How to Train Your Earl

by Amelia Grey

  “You want to make excuses for him because you don’t want me to do my family duty and protect you.”

  “I make excuses for no one, including you,” she said, lifting onto her toes so she could look him eye to eye.

  “I let it slide when he made the wager about marrying you. Men have a right to place their bets and wagers as they see fit, and what he did at White’s will cause you no real harm. This was different.”

  She looked aghast at him. “Really?” How could he say that? Unless Zane started drinking, gambling, or carousing, she could very well end up married to him. And for the first time, she realized that idea thrilled her as well as terrified her. “If you really wanted to help me, you could be encouraging the earl to gamble.”

  Harper’s eyes narrowed to serious-looking slits. “I don’t think you are comprehending that he could have crashed the carriage and harmed or killed you. What I should do is call him out as a matter of honor.”

  “Stop talking such madness or I’ll ask you to leave,” Brina insisted hotly and turned away from him before sharply whirling back to face him again. “I won’t hear such foolishness. What is wrong with you? Who is putting such nonsense in your head?”

  He eyed her curiously. “No one. Why would you suggest that?”

  “Because it’s so unlike you to be this upset over anything. Besides, I need no one to defend me. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  “Not with him, you aren’t. You are fragile.”

  That brought Brina up short and she took in a long, deep breath. It wasn’t easy hearing that. “Yes, I was for a time. Everyone in the family knows that. But I am fine now. Strong and confident. Living on my own and as you can see, happy and doing quite well.”

  “I want you to stay that way. Robert was with Blacknight in Paris and Vienna. I’ve heard stories about him. About the two of them that I’m not at liberty to talk about.”

  Brina felt a shiver shake her. She had experienced one of the earl’s and Robert’s stories. And it was as exciting as the ride they’d had today. She didn’t need Harper to tell her anything about Zane. She knew firsthand exactly who he was.

  “I agree,” she said, knowing she was defending him and realizing she wanted to. “You shouldn’t. He is a bachelor. What he has or hasn’t done is of no concern of mine. Or yours, for that matter.”

  “I want him to leave you alone.”

  No.

  For better or worse, she was bound to Zane right now. He was dangerous but she didn’t want to give up the thrill of being with him. She couldn’t tell Harper that, and he wasn’t in a mood to listen anyway.

  But she had to take control of this conversation and settle down her cousin. “Then let me be blunt and tell you the truth,” Brina said, somehow remaining calm. “Someone was following us and spying upon us. I didn’t appreciate it. I asked Blacknight to lose the carriage.”

  Harper’s shoulders eased back, and he lifted his chin. “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I’m saying. The earl is being followed—we assume that someone who has a large amount of money placed on one of the wagers at White’s or one of the other clubs is pursuing him in hopes of seeing him take a drink, play cards, or—whatever. I felt violated by such an act as having my privacy invaded.”

  It was really anger she’d felt but wanted to use the stronger word of violation in hopes of quieting Harper even more. And his expression quickly changed to one of concern.

  “You’re serious about this?”

  “Yes. The man was driving a poorly maintained cabriolet. Speeding up and slowing down when we did, and taking every turn we took. I insisted we must lose him so we could have the benefit of our afternoon without his watchful eyes. Blacknight finally acquiesced to my wishes. So if you are going to be mad with anyone, be that way with me.”

  Mrs. Lawton quietly walked into the room and put a tea tray on the small table between the two settees.

  “Look,” Brina said. “Mrs. Lawton brought the tea. And she has tarts.” She turned to the housekeeper. “Apricot or figs?”

  “Figs, Mrs. Feld.”

  “Good. Thank you.” Brina looked at her cousin again. “Sit down, Harper, and I’ll answer any more questions you have as long as you realize I am doing it because I want to and not because I have to.”

  “Very well.”

  Two cups of tea and half a dozen tarts later, Harper was calm and back to his usual cheerful self. She had no idea why, but she kept thinking that something else must have wound him tight and that what happened with the earl had set him off.

  After telling him as much as she could about the afternoon with Blacknight, she’d changed the subject to one she knew he would like—cards. He was eager to talk about a new club he and Robert were trying to join. Thankfully, that had him parting on good terms, but she’d been unsettled about how his life seemed to be revolving around card games and clubs, and the parties of the Season all but forgotten. There should be more of a balance between the two.

  Long after he left, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right with him. But what?

  Chapter 16

  A light mist of rain dusted the top of Zane’s hat and crest of his shoulders as he walked down the street toward the Brass Bull Gaming House in the early evening hour. Foot traffic was sparse because of a turn in the weather, but a steady stream of carriages rolled past him.

  Zane chose to walk to his meeting with Harry. It gave him more time to think about Brina. It wasn’t just having her in his arms, at her own volition, that had caused him to suffer unfulfilled passion that was still with him days later. It was that she’d wanted him as strongly and urgently as he had wanted her. She had been so tantalizing, he had to satisfy her.

  But then he also had to deny her.

  He had sensed the passion simmering beneath the prim exterior of her widow’s clothing long before she had initiated the kiss in the carriage, but he hadn’t expected her to act on it—being a proper lady. They were both hungry to fulfill their frantic need for each other and would have if she hadn’t put those bloody damned and hellish restrictions on him. He shook his head in frustration as dampness sprinkled his neck.

  Brina had been right. Inappropriate, vile curse words had become a habit for him—even in his thoughts.

  Zane nodded to a gentleman he passed and then hunkered deeper into his cloak to keep the wet chill off the back of his collar. Whether or not he made the right decision to call a halt to what was about to happen between them in the carriage that afternoon still troubled him. His body would argue that he hadn’t, but his mind disagreed.

  Sometimes.

  And sometimes he sensed that his heart was weighing in on the matter too. Which was troubling. Those thoughts and feelings he tried to stay away from. It was one thing to want her only for himself. As his bride and countess. Loving her, possibly being in love with her, was an entirely different matter and one he shied away from considering. A feeling such as love wasn’t for gamblers like him.

  Brina could never imagine the amount of willpower it had taken for him to set aside his desire for her. Every ounce he’d had, and then some.

  The truth of it was that she’d left him no choice but to say no to what they both wanted. He didn’t know if he could trust her not to use his being with a woman, even if it was her, against him at the last ball of the Season when he proposed to her.

  Her vow to remain a widow was clear. He couldn’t take her vow to herself lightly.

  Her premise from the beginning was that she expected him to fail. And he’d come close a few days ago—which was why he was mostly staying away from her unless it was at a party—with other people watching them. That way, he was less likely to succumb to her desire to be with him.

  Zane now knew, more than the day he’d made the wager for her hand, that he wanted her. All he had to do was stay firm on those promises and she would be his. He’d made it two weeks and would make it the rest of the time. His worry was,
could he change her mind about him before he made it to the last ball of the Season?

  There was still so much to know about her. Why had she been dressed in the pink satin gown in Paris? Did she harbor deep, lasting feelings for her husband as people claimed or was she, knowingly or not, using the perception as a protective guard against giving her heart to anyone? He wanted to know what had made her decide she never wanted to marry again. He needed to know more about her past to find answers.

  Going without a glass of fine wine or a lively card game, difficult as it was, had been easy compared to staying away from her. He had relived the sensations of his lips against hers, the fullness of her soft breast beneath his hand, and her sweet, whispered feminine sounds of pleasure for endless hours. At times, he thought he might storm over to her house and insist she remove her demands from him so he could make her his.

  But, after a fierce battle with himself, he’d come to his senses, pushed the treasured memories aside, and continued his studies to learn about the vast properties that were now under his command.

  He also hoped the gossip about them would settle down now that he hadn’t been seen with her for a couple of days. News traveled amazingly fast in the elite ton. By the time he’d made it to Middlecastle’s house for dinner after their adventurous carriage ride, it was obvious everyone there had already heard he was seen driving the curricle recklessly through the city’s streets with Brina on board. A hush had fallen over the drawing room when he entered, and everyone looked at him as if he’d suddenly grown two sharp thorny horns.

  Some of the ladies quickly turned their heads away in protest that he had the gall to attend a dignified event after such ill-bred, dangerous, and careless behavior. Others gave him sly smiles of approval. Some merely looked surprised. None more so than his hostess, the Duchess of Middlecastle. It was only much later in the evening he discovered why Her Grace had gone running from the room at the sight of him. It had nothing to do with the race to dodge the spy.

  Brina had been adequately protected all evening by her friends, Lady Lyonwood and Mrs. Stockton, and, so it seemed, the duke and duchess as well. Brina had been cordial when they spoke to each other, and meaningful glances had passed between them. There was no opportunity to have a private conversation about their event and the gossip surrounding it.

  When dinner was served and they went into the dining room, he’d been seated on the opposite side from Brina and so far down the long, dimly lit table, he hadn’t been able to get more than a glimpse of her for over three hours. Another reason not to appreciate dinners that took so long.

  As he’d expected, the chairs were small, the seating tight, and the china, crystal, and silver abundant. So was the wine. The temptation to indulge was great. It had been difficult to deny himself but somehow he’d made it through the evening without sip.

  Not one to grouse about anything for too long, Zane found a way to pass the evening by engaging in a lengthy conversation about Paris with the young widow, Mrs. Pinewiffle, who was seated on his left, and a chatty young lady making her debut into Society to his right. After only two glasses of wine, she was spilling the reason why the duchess seemed so unhappy with him. Zane had failed to respond to her invitation that he would be attending. His lack of manners had caused her to delay dinner while the servants rushed to set a place for him at the table.

  The fact that Brina was already planning such a lengthy evening for him to host was still an idea he was having to get used to. He’d much rather sit around a card table. Gentlemen were always given plenty of room when gaming. No elbows or knees ever touched. No one expected you to talk. You never had to wonder which glass was yours. However, if a long sit-down dinner would make Brina happy, he’d endure it. But she would damn well be sitting next to him and not at the other end of the table where he couldn’t even see her face.

  The mist had turned to a drizzle, Zane noticed, as he tipped his hat to a couple scurrying along as he passed them. He pulled his cloak tighter about his neck and kept walking. So did the man who’d been following him. When Zane decided to walk, he expected the man in the cabriolet to simply follow at a safe distance, but he’d jumped out of the carriage and was following on foot.

  He wanted to court Brina the usual way a gentleman would pursue a widow. Candlelit dinners in her home. A friendly game of cards or chess. Smiles over a glass of wine, gentle touching of hands, and delicate kisses to start a night that would end in searing passion in her bedchamber.

  Thoughts of that possibility kept him warm until he opened the door to the Brass Bull Gaming House and strode inside. The smell of liquor was strong. His stomach clinched. He had especially missed having a drink in the evenings. It was harder than he thought it would be not to pour himself a splash of brandy by habit when he was alone. By the third night without a drink, he’d considered having Fulton take every drop of port, claret, and brandy out of the house so he wouldn’t accidently have a drink before he remembered promising Brina he would stay away from it.

  Until she was his. And he would keep that promise.

  Even if it killed him.

  Brina Feld was a wicked woman to have trapped him into such a pact. But she was wonderfully wicked. Beautiful and enticing.

  The hell of it was that he missed late-night and all-night card games too, but was getting used to going to bed earlier, waking earlier, and going for a ride in the park while the day was still quiet, and before Uncle Syl and Uncle Hector arrived for their daily hovering sessions with his solicitor.

  After the brisk walk in the cool rain, he would have liked to settle around a table by the fire with a brandy to warm him before indulging in a game or two of cards. But he would do neither this night. He pushed the thoughts from his mind and hung his cloak on one of the pegs near the door.

  Huffing a rueful breath, he popped his hat on top of his cloak. According to his uncles, none of the scandal sheets had been kind the past couple of days. Being called the Hellion Earl didn’t matter to him, but it had Hector in an uproar and Sylvester desperate to calm his brother. Zane was close to telling his uncles he’d learned all he could about the earldom from them. It was time for them to get back to whatever normal lives they had before they decided to make themselves a daily fixture at his house.

  What bothered Zane most was that one of the gossip sheets had slighted Brina by suggesting she’d been a willing participant in their wild ride. Which she was. An encourager, in fact, but he hadn’t liked what was written about her in the column—Mrs. Feld appeared to be enjoying the ride and draped herself over the earl’s shoulders as the carriage sped wildly down the road. Zane was fair game. Maligning her wasn’t. It was no surprise at all that not one of the scandal sheets mentioned he and Brina were being chased by someone driving as fast.

  The taproom was dim and noisy with chatter as he scanned it. Laughter and the solid clunk of tankards hitting wooden tables echoed around the room, but Zane heard a man from a nearby table whisper, “Can I buy you a drink, my lord?”

  “In two weeks, three days, and seventeen hours,” he quipped and kept on walking as the person chuckled. He didn’t mind the remark or laughter that followed as he threaded his way around the tables. He had no idea how many weeks, days, or hours were left until midnight on the last ball of the Season and his bargain with Brina was at an end, but it couldn’t come soon enough. Until then, only one thing mattered.

  That she not win.

  Very ungentlemanly of him, but necessary.

  “I heard that was a mighty fine race you had a couple of days ago,” a young bearded man said in a normal tone as Zane passed.

  He gave the man a nod.

  Another stranger from behind him called out, “Did you win the wager when you won the race?”

  “No bet,” he answered with good humor. “Just an pleasant afternoon ride.”

  Harry waved to him from a far corner table. Zane headed that way. He’d been enough of a scoundrel in his days not to let the ones in the taproom, nor the
one who had followed him to the club, bother him.

  It was close to ten years now that Harry Robins and Zane had been friends, having met at a gaming hell shortly after they were both old enough to enter. Their skills, looks, age, natures, and even allowances were equal, but not their social status. Zane’s father was a gentleman. Harry’s, a wealthy tradesman.

  Ordinarily, the two such different lifestyles would never mix, but it hadn’t kept them from becoming friends and often gaming partners—until an unfortunate event abruptly ended Harry’s card playing.

  While walking home late one night, Harry had come upon a man being robbed by thugs. Good fellow that he was, he stopped to help. One of the robbers had a long sharp blade and almost sliced Harry’s palm in two. A surgeon stitched him up and saved the hand, but it was of little use to him. He couldn’t shuffle a deck, make a fist, or even hold one card. He had his hand but no movement or feeling in his thumb and fingers.

  Harry hadn’t let that stop his gaming. He simply no longer played cards himself. He still haunted the gaming hells and found ways to wager with dice and other men’s high stakes games, which was a common pastime for some.

  “How are you, my lord?” he said, rising and offering a bow.

  Zane nodded. “Managing.” He pulled out a chair and sat. “How about you?”

  “Managing quite well,” Harry said, with a congenial smirk, before adding, “I was sorry to hear about what happened to your family.”

  “Thank you. Most everyone’s recovered from the shock.” A server walked over, and Zane pointed to his friend’s glass of red wine. “Want another?” he asked. Harry shook his head, so Zane motioned the man away.

  He was winning his battle over his desire to have a drink and play cards in the evenings, and he would win the battle for Brina’s hand. It seemed as if everything in his life was changing. He knew it would be a struggle to adjust to being earl of the estate and head of his family. All he had to do was win one battle at a time.