Undone by the Earl

by Elizabeth Rue

  She realized it was the second time he’d come to her rescue recently. First at the ball, saving her from Mrs. Lutton’s company, and now this.

  “Thank you for the blanket,” she said.

  He nodded, still not looking at her. “It looks as if the rain may let up shortly.” The patter of raindrops immediately grew dramatically louder, and he frowned. “Shall we wait a few moments to see if it stops before I escort you back to the carriage?”

  “Yes.” She regretted her answer immediately. She didn’t know how long she could remain with him in such stifling awkwardness. Perhaps he wasn’t as uncomfortable as she was, and perhaps he wasn’t thinking of their kiss at the ball. But then why was he trying so hard not to look at her?

  “Not too long,” he said, finally glancing at her, a hint of a smile softening his face, “or Sir Neville may come looking for us.”

  “He should not,” she said, eager to fill the uneasy wait with conversation. “With his leg, he probably shouldn’t have walked down the hill once today, never mind again and in the rain.”

  He jammed his hat back on his head. “Your concern for him is admirable.” His voice was clipped.

  “You and Sir Neville do not like each other,” she said. “Why?”

  The blunt question clearly caught him off guard. “I...do not know him well enough to dislike him,” he said stiffly. She could see from the resolve in his eyes that he probably wouldn’t answer her question, at least not directly.

  “I saw you arguing with him earlier,” she said. “What were you talking about?”

  “You can guess well enough what we were discussing,” he said. “You.”

  He leaned away, as if he were afraid of being too close to her. Yet the shelter of the tree was so small that he was still disturbingly near. Close enough that she could see the faint lines around his eyes as he frowned and smell the damp wool of his coat.

  “Sir Neville is my friend and wishes to protect my reputation,” she said. “No doubt because of what he saw at the ball, he fears that you might take advantage of me. Any gentleman would—”

  “It is because he wants to marry you.” The stiff, restrained expression he wore around her lately gave way to one of annoyance.

  “He told you this?” she asked.

  “It is obvious.” He rested one arm against the tree trunk. “He pays no particular attention to any other woman, only you.” He glanced away and idly traced a finger along a line in the bark. “Why do you seem reluctant to accept the idea?”

  She could hardly keep her mind on Sir Neville. She stared at Lord Wareton’s hand on the tree and recalled the pleasure of his touch the night of the ball. How would it feel to have his touch elsewhere on her body? She twisted the blanket around her fingers, trying to force away such wicked thoughts.

  “Because it would be foolish for a man of Sir Neville’s situation to marry me,” she said.

  “Indeed.” He straightened and crossed his arms. “And yet, in his position, he can afford to be imprudent.”

  Anger flared in her for a moment, then quickly faded. Why should she feel bitter towards him for speaking sensibly, for holding an opinion that merely reflected the truth of his upbringing and his position? Even she acknowledged it would be a poor match for Sir Neville, so why did it anger her that Lord Wareton agreed so heartily?

  “I intended no offense,” he added, glancing at her, his voice softer. “Only that the right woman can cause any man to act rashly, even when it comes to something as important as marriage.”

  “Not you, however,” she said.

  “No.” He smiled grimly. “I am not free to behave with such recklessness.” Of course, he intended to marry Lady Stratford or another lady of equally high birth. As he should. She glanced away, trying to hide her senseless disappointment.

  As if the one kiss they shared meant anything, even if they suited each other—which they clearly didn’t. And as if the fact that her father was in trade didn’t make her utterly beneath a man of Lord Wareton’s illustrious rank. He was an earl, for heaven’s sake.

  “At least,” he added, shifting closer to her, “I cannot be reckless in whom I choose to marry.”

  The suggestion in his words sent her heart racing.

  His gaze swept from her eyes to her lips and chest before returning to her mouth. He clearly wanted to kiss her again. And despite knowing nothing honorable could come of it, despite her awareness that to him it was probably only a game, she still wanted him to.

  She looked at his handsome mouth, down across his firm jaw, to his broad chest. His wet shirt revealed a shadow of dark hair. How would it feel to run her fingers across his skin and against the soft hair beneath his shirt?

  He stepped even closer. “Lately I, too, have been tempted to recklessness,” he said softly. He lifted a hand to her cheek and caressed her face with his fingertips, tracing the curve of her chin, pausing as he brushed her lips. “Ever since the night of the ball, I have wanted to steal another kiss.”

  She stared at him, unmoving, unable to speak.

  “Why do you not run away from me?” he asked softly. His collar and cravat were loose from the rain. The pulse in his neck seemed abnormally fast.

  “I do not wish to,” she whispered.

  He smiled. The egotistical devil. He knew that he captivated her.

  He continued to stare at her, caressing her cheek.

  “You are beautiful, you know,” he murmured. His breath warmed her face as he gazed down at her, his mouth inches from hers. The wind shifted and spattered rain onto her face and her lips. He slowly brushed the drops away, his thumb lingering on her mouth.

  Then he tugged the blanket open and dragged her into his arms.

  He kissed her.

  The quilt slid from her shoulders and pooled at her hips, held there by the crush of their bodies. He slid one arm around her, pulling her tighter against him, while with his other hand he slipped his fingers beneath her bonnet.

  She’d dreamed of kissing him again, but this was nothing like she imagined—it was both more wonderful and more frightening. Her body responded to him quickly, to the warm press of his broad chest, the clinging dampness of their mingling clothes, and the delicious warmth of his mouth.

  This time she returned his kisses, slowly moving her hands up his arms and wrapping her fingers around his shoulders, grasping at his damp coat. She moved her hands higher, tentatively drawing her fingers over the smooth skin of his neck, across the roughness of his cheeks, until she brushed her fingertips against his soft hair. She parted her lips, allowing him to deepen the kiss, until she could taste the faint sweetness of apples and brandy from the picnic that clung to his mouth.

  They kissed.

  They kissed and the rain roared around them, so loudly that they didn’t hear Sir Neville until he was nearly upon them. They separated just as Sir Neville stumbled underneath the tree, spraying them with water as the branches snapped back behind him.

  They stood only a few paces apart, and if Lord Wareton’s guilty expression was any indication, the kiss they’d just shared was likely evident in her face as well.

  Sir Neville stared at them a moment, water dripping from his dark hat. “I have brought you a parasol, Miss Colbrook,” he said slowly, frowning.

  Lord Wareton stepped further away from her. He leaned against the broad trunk and crossed his arms, stone-faced, gazing at Sir Neville as if nothing unusual just occurred, and it was perfectly normal to find them standing so close. There was a challenge in Lord Wareton’s eyes as he and Sir Neville stared at one another. Sir Neville’s expression was one of blatant hostility and challenge met.

  “Thank you, Sir Neville,” she said, forcing a smile, “you are very thoughtful. But you should not have come so far with your leg—”

  “You should not remain here in the cold in wet clothes,” Sir Neville said. “You could fall ill.” He glared at Lord Wareton. “Someone must be mindful of what is best for you.”

  “You are too
kind,” she said quickly. “Would you escort me back to the carriage now?”

  Her mind was spinning.

  Lord Wareton had kissed her again, despite apparently intending to wed Lady Stratford. What did it mean? Would he try to seduce her and then see her married to another, a gentleman more suitable for her position? He couldn’t make her his mistress even if he wished to, even if she was mad enough to accept. Their family connection made it unthinkable. They should never have allowed anything to happen. They were behaving selfishly, dishonorably.

  “You will be forced to walk slowly with me,” Sir Neville said, tapping his walking stick, “and become more soaked. Perhaps Lord Wareton will help you back to the carriage since I am incapable of hurrying.” He glared at Lord Wareton.

  “I am already drenched,” she said quietly. “I welcome your help.”

  “As you wish.” Sir Neville snapped open the parasol and held it over her. “I can at least ensure you do not slip and come to harm.” He scowled at Lord Wareton again.

  Together she and Sir Neville stepped to the edge of the tree. Sir Neville pushed the branches out of her way with his walking stick. Lord Wareton followed behind them.

  Sir Neville paused before they left the shelter of the willow. “Miss Colbrook, would you do me the honor of joining me for a carriage ride tomorrow morning? There is an important matter I wish to discuss with you.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  An important matter?

  She felt a chill that had nothing to do with the rain. Was Sir Neville going to ask her to marry him? And if he did, should she accept, if only to escape Lord Wareton and save herself from ruin?

  “We shall not have dinner at Highton Park tomorrow,” Adrian said.

  “You are being unreasonable,” Lady Carlton said from beside him in the carriage. “We must go.”

  “We are attending the ball later this week,” he said. “And we picnicked there today. That is enough time spent there for one week.”

  He was grateful for the rain that had finally put an end to what—with one exceptional, far too delicious moment—was surely the most miserable picnic in history. Unfortunately, the rain also meant that he chose to return to Wareton in the carriage rather than ride. Now he regretted that decision. Being drenched through might be preferable to enduring the ladies’ displeasure, not to mention having to look at Anna after what had happened. He was already nearly soaked anyway. His breeches stuck to his legs, and his coat sleeves and shirt were cold and damp.

  The flooded roads forced them to drive slowly, drawing out what was normally a quick journey. Cecelia and Madeline both pouted, staring out the window nearest them despite the film of raindrops, looking as if he’d just announced they weren’t going anywhere for a year, rather than missing one dinner.

  Anna sat beside them wrapped in a blanket. She stared straight ahead, frowning. Her eyes matched the blue flowers on the fabric tucked beneath her chin. He recalled vividly how she looked under the willow, her white dress clinging to her chest and hips in a way that had made him forget everything else. It wasn’t an image he would ever forget.

  Fool that he was, he’d kissed her again. And it had been far more maddening than the first kiss because this time she’d responded. She’d kissed him with such longing, such sweet innocence, and such long-stifled passion that, had they carried on much longer, he would have been ready to take her right there against the tree or on the muddy ground.

  His aunt’s sharp voice interrupted his thoughts. “I already told Sir Neville that we would attend,” Lady Carlton said. “We cannot refuse now without offending him. To do so would be foolish anyway.” Lady Carlton leaned closer to him. She’d escaped the worst of the downpour, but the swansdown trim on her walking dress was damp enough that she smelled faintly like a duck pond. He shifted away. “He might not be the most appropriate match for anyone here,” she added, “but he is a close friend to several eligible gentlemen, including the duke.”

  “Sir Neville is honorable, wealthy, and a hero,” Madeline said. “He would be a fine husband for any woman of any rank.”

  “Let us be realistic, dear,” Lady Carlton said. “No matter how many carriages full of people he saved from ruffians, nothing would make him suitable to marry into the upper ranks of the nobility. He would be aiming too high were he to court you or Cecelia.” Lady Carlton glanced at Anna and added quietly, “Now I believe he may be aiming too low.”

  Anna ignored her, her gaze focused straight ahead. Madeline bit her lip, frowning. Adrian resisted the urge to unlatch the carriage door and give his aunt a hearty shove.

  “At any rate,” Lady Carlton continued, “we simply must have dinner there tomorrow.”

  They would likely be celebrating Miss Colbrook and Sir Neville’s engagement by tomorrow. It was exactly what Adrian would have wished when he first arrived at Wareton. He should be relieved.

  Instead, the idea twisted his stomach into knots.

  “Very well,” he said, his mood dropping even further. “You may attend without me.” The carriage lurched and a spatter of raindrops pelted the window.

  “Attend without you?” Lady Carlton’s gaze darted from him to Miss Colbrook. Her lips thinned. “If your duty to your sister and cousins is not enough to sway you, Lady Stratford has also been invited. Perhaps that will change your mind?”

  “No,” he said, “and I shall not discuss it any further.”

  “But Adrian—”

  “I said I shall not discuss it.” His expression and tone must have been fierce because his aunt actually fell silent. She mumbled something under her breath and busied herself smoothing Cecelia’s pelisse.

  Adrian stared out the window.

  Sir Neville would propose to Miss Colbrook tomorrow.

  When Sir Neville had caught them under the tree, there was a near desperation, a struggle between anger and faltering hope in his manner. He obviously suspected what had happened, and if he wanted Miss Colbrook, he would try to convince her to marry him soon. If Sir Neville did ask for her hand, it would be an exceptional marriage offer, and if she had the least bit of sense, she would accept.

  He had no right to be jealous. It wasn’t as if he could offer her as much as Sir Neville. He could give her nothing—not the honor of marriage or even the protection afforded a mistress. His position came with great responsibilities, and one of his most important duties was to marry well. He must choose a wife of high status who would add to his family’s wealth and influence. To wed a woman of limited means whose father wasn’t even a gentleman would be scandalous and reprehensibly selfish.

  In the past, he’d been scandalous and selfish, but now he was a changed man. He refused to fail in his duties again.

  The best he could do for Miss Colbrook was to see her married to Sir Neville, and the best he could do for his family was to marry Lady Stratford. He could make her a countess, and she could make his family even more wealthy. Lady Stratford and he would suit each other far better than Miss Colbrook and he ever could.

  Jane Stratford. Beautiful and amusing as she was, he found it increasingly difficult to keep his attention on her, especially when Miss Colbrook was present. Though he tried not to even look at Miss Colbrook, he still heard every word she said to others, was aware of her every move, and was constantly battling sinful thoughts about her.

  He suspected Lady Stratford had noticed he was distracted. She’d questioned him about Miss Colbrook rather strangely earlier, during a moment of privacy. What were Miss Colbrook’s marriage prospects? Why was she still unwed? Only minutes ago, when he leaned into Lady Stratford’s carriage to say goodbye, she’d commented wryly on what a disappointment the rain was. The gleam in her eye told him that she hadn’t missed him gaping at Miss Colbrook as they returned to the carriages. He was only human. A man would have to be dead not to notice her in a pale, wet dress.

  The thought of kissing her again sent heat through his body and an immediately response in his loins.

  His
lack of control was pathetic. He’d been so long without a woman that he was being driven mad by kisses—very delicious kisses, true—but kisses from a woman who was unsuitable for him in nearly every way.

  And he was behaving as recklessly as he had five years ago, kissing a woman without any thought to the consequences. Yet even back then, would he have been so foolish as to try to seduce his cousin’s stepsister and a member of his own household?

  If the woman were Miss Colbrook, he likely would have.

  The irony of his situation didn’t escape him. Now that he was reformed, now that he could no longer behave as he wished, he was suddenly infatuated with a woman forbidden to him.

  He glanced at her again. The blanket concealed her well, all except for one calf, clearly outlined against her soaked skirt. How he would like to raise that wet skirt and bare her legs. And do a hundred other, far more wicked things to her.

  He forced himself to look away.

  He couldn’t risk such a scene again. It would ruin everything. The honor and duty he’d built his existence around could be shattered by another indiscretion. The stakes were too high for such a gamble.

  Adrian stole one last glance at her as the carriage slowed before the entrance of Wareton. She shifted in her seat, sinking deeper against the cushions, and pulling the blanket higher over her shoulders. Her bonnet cast her eyes in shadow. He could see only her smooth chin and full mouth above the crumpled and rain-spattered satin bow. Even cold, her lips looked soft and pink, more tempting to him at that moment than a warm fire and dry clothes.

  She tilted her head slightly, revealing her entire face in the gray afternoon light, meeting his gaze in silence. He allowed himself to look into her blue eyes for one long moment, to savor the sweep of her dark lashes below her delicate brows. Even as his body responded to her beauty, he knew he must overcome this attraction. He had no choice.

  As the carriage slowed again, he tore his gaze from her and stared out at the gray walls of Wareton Manor, darkened with rain. He had no choice because, without abandoning the very honor and duty that had saved his miserable soul, he could never have her.