The Earl is Mine (18 page)

He adored his sisters, didn’t he? And Mama. He adored Alice, too, their housekeeper. He’d also adored his grandmothers and Mother—when they were alive.

Obviously, adoration was a feeling he reserved for women—he’d never adored sweets. He’d longed for them and gobbled them down when he got them. And he’d never adored Tiger, their old dog. In his younger years, Gregory simply loved him and wanted to roughhouse with him on the grass. He’d definitely never adored his father or his brothers, mathematics (his favorite subject), or boats (which he was also mad for).

No, there was something about that word
adore
that he reserved for women who were special to him.

And he adored Pippa.

Maybe it was because her profile was stunning. He hadn’t noticed that before. He longed to run his finger down it, from her forehead to her chin, and then her neck …

Had he adored Eliza?

No.

And he was ashamed that he’d taken it as far with her as he had, and hadn’t adored her as every woman deserved to be.

Pippa released a little laugh, then looked back at him. “It’s just that I sometimes wish…”

“What?”

“That I intrigued you the way those women do,” she confessed. “But of course, you already know that. You saw my notebook in Eliza’s garden, and I’m over you, I promise. But I still want to know what it is—and how to get it—the ability to attract the notice of a man like you, not just on a dare—”

He stopped her with a kiss.

And what a kiss it was.

What a kiss it could be,
he thought, when Pippa kissed him back with her whole heart.

For that was what she was offering him, he knew, even if she didn’t realize it herself.

Her whole heart.

She was never one to disguise anything.

Chapter Thirteen

“No.” Pippa’s lips felt plump and warm, ready to be kissed by Gregory again. But she couldn’t. She mustn’t.

“You’re especially beautiful tonight,” he whispered in a husky tone. His dark eyes held her in place the way the moon held the tides.

“We can’t
do
this.” She pushed against his chest and walked around him into the bedchamber to stand before the fire, her arms wrapped around her middle.

Oh, dear, her legs were bare.

She looked up and saw him staring at her, at her legs, and then back at her face. A little shiver ran through her. “Sorry. I didn’t have a night rail. I took one of your spare shirts. You packed more than I was able to manage.”

“It’s all right. I’ve seen you like this before.” Pippa’s cheeks burned. He went to a corner and pulled a banyan off a hook. “Here. Use this.” He came to her then like a gallant knight and held out an arm of the silky robe. She slid it on, enjoying the slippery feel of it. He did the same for the other arm, and then came to stand in front of her, where he took the two ends of the belt and smartly tied them at her waist. “There.”

She smiled. “
You’re
the valet. Not me. You’ve been so all day long.”

“I have, haven’t I?” He walked to the far side of the bed and poured a glass of wine.

She listened with satisfaction to the sound of the liquid gurgling from the bottle and into the glass.

“Would you like some?” He held the glass toward her.

Slowly, she nodded.

He poured another for himself, and then he walked over to her, the sound of the floorboards squeaking a reminder that the rest of the house was falling asleep—or perhaps staying up to play, depending upon the guest and his or her carnal intentions.

When she took the glass, he raised his toward her. “Cheers.”

A little reluctantly—well, if she were honest,
very
reluctantly—she clinked hers with his and said what was truly on her mind: “As much as I might like it to be, this can’t be another seduction scene, Gregory. I’m not one of your many female admirers willing to be bedded at your whim, like Lady Damara.”

“I agree. You’re not in the least like her or any other female I know.”

“Thank you. I’ll decide when seduction is to occur, if ever. It might be years from now—”

“Years? That would be an awfully long time.”

She shrugged and took another sip of wine, and together they watched the flames in peaceful silence. “People can live on memories, you know.”

“I’d hate to do that. The real thing’s so much better.”

She huffed. “I know we’ve spent some very intimate moments together, and it was truly lovely, but I intend to follow through on my plan to go to Paris.” She allowed her mouth to tip up. “I’ll admit, you’ve hit upon quite an effective way to keep me here in England. But it’s a diversion only, and as I told you at the inn, I comprehend your strategy—if that’s what it is.”

“I’m flattered you think I’m that clever, but that’s not it at all.” His gaze was serious when he lifted a hand to pull a long strand of hair off her face. “It happened. And when it shouldn’t have, I’m the first to admit it. But it’s almost inevitable when a man and woman are thrown together as we’ve been—not to mention all the expectations Bertie has voiced about us.” He lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “I understand your point, in other words. Fun is fun, but plans are plans. And ne’er the twain shall meet.”

“I—I’m glad you understand.” She shifted a few inches to the right, away from him.

“And you’re breathtaking, even in a man’s shirt. Especially in a man’s shirt.” He took her free hand and squeezed it. “You talk as if other women have some secret that you don’t—and they do, I admit. But you’re so much more interesting, just being you. You don’t need any secrets.”

“I must admit I’m averse to them.” She pulled her hand back carefully and wrapped it around her goblet. “How long have you been able to wrap women around your little finger?”

“It’s not something I work at,” he said. “But it’s true that somehow I’m never wanting for female companionship.”

“And you’re not speaking of your stepmother and sisters, are you?”

“No,” he admitted wryly. “Although when you throw them in the mix, I have more female companionship than a fellow knows what to do with.” He tossed off a wry grin. “Even in America, where I concealed my identity as a wealthy earl much of the time, I was plagued with female companionship.”

“Poor you.” She’d imbibed half her glass now. Her arms and legs were beginning to warm up very well.

“I’m not complaining,” he said. “I enjoy the company of women.”

“Obviously.” Her tone was dry.

“Excuse me,” he said, “but no one teases me without retribution.” He put his glass down near the single candle and threw himself back on the bed, where he lay on his right side, one leg tucked up to his knee. “I dare you to join me.” He patted the coverlet. “Your punishment will be my complete indifference to your feminine charms while we discuss what we’re to do with you after the house party. What with your being valet not only to me but to Mr. Dawson, we won’t have much time to plan, otherwise.”

“That’s a grand idea,” she said, warming up to him again. “I can’t believe this is happening, that we’re not going back to Plumtree.”

She put her wine down next to his and crawled onto the bed, feeling as if they were two ill-behaved children preparing to break into the pantry and steal a cake. She stretched out full length next to him, her head resting on the heel of her open palm. “I’ll start,” she said.

“Go right ahead. Just remember, this is conjecture at this point. Don’t get too excited.”

Excited?

His eyes were hooded, their deep blue depths unfathomable. His broad chest and muscular arms reminded Pippa that she was smaller, weaker.

A shiver went through her. Gregory was all man.

“After the house party,” she began, “you’ll take me to Plymouth and drop me off so I can sail to France, where I’ll immediately take up my post as companion to the lovely old lady who’s actually expecting me.”

“That’s convenient.”

“Fated,” she corrected him. “She hadn’t spoken to Uncle Bertie in forty years when she wrote him about needing a companion.”

“Very well. How would you get to France safely?”

“I’ll maintain my disguise, which I admit I can’t stand—the wig is itchy, and when I wear my binding”—she saw his pupils dilate when she said
binding
—“I have difficulty drawing a deep breath. But the disguise serves its purposes.”

“That’s not nearly enough,” he said. “You’d need to carry a pistol.”

“You can teach me to shoot while I’m here, then.” She grinned. “I’m going to be the first English lady of the leisure class to be trained by an international expert in the art of confectionery.
Ever
.”

“If this were to happen, you’d be beginning a small revolution, in other words,” Gregory murmured.

“Exactly. Who knows? Maybe another young lady in a similar position will look to my example and throw over expectations and do something completely marvelous and unexpected, too.”

“And if it involves marzipan, all the better,” he said.

“Don’t talk down to me, Gregory.” Her banyan slipped off her shoulder.

“I’m not. I meant metaphorical marzipan.” He pulled her sleeve back up and patted it. “Something sweet, decadent, frivolous yet somehow completely necessary for happiness.”

His voice was getting husky again.

“I know you’re jesting, but you’re actually describing perfectly why I like sugar sculptures.” She reached behind her and picked up her glass of wine, took a sip, then set it down. “Do you want your wine?” she said over her shoulder.

He shook his head. “I don’t think so.” But he sounded distracted, as if he weren’t really listening to her anymore.

“Gregory? Are you all right?”

“I think I’m failing at my objective. Your feminine charms are definitely attracting me.”

She threw herself down to face him again. “Good.” She winked at him. “You deserve it. I refuse to go anywhere. Be tempted.”

“Fine,” he said. “But I’ll outlast you.”

“I doubt it.”

“I know I will. Because in about two seconds you’re going to go storming out of here into your little dressing room.”

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head. “I can’t take you to Plymouth.”

“What?”
Her stomach dropped to her feet. “You said—”

“I said I wouldn’t return you home. But I never said I’d expedite your journey alone to Paris. Even after all you say—even if you were to learn to use a pistol—I still don’t believe it’s safe. You’ll be found out, Pippa.”

“Have I yet?” she snapped.

“No.”

“But these two weeks will be stellar practice,” she insisted, anger building in her like steam trapped in a teapot.

“It’s not enough,” he said. “You’d be an unprotected woman in a foreign city, and it goes against my conscience to dump you at a seaport—”

She leaped off the bed. “You’re right. I
am
leaving.”

“I told you not to get too excited. That this was all conjecture.”

“All I heard was the word
excited
. And then I thought about your chest and the muscles in your arms!”

“That’s not
my
fault.” He leaped up after her. “I propose instead that you live in London with my family, and we hire a confectioner to tutor you. Plus—”

“You’ve already mentioned that, and I said
no.
”

“That’s not the extent of my proposal. A trip to Paris can be arranged. You’d go with me and the women of the family. We could stay for several weeks. Perhaps a whole month.”

She hesitated. “That’s a generous offer. But I’ll need more than several weeks or a month. You know if I go with your family, it will be difficult to meet with Monsieur at all, especially as I’ll need to dress as a man. Your mother wouldn’t approve.”

“No, she wouldn’t,” Gregory said, “but dressing as a man wouldn’t be necessary. I’d pay him such an incredible amount of money, he wouldn’t dare turn you away, even as a woman.”

“That would be a great relief.” Slowly, she began to unwrap the ties of her banyan. “But I must say no. I can’t have you paying my way. It isn’t right. And I want to stay half a year at least.”

“You need to learn how to compromise, young lady.”

She raked a hand through her hair. “If I asked you to compromise on pursuing
your
dream, would you?”

He hesitated. “No, but—”

“Never mind,” she said. “I’m not sure you
do
understand because I’m not sure you have a dream!” She let the banyan drop to the floor. “I’ll get to Plymouth without you.”

“Oh, no you won’t.” He picked up the silky garment and threw it in the corner.

She turned her back on him and began to unlace the tie at her neck.

“What are you doing?” His tone was low, threatening.

She paused. “Nothing that would interest a man immune to my charms.” She braced herself, and then she lifted the edge of her shirt, pulled it over her head, and dropped it to the floor.

Why not?

She was never going to marry. She had nothing to lose. And she’d already bared herself to him anyway.

Nakedness was nothing to be ashamed of, either. She was a girl who’d walked her whole life on the moors, had felt a kinship with the earth and all of nature. She wasn’t ashamed of her body. And she knew that Gregory, of all people, would be the one person she’d be tempted to share it with.

She already had.

Not that she really intended to do so again tonight—but she would entice him with her form. Oh, yes, she would. Call her a tease—she didn’t care. She was frustrated with this man who was controlling her life, and if it meant she had to strip naked to shake his smug confidence, then she would.

“It’s not going to work,” he said, already guessing her plan. “If you think that this display is going to make me forget my duty, you’re wrong, madam.”

She walked over to him, reached up on her tiptoes, and kissed him. “I
want
you to think worse of me,” she whispered. “I want you to be tortured by the sight of me. Maybe then you’ll let me go.” She ran a finger down his neck. “But first, you’ll teach me to shoot. And loan me a pistol.”

“No,” he said softly, and took her shoulders. “You’re not going. At least not alone.”