Enticing the Earl (5 page)

“Thank you for the excellent luncheon,” she told the earl as he helped her once more into the carriage.

“You are more than welcome,” he said, smiling at her, his usually stern eyes unexpectedly tender, with a light in them that made her blush. And again, he kissed her hand.

As she settled herself in the vehicle's interior, she felt a warmth inside her that had nothing to do with her full stomach. And when she gazed out at the green meadows, she was thinking, instead, of what she might see and experience tonight, at the earl's residence, and a growing excitement simmered in her veins. But as the wheels turned, the valet on the other side of the carriage was just as loquacious as he had been during the morning, and again her eyelids grew heavy, and soon she dozed.

When the carriage slowed once more, she sat up quickly. But this time there was no shouting or clatter of wheels on cobblestones as there had been at the innyard. Where were they?

She looked out and saw that the earl had ridden up to the carriage. He dismounted, and the groom had hurriedly jumped from the carriage and come to hold his master's mount so that the earl could open the door for her.

“I wanted you to see this,” the earl called to her. “Your first look at the Fens.”

Bending her head, Lauryn made her way out of the carriage. When she could look up, she gazed in astonishment at the landscape before her.

The land stretched out as flat and green as a billiard table. Waving fields of some type of grain moved in the constant breeze that made her glad for her warm navy jacket and, even then, she wrapped her arms about her body.

And the sunlight—the sky was so amazingly blue and the light so clear and brilliant that she narrowed her eyes. After a moment she realized that the usual dulling coal smoke that always clouded London's skies was absent, and the land was so flat, lacking the hills and dales of Yorkshire most familiar to her, that the sky seemed a bowl, surrounding them with an aura of pure sunlight. The light was clear and golden, slanting toward sunset but not yet turning rosy, and she thought she could hear a skylark faintly trilling with exuberant notes high above them in some distant corner of the sky. Dazed, she thought she might, like the bird, break into song.

Looking much less forbidding than usual, Sutton smiled. With a slight shock, she realized that he loved his home shire.

“It's beautiful,” she said slowly. “Yet…”

“Yet?”

“I've always heard…”

She hesitated again, and he waited.

“I've always heard how dismal the Fens are,” she said, daring to be honest.

“Oh, they often are, offering gray dank days in winter when the winds howl, or even perilous when the spring floods come and overflow the canals built to drain the natural lowlands.” He nodded toward the flat lands around them. “But the land is very rich.” He leaned over and picked up a handful of soil, letting her see the deep black sod that he crumbled within his fingers before allowing it to fall back to earth. “It rewards the farmers, if you know how to treat it, how to humor its moods. And the land has its own beauty.”

She could not dispute that, looking at the undulating grain and the flat land that stretched as far as she could see, though now she could also see ribbons of water stretching through the vegetation, and streaks of black earth showing beneath what she decided must be growing barley.

She shivered as the wind gusted, and he motioned her back to the carriage. “Come, we're quite close now to home,” he told her.

Back in the shelter of the carriage, she leaned to look out the window as the team broke once more into a trot, and the vehicle jolted back into motion. If she lived here, would she ever get used to the flatness, after growing up in Yorkshire?

What a strange thought—she was only staying a few weeks!

Shaking her head at herself, she shivered again and wondered what the earl's seat would look like.

Within the hour, her questions were answered.

The great house was built on a slight rise, like a small island amid the flat land that surrounded it. Probably built in the seventeenth century, she thought, a large house with wings reaching out to each side, and a central building with columns rising on either side of its massive doors.

Horses' hooves and wheels crunching on the gravel drive, the carriage pulled up in front of the great house, and Lauryn was eager to get out and stretch her limbs. She was conscious of the weariness caused by the long drive and of cramped muscles brought on by sitting for so long in the tight space.

As footmen came out to untie the luggage and bring it in, the earl had already dismounted. A groom hurried up from behind the house, and Sutton tossed him the reins so that the servant might take the steed, now tossing its head wearily, away to the stables.

“Give him an extra ration of oats, Wilson,” the earl said. “He has had a long ride.”

Then the earl turned back and offered her his arm.

Stern he might be, but he did not lack for manners, Lauryn thought, accepting with a grateful smile.

“You must be fatigued,” he noted, not waiting for her to agree. “I will have a maid show you up to your room, where you can rest until dinner is served.”

And thoughtful, she added to her list of his virtues, even if a bit peremptory in manner. But then, he was an earl; he must be accustomed to ordering people—as well as horses—about.

At any rate, she nodded and walked in at his side while the servants hurried about, following his commands.

Was that what she would be expected to do? Lauryn had a moment of doubt about her role here, but she pushed it back, not ready to examine the thought just yet. She wanted a few moments to admire the great hall.

A pair of marble columns inside the tall outer doors echoed the columns on the outside, and the high ceilings were gilded and crisscrossed with plaster moldings. Niches in the walls held classical statuary, and the floors were of hardwood and shone from years of polishing. It was like entering a museum or great cathedral. How did one live in such a building?

Feeling completely unworthy, Lauryn held on to the earl's arm and was glad that he didn't seem to expect her to comment on his home—her mouth seemed as dry as the Fens were damp—and they passed through the wide entrance hall and on to the staircase.

They climbed the wide staircase side by side, but she became aware of an unusual amount of sound spilling over from the next level, and the fact that the earl had tensed and a deep frown now masked his handsome face.

They reached the top of the stairs and turned toward the double doors of what must be the drawing room; music could be heard, and the sounds of quite a number of people talking and laughing. The earl's frown grew even deeper, and Lauryn braced herself, thinking he was about to shout.

But just as he seemed ready to explode, one of the doors opened, and a young man, with a superficial resemblance to the earl, but more slightly built and with lighter hair and eyes, came out into the hall.

“Oh, there you are, Marcus,” the younger man said, his tone blithe. “About time you arrived.”

“So it would seem,” the earl said. “What in bloody hell are you doing, Carter, having a damn house party without consulting me first?” He did not raise his voice at all, but the coldness of his tone would have frozen a braver man than the calfling who stood before them.

However, to Lauryn's private surprise, the young man did not quail as she'd expected. He might have blinked a time or two, but on the whole, he seemed to hold his ground.

“Oh, come now, Brother,” he said, trying to smile as heartily as he had on first seeing them. “You'll make this lovely young lady think you're a grumpy old bear.”

“I'm Carter Sutton, the earl's half brother, don't you know,” he added for her benefit.

“How do you do?” Lauryn's lips were suddenly dry; she tried to lick them, and could barely swallow. How did one greet a member of the family when one was a not quite respectable—but she had no time to even finish the thought.

“I am,” the earl snapped. “And that's neither here nor there. But I had no plans for a houseful of guests, Carter—”

“Yes, but—”

“So you can give whatever friends you have conjured up their marching orders,” Sutton told him, his tone curt. “At once! I'm in no mood to play nursemaid to a bunch of squalling tulips of fashion.”

“Here now, no need to insult a fellow,” Carter said. “Anyhow, most of these are your friends, don't you know? Viscount Tweed is on his way, should be here any time, he's most certainly not in my crowd, and the Contessa d'Ellaye is—ah”—he glanced at Lauryn, who felt a tremor of unease—“ah, anyhow, they're not all my friends, by any means.”

“Tweed is hardly a close friend. We do business together, that's all. What made you think I wanted any of these people as long-term guests? And the fact remains, you are the one who seems to have invited them,” the earl retorted. “I had no mind to have a house full of people just now, Carter.”

“Oh, really?” Carter took a long look at Lauryn, who felt herself flush. “Just a private week in the country, eh? Well, I'm afraid I wasn't made aware of your plans, brother mine. And speaking of the contessa—”

He paused as another person emerged from the drawing room. Although she glided quietly enough through the open doorway, allowing only a burst of laughter and chatter to bubble around her, Lauryn felt it would have been more apt if there had been a blowing of trumpets to herald her emergence.

This woman was stunningly beautiful, with quantities of dark hair held up by a silver comb, Spanish-style, and drawn into a half knot on the back of her head, then allowed to cascade down her neck. Her wine-colored evening dress had a deep neckline, revealing more cleavage and olive-toned skin than most English ladies usually permitted, but this did not seem to abash the contessa in the slightest. Her dark eyes sparkled nearly as much as the red-colored stones in the necklace about her neck—stones which Lauryn suspected were quite real. Everything about her was a little extravagant and a little overblown and very eye-catching. Lauryn couldn't imagine how any other woman in the room would ever be noticed after the contessa entered.

She herself felt at once as plain as yesterday's stale bread, and very, very tired. Why had Lauryn thought she could do this? She should simply go back to Yorkshire here and now, take back her old black gowns and her place in the corner of her father-in-law's sitting room. But with great effort she held herself erect, kept her chin up and a polite smile on her face. She would not reveal her sinking heart, no matter how much she wanted to turn and slink away.

“Darlink' Marcuz,” the contessa was saying in heavily accented English, putting out both her hands to the earl. “How lovely it is to zee you again.”

“Indeed,” Sutton said, his tone less enthused, nodding but seeming not to see the lady's outstretched wine-colored glove-clad hands. He kept a firm hold on Lauryn's arm, instead.

“Ah, you have brought along a little friend, how agreeable. Veel you not introduce uz?”

The earl looked pained, but he turned to Lauryn and said, “Mrs. Smith, may I present the Contessa d'Ellaye. We are old—”

“
Belle amies
,” the contessa finished for him, her smile dazzling.

“Acquaintances,” the earl corrected, his tone firm.

Lauryn smiled, too, and gave the most graceful curtsy she could manage. Perhaps she would not steal away just yet, she told herself.

“Come and join uz in ze drawing room, Marcuz. We are enjoying your vine, it is quite decent,” the Contessa told him.

“No doubt.” The earl gave his brother a look that made the younger man grin sheepishly.

“Now, now, old man, it's a celebration, remember.”

“So you said. I have yet to hear what we are celebrating,” Sutton told him. “If you will excuse us, Mrs. Smith would like to rest before dinner, and I—”

“Oh, right. No wonder you're still looking so grim.” Carter brightened. “Though that is your normal—I mean—not to worry, Marcus. I shall buy you a whole new wine cellar! They've found the
Brave Lassie
!”

This statement made no sense at all to Lauryn, but the earl, who had already turned toward the staircase, halted almost in midstep.

“What did you say?” he demanded of his half brother.

Carter beamed as he repeated, “You heard me—they've located the
Brave Lassie
! And most of her cargo is intact!”

L
auryn waited for the earl to answer, and when the pause
stretched too long, she glanced up at him. She blinked to see that although his expression was controlled—perhaps too controlled—he could not command his complexion, which had paled.

“Are you sure—absolutely sure?” The harshness of his tone made his half brother take a step back. “This is not some drunken sailor's cup-tale?”

“No, Sutton, I swear, they are sure of it. We're lucky twice over, that it's found and that it's found by one of our own ships—well, ours and Tweed's, or it could have been claimed as salvage. And the majority of the cargo is there, I have it on the best of authority. The teas and the silks have rotted away long since, of course, but the rest—”

“What could have zurvived zo long under the zeas?” the contessa asked brightly.

The earl ignored her question, or was concentrating so hard he perhaps genuinely did not hear her. “Where did they find her, when, and how?”

“The wreck seemed to have shifted and washed up into the lagoon at Far Point where the ships used to weather the storms when the typhoons blew. I'm thinking the
Brave Lassie
was sheltering from a bad blow when it sank there…. we were never sure, of course, of exactly how it came to grief.”

“Didn't we look there at the time? I thought we combed the islands for her.” The earl's tone was so severe that Lauryn almost shivered, but his brother seemed to have more backbone than his flippant appearance indicated, as he didn't appear to quell at the interrogation.

“Of course we did, but the wreck has since been washed up to shore. Another ship from the viscount's fleet had stopped to get fresh water, and they saw a few timbers that led them to search farther down the beach. One storm took it from us, and another restored it. Although not the crew, of course, poor wretches.” Carter shivered.

The earl still frowned.

“And they have retrieved the cargo? What has survived?”

“Oh, yes, the ship holding it should be docking at Yarmouth within days, and then it will be sent on to Skegness. Then you can see it with your own eyes, Doubting Thomas,” the younger man grinned.

Sutton's lips stretched, but there was little humor in the grimace. “Let's not bring theology into it, Carter. I doubt either of us would measure up to the analogy.”

Lauryn had a dozen questions on her lips, but she kept them firmly closed. In good time, she told herself, in good time. She was a stranger. The earl did not seem disposed to talk of these matters in front of just anyone.

The contessa however, had not given up. “Zuch romance, the boat zinking and being found again,” she purred. “And vat did you zay waz in thiz valuable cargo?”

Again, no one seemed disposed to enlighten her. Carter flashed her a brief smile, but turned at once back to his brother.

“When it arrives, then–then I will believe it,” Sutton said.

“We've had a king's ransom rise up out of the sea, riches we thought were lost, Sutton, can't you show a grain of elation?” His brother waved his wineglass in the air, almost splashing them both.

“We've had a long day's travel. Let us rest and change, and perhaps we will be more in the mood for frivolity, Carter,” Sutton replied, his tone still cold. “And as for illusionary ghost ships—when I see it, nay, touch it, then, as I said, I will celebrate.”

He turned back toward the stairs, and Lauryn wheeled with him, leaving his brother, looking distinctly disappointed, in their wake.

As they walked away, Lauryn could hear the contessa appear to be consoling him.

“Do not think of it, darlink, tell me of this vonderful boat and the treasures it, olds, xee? Me, I zo much like treasurez.”

Her voice trailed off behind them as they climbed the steps to the next level, where the hallway was still broad, but not quite as wide as the spacious corridors below. Here the earl showed her to a large chamber where her carpetbags and hat-boxes had been taken, and where she found a maidservant awaiting her command.

“I suppose I will have to go down and see who is making merry in my house, even if without my invitation,” the earl told her, his tone still grim.

Lauryn thought she detected an implied question underlying his words, and she answered that instead of what he had said. “I will change my costume and make ready as quickly as possible, my lord.”

She noted distinct approval in his glance. “If you are not too weary, I would value your presence at my side,” he said. “Just send word when you are ready.”

Flushing that he cared if she was beside him or not, Lauryn vowed that she would, indeed, be swift. On the other hand, it was even more important that she look good, especially now that she had witnessed the contessa's amazing beauty. Lauryn was prepared for the earl to tire of her soon enough. But now that she had seen him, felt the power of his nearness, she didn't want it to be
too
soon!

She curtsied gracefully to him as he nodded a farewell, then, as soon as the door was shut behind him, whirled and spoke to the maidservant. “We must make haste! Is there water in the ewer?”

“Yes, ma'am,” the servant said. She was a pleasant-looking young woman who, Lauryn was pleased to see, seemed able to move rapidly but adeptly to unbutton the back of Lauryn's navy traveling suit after Lauryn removed the jacket. So Lauryn was able to change her outfit much more speedily than she would have done on her own.

She was able to wash off some of the dust of the trip, and take down and comb out her hair, deciding how to make the most of her own strengths—she did not have blue black tresses like the contessa, she had pale reddish gold instead, but her hair made a nice appearance when allowed to fall free—did she dare—

No, she was too old, Lauryn decided with a sigh, to go downstairs looking like a maiden just out. She didn't want to be judged mutton trying to pass as lamb! But she did tell the maid, whose name was Molly, to loosen the knot at the back of her head so that the hairdo was not so severe. This time a softer knot swept up the golden curve of her hair, and she looked less like a prim governess. The smoother, softer line seemed more sensual, she hoped, and more inviting.

And when the maid had shaken out the wrinkles and pressed one of her new dresses, Lauryn allowed the girl to drop the gown over her head, delighting in the lightness of the silk, relishing the feel of it against her skin, where the thin corset and chemise didn't keep the silk from touching her.

And thank heavens she had a dress with some color, so that her fair complexion would no longer be washed out by the severe black of her abandoned mourning gowns. Dressed again with the aid of the servant—the whole process was so much more efficient with someone to help—she glanced once more into the tall looking glass. She was not totally displeased.

“Do you know who is downstairs, Molly?” she asked.

“Oh, some of the younger Mr. Elton's friends, very dashing they are,” the maid told her as she helped her pull on evening gloves. “Several of 'is lordship's neighbors. And then there are friends of 'is lordship's from Lond'un, some of 'em have titles, some not.”

“I suppose there are ladies in the party, too?” Lauryn could not keep herself from asking.

“Oh, yes, ma'am,” Molly told her. “And the ladies are somethin' to see, with bright-colored gowns like yourn, real beauties most of 'em are, too.” Her voice was reverent.

Lauryn's stomach felt hollow. “I see.”

“But not to worry, yer just as pretty as any lady 'ere, ma'am,” Molly predicted. She inclined her head to look at Lauryn's reflection. “And more—that color brings out yer eyes real nice!”

Lauryn grinned ruefully. She could not be so a faint of heart! To sit here trying to draw courage from a maidservant's reassurances was a paltry thing. But she did feel better.

“Thank you,” she told her. “And thank you for your help.”

Molly looked at her in surprise. “Yer most welcome, ma'am. I 'ope ye stay longer than the last—um—”

“Than the earl's last lady friend?” Lauryn supplied, matter-of-factly.

Not meeting her eyes, Molly looked away as she folded the damp linen towel. “Um, yes, ma'am.”

“Yes,” Lauryn murmured. That was not really her plan, but—well, they would see, would they not? The earl would no doubt tire of her, too. And she would love to know just why he had sent away his last mistress, but there was a limit to what she felt she could gossip about with the servants. Anyhow, she couldn't quite bring herself to ask Molly such a bald-faced question.

“If you would inform the earl that I am ready,” she told the maid.

Molly dropped her a curtsy. “I will tell Boxel, ma'am,” she said. “'E won't let me speak to the earl direct, but 'e'll pass on yer message.”

Lauryn nodded her thanks, and careful not to wrinkle her beautiful new gown, sat down on the edge of an upholstered chair.

Within a couple of minutes, a low knock sounded at her door. When she stood to answer it, she found the earl himself standing outside.

There was a moment of silence when she opened the door, then he smiled slowly.

“You look ravishing,” he told her. “That color suits you very well, much better than the black.”

Blushing, she sent profuse if silent thanks to the London couturier.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice low.

“Shall we go down, then?” He offered his arm.

He did have lovely manners, Lauryn told herself as she smiled up at him and accepted. He never made her feel as if she were—as if she were what she was in fact being, a kept woman, his hired paramour…and that really was greatly to his credit.

On that note, they walked down to the drawing room.

Marcus found her arm tense in his hold. Was she
frightened of facing the crowd in the front rooms? If she only knew it, she had every excuse to be, he thought, his humor still bleak. If Carter had invited them, they would be a motley crew.

And he had hoped to have the big house mostly to themselves. He really was not in the mood to be a pleasant host, offering entertainment and constant attention to a houseful of guests. Why in the hell must Carter pull a stunt like this? This rumor about the
Brave Lassie
would likely prove to be mere scrimshaw, nothing except the dirty windblown bubbles that formed atop restless waves…and as hard to grasp.

Truth be told, he'd wanted to take his new prize straight up to bed as soon as they arrived. Marcus ached for her right now, especially after he'd seen how lovely she looked in her pale blue green dinner dress, her green eyes seeming endlessly deep and clear in the pale light as the many candles reflected back from the crystal chandeliers above them—much like a sunset colored the endless hues of the Fens' sky. Her golden red hair seemed to glow, as well, and she seemed as ethereal as a faery queen and as graceful, floating into the big room on his arm.

He shook his head at the footman waiting at the door to announce them—he wouldn't bother with that. If his own guests didn't know him, they didn't belong in his house, and if they didn't know the name of his new paramour, all the better. He'd rather keep her to himself, like holding a good hand of cards close to his chest, so no one else in the game could steal a look at his queen of hearts.

Of course heads were turning, anyhow, dammit. How could anyone not get a glimpse of Mrs. Smith's gossamer beauty and not look again, and again.

Carter came up, the contessa clinging to his half brother's arm. “There you are, at last.”

“You must break yourself of this new insatiable appetite for my presence, Brother,” Marcus told his sibling.

Carter flushed. “You know it's not that. Only—”

“And no talk of private matters in front of our guests,” the earl warned swiftly. “That would be highly impolite.”

“Oh, well, if you say so.” Carter looked frustrated at the ban. “But—”

“I mean it,” Marcus warned. “You will start rumors that will cause fluctuations in our company's stock on the Exchange.”

“I wouldn't do that,” his brother argued, but he looked guiltily down at the hardwood floor as he said it.

“You vill not allow him to explain to me about the treasure ship?” The contessa spoke at almost the same moment, and several men nearby turned their heads.

“Carter!” the earl said, his tone grimmer than ever.

“I didn't mean to!” his brother protested. “She has a way of getting around a fellow, don't you know?”

“He knows.” The contessa smiled sweetly and nodded toward the back of the big room where musicians were almost hidden in one of the large alcoves. “Ve have music and dancing. If you vould dance vith me, Marcuz, for ol' timez, you could tell me all about it, yez?”

Lauryn, who felt that she had shrunk to the size of a field mouse, unnoticed by all in this conversation, felt her mouth go dry. If the contessa turned the full strength of her beautiful dark brown eyes on a man, could any resist her?