The Earl of Her Dreams
Read The Earl of Her Dreams Online
Authors: Anne Mallory
The Earl
Of Her Dreams
Christian Black strode with long, purposeful steps into the bustling…
As Kate Simon shook her new roommate’s smooth hand, the…
“Pardon me, Mr. Black, but did you just question my manhood?”
Christian ducked just in time to avoid a burly fist…
Her bottom hit the door, and it closed with a…
Kate stopped breathing. Had he just said—
Christian watched Kate pale and stepped in front of her,…
Everyone turned as she entered, their chair legs scraping the…
For Kate, splinter removal had always involved a needle and…
Kate panicked. How had he slipped in so quietly? Most…
Christian propped his chin on his hand as he halfheartedly…
They searched Tiegs’s room first, even though at this point…
Christian wasn’t sure why he froze. Perhaps it was the…
Panic, acceptance, eagerness, and desire pulsed through her as his…
Kate’s breath caught as he slowly opened her shirt as…
“What did you find?”
Kate woke to the steady drip of snow melting from…
“Good morning, Mr. Black. Can I get you something?” She peered…
Kate watched as Christian closeted himself in the office with…
“Who are you?”
Christian whipped around to see his father standing in the…
“The marquess said you were to come with us.”
Kate leaned back against Christian as they watched Tom hoist…
You’re just like your uncle. All you think about is women and pleasure.
The Marquess of Penderdale
to his son Christian, age eighteen
C
hristian Black strode with long, purposeful steps into the bustling courtyard. The overhead sign proclaiming the Dragon’s Tale Inn swayed gently in the cool breeze. Even with a winter storm approaching, the action at the coaching inn refused to still.
Christian ducked. A whiff of leather and a fluttering whisper were his only warnings as a stable boy accidentally tossed the ribbons too far. A quick “Sorry, sir!” and the boy fetched the
ribbons and was swallowed by the milling crowd.
Christian smiled. The activity at the coaching inns provided the best entertainment in country towns.
Ostlers jockeyed horses around weaving carriages, and bystanders yelled out encouragement as the drivers displayed their coaches and finery to best advantage.
“Come stay the night here, love. Best service in town.”
Christian looked up to see a buxom blonde leaning provocatively over the rail, her assets nearly spilling over the wood as she showed
her
finery to best advantage as well. He did so love the cold weather when it displayed such bounty so beautifully. Her tight calico bodice strained against her perked breasts, practically begging him to release them from their confines. In his twenty-five years he’d never had a problem coaxing any woman from her confines.
He winked at the blonde, and she tossed him a saucy, provocative smile before sashaying inside. His blood flow concentrated in one specific area as he chronicled all he could do with those two luscious offerings.
After
his business was seen to, of course.
A long-legged, curvaceous diversion was already responsible for his current predicament. He’d have to revisit that curvaceous diversion at some point. He had left far too early. What had she said her name was? Samantha? Sarah? It was something that started with an S.
Not that it mattered. It was his name they always screamed, and not the other way around. He was good at
something
after all, no matter what his father said.
Christian glanced at the rest of the onlookers leaning against the wooden railing to catch a glimpse of the courtyard spectacles. Guests and workers hung over the inn galleries, even now, in the dead of winter, their breaths released in cold puffs, to watch the fanfare of the entering and exiting carriages.
The audience oohed over the livery colors of the rich, and sympathized with the gaping faces of those relegated to taking their first trip in the rumble-tumble baskets on the public coaches. They cheered the freshly scrubbed and harnessed horses that were proudly, or impatiently, waiting their turn, aahed over a coachman putting on a dramatic show in his many-caped driving coat, and laughed outright as every once in a while a reckless driver too preoccupied with strutting to
his coach stepped in the present a restless horse had left in his path, uncovered or hidden by the fresh straw.
The postman blew his horn and galloped through town, the other horsemen giving him wide berth. The crowd cheered at the sight. Christian tugged at his left glove, paying little heed to the departing coach. Perhaps switching clothes with one of his servants hadn’t been such a grand idea after all.
His valet, Bertrand, had nearly had apoplexy as it was, exclaiming the clothes far too coarse for his master to wear. But Bertrand had finally given in, accustomed to Christian’s whims, and he was nothing if not steadfastly loyal. It was just a good thing Christian was stubborn; otherwise Bertrand would have resigned him to dandy hell years ago.
He looked up from his examination of the glove and abruptly stopped.
Two stately carriages were lined up for departure, and he recognized the coat of arms on the second as that of a lesser family of the ton. He discreetly donned his hat, tugging it lower until a few dark strands obscured his face. It had been arrogant to remove the hat in the first place. Not that arrogance had ever stopped him before.
Slipping into the crowd, Christian waited for
both carriages to process out before tipping his hat back up and sauntering into the inn. The din of the raucous crowd was replaced by muffled noise from the adjoining taproom, and the smell of straw and animal droppings swapped for that of baked chicken and ale.
“Good afternoon, sir. Be with you in a thrice,” the cheery innkeeper said. He turned to give last-minute instructions to the buxom blonde maid from the gallery, who sent Christian a lascivious wink before exiting the room.
“Now then, how may we be of service? Post or travel?”
Christian slipped on a charming smile. “Actually, I would like a room for the night.”
The innkeeper tugged his bushy auburn mustache, which was at odds with his balding pate. “My apologies, good sir, but we are full for the evening. Perhaps the Green Toad on the other side of town?” He grimaced, obviously chagrined at having to turn away business.
Full? That wouldn’t do at all. Christian increased his smile from amiable to charming. “That’s most unfortunate. My good friend Anthony told me how excellent the service is here, and that the Dragon’s Tale is a much finer establishment than the Green Toad.”
The innkeeper’s chest puffed out. “Too true, too true.” He looked down at a logbook. “But all our rooms are full. The traffic is especially good around the holy days, and we see a fair number of visitors on the post road. Coaching traffic continues to increase our load.”
The innkeeper eagerly rubbed his hands together. “Thinking about adding a third section to the Dragon. Possibly making it into a triple gallery like the Four Swans in Bishopsgate. Could hold plays and the like. Would have to move the stables of course, seeing as we only have the two sides currently. And the—”
“That sounds lovely.” Christian interrupted the rambling little man and tried his most cajoling voice. “But tonight? Surely there is something that a man of your stature could do?”
The innkeeper’s bushy eyebrows drew together and he tapped his equally bushy mustache. “The Crescents, a distinguished couple from London are staying in the far corner, and Mr. Desmond, a fine cricket player is in the state gallery room. Nickford—eccentric fellow—and Julius Janson—the finest cricket player in four counties, didn’t you know!—are in the south fire and gallery rooms. Mrs. Trent and her companion, and the mysterious Mr. Tiegs and his two friends occupy
the middle rooms on each side of the inn. Mr. Freewater, strange lad, is in the large fire room. Then there’s—”
“This Mr. Freewater—his room, it is a large room?” Christian asked, cutting short the innkeeper’s overload of uninteresting and useless information.
“Oh yes, one of our largest. And with a fireplace, one directly above the kitchens, so it is nice and toasty.”
“Nice and toasty sounds perfect.”
“Oh, it is!”
“And it’s large?”
“Quite roomy.”
“So if there were an overflow, a pallet could always be arranged, especially in a warm, toasty room to ward off the chill.”
“No chill there, you can be sure!”
“So in an overflow—”
“Oh! We can ask Mr. Lake if he still plans to stay,” the innkeeper said, blithely ignoring Christian, something he was wholly unaccustomed to outside of his family. “Lives in Lehigh, the neighboring town, didn’t you know. Don’t really know why he is staying, but perhaps it has to do with Julius. Always at odds those two.” He chuckled. “Good old Julius, a fine, strapping lad.
Great all-rounder on the field.” He leaned forward. “He and my daughter Mary are quite compatible, don’t you think?”
Christian stared at the daft man for a few long seconds. The innkeeper beamed back. Christian decided that ignoring his babble was as good a plan as any other. “But if the Freewater room is one of the largest, why not ask him about bringing in a pallet for the night?”
“Oh, definitely not.”
“Just for one night.”
“Oh, not Mr. Freewater.”
“Surely we can work something out with Mr. Freewater?” Christian idly twirled a crown between his fingers.
The innkeeper’s eyes followed the coin’s lazy movement as it tantalizingly disappeared and reappeared. His shoulders drooped a bit and he resignedly shook his head.
“No, no. Mr. Freewater explicitly expressed that he was not to be disturbed. The Dragon has an impeccable reputation to maintain, and I doubt Mr. Freewater would forgive the disturbance. Terribly cheerless man, don’t you think?”
Christian kept a rein on his temper and simply stared at the irritating little man.
“Oh, but then you don’t know him.” The
innkeeper paused for a moment, then exclaimed, “Oh! I have it. Young Mr. Kaden. Yes, yes, he is exactly who we should ask.”
Christian pulled his reins tighter, his impatience straining to be free. He needed to lodge here, whatever it took. He couldn’t afford to lose his quarry. And if this Mr. Kaden was his only chance…
“Excellent. Where can we find him?”
“Oh, right, too right. Elias, take over until I return.”
Elias, a friendly, happy-go-lucky type whose eyes didn’t quite reflect the happiness he was trying to project, stepped forward as Christian and the innkeeper exited. Perhaps if he completed his task and was feeling overly celebratory, Christian would buy the man a pint and teach Elias how to better fake a happy demeanor. He considered himself quite the expert.
“Dear, dear Mr. Kaden,” the innkeeper continued in fragments as they walked. “Just happened in yesterday, didn’t you know? He’s helping around a bit, reduced rate on the room and all. Will probably agree right away to split the room. I’ll still have to charge you the extra bit, though. Unless you want to help as well?”
Christian’s immediate response was an emphatic
no
. He could only imagine his father’s apoplexy
were he to discover that his only remaining offspring, hated though he was, would consider sharing a room with a complete stranger, not to mention
working
. Anyone with the surname Black just didn’t
do
that. But then again, Christian reflected, he wasn’t fit to be a Black, as his sire oft mentioned.
“Fine young fellow, Mr. Kaden. A bit on the small side, head injury too, but dedicated to work. You have to like that in a servant or helper. Interested? I could surely use someone in the stables. I’ve had to hire a number of day workers in the village. Good year for the coaching inn, good year I tell you. Can’t rightly wait to get out the books and do the tallies in a few weeks for the entire twelve months. Can’t remember a better—”
“You only need help in the stables?”
“Oh, well, yes.” The innkeeper seemed slightly nonplussed at being interrupted yet again. “We are all taken care of inside the inn proper. Our girls do twice the load in half the time as any other inn around. And won’t be quite as crowded soon as the teams clear out—we won against Lehigh today in an informal cricket match, didn’t you know? We like to keep our skills up, even out of season. Mr. Lake is likely to be in his cups tonight if he stays—on the Lehigh team, didn’t you know?—then things will settle down for the night. Were you a woman,
there’d be plenty of need right now, but seeing as you are not—”
Christian sent him an unimpressed look.
“—the stables could really use the help. Could put you up there too.”
The stables were not even in consideration unless he couldn’t find an alternative. He needed to be inside the inn, preferably as close to Mr. Freewater’s room and belongings as possible.
“Let me consider it, sir. If we could talk to Mr. Kaden, first?”
“Oh, right, too right!”
They walked through the public dining room, Christian’s quarry nowhere in sight, and continued through the taproom and into the stairwell corridor.
Cheerful baking smells—apple pie, if he was any judge—and a faint breeze of lemon oil intensified as they neared the stairwell juncture, indicating the kitchens and larder as the doors on the left and what appeared to be private dining rooms and storage areas to the right.
Christian considered his situation as the innkeeper’s head disappeared into one room after another looking for the elusive Mr. Kaden. It wasn’t as if he actually needed to sleep. He just needed a place to stay and remain discreet as he
inconspicuously rummaged through Frederick Freewater’s belongings. He would consider the ramifications at some other time, per usual.
“Oh, there he is.”
Christian looked up to see a short, gangly young man carrying what looked like two shirts.
“Tailor’s apprentice, Mr. Kaden is. Father died. On his way to London to see if he can get work in one of the big shops. Said he would do our mending for the week. Right good lad, Mr. Kaden is, and decent with the needle too. Good deal for me to give him a discount. And now that you’re here”—he smiled cheerfully at Christian, who managed a strained smile in return—“we can give Mr. Kaden a bigger break. Oh, Mr. Kaden! Mr. Kaden, a moment of your time, please.”
The young man turned and walked somewhat apprehensively back to the proprietor.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Wicket. What can I do for you?” The apprentice’s voice was very smooth. Like fine brandy. Christian twitched at the odd thought.
“I have excellent news, Mr. Kaden. This gentleman, Mr.—” he looked at Christian as if suddenly surprised he hadn’t asked his name during a nonexistent pause in his nonstop babble.
“Black.”
“Right. Mr. Black is willing to offset the cost of
your room for the night. More than half your current price for tonight, isn’t that good news?”
Christian watched the tailor’s apprentice stiffen. Interesting. If Christian were traveling as himself, he wouldn’t give two thoughts to sharing a room. It would simply be out of the question. But this man, who obviously was in need, was waffling.
“Are there no more rooms at the Green Toad or White Stag?”
“Mr. Kaden! We don’t discuss the White Stag, don’t you know?” the innkeeper asked in a scandalized tone.
“My apologies, Mr. Wicket. But the Green Toad then? Surely they have available rooms?”
The innkeeper blinked rapidly, and Christian frowned. A hardworking lad not leaping at the opportunity to pay less? Most commoners wouldn’t mind sharing a room. It was done all the time.
