The Earl's Bargain (Historical Regency Romance)

by Cheryl Bolen

  He lowered his brows and spoke in a low voice. "No, I can't, and I wouldn't."

  "If I can think of a clever plan to reclaim the painting, then will you allow me to accompany you?"

  "I'll think on it."

  "I shall, too," she said happily.

  * * *

  Much to Edward's consternation, he rode all the way from Woking to the Cock and Stock Inn with Miss Sinclair – dressed as a lad – sitting beside him. To make matters worse, she would not stop talking about the Bentham chap. Edward would almost welcome mention of Miss Grimm right now.

  He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do once they were inside the inn. It was dark, and they could go no farther, so he could put off his decision no longer. He could not very well procure a private room for such an ill-dressed younger brother. He could see no other way than to get a room together. Then, blast it all, he would have to give Miss Sinclair the bed while he slept on the bloody floor.

  Before they alighted from the box, he drew Miss Sinclair's attention. "I want you to know that I have no desire whatsoever to rob you of your virtue, but I believe we must share a room tonight. I promise I will not touch you in any way, I will turn my back when you dress and undress, and I will sleep on the floor."

  She sighed. "I am very glad you said that for you know I could not possibly stay at such a place alone in a room. That's one of the reasons I wanted to join you on this journey. I was frightened to stay any longer on Grosvenor Square without Louisa, and you seemed to be the only person in London I could trust."

  The lady's trust could be a very heavy burden, indeed. "There was your cook," he offered, his voice hoarse. It nearly put him to the blush to remember the fat old woman following them everywhere in Harry's gig because she was too large to fit in his phaeton.

  She thought on this for a moment. "All in all, I trust women. It's the men who frighten me. Miss Grimm says--"

  Edward held up his hands. "Pray, no more of Miss Grimm. Let us go procure a room."

  They got down and began to walk to the inn.

  "No, no," Edward exclaimed. "You had better stay here while I bespeak the room. I shouldn't want the innkeeper to see your face. I'll come back for you in a moment."

  After he bespoke a room, they ate quickly in the private parlor. Edward was afraid Miss Sinclair's gender would be given away either by her voice or her dainty face, the fear of which caused him to lose his appetite.

  He waited until no one was near the stairs then led her up in stealthy fashion.

  As soon as he shut their chamber door behind him, she started fiddling with the bedding. "What, pray tell, are you doing?" he asked.

  "What does it look like I'm doing, silly? I'm going to make you a pallet."

  At least he wouldn't have to sleep on the wood floors. He sat on a wobbly chair and began to take off his boots. He really was beastly tired. Nothing quite as tiring as traveling. One wouldn't think the body would ache so much from just sitting all day. He looked up from his boots and saw that Miss Sinclair had given him two blankets and kept but one for herself. "Look here," he protested, "I can't have you doing that. One blanket is all I need. I'll stay close to the fire."

  "I insist," she said in the same tone his mum had used a thousand times. "After all, I have the mattress and you don't.

  Now I shall blow out the candle and put on my night things. You are to turn around and close your eyes."

  She watched as he stood and turned around and shut his eyes just before the light was snuffed. He stood there silently listening to the muffled sounds she made lifting one foot and the other in the process of getting disrobed. But instead of picturing her dressed in her boys' togs, he thought of the pretty little thing in a lace shift like Ruby would wear. Then he was mad at himself for thinking of Miss Sinclair at the same time he thought of his mistress.

  But he still could not dispel the vision of Miss Sinclair, all creamy skin, lifting up her arms to him – wearing Ruby's white lace.

  Then he listened as she climbed beneath the sheets. He pulled off his jacket, dropped his pants and fell exhausted onto the pallet Miss Sinclair had made for him beside the fire.

  Just as he was drifting into deep slumber, the lady called him.

  "Yes?" he answered.

  "Have you ever been in love?"

  Ruby didn't count. "No." Blast the girl. He was bone tired. He closed his eyes tightly, but he was not as sleepy as he had been. He found himself thinking about her question, then he became consumed with curiosity. "Miss Sinclair?" he whispered some minutes later.

  "Yes?"

  "Have you?"

  "Been in love?"

  "Yes," he said impatiently.

  "No, I don't suppose so."

  Her answer comforted him like warm milk at bed time. But he still could not go back to sleep. Another question kept tugging at him. Finally he whispered her name again.

  "Yes?" she answered.

  "Has any man ever offered for you?"

  "That's why I came to London," she said.

  His heart thudded. Had she come to London to fulfill an obligation to the man?

  "I heard Papa discussing settlements for me with Squire Wheeler."

  Now his heart raced. "And...what were your feelings toward Squire Wheeler?"

  "Why, the man was the age of my father and had grown children my age. And he was completely bald."

  Edward's hand raked through his hair to assure himself he was not going bald. "What did the demmed squire think?" Edward asked with outrage. "Trying to take the virtue of a young maiden. There ought to be laws against such." Now he was beginning to sound like Miss Grimm.

  "I agree with you, Mr. Coke."

  As Edward went off to sleep, his fists were clenched. He rather wanted to give that bald-headed squire a facer.

  Chapter 23

  When Harry had gone to bed, Louisa had been sitting beside the candle writing one of her essays, and when he awoke, she was still writing, though she wore a different dress.

  Her attention perked when she saw him stirring. "I have thought of a plan, my lord."

  He reached for the tea she had set on the bedside table. "Allow me my tea first, if you please." He pulled the sheets up to cover his nakedness, took a welcome gulp, then asked that she turn around while he slipped on his pantaloons. Louisa's sense of propriety, thank God, did not extend to a revulsion over bare-chested men.

  With his pants on and his eyes suitably open, he turned to her. "Have you been thinking of your plan all night?"

  She put down her pen. "Of course not. I will have you know I slept rather well – and have nearly completed Mr. Lewis's newest essay."

  "Shall I have the privilege of reading it before it is published?"

  "If you like." The smug contentment in her voice belied her air of complacency. He knew she was most desirous that he read it.

  "What is it about?"

  "It's actually more ethical than political. It's on the extinction of honesty."

  His brows lowered. "You may ruffle many feathers."

  She shrugged. "I don't mind that – if the essay accomplishes some good."

  "Or, to quote the great Jeremy Bentham, for the good of all."

  "You know, my lord, that I'm not a Benthamite purist," she said with indignation.

  "I do know. You also respect the rights of the individual."

  She gave him a condescending nod.

  He finished his tea and stood up to finish getting dressed. Louisa, returning to her essay writing, seemed to take no notice of him. He was growing so comfortable in her company that he had a sense of what it would be like to share one's life with someone else, like one did with a wife.

  A pity he would never find a wife whom he could care for as much as he cared for Louisa.

  When he was finished he asked, "Pray, now you may tell me of your great idea for me to reclaim my mother's portrait."

  "Us."

  His lips compressed. "Me, my good woman," he said sternly, "not us."


  "Then I will not tell you."

  "Fine," he snapped.

  Seeing that he was headed to the door, Louisa put down her pen and stood. "You could at least hear my plan."

  He folded his arms across his chest and gazed down the bridge of his nose at her. "Tell me your plan."

  "I cannot tell you when you're standing there impatient to leave the room. Come, sit on the bed with me."

  He strode across the room and sat on the bed beside her, their thighs parallel to each others'. He noticed that his extended a good eight inches beyond hers. She truly was not much larger than a child.

  "Did you not tell me that anything could be had, provided one's pockets were deep enough?"

  He nodded. "I did."

  "So I thought you could purchase used clothing for you and I to disguise our station in life -- that is, if you can find someone large enough for you."

  "The question is whether we can find some small enough for you. That is if I were going to allow you to participate -- which I'm not."

  She scowled at him beneath lowered brows. "Once we are dressed appropriately, you bribe the greengrocer to hide us in his wagon when he enters Gorwich Castle. While he is conducting business to distract the cook, we sneak in. Then we wait until dark. You will then remove the portrait from its frame as I stand as lookout."

  "And if we're caught?"

  "Then I expect the vile Lord Tremaine would merely have you thrown out as he did yesterday."

  Her plan really wasn't so objectionable, after all. And she was probably correct about Tremaine throwing them out on their ears.

  Harry faced Louisa, devilment in his flashing eyes. "All right. It's a good plan." He got to his feet. "Now how do I go about finding the greengrocer?"

  * * *

  As much as he disliked the prospect of wearing well worn homespuns, Harry knew he would have to disguise himself from the small army of footmen who had removed him from the castle the day before. The disguise became reality when he actually found clothing to fit him. Well, not really fit him since he had to tie the waist with a rope to keep the pants from falling down. The village's huge blacksmith was the only man who was close to Harry's height. The man parted with his old clothing for a guinea. The condition of the clothes the blacksmith had outgrown was poor indeed. He must have worn them daily for a dozen years. Finding clothing for Louisa proved far easier. Any number of the stable lads were clamoring to part with their old clothing for a guinea. Only one of them, however, proved to be a close match in size to Louisa, and the poor lad possessed but one suit of clothing. Louisa promised she would bring it back as soon as she could, hopefully that evening.

  She made rather a cute boy, Harry thought. Of course her breasts were a bit of a problem, but he was not comfortable discussing them with her, as much as he would like to. She would likely give him a facer.

  Now suitably dressed, Harry had no problem persuading the greengrocer to carry a pair of extra companions into the castle yard -- and to keep quiet about it – for a couple of quid. The ruddy man's eyes rounded when he beheld the money. It was probably more than he earned in several months.

  Harry was rather surprised at how easy it was to get within the castle walls. He and Louisa each carried a basket of vegetables down to the kitchen while the regular greengrocer spoke to the cook.

  From the kitchen Harry and Louisa crept up the servants' stairway and ducked into the silver closet. Since Tremaine was reported to be reclusive, surely there would be no upcoming function for which silver must be polished. Just to be safe, Harry and Louisa hid in one of the lower cupboards--which was no problem for Louisa, but which forced Harry to nearly fold himself into a box.

  They had decided to stay there until they presumed the dinner hour passed. That's when they would enter the dining room and relieve Lord Tremaine of his ill-gotten portrait.

  If the drawbridge was closed at night, they were prepared to spend the night under the dining room table and leave the castle when the drawbridge lifted at the first light of dawn.

  The problem was the deuced cabinet was unbearably hot and far too little for him. He decided to take his chances just standing in the silver closet. After all, anything could be had for a price. He would merely pay whomever discovered him to keep quiet.

  Then Harry remembered the fear he had seen on the London solicitor's face when he had declined Harry's generous offer. Tremaine instilled that kind of fear in people. The butler -- or whoever found them -- would be no different, Harry realized with disappointment.

  If he couldn't bribe the bloody butler or whatever servant might catch him, he would just have to tie up the servant and gag him with the rope that held up his pants. Harry had no idea how he would then hold up his pants in such an event.

  "I can't stand this another minute," Harry whispered to Louisa.

  "I know," she whispered. "I can barely breathe."

  "I expect I'm taking all the air."

  Unable to sit in the cupboard another minute, Harry got out. It felt deuced good to stretch his legs and fill his lungs with the plentiful supply of air.

  Louisa followed him.

  "What will we do if one of the servants comes in here?" she asked.

  "We shall have to see if my pockets are deep enough."

  A pity there was no window in the silver room. How would they know when night fell? Though it was only morning, the meager chamber was as dark as midnight. And to think, they would be confined here for another ten hours.

  Taking Louisa's hand, he slid along the back wall to a sitting position, and she rested beside him. Once again he was filled with a protectiveness toward the slim woman who sat so close to him in the darkness. He cursed himself for allowing her to come. If something should happen to her. . .it was far too painful to contemplate. He only knew he would give his own worthless life to protect hers.

  They sat in the dark stillness for an hour, neither of them needing words to bind them, for they were closer to one another than those bound by flowery phrases -- or by a vicar's ceremony.

  "Harry?" she whispered finally.

  Nothing she could have said would have been more welcome. He hated it when she reverted to calling him my lord. Harry and Louisa suited them and their peculiar relationship. "Yes?" he answered softly.

  "I suppose when you regain Wycliff House you'll want to start a family."

  How had she known? Since the day he had reclaimed Cartmore Hall, his goal had been to find a fine woman who could bear him children, thereby fulfilling the Wycliff legacy. Until he met Louisa he had never thought to find a woman who owned his heart as his mother's heart was secured by his father. "That's been the whole point," he said.

  She was silent a moment. "You want to reestablish the family that once meant so much to you," she said with an irrepressible sadness in her voice.

  "You know me too well," he said curtly.

  Silence hung between them. They could hear the shuffling of servants' feet outside their tiny chamber, and despite himself, each time footsteps drew near, his heart stampeded. Not for himself. Fear had always been a stranger to him, but a numbing fear for Louisa consumed him. "Perhaps you should get back in the cupboard. We can leave the door open, and I'll swiftly shut in the event our presence is detected."

  "No!" she shreiked. "I believe I'd rather die with you than go on without you."

  Her words swamped him in a flurry of passionate emotions. His arm slipped around her slim shoulders and his lips hungrily moved to hers.

  She lifted her face to his and eagerly received his kiss.

  Then he drew away from her. "Forgive me, madam."

  She was silent, and he feared he had greatly offended her. "Would that I could see my watch," he said in a feeble attempt to change the direction of her thoughts. "How will we know when supper is over?"

  "I expect we'll hear the sound of plates being carried back to the kitchen.

  Another great period of silence fell. Poor Louisa, he thought, was just learning to trust a man for t
he first time in her life, and he had forced himself on her. How vile he was! Then he remembered the sweet taste of her lips – lips that had eagerly sought his. He remembered, too, the pleasure her words had given him when she had said she would rather die with him. Such thought had the power to give him hope that the proper little bluestocking did not find him so repulsive after all. He must do nothing more to repel her. She was far too precious to lose to his own carnal needs.

  After the passage of more than an hour, she spoke again. "I had not realized how hungry I'd be."

  He found her hand in the darkness and squeezed it. "You'll eat to your heart's content as soon as we get the painting." His stomach plummeted. What if they were caught? He had no assurances Tremaine would not prefer to mete his own punishment. Harry could not risk Louisa's safety. Suddenly, his mother's portrait seemed not worth the huge risk.

  He rose to his feet. "I have lost my eagerness to reclaim my mother's portrait. If I pay Tremaine handsomely enough, perhaps he will allow me to have it copied."

  "Listen," Louisa whispered, "'tis the sound of dishes."

  The clatter of stacked plates tapping into one another drew closer, then faded away toward the basement. Tremaine had finished eating.

  Louisa came to stand beside him. "We can get it now, Harry. You've come so far, I can't let you leave empty handed."

  "It could be dangerous."

  "You have no confidence in my plan," she said with disappointment.

  He could envision a pout on her little rosebud mouth. He hated like the devil to squelch her confidence. "It was an excellent plan, but I seem to be too great a coward to pull it off."

  "You're lying to protect me," she said. "There's not a cowardly bone in your body."

  "You don't know me as well as you think."

  "But I do, Harry," she said in a soft voice. Then she laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Please, Harry, let's get your mother's portrait. I assure you we'll go undetected."

  She sounded so confident, his fears for her were swept away. "Very well. Shall we go for it, Mr. Lewis?"

  "You remember where the dining room is?" she whispered.