My Brown-Eyed Earl (38 page)

“Don't fret,” Will said, chuckling, “I have a feeling you'll like this news.”

“Just tell us,” Diana said bravely. “Whatever it is, we will face it.”

Meg's heart melted. The poor dears had been through so much. “Your Uncle Will has asked me to marry him”—the girls' eyes grew impossibly wide—“and I've said yes.”

“Hooray!” they cried, jumping on the window seat in a spontaneous and heartfelt celebration that made Meg love them even more.

“My two favorite people in the world.” Valerie flopped onto Will's lap with a sigh. “And they're going to marry!”

“That means Miss Lacey will live here,” Diana said cautiously, “with us?”

“Of course, with you!” Meg assured her.

“We're a family,” Will said. “We belong together.”

“Truly?” Valerie asked, desperate to believe.

Will nodded. “I think the four of us will make an excellent team.”

Meg had never seen the twins look so happy.

*   *   *

A few hours later, while Mrs. Hopwood coaxed the girls into their beds for a nap, Meg and Will tiptoed downstairs and snuck into his study. He locked the door behind them, drew the curtains, and sank into his chair, propping his crossed heels on the corner of the desk.

Meg's body thrummed with anticipation.

Steepling his fingers under his chin, he let his gaze rove over her body. “So, Miss Lacey, what makes you think you're qualified for this position?”

She arched a brow and perched on an arm of the chair opposite him. “Why, is this an interview, my lord?”

He shot her a slow, wicked grin that turned her insides to jelly. “It is.”

She blinked innocently. “I suppose I'm confused because you're not hung over.”

“You're perceptive—a fine quality. But I must confess that I'm dismayed by your lack of experience.”

“I have gained some experience of late,” she purred, “but will readily admit I'm still a novice.” She reached for the laces at the side of her gown, untied them, and eased the sleeves off her shoulders. “Perhaps I can make up for it in other ways.”

His eyes dark with desire, he stood and stalked to her side of the desk, leaning a hip against it. “I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, Miss Lacey. How else am I to determine if you're qualified?”

“Well, there's this.” She pushed her bodice down to her waist, wriggled the gown over her hips, and let it puddle to the floor. Dressed in only her chemise and corset, she arched her back seductively.

“It seems you
do
have some skills.” He swallowed, clearly struggling to stay in character. “But before I can make a decision I'll need to see more.”

“Why do I suspect you'll be a very demanding employer?” She loosened the tie at the top of her chemise and tugged at the neckline, exposing taut, rosy peaks to his scorching stare.

“Damn, you're beautiful.” He pushed himself off the desk, moved behind her, and cupped her swollen breasts in his hands. “I'll never have enough of you, Meg.”

Her breath hitched as he hiked up the hem of her chemise. “Does this mean I have the position, Lord Castleton?”

He kissed the back of her neck, making her knees go weak. “How soon can you start?”

“I'm ready … now,” she breathed.

“Very well, Miss Lacey, we'll need to begin by clearing off my desk…”

 

Read on for an excerpt from
Anna Bennett
's next novel in the
Wayward Wallflowers
series

I DARED THE DUKE

Coming soon from St. Martin's Paperbacks

 

 

 

“Well then, Miss Lacey”—Lord help him, he must be mad—“I believe we have a bargain.”

She thrust her hand forward, but Alex shook his head. This called for something more momentous than a handshake. “We shall seal the deal with a toast.”

He strode to the sideboard, grabbed the decanter of brandy, refilled his glass, and topped off hers. They sat on a settee in front of the fireplace, the blue silk of her gown almost touching his knee.

After thinking for a moment, he raised his glass. “To ostrich feathers, which are far more utilitarian than most people realize.”

Grinning, she raised her glass as well. “To leprechauns. Who are far more real than most people realize.”

He clinked his snifter against hers and met her sultry gaze as the brandy slid down his throat. Damn, but those blue eyes of hers bewitched him.

She certainly wasn't
acting
like a wallflower. And in that moment, as a saucy smile played about her full lips, he knew that he'd rue the day he'd foolishly referred to her and her sisters as the Wilting Wallflowers. His stupid, careless, jocular quip had become the cruel label that she and her sisters hadn't been able to shake for three seasons—and it would no doubt come back to haunt him. Maybe it already had.

Miss Lacey set her glass on the table in front of them and smoothed the skirt of her gown, as though signaling she meant to return to business. Pity, that.

“There are a couple of terms we should clarify,” she announced.

Holy hell. “Such as?”

“For one, our little deal must remain a secret. I would not want your grandmother to know I had to coerce you to spend time with her. That would rather defeat the purpose.”

Why must she always make him feel two inches tall? “Agreed.”

“Some subtlety on your part shall be required. A bit of finesse.”

He shot her a wicked look. “I've no shortage of finesse. Perhaps you've already heard.”

Her cheeks pinkened, and she brushed an imaginary speck of lint off her shoulder. “What I mean to say is that you cannot be too obvious or rush your grandmother to make a decision with respect to her three wishes.”

He draped an arm over the back of the settee, his fingertips tantalizingly close to a curl that dangled from her nape. “I do understand, Miss Lacey. However, time is of the essence. I feel confident that we shall be able to accommodate each other's needs.”

The blush on her cheeks deepened and spread down her neck over the delectable swells of her breasts, triggering a highly inconvenient wave of desire.

Dragging his gaze away from her neckline, he arched a brow. “Have you any other last minute rules you wish to impose?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. It's not a rule so much as a request.” She bit her lip as she glanced up at him, her expression uncharacteristically hesitant and—unless he was mistaken—vulnerable. The shrewd negotiator in him should have smelled blood, and yet, it was all he could do not to blurt,
I'll give you anything you want. Anything. Everything.

Attempting a droll tone, he merely said, “Go on.”

“I don't know if you've noticed, but your grandmother becomes distressed when we argue. I think that—for her sake—we should refrain from bickering when in her presence and strive to treat one another kindly.”

It was hardly an unreasonable request, and yet, he couldn't resist teasing her. Rubbing his jaw thoughtfully, he let his gaze linger on her plump lower lip. “How kindly, exactly, shall I treat you?”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, then shrugged. “Somewhat more kindly than you'd treat a mangy stray dog, and somewhat less kindly than you'd treat your…”

“My
what
, Miss Lacey?”

“Your mistress.”

Good God. He leaned forward, wanting to read every nuance of her expression, every emotion written on her face. Her eyes held a flash of defiance and a spark of pride, neither of which was particularly surprising. But beneath her bravado lay a blush of something raw and wholly unexpected—longing.

Then again, maybe he'd simply had too much brandy.

“You made two assumptions just now,” he said smoothly, “both of which I feel obliged to correct.”

She batted her thick lashes mockingly. “By all means, please enlighten me.”

“First, you implied that I wouldn't treat a stray dog with kindness. The truth is, I'd be more inclined to treat a mongrel well than I would most men of my acquaintance.”

“That is good news for dogs throughout London and rather unfortunate news for your friends.”

“Indeed,” he conceded. “I must also correct your second assumption—that I have a mistress. I do not.”

“Forgive me, your grace,” she said dryly. “I did not mean to impugn your character.”

Alex relaxed against the plush cushions of the settee and flashed his most charming smile. “No offense was taken, Miss Lacey. I just thought you should know.”

*   *   *

Beth could not imagine how the conversation had devolved to talk of mistresses, but perhaps the brandy toast was partially to blame for that—and for the headiness she felt from sitting so close to the duke.

“I'm delighted that we've cleared up the matter of your non-existent mistress,” she said primly. “And I do hope that in the future we shall be able to keep civil tongues in our heads—at least while in the duchess's presence.”

“Oh, I don't know,” the duke drawled. “Surely we can do better than mere civility. I thought we were striving for kindness.”

“True, but I've since realized the folly of it.”

He leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. “No, I think we're quite capable.”

Beth wasn't so sure. The duke seemed to bring out the worst in her. But perhaps if they aimed for kindness, they'd manage to achieve civility. “Very well then. Our goal shall be kindness.”

“Excellent. Let us practice.”

“You want to
practice
being kind?” she asked, incredulous.

“It may come naturally to you, but I suspect it will require rather more effort on my part.” He steepled his fingers beneath his chin, then mused, “How to start? Perhaps I could begin by paying you a compliment.”

Her cheeks heated. “That's not necessary. Besides, you should save your kindness for when we're in the company of your grandmother. No sense in using it up now.”

“But kindness is not a limited commodity, is it, Miss Lacey?”

“It isn't for most people,” she muttered uncharitably.

He shot her a mildly scolding look. “Tsk, tsk. I think you could use some practice too.”

She bristled and set down her glass. “Believe it or not, I'm practicing right
now
. I find myself refraining from all manner of retorts and instead, bidding you a good night.”

When she would have risen from the settee, he grasped her hand, making it suddenly hard to breathe. She could easily pull away. It's what she should do. But she didn't.

“Wait,” he protested. “If you leave now, you won't hear my compliment.”

She savored the warmth of his hand and the fluttering in her chest. “Nor will I hear further insults.”

“I wouldn't insult you.” He frowned, as though truly offended.

“An empty compliment would feel worse than an insult.” She was amazed by her ability to keep her voice cool, even as her skin heated from his touch.

He slid closer and looked earnestly into her eyes. “I will
always
be truthful with you—to the extent that I can.”

“Fine.” She couldn't endure much more of this closeness, enthralling as it was. “Pay me a compliment, if you wish.”

His gaze traveled over her face and lingered on her mouth before dropping to her breasts and hips. As she braced herself for something wholly inappropriate and wildly titillating, she could already feel the heat climbing up her neck.

“There are a great many things I could compliment you on, Miss Lacey, but the thing I admire most about you…”

She closed her eyes, not certain she could bear it if he should mention a body part south of her chin.

“… is your devotion to my grandmother. Your loyalty to her is commendable.”

She opened her eyes to see if the duke mocked her, but he seemed quite sincere. The breath she'd been holding rushed out of her. “Thank you. She is a rather amazing woman.”

“So are you.”

Beth swallowed. They'd both had too much to drink. She shouldn't have allowed him to hold her hand. Blast, she shouldn't even have come to his study. He needed her services—such as they were—and as a certifiable rake, he was not above using pretty words to achieve his aim. Something she'd do well to remember.

“Tomorrow I will start to determine what the duchess might choose as her first wish,” she said. “But for now, I think it is well past time I retired for the evening.”

Almost regretfully, he released her hand and stood. “I appreciate your assistance, and I have the feeling we shall make an excellent team.”

Beth remained skeptical. If she was on anyone's team, it was the duchess's. But her knees were too weak for her to spar with him further. “Good night, your grace,” she said, rising and making a beeline for the door of his study.

“Good night, Miss Lacey. And please do me one favor, if you would.”

Drat. She'd almost made her escape. She halted and looked over her shoulder at his dangerously handsome face. “What might that be?”

“Make sure you lock the windows and door of your bedchamber tonight—just as a precaution, of course.”

A chill ran the length of Beth's spine. Good heavens. A precaution against what? Was he concerned about werewolves? Was
he
a werewolf? “Don't worry,” she choked out. “I will.”

Indeed, if she could manage it, she might just block the door with her dresser for good measure.

 

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