The Earl Takes a Fancy

by Lorraine Heath

  “In truth, I’m more interested in her actions, the manner in which she treats people, the things she cares about, the things she doesn’t. The other attributes I named would be a nice addition but not a requirement.”

  “Are you looking to marry?”

  His gaze shifted until it appeared he was looking past her, not so much to ensure they had no collision with another boat but because the water provided a calming effect over his thoughts. “I hadn’t really contemplated it. When I met my wife, I was quickly smitten, and she took advantage. I was young and stupid. I am neither any longer and a good deal more cautious.” His gaze came back to her. “Or at least I’m trying to be.”

  “I worry that some lord will pretend to be smitten with me in order to win my hand, but all he really wants is my dowry. I want love but know it’s not what those among the aristocracy generally seek. Financial or political advantage holds much more sway. My family can definitely provide a financial advantage, and now that they’ve married into the aristocracy, I believe they’ll have some political influence. I want a man who cares nothing at all for any of that. So he mustn’t be impoverished. He must have his own power and influence, and not look to me to provide it. Even as I begin listing out my requirements, I realize I’m doing exactly what I don’t want him to do. Ticking off what I believe will make him perfect.”

  “No one is perfect.”

  But Matthew Sommersby came close. “In the end, I just want to be loved.”

  “I suppose that’s what we all want.” He grinned. “That and a spot of tea. Hungry?”

  She laughed lightly. “I’m a bit peckish.”

  He nodded toward the shore. “We’ll pull over here, enjoy a bit of a repast.”

  Matthew secured the punt to a low-hanging bush, delivered the blanket and wicker basket to a spot beneath a willow tree, and returned for Fancy. She looked like sunshine in her yellow frock, like a lady of quality with her white parasol, like a country lass with her straw bonnet. With one foot in the boat, he sought to steady it as he offered her his hand. “Hold on to me to balance yourself.”

  As she placed her hand in his, he closed his fingers around hers and became the support for her as she gingerly rose to her feet, the punt rocking slightly with her movements. “It’s all right,” he cooed. “I’m not going to let you go over into the water.”

  “I have absolute faith in you.”

  He was completely taken aback by how much her words meant to him. When she began to wobble slightly, he placed his free hand on her waist. She froze. Their eyes met. He could gaze into those brown depths for the remainder of his life and never fully uncover all the various facets to her. She was elegance and poise, a perfect fit for the aristocracy. She was adventurous and fun, perfect for the world she now inhabited. She would forever be a part of both, of where she’d come from and where she was going. He had little doubt she would succeed in whatever she attempted. She would wed a lord.

  And their paths would cross at future balls and affairs, because Sylvie was correct. Eventually he would have to return to Society, find a woman to marry in order to gain his heir and secure the line. He had closed off his heart, decided it served no useful purpose when it came to his determining whom he would take to wife. But now with this woman putting all her trust in him, he realized he’d been more foolish with that assertion about involving his heart than he’d been when he allowed Elise to so effectively seduce him. Whether he desired it or not, his heart was becoming involved, was nudging him toward Fancy Trewlove. He could have her so easily if he told her the truth, but he wanted to earn her, without the advantage of his title.

  “Easy now, don’t move,” he murmured. Slowly releasing his hold on her hand, he lowered his to her waist, so she was now bracketed between both his hands. “Put your hands on my shoulders.”

  When she did so, he tightened his grip on her, lifted her up, and swung her over to the bank. She was as light as the branches of the willow beneath which they’d soon be sitting, and he was reluctant to let her go, but as her feet came to rest on the ground, he loosened his hold and brought his own foot from the boat to the shore.

  “It’s odd to be standing on land after being on the water,” she said softly. “I feel as though we’re still moving.”

  “It’ll pass, but you can hold on to me until you’re feeling more steady.”

  It seemed the most natural thing in the world to offer his arm and have her wrap both of hers around it, fairly snuggling up against him. As he led her toward the tree, he kept his steps small and realized it had become a habit for him to do so whenever they walked together. How many other aspects of his life were dictated by his desire to ensure she always felt comfortable in his presence? How often did he do something simply because he knew it would please her?

  How was he going to feel when a gentleman called on her, not for a cup of tea, but for a stroll in the park? He didn’t want to think of her arm intertwined with another’s. Didn’t want to contemplate her gazing up into another’s eyes.

  When they reached the tree, she eased away from him and together they spread out the blanket. After they’d settled on the wool, he opened the wicker basket.

  “Are you truly going to make tea?” she asked.

  With a grin, he pulled out a bottle of red wine. “No, too much trouble.”

  As she laughed, she untied the ribbon on her bonnet, removed the hat from her head, and set it down near her side. He handed her a glass. “Proper stemware.”

  “I didn’t think you’d like drinking from the bottle.” He brought out a platter and removed the cloth covering it. “It appears we also have some cheese, bread, apples, and grapes.”

  “Did Mrs. Bennett prepare all this?”

  “She did.” Stretching out on his side, he rested on an elbow. “I didn’t realize she couldn’t read until I saw her at your class. I don’t know how she manages her household.”

  She studied her wineglass for a moment. “I think people who can’t read find a way to remember things. My mum was never a very good reader. She had a basic understanding of most of the letters, I think, but she still struggles. Yet she raised six children. And we’ve all turned out fairly well.”

  “Is she the reason you teach reading?”

  She nodded. “I hope to have an actual school for adults in a building, very much like the ragged schools. Not only to teach them reading but to introduce them to some skills that might help improve their income, their lives. I just have to secure a husband willing to embrace all I hope to accomplish.”

  “It’s all worthwhile. I’m sure you won’t have any trouble there.”

  “I can only hope.” Reaching out, she snatched up a small chunk of cheese and popped it into her mouth. “I’m curious. How did you become a gentleman of means? How do you make your way?”

  After the kiss they’d shared, she had every right to ask. “I inherited a good deal from my father. I have some property.” Not everyone who owned property was a noble. “Have a few tenants working the land. I meet occasionally with my man of affairs to discuss ways to make the property more profitable.” How to ensure his income could cover all the maintenance costs associated with having an earldom, an estate, a manor house. “I’m also keen on investing, and I’m rather good at it.”

  “So you’ve never actually worked?”

  “It takes a great deal of effort, insight, and skill to manage property, people, and money. I would have thought your brother would have taught you that.” Not to mention his duties in the House of Lords, not that he was ready to tell her about that portion of his life.

  “I didn’t mean to insult your efforts.” She took a sip of her wine, glanced up at the tree. “The gentleman I marry will no doubt partake in similar endeavors. Or perhaps none at all. Lords don’t generally engage in labors. I can’t imagine what he will do with his day.”

  “Don’t underestimate what they contribute. They have their duties in the House of Lords. They provide work for laborers and farme
rs. Think of the people in this country who are employed as servants. A good many of them work in noble households. Lords always have some matter with which they must deal. It’s not as though they loll about in bed all day. They have responsibilities. Sometimes it’s a heavy burden.”

  “You truly do have respect for the aristocracy.”

  He hadn’t meant to go on about it, but it was imperative she realized she was seeking to marry more than a title. While her siblings had married into the aristocracy, with the exception of Thornley, none of their spouses were active participants in it any longer. Granted, for the women, their choice of husband had created scandal, and the aristocracy was not a forgiving lot, but still they were seldom seen in the thick of things. Straightening, he set his glass aside and edged over until his hip was close to hers, with her facing one way, he the other so he had a better view of her. He cradled her face. “You will be responsible for tenants, farmers, laborers, servants. They’ll come to you when they have problems, when they are ill. You’ll manage a manor house, perhaps more than one. It depends on how many titles or estates he has. You’ll oversee his London residence. Wherever you go, you will represent him, people will associate you with him. I know you’re up to the task, but just take care in the choosing. He will be as much a reflection of you as you are of him.”

  “I’m well aware. I’m not going to make a hasty decision. I fully understand the responsibilities I will take on as the wife of a lord. Managing my shop as much as anything has helped prepare me for them. I intend to be a great help to my husband, ensuring he never regrets taking a chance on me.”

  “Any man who regrets having you at his side would be a fool. I think you’re too smart to marry a fool.”

  “I’m not as smart as you think. I probably shouldn’t be here with you.”

  “Why are you?”

  “Because I like you a great deal. I enjoy your company. And while all my lessons have prepared me to oversee my duties and responsibilities, I’ve had no lessons whatsoever in how to entice a man into wanting me. As I’ve mentioned, my family has worked very hard to keep me pure and away from those with wicked intentions. As a result, I feel somewhat . . . unmoored when it comes to being alone with a man. I don’t know how to properly kiss—”

  “I found no fault with your kiss, sweeting.”

  “It seems to me, though, that perhaps I should practice a bit more, simply to ensure I’ve mastered the technique.”

  He skimmed his thumb over her lower lip. “If you practice at balls or with other gentlemen, you’re going to gain a reputation that will not serve you well. I suggest you have but one tutor, one who will keep the lessons secret.”

  “Have you someone in mind?” The hushed words came out slowly, seductively, and his body reacted as though she’d brushed them over his skin.

  “You’re not quite as innocent as you seem, are you?”

  “I’ve read some books banned under the Obscene Publications Act, so I know a few things, but reading is never as educational as doing. Does my boldness frighten you, Mr. Sommersby?”

  Her eyes held a challenge that he intended to accept. “Not at all, Miss Trewlove.”

  He’d begun slowly before. This time, he offered no preamble. He simply took possession of her mouth as though it belonged to him, and damned if at that particular moment, he didn’t feel as though it did. As though she belonged to him. Every facet of her. Her heart, her soul, her body. Ah, yes, especially her body as she twisted toward him, her breasts pressing up against his chest, her leg swinging up and over his thigh, trapping him within her skirts. Her hands glided over his shoulders, one resting at the nape of his neck, the other sliding along his arm and then ducking under it to splay across his back. Wrapping himself around her, he lowered her to the ground.

  She tasted of rich wine and something more, something unique to her. Her soft sighs were sweeter than the trill of the birds in the trees or the rustle of the leaves in the breeze. As much as he longed to unbutton her bodice, strip her bare, he showed restraint because he was well aware that at any moment someone could happen upon them. This spot was popular among boaters. With luck, any intruders would be strangers and a kiss they could laugh off. To be caught doing more . . . he wouldn’t risk bringing that shame to her. No matter how his body ached to possess her fully.

  He didn’t want her practicing with anyone else, exploring another’s mouth. She was daring as she stroked her tongue over his, as she drew his into her mouth and suckled. His low growl echoed between them as he dragged his hand down her back to her bottom and pressed her close so she could know the affect she had on him.

  Tearing his mouth from hers, he trailed his lips along the underside of her jaw. She released a tiny mewl. “Do you like that?”

  “Yes.”

  He took her lobe between his teeth, nipped, then soothed with his tongue. Another mewl. “And that?”

  “Yes. I thought only mouths were involved in kissing.”

  “How boring would that be?” He made a sojourn along the column of her throat. “If no possibility existed for us to get caught, I’d kiss every inch of you.”

  “Every inch?”

  Raising up, he looked down on her and grinned. “Every inch.”

  She blinked. “Every?”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “Every.”

  “Is that proper?”

  “Probably not. But I would enjoy it and would ensure you did as well.”

  “Would you want me to kiss every inch of you?”

  “Only if you wanted.”

  She licked her lips. “Would you think me wicked if I did?”

  “Ah, Christ.” He buried his face in the curve of her neck. Never in his life had a mere thought caused him to ache with such need, but the vision of her mouth moving over every inch of his flesh—

  She squirmed beneath him.

  “Please lie still.”

  “You’re poking me.”

  “That’s my body signaling that I want you.”

  “Oh.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I don’t know if I’ve ever been wanted before.”

  “I rather suspect you have.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, Fancy, you are a delectable delight.”

  She laughed lightly, her entire body shaking beneath him. God, he loved the airy sound of her laughter, like the chimes at Christmas.

  “How do we make it so you don’t want me?”

  That wasn’t going to happen. Even if he took her fully, he’d want her again. He knew that with certainty. But also knew what she was asking. “To distract myself, I’m going through Aesop’s fables.”

  More laughter from her. “I don’t know that there is one that applies to this situation.”

  No, but she’d distracted him. Taking a deep breath, he shoved himself off her and stood, turned away from her, and adjusted himself. “We should probably call it an afternoon.”

  He hadn’t heard her get up, but her arms came around him and she pressed her cheek to his back. “Kissing is like reading, isn’t it? The more you learn, the more comfortable you become with it, the more you want to do it.”

  “I’m glad you found it enjoyable.”

  “You’re a very good tutor. If you ever make a bad investment and need funds, I think you could make a living giving kissing lessons.”

  Laughing, he spun around and wrapped her in his embrace. “At the moment, the only person I’m interested in kissing is you.”

  Chapter 17

  The following afternoon, using a thin but sharp blade, Fancy was carefully removing the leather cover from the book Timmy Tubbins had brought her when Marianne rapped on the doorjamb. Looking up from her desk, she wondered why her clerk’s brow was furrowed so deeply and her mouth pinched. “Is something amiss?”

  “There’s a gent here what wants to talk to you.”

  “Who wants to talk to me.”

  “The gent. The gent what’s out here.”


  She squeezed her eyes shut, opened them. Marianne was sharp but had grown up with very little education. Although her grammar had improved greatly since coming to work at the shop, challenges still presented themselves. “It’s the gent who not the gent what.”

  Marianne appeared even more flummoxed. Fancy waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind. We’ll discuss it later. Send him in.”

  She rose to her feet. Not even half a minute later, a slender man of rather short height—she doubted the top his head would reach the shoulder of any of her brothers—entered, holding his hat and a satchel in one hand. “Miss Fancy Trewlove?”

  “Yes, sir. How may I be of service?”

  “It is I who am here to serve you.” Confidence shimmering off him, he came nearer and set his things on her desk. “My name is Paul Lassiter. I’m a solicitor. One of my clients wishes to make a donation toward helping to finance your lending library and your efforts to educate those adults who have yet to learn to read.”

  “Oh.” She hardly knew what to say. Until that moment all her donations had come from her family or their spouses’ families or friends. Once she married, hopefully, she would be able to tap into a host of beneficiaries.

  He opened his satchel, removed a package wrapped in brown paper secured with string, and set it before her. Slowly, she loosened the bow and folded back the covering to reveal a stack of notes.

  “Five hundred pounds,” he said.

  She jerked her gaze up to meet his. “Who is this client?”

  “Someone who wishes to remain anonymous.”

  Someone? A man? A woman? Could it be Lady Penelope? She’d certainly perked up when she’d learned the library was maintained with donations. Or was it someone else? “Why would this person be so incredibly generous?”

  “A believer in your cause.” He picked up his hat and satchel. “Have a good day, Miss Trewlove.”

  “Wait. I . . . I’m having a difficult time absorbing this. You can tell me something about this generous soul, surely. Have we met? How did he—or she—learn of my cause?”