Undone by the Earl

by Elizabeth Rue

  “I heard it from a very reliable source that your brother attended and spent a great deal of time shooting.”

  “If your friend lived to tell the tale, he didn’t go shooting with Edmund. He can’t shoot.”

  He wondered though. Several weeks had passed without any news of Edmund, when he was unaccounted for in either London or Easton. But Lady Camden’s respectable gatherings were hardly Edmund’s style. If it were true, some mischievous reason must have drawn him there.

  Miss Colbrook craned her neck and stepped close to the window. “The duke is calling,” she said.

  Adrian moved to her side. And wished he hadn’t. That damned, delicious perfume.

  As she watched the duke’s carriage stop out front, a wrinkle appeared in her brow and her lips thinned.

  “You do not care for the duke?” Adrian asked.

  She shook her head. “I do like him. He is a pleasant…honorable man.”

  “Such enthusiasm,” Adrian said.

  “I simply do not believe he suits Cecelia. He is so serious and quiet.”

  Adrian frowned. Startlingly blunt, even for Miss Colbrook. Who was she to decide what was best for his sister?

  “He is the highest ranking noble around, a good man, and close to her in age.” He took a few steps away, but still the scent of roses lingered. Miss Colbrook was likely being contrary just to bother him. What could be better than Cecelia becoming a duchess? Adrian would be more than a little proud if they wed, and securing her such a grand match would more than make up for his past neglect. “And Cecelia seems quite happy with his attentions,” he added.

  “Does she?” Miss Colbrook turned from the window to look at him. He met her gaze. And immediately wished he hadn’t. After having known, however briefly, how it felt to have her look at him tenderly, he wondered if he would ever grow accustomed to the anger and disappointment in her eyes. “Perhaps you only see what you wish to see,” she added.

  What the devil was that supposed to mean?

  She spun around and swept from the study, leaving the scent of roses in her wake.

  A short time later in the drawing room, Anna leaned forward in her chair by the fire. “You play very well, Mr. Sinclair,” she said.

  Edmund Sinclair pounded the keys, sending the crystal vase and pink rose skipping across the top of the pianoforte. He grinned whenever he glanced up and saw she was watching him. He was so enthusiastic that Anna couldn’t help but smile back. When she saw Lord Wareton step into the room, her smile faded.

  Lord Wareton’s gaze swept the room. “Where are the others?”

  Mr. Sinclair stopped playing and waved his hand toward the window. “Outside. They wanted to stroll to the pond. We decided to stay behind.” He broke into another grin. “Miss Colbrook has excellent taste in music.”

  “You flatter me too much,” she said.

  “It is not flattery when it is so deserved.” Mr. Sinclair swung his legs over the stool and stood. His outfit would be the envy of any London dandy—pea-green and black, shockingly tight, and embroidered with gold on the coat cuffs and trouser seams. With the fancy clothes and the same sandy hair, Anna thought Mr. Sinclair looked a great deal like his brother had six years ago. Although even back then, Lord Wareton would never have worn such outlandish apparel. But it definitely suited Mr. Sinclair’s flamboyant personality.

  “Good God, Edmund,” Lord Wareton said, “you look horrid.”

  Mr. Sinclair smiled. “A warm welcome to you, too, brother.” Next to his younger brother’s clothes, Lord Wareton’s elegant tan coat and black trousers looked practically somber.

  “It is the latest thing.” Mr. Sinclair lifted his arms to reveal more of the embroidery. “I had it made while I was in London last month.”

  Lord Wareton scowled. “That is the most repulsive shade of green ever.”

  Anna frowned at Lord Wareton. Did he always speak so harshly to his brother?

  “I suppose that explains the bill I just received,” Lord Wareton said. “The second bill in as many weeks. For half a dozen new outfits you do not need.”

  “I do need them,” Mr. Sinclair said. Almost in unison both brothers stood taller, crossed their arms, and glared at each other. The similarity in their mannerisms was remarkable.

  “The bill included two hunting outfits,” Lord Wareton said. “Is it true you’ve actually been hunting recently, at Lady Camden’s?”

  “I may have.” Mr. Sinclair shrugged. “Or I may not have.”

  Lord Wareton shook his head. “Since when can you shoot anything? The last time I went hunting with you, you missed a pheasant that was running straight at you.”

  Mr. Sinclair sniffed. “The sun was in my eyes.”

  “It was cloudy,” Lord Wareton said.

  Mr. Sinclair frowned at him, his expression one of mild annoyance, but fiercer anger flashed in his eyes.

  “And where else have you been for the past month?” Lord Wareton said. “Creditors have been to Eastgate three times in recent weeks searching for you. A Mr. Collins also paid a visit. Apparently, he wishes to call you out for some offense you caused his wife.”

  Anna had never heard Lord Wareton sound so angry, not even when he was vexed with his aunt.

  “Indeed,” Mr. Sinclair said, “I thought that might happen. None of it is true, mind you—well, almost none of it—but I still thought it best I spend some time elsewhere.” Mr. Sinclair glanced at her and smiled apologetically. “But let us not discuss such unpleasantness now. I’m sure Miss Colbrook has no desire to hear you rant.”

  Mr. Sinclair was right, Lord Wareton was ranting.

  Mr. Sinclair strolled over and sat on the small sofa beside Anna. “Brandy, Miss Colbrook?” he asked, smiling.

  “Thank you, no.”

  Mr. Sinclair leaned forward and helped himself to some from the nearby table. He took a sip and made a sour face. “What is this, Adrian? Surely, you can afford something better? I can’t drink this for a whole month.” He quickly downed the entire glass.

  “A month?” Lord Wareton stopped before him, glaring. “I do not recall saying you could stay one night.”

  “You wouldn’t refuse your own brother?” Edmund smiled. “I’ve not seen Cecelia in ages. Is it fair to deny me a visit with her?”

  They stared at each other for a moment. Lord Wareton’s expression softened. Mr. Sinclair had apparently chosen the right leverage.

  Lord Wareton sighed. “A week—at most.” He looked as if he wanted to say more, but he kept silent. Silent and glaring. More so at his brother than at her.

  “Well, pleasant as it is to see you, dear brother…” Mr. Sinclair rolled his eyes and turned towards her. “I wonder, Miss Colbrook,” he said, smiling, “if you would do me the honor of showing me more of Wareton Manor? I saw only a glimpse of the gardens earlier today, and they looked enchanting.”

  “I would be delighted.” She smiled and stood, smoothing her blue gown. “Would you care to join us, Lord Wareton?”

  “No,” Lord Wareton said quickly. He wore a strange, pained expression, as if he were suffering from a headache. He glanced at his brother again. “Actually, yes.” He glanced back at her. “No.”

  She laughed. “Which is it?” It was quite unlike him to seem so flustered. His brother’s presence definitely had a peculiar effect on him.

  “It is no. Thank you.” Lord Wareton turned and strode from the drawing room.

  “I see Adrian is as jovial as always.” Mr. Sinclair sounded like Lord Wareton for an instant, with the same dry humor and deep timbre to his voice. Then his face brightened and the resemblance faded. “I cannot say that I am overly disappointed he won’t be joining us.” He smiled and offered her his arm.

  “I don’t blame you,” she said, taking his arm, “if he usually treats you so unkindly,”

  “Elder brother’s prerogative, I’m afraid,” he said as they stepped outside. He was slightly shorter and less muscular than Lord Wareton, with blue eyes instead of green, and t
here was a boyishness about him that made him seem at least ten years younger than Lord Wareton, rather than only five. But the biggest difference between them was how they treated her.

  Unlike Lord Wareton lately, Mr. Sinclair was charming, considerate, and flattering. Even so, when he wasn’t trying so hard to be dramatic, his gestures, phrases, and even his laugh echoed his elder brother. Anna had trouble forgetting about Lord Wareton while she showed Mr. Sinclair the gardens.

  She’d done everything to try and push away her feelings for Lord Wareton, to constantly remind herself that she should hate him for what he’d done. Yet despite her anger, thoughts of kissing him came to mind whenever she was around him. She was so obsessed that even when she’d asked him if Julia had sent a reply to her letter, she’d been distracted by how handsome his mouth was and the intense green of his eyes.

  Adrian claimed that he’d sent the letter, but so far there was no reply. Each passing day Anna grew increasingly worried Julia wouldn’t answer. What would she do then? She couldn’t simply give up. She wanted to know Julia was all right. Selfishly, she was also hoping to learn what had happened between Julia and Lord Wareton, and if it had been merely one reckless indiscretion or if their hearts were involved. She glanced at Mr. Sinclair, studying his face. What did he know, if anything, of Julia?

  He abruptly stopped walking and glanced back towards the manor. Anger flashed across his face.

  “What is wrong, Mr. Sinclair?”

  “We are being followed,” he said quietly. He began strolling again, leading her towards the center of the gardens.

  She peered back. “By whom?” She caught a glimpse of red servant’s livery through breaks in the shrubbery.

  “A footman, likely sent by my brother to watch us.”

  She frowned. “Watch us?”

  “Adrian is no doubt concerned with protecting your virtue,” he said. Bushes rustled some distance behind them, sounding as if the footman had stumbled into a hedgerow.

  Protecting her virtue? From Edmund Sinclair, who despite his flattering attentions to her, seemed about as dangerous as a kitten? If there was any man in the household who had proven a threat to female virtue, including hers, it was Lord Wareton.

  She’d heard that Mr. Sinclair had been in London with him for the season last year. What did he know of his brother’s troubles?

  “Mr. Sinclair,” she said, “are you acquainted with Sir Neville Kent?”

  “Not really.” He paused as they strolled beneath the rose arbor. “Tell me about these roses. I have never seen ones quite that shade.” He pointed to the clusters of pink-orange flowers on the canopy above them.

  “They are a French hybrid,” she said, “I do not recall the name. Are you at all familiar with Sir Neville’s family?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Perhaps you met his former ward, Miss Julia Howe, while in London?”

  Anxiety flickered in his eyes. He definitely knew about his brother and Julia.

  “Why do you ask, Miss Colbrook?” He began walking again. She would probably have to tread carefully to have any chance of learning something from him.

  “I thought that we might have a mutual acquaintance to speak of,” she said.

  He glanced at her, a brief smile lighting up his face. It seemed he knew exactly why she was asking.

  “I am afraid my acquaintance with Miss Howe was far too brief to have anything of interest to say.”

  Of course. Unconventional as he was, she didn’t really expect he would betray his own brother’s confidence. It really was none of her concern anyway, and yet she was desperate to know what had happened. She wouldn’t deceive herself as to why she cared so much.

  Yet she suspected if she was patient, Mr. Sinclair might reveal far more about the situation than his elder brother ever would.

  “You will be joining us for the concert tonight?” she asked. “I would be pleased to introduce you to our neighbors, although an introduction to Sir Neville will have to wait for another night. He is not expected to make it back from Taunton in time to attend.”

  Mr. Sinclair grinned. “I wouldn’t dream of missing it.”

  Early that evening Anna sat in her dressing gown as Sophie brushed out her hair. Anna rolled a hairpin between her fingers, the metal cool against her skin, the small red stone at the end sparkling in the candlelight. A carved wooden box lay open on the dressing table before her with a dozen identical hairpins inside. They were from her mother. She’d worn them only on Christmas and a few other special occasions, but tonight she decided she would look her best. It had been too long since she had dressed to draw attention to herself.

  Lord Wareton was right; she had been hiding. His kisses made her realize how much she was denying herself. Why shouldn’t she allow herself some happiness now? After all, Madeline would likely wed within a few years, and then Anna would be free to marry. She might as well begin looking her best. It had nothing to do with wanting to gain Lord Wareton’s attention, nothing at all.

  “Where are you off to tonight?” Sophie asked.

  “A musicale at Smithfield Park,” Anna said. Sophie pulled Anna’s auburn tresses straight and began to build the usual tight knot. “Something different, please,” Anna said. “I would like it pinned up gently.”

  “Pinned up?” Sophie let the hair slip from her fingers and stared at Anna’s reflection.

  “Yes. And these instead of the plain ones.” Anna handed Sophie a hairpin. “And perhaps you could leave a few curls down?”

  Sophie grinned. “You’ve your eye on a gentleman. Finally! Who is it, miss?”

  “I do not have my eye—”

  “It’s Mr. Sinclair, isn’t it? You can tell me. He’s a handsome one, and much more affable than his lordship, I might add. And far more dashing than Sir Neville. I am not surprised—”

  “I do not have my eye on a gentleman.”

  “Whatever you say.” Sophie shook her head, still smiling as she began to arrange Anna’s hair.

  Anna picked up a perfume bottle from the back of the dressing table and lifted the top to her nose. Jasmine. Too heavy. She chose a second, crinkling her nose at the too-sweet lilac fragrance. Usually, she used only rosewater, but tonight she wanted something different. She tried two others before settling on a light lavender scent. She dabbed it on her neck and wrists.

  “That smells pretty,” Sophie said. “I am sure the gentleman you don’t have your eye on will like it.” She finished tucking Anna’s hair into a loose chignon, and began to curl the tendrils she’d left free.

  “I’m out of practice, but I believe it looks quite lovely,” Sophie said as she finished. Sophie helped Anna put on ear bobs that she seldom wore, which were also from her mother, small teardrop rubies that hung just below her ears on thin gold chains.

  “Which gown would you like?” Sophie swung open the doors to Anna’s wardrobe.

  “One of the new ones.” Anna rose and went over to examine the dresses hanging in the back, the ones that she’d never worn from the most recent shopping expedition. She pulled out the most beautiful one, a burgundy silk gown with short, puffy sleeves and a low, square neckline.

  “I have so wanted to see you in this,” Sophie said as she took Anna’s dressing gown from her. Sophie helped Anna with her corset, and Anna slipped into the new gown. The dress fell in shimmering folds from the high waist straight to the tops of her feet. Anna pulled on long, matching gloves and matching shoes. Sophie draped a flowered shawl with burgundy satin trim around Anna’s arms.

  The maid drew her before the tall looking glass next to the dressing table. “You are a sight, miss.”

  Anna looked at her reflection. The dress was lovely, brightening her face, but the neckline was far more revealing than she was accustomed to. She almost told Sophie to help her out of the gown.

  “You look even more beautiful than you did at twenty-one,” Sophie said softly.

  Twenty-one. The last time Anna had dressed so elegantly. She f
elt queasy. It was foolish to be so nervous. She wasn’t even in London, but had to face only familiar people. At least one familiar person, however, made her more nervous than a ballroom full of London ton. Would Lord Wareton notice her new gown and hair style? But she shouldn’t care what he noticed. He was a libertine, a deceitful rake.

  Sophie smiled. “The gentlemen’s eyes will pop out of their heads when they see you.”

  Anna slipped her reticule around her wrist and headed downstairs. As she entered the drawing room, Madeline abruptly stopped playing the pianoforte.

  “Oh, Anna, you look lovely.” Madeline said. “I adore that dress on you. And what have you done with your hair?” Smiling, Madeline glanced at Mr. Sinclair and then back at Anna.

  Mr. Sinclair rose from the sofa and bowed. “You look breathtaking, Miss Colbrook.” He wore a yellow coat and breeches with a heavily-starched red and yellow striped cravat.

  “You finally took my advice.” Lady Carlton strolled away from the pianoforte where she’d been watching Madeline play. She snapped open her fan, cooling herself as she circled Anna. “What a difference a quality gown makes.” Lady Carlton seemed as if she couldn’t decide if she was pleased at the transformation.

  Footsteps echoed in the hallway between the drawing room and the gallery. A moment later Lord Wareton strode into the room. He stopped short and stared at Anna.

  Her pulse quickened as he slowly looked her over from her hair to the satin tips of her shoes. For an instant she thought his eyes widened as they had when he’d first caught sight of her under the tree at the picnic. But perhaps she’d imagined it. Now, he only stared at her with a somber expression.

  “How do you think Anna looks, Lord Wareton?” Madeline asked, breaking the silence.

  “She looks…not unpleasant.”

  Mr. Sinclair laughed. “You are fortunate you are handsome, Adrian, for you will certainly never charm the ladies with your eloquence.” He stepped closer to Anna and raised her hand to his lips. “You look enchanting, Miss Colbrook, as beautiful as a Roman goddess.”