Waiting for an Earl Like You

by Alexandra Hawkins

  * * *

  Thorn had debated which Netherwood twin would be best received by Miss Lydall. As Gideon, he had promised to call on her, and he had intended to do it properly so none of her neighbors could whisper to Lord Dewick that there had been a hint of impropriety.

  However, Gideon was no longer her favorite.

  Thorn felt a twinge of regret for bruising Olivia’s feelings, but it was for the best. She was too generous not to eventually forgive his brother. It was time someone had scrubbed some of that innocence and adoration from her eyes. No man, not even Gideon, could live up to the lady’s expectations.

  Gideon’s solemn confession last evening was also revealing.

  His brother was definitely keeping secrets. There was a woman in his past, someone he had perhaps loved. Someone, a small part of him was still waiting for. Thorn rejected the notion that the lady who owned his twin’s heart was Olivia Lydall.

  Gideon wouldn’t have left England without declaring his intentions to her. Why would he? Olivia was already in love with him. Why hadn’t he come to Thorn and asked him to guard her and make certain no man claimed her in his absence.

  No, the lady who haunted his brother’s dreams was not Olivia Lydall.

  Nevertheless, the knowledge would not stop Gideon from turning to her for comfort. Why should he deny himself the boundless warmth and affection when he felt so cold? He might even convince himself that he returned her love.

  With ruinous consequences!

  Thorn was determined more than ever to distract Miss Lydall and keep her away from his brother.

  He had come to a decision at breakfast.

  Instead of calling on her as Gideon, he would approach her as Lord Kempthorn. He intended to use her annoyance with his twin to his advantage. Although Olivia was not overly fond of him, he was confident that he could gain her trust. She needed an ally to navigate the perils of London’s Polite Society and he was an expert. With a little polish and some new friends, the lady’s infatuation with Gideon would fade as other suitors vied for her attention.

  He might even earn Lord Dewick’s gratitude if he found her a husband.

  Thorn was too engrossed with his schemes to pay much attention to the carriage in front of the Lydalls’ town house. He disembarked from his equipage and strode to the front door.

  The butler opened before he could knock.

  “Good afternoon,” Thorn began, peering into the hall’s interior as he could hear the chatter of feminine voices as descending the stairs. Miss Lydall already had visitors. “I am—”

  “Good heavens, is that you, Thorn?” The door opened wider, revealing his mother. She separated from his sister and the other women and walked toward him. “I thought I recognized your voice. What are you doing here?”

  The butler stepped out of Thorn’s way, allowing him to step indoors and greet his mother. “Good afternoon, Mother.” He dutifully kissed her on the cheek that she had presented to him. He removed his hat and inclined his head to acknowledge her companions. “Ladies.”

  He was related to all of these women by blood and marriage. Miss Lydall’s household had been invaded by his family. The development was unexpected, but he could use a few allies.

  “Am I intruding?”

  “Not at all,” his mother replied. “In fact, your visit is providence since we could use your assistance.”

  Concern furrowed his brow as he touched his mother on the arm. “How so?”

  “Lord Kempthorn?” Miss Lydall interrupted.

  “Miss Lydall.” Thorn looked up and his gaze rested on the lady’s face. Olivia didn’t look happy to see her front hall filled with people, but she appeared resigned as she descended the stairs. She wore a pale yellow spencer over a walking dress of jaconet muslin. The Angoulême bonnet gipped in her hand was small and the same color as her spencer. Her attire was moderately stylish, but he suspected she had purchased it last season.

  Thorn walked to the bottom of the staircase and waited for her. She looked perplexed when he offered her his hand, but she knew the other ladies were watching so she laid her hand over his. He tightened his hold and led her down the final few steps. Before she could pull away, he brought her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

  The color in Olivia’s cheeks deepened as she shifted her gaze from her hand to the marchioness. “Did Lady Felstead summon you?”

  “I am not responsible,” his mother replied. “Though I am curious. What has brought you to Olivia’s door?”

  Thorn had yet to release her hand, and his reluctance had not gone unnoticed by his family.

  “Gideon sent me.” He gave her an apologetic look. “He asked me to convey his regrets. The early arrival of a merchant ship and some confusion about the manifest has forced him to alter his plans. While he deals with business, I have the pleasurable task of keeping his appointment with you.”

  Tempest and Lady Arabella appeared amused by his explanation while his sister gaped at him in open disbelief. The Duchess of Blackbern exchanged a knowing glance with the marchioness.

  Olivia took a step backward, and she would have stumbled if he had not been holding her hand. “That is very gracious of you, Lord Kempthorn. However, as you can see, I am about to leave the house. You are released from your obligations.” She tugged her hand free from his grasp, causing her gloves to tumble out of her bonnet where she had stuffed them and onto the steps.

  “Oh dear,” she sighed, unhappy with her clumsiness.

  “Allow me,” Thorn said.

  Both of them leaned down at the same time to retrieve her gloves. She seized the first glove, and he moved closer to her as he reached for its mate. He took advantage of their proximity to whisper into her ear.

  “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Miss Lydall.”

  She inhaled sharply and straightened, while he took his time. He offered her the glove.

  “T-Thank you, Lord Kempthorn.” Olivia edged away from him, walked over to the side table, and concentrated on putting on her bonnet and gloves.

  Tempest strolled over to him. “What mischief are you engaging in with Miss Lydall, dear cousin?” she asked, keeping her voice low so the other ladies would not overhear. “Or is it your brother?”

  “Gideon is innocent,” Thorn answered truthfully.

  “I doubt the same can be said about you,” she teased.

  “No,” he said, a slow grin curving the corners of his mouth. “Even so, what is the harm in flirting with a lady?”

  “Nothing at all,” Tempest said. “However, you are making the lady skittish with your intensity. For a moment, when you bent down to collect her gloves, I thought you had intended to kiss her.”

  “In front of my mother and sister?”

  He sounded genuinely offended by her accusation. When she simply smiled, he reminded himself that she was married to Chance. Thorn was certain that his cousin had been guilty of worse sins than kissing a lady in public.

  And Tempest was correct. As his lips brushed against Olivia’s ear, he had had a sudden urge to trace the delicate outer shell with the tip of his tongue.

  “I have always made Miss Lydall nervous. Gideon was always her favorite,” he said as he and his cousin’s wife watched as his mother offered Olivia her opinion on the proper positioning of her bonnet.

  “You hope to change her opinion, do you not?”

  Thorn nodded. “I intend to devote myself to the task.”

  * * *

  She had been unable to get rid of him.

  When Lord Kempthorn learned that the ladies were anticipating an afternoon of shopping, he insisted on offering the use of his carriage and his protection.

  Lady Felstead was thrilled by the news. With their party increasing with each stop, the marchioness needed another carriage, and her sons’ nearby town house had been her next planned destination to borrow theirs. The dear lady had never imagined she could persuade one of her sons to join them.

  It was no accident Lad
y Felstead had insisted that Olivia ride in Lord Kempthorn’s coach. Was the marchioness trying her hand at the little matchmaking? Olivia glanced at the earl’s profile as he expertly handled the ribbons to guide the pair of horses through London’s streets and wondered how much Gideon had told him about last evening.

  “I can see your health has improved in the passing days,” the earl said, his attention focused on his task. “The color has returned to your cheeks.”

  “Thank you. It is kind of you to say so.” If there was a rosy hue in her cheeks, she credited the Netherwood twins and their tenacity to exasperate her. “I confess, the stagecoach was dampening my spirits, but I revived quickly with a hearty meal and a night’s sleep in a decent bed.”

  He absently nodded as if he was not listening to her. Which was utterly typical of Lord Kempthorn. He had little tolerance for idle conversation or silly chits. She was certain he considered both applied to her. Not for the first time did she wonder why he had volunteered to join their shopping jaunt.

  “Lord Kempthorn—”

  He glanced at her. It was brief, but she felt the impact of his dark green eyes, and her stomach fluttered in response. “Thorn. It is ridiculous to stand on formality when you call my identical twin by his first name.”

  Thorn. She mouthed his name, tasting the word as her tongue touched her teeth. This was not the first time she had been encouraged to use his nickname by him or his family, but she had resisted, preferring to keep in place the distance he had erected between them when they were children. There had been no boundaries with Gideon. He had always been her friend, and even when she called him Netherwood, it was done out of affection.

  Her relationship with the earl had been different. Even at an early age, she could sense he viewed her as something of a nuisance. Someone who had distracted Gideon and ruined their fun. Olivia stole another glance and sighed. Gideon had said that she was too naïve for the sophisticated games the ton played, and he was right.

  What game was Lord Kempthorn playing with her now? Could she afford to lose?

  “Have I been so rude to you that it so difficult to say my name?” he asked.

  “Not at all,” she lied, embarrassed that she had failed to acknowledge his attempt to befriend her. “I guess I never think of you as Thorn.”

  He chuckled. “Dare I ask what names you do use when you speak of me?”

  Olivia responded to his teasing question with a grin. “When I was a little girl, you and your brother were Justin and Gideon.” She thought for a moment. “I cannot recall when you became Lord Kempthorn. Likely one of the adults impressed upon me the importance of you being Lord Felstead’s heir.”

  Thinking of him as Lord Kempthorn had allowed the young girl to cope with his unspoken disdain for her intrusion into his life and that of his family.

  “Do you always do what’s proper?”

  “Not always.” She gave him a measured look. “I have no doubt your mother wrote to you when you were away at school and shared some of the more outlandish tales. And let us not forget your twin. Gideon probably recounted all of our adventures.”

  The amusement in his expression was replaced with an inscrutable expression. “There are few secrets between brothers. Even less with twins.”

  Olivia straightened at his nonchalance. “Blast it all. Gideon told you that he kissed me!”

  * * *

  For the first time, Thorn was uncertain on the best tactic to charm a lady. Miss Lydall was proving to be an exasperating mix of stubbornness, innocence, and spirit. She was also furious as a wet cat that he knew about the kiss—How could he not, since he was the gentleman who had kissed her senseless?

  Unfortunately, Thorn’s strategy to impress Miss Lydall was faltering. Not only was she vexed with Gideon for kissing and telling—charges he was innocent of—she was also not speaking to him for knowing about the kiss. He was doubly damned for his sins and he only had himself to blame.

  Tempest had deduced immediately that not all was well between Thorn and Olivia. The meddling wench sidled up to him when no one was paying attention.

  “Trounced by your own arrogance,” she said, clearly amused. He would never hear the end of it when she told her husband that Miss Lydall had been so eager to escape Thorn’s company that she had practically leaped out of the carriage. Or she would have if he hadn’t seized her arm.

  “She likes my twin well enough.” He sulked as he watched his sister and the source of his frustration admiring a bonnet. “She should like me, too.”

  Olivia purred in my arms when I kissed her.

  Tempest’s amusement melted into sympathy. “Have you considered that you are going about this wrong, Thorn?” she asked. “You and Gideon grew up reveling in your similarities. With Miss Lydall, you need to show her the differences. You may share the same face, but you and Gideon are not the same man.”

  Lady Fairlamb’s logic was insightful, and he was chagrined that he had overlooked this angle. “How much has Chance told you?”

  “About your infatuation with Miss Lydall?”

  Was that how it looked to her? “It is not infatuation—not exactly. It is—”

  She dismissed his fumbling denial by rolling her eyes. “Say no more. It is your affair. What does concern me is what happened at the Acropolis last evening.”

  “Chance told you what transpired?” What was the man thinking? Admitting that he had gotten drunk at the notorious Acropolis would have placed many marriages in peril. A spiteful lady would have locked her husband out of her bedchamber for at least a month. “As his cousin and friend, I feel compelled to speak in your husband’s defense. The Acropolis was Rainbault’s harebrained idea, but I swear the only reckless thing your husband did was tell you the truth.”

  Tempest intently studied a pair of kid gloves on one of the tables. “I have faith in my husband, Thorn. Though, in the future, I would prefer anyone but Rainbault selects the amusements for the evening. The man is wholly without principles.”

  Thorn did not bother defended the duke. The man was the consummate scoundrel.

  “His Grace is repentant. In truth, he chose the Acropolis because of its familiarity and privacy.”

  “I see.” Tempest frowned as she traced the pattern of seed pearls on the gloves. “I assume my father frequents the Acropolis for the same reasons.”

  Thorn had misunderstood the young marchioness’s distress. He had addressed her as an angry wife, when it was the daughter who sought answers about her father. “I do not know. I am not a member of the club, and my—our—family generally avoids most Brants.”

  “My sister and I are honored to be the exceptions.”

  She lifted her gaze, and Thorn was aghast to glimpse a hint of tears in her misty gaze. Chance would not let blood ties prevent him from pummeling any man who made his wife cry.

  Thorn reached into his coat and retrieved his handkerchief. “Here. Dry your eyes before my mother notices. I have angered enough ladies for one day.”

  Tempest’s lips trembled as she struggled not to laugh. “You know, Thorn, you can be awfully sweet,” she said, discreetly dabbing at the corner of her eyes. “I suppose that is why I adore you.”

  “Naturally, I learn this after you marry my bounder of a cousin,” he said, affectionately hooking his arm through hers as he steered her toward a life-sized painted wood female mannequin so she could admire the dress on display.

  * * *

  From the other side of the room, Olivia observed Lord Kempthorn—no, Thorn, as he strolled about the dressmaker’s shop with Lady Fairlamb. His affection for his cousin’s young wife was obvious, but he was respectful and teased her like he would his sister. He had never been so relaxed and caring in her company.

  As if he sensed her regard, the earl turned his head and winked at her.

  Startled, she turned away and collided into a low table that held a variety of trimmings for the partially finished bonnets. Fortunately, only one basket fell on impact. Unfortunately, it
was filled with colored glass beads that sounded like pellets of hail striking a window as they hit the floor. She cried out as the beads merrily bounced in every direction.

  Olivia sank to her knees and gathered the nearest ones to return them to the empty basket. Behind her, she could hear the earl choking on his muffled laughter while Lady Fairlamb whispered fierce admonishments for his boorish conduct.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Thorn had been tempted to procure some brandy for Olivia and insist that she drink it, but he settled on tea. They had walked to a nearby tea shop and he found a small table near the window.

  “I will have to find a new dressmaker.” It was the first time she had spoken since Thorn had hauled her to her feet and guided her out of the shop.

  “I will be fortunate if she finishes the dresses that I’ve ordered.” She offered a weak smile and thanks to the elderly woman who served them tea and a plate of almond biscuits. It was another indication that she was recovering from all of the excitement.

  “No shop owner turns away business. I will wager you aren’t the first lady to knock over one of those baskets,” Thorn said, feeling a bit guilty that he had laughed at her, though it had been an amusing sight watching her trying to stop all of those damn glass beads from escaping.

  Miss Lydall was upset, but no harm had been done. His mother would soothe the proprietor’s ruffled feathers. After all, she would not want to lose such a wealthy client.

  “Try one of the biscuits. Almond is your favorite, is it not?” he said, taking a sip of his tea.

  Olivia frowned at the plate. “How did you know I like almond biscuits?”

  Thorn choked on the tea he had swallowed. He shouldn’t have known that she liked almond biscuits. When he had ordered their tea, an old recollection of his father rewarding a very young Olivia with almond biscuits if she promised to behave had surfaced in mind. He shrugged. “Everyone likes almond biscuits. If I am wrong, I will order another flavor.”

  “No,” she said hastily. She picked up a biscuit and delicately nibbled the edge. “I adore them. Thank you.”