Unraveling the Earl

by Lynne Barron

  “You’ve met the Porters.” Of course she had. “You knew the key was under the pot with the pansies.”

  “Geraniums. Poor wilted flowers. We must be sure to move them into the rain when it comes.” She brought the bread to his lips and waited until he’d made it two bites, one considerably bigger than the other.

  “You knew there was a lantern and tinderbox on the table in the parlor,” he said all the while knowing he should not be speaking with his mouth full. Nurse Baxter had pounded that tidbit into his head with relentless precision.

  “Isn’t there usually a lantern and tinderbox just inside the parlor of any well-run house? Here have a sip of this fruity wine I found in the cellar. I think it’s elderberry.”

  “Georgie.” Taking the glass from her, he took a sip. It was too fruity and sweet by half.

  “Names are a funny business, don’t you find?” she asked. “I’ve no sooner asked you to call me Georgie then you do. Now do you understand?”

  “Understand what?” He wasn’t certain whether he ought to be understanding how she came to know where the lantern and tinderbox were kept or why names were a funny business.

  “I am not Georgiana any more than you are Lord Hasty.”

  “I was never Lord Hasty. Apart from those few times with you and only then because…er…”

  “We’d gotten the order wrong,” she supplied when he faltered. “But I didn’t name you such for that particular reason. How could I? I didn’t know you at all, except to know that you were too handsome for your own good, had a fine set of shoulders, and delighted the ladies with your bedroom antics. To be sure, none of the ladies made mention of what might occur should you lose your place.”

  She certainly had a way with words. Lose his place, indeed.

  “No, I named you Lord Hasty because of the speed with which with you hop from bed to bed.” She bit into the buttered bread, chewing slowly and carefully before swallowing and trading bread for wine.

  Henry considered whether he ought to feel a bit put out with her and decided she might have come up with far worse monikers to loop around his neck.

  “But you are no longer Lord Hasty to me,” she continued swiping a napkin up to dab at her lips. “Lovely wine.”

  “How much have you had of the lovely wine?” Enough to make her giddy, he suspected. And extremely chatty.

  “Only the one glass,” she replied. “You’ve bedded me four times now. On two separate occasions. With weeks between.”

  “So I have,” he agreed, taking the entire remaining piece of bread into his mouth, suspecting she had more to say on the matter and would give him plenty of time to eat like a gentleman.

  “And while I suspect you did so to prove something to one or the other of us, if not both, I rather think you might like to keep me for a bit.”

  Henry swallowed.

  “Am I wrong?”

  “You are not wrong.” As he spoke the words he knew them to be true, all of them. He’d wanted to prove to them both that he hadn’t lost his touch with the ladies. He’d thought to show her a thing or two, or three, instead she’d shown him just how little he knew about his own desires. “I’ve no intention of giving you up.”

  “Wonderful.” Leaning forward she pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Truly, I am beyond pleased to have found you in the village today. The timing could not have been better had I planned it.”

  “Perfect timing,” he agreed. “I have been thinking it is high time I found a new mistress.”

  “Mistress?” Georgie reared back, nearly tumbling from his lap before settling down again. “Good gracious, my lord Henry, I hadn’t thought to be your mistress.”

  “Did you not just say you hoped I might keep you for a bit?”

  “A day or two,” she argued with a pretty pout. “Three if the weather permits.”

  “What has the weather to do with anything?” Henry demanded as thunder rumbled in the distance. “Never mind. Are you saying you don’t want to be my mistress?”

  “To be sure, I would make a terrible mistress.”

  “Nonsense. You would be the perfect mistress.”

  “I don’t know the first thing about being a man’s mistress,” she replied doubtfully. “How is it done?”

  Henry smiled, confident he could bring her around to his way of thinking. “It’s quite simple really. First we come to terms.”

  “Terms?”

  “Financial terms. What sort of allowance you expect for clothing and other necessities, how much pin money to want,” he explained.

  “No, not what I should expect but rather what you would expect,” she replied. “What exactly is required of the perfect mistress?”

  Henry’s first thought was to assure Georgie that he would require very little of her beyond that she continue to be her irreverent, bawdy self.

  His second thought, one that was nearly as wicked as it was brilliant, was that this was a golden opportunity, one he would be a fool to let pass him by.

  “My requirements are not the least complicated.” Henry lifted her chin and captured her gaze, nearly losing his train of thought as he looked into enormous eyes alight with curiosity. “You’ve only to have a care for my comfort and well-being, to put my wants and needs above all else.”

  “Is that all?” she asked and Henry could not decide whether the words were laced with humor or surprise. “How would I know your wants and needs? Would you provide me a list?”

  “If you like,” he agreed, said list already forming in his mind. “First you must see to my comfort, stock your larder with my favorite foods and your sideboard with the finest brandy.”

  “That seems simple enough,” she said.

  “Perfectly simple,” he agreed.

  “What else?”

  “You must remain faithful to me for the duration of our arrangement.”

  She reached for her abandoned wine glass, her borrowed robe gaping open to show one small breast topped with a luscious pink nipple. “And would you remain faithful to me? I cannot imagine you would, what with all the ladies clamoring for your attentions, and you unable to refuse them. But you mustn’t bring another lady to my bed.”

  “I would do my best,” he began before her last statement fully registered and heat raced up his neck. “Bring another lady…why would I…I would not invite another woman into your bed.”

  “Some men like a ménage à trois,” she replied with a shrug before sipping from her glass and handing it off to him. “Or an orgy, even. But I would rather not welcome a woman’s attentions.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t,” he agreed. “You are not a sapphist.”

  “A sapphist?” she repeated. “Funny, I haven’t heard that term before, but how apt as Sappho was a lady from Lesbos, quite literally.”

  “Who is Sappho?”

  “She was a Greek poet and a lady rumored to love both men and women. Not that there is anything wrong with that, mind you.”

  “There isn’t?”

  “Quirks and predilections,” she said with a wink.

  “Yes, right,” he replied, confused by the strange turn of the conversation.

  “What other requirements have you?” she prompted. “Beyond your favorite foods, fine brandy and fidelity?”

  “I expect you to make yourself available to me whenever I so choose,” he said. “Barring those days each month when you are inconvenienced.”

  “Oh, I am not terribly inconvenienced when Aunt Flo pays me a visit.”

  “No, I am not concerned with your relations paying calls upon you. But rather your womanly time.”

  Georgie giggled.

  “Oh, right, yes, I see, your Aunt Flow,” he stammering before plowing ahead, wanting to end this topic and move on to one which did not make him feel as if he were sinking into a marshy bog. “I meant inconvenienced in terms of your being unable to perform your duties.”

  “Huh,” she replied with a frown. “It never occurred to me.”

  “What neve
r occurred to you?”

  “Are all men so squeamish?”

  “I don’t know that it’s a matter of squeamish so much as basic courtesy.”

  “Ah, fastidiousness.”

  “The point is not that we cannot make love during your menses, but rather that you do not refuse me,” he grumbled.

  “Oh, I see, your favorite foods, fine brandy, fidelity, fastidiousness, and fornication without right of refusal,” she answered, ticking off each point on her fingers. “Your list reads rather like a poem, doesn’t it?”

  “You must learn to sense my needs,” he continued lest she take off on a tangent relating to the pros and cons of alliteration in poetry. “When I am worn down by the weight of my responsibilities, you shall provide quiet solace. When I am restless and in need of diversion, you will entertain me.”

  “When you are cold, I shall light a fire. When you are dirty, I shall bathe you.” Georgiana took up the list with enthusiasm. “When you are taken with a megrim, I’ll pull your head into my lap and rub your temples.”

  Captured by her husky voice, by the image of domestic bliss she painted, Henry smiled. “A good mistress caters to her master’s every whim.”

  “Master,” she repeated and he could not help but notice the breathless quality that came into her voice. “I would be your mistress and you would be my master.”

  “Only in the loosest possible terms,” he hurried to assure her, wondering if he’d offended her in some way. “I will provide for your care and support, much as a master would for a…”

  “Servant?”

  “No, of course not. You would hardly be subservient to me.”

  “No? I am only to cater to your every whim.”

  Georgie’s eyes sparkled and her lips twitched and Henry realized she was having fun with him.

  Relieved, he attempted to bring their negotiations to a close so that they might make better use of their time together. “Speaking of your care and support, we must discuss your allowance and pin money.”

  “But I don’t want an allowance or pin money,” she replied, bounding from his lap to flit across the room on her toes, stopping at the bed where her undergarments were draped over the footboard. “Hmm, nearly dry.”

  “You don’t want…Georgie, this is how things are done, have always been done.”

  “We’ll come back to this point later, shall we? What else?”

  “We agree as to where you would like to live.”

  “Bedford Square.” Georgie climbed onto the footboard to sit beside her chemise, hooking her ankles around the vertical bars and pulling her borrowed robe down to cover her legs.

  “Good choice. When we return to Town I will make inquiries as to available houses for lease.”

  “I don’t need you to lease a house for me. I’ve a wonderful little house on the park. Lady Joy left it to me.”

  “Georgiana, you cannot reside in your family home while we are acquainted,” he told her, smiling to soften the news. “What would your neighbors think to see me coming and going at all hours?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” she admitted with an adorable little frown. “Perhaps you might use the servants’ entrance?”

  “No, absolutely not. Listen to me. There is a particular block not far from the square where a number of gentlemen have set up their mistresses. It is quite customary to see said gentlemen coming and going. No one on the street thinks a thing about it.”

  “I don’t know,” she murmured.

  “You needn’t give up your house forever,” he reminded her.

  “No,” she agreed. “But I truly love my house. Did I mention that my grandmother left it to me?”

  “You did, but surely you see the sense in removing to another dwelling.”

  “Hmm, I’ll have to think about that. What other financial terms must we agree upon?”

  “That rather depends upon you.”

  “Me?”

  “What else will you require? Jewels?”

  “I’ve Lady Joy’s jewels.”

  “You don’t wear them,” he pointed out. “I’ve never seen you wearing so much as an earbob.”

  “They are terribly gaudy,” she answered with a grimace.

  “Then I shall buy you a few baubles to seal the deal,” he replied. “As well as a few pieces as we go on.”

  “In appreciation for services rendered,” she quipped with a smile that was pure sass.

  “I don’t know that I would put it quite that way,” he answered, oddly disturbed by the turn of phrase she’d chosen. “Certainly when our arrangement has run its course, you shall have a parting gift. Say a diamond necklace and matching bobs?”

  “Good gracious, are we to negotiate the parting before we have concluded negotiations for the commencing of this love affair?” she asked with a laugh.

  “It is customary.”

  “It isn’t terribly romantic, is it?”

  “Romance will come later,” he assured her, though in truth he’d never found such liaisons terribly romantic.

  “Have we concluded the financial wrangling?” she asked, hopping down from the footboard.

  “Georgie, we have not agreed upon a single point,” he reminded her. “How about a carriage? And a matching set of horses?”

  “I have a carriage,” she replied with a frown.

  “You have a death trap on wheels.”

  “Don’t be silly, my coach is perfectly safe and quite luxurious,” she argued.

  “It is ancient and so are your horses.”

  “Are you insulting my horseflesh?” she demanded, hands coming to her hips. “I’ll have you know those great beasts were bred by Buchanans in the hills above Loch Canon. They may not be as pretty as your dainty matched grays but they can outdistance them, pull a heavier load and withstand all manner of foul weather. Why, if your carriages were driven by my horses your servants would be here right now.”

  “Then I for one am glad my carriages are pulled by dainty grays,” Henry answered, wondering how he’d lost control of their negotiations.

  “To be sure, so am I,” she replied, her pique falling away as she smiled. “But that does not mean I’ll have you purchasing a fine carriage for me.”

  “Georgie, the point of these negotiations is to come to terms so that we both know what is expected of us, so there will be no unwelcome surprises along the way,” he explained slowly and patiently. “How are we to reach an accord if you turn up your nose at every offer I make to you?”

  “I have no need of your financial assistance,” she said, coming to stand before him and sifting her fingers through his hair. “I need something entirely different from you.”

  “What do you need, love?” Henry had a sneaking suspicion he was not going to like her answer.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Georgie was giddy with nerves.

  In truth, she’d been swamped by the damn fidgets since she’d awoken to find the handsome earl curled around her, one hand resting on her hip, the other tangled in her hair, his breath warm on her nape.

  It wasn’t waking beside him that had set her nerves reeling. It was the ridiculous notion that she was precisely where she belonged that had set her off.

  It was in that moment, as she’d battled the urge to run from the certain knowledge that this man, this beautiful, charming, kind man, had the power to muck up her carefully laid plans, that the answer to her latest dilemma had come to her out of the clear blue, or rather cloudy gray, sky.

  Now, as she looked down into Henry’s expectant face, she found herself quite unable to deliver the speech she’d prepared while she’d washed her undergarments, prepared a light repast and waited for him to awaken from his slumber.

  “I don’t know quite where to begin,” she admitted, shifting her weight to her good leg.

  “Perhaps you might consider beginning at the beginning,” he suggested with a crooked smile.

  “Life is so simple for you, isn’t it?” she asked. “You always know exact
ly who you are and what you are about.”

  His hands parted the silk of her pilfered robe and settled on her hips, his thumbs stroking the knobby bones. Such a simple touch, and one she suspected he bestowed with no thought whatsoever, yet his hands on her, just there, made her feel delicate. Dainty and frail and oh so feminine.

  “I have not known what I was about since I approached you on the street after my mother’s funeral.” Henry’s voice was low, hardly more than a whisper, and filled with befuddled amusement.

  “What a lovely thing to say,” she replied, her twitching nerves soothed by the admission. “And a perfect place to start.”

  Georgie spun about, the hem of his lordship’s robe nearly tripping her. “We’ll start at your mother’s funeral and work our way back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ll only be a moment,” she answered over her shoulder as opened the top drawer of the dresser. “I put it in here when I returned from fixing us dinner, a dinner you have barely touched I might add. Eat, Lord Hastings.”

  “You are by far the bossiest mistress I’ve ever had.”

  “You did say a mistress must have a care for her master’s comfort and well-being.” On the top of a stack of brightly colored knitted sweaters sat the faded blue velvet she’d carried with her as she’d crisscrossed the country chasing down clues that had only led to more clues, until finally she’d found the first real answer.

  “So long as you do not forget who is master in this arrangement.”

  “As if I could.” Turning with the worn velvet pressed to her chest, she watched her new master tucking into Mrs. Porter’s corned beef, a mountain of potatoes piled on his plate. “That’s better. I should hate for you to faint above me, or beneath me if you should decide to introduce me to this system of yours.”

  “I rather like you spread out before me,” Henry replied with a comical leer. “Like a banquet of all my favorite foods. I’ve only to choose which dish to begin with. Hmm, shall I start with fresh berries or leave them for desert? Perhaps I’ll whet my appetite with a nibble of your long legs, followed by a dip into your honeypot.”