The Reluctant Earl (4 page)

“It is true the thought of finding commonality with you would give me nightmares.”

Brown brows rose above the eyes that at last focused on him—eyes wreathed by dark circles, and yet not muted by remorse so much as glimmering with ill-suppressed challenge. An answering warmth flared through him.

“My lord, are you certain you want this old mare?” The groom appeared at that moment with the oldest, most lethargic nag in three counties.

Julian regathered his dignity. “Ask Miss Vance.”

The man caught sight of Julian’s companion and stumbled. The ancient mare didn’t blink at the momentary tightening of her reins while the groom regained his footing, if not his composure. An interesting response. Surprise to see the governess ride? Or more? After all, the lady had claimed to leave her ill-gotten information in the stable—which made everyone from the coachman to the greenest stable boy a possible accomplice.

Julian glanced her direction again, noting the skepticism cooling the subdued greens and browns of her eyes, so at variance with the hard edges of her attitude. “What think you, Miss Vance? I’m sure even your impaired skills will prove sufficient to handle this animal, but perhaps you would prefer a mount with more, er, life?”

“The poor thing does appear in danger of imminent demise, but I believe it will be fine for a
short
ride.” Miss Vance’s shoulders stiffened as she tugged the reins from the groom and stalked outside, her fine fit of pique somewhat impaired by the nag’s ungainly plodding. The groom hurried after them, but when he paused to assist Miss Vance onto the horse, Julian stepped between them and thrust the stallion’s reins in the man’s hands.

“Hold these, please, while I assist Miss Vance.” He moved closer, the faintest whiff of lavender once again teasing his senses as she planted her foot in his cupped hands. For a woman of her height she felt unexpectedly light, and she mounted with surprising grace—especially for one who’d claimed so long a dearth—onto the nag’s swayed back. As she hooked her leg over the sidesaddle, her movements exposed a bit of boot-clad ankle to his curious gaze.

“We’ll start slowly,” he said as she arranged her skirts.

“I doubt we’ll have much choice on the matter.” She threaded the reins around her fingers, drawing his attention to her carefully mended gloves.

Julian swung up on his mount, and the groom disappeared into the warm stable. “Take heart, if she expires before we complete our business, Sotherton’s prize bay can carry us both back.”

Her wary eyes scrutinized his mount as the spirited animal pawed the snowy ground, impatient to be free. “Should such a tragic event befall us, I’ll walk.”

“Or run away?” Did she balk at such an energetic horse, or at sharing the saddle with
him?
A rusty chuckle escaped his throat.

She prodded the placid animal into a reluctant walk, and Julian followed.

Last night’s storm had passed, leaving a fresh layer of snow blanketing the world. They traveled side by side, the stillness of the winter morning broken only by the muffled clomp of hooves. The barren fields around him, the gentle rocking beneath him, and the rush of fresh air against him pulled him back in time, as if he once more trod the decks of his ship.

As if he once more knew what was expected of him, and how to fulfill those obligations.

The bay tossed its head and strained against the reins, drawing Julian’s attention back to the ride. “Now be truthful with me, Miss Vance. I know you would rather spend such a fine morning enjoying your freedom here than locked in your schoolroom.” He swept his arm in the direction of the village below. The sun shimmered on the snow-clad roofs like candlelight on the finest silk.

“It seems you are determined to know all my secrets, my lord.”

“The important ones, to be sure.”

“So then, what did you decide?”

He shifted to better see her face. A gust of winter stirred the ribbons of her humble bonnet and tossed them against her cheeks. “I’ve decided you will continue your criminal activities.”

Her brows drew together. “My lord?”

“As directed by me. I’ll provide you with the information, and you will pass it along to your contacts.”

“You want me to betray those who hired me?”

“I thought your services were for sale, Miss Vance. Surely your life is fitting compensation for what I ask of you?”

She fidgeted with the reins, her gaze level. Weighing him. “What would you have me do?”

“That wasn’t so difficult, was it? You will start by informing your contact Lord Chambelston has called upon Sotherton.”

“I, ah, already have. Yesterday afternoon.”

“You are nothing if not efficient. I should have expected nothing less, I suppose. Did you include any other details I should know about?”

“Only that you are newly come into your title, it would seem.”

“Indeed, quite recently.” And perhaps not naturally. But then she knew that from his anonymous note. A new thought struck him. If his father’s death were indeed the result of the radicals, she could have gleaned nothing from the note their leadership didn’t already know. Was she as she said, only a governess earning a bit of coin and not well connected to the radicals? Or was his anonymous source sending him spurious information? To what end?

Compassion shimmered in the hazel gaze that met his. “I’m sorry for your loss, my lord.”

“Thank you.” The now-familiar connection once again snapped between them. “There is a Vance family baronetcy not far from here, I believe. A relative of yours?”

“Not close.”

“Ah.” Not close enough to support a dowerless female for the rest of her life. “So who is your father?”

“Was. I lost my parents some years back. My father was only the minor rector of a small parish.”

Her words hung in the air, an awkward reminder of the stark differences between them. He wanted to despise her for the traitor she was, and yet, unwilling sympathy welled in him. He might be trapped by his responsibilities, but he was bound by gilded chains. No doubt Miss Vance would gladly trade her tenuous position for his comfortable prison.

He was of a mind to mention a man of the cloth might not appreciate his daughter’s activities, but thoughts of his own father held back the words. The former Earl of Chambelston had been a man of steadfast faith while Julian was too cynical to place his trust in an unseen God.

“Is there anything else you require of me?”

He stared across the fields where a few skinny cattle huddled together for warmth. “Inform your contact I’m here to consult with Sotherton about the recent Spa Fields riots and will remain here for the while.” That would give them time to set in motion any plots they might be hatching.

“Why would you trust me to do as you ask? I may betray you instead.”

She was right, of course. He’d never know her true loyalties—if she had any. What if another offered more gold for her...special assistance? Unfortunately he had no skill at subterfuge. He needed his brother Kit. Kit had survived ten years of war playing a far more dangerous game than Miss Vance now dabbled in. “You’re an intelligent woman—”

“Evidently not, or I wouldn’t be here with you.”

Another chuckle escaped Julian’s throat, his second of the morning. How surprising and unexpected coming so soon after his father’s death. “You were clever enough to get away with your duplicity until now. Surely you are smart enough to recognize your limitations and realize a woman in your position has no other options.”

“Thank you for that reminder of my indigence.”

“I mean only the truth, not an insult. You have made your own way in life.” Unlike the many spoiled misses who’d jumped into his path ever since his older brother’s death had propelled him from second son to an earl’s heir.

“Unfortunately we can’t all be born to wealth and privilege.”

“You are quite the republican. And rather outspoken for a mere governess.”

“You already know the worst about me. Will protestations of my loyalty change your mind?”

The bay stomped impatiently, forcing Julian’s attention back to the restless horse. He’d made a mistake taking such a spirited animal on such a sedate outing. He studied Miss Vance from under his hat, noting her precise posture and the ease with which she propelled the recalcitrant nag to continue their walk. Perhaps next time he should see her better mounted and not deny himself—or Sotherton’s bay—the exercise they both craved. “I wasn’t always an earl, you know. I once worked for my sustenance the same as you.”

“In a considerably more lucrative profession.”

“And more dangerous.”

She tilted her head and considered him. A few wisps of her hair caught on the breeze and whispered against her face. “Yes, you are correct. And undoubtedly you began your labors even younger than I.” Soft respect smoothed the sharp edges off her voice and tugged his mind back to her assertion a French shell had ended her hopes and dreams. How often had he feared the same would happen to him?

“I was thirteen. And while life on a ship is more dangerous, it isn’t necessarily more difficult.” The thought of perpetual servitude to his sister was nearly as daunting as a French ship-of-the-line on the horizon. “My family connections, my education and my gender offered me options unavailable to you. While I don’t approve of your treasonous behavior, I do admire your independence.”

Surprise and suspicion flickered in her eyes. “Thank you. But my vocation wasn’t by choice. I’d have happily lived on some inheritance from long forgotten forebears who’d stolen the wealth and labor of the local peasants.”

“Are you casting aspersions on my ancestors?”

“I don’t know you well enough to draw any conclusions. If you see yourself in my comment, perhaps it is your conscience speaking to you.”

“Very conveniently—if not convincingly—deflected. And what would you have done with unlimited time and funds, Miss Vance, beyond what you needed for your life of leisure?”

She blinked. “Ah, I suppose...I’d use the excess to care for others. To help the needy.” Vulnerability tightened on her cheeks. Did she think of someone in particular? Someone close to her who needed her ill-begotten gains?

“Very noble. And not so different from what you do here.”

“Here? I teach Lady Teresa, who—as you may have noticed—does not go hungry or cold this winter.”

“There are needs beyond the physical. It has not escaped my notice that my niece does not enjoy an intimate relationship with her mother.”

“Difficult dinner last night?”

“I don’t know who is worse, Elizabeth or her mother-in-law.” How had his sister transformed into a woman so different from warm and loving Maman? If her own daughter suffered from Elizabeth’s hard and haughty ways, how much more so her staff? A man less personally involved in the recent unrest could almost find a justification for Miss Vance’s actions. Much as Julian hated disloyalty, he’d long ago learned honor traveled both directions—only those officers who respected their men earned the esteem and allegiance of those under them.

“If we are finished here, my lord, I really must return to my duties. That self-sufficiency you profess to admire comes at the cost of my freedom.”

He steered his mount back toward Rowan Abbey. “Forgive me. I did not intend to see you in trouble.”

Golden glints sparked in the depths of her eyes. “More trouble, you mean?”

“Just so.”

With the promise of the stable before it, Miss Vance’s nag increased its speed. Julian curbed the bay’s eagerness, letting his companion take the lead for a moment. Despite her old coat, he admired the graceful curve of her spine as she adjusted to the horse’s ungainly movements.

One could easily imagine Miss Vance’s reaction under fire—calm, intelligent, rational. More so than many officers with whom he’d served. She’d make a formidable opponent and an even more impressive ally, if only he could be assured of her loyalty. Or at a minimum, her cooperation.

As he stared at a patch on her elbow, an idea niggled. A means for purchasing her allegiance. He urged the bay forward until he drew beside her.

Her glance slid askance his direction. “My lord? Was there something you wished to add?”

“Yes. I offer you not only a chance to retain your freedom, but financial remuneration, as well. Assist me, and I’ll see you paid double for your efforts.”

“You don’t know my fee.”

“A respectable amount, I should imagine, given your position and the risks you take.”

She nodded her concession. “A goodly offer, my lord.”

“But not kindly made.” His fists clenched around the reins as new doubts about her character and cooperation assailed him. “Cross me, and I’ll see you regret that decision for the rest of your life—however short that may be.”

* * *

The soft threat whirled around Leah’s lungs like a cold wind, squeezing the breath from her body. With Lord Chambelston’s promised funds, she could support Phoebe for many a month. But would she condemn Alec?

Dear, faithful Alec, who’d been such a blessing these past two years. He’d given all he had for others—her, Phoebe, the men who’d served under him. Whatever she did, she must deflect suspicion from her cousin.

As they neared the stable and the promise of a meal, the old nag charged ahead with something approaching a trot. Leah’s teeth still rattled, even after Wetherel grabbed the harness and drew the mare to a halt.

Wetherel. Another person to protect.

She started to dismount as Lord Chambelston moved closer. Awareness flooded through her even before he clasped her around the waist and drew her off the nag. Despite the many layers of winter protection—her gown and coat, his gloves—heat radiated from his touch, warming her more than any fire. She slid from the saddle, determined to put enough distance between them so the intriguing—and frightening—combination of soap and leather no longer teased her senses.

As soon as her feet met the ground, she jerked away, earning a revival of that mocking smile for her efforts.

“Afraid, Miss Vance?”

When she stood so close to a man—other than her cousin—for the first time in three long years? When his threats hung over her head like a noose? When she faced a choice between her sister and her cousin? She waited until Wetherel led the animals away. “I’m no fool.”