How to Train Your Earl

by Amelia Grey

  “I’m all right,” Zane muttered as he fastened his cloak at the neck and passed under the doorway.

  The brisk morning air felt good hitting his face. He breathed it deeply into his lungs, hoping it would help further clear his head of the brandy and lack of sleep. The problem with what his uncles were saying was that Zane didn’t want his life to change. Being the black sheep was easy. It was what he was used to. He was good at it. Changing into the earl was going to be hard, and the damned truth of it was he didn’t know if he could do it.

  Stopping to settle his hat on his head, he glanced across to the opposite side of the street and was caught off balance by the glimpse of a tall, slender young lady walking down the pavement. His gut tightened. He quickly blinked several times.

  It was her. The lady from the masked ball. He was certain of it. The tilt of her head, gracious lift of her chin, and sway of her shoulders as she walked were unmistakable, even though she was now dressed in sensible clothing. He might have been ocean deep into his cups, bound, and with his mind only on stopping Robert’s foolish stunt, but he hadn’t failed to take detailed notice of the one who freed him that night in Paris.

  And he hadn’t failed to remember her often.

  Zane’s gaze followed the lady as she passed his line of vision, not paying him nor anyone else she swept by the slightest bit of attention. Her short cape was fashionable enough but a drab shade of mulled wine. A black bonnet covered most of her hair, but he saw the telltale sign of a silvery blond chignon at her nape.

  At the ball, some of his rescuer’s face had been covered by her demi mask, but there were things about her he’d never forget. The faint rustle of her soft skirts when she’d knelt beside him to untie the scarf. The sweet spring flower scent that wafted from her skin. Eyes so blue, he could have looked into their depths for the rest of the evening. Everything about her was still vivid to him, right down to her soft ivory complexion.

  He was a man after all, no matter his pressing situation that night. He was more likely to forget his name than her brief appearance in his life.

  Watching her now, he could feel the lingering pressure and taste of her soft lips beneath his. Had he imagined it or had she actually given in to the kiss for a second or two?

  Because of her, Zane had caught up with Robert and hightailed it to Vienna with the impulsive blade. Zane wouldn’t have minded staying in Paris and finding out who she was from the hostess, but he had to get Robert out of Paris for a while. He couldn’t trust the randy buck not to try again to marry the French woman.

  “Do you know who she is?” Zane nodded in the lady’s direction as his uncles flanked him.

  “Don’t go setting your top hat for her,” Uncle Syl immediately warned. “It will do you no good. She’s one lady you won’t be adding to your queue, and no one would appreciate you trying.”

  Tension expanded in the back of Zane’s neck. “Who is she married to?”

  “No one,” Hector answered. “She’s a widow. Mrs. Brina Feld. Her husband was killed when the Salty Dove sank. A shame for someone to be widowed that young.”

  Bits of newsprint and gossip flashed through Zane’s mind. “I’ve never met her, but I remember the tragedy. Many drowned. It happened four or five years ago.”

  “At least.”

  “Is she someone’s mistress?”

  “Only her own, as far as anyone knows,” Uncle Hector added. “See those girls walking behind her?”

  Zane nodded but hadn’t noticed the dutiful children trailing behind her like sheep following their shepherd until Hector mentioned them. There were four of them. All were dressed alike and walking as purposefully as Mrs. Feld.

  “She and two other ladies started a boarding school for those girls and others like them. It’s a charitable endeavor and only for the daughters and sisters of men who had worked on the Salty Dove.”

  So, she was available and obviously had a very charitable heart. Not only for men who found themselves in a literal bind and in need of help but children too.

  He remembered she’d been curious but cautious when she’d come upon him in the chateau. She’d been strong in holding him to account for his predicament before she fearlessly untied him. Once she’d settled in her mind that he was trustworthy and not a footpad wanting to make off with the family silver, she’d acted in good faith and released him. That act of courage and kindness wasn’t the sort of thing a man would forget.

  “I’m remembering some of that story,” Zane offered, as more memories of the catastrophe and the aftermath came rushing into his mind.

  “The other two ladies have since married. But don’t let that give you any ideas about Mrs. Feld. She might be only twenty-four, but she’s worn her widow’s weeds every day since she heard the news about her husband. No one believes she’s going to shed them and marry.”

  But.

  Mrs. Feld had been at that masked ball wearing a provocative gown. Not widow’s weeds. She’d worn a costume made from a tempting shade of bright pink satin. It shimmered and glistened in the firelight whenever she moved. The low neckline emphasized a fair amount of her small but delectable bosom. A large pink sapphire had rested seductively in the hollow of her throat. Smaller stones dangled from her earlobes. Her lips were full, beautifully shaped, and rosy as a late summer bloom. In her gloriously blond hair, she’d worn a coronet of leaves alternately painted gold and pink.

  Today, she looked every bit the widow his uncles described. Prim and proper as a lady could get. What was the personification of a perfect widow doing in Paris at a masquerade in the dead of winter, dressed to catch the attention of every man who saw her?

  Zane didn’t know. But he wanted to.

  Hector harrumphed and disturbed Zane’s musing as Mrs. Feld rounded a corner and walked out of sight.

  “She’s shown no interest in any man’s attentions. Probably because it’s hard for any man to compete with a hero.”

  Damned hard, Zane thought, but it didn’t keep another surge of interest from slamming all the way through him. “Was it her husband who saved the lives that day?”

  “Indeed,” Sylvester answered with conviction. “Not more than a handful of people survived the wreck of the Salty Dove, but they all told of the bravery of Mr. Stewart Feld helping passengers find pieces of wreckage they could cling to, while in the end he couldn’t save himself. Word is she’s never allowed a man past her front door since. It’s doubtful that will change, considering the amount of time that’s passed.”

  Zane nodded slowly, as if in agreement, but thought if that claim were true, it sounded like a challenge to him.

  “If one has made it,” Uncle Hector continued, “he’s kept it a secret, and that’s not easy to do in this Town.”

  It was true, London Society laid claim to few confidences. “No doubt many have tried,” Zane offered.

  “And failed,” Sylvester declared as if that should end any hope Zane might harbor of pursuing the widow Feld. “That’s why she’s garnered so much genuine affection in most circles. I suggest you set your sights a little lower if you want to be happy with the outcome of your search for a bride. Mrs. Feld is adored by many in all walks of life. Not only is she beautiful and prim to a fault, she’s the epitome of all a widowed lady should be. Devoted to the memory of her husband and kind to those in need, whether they be Society or not. She’s not likely to look twice at a man who is more apt to have a card game end in a back-alley duel at sunup than to have a Sunday afternoon ride in Hyde Park with a lovely lady.”

  His uncle certainly wasn’t trying to spare his feelings. That was fine with Zane. Both were probably right about their assertion of him and Mrs. Feld, but he would just as soon find that out for himself.

  But what was the best way to go about that?

  Zane looked down the street again and saw the roofline of White’s. He was a member of the famous gentleman’s club but seldom went there. The place was deeply steeped in traditions Zane would rather avoid, so he usuall
y stayed away. And there was the fact that he’d been thrown out more than a few times. They didn’t appreciate or tolerate raucous hellraising from young men out to have a good time with their drink, games, and general fooling around.

  The prestigious club was known as much for its wager book as for the exclusivity and civility of its members. Men of otherwise good character would wager on the oddest of things. From whether a man’s wife would bear him a son or daughter, to what time of day a certain man would die. There was no bet too humorous or too grisly to lay down.

  And that book is what gave Zane an extraordinary idea.

  At first thought, it seemed an impossible, outlandish, and mostly irresponsible idea.

  But it immediately sparked his interest, and he couldn’t deny he wanted to accept the challenge of it. There was a thing or two he needed to consider. First and foremost is that he would be competing with the memory of Mrs. Feld’s husband. That alone gave him reason to have second thoughts. There were some things that should be too sacred to disturb.

  By all accounts, the man was a true hero.

  The only thing Zane had ever done worthwhile was save the life of every man he’d ever dueled. He could have easily shot to kill, but he never had. He’d never actually challenged anyone to a duel. And there were those who thought even that wasn’t noteworthy and a fact that was often lost in the telling because Zane accepted every challenge thrown at him. And he couldn’t agree with them more. There was little heroism in duels, even if he did aim to miss.

  He’d been uncommonly drawn to her when she’d swept into the room at the French chateau and looked at him the first time. He knew immediately she was an English beauty, elegant and refined and not one of the many ladies there looking for the unrestrained sexual behavior that usually went on at such a ball.

  His uncles certainly thought highly of her too. Who wouldn’t? A beautiful young lady who’d maintained unblemished widowhood for five years was deserving of respect and extremely enticing at the same time. He was up to a new challenge. What better way to get his uncles and neurotic family off his back than to solicit help from the one lady who had no plans to marry?

  But, if he wanted to get past Mrs. Feld’s front door, he would first have to get her attention. He looked toward the roofline of White’s again and thought of that book.

  Zane didn’t know anything about being a proper earl, and the hell of it was he really didn’t want to learn. But if there was one thing he knew, it was how to get a lady’s attention.

  Chapter 3

  Brina Feld entered the front door of her house and caught the mouth-watering scent of fresh-baked bread, cooked fruit, and cinnamon filling the air. A pleasant change from the common smells of oil polish, beeswax, and burnt wood that so often lingered in the rooms. She could hardly wait to cut into one of Mrs. Lawton’s fruit tarts, spread it with butter, and eat as many of them as she wanted.

  Nothing invigorated Brina more than a brisk walk to Town when the sun was shining brightly, and the air was as chilling as dipping her bare toes into a deep winter stream. And having some of the girls from the school join her made it an especially pleasing day. Much to the girls’ delight, they had spent the morning in Town looking through the collections of merchandise at several shops. None of the girls had ever had a reason to venture inside a business establishment, and it was a good learning experience for them.

  Their first stop had been at the largest linen draper in London. It sold a wide variety of different fabrics. Fanny hadn’t wanted to leave it. Next on the list was the haberdashery, which was Mathilda’s favorite shop. The number of buttons, ribbons, and lace the store carried was astounding to them all. The last place they went into was the milliner. None of the four girls were impressed with the shop. They all wanted to sew beautiful gowns and dresses trimmed with bows, flowers, and beads. Not make hats.

  It made Brina happy to see awe and wonder in their faces as they looked around the shops. She wasn’t sure everyone would be pleased with her decision to parade the girls downtown and then take them into some of the stores, but she didn’t care. It was an enlightening and well-deserved outing for the older ones, who had two years of schooling behind them.

  Now Brina was eager for Adeline and Julia to arrive so she could tell them about some of her plans for the future. She wanted to give the girls painting lessons. Perhaps it was a bit frivolous for girls learning the seamstress trade to engage in a Society lady’s pastime.

  But, so be it.

  Brina wanted to do all she could to see the girls had some refinement and enjoyment along with their arduous studies and the task of learning how to sew. They were all doing so well with a needle now. She’d argue that painting could prove useful in teaching them where to place bows, ribbons, and add an embroidery of flowers on a dress.

  Too, she had to invite Harper to dinner soon. She’d promised her father she’d stay in touch with her cousin. And she wanted to. She’d had a lingering concern about him. The last time she’d seen Harper, he had a cut lip and the faint shade of bruising around his mouth. It hadn’t seemed proper to ask him about it. Perhaps her father had seen that too and wanted Brina to make sure he was now doing fine.

  Harper was a happy and mild-mannered person, but she supposed it was inevitable for a young man to get into scuffles from time to time and take one on the chin. Even well brought-up men like her cousin were sure to have disagreements that ended badly. It was part of the male nature. And it was Brina’s nature to want to care for people and help them if she could.

  After shedding her woolen cape, she draped it across a chair in the entry and started untying the bow under her chin. It felt wonderful to be in a home of her own. She loved her parents, but they were overwhelming at times. They doted on her, smothered her with affection, and sheltered her with protection. For a time she had needed that, but she was glad to have finally left their home to make her own way in life. The two months she’d been living in the house in front of the school had been the most contented she could remember in years.

  Now that her parents were off on their journey to Northumberland to visit her mother’s sister, Brina felt as if she were truly on her own, and it was a freeing feeling. The glorious spring weather had brought her many wonderful ideas. The list of things she wanted to accomplish for the girls’ school and the charitable work she did for the Sisters of Pilwillow Crossings were many, and it was growing longer every day. She was going to rejoin the reading society, return to her painting, and embrace the joy of living life again after years—

  “Let me help you with those things, Mrs. Feld,” her housekeeper said, hurrying up the corridor toward the entrance.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Lawton, but no need. I can manage this. It smells as if your special tarts are ready to come out of the oven.”

  “And I have water heating for tea, but there’s something I have to tell you first.” She moved closer to Brina and whispered, “There’s a gentleman in the drawing room waiting to see you.”

  A gentleman waiting for her? Brina laid her bonnet on top of her cape and started pulling on the fingers of her gloves. Because Mrs. Lawton whispered, Brina felt she must too. “You know I don’t receive gentlemen callers.”

  “I do,” the housekeeper said, softly but emphatically. “I told him you weren’t here, thinking that would be the end of it and he’d go away, but instead, he said he’d wait for you. He then took it upon himself to walk right past me and into the house. I didn’t know what to do but show him to the drawing room.”

  “That doesn’t sound like something a gentleman would do.”

  “Oh, he’s not just a gentleman, Mrs. Feld,” she continued in her whispered, but excited voice, her wide-eyed gaze sweeping over to the masculine cloak and hat that lay on a chair on the opposite side of the vestibule. “He said he was an earl and needed to speak to you, so he’d wait.”

  An earl to see her? How odd. And which one? There must be close to half a dozen presently in London. Parliament was in se
ssion, and the Season’s first ball was already behind them. But why would any of them want to see her? Unless … she studied a moment on the thought his visit might have something to do with the school in the building behind the house. She and her two friends had thought there might be protests from some people in the ton or the neighborhood when they started the small private boarding school, but that had been over two years ago.

  “Did he say what he wanted?” Brina asked.

  Mrs. Lawton shook her head and picked up Brina’s cape and bonnet. “But of course I asked him,” she admitted without guile. “Not to be rude, but wondering if I might assist him for you. He said it was a private matter he’d take up with you. Who am I to question an earl further?”

  Titled or not, Brina wondered how she should confront a man who would all but barge into a lady’s house. She didn’t have more than a second or two before she heard the strong sure sound of masculine boots hitting the hardwood floor.

  “It’s all right, Mrs. Lawton.” She handed the housekeeper her gloves. “I’ll take care of this. You go finish preparing for Julia and Adeline.”

  The housekeeper quietly left, and from behind her, Brina heard a man say, “I thought I heard someone talking.”

  That same spark of awareness that she’d only felt one other time slithered through Brina. She went perfectly still.

  Her masked stranger.

  Here in her house?

  Was it possible? A touch of awe and fear raced through her.

  She had never seen the man’s face, not all of it anyway, but she recognized his voice. She’d never forget his tone barking orders at her to free him and then saying thank you in the most sensual manner she could ever imagine. With a kiss that still took her breath when she thought about it.

  The footsteps stopped close behind her. A dizzying wave of near panic swelled her chest. Her stomach quivered. As it had been in Paris, there was no escape for her. What was she to do? It was one thing to daydream about him, as she had, but quite another to come face-to-face with him again. Something she never thought would happen.