Undone by the Earl

by Elizabeth Rue

  Anna tumbled onto the slope and skidded downward, clutching at the dirt and grass as she tried in vain to stop.

  When she finally landed at the bottom of the hill, she twisted her left ankle. Stunned, she lay still for a moment, listening to Mr. Sinclair curse as he stumbled down the embankment after her.

  She sat up and straightened her now dirty gown. Her bonnet was gone, and her hair was half-fallen from its chignon. Footsteps pounded on the slope above them as Mr. Sinclair staggered to her side.

  “I am so sorry,” he said. “I tried, but I could not keep you from falling.” He leaned towards her, offering her a hand up. Then he suddenly jerked backward. A shadowy figure had shoved him away.

  Lord Wareton knelt beside her. He cradled her shoulder with one hand and gently held her head with the other.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked softly.

  “I do not think so.” She wiggled her foot. “I twisted my ankle, but otherwise it seems fine.”

  “Good.” He carefully released her, stood, and turned to his brother.

  “Damn you, Edmund.” Lord Wareton’s voice was fearsome. “I should thrash you within an inch of your life.”

  Mr. Sinclair rubbed his arm where his brother had shoved him. “Adrian, let me explain—”

  “Not another word,” Lord Wareton growled. “We will discuss this tomorrow.”

  “Adrian—”

  “Leave. Or I swear, I’ll—”

  “I am injured—”

  “You are foxed. And you’ve let a lady come to harm. Leave. Now.” Lord Wareton stepped closer to his brother and curled his hands into fists.

  Muttering under his breath, Mr. Sinclair turned, paused to retrieve his flask from a nearby patch of grass, and limped away.

  “What in blazes is this?” Lord Wareton leaned down and grabbed his brother’s pistol. He stared at it a moment then shoved the gun into his own coat, cursing the entire time. “Bloody, bloody imbecile.” He turned back to Anna. “Idiotic bastard.”

  She stared up at him like a fool, her mouth open.

  Lie, even risk his own life, to protect his brother…

  “My apologies,” he grumbled as he knelt beside her again. He thought she was shocked at his language. He slid one arm around her back and another beneath her knees.

  “I can walk,” she whispered, finding her voice again. He ignored her, lifted her up, and carried her toward the house.

  “Do not blame your brother for my fall,” she said. “It was my fault. I stepped back without looking, and I slipped. He tried to catch me.”

  He stopped walking. “Why were you stepping backwards without looking?”

  “He startled me, and I stepped back and lost my footing.”

  “How did he startle you?” His breath was warm on her cheek.

  “He was standing on the bench. He was foxed...” And insulting you at the top of his lungs, she added silently. “Did you not hear his shouting?”

  “Yes, I heard it, and likely half of Somerset heard it. Unintelligible nonsense, like most of what he utters.” He held her tighter. “I’d sooner believe that you fell trying to escape his advances—”

  “No, he made no advances.”

  “Why should I believe you? You wouldn’t be the first foolish woman to defend him, and he’s been fawning over you since his arrival.” He leaned closer as he held her, until his face was only inches from hers. “You even smell like his horrid cologne.”

  “He made no advances because you were not here.”

  “What?” He peered down at her. “Are you foxed as well?”

  “He flirts with me only to annoy you.”

  “You are foxed.”

  “He wants your attention. Likely why he acts as he does about many things. Do you not see that?”

  He said nothing, only frowned at her for a moment, then he began to stride towards the house again. He followed the long, gradual slope that led to the bench where she and Mr. Sinclair had been moments before.

  “I understand your brother much better now,” she said. “And you.”

  “God help us,” he muttered.

  Even carrying her this distance, he seemed to barely exert himself. Likely, he would carry her all the way to the house if she permitted him. Yet once inside, she might have little chance to speak with him alone.

  “You cannot carry me inside like this,” she said quickly. “The servants might talk.”

  He paused. “As you wish.” He brought her to the bench. His hand brushed the back of her legs as he set her down.

  He held her gently by the shoulders as he steadied her. “How do you feel?” he asked.

  How did she feel? Her hands stung, her neck ached, her ankle burned, and in the morning she would likely be covered in bruises.

  She’d never felt so wonderful in her whole life.

  She reached out, grasped the sides of his face, and kissed him.

  14

  “What the devil are you doing?” Lord Wareton said hoarsely, stepping away from her.

  She rose and moved closer to him, ignoring the pain in her ankle. She wanted to kiss him again. To apologize for all the harsh words she’d said. To have him hold her again.

  “I know it was your brother who ruined Julia,” she said, “not you.”

  He stared at her, his silence confirming her words. Not that she had any doubt at this point. It all made perfect sense. It wasn’t just that she wished him to be innocent. He was. He was as he’d said, truly reformed. He was everything she’d hoped.

  “He told me you took the blame for him,” she said. “You no longer need to lie.”

  He crossed his arms, but his shoulders relaxed and much of the tension seemed to leave his body. He appeared worried but at the same time relieved.

  “Tell me what really happened,” she said.

  He began to pace back and forth before the bench, his boots whispering against the grass. After a moment, he stopped before her. “You cannot tell anyone,” he said quietly.

  “I won’t,” she said.

  He let out a long sigh. “Julia Howe came to my townhouse one afternoon in London. She told me she was increasing and that Edmund was responsible. She said that she had told Sir Neville and now he would be forced to challenge Edmund.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Apparently, Sir Neville was about to send her away that day, but she’d run off to my townhouse instead.”

  “Your brother was there?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And he refused to marry her?”

  He nodded. “I tried to persuade him to do the honorable thing, but he refused. After denying that he’d touched her, he stormed off, but I knew he was lying.” He lowered himself onto the bench and rested his arms on his knees. “This was only weeks after I learned that he’d seduced another woman while I was in the army. He’d denied ruining her at first as well. He only admitted his guilt when several people confirmed seeing them…in a compromising situation.”

  She sat beside him. “Miss Carpenter?” The other mysterious account entry.

  “Yes.” He straightened. “So I offered to support Miss Howe, to arrange for her to live comfortably somewhere no one would know her.”

  “And she agreed?”

  “Not at first,” he said, shaking his head. “She was near hysterical, and so angry and distraught that she seemed to want Sir Neville to shoot Edmund. Not that I blamed her,” he added dryly. “But I finally convinced her that my offer was her best option. Sir Neville was furious with her and planned to send her away to a situation far less comfortable that what I offered. So we reached an understanding, and I immediately made arrangements to have her taken away and cared for.”

  “And Sir Neville?”

  “I went to see him that evening. To let him know the arrangements I had made for Miss Howe, and, I hoped, to prevent him from challenging Edmund. He was clearly shocked to see me. And confused. Even more so when I told him that I had ruined Miss Howe, and not Edmund.”

  “But he
believed you?” she asked.

  He sighed. “I thought he did. I claimed that Julia told him it was Edmund because she wanted to punish me, but she couldn’t bear the thought of me being killed. He seemed to accept that.” He paused and said more quietly, “Much as Edmund might have deserved it, he never would have stood a chance against a marksman like Sir Neville. I couldn’t let him die.”

  “You were willing to risk your life for your brother,” she said, “even after what he’d done?” She reached out to grasp his hands, but he shifted away.

  He stood, clasped his hands behind his back, and gazed into the shadows. “I wasn’t eager to die for Edmund’s stupidity, but I’d just spent three years in the army. I knew Sir Neville was an excellent shot, but I hoped that I could still shoot first without wounding him too severely before he could kill me.”

  Anna stood. “What happened?”

  He turned to face her. “Nothing. Sir Neville didn’t call me out. Upset as he was, I don’t think he ever intended to challenge Edmund—or me.”

  “And he didn’t ask you to marry Julia?”

  Adrian shook his head.

  Of course, Sir Neville wouldn’t. An earl marrying an illegitimate woman was unthinkable.

  “And he didn’t want her back?” she asked.

  “No. He seemed more furious with her than with anyone. I think knowing she would disappear and the scandal would be hidden, he was content to have her become my responsibility.”

  Harsh as it seemed, Anna was not surprised. For a man like Sir Neville, who took such pride in his heroic and honorable reputation, Julia’s ruin must have been especially difficult to accept.

  “So I set her up in a house not too far from Eastgate,” he continued, “under a new name, as a widow, to protect her and her child from scandal.”

  “And she and the child are well?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He stared at her in silence for a moment. “You do know the real reason why Sir Neville never challenged me?” he finally said.

  “To avoid scandal.”

  He shook his head. “He told me he wouldn’t because of the connection between us, the fact that you and Madeline were his neighbors. At the time I was stunned by the lengths he was willing to go to protect the friendship between our families. To be honest, I even questioned his bravery and wondered if it was an excuse and he really had doubts about defeating me in a duel.” He shook his head. “Now I know it was all to protect you.”

  All to protect her. And all this before they’d even become close friends?

  Guilt nagged at her, guilt at how much Sir Neville had done for her and her family. But her mind kept returning to the fact that Lord Wareton was innocent.

  “But it now seems Sir Neville knows that I lied to protect Edmund. And with everything that has gone on with you...” His voice softened and he shifted towards her. “He has implied that he will challenge Edmund if he is pushed too far. Much as Edmund might deserve it, I cannot let that happen.”

  She listened to every word he said, but her mind kept returning to his innocence. The realization that he hadn’t ruined Julia sent a wave of happiness through her. She pushed aside all the other reasons she should not do what she was about to do, and she stepped closer to him.

  “So many things make sense now,” she said. He moved backward, retreating towards the garden wall. She followed him until he was forced to stop, his back practically touching the ivy-covered stone. “These past days I’ve believed that you were the worst sort of man. I am so sorry for how I have treated you.” She raised a hand to his face. As her fingertips brushed his rough cheek, he closed his eyes.

  “You are playing a dangerous game,” he whispered. He opened his eyes and stared down at her. “Innocent as you are, you know that.”

  She did. But at that moment she didn’t care. Rather than fear, desire and fascination led her. In that instant she realized that he was deeply affected by her, and the knowledge thrilled her. Amazed at her own daring, she raised herself onto her toes and pressed her mouth firmly against his.

  He lifted his hands to her shoulders, and for a moment she thought he might push her away. He muttered something against her lips and then kissed her back.

  He clamped one arm around her, nearly lifting her off her feet, and with his other hand he slid his fingers around her cheek. This kiss was far different from the gentle start of their other kisses. It was not a gentle suitor’s kiss, but a lover’s—unrestrained and demanding.

  She responded instantly, wrapping her arms around him, and tangling her fingers in his soft hair.

  He kissed her lips, her cheeks, her jaw, and the curve of her neck. He slid his fingers through her hair, loosening her already mussed chignon, and he pressed his lips against her over and over. She inhaled the delicious scent of him—soap, cheroots, and brandy—as she struggled to breathe amid the torrent of caresses.

  He slowly turned her around and leaned her against the wall, pressing her back against the cool stone. He slid his fingers down her arms and took her hands, lifting them up, pressing them beside her shoulders, gently pinning her against the wall. He tore his mouth from hers only to rake her neck and throat with more kisses. Then he drew his mouth lower, down to the bodice of her gown. He slid his hands along her arms, letting them fall to her sides as he caressed her shoulders and the swell of her breasts.

  His knee pushed against her skirt, parting her legs through the muslin. His thigh pressed against hers as he loosened her gown and drew it down, trapping her arms at her sides. With one strong finger, he traced the edge of her corset, then gently tugged downward.

  He bared her breasts to the cool night air.

  And to the hot, maddening caresses of his mouth and hands.

  Without the wall holding her up, she felt like she might collapse. She began shifting beneath him, pressing her hips towards him.

  As he continued to kiss and suckle her breasts, he moved one hand lower, finding the curve of her waist, and then her hip, and finally tracing his fingers down her thigh. The warmth of his touch left her for a moment and then returned to her calf as he trailed his fingers up over her stockings and slowly raised her gown.

  He straightened, abandoning her breasts to kiss her mouth again. She returned his kisses and drew even tighter against him, her bare breasts against his soft coat, her hip pressing against his thigh.

  He kissed her face, neck, and lips. He slipped one hand behind her, lifted her away from the wall, and held her by the hip. With his other hand, he pushed her skirt higher, baring one leg all the way to her garter.

  She wanted to touch him as he touched her, but her arms were trapped in the sleeves of her gown. She could reach out just far enough to pull him even closer, until she felt his erection press against her. And heavens, he was well endowed, feeling as solid and unyielding as the wall behind her.

  He was more than ready to fully compromise her.

  Through the haze of passion, a stab of apprehension shot through her. She quickly pushed the fear away.

  She would not think. Only feel.

  He kissed her neck and caressed her thigh above her garter, edging closer, until his fingers played at the opening of her drawers. She wanted desperately for him to move his fingers even closer, to do whatever it took to end the delicious agony they’d started. She shifted closer to his touch, willing him to continue.

  “Please,” she whispered, uncertain of how to ask for what she wanted.

  Her voice seemed to startle him. He cursed under his breath, withdrew his hand, and let her gown fall.

  “God forgive me,” he said in a rush of breath. He released her and stepped away. The only sounds were their labored breathing, gradually slowing.

  She pulled her gown up to her shoulders, leaned back against the wall, and stared up at him. Even in the dim moonlight, desire and anger was evident in his narrowed eyes and the rigid set of his jaw.

  “I will not do this,” he said, his voice hoarse. His gaze drifted across her face and down
her body. “I have never wanted a woman as I want you. Never.” His words sent a thrill through her. “Probably because I cannot have you. Not without...” He looked into her eyes again. “I shall not dishonor you. I shall not bring any more shame to my family. Forgive me.”

  He spun away and strode toward the manor.

  Anna listened to the sound of his fading steps. She slid back against the wall, her hands clutching at the ivy. Tilting her head back, she stared up at the dark sky with its dusty smattering of stars.

  Desire for him still filled her body. Beneath her newly awakened passion, she felt something else come alive, an unfamiliar emotion...

  Joy. So intense that it was almost painful. Her throat tightened and her chest ached. Tears filled her eyes, blurring the stars above to white globes.

  She loved him.

  She now realized that she’d loved him for some time, but what she learned tonight made her love for him irrevocable.

  He was the finest man she’d ever known, quite likely that she ever would know. And the heart of what made him so noble—the love and honor and intense sense of duty that he felt towards his family—those were the same things that meant, even if he should wish it, they would never be together.

  Suddenly, all the energy drained from her body. She lowered herself to the ground until she knelt on the grass. The happiness she’d felt was gone. Anguish filled her instead.

  She curled up against the stone wall and wept.

  15

  Edmund was behaving strangely.

  Adrian watched his brother pace the study, his eyes darting everywhere and settling nowhere. Edmund had actually risen in time for breakfast but then eaten almost nothing, only fidgeted at the table, tapping his teacup and unfolding and refolding his napkin over and over. He’d also not said more than two words to anyone the whole morning, which Adrian couldn’t recall ever happening before.

  Adrian leaned his elbows against the desk and rubbed his temples. He had a headache, likely from lack of rest. Not surprisingly, he’d been unable to sleep after what happened in the garden. After about an hour of pacing the hallways, he’d come very close to slipping into Miss Colbrook’s room in the middle of the night and finishing what they’d started. He’d been so near to losing all control that he only saved himself with a late-night swim in a frigid duck pond, followed by a vigorous early morning ride around the manor. Unfortunately, by breakfast, despite feeling utterly exhausted, he merely glanced at Miss Colbrook and his desire instantly returned. He did his best not to look at her again, but just knowing she was nearby was enough to torment him.