Only an Earl Will Do (2 page)

Chapter One

Two years later – London

In the arms of Lord Dean, the Earl of Thetford, Elizabeth danced a minuet, enjoying his easy style and competent ability. She looked up at his charming gray hooded eyes, straight nose, and strong jaw. A gentleman as alluring as the music was entrancing. Her new green silk gown slid sensually about her body as they moved around the room and between other couples.

The air smelled of blossoms picked from the hothouse and an alarming amount of different perfumes. She chuckled as he murmured sweet words in her ear that were amusing if nothing else. She allowed his banter to a certain point. He was a sweet man.

Sweet on her.

“The season’s already halfway gone, Lady Newland. Are you going back to Dunsleigh or your own home in Wiltshire?”

Elizabeth checked her footing. “Dunsleigh, I think. It’s where my family wishes me to go. It’s been a while since I visited with them there.” She looked away from his disappointed face and watched the other couples dance. Dunsleigh was where her heart was and not her married home and certainly not London. As for the man in her arms, he was nice enough, but neither he nor any other fop who considered himself enamored of her could persuade her to stay or marry again.

“Ah, a shame. Perhaps if you would allow it, I could visit when I’m next in Surrey.”

She smiled. “Of course, you are always welcome, my lord. I’m sure my brother would be delighted with a visit. As you know, he’s been down at Dunsleigh for quite some time learning all there is about the estate.”

“How is your father? I had meant to inquire of his wellbeing.”

“The duke is well.” She smiled. “Much better, thank you. The doctor’s stated he has to slow down, that is all. Josh is stepping up to fill the void, as he should. Father would like to see you, too.”

“I have been meaning to call…”

Elizabeth looked up at him as the dance drew to a close and hoped his final quip didn’t mean what she thought it did. She hated having to deny one’s proposal, but she would should he ask, just as she would any other.

He left her with her younger sister, Victoria and took himself off toward the card room. Victoria raised her brow and smiled as she caught her attention. “Another one fawning at your feet, I see.”

Elizabeth fiddled with her hair. “He believes he is ‘the one.’ He’s even hinted at speaking to Papa for my hand. I’ll not marry again. Lord Newland was quite enough.”

Victoria frowned. “Surely Lord Newland wasn’t that bad. He seemed smitten with you.”

She nodded, knowing that under the circumstances she’d married, Lord Newland was a very lucky blessing for her. “I used him, and I know he used me just as much, but it still does not make such matches right. He brought up a boy who was not his own, loved him even. I cannot forgive myself for that.”

Victoria clasped her hand, compassion in her gaze. Compassion she did not deserve. “I know it must be hard, but should we know the true fathers of half the ton’s children, I think it would be an eye-opening experience. Lord Newland was a happy man. You did that, no one else. Do not torture yourself so. You do not deserve it.” Her sister gestured across the room and Elizabeth cringed at who she noted. “So you’re not going to marry Lord Riddledale, then? His lordship will never recover from such a blow.”

Elizabeth hid a repulsed shudder over Lord Riddledale, who stood pompous and proud across the floor, the ever-present scowl on his face no surprise. No doubt her stepping out with another gentleman other than himself had put him out of countenance. She turned back to her sister. “I cannot summon any remorse for annoying Riddledale. As for Lord Dean, I’ll be sorry to hurt him, but no, I will not marry him no matter how much his heart breaks over my decision.”

“Could your feelings change in time, do you believe?” Victoria asked.

“No.”

“No?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No.”

“Why?”

She swallowed the familiar lump which formed in her throat every time she thought of him, the man she refused to name, even in her own thoughts. “I’m not the loving kind. I don’t believe it’s healthy to rely on such feeble unstable emotions when someone is entering the marriage state. Men and their need to be adored, looked up to in awe, can go hang. Lord Newland’s name protects me now. I have no need to marry again.”

Victoria threw her a dubious look. “I believe there is nothing purer and good than love, especially if you are fortunate enough to have it in a marriage.” Her sister sighed, the sound tinged with sadness. “You promised Papa you would try.”

“I am well aware of what I promised Papa, but he did not stipulate marriage is what I should try. I’m friendly and affable. That is enough.” Elizabeth clamped her jaw shut. Lashing out further about marriage would not be helpful here, no matter how her temper spiked every time she thought of the Scottish rogue who’d ruined her and left her to face such undoing alone.

Where was Henry when it was time for him to step up and claim responsibility for their actions? New York, that was where, thousands of miles away and with little care he’d left her pregnant while she had to face disgrace, heartache, and a future forever changed because of one careless act.

Tears pricked her eyes at the thought of the life she could have lived, not the one she endured. Her husband had been kind and gentle, but he had not loved her as a husband should love a wife.

“Elizabeth?” Victoria said, nudging her a little. “What are you thinking? I’ve been talking to you without a word of response.”

She shook herself from the depressing thoughts and looked out to the throng of guests, some still arriving and being welcomed by their evening’s host. “Nothing of importance. You were saying?”

“Just that our host, Lord McCalter looks mighty pleased with the latest guests who’ve arrived. The gentlemen are very dashing, I must say.”

Elizabeth looked back to the ballroom doors and frowned. She kept her eyes peeled to the group, but the gentlemen turned, placing their backs to the room and obscuring her view.

“It must be because his lordship is Scottish,” Victoria said with a decided nod.

Elizabeth’s heart sped up and her skin prickled at the mention of Scotland. She sought out the small party again, inwardly cursing herself as a silly fool for doing so. So what if a Scottish man had arrived? So what indeed.

“Why do you believe his lordship is Scottish?” Elizabeth asked at length, curiosity getting the better of her.

“I noticed one of the men had a piece of tartan in his coat pocket. I doubt an Englishman would wear such an article,” Victoria stated in all seriousness.

Soon after, Elizabeth and her wayward thoughts were twirled out to dance a quadrille with Lord Stanhope. Then next, a country dance with Lord Riddledale, which annoyed her greatly, as he took the opportunity to berate her over her conduct, which was perfectly proper. She strove not to set his lordship back in his pompous box as he held her stiffly in his arms. Each time she was near the man, her skin wanted to crawl off and run away from the gentleman. Ghastly didn’t even come close to how she felt about him.

“There was something in particular I wished to discuss with you, and since I have pointed out my dislike of your conduct this evening, now is the time to talk.”

Elizabeth fought not to roll her eyes. Really, the man knew no bounds when it came to decorum. “What is it you wished to discuss?”

He smiled, his crooked, smoke stained teeth making her cringe.

“I have considered our history, the friendship your family has had with my own over the years, and I think you’d make me a suitable wife.” He pinned her gaze with his cold eyes. “I wish you to marry me.”

It was a statement, not quite a request, and her temper frayed. “You mean to ask if I will marry you.”

He glared, the muscle in his jaw clenching in annoyance. “Of course. What do you think I just asked?”

“You stated, not asked.” She looked over his shoulder, noting some of the guests’ attentions were still fixated toward the door. Pulling out what little manners she had left when it came to Lord Riddledale, she threw him a pitying smile. “I’m honored, tru—”

“At least think about my offer,” he said, interrupting her.

She conceded, not wanting to make a scene should he take offense. “Very well. I’ll think on your proposal.”

He preened like a dandy looking at himself before a mirror as he swept her to a stop, bending to place a light kiss on her glove. He lingered over her hand like a kitten over a bowl of milk. She counted to ten as he took his leave; better that than to slap him with her fan.

“Oh, the insufferable coxcomb. I don’t know why our parents keep up an association with that man. And why he would think I would wish to marry him, when I’ve given him no hint of particular regard, is beyond imagining.” Elizabeth glared at his lordship’s retreating back.

Victoria sighed. “He hasn’t asked you yet,” her sister stated, diplomatically.

“He just did. Would you like to congratulate me?” Elizabeth laughed at her sister’s mortified visage.

“He never.”

“He did, during the dance. I’ve agreed to think on his offer, but you know I cannot accept him. There’s something about him that I do not like, an inner sense that I’ve always had around him. He makes me feel uneasy.”

“I agree wholeheartedly.” Victoria stilled beside her, placing her hand on her arm. “Never mind Lord Riddledale, my dear, you have much bigger and definitely more worrisome problems to deal with.”

“What do you mean?” Elizabeth turned to look at Victoria and noted the alarm across her features.

“It looks as if the Scottish guests are headed our way.”

“Really?” Elizabeth looked toward the doors, and the secure little world she had built up around herself tumbled down. A chill pooled in her chest, rivaling the cold his presence created around her heart. Then anger fired her blood, replacing the chill with molten lava.

How dare he…

It took all of Elizabeth’s breeding to not flay him alive and leave him alone and defenseless in this viperish society. Her hand fisted at her side. It would at least be a fitting end for him, the same in which he’d left her when he’d not returned after the missive they’d sent him, begging him to do so. And by the looks of his superfine coat—cut to perfection around his shoulders, the highly starched cravat and tight-fitting breeches—he’d found his riches in America, and good for him in doing so, but now he could leave.

Elizabeth glared at the earl and his friends as they made steady progress through the throng, women’s gazes devouring the tall, well-proportioned man in their midst. In the two years since she’d seen Henry he’d changed. He was no longer the gangly youth of four and twenty, but a man. A man whose eyes no longer held innocence, but rather learning and life. A life without the burden of sired children out of wedlock. A life where one walked away from such problems without remorse.

With heartbreaking missives where the word “strumpet” was used.

She braced herself for the coming introductions, her attention wholly focused on the couple who accompanied him, the people appearing more autocratic than herself when she decided to play the lofty duke’s daughter. And over the last two years, Elizabeth had learned to master such a guise well. Thanks to Henry.

Untouchable was unbreakable.

The Elizabeth of old was no more. He would not get a smiling, happy welcome from her if that was what he expected. The day his letter arrived was the day they no longer were friends. And by his stony features, his hardened jaw that looked like it was cut from rock, Lord Muir wasn’t pleased to see her again, either.

Well that was just perfect.

Elizabeth focused her attention on the accompanying man and woman, refusing to look any longer at Henry, although she knew by the pricking of her skin that he was watching her.

The gentleman with him was tall, though perhaps an inch shorter than Henry, his frame more athletic compared to Henry’s larger shoulders and muscled thighs. The woman was around Elizabeth’s own height, ethereal-looking with her golden blond locks pulled up into tight curls atop her crown. Her eyes were a cold, piercing blue. Elizabeth swallowed as the party came to stand before her and Victoria. She smiled her welcome to Lord McCalter, the mask of detachment firmly set on her features.

She would not acknowledge Henry until she absolutely had to, and even then she would not for long. He deserved no such acknowledgment now or ever.

“Lady Victoria, Lady Newland, may I say how happy I am to reunite you with an old friend, Lord Muir, Earl of Muir and of course, his cousins from America, Mr. Richard and Miss Amelia Andrews of New York.”

Elizabeth looked back to Victoria and noted her sister’s tight smile as Lord McCalter made the introductions.

“Good evening, Lord Muir, Mr. Andrews, Miss Andrews.” Although her sister’s addresses were welcoming, the strained edge to them wasn’t hard to discern.

Elizabeth cursed her inability to stand true to her word and looked at Henry. She flicked a cursory glance his way and noted his perfectly formed cravat, his jaw still angular with a slight shadow of a beard. How uncouth not to shave before a ball. Her attention snapped to his lips, ones she’d once enjoyed kissing, nibbling when toying with each other, which now were pressed into a hard, thin line.

With his glowering at her, her stomach knotted. She ignored the fluttering in her belly, cursing it to Hades. Never would she allow feelings to blossom with any man again, and especially not this man. Ever.

“Good evening.” Henry’s deep baritone thrummed through her, rich and fulfilling. Damn him and his voice. He even sounded wiser, primal almost, and she shivered.

“We had not thought to see you again, Lord Muir, but we’re always very pleased to make any acquaintance of yours,” Victoria said, her smile directed at Mr. Andrews, who blushed under her sister’s polite words.

Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, of course.” Her own reply dripped with sarcasm, not that she cared. Henry certainly hadn’t cared when she needed him, so there was no way she would start to now. “How was your journey over to England? I hear the crossing can be quite treacherous at times.”