First Earl I See Tonight--A Debutante Diaries Novel

by Anna Bennett

  Damn it all. He’d never been one to refuse a dare.

  He cradled her head in his hands and slanted his mouth across hers, holding nothing back. He swallowed her soft moans and skimmed his palms down the back of her gown, over the ripe curve of her bottom, pressing her body to his. Letting her feel his arousal.

  And still she kissed him back—as though she, too, was powerless to stop it.

  He wanted to strip off every stitch of their clothing, lay her down right there in the long, fragrant grass, and take her slowly. Make love to her until she cried out in ecstasy.

  He reminded himself that she wasn’t looking for a real marriage. And he sure as hell wasn’t.

  Gradually, reluctantly, he slowed the kiss. Gently pulled back.

  Looking into her dazed eyes, he silently cursed himself. “I find myself apologizing for the second time tonight. I was carried away. Forgive me.”

  She smoothed a curl behind the ear where the flower had fallen away, then touched a slender fingertip to her swollen lips. “No. That is, there is nothing to forgive.”

  Gray doubted she’d say that if she’d been privy to the wickedness of his thoughts.

  “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “For showing me the sketch. I know it wasn’t intended for me, but it was a true gift. I’ve been so blinded by the crumbling bricks and leaky roof that I didn’t notice…”

  “The mermaid?” she asked.

  “Right.” He shot her a grin. “I didn’t see the mermaid.”

  “Now that you know she’s there,” she said saucily, “perhaps you’ll be inclined to visit her occasionally. Flowers and poetry are optional, of course.”

  “Do not fret. She’s going to have more than her share of admirers. In due time.”

  Her expression suddenly turned sober. “Unfortunately, my lord, time is a luxury she cannot afford.”

  “After the kiss we just shared, you may not address me as my lord. At least not in private. It’s Ravenport.” Impulsively, he added, “Or Gray, if you prefer. That’s what my grandmother calls me.”

  “Gray,” she said, testing it out. “It’s a fine name.”

  “As is Fiona.” His voice was gruff to his own ears. “It’s a fitting name for a mermaid … and for a beautiful woman.”

  * * *

  “I am not beautiful,” Fiona protested. She knew it with the same certainty she knew her gown was green and lemons were tart. Lily and Sophie were beautiful. Whereas she … she wasn’t unattractive. But, rather, interesting looking.

  Lord Ravenport—that is, Gray—arched a brow at her. “It seems I’m not the only one who requires a lesson in beauty. If I could draw with half your skill, I’d prove it. But you’ll have to trust me on this one. You are beautiful, Fiona.” He cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb over her lower lip. Slowly. Reverently. “Don’t ever forget it.”

  Fiona nodded, thinking it extremely unlikely she’d forget anything about that moment. For days, he’d done his best to avoid her, giving her the distinct impression that he didn’t desire her—but the kiss they’d just shared told her differently. She still reeled from the feel of his lips branding hers, his hands cupping her bottom, his heart pounding beneath her palm.

  The earl wanted her. And yet he would not agree to marry her.

  “It is gallant of you to compliment me so,” Fiona replied. “Perhaps we are more compatible than you previously thought?”

  Gray’s hand fell away from her face. “I have not changed my mind about your proposal. Although you could now force my hand, if you wished.”

  She thought about that—and was more tempted than she should have been. But she didn’t want him to marry her under duress. “I do not. Still, you cannot blame me for trying to persuade you.” Boldly, she reached around his neck and speared her fingers through his thick, longish hair.

  He half-chuckled, half-cursed under his breath. His heavy-lidded stare had her belly performing somersaults, and his gaze dropped to her lips. “I’m starting to see just how persuasive you can be, siren. I’m no better than the sailor who steers his ship toward certain doom. I confess there’s something about you I find utterly irresis—”

  “Fiona?” A worried female voice called from the direction of the terrace. “Are you out here?”

  Gads. Lily. Gray stepped away from Fiona like she’d suddenly contracted the plague.

  “Yes,” she called to her sister, beyond grateful that the thick brush and trees shielded them from Lily’s view. “I’ve been sketching the garden. That is, I was sketching. Now I’ve finished.” Wonderful—she sounded like a rambling lunatic. “Never mind, we’re coming.”

  Blast it all, had she truly said we’re? Gray pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead and shot her a pained look. Fiona’s cheeks flamed.

  After a slight pause, Lily shouted the inevitable question. “Who’s with you?”

  “It’s I—Ravenport,” Gray said smoothly. “I found your sister with her sketchbook and was just about to escort her back to the house.”

  “Oh,” Lily said thoughtfully. As if she was starting to piece together the situation. “Thank heaven you found her. I’ll let Mama know there’s no cause for worry, and I suppose we’ll all meet in the drawing room shortly?”

  “Yes,” Fiona called. “I lost track of time, but we’re on our way. I’m just going to wash up before I join you.” She was already scrambling around the rock, scooping up her pencil, the sketchbook, and her—

  Good Lord. Where was her diary? Her heart sank, and she dropped to her knees, searching frantically.

  Gray waved the journal in front of her face. “Looking for this?” He checked the cover and spine, curious.

  “Yes.” She snatched it from his hand—a bit more forcefully than she’d intended.

  He cocked an eyebrow as he helped her to her feet but didn’t press her for more information. “We’ll resume our conversation at another time.” He glanced around the clearing. “Do you have everything?”

  “I believe so.” With as much dignity as she could muster, she pulled a stray leaf from her hair and headed for the house.

  “Follow me. I’ll show you to the back entrance. From there, you can quickly make your way to your bedchamber.”

  A few minutes later, Fiona was alone in her room, splashing cool water on her cheeks. Mama wouldn’t be pleased that she was late for dinner—especially since she considered Fiona’s sketching an unladylike pursuit. There was no time to change her gown, but she repaired her hair as best she could, grabbed a delicate shawl, and donned some sparkly earrings, hoping no one noticed she still wore her traveling clothes.

  She was about to cross the threshold when she realized she’d left her journal on the bed. She dashed to the armoire, removed her valise, and tossed the diary inside. Just as she was about to stuff the bag under the bed, she remembered the blackmail note. She’d intended to reread it in the garden but never had.

  She shrugged to herself. When one was already half an hour late, what was one minute more? She plucked the journal out of her bag and opened it.…

  Only the note wasn’t there.

  She checked inside the back cover. Empty.

  Frantic, she flipped through the pages. Held the journal by the spine and shook it.

  Dear God. The blackmail letter was gone. She’d managed to lose it somewhere between the house and the garden. A wave of queasiness hit her. Lily mustn’t find it before she did.

  Fiona’s first instinct was to retrace her steps and search among the weeds and rocks in the garden until she found it. But it had grown dark, and everyone awaited her in the drawing room.

  All she could do was wait until dawn—and hope no one discovered it before then.

  Chapter 10

  On Kissing a Gentleman (Revisited)

  In a previous entry, I may have inadvertently given the impression that kissing is a rudimentary activity—one that is easily mastered.

  I feel obliged to correct the record.

  It seems kissi
ng is far more nuanced than I ever imagined. When done properly, it’s terribly improper. And wonderful.

  So much so that I now understand why otherwise sensible young maidens happily ignore a lifetime of cautionary tales …

  As it turned out, Fiona needn’t have worried that her mother would find fault with her appearance at dinner. Mama was far too distracted by the shabby condition of the dining room. It seemed she couldn’t drag her eyes away from the peeling wallpaper near the ceiling—except to stare at the mousehole in the baseboard.

  The house’s flaws presented a distinct dilemma for Mama. While she would normally find such primitive accommodations intolerable, their host was an earl. Moreover, he was the earl who was, ostensibly at least, wooing her daughter.

  Those two extenuating circumstances enabled her to forgive a multitude of sins, but her expression suggested that the less-than-than-luxurious accommodations were giving her a bit of indigestion.

  Indeed, she seemed to be struggling to follow the thread of the conversation with Lord Dunlope, a viscount seated on her left. When he inquired as to the nature of her husband’s business, Mama fumbled her fork and replied, “Oh, it was a pleasant drive indeed. Only three hours or so.”

  To his credit, the viscount nodded and continued eating his soup as though Mama’s nonsensical answer had been nothing short of illuminating.

  But the handsomely distinguished gentleman was surely judging Mama on the inside—and Fiona didn’t blame him. That evening’s dinner was the first time all the house party’s guests had been assembled, and it was only natural that all in attendance would take their measure of the others.

  Gray sat at the head of the table, of course, but Fiona didn’t dare look his way for fear she’d blush to the roots of her hair. Just the memory of his hands on her face and body had her reaching for her wine goblet. And while she couldn’t be sure, she was almost certain he was stealing glances at her. She knew from the way her skin tingled and her blood heated.

  It was a very good start to the house party—and her campaign to make him her husband.

  She might have savored the small victory if she weren’t so distressed about losing the blackmail note.

  But since there was nothing to be done about it now, Fiona spent most of the meal observing the other guests. Gray’s grandmother, the dowager countess, sat to his right, wearing an imminently elegant purple gown with a lace fichu. She’d removed the cap she’d worn earlier in the day, opting to style her hair in a smooth twist that revealed a striking swath of grey in her otherwise dark hair. The sleek silver streak, which began at her crown and wound its way to the knot at her nape, gleamed proudly in the candlelight, as though each shining strand had been earned through daring adventures and exciting exploits.

  While the countess was rather reserved during dinner, Fiona was able to reach two conclusions about her. First, that while the elderly woman watched everyone at the table with great interest, she seemed to focus on Fiona, Lily, and Sophie in particular. Second, she absolutely adored her grandson, beaming with pride every time she looked at him.

  Fiona liked the countess. Which was a very good thing, because if she was to have any hope of marrying Gray, it was clear she was going to have to win the older woman’s approval.

  Lord Dunlope, Mr. Kirby’s father, occupied the chair between the countess and Mama. The viscount was close to Mama’s age and mostly bald, but the look suited him. His mustache was longish and not at all the fashion, but he won Fiona over with his ability to remain polite and impassive in the face of Mama’s unorthodox behavior, which was often too direct for refined tastes.

  Lady Callahan, Sophie’s mother, sat on Gray’s left, wearing one of Mama’s gowns from last season. Lady Callahan had to have the robin’s-egg blue silk taken in extensively to fit her petite frame, but the color complemented her fair complexion perfectly, and she was grateful for the fine dress, given her family’s increasingly desperate financial situation. She and her husband, a baron, were pinning their hopes on advantageous matches for their daughters, but so far Sophie’s older sister hadn’t captured a gentleman’s interest. Or perhaps none had captured hers.

  In any event, it appeared more and more likely that it would be up to Sophie to save the family from the workhouse. Fiona, Lily, and Sophie all knew this, and yet none had given voice to it, for much the same reason that no one commented on Lord Callahan’s tendency to drink too much—there was nothing to be done about it, and discussing the matter only made everyone feel worse.

  Fiona was grateful that Lady Callahan and Sophie were able to join them and enjoy a few days’ respite from the worry.

  Lord Pentham, a friend of Gray’s, was seated between Lady Callahan and Sophie. Given the marquess’s expensive tailored jacket, charming manners, and solicitous nature, Fiona wondered what he and Gray could possibly have in common. Though both were handsome, Lord Pentham’s good looks belonged in formal ballrooms and proper drawing rooms, while Gray’s brand of attractiveness was primitive and wild—more suited to dark forests and windswept moors.

  But perhaps she wasn’t the most objective judge, given her recent encounter with the earl. She did wonder what Lily thought of the marquess … and whether they might enjoy a little flirtation during the house party.

  Mr. Kirby and Lily sat across the table from Fiona. He sported the fashionably tousled hair and elaborately tied neckcloth that all the young bucks favored. He kept Lily and Fiona entertained with slightly off-color tales about his and Gray’s days at Eton.

  Fiona was relieved to escape to the drawing room with the ladies after dessert, but as soon as the older women were out of earshot, Lily and Sophie bombarded her with questions.

  “Is the earl always so gruff?” Lily asked. She perched on the edge of a threadbare settee. “I thought he was rather surly at dinner.”

  “He wasn’t precisely rude,” Sophie mused, “but I had hoped he’d be more solicitous—at least toward you. Did you two have a falling-out?”

  “Not at all,” Fiona assured them. “He’s just rather reserved. Not the demonstrative sort.”

  Lily arched a dark brow, skeptical. “He wrote you a romantic poem and sent gorgeous flowers. There’s nothing subtle about that.”

  Gads. How could she forget that she’d given everyone the false impression that Gray was smitten with her? “He must be preoccupied with his hosting duties, but I take no offense.”

  Sophie frowned. “You deserve to have an attentive suitor, Fi.”

  Fiona felt the need to defend him. “He did mention that he’d like to take me for a drive in his curricle.”

  Lily sniffed. “Perhaps you should decline the invitation. Just so he’ll realize that you expect to be properly wooed.”

  Fiona nodded as though she’d take the advice under consideration. She stood by the fireplace and gazed up at a portrait hanging above the mantel. Unless she was mistaken, the subject was the dowager countess, painted when she was younger—perhaps Fiona’s age. Other walls boasted classical paintings and landscapes, but portraits of Gray’s mother and father were eerily absent … as though they’d never existed.

  “My darlings.” Mama toddled over to Fiona, Lily, and Sophie, wrapping her arms around them like a mother swan. “How are you faring?” She asked the question as if they’d survived a week in an abandoned cottage with no food. During a snowstorm.

  “We’re fine, Mama.” Fiona patted her arm.

  “That’s my sweet girl.” Her eyes welled. “Keeping a stiff upper lip, as usual. But it’s what we all must do—for now. Once you’re married to the earl, you’ll ensure that this house and the furnishings are brought up to snuff.”

  Oh dear. Mama was getting ahead of herself. “Actually, I’m not certain that he—”

  “In the meantime,” Mama continued, “we must act as though the lack of refinement doesn’t distress us in the least. If you’re able, my dears, I suggest that you appear oblivious to the water stains on the walls or the doors falling off their hinge
s or … on second thought, it’s best that we refrain from speaking of such things.” She gazed around the drawing room with obvious dismay.

  “I doubt the earl expects us to be blind to the house’s imperfections,” Fiona said. “But I agree we shouldn’t harp on them.”

  “Just think, Fi,” Lily mused. “One day, you could be a countess.”

  “It is within the realm of possibility,” Fiona conceded. “I hope that we all make excellent matches.” The problem was that Lily’s chances would evaporate if the blackmailer revealed her secret—one that even Lily was unaware of. No gentleman would court the daughter of a madam.

  Fiona thought of the extortion note. Wondered if the evening breeze was blowing it around the garden or across the lawn into the path of another guest. Pressing her fingertips to her forehead, she said, “I’m rather tired. Would it be awfully rude of me to excuse myself?”

  “Not at all.” Sophie wrapped a slender arm around Fiona’s shoulders. “I’ll walk you to your bedchamber.”

  “No, thank you,” Fiona quickly replied. “I would rather slip out quietly if you don’t mind. Would you make my apologies to the countess and your mother? I’m certain I’ll feel better after a good night’s rest.”

  “Of course,” Sophie replied. “They’ll understand—as will the gentlemen.”

  Lily gave Fiona an affectionate hug. “Go, rest. When I join you in a couple of hours, I expect you to be tucked in bed, sound asleep.”

  “Thank you for understanding.” Fiona gave Mama a peck on the cheek and rushed upstairs.

  But she had no intention of going to bed. Not while the blackmail note was still missing.

  She changed her slippers, threw a midnight blue cloak over her gown, and grabbed a lantern before making her way outside.

  She’d planned to quickly retrace her steps to the mermaid … but everything looked different and unfamiliar in the darkness. Lily would return to the room in an hour or so, and Fiona would likely need more time to conduct her search.

  So she went back to her bedchamber and concocted a new plan. She’d wait till the household was asleep before sneaking out to the garden in the wee hours of the morning.