First Earl I See Tonight--A Debutante Diaries Novel

by Anna Bennett

  It was terribly risky, but she simply had to try.

  Because Fiona would never forgive herself if anyone at the house party learned the truth.

  That the woman who’d given birth to Lily and callously left her on the Hartleys’ doorstep was London’s most infamous madam.

  Chapter 11

  When Gray returned to his room that night, he poured himself a glass of brandy—his reward for socializing with guests for the better part of the evening. He’d looked for Fiona after dinner. Felt a stab of disappointment when he’d learned that she’d retired for the evening.

  Surprising, that. And dangerous.

  He still didn’t know what game she was playing, but he felt himself being charmed. By her beauty and wit, yes. But more so by her unique brand of thoughtfulness—and the unique lens through which she saw the world.

  He couldn’t afford to be distracted by her. He needed to remain focused on his goal. Restoring the Fortress to its former glory.

  Before his grandmother’s world went dark.

  Six more days. That’s all he needed to endure. Then Fiona would realize her efforts were wasted on him. She’d leave the Fortress forever and focus her attention elsewhere.

  They’d both be better off.

  But tonight, too restless and agitated to sleep, he carried his brandy out onto the small balcony outside his bedchamber that overlooked the terrace, savoring the silence and solitude.

  He leaned a hip against the iron balustrade and took in the inky starlit sky and the tree line in the distance. He let his gaze drift beyond the semicircular terrace to the garden—dark, wild, and lovely. At least through Fiona’s eyes … and now his.

  The time he’d spent with her near the fountain seemed magical and unreal—as though the mermaid had cast a potent spell over them. He felt a hint of it even now, no doubt a result of the brandy and moonlight.

  Perhaps the garden was enchanted—but it was far more likely he’d been drunk with lust.

  He smiled as he took a sip of his brandy, then froze.

  A faint light shone through the thick brush of the garden, and the leaves around it rustled. Maybe a nymph or fairy … but most likely a woman, damn it all. Specifically, Fiona.

  What the devil was she doing out there alone at this time of night? Holy hell—what if she wasn’t alone? He had no claim over her, and yet he couldn’t deny the jealousy simmering in his gut.

  In any event, it was his bloody garden, and he intended to investigate anyone who trespassed there—especially after midnight.

  He left his drink on a table and strode toward the back staircase, surprisingly eager for a rendezvous with the mermaid.

  * * *

  Fiona was fairly certain she was on the right path … but it was difficult to be sure. Untrimmed branches, wayward weeds, and undulating roots encroached on the pebbled path through the garden.

  She’d had no difficulty slipping out of the house unnoticed, but she’d left a note on her pillow for Lily. On the off chance that her sister awoke before Fiona returned, she didn’t want her to worry.

  Fiona estimated that she’d been in the garden an hour or more, and she was only about halfway to the fountain. So far, she’d found three earthworms, two toads, and one guinea. But no blackmail note.

  Her legs ached from crouching, but a bit of soreness was a small price to pay if her search was successful. She kept the hood of her cloak drawn over her head and the lantern’s flame low as she inched forward, meticulously checking under every bough and in every rock crevice.

  She was looking beneath a bush when something jumped out of the shadows, landing on the toe of her slipper. With a little cry, she started and stepped on the hem of her gown, then tumbled backward onto her bottom. She landed on a large stone just as her lantern rolled under a branch and the flame extinguished, bathing Fiona in darkness.

  Croak. Ah, toad number three. It hopped into the brush, apparently unharmed, while Fiona would surely have a bruise by morning.

  Well, at least it had not been a spider.

  Blinking back tears and muffling a curse, Fiona pushed herself to her feet and rubbed the tender spot on her backside while she waited for her eyes to adjust. As she stooped to retrieve the lantern, footsteps sounded behind her. Not the dainty sound of soft slippers gliding over pebbles. More like large hessians crushing them. Panic flooded her veins—until she heard the deep, familiar voice.

  “Out for an evening stroll?” Gray.

  Fiona whirled around to see him—or rather, his silhouette—in the faint moonlight. She’d prepared an excuse in case she was discovered outside, but for the life of her, she couldn’t recall it. Not while he was so near.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she replied. “What about you? Do you routinely patrol the grounds at midnight?”

  “No. But I’m beginning to think that I should.” He moved a step closer. “Are you all right? I thought I heard you fall.”

  “I did and I am. Fine, that is.”

  “I see,” he said, obviously skeptical. “What happened to your lantern?”

  “I dropped it when the toad landed on my slipper.”

  “You were attacked by a toad?” With a chuckle, he knelt beside her, reached into the brush, and extracted the lantern. Holding the now bent handle, he examined the metal frame in the moonlight. “Did you bring a tinderbox?”

  A chorus of crickets seemed to mock her. “Alas, I did not.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I’m here to escort you back to the house.”

  She bristled slightly. “I don’t require an escort, my lord.”

  “It’s Gray. Remember?”

  Oh, she remembered all too well. “I’m not quite ready to return to the house, but please, go on without me.”

  He snorted at that. “No chance in hell.”

  “Afraid I’ll be sacrificed to the minotaur?” she asked dryly.

  “No, but I admit the idea has some appeal.” He placed his hands on his hips. “What are you really doing out here at this time of night?” She opened her mouth to answer, but he added, “And don’t tell me you were going to draw something. Even if there was sufficient light—which there is not—you’re not carrying your sketch pad.”

  She scrambled for a plausible excuse and decided on something close to the truth. “I think I dropped something … earlier today, when we were together. I was looking for it.”

  “And you couldn’t wait until after sunrise to retrieve it?” he asked, incredulous. “It must be very important.”

  If he only knew. Shrugging, she said, “I believe I mentioned I was having difficulty sleeping. A walk usually cures my insomnia, so I thought to kill two birds.”

  Gray raked a hand through his hair. “Fine. What, exactly, are you searching for?”

  “An earring,” she blurted. Heavens. Why couldn’t she have said a bracelet or a glove—anything larger than a chestnut.

  “An earring,” he repeated. In a tone that made her feel like a simpleton.

  “One of a pair that my mother gave me. Not my stepmother, but my real mother.” Her voice cracked—not because she was that fine an actress, but because talking about her mother always gave her a lump in her throat and reminded her of all she missed. Cozy nights reading stories in front of the fire, sun-filled days wading in the creek, and laughter.

  “The odds of you finding an earring among the pebbles, leaves, and brush in the pitch black of the night are infinitesimal. You do realize that?”

  Fiona raised her chin. “Granted, the desired outcome is unlikely. That doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying for.” Maybe she wasn’t talking about earrings anymore.

  He stood frozen for several heartbeats. “I think you are more than a little mad. But if you insist on looking for your earring tonight, I will help you. I’m going to retrieve another lantern, but in the meantime, you must remain here. Don’t try to fumble around in the dark—you’ll only end up falling headfirst into a bush.”

  “You don’t need to help me,”
she said. “It’s probably a lost cause.”

  “It’s not open for debate,” he said smoothly. He reached for her hand and rubbed a thumb over the back of it. In the darkness, the simple caress felt as intimate as a kiss. Maybe more so. “If you cherish the earring so much that you’re willing to crawl through an overgrown garden looking for it, the least I can do is fend off the toads for you.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t say anything else for fear her voice would crack again. Something about the matter-of-fact way he responded had warmed her chest. And this time, it wasn’t simply desire that was to blame—it was emotion.

  Since the day she’d received the blackmail note, she’d felt so alone. There’d been no one Fiona could talk to about the shocking news, no one to share the grave responsibility for Lily’s future and her family’s well-being.

  And now Gray was there, willing to jump in and search the garden for an earring in a garden that resembled a jungle.

  Of course, Fiona couldn’t confide in him about the blackmail note, but perhaps for tonight she could pretend she had an ally and a partner. She could imagine that someone was at her side, willing to fight off demons and blackmailers. Even toads.

  And heaven knew, she needed all the time with the earl she could finagle in order to persuade him to propose. There were worse settings than moonlit gardens.

  “I’ll return within five minutes,” Gray said. “Let me take you to a bench where you can sit safely until I’m back. Unless you’d prefer to come with me?”

  “The bench will be fine, thank you.”

  He led her by the hand to a wrought-iron bench with an arched back that was nestled beneath a trellis just off the path. He set the lantern on the ground and, with his free hand, reached into his pocket for a handkerchief, which he used to dust off the seat. “You’ll be safe here.” Fiona wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.

  “I shall be on the lookout for minotaurs, in any event,” she teased as they continued to stand in front of the bench. His hand was so warm and assuring—like he’d never let any trouble befall her. But the contact was more than comforting. His touch was exhilarating, and awareness of him radiated throughout her body, a heady elixir.

  Best of all, it seemed Gray was as reluctant to let go as she was.

  But since they couldn’t stand there all night, Fiona released his hand and tucked herself into the corner of the bench. He made sure she was comfortable, pulling the sides of her cloak around her. “Are you chilled? I could leave you my jacket.”

  Fiona smiled to herself. No gentleman had ever offered her his coat, and she was tempted to accept in case it turned out to be a once-in-a-lifetime thing. “I’m warm enough. But it is gallant of you to ask.”

  He gave a curt nod and rubbed the back of his neck. “Very well. I shall return shortly.” He took three strides toward the house and turned around. “Promise me you won’t do anything foolish while I’m gone.”

  “I don’t plan to move from this spot,” she assured him.

  “That wasn’t exactly a promise, but I suppose it will have to do.” He took two steps backward before turning and jogging down the path.

  Fiona snuggled into her cloak and let the sounds of the garden soothe her frayed nerves. Perhaps the night could be salvaged after all. When Gray returned with the tinderbox, she could resume her search, ostensibly for the earring … but she’d really be looking for the note. And if Gray happened to find it first, she’d snatch it from him before he could read it and rip it to shreds. Or perhaps she’d stick it inside the lantern and let it burn to ash.

  In the meantime, she would ignore the voice in her head, which, not coincidentally, sounded remarkably similar to Miss Haywinkle’s. It was telling her that proper young ladies didn’t have assignations with men in the dead of night. And that those who dared to flout the rules would inevitably receive their due.

  One night of illicit pleasure leads to a lifetime of despair, girls. The headmistress had recited the reminder frequently and fervently—almost as though she spoke from personal experience. Ridiculous, since the thought of Miss Haywinkle succumbing to basic urges was unfathomable. In fact, Fiona would have bet her favorite pair of slippers that the headmistress completely lacked basic urges, which she would have deemed unseemly.

  Fiona shushed the voice by dwelling on the memory of Gray’s warm, large hand holding hers. She recalled the taste of his lips and the deep timbre of his voice and the sweetness of his caress. Perhaps she’d close her eyes for a few moments while she waited for him … and dream of the illicit pleasure to come.

  * * *

  “Miss Hartley?”

  Fiona jolted awake and gripped the arm of the bench, too petrified to speak. The man who approached her held a lantern in one hand—but he wasn’t Gray.

  “Forgive me if I startled you. I was sneaking a cheroot on the terrace and heard a noise out here. Are you all right?”

  “Lord Pentham?” She placed a hand over her racing heart and squinted past the glow of the lantern at the marquess, surprised that he was the cheroot-sneaking sort. Fiona’s first impression had been that he was serious and imminently proper.

  “Yes, it is I. I should have identified myself from the start,” he said apologetically. He looked around the small clearing. “Are you alone?”

  The skin on the back of Fiona’s neck prickled. “I am.” Although Gray could come traipsing down the path at any moment, making a liar out of her. “I … I needed a breath of fresh air. And then I came across this little bench.… I must have nodded off.”

  “I see.” Lord Pentham’s kindly tone didn’t completely mask his skepticism.

  “Mama would be livid with me if she knew I ventured out by myself. I would appreciate it if you’d refrain from mentioning to anyone I was here.”

  “You may count on my utmost discretion,” he said sincerely. He hesitated for a second. “I’ve no wish to intrude on your solitude, but would you mind if I joined you for a minute?”

  Fiona swallowed. Not wishing to be rude, she waved a hand at the bench seat beside her. “Of course not—although I should return to the house very soon. My sister will worry when she notices I’m gone.”

  “I understand.” The marquess set his lantern on the ground and settled himself on the bench while keeping a respectable distance. He was strikingly handsome. In fact, if he traded his tailored jacket for a flowing robe he could have passed for a golden-haired angel straight out of a classical painting. “I had planned on speaking with you at breakfast tomorrow morning, but since the opportunity has presented itself, I shall ask you now.” He paused and shuffled his feet. Unless Fiona was mistaken, Lord Pentham was nervous.

  “Ask me what?” she prodded.

  “There’s to be an archery contest tomorrow afternoon. I hope to see you there, and I wondered … if afterward … you might like to accompany me on a drive. To properly see the countryside,” he sputtered.

  Oh. It was a lovely invitation … but issued by the wrong man. “It’s very kind of you to offer, but I’m not yet certain of my plans.”

  He nodded graciously. “Perhaps another time then. Forgive me if I seem too forward. It’s just that I was talking with Ravenport earlier and he suggested that I borrow his curricle.”

  Fiona blinked. “Did he?”

  “He thought you might enjoy an outing, and I confess I jumped at the chance to spend some time in your company.”

  So, Gray thought to pawn her off on someone else. Wash his hands of her. This whole house party was probably arranged to try to divert her attention from him. “Are you and Lord Ravenport close acquaintances?”

  “We know each other from our club. But I shouldn’t have presumed to ask—”

  “Actually, I am glad you did,” she blurted.

  “You are?”

  She blew out a long breath. “I would be pleased to join you for a drive tomorrow afternoon, Lord Pentham.”

  “Why, that’s excellent,” he said, mildly surprised. “I sha
ll look forward to it. But for now, I have taken enough of your time and will leave you to enjoy the peace.”

  He stood and made a formal bow—as if they were in a brightly lit ballroom instead of a pitch-dark garden—and started to walk back toward the terrace.

  “Your lantern,” Fiona called out. “You left it here.”

  “I feel better knowing you have it,” he called back. “Good night, Miss Hartley.”

  She sat on the bench a few minutes more, contemplating her conversation with Lord Pentham and waiting to see if Gray emerged from the shadows—but he didn’t. Deflated, she picked up the lantern and followed the path all the way to the fountain, looking for the blackmail note as she went. She didn’t find it, but admittedly, she was distracted.

  If Gray was attempting to play matchmaker between Lord Pentham and her, perhaps she should let him think that he’d succeeded. Because while she knew very little about desire, she was fairly certain that Gray desired her in spite of himself.

  Maybe if he saw Fiona with the marquess, Gray would realize that he cared for her more than he’d admitted to himself.

  She desperately hoped so, because she’d started to realize something herself. She’d thought she could be content to marry anyone who met a few basic requirements. That as long as her prospective husband was titled, good-natured, and open-minded, she could make a happy life with him.

  Now she knew that wasn’t the case at all.

  The only person she could imagine marrying was Gray—and that was a dangerous thing. Because if she was going to save Lily and her family from ruin, she needed a gentleman who, unlike Gray, was actually willing to marry her and agree to her terms.

  Unfortunately, she had only seven days in which to find him—and convince him to say his vows.

  Chapter 12

  The next morning, Fiona was tempted to plead a headache and skip the archery contest. After she had been roaming the garden for half the night, her head was throbbing and she would have given her favorite parasol for a few more precious hours of sleep, but she refused to let Gray think he’d discouraged her—even if he had.