The Dragon Earl

by Jade Lee

  "Not true!" Evelyn objected. She had been taught to think—of others, of duty, and of England. There had been moments for herself, for her education and her private thoughts. But they had come only when the others were seen to, when the crofters were supported, the servants overseen, and her myriad responsibilities fulfilled. "I will be a good countess. And you know as well as I do that that requires a great deal of discipline and intelligence."

  The woman's face softened. "Of that, I have no doubt. It is the obedience that distresses me. You are so restricted you do not even think to object." She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Evelyn's cheek. It was a tender press that was so rare from this usually cold woman. But then Evelyn began to with­draw, and the woman gripped her shoulder and held her close.

  "They are playing with your life, girl," she whispered. "Go bed my son. Run to Gretna Green and propriety be damned." Then she abruptly straightened and swept past. Evelyn was still staring in dumbfounded shock when the countess stopped at the top of the stairs and shot her a steady, almost angry look. "I shall tell everyone that you have retired to your rooms to rest undisturbed for the rest of the day. Perhaps even until morning." Her eyes blazed with fury. "Now go!"

  Evelyn didn't find Christopher for two more hours. She knew he was out looking at the renovations to the dower property. It was easy enough to slip into the stables and get a horse. Easy to ride to her bridal home. Not so easy to avoid the people who farmed her property and looked to her as the lady of the land.

  She was forced to stop and talk to every soul on the road. Each had heard of her interrupted wedding. Each offered their support and a stern condemnation of those damned foreigners invading their land. Evelyn hardly thought two monks and a boy constituted an invasion, but these were the people who tilled her land. They loved her in their own way, and she could do no less than graciously accept their support in the way of a true countess. And on the way, she also learned of three illnesses, a broken rocking chair, two boys who had come to blows, and of a cow fallen ill. Little cares, little responsibilities, but it was up to her as lady of this land to remember and address each problem as best she could. Bas­kets of food would be sent to those who were ill, and a new chair if one could be found in her attic. Even the cow would be seen to by the man in her stable who specialized in sick animals.

  By the time she made it to her future home, her face ached from smiling and her jaw burned from the way she gritted her teeth. She dismounted quickly and went in search of her fiancé. She found him sitting on a fence post and staring out across the vast farmland that would be his when they wed.

  She stood at his side in silence, waiting for him to acknowl­edge her. He did so almost absently, with a slight tick of his eyes and a dip of his chin. It was so quick, she might have imagined it. But they had been friends for years. She knew what he was doing.

  "Brooding, aren't you?"

  He shook his head. "Counting sheep, actually."

  She looked out over the plain. There had to be close to three hundred head out there. He could not expect to count them accurately from here.

  "You know you are an heiress, don't you?" he said.

  Yes, but only the crass discussed such things. "I know I have a vast number of families to care for, and they in turn give over some of their profits to me."

  "A very learned response," he said absently. "You also know that the betrothal document could be broken. If you were de­termined, if your father helped you, it could be done."

  She shifted around to lean against the fence. Near him, but not touching. "I had my Season in London. I wore pretty gowns, danced at the parties, flirted with all the gentlemen I could find. I did not find any man the match of you."

  He turned to face her, a gentle smile on his face. "My fa­ther made it clear that we were to wed. I believe he would have called out any man who dared pay court to you."

  She smiled. Yes, she knew the earl had threatened her suit­ors. But it didn't matter. "No man," she repeated, "was the match of you."

  "And what of a monk?"

  He was thinking of her kiss with Jie Ke. And here she had almost managed to forget her morning's aberration. She looked out over the plain and began counting sheep on her own. A dozen at least here. Another dozen there. "Your mother believes he is Jacob."

  Though her gaze was on the sheep, her attention re­mained on Christopher. She saw him flinch in her periph­eral vision. "Well," he finally drawled. "That is disappointing. Are you sure?"

  "Why else would she beg me to seduce you then run away to Gretna Green before it was too late?"

  This time his reaction was much more pronounced. He reared back enough to wobble on the fence post. "You're joking."

  She lifted the heavy purse from her pocket and passed it to Christopher. "That must be an entire quarter's pin money for her."

  "At least," he murmured as he weighed the bag in his hand.

  She turned back to the sheep. "She thinks the tide will re­vert to the monk. She called me too stupid to think on my own and too obedient to question the dictates of men."

  Christopher snorted, and his hand took hers in a warm grip. "You are many things, Evie. Stupid is not one of them."

  "And obedient?" She turned to face him, and kept his hand tight in hers. "Do you find me subservient, a slave to your commands?"

  He shook his head, obviously at a loss as to how to answer. "I have always found you to behave exactly how you ought. Do you feel like my servant?"

  "No," she admitted, bothered to realize that she was irrita­ble and taking out her bad humor on the one person who shared her problem. His wedding and his future had been in­terrupted just as much as her own. "So," she said, rather than try to sort through her strange mood. "Do you want to elope? Shall we make a mad dash for Scotland and be wed?"

  He arched his brow. "I hardly think it will be a mad dash. Who would try to stop us? Will the monk drag you away by your hair?"

  She laughed at that thought, because he intended it to be funny. But she couldn't deny the elemental response the im­age evoked. She knew in her heart that she had no wish to be dragged anywhere, by her hair or otherwise . . . but Jie Ke had a power about him. And she could well believe he might drag her off into the darkness to ravish her. She knew such a thing would be awful. She knew that, and yet the thought was not horrible. Truth be told, she found herself excited.

  "Let's go, Christopher. Let us off to Scotland where we can have our wedding night."

  He stood slowly, pushing off the fence post to stand tall and dashing in front of her. Normally, he remained a respectful distance away. Normally, he did not push forward until a deep breath would have them touching breast to chest. But at this moment he towered over her, and when he brushed his finger across her chin, she tilted her face and her breath quieted in her chest.

  Would he do it? Would he kiss her? Would he ravish her as she wanted to be ravished? As she needed to be ravished?

  "I adore your impetuous side, my dear. It is charming and sweet. But a countess does not act—"

  "Do not quote me platitudes about what a countess does and does not do," she snapped, wholly annoyed because he had not kissed her. "I know my responsibilities better than you."

  He sighed. "Very well then, we shall not talk of appear­ances. But a mad dash anywhere would only support your monk's ridiculous claims."

  "He is not my monk," she said as she stepped away from him. If he would not kiss her, he had no need to look down his nose at her. But he caught her arm and kept her close.

  "Let me explain what my mother clearly doesn't under­stand. This monk will never gain the tide."

  She jerked her head back to look at him. "Have you heard from London then?"

  He shook his head. "Not a word, but I don't need messages to know what will happen. Good God, can you possibly imagine Prinny—or any of the bon ton—allowing a man wearing foreign orange robes into the peerage?"

  "If he is Jacob, then the ton will have no choice."

&
nbsp; "Of course they have a choice!" he said with a laugh. "The entire situation is a choice. Let us pretend for a moment—and mind you, it is only pretend—that this monk is truly Jacob, somehow lost in China and now restored to us."

  She nodded. That was indeed the question.

  "The tide has already passed to my father. Jacob would have to be acknowledged by the House of Lords in order for the earldom to be restored to him."

  She bit her Up, seeing the sordid truth. "So the question is not whether Jie Ke is Jacob. The question is whether the peerage will acknowledge him as Jacob."

  Christopher grinned. "You see, you are smart enough to be a countess." He slowly pulled her into his arms, wrapping her in his warmth. She went reluctantly at first, but her resis­tance was short-lived. It felt good to have a man's strength surrounding her. "No one will want a Chinese monk in the English peerage. They will not question my father when he says this man is an imposter."

  She nodded against his chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart. She stood there, absorbing his calm assurance into her very bones. But in time, she grew bored with the experience. And soon after that, she felt restricted and rather crushed. She wanted to take a full breath on her own, and so she pushed away. Christopher did not release her. He held his arms rigid, iron bars that let her move only so far but no farther.

  "Christopher," she said softly, but he did not hear her. "Chris!"

  He pulled back far enough to stare down at her. "Hmmm?"

  "You're crushing my dress."

  "Oh? Sorry." He released her then, and she stepped away. It was cold without him holding her, but not so cold that she wanted to go back.

  "Jie Ke says he has no wish for the tide," she said. "He merely has to obtain it as some sort of trial before becoming a full monk."

  Christopher frowned at her. "Of course he said that. You don't believe it, do you?"

  She shook her head. "No, I don't. But he seemed sincere."

  "Accomplished liars always do."

  She looked at her hands. "He said if I helped him become English, helped him appear to win me as his bride, then his task will be complete and he can leave. Earl or not, he will go." She heard Christopher release a deep sigh. It was the sound of a man plagued by a woman's irrationality, and it annoyed her to no end. "I am merely repeating what he said to me."

  He turned to her, his gaze steady, his lips pressed into a tight, thin line of disapproval. "Some part of you believes him."

  She lifted her chin. "I do not know what to think. He could be Jacob, in which case the tide is rightfully his."

  "You wish to talk of rights? What of the rights of your tenants? Do you remember Uncle Reggie? Do you remem­ber how irresponsible he was with the tide? Crofters neg­lected, people starving, and not a thought in his head for appropriate management. Was that fair to them?"

  "Of course not! But—"

  "My father is an excellent steward."

  "I never said he wasn't."

  "And I will not neglect my duties. I have trained from birth to act responsibly, to take care of those over whom I have sway. I will not hare off to China on a whim! I will not allow the estates I manage to fall to rack and ruin. I will not—"

  "Since when has this been about you?" she cried. "I speak only of Jie Ke. And Jacob."

  "And you think he will be a good steward of his property? You think he will make a better earl than me?"

  She snorted. "Of course not. He wants to become a monk in China."

  "Then why do you come here pleading his case?"

  She stared at him, her mouth dropping open in shock. She wasn't here for Jie Ke or Jacob or anyone else. She'd come here to speak to her fiancé. She'd come to suggest they run off to Scotland so that they could begin their life together as intended. The last thing she'd wanted was to plead the monk's case to Christopher.

  All those things seethed in her thoughts, but not a word spilled from her Lips. He had already made up his mind and would hear no more, reasonable or not. She merely shook her head in disappointment. "You are right," she said with just enough sarcasm in her tone to make his eyebrow arch. "Jie Ke will not win his suit no matter who his parents are. That makes what he wants completely irrelevant."

  Christopher didn't respond. He never did when she turned waspish. He simply waited until her temper faded—or was tucked away—and they returned to their usual accord.

  But then he surprised her. He turned sideways and looked out at her sheep, his gaze scanning the vast expanse of her lands. She was watching him closely so she knew what he saw, but not what he thought. "I think you should do it," he said.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "I think you should help him. I think you should spend more time with him. Talk to him, find out about his life in the monastery, learn of his plans for the future."

  She frowned. "Are you teasing me?"

  He shook his head. "Not at all. Evie, listen to me. You are the smartest woman I know. And, if I recall correctly, you spent a great deal of time learning about every country in the world, including China."

  She nodded. She had spent many long nights proving to herself that she was smart enough to be a countess. Jacob-the-Cruel-Boy had accused her of being too stupid to hold a tide. Understanding the world his father studied so avidly had been paramount to proving herself.

  "You can gain this blackguard's trust," Christopher contin­ued. "Talk to him about China, ferret out his lies. Prove to yourself and everyone else that the man is nothing more than a clever thief."

  She grimaced to cover the excitement that quivered in her belly. "What if I discover that he is really Jacob? What then?"

  "It will not happen." His words were flat with certainty. "That man is not Jacob."

  She lifted her chin. "But let us suppose he is."

  He smiled. It wasn't a pleasant expression. It was devious, with a touch a cruelty, and it aped his father exactly. "Then I have faith that you will see the man beneath the tide. You will see that he is unfit to be an earl, and that you want him out of England as much as I do."

  "And right of patrimony be damned?"

  He shrugged. "My uncle was not a good steward of his land. That is not how God and king intended the land be run. In time, we may develop a way of deposing unfit leaders from their place, but for now . . ."

  "For now, you will be content to let Jie Ke remain a monk and nothing more." She shook her head, startled by this prac­tical and rather ruthless side to her fiancé. But she could not deny that it made sense. Many a time she had deplored the ir­responsibility of some aristocrats. How dare they take all the privilege of their name but none of the responsibilities?

  "So, my girl, will you do it? Will you expose this fraud for all of us?"

  She nodded slowly, reluctance eating at her. Her mind told her she was flirting with danger. A countess is watched even in her home. That's what he'd said just that morning. And yet heat shot through her belly at the thought of spending a great deal more time with Jie Ke. Desire burned through her in a heady rush. She wanted to explore it, and yet her entire future was at stake. Could she really wander that close to temptation when she was about to commit herself to an­other man?

  "Make love to me, Chris," she said. His eyes widened in shock, but she did not give him time to answer. Pushing her­self right up to his chest, she pressed her Lips to his. He re­sponded not as he had this morning, but with a firm pressure that quickly ended.

  "Evelyn, what has gotten into you?" His tone was tight with disapproval. In his mind, she was failing to act as a countess ought. But she did not care.

  She grabbed his lapels. She had never done anything so bold before, but panic drove her. "You want to throw me into another man's arms? Very well, Chris. I will push my familiar­ity with Jie Ke."

  "I never said—"

  "But be sure of me first, Chris. Make me your own as you would have already if those damned monks hadn't walked up the aisle at our wedding. If they had been delayed by a day or even an hour, I woul
d already be your wife."

  "Yes, I know, but—"

  She pressed her mouth to his, cutting off his words. He would have none of it, setting her back on her heels.

  "Evie!" There was no other word but that. He held her apart from him, and he searched her face as confusion filled his own.

  "That is my house," she said, gesturing backwards as best she could. "Upstairs is the bed we would have shared last night. Make me yours, Christopher. Right here, right now."

  He froze for a moment, a long eon where neither of them breathed, and then he crashed his mouth down upon hers. She opened for him as he thrust his tongue inside her mouth. He touched her in ways and places she had not experienced before. He filled her.

  Or she wanted him to fill her.

  Or she thought he ought to fill her.

  She clutched him tighter, trying to draw him closer. Weren't couples supposed to touch in other places? Shouldn't he be undressing her?

  She broke away, confused by her thoughts. "We shouldn't be out here in the open. Come inside." She tugged on his arm, pulling him forward, but he didn't move. He stood immobile, his breath coming in deep gasps.

  Shouldn't she be breathless too?

  "Chris?"

  "Not now, Evie. God help me, but when I bed you it won't be in some slapdash manner. I won't steal moments from our future." He looked at her, his eyes tortured. "You deserve better."

  "I don't want better."

  He gave her a rueful smile. "Nevertheless." He was decided. She could see it in his eyes and in his rigid stance.

  "You don't want me," she whispered, wondering why she felt a little relieved.

  "Oh, I do," he said firmly. "I most certainly do." He shifted his stance as if in pain. "If you were less innocent, you would know that."

  She was less innocent. Her gaze dropped to his crotch, and she swallowed. Perhaps he did want her. "But then . . ."

  "No, Evie. I'll take you after we are wed, as is proper." Then he took her hand. "Come on. Let's walk a bit before I take you home."