The Earl's Wager

by Rebecca Thomas

  “I’m just making polite conversation.”

  “I think it’s more than that.” He frowned. “I think you are very ambitious. And you aren’t British, so I tend to be a little skeptical of you.”

  “My mother was British,” she countered.

  “I’m curious about you, so I’ll play along and answer your questions. Yes, my father will likely marry again. He’s only fifty-five, but he drinks heavily, so chances are he will not live much longer. Then again, he may well live for another twenty years. Are you certain, Miss Duvall, that you’d want to bind yourself to a man thirty years your senior all because you want to be a duchess?”

  “I don’t care about being a duchess,” she admitted. “I’m being completely honest. I promise.”

  Surprise etched across his handsome features. “I’m a pretty good reader of people, and I think I might believe you.”

  “Thank you for that.”

  “We aren’t so different, you and I.”

  “I’m sure you’re going to explain what you mean, my lord.”

  “You want something. And if it isn’t being the next Duchess of Ardurry, then logically it must be because you want to be my countess, but…” He shook his head. “I don’t think it’s that either.”

  Georgia laughed. “Why don’t you simply believe that I like you, I don’t think you’re the scoundrel everyone says you are, and I wanted a carriage ride this morning?”

  “I’m not sure I believe any of that, Miss Duvall.”

  “I truly wanted to get away from Autumn Ridge for a while today.” She made a crossing motion over her heart. “It is absolutely the truth.” And by taking a carriage ride with Lord Leighton, she was only delaying the confrontation that was sure to come with Will.

  They pulled into a circular driveway in front of a country estate owned by the Price family. The beauty of Danby Hall took her breath away. The building was made of warm yellow stone. Flower gardens surrounded the estate on both sides, and ivy wound its way up the east side of the stones. Elm trees shaded the driveway, and horses grazed in the distance. They probably had close to one hundred acres.

  If she did manage to catch the attention of the Duke of Ardurry, it certainly wouldn’t be a hardship living in such a grand country home.

  “You wanted to see my breeding stock, so I’ll take you to the stables.”

  “That sounds wonderful. You have a beautiful estate. I’m surprised Oliver hasn’t mentioned you or your father. We’re practically neighbors.”

  “You’ve been introduced to many people since arriving in England,” he said. “I’m sure you would have met us eventually.”

  But for whatever reason, Georgia wasn’t sure about that. Oliver hadn’t wanted to let her accompany Lord Leighton this morning, but he hadn’t been able to come up with a plausible excuse to deny her request. She was sure his hesitation had to do with more than the lord’s reputation.

  When they approached the back side of Danby Hall, a tall man with mannerisms similar to Lord Leighton’s emerged from the stables. Despite his protruding belly, and his once dark hair graying along the edges, the way he walked told her he was the duke. That she was considering marriage to someone so much older suddenly became real. And after the intimacies she had shared with Will, marrying anyone other than him was hard to imagine.

  A pang of regret enveloped her soul.

  “There’s my father now,” Lord Leighton said. “I’ll introduce you.” After parking the carriage, he escorted her toward the stables, but with each step toward the duke, she became more uncertain of her future.

  “Father, I’d like to introduce you to our new neighbor, Miss Georgia Duvall,” Lord Leighton said.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Grace.” Georgia made the appropriate curtsy and complimented him on the fine estate grounds, just like Will had taught her. Closer inspection of the duke showed he didn’t have good color to his skin, but that could’ve been from too many hours spent in the sun, or heat exhaustion. However, he could also be ill, like Penelope suspected.

  “You’re the American woman who’s an excellent rider, so I’m told,” the duke said.

  “My reputation precedes me.” She blushed appropriately. “I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

  “When women, British or American, help train quality racehorses, the word spreads.”

  “I’m grateful my cousin, Lord Marsdale, allows me to partake in some aspect of the training. I did the same in Virginia, before my father passed on.”

  “Marsdale has an excellent program and fine horses,” the duke said, “but if he’d use some of my breeding stock, he’d have an even better program.”

  It became obvious then why Oliver had failed to mention the Danby estate and their horses—because they were in competition with each other.

  The duke went on to add, “I have more warmbloods in my bloodlines—a heavier, thicker stock capable of carrying heavy loads over long distances.”

  “You have primarily carriage horses, then?” Georgia asked.

  The duke coughed. “No, not at all. I have quality hunters and jumpers. My horses have stamina and strength for the fox hunt, along with speed and agility for racing.”

  Georgia nodded. Clearly, the Danby estate didn’t specialize in one particular horse quality like Autumn Ridge. Regardless, Georgia could converse with people about horses all day long.

  In fact, it had been entirely too long since she’d ridden Perseus, and she made a mental note to do that soon. But it was getting late, and she didn’t want Oliver worrying about her. “Perhaps I can ride over later in the week. You can see one of Oliver’s finest stallions.”

  “You’re riding stallions?” the duke asked.

  Georgia caught a smirk etched across Leighton’s face.

  “Well, yes,” she said with determination. “In fact, I’ll ride Perseus. You can see for yourself.”

  “Don’t you ride a mare?” the duke inquired.

  “Oliver allows me to ride any one of his horses, but Perseus is the one I consider mine.” She gave what she hoped was a genuine smile. “You’ll see.”

  “Fine, fine,” the duke remarked. “You ride a stallion over here, and I’ll have a look.”

  “I shall do that,” she replied. “But for now, I think I’d best get back. I don’t want my cousin worrying needlessly over my return.”

  “Come back whenever you’d like,” the duke said. “I’m not surprised Marsdale has kept you all to himself.”

  Lord Leighton extended his arm to escort her back to the carriage. Georgia didn’t understand his comment about Oliver keeping her to himself, but it didn’t matter. She’d have one of the grooms ride over with her when she returned to assess the possibility of a match with the Duke of Ardurry. In fact, she would do all she could to win the man over so Will would be free to marry a woman of high station.

  The ton could be cruel. Will’s words replayed in her mind once more: I can’t be shunned again—not like before. She’d seen the hurt in his eyes when he’d said it. She could never be party to that, and that’s what he would have if he married her.

  Although she had lingering doubts, she would stick with her plan—she must. It was the best possible thing she could do for Will.

  …

  Will paced back and forth past the parlor window, waiting for Georgia’s return. When he left his sister’s room he’d convinced himself he’d leave and announce to Leighton and Georgia that she was to marry him and no one else. But once he’d had time to calm himself, he realized a high hand with Georgia wasn’t the appropriate way to manage her.

  Deep breaths.

  He would find another way to make her see reason—it was the right thing to do. She must know she couldn’t marry a scoundrel like Leighton because she could be carrying Will’s child.

  When he saw the carriage, he willed himself to stay indoors and not immediately confront them. And he reminded himself to handle her gently, despite his desire to whisk her away to Sco
tland. Bound and gagged, if necessary.

  He huffed out a breath. It wasn’t like him to be so infuriated—he was a British gentleman, after all, not some rogue American sea captain. He fisted his hands at his sides and watched Georgia smile gaily at Leighton and then wave as he drove his rig from the house and down the driveway.

  Will strode away from the window and back again. Surely he could wait for her to come inside, not chase after her like an obsessed rodent foraging for food before winter. He refused to go after Georgia’s crumbs.

  She’d have him, and she’d be happy for it.

  But when he approached the window again, she was hurrying away from the house toward the stables. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d spotted his horse and was making a run for it to avoid him.

  “Confound it,” Will hissed to no one but himself. He donned his waistcoat and marched after her.

  Inside the stable, he found her in a stall with Perseus—the black racing stallion that was soon to be his. Blast. He’d lost focus on the real prize. Although, after seeing them together, he realized he’d be content to have both of them under his roof and legally bound as his property. After all, that would mean he would have helped Georgia make a match he was certain Oliver would approve of… As long as Oliver didn’t realize Will had compromised his ward and pressured her into marriage.

  “Georgia,” he called to her. “I was under the impression we’d speak this morning about our future plans.”

  “You said tomorrow. You never said what time,” she said, then rubbed the horse’s nose.

  “Nonetheless, we’ve plans to make,” he said, raising a brow. He was determined to keep himself calm and handle things gently but firmly.

  “What kind of plans?” Not only did she refuse to meet his gaze, she moved to petting the horse’s shoulder.

  “Our marriage.”

  He noted the widening of her eyes before she turned to look in his direction. “I never agreed to a marriage.”

  “Confound it, Georgia.” He ran his hand through his hair, stalling for time, praying for patience. “Must you force my hand? Must I bring Marsdale into this? He won’t allow you to marry anyone but me. You’re mine now.”

  So much for handling this situation as the composed, reasonable gentleman he purported to be.

  “I belong to no one. I am myself.” He swore he saw wetness in her eyes as she gazed at him over the horse’s neck. “I’m owned by no one, and I don’t have to answer to anyone. Especially not you.”

  “And why especially not me?” Her words were like a punch to his gut. Every moment he’d waited for her to return, his ire had built, despite his rational mind warning him to remain placid.

  But he’d dwelt on her sitting beside Leighton in that damnably fine carriage. He’d imagined all the things she would have said to the rake. The way she would have smiled. The mind could make a man crazy with its visualizations.

  “Just because you ruled over my body for an encounter doesn’t mean you own my mind or make any decisions for me.” She stepped away from the horse and closer to the stall gate. “I decide what is best for me.”

  Rage seethed through every vein in his body. He pulled open the gate and hauled her into his arms. “If you think for one moment I’d let you marry another man with my child in your belly, you don’t know me very well.” He pushed the gate closed then heard a sound from the other end of the stable. One of the grooms entered the corridor. “Leave us,” Will called out to him. “See that we’re not disturbed.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The groom dashed outside.

  “You can’t make me do something I don’t want to do.” Georgia shoved on his chest.

  “We shall see about that.” He pulled her into a stall that was currently being used for storage of bales of hay.

  “What are you doing?” she squealed.

  “Trying to make you see reason.” Immediately after he’d said the words, he realized he was doing this completely wrong. He’d just counseled himself not to be high-handed with her, but that was exactly what he was doing.

  “Reason according to what? The book of Will Sutton, Earl of Grandleigh?” She didn’t merely push now, she punched his chest.

  This blasted woman made him lose all sense of propriety. Her small, voluptuous curves filled the day dress designed primarily for traveling and active use. Mrs. Marchant had outdone herself with the design. The square neckline showed the perfect amount of cleavage—less than her party dress, but certainly more than the dresses she’d worn prior to his tutoring lessons. Her hair wasn’t pulled back as severely as it had been in the past, either. Strands of deep-brown locks framed her full cheekbones and complemented her blue eyes.

  He breathed in her lilac scent, held her shoulders at arm’s length, and studied her reddened face. Her skin was flushed, her eyebrows furrowed, and he couldn’t defy his baser needs.

  He kissed her. If he’d tried, he couldn’t have stopped himself, she made him so angry. She spun his emotions out of control, like a wild horse that required taming. A fire built at his toes and culminated in his gut.

  He’d meant to put her in her place—to show her that he was the ruler. His hands pressed on her back, becoming more rigid and tense. His fingertips burned into the fabric, and he grew hard—God, how he wanted her.

  He kissed her with more insistence, and he swallowed her moan.

  A small voice inside reminded him why he was kissing her. Finally, he pulled away and put a few inches between them. “I don’t have a book, but if I did, I’d use it to swat your backside.”

  “I dare you.” She kissed him with passion, searing him, intoxicating him.

  His hands slid beneath her hips and pulled her to him, grinding his hardness into the juncture between her thighs. He wanted her to feel what she did to him.

  He locked his hands on her waist and lifted, setting her on a bale of hay, then he ran his hand along the inside of her calf, moving to the end of her stocking and the soft, inner flesh of her thigh. “I have something other than swatting you in mind.”

  “What are you doing?” she gasped.

  “Bringing you to your senses. Making you realize I’m the only man you’re to marry.” He pushed the hem of her skirt to the tops of her thighs and pushed her drawers aside. “I’m going to touch you.”

  Whimpering, she flung her head back.

  Although Will was still enraged with her and wanted nothing better than to teach her a lesson, he also wanted her consent. “Georgia.” He crawled alongside her in the hay and touched his lips to the outer shell of her ear, he said, “Spread your legs for me.”

  Immediately, she complied. Will felt a sense of masculine pride. “Tell me,” he hummed. “Tell me you want me to touch you.”

  “I-I want you,” she murmured.

  “You want me to what?” he asked, stroking the insides of her thighs, touching her everywhere except her woman’s sex.

  “I want you to touch me,” she said breathlessly and pulled at his shoulder.

  Exactly what he’d hoped to hear. His fingers teased the moist folds of her sex, giving friction where she needed with a light, feathery touch.

  At first she arched her back then lifted her hips. She moaned then kissed him with a needy abandon. He slipped a finger inside her, but the heel of his hand kept pressure on her sensitive nub.

  Her hips jerked, and she called his name.

  “My darling,” he murmured.

  She gasped and let her body feel the vibrations coursing through it.

  “I didn’t plan this, Georgia,” he crooned as she relaxed. “I didn’t set out to make you mine, but you are now, and despite how ill-matched we might be, we will be together.”

  The stable was quiet except for the soft nicker of a horse. The silence between them lengthened.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you say we have to be together?” She straightened her bent legs.

  He pulled his hand from her. “Because y
ou might be with child.”

  “What if I’m not?”

  “It doesn’t matter, because you’re ruined.”

  She pushed her skirts down to her ankles and scooted to the edge of the hay bale. “Stop saying I’m ruined. Besides, maybe my future husband won’t care.”

  The tenderness encompassing his heart only moments ago faded.

  “What are you saying?” he bit out.

  “I’m saying that if I’m with child, then yes, I’ll marry you.” She stood and turned to him. “But if I’m not, I won’t.”

  She brushed at the pieces of hay covering her person.

  Will was too flummoxed to speak.

  When she started to walk out of the stall, he reached her in one swift stride and grabbed her waist. “Wait.”

  Her pale-blue eyes stared up at him. “What is it?”

  “You would deliberately spurn me? A man with a title and land? You would be a countess married to me.”

  “I understand,” she replied simply, her gaze not wavering.

  “I would give you all that I have, when you’d give me nothing but—”

  “But what?” she blurted. “I’d give you nothing but a child?”

  “I-I didn’t mean that.” This was completely unlike him. He was clearly off-kilter. This woman turned him into an idiot he didn’t recognize, driving him to speak without thinking. “I only meant that it isn’t our way. In England, we have expectations. Decorum is of the utmost importance. A woman, such as yourself, would be honored to be married to a titled gentleman. I certainly don’t have the means that Marsdale has, but Black Pine Hall gets on well. I have good tenants. I’ve made improvements to all my properties.”

  “I’m sure most women would be honored by your offer, Will, but I’m different from most women.” She moved away from him down the stable’s corridor, but then she abruptly stopped and turned to face him. “I’ll know in less than a fortnight if I’m pregnant. I’ll agree to marriage only if I’ve conceived.”

  And she left.

  Chapter Fifteen