Real Earls Break the Rules (Infamous Somertons)

by Tina Gabrielle

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Caroline said. “He’s here now.”

  Amelia followed Caroline’s gaze to the top of the ballroom stairs where Brandon’s tall, commanding figure stood. He looked strikingly handsome in simple black and white evening attire. There was a firm strength about him, an attitude of self-command and studied relaxation that proclaimed to everyone present that he was the Earl of Vale and the master of his own realm. Young ladies and their mothers whispered behind fluttering fans.

  As soon as Brandon came down the stairs he was flagged by a group of men. He grinned at acquaintances, shook hands, and Huntingdon slapped his back in greeting.

  “My brother is stubborn, but determined when he wants something,” Caroline whispered in her ear.

  Amelia bit her lip until it throbbed like her pulse. “You’re wrong about the way he looks at me.”

  Caroline gave her a sidelong glance that said she didn’t believe a word Amelia said. “I don’t think so. I’ve known my brother all my life, remember?”

  Amelia wanted to argue further, but stopped herself. Brandon didn’t want his sisters or grandmother to learn of his troubles. Amelia may not agree with his decision to keep secrets from the women in his family, but she would respect it.

  Besides, none of it mattered now.

  She stole a glimpse at Brandon. He appeared in deep conversation with a middle-aged man with a head of sandy hair. Brandon grinned at something the man said and the simple smile made him appear even more handsome. The pain in her heart became a fiery gnawing.

  She doubted her wisdom in attending tonight. What had she been thinking? She took a deep breath and her gown felt too snug against her ribs. She wanted to flee to her room until the night was over. How on earth could she be present when he knelt down on his knee to another woman?

  Amelia eyed the doors leading out of the ballroom. Only Caroline and her sisters would notice her departure. She could feign a headache and slip away.

  She stole another glimpse at Brandon, then gasped. He’d been watching her. A heartbeat passed as his gaze raked her figure then returned to capture her own. Admiration flickered across his features along with another emotion.

  Something fierce and possessive.

  Amelia sucked in a breath, and her knees weakened.

  She tore her gaze away. Thankfully, Caroline hadn’t noticed the exchange. She was focused on another man who was fast approaching. Amelia was slow to realize it was Lord Weston until he stopped before them and bowed.

  “Good evening ladies.” He briefly glanced at Caroline before his gaze turned to Amelia and his face beamed in approval. Candlelight from the chandeliers reflected off of his spectacles, and he smiled warmly.

  “If you will both excuse me,” Caroline said with a knowing smile, “my grandmother awaits across the room.”

  Amelia found herself alone with Lord Weston. “You look exceptionally lovely this evening.” He extended his hand toward Amelia. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”

  The music changed and the dancers began a gavotte. Amelia had been contemplating leaving the ballroom, not dancing. Her emotions were volatile and erratic. One minute she felt like sobbing, and the next she wanted to stomp her ballroom slipper in rage. Struggling for resolve, she straightened her spine. She’d heard of stories of girls who’d cried over heartbreak, and she had always thought them foolish. She was not the type of lady to burst into tears. She was strong. Life had molded her and her sisters that way.

  It took great effort, but she managed to smile at Weston. He’d been nothing but kind to her during the house party, and she considered him a friend.

  “Of course.” She placed her hand on his arm, and he led her to the dance floor.

  …

  She looked like a temptress. The sapphire gown clung to Amelia’s curves and displayed her generous breasts and long legs. It took every ounce of Brandon’s willpower not to stride to her side and claim her as his.

  She was dancing with Lord Weston. Jealousy pounded in his veins, thick and fierce. He’d never been the possessive type until he’d met Amelia. He’d never cared if his past lovers had moved on. Gossip at the gentlemen clubs of his prior mistresses, who were now under the protection of other men, had never bothered him.

  But she wasn’t just any lover; she was his Amelia.

  Weston gazed down at her with a look of infatuation and lust. The man stole glimpses at her magnificent breasts that were barely covered by the blue silk. Jesus, if the woman took a deep breath he’d swear she’d spill out of the tight bodice. What the hell was she thinking?

  He had difficulty concentrating on his conversation with Duncan Turnover, a neighboring Hampshire landowner.

  “Have you seen the lady in blue?” Turner asked Brandon.

  Brandon stiffened and pretended to notice Amelia for the first time.

  “She’s a pretty piece,” Turner said, oblivious to the tenseness that had enveloped Brandon. By the look of Turner’s bloodshot eyes, it was clear he had been drinking heavily before he’d arrived at the ball. “I’ve always been fond of that color hair,” Turner slurred. “More reddish than brown. I’d like to let her hair down to cover those pale breasts that are spilling out of that gown. I wonder if she’d be as fiery in bed as they say about redheads.”

  Brandon’s heart hammered. He wanted to punch Duncan Turner, then usher Amelia out of the ballroom with haste. He’d be damned if any other man, intoxicated or sober, lusted after what was his.

  “As soon as the lucky bloke is done dancing with her, I’m going to ask her.” Turner’s eyes never left Amelia’s figure on the dance floor.

  Brandon snatched a glass of champagne from a passing servant’s tray and thrust it at Turner. “Have another drink. The lady’s next dance is mine.”

  The music changed to a waltz. Instead of escorting Amelia back to the dance floor, Weston extended his hand for Amelia to join him in the dance.

  Like hell.

  Brandon had seen enough. He strode across the room to tap Weston on the shoulder. “The lady promised me this dance.”

  Weston took a step back and blinked in surprise.

  Amelia’s mouth gaped. Brandon didn’t wait, but pulled her into his arms.

  Her blue eyes flashed as she looked up at him in challenge. “What are you doing? I never promised you a dance. Let alone a waltz.”

  “I lied. Dance with me.” His right hand rested at her narrow waist, and he clasped her other hand in his.

  She stiffened, and her chin rose a notch. “I happened to be enjoying a dance with a different gentleman.”

  “I know. I didn’t like it.” Before she had a chance to argue, he caught the music and twirled her onto the dance floor. He inhaled the scent of her violet perfume, and her soft hair tickled his chin. His gaze fell to the creamy expanse of her neck, then lower, to the delicate swell of her breasts above the bodice, and his hand tightened at her narrow waist. She felt wonderful in his arms as they whirled across the parquet floor.

  She looked up at him with clear blue eyes. “You can marry another, but I can’t dance with a man?” she said.

  He spread his fingers at her waist, his thumb brushing the edge of her breast. Her pulse pounded at her nape, and her full lips trembled. She felt it, too. This undeniable attraction affected her as well.

  “It’s different.” He didn’t want to talk about Minerva or any other lady. He wanted to continue holding Amelia in his arms.

  “How? Because you’re an earl, and I’m just…I’m just the daughter of a thief?”

  “Your father has nothing to do with this.” His voice was tense.

  She tossed her head. “My lack of dowry, then?”

  Every muscle in his body was tense and ready to explode. “It doesn’t matter. None of it does.”

  She bit her full bottom lip and met his heated gaze. “You’re wrong. Please, it’s best if we avoid each other from now on.”

  Reason fled. His tightly reigned control snapped,
and he was left with only one course of action.

  They had danced close to one of the many sets of doors that led to the main part of the house. With a brazen twirl, he whisked them through the nearest set of doors and down a long corridor.

  “Stop! What are you doing?”

  He ignored her and clasped her slender hand firmly in his.

  “Where are you taking me?” Her voice rose in alarm.

  “Somewhere we can talk in private.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Amelia’s apprehension heightened to a panic. She couldn’t risk being alone with him. The dance had been troublesome enough. The scent of his shaving soap and his own masculine musk had heightened her senses. The feel of his arms around her during the scandalous dance had her reeling. She wanted him so badly.

  She tried to tug her hand from his. “Stop this madness! We’ll be seen.”

  He ignored her and opened the first door on his right and pulled her inside. Moonlight through the two large windows illuminated the music room. She spotted the pianoforte in the corner, and a harp and several violins resting beside music stands with sheets of music.

  She whirled to face him. “You can’t drag me out of a crowded ballroom at your whim. We’ve said everything that needs to be said. It’s over between us.”

  “Like hell it is.” He prowled forward on the Oriental carpet, a tall, muscular man. His expression was hard as granite, and she instinctively backed up a step.

  She’d never seen him like this. Primal. Possessive. A towering dominant male.

  “I can’t stop thinking of you,” he growled. “Forget Minerva. I can’t go through with it. I don’t want her.”

  Her mind struggled to comprehend. “What are you saying?”

  “I won’t marry her.”

  “But you have no choice! What of the land and the factory?” He didn’t mean what he’d said. A jaded part of her suspected he’d say anything to get her alone and willing. He couldn’t possibly give everything up when he could save it so easily.

  “I don’t care about any of it. You’re the one I want.”

  “Brandon, I—”

  “I have to have you, to possess you. To slide into your heat and stay there forever.” His voice was a low growl.

  Sweet Lord. She looked into his eyes and saw the flash of pure male determination. Her heart skittered in her chest at the husky need in his voice.

  “This is insanity,” she whispered.

  His gaze raked over her hungrily. “Tell me you don’t feel the same.”

  He padded close and reached out to run a finger down her cheek. She shivered at the intimate gesture. “I shouldn’t. But my resolve weakens whenever you touch me.”

  “Then we must not resist the pull.”

  Heat spread through her limbs at the hoarse need in his voice, and she felt the remnants of her willpower slip away. Her body and her heart longed for him. She didn’t protest when he took her by the shoulders and pulled her close and lowered his head. Every curve of her body molded against his as eager tremors coursed through her. The second their lips met, her own need escalated. There was nothing slow or sweet about his kiss. He kissed her deeply with a scalding passion that seared her heart. She moaned and returned his kiss, their tongues dueling as they clung to each other.

  Together, they sank to their knees on the lush carpet.

  His hands caressed the lines of her back and hips with slow, leisurely strokes that drove her wild. His palm traveled to cup her breast through the blue silk. She arched her back, offering herself to him, and he slipped a hand inside her low bodice to gently pinch her nipple. She gasped as fiery sensations coursed from her sensitive breasts to an aching spot between her legs.

  “Brandon,” she breathed.

  “Ah yes,” he groaned.

  His fingers went to the back of her gown. The bodice loosened to reveal a fine linen chemise and a corset that thrust her breasts toward him, full and firm. Cool air rushed over her heated skin.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her skin.

  She tugged on his hair. “Kiss me there,” she begged.

  He eagerly complied, lowering his head to place a long, lingering kiss at the top of a breast that swelled above the fabric. She panted and felt a familiar ache build between her thighs.

  She needed to touch him. Her hand lowered between their bodies to cup his powerful male harness. He jerked at her touch and hissed. She longed to feel the sensual heat of his naked skin, and her fingers went to the fall of his breeches.

  “Vale?” the masculine voice came from the hall outside the door. “Are you in there?”

  Oh no.

  Amelia gasped in dismay and struggled to right her gown. Brandon pulled her to her feet and thrust her behind him.

  A second later, the door was thrown open to slam against the opposite wall. “What’s going on here?” a male voice boomed.

  Brandon’s broad shoulders blocked Amelia from view. “Your Grace.”

  Fear knotted inside her. She’d raised the sleeves of the sapphire gown, but she’d never get the tiny buttons in the back fastened on her own. She glimpsed from behind Brandon just as a shaft of moonlight struck the Duke of Townsend’s face. The man’s expression was rigid with anger.

  How could this have happened? How could she have lost her head and her heart when Brandon touched her?

  The duchess appeared in the doorway, her features twisted in a brittle expression as her eyes settled on Amelia’s disheveled appearance. Her nostrils flared in fury. “How dare you!” she spat. “On the eve of my daughter’s engagement no less.”

  Amelia felt faint. Her thoughts immediately turned to her sisters. Her scandalous behavior could reflect badly on Chloe and hurt her chances of finding a titled husband. Eliza would be stunned and confused by it all. As if on cue, Eliza and Huntingdon appeared in the doorway.

  Their shocked faces were even more telling than the furious glares of the duke and duchess. Amelia was ruined.

  Everyone started arguing at once.

  “Stop!” Brandon shouted.

  Silence reigned like an ominous cloud. “You’re all correct,” Brandon said. “I was to announce my engagement tonight. But not to Lady Minerva. To Amelia. We are to marry by special license.”

  No one spoke. Even the duke’s eyes widened slightly in surprise.

  Amelia was the most stunned of all. He couldn’t possibly mean to marry to her. What would happen when the moneylender returned? What would become of the textile factory and the unentailed Rosehill land?

  It was clear that Brandon was doing this to save her reputation, not because he wanted to marry her. Not because he loved her. It was inconceivable.

  The duchess stormed off with a twirl of voluminous skirts. The duke followed his wife.

  Brandon turned to the remaining man in the doorway. “Huntingdon, if you will meet me in my study, I’d like a word.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Huntingdon paced the Oriental carpet in the study and stopped in front of Brandon’s unfinished portrait. “I don’t believe it. You went behind my back and hired Amelia to paint you.”

  Brandon sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I apologize. But I needed her.”

  “Needed or wanted,” Huntingdon snapped.

  “Both. But if I’m to be completely truthful to you, I needed her to paint me a copy of this,” Brandon said, pointing to the Aelbert Cuyp painting resting against the wall.

  Huntingdon walked to the Cuyp landscape, lifted the framed painting and studied it. His lips narrowed. “She painted you a forgery, too?”

  “Not a forgery. A copy. It was completed days ago, and the original is on its way to America to be sold for a tidy sum.”

  Huntingdon’s gaze was intense. “You need the money.”

  “I wish it wasn’t true,” Brandon said. “Another of my father’s creditors showed. He will soon own the textile mill and some Rosehill land.”

  “I wish I could help,”
Huntingdon said. “My wealth is in my landholdings and not readily accessible. But I told you before that I can sell property and loan you—”

  “I wouldn’t accept anything from you and you know it. That’s why I retained Amelia’s services. The copy of the Cuyp landscape will remain at Rosehill and my grandmother and sisters will never know the truth.”

  Huntingdon’s eyes narrowed. “Shocking, but also very smart. I don’t know whether to congratulate you for your shrewdness or challenge you to a duel for ruining my sister-in-law.”

  “I never meant to ruin her. I never meant to touch her. I lose all reason when I’m with her.”

  Brandon expected a blow. Deserved it. But it never came.

  His friend took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I felt the same way with Eliza. I was supposed to hunt down her father and destroy him. Instead I couldn’t keep my hands from his daughter.”

  Brandon looked up at his friend.

  “Were you really going to announce your engagement to the duke’s daughter tonight?” Huntingdon asked.

  The thought of a forced proposal to Minerva still tormented Brandon. “No. I couldn’t do it.”

  Huntingdon’s dark watchful eyes missed nothing. “You love Amelia.”

  Love? Was it possible? His parents had hated each other. Love had not been abundant in his household. He loved his sisters and his grandmother and had taken it upon himself to care for his siblings since his parents had ignored them.

  But that was different. That emotion wasn’t what he felt when he was with Amelia.

  Raw, aching possession was more like it. But there was more…so much more every time he saw her, every time she invaded his thoughts and dreams.

  The truth struck him like a blow to the stomach. He wanted to bind Amelia to him not because of honor or because she’d been a virgin or because she was his best friend’s sister-in-law. He wanted to marry her because he loved her. A future without her in his life would be bleak. He needed her as much as he needed air to breathe and water to survive. He loved her.

  “She’s ruined. You have to do right by her,” Huntingdon said.