of others, but he no longer wanted to sit around the dinner table for hours and listen to endless chatter. His guests also appreciated his attention to that detail.

  The soup bowls were gathered, and shortly thereafter a small plate of pickled beets and sweetened figs was set before her. Mrs. Henshawe, who was seated directly in front of Katherine, had managed to garner the earl’s attention away from the countess. He was politely listening to a story she was telling about a time when she traveled to Scotland and was set upon by highwaymen. The earl would alternate between looking at the lady and eating his beets and figs.

  After the plates were cleared away and Mrs. Henshawe paused to take a breath, the earl turned to Katherine and said, “I must say, Miss Wright, that course reminded me of you.”

  Candlelight sparked in his eyes, and she felt warmth emanating from him, even though his words perplexed her. Many gentlemen had commented in various ways on her beauty, her gown, and her hair, but no one had ever mentioned food.

  She wrinkled her nose at his suggestion. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been compared to food, my lord. In what way do you mean?”

  “It was beautiful to look at, as are you. One bite would be as sweet as you are. The next would be vinegary, as you can be when you don’t like what I say. Occasionally I would get a little taste of both at the same time, and that was when it was most delectable, as are you.”

  Katherine looked into his eyes and knew that he wasn’t just flattering her. He meant what he was saying. He enjoyed the fact that she had no qualms about taking him to task and that her tart
ness had not bothered him. The underlying meaning of his words spread over her like a fire-warmed blanket on a cold night and rushed heated color to her cheeks.

  To counter the way she suddenly felt, she laughed softly and said, “Your compliments never stop, do they, my lord. Still, I’m glad to know you are enjoying the food.”

  “I’m quite pleased with the food and the company, Miss Wright.”

  And so was she.

  Katherine picked up her wine, sipped, and thought on what he’d said while the servant cleared away their plates.

  “What happened to your leg?” Lord Greyhawke asked as the servant moved on.

  Katherine replaced her glass, picked up the starched white napkin, and dabbed at one corner of her mouth. “An accident,” she said, not allowing her gaze to meet his.

  “What kind?”

  “Carriage,” she said, fixing her gaze on the flickering flame of the candle in front of her.

  “Was it recently?”

  “No.”

  Suddenly, she was the one who was uncomfortable. She knew people wondered about her injury. It was natural to be curious, but the earl was the first person in quite some time to be brave enough to query her about it. Once again reminding her he was not a gentleman she could take lightly in any conversation.

  “Was it a long time ago?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you a child?”

  “Yes.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Seven.”

  “Your answers are short,” he said in a sympathetic tone.

  She remained quiet, staring at the light glimmering off the wineglass.

  “And you aren’t looking at me,” he added in a low tone. “Does it still upset you to talk about it?”

  “Yes,” she answered truthfully.

  How could it not?

  Her entire family was killed. Her father. Her mother and the baby she was expecting. Her two older sisters and her brother. All gone from her life in an instant.

  “It’s been over twelve years now,” she said. “I know it should no longer bother me, but there are times I remember every detail of it as clearly as if it had been yesterday, and I just have to banish them from my mind.”

  “I can understand that,” he said softly. “How did it happen?”

  Before she could answer, a servant placed a piece of baked white fish surrounded by five delicate oysters in front of her. The connection she’d momentarily felt with him was broken. He was probing but gentle. For an instant, she’d actually wanted to answer his question.

  Katherine inhaled deeply and then turned to look at him, wondering why she had opened up to him and said anything at all. She never spoke about the accident or her family to anyone. Long ago, she’d discovered that if she didn’t talk about her family, if she didn’t try to remember them, it didn’t hurt so badly.

  “Lord Greyhawke,” she said, adding more censure to her voice than she had intended, “do you want me asking personal questions about your past?”

  His brows flew up defensively and he shifted in the chair. Even though he was obviously taken aback by her question, he answered calmly, “No, I can’t say I do.”

  “And neither do I want you asking me.” She picked up her fork and cut into the steaming fish.

  “I get the distinct impression that you enjoy giving me information a little at a time.”

  “You would be wrong.”

  They ate in silence for a short time, but finally he said, “You think I was intruding and prying?”

  “Prying?” she repeated. She saw no cruelty or eagerness for gossip in his expression; still, she buffered her words by saying, “Perhaps. Or maybe you’re just as curious as the next person as to why an otherwise very strong and healthy young lady must use a cane to walk.”

  “You certainly haven’t let it undermine your self-confidence.”

  Just as she was getting ready to tell herself the earl was an arrogant man, caring only about what he wanted and not worth her time, he surprised her. This time by giving her guarded approval. She remained quiet but gave him a hint of a smile before lifting a forkful of the fish into her mouth.

  “Was it broken?” Lord Greyhawke asked, scooping two oysters onto his fork.

  Twice. She could have told him, but she didn’t like to talk about her injury. When she’d finally healed after the second break, she’d never again let her leg hamper her daily life except for the fact that she couldn’t run, or skip, or dance like other young ladies. And, well, she had to take her time going up or down the stairs, too. But with the aid of her trusty cane, she could walk. She could even carry a cup of tea from the buffet to the breakfast table without spilling a drop.

  She swallowed and turned to face him with an incredulous stare. “Did I not just say I don’t want to talk about my past?”

  “That was when we were discussing the accident,” he answered innocently. “I was talking about your leg just now.”

  He was unbelievable. “They are one and the same and you know it. Or almost, anyway. You are quite incorrigible.”

  “I’m interested,” he corrected.

  In me or my injury? she started to ask, then thought better of it before the provoking words tumbled from her lips and instead returned her attention to her food. The scent of poached fish rose from the plate, and she thought, Two more courses and then I will be free of the persistent earl with his probing questions.

  For a short time they ate in silence. She asked her uncle if he was enjoying his dinner. He smiled and nodded. The earl talked to the countess and Mrs. Henshawe again. The empty plates were removed and replaced with a thick slice of venison smothered in a dark onion gravy. After her first bite, she watched Lord Greyhawke cut into his meat with gusto. She liked the strength she saw in his hands as he worked his knife and fork and that he had such a healthy appetite.

  She had hardly eaten three bites before his plate was clean. She’d never seen either of her uncles or any other gentleman enjoy a carving of meat as much as the earl seemed to.

  She laid her knife and fork aside and said, “You ate as if you were starving, my lord.”

  He wiped his mouth and smiled sheepishly. “For food like that, Miss Wright, I was. That was the best meal I’ve had since I left London over two years ago. I hope you will pardon my lack of manners.”

  “I don’t know why, but I rather liked watching you enjoy your food so much.”

  He looked down at her plate. “You’ve hardly touched yours.”

  “It’s usually the case, I’m afraid. By the time I’ve had the soup, vegetable, fruit, and fish, I have little room for the main course of the evening and dessert.”

  He nodded. “And what is the dessert tonight?” he asked.

  “Bread-and-fig pudding.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  She looked down at her plate and without thinking asked, “Would you like to finish mine?”

  His brows rose in anticipation. “Would it be acceptable to switch plates at your uncle’s dinner party?”

  She pursed her lips. “No, of course not. I don’t even know why I offered. It was such a strange thing for me to do.”

  Lord Greyhawke looked around the table. “Everyone is engaged in conversation,” he said, a hint of mischief lacing his tone. “I don’t think anyone would see us.”

  As far as Katherine knew, she had never disgraced herself at her uncle’s table, but before she had the good sense to rescind her initial offer to the earl, she answered, “Then let’s do it.”

  They lifted their plates at the same time. She took hold of his plate first, he released it, and all went well with the exchange; but when he grasped her plate, his fingers landed on top of hers. They both froze with the plate held between them. At his touch, Katherine’s pulse quickened, her breasts tightened, and her skin tingled. The unexpected warmth of his hand on hers filled her with a breathless fluttering in her throat. She tried to look away from him, but it was as if something held her sp
ellbound and looking into his fathomless gaze.

  She sensed he was as surprised as she by whatever it was that happened between them from their accidental touch. Finally, he slipped the plate out of her grasp, letting his fingers slide lazily down hers as he did.

  When she looked up, she saw that Mrs. Henshawe stared openmouthed and wide-eyed at her. A quick glance at her uncle told the same story. And she had no doubt that if she looked at the Dowager Countess of Littlehaven, she would see the same horror-stricken expression at such unacceptable social behavior.

  Trying to hide the flush creeping into her cheeks, Katherine picked up her napkin and gently coughed into it while Lord Greyhawke did the sensible thing and settled for a drink of his wine. But their condemnation from the onlookers was not the reason Katherine’s cheeks were burning. It was the realization of what had just happened between her and the earl. What she’d seen in Lord Greyhawke’s eyes was his desire for her, and what she’d felt from his touch was her desire for him.

  What in heaven’s name was she going to do? She was attracted to the earl they called the beast.

  Chapter 8

  And weighest thy words before thou givest them breath.

  —Othello, act 3, scene 3

  “Good night,” Katherine called, and waved to Penny as she climbed into the carriage.

  “Was that the last of our guests?” Aunt Leola asked as she and Katherine stood at the bottom of the front steps.

  “Ours, yes,” Katherine said, looking across the street. “Uncle Quillsbury’s, no. I count three carriages waiting and probably one or two more that we can’t see from here because of the hedge.”

  “No doubt the duke will be ready for bed and shoo them all out within an hour, but we won’t worry about him. Let’s go inside and you can tell me all about your evening sitting beside the infamous Earl of Greyhawke. You know, I only heard this morning that he was back in London. I have no idea how long he’s been here, but I rushed an invitation over to his house, never expecting him to respond to such a late request. To my surprise, he immediately sent back a note accepting.”