The Untouchable Earl

by Amy Sandas

  No, he did not regret stepping in.

  But he would have to stay clear of the girl in future. She was a danger to him.

  Because despite the searing discomfort of her touch, and the fact that he had not been able to manage his reaction to her, the most disturbing aspect of all was that he wanted her to touch him again.

  And he had no idea what to do with that.

  Three

  “She has gotten so blasted secretive since Father died,” Portia Chadwick complained before she flounced back on her pillows.

  As had become routine, Lily and Portia had gathered before bed to discuss the evening. The meetings had been Emma’s idea; however, in order to continue funding their debuts, Emma had surreptitiously taken a position as the bookkeeper for one of London’s most notorious gambling hells and no longer had the time to join them.

  Without their eldest sister’s focused guidance, Lily and Portia quickly lost their enthusiasm for talk of husband-hunting strategies. Tonight their conversation turned toward Emma and the circumstances that had shoved them headlong into the London Season.

  Lily threw her younger sister a disapproving glance as she settled on Portia’s bed. “Must you use such terrible language?” she asked. “Emma would be shocked to hear some of the words that fly from your mouth.”

  “Swearing makes me feel better when I am in a pique,” Portia retorted. “They are just words anyway, with no power of their own besides what you give them. And Emma can hardly have issue if she is never around.”

  “I am here,” Lily pointed out. “Must I be forced to hear such things?”

  Portia arched her brows. “Yes, I think you must. If only to toughen you up a bit.” Her smile grew sly. “It amazes me that you can read those torrid novels yet still take issue with a few crude words.”

  Lily blushed. Portia was the only person in the world who knew of her secret obsession with the kind of novels no pure, innocent young lady should ever get her hands on. She lowered her gaze even as she defended her private little hobby.

  “Any…explicit language in my novels is set in a grander context, not simply blurted out for shock and effect. If you would deign to read one, you might understand that.”

  “No thank you. I prefer to live my adventures out here in the real world rather than between the pages of a book you can only read beneath the privacy of your bedcovers.”

  So would I, Lily thought ruefully.

  But a young lady was not supposed to yearn for unrestrained passion with a bold and rakish lover. She was not supposed to admit to wanting to feel overwhelmed by desire.

  A young lady was not even supposed to have any understanding of how physical yearning and sexual desire might be experienced.

  “I think it is safe to say, at the very least, our financial situation is likely far worse than Emma had led us to believe,” Portia declared in an abrupt return to their earlier topic. “I wish she would trust us with the entire truth. The debt Father left behind belongs to all of us, not just Emma.”

  Lily shook aside her distraction to focus in on the conversation. “I want to help as much as you, but what can we do besides what we are already?”

  Portia made a disgusted face. “You mean trying to snag a wealthy husband? I, for one, feel I have more to offer than that.”

  “What do you propose?”

  “If Emma is not willing to share the full details of our family finances, how can we know what is at stake? We have to discover what she is hiding.”

  Portia had a point. If there was more going on than Emma was telling them, they did have a right to know.

  “Speaking of the detestable task Emma has set for us…how are things with Mr. Campbell?” Portia asked.

  Lily sighed. The gentleman in question was just over forty years in age and possessed a large income from his estate in North Yorkshire, yet had never married. He always made a point to claim a dance and had stopped by more than once during visiting hours.

  Lily had momentarily considered him to be a fine prospect, but there was something missing from their interactions. There was not even a flicker of suggestion that any emotion beyond casual consideration existed between them.

  There was certainly no passion.

  Lily shrugged. “Kind and courteous, as always.”

  “And Lord Fallbrook?” Portia queried, her focus direct as she narrowed her eyes. They were the same gray shared by all three Chadwicks, but Lily always thought the color was more enigmatic somehow in the eighteen-year-old.

  Lily stiffened, and heat bloomed in her cheeks as she recalled the man’s ignoble attempt at getting her alone in the garden.

  “What did he do?” Portia asked, her fine features suddenly tense with affronted concern.

  When Lily did not reply right away, Portia pressed. “Tell me, Lily. I can see by your expression that he did something.”

  “It is nothing to go on about,” Lily replied, trying to defuse Portia’s rising anger. Her sister could be very quick to temper. “He tried to lure me into the garden tonight, but he was unsuccessful.”

  She wasn’t sure why she didn’t mention Lord Harte’s part in saving her from near ruination. She and Portia rarely kept secrets from each other. There was no one she trusted more with even the most personal elements of her life. Yet, she couldn’t imagine trying to explain her interactions with the earl.

  “I never did trust that man’s crafty grin. You are lucky he didn’t completely compromise you, Lily.”

  Lily frowned. She had a tendency to be rather trusting, and as recent events had proven, she was also obviously naive, but she was not stupid. Every young lady knew the dangers of being seduced by a disreputable rogue. Even the suggestion of improper behavior could bring about a girl’s absolute ruin. And the Chadwicks could not afford for anything to taint their name. Whether they liked it or not, their dire financial straits required they make the most of their social connections while they had the chance.

  “I am well aware of that. Let us both endeavor to stay far from that gentleman in future.”

  “Agreed,” Portia asserted readily.

  “And what about you?” Lily asked, turning the subject back on her younger sister. “How fares your progress?”

  Portia snorted. “Progress? ‘Torture’ is a better word. I do not seem to be made for all of this courting business.”

  Lily felt a wave of compassion. “Portia…” she began but could not think of what exactly to say.

  “I am totally in earnest, Lily. I do not think marriage is for me.”

  “Perhaps you just have not met the right gentleman,” Lily suggested.

  Portia lowered her gaze and gave a little shrug as she muttered, “More likely, I am not the right lady.”

  “Of course you are, Portia. You just need to have patience.”

  Portia lifted her eyes and gave Lily a rueful grin. “Ha! When have I ever possessed such a trait?”

  Lily wrinkled her nose. “You are right. You are doomed.”

  Both girls laughed, and the conversation slid to more innocuous topics after that.

  Lily went to bed a short time later. She curled up under her bedcovers and tucked her hands beneath her chin but could not get her eyes to stay closed.

  She refused to feel guilty for not talking to Portia about the Earl of Harte. She couldn’t discuss what she didn’t understand, and she had no idea what to think of the man with the forbidding gaze.

  Avenell Slade.

  Lily snuggled deeper beneath her blankets.

  She loved the way his name felt moving through her mind. It was sharp and smooth at the same time. Dark and light.

  Lily knew she was no great beauty. She did not have Portia’s dramatic dark hair or flashing eyes. Nor did she have Emma’s commanding presence. She did her best to be content with her place among her exceptional sisters.
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br />   But now, after experiencing Lord Harte’s painful slight, she found herself wishing she stood out more, that she was somehow more attractive, more striking.

  She should forget him. Put him completely from her mind. He had made it infinitely clear he did not welcome her interest.

  Yet, she wanted to know him. It was that simple and that impossible.

  A hollowness spread from Lily’s center. It was a sensation she had experienced more than once since she had begun her foray into the marriage market. It was the fear that what she sought might never be found—that the kind of deep passion she yearned for existed only in sordid novels.

  As thoughts of Lord Harte continued to agitate her mind and created a growing restlessness in her body, Lily imagined an often-read scene from one of her favorite stories. It was frighteningly easy to cast the enigmatic Lord Harte in the role of dark seducer, but she struggled to envision herself as the intrepid heroine.

  Lily did not possess a bold bone in her body. By nature, she had always been rather shy and had never been able to cultivate the kind of self-confidence her sisters possessed. Though she may crave the passionate experiences she read about, she did not possess the courage to explore such things beyond the privacy of her mind.

  For the first time since she had discovered the set of erotic novels unintentionally left behind by their last governess, Lily wished she had never read them. What had they done except show her something she was never likely to experience?

  * * *

  Lily woke slowly the next morning and was disappointed to see that the sun had risen long ago. She had always loved waking before the dawn, but the late nights of the social whirl had started to shift her internal clock. Still, she was up long before anyone else and struggled to keep boredom at bay while she waited for the others to awaken.

  The Dowager Countess of Chelmsworth kept strict London hours, with the household rarely stirring until after one o’clock in the afternoon. Though their great-aunt lived on a modest allowance from the distant relative who had inherited her husband’s title, she had graciously welcomed the Chadwicks into her home and agreed to chaperone them through the Season. Without Angelique, their options would have been severely limited.

  Life with the countess had taken some getting used to. The elderly lady rarely censored her words and was occasionally quite outrageous in her speech as she spun fantastical tales of her life as a young woman before her marriage.

  Finally hearing movement in the house, Lily left her room to see who had risen. Her surprise when she came upon Emma in the hall had less to do with seeing her sister back from her duties at the gambling club so early than it did with her sister’s appearance.

  Anyone who knew Emma for ten minutes realized the eldest Chadwick was self-possessed and imperturbable.

  The Emma she encountered that morning was so unlike her sister that Lily was instantly alarmed, though she tamed her expression to reveal only light surprise.

  “Emma, you are home early. Is everything all right?”

  “Everything is fine. I just…developed a headache and came home early.”

  Lily didn’t miss her sister’s hesitation, but it was Emma’s manner that drew her concern. Her perpetually composed older sister looked flustered.

  Guilt pierced through Lily’s concern. Emma always took far too much on her shoulders. Emma had insisted on being the one to care for their mother during her illness and had done all she could to shield them from their father’s destructive behavior.

  For weeks, she had been leaving the house early every morning to work the accounts at Bentley’s gambling hell.

  Though Emma assured them she had no cause to interact in the other activities of the club, there was still the constant strain of knowing a scandal could erupt at any moment should her involvement with such an establishment become known.

  And now, clearly, something had happened.

  Lily ached with the desire to ease her sister’s distress, but she could see by Emma’s shuttered expression that her concern would be rebuffed, and Lily was not one to pry or push.

  “You do look a little flushed,” Lily noted instead. “I hope you are not falling ill, with the hours you have been keeping. You should really try to get more rest.”

  Emma had turned to open her bedroom door, then looked back over her shoulder. “That is exactly what I hope to do. Would you mind if I forgo visiting hours today? I do not feel quite up to it.”

  Something was definitely not right. Emma took her role as their guardian quite seriously. Lily could not imagine many things that would cause Emma to be lax in her responsibilities.

  “Of course,” Lily replied. “We have the Lovells’ party tonight. Should I send our regrets?”

  “No, I will be fine by tonight. I just need a little rest.”

  Lily hoped that was all it was, but a kernel of suspicion had been planted. Not wanting to contribute to Emma’s stress with her own worry, Lily assured her, “All right. I will make sure you are not disturbed.”

  “Thank you, Lily. You are a treasure.”

  Giving her sister a reassuring smile, Lily turned and continued down the hall. As soon as she heard Emma’s door click shut behind her, she picked up her skirts in both hands and lengthened her stride, heading straight for Portia’s bedroom. The youngest Chadwick had had no problem at all conforming to her new schedule and could be found still abed past noon on most days.

  Lily did not bother to knock but slipped into the darkened room and went straight to her sister’s bedside to nudge her awake.

  “Portia. Portia!” Lily brought her knee up onto the mattress to bounce it vigorously with her weight.

  Portia groaned and tried to draw the covers over her head, but Lily whipped them away.

  Her sister’s groan turned to an angry growl as she cracked her eyes open in a narrow but fierce glare. “Bloody hell, Lily.”

  “Language, Portia,” Lily admonished, then changed her tone as her sister rolled away from her. “You are right,” she offered.

  Portia twisted to look over her shoulder. “I know I am. About what this time?”

  Lily recalled the harried, flushed look on their oldest sister’s face and felt another pang of worry. “Emma. And whatever she is hiding. We need to figure out what is going on—the sooner, the better.”

  Four

  The Earl of Harte stood at his bedroom window, looking out over the streets of London as he mentally prepared himself for the evening ahead. He never used a valet when he dressed, preferring to accomplish the task in private, but tonight he might have welcomed the distraction of a servant’s pointless drone.

  A strict and personal rule dictated he spend a certain number of hours mingling with his peers in the drawing rooms, dining rooms, and ballrooms of the ton. Only after the requisite hours were fulfilled did he allow himself the freedom of retiring.

  Lately, however, the familiar social trial had become nearly unbearable.

  Because of Miss Chadwick.

  He had no idea by what design the universe had decided to torture him by placing her so frequently in his proximity, but Avenell was determined to stay as far from her as possible. He could not risk a repeat of what had happened on the terrace at the Michaels’ ball. It had been the first time in years that he’d experienced a slip in his carefully constructed self-control, and the shocked look in her soft, gray eyes had been enough to convince him he could not allow such a thing to happen again.

  Avoiding the woman, however, had so far proven to be more difficult than he anticipated.

  Perhaps he should ignore the usual invitations for the rest of the Season and spend his evenings at his club instead. Avenell had been a member of White’s since he came of age, but he rarely entered the place. He never imbibed alcohol in the company of others, he did not gamble, he abhorred the cloying smell of tobacco that often filled such clubs,
and he preferred to take his meals and read the newspaper in the privacy of his home.

  But White’s was one place he could be assured he would not find himself passing beneath the attentive gaze of Miss Chadwick.

  He turned away from the window, finally feeling some confidence in the evening ahead. He need only stop in at one party at which he had promised to make an appearance, and then he would be free from the possibility of encountering the woman whose demure visage never seemed to leave his thoughts.

  * * *

  “What will we be hearing tonight?” Angelique asked.

  The Chadwicks and the dowager countess were in the carriage on their way to a casual gathering at Lord and Lady Mawbry’s. Tonight was less about husband hunting and more an opportunity to relax among favorable company. It was a welcome change of pace from the intense socializing they had been focused on for the past few weeks.

  Lily especially was looking forward to the informal poetry reading planned for later in the night. It was to be a selection from the work of one of her favorite poets.

  “The Daemon of the World,” she answered. “It is Percy Bysshe Shelley’s complete rewriting of Queen Mab.”

  “I hope it does not put me to sleep,” Angelique said with a theatrical wave of her hand. Her French accent added another dose to the drama of the statement. “I do not relish the idea of snoring in front of my friends.”

  “Do not worry,” Portia offered with a mischievous smile. “I will give you a jab with my elbow if I see you starting to nod off.”

  “Ah, you are a generous girl,” the elderly lady said with a smile as she reached out to pat Portia’s hand.

  Portia and Lily exchanged grins.

  Lily cast a glance at Emma, seated across from her in the carriage. Her older sister didn’t appear to have heard a bit of the conversation since they’d left their great-aunt’s house. Emma’s distraction was palpable.

  Lily looked askance at Portia and saw she had also noticed Emma’s uncharacteristic lack of attention.