How the Earl Entices

by Anna Harrington

  Her mouth fell open. He grinned at her shocked expression and playfully placed a dollop of lather onto the tip of her nose.

  She laughed, so hard that her shoulders shook with it. Oh, how good it felt to laugh! His arms tightened around her as the deep sound of his own laughs rumbled inside her.

  For a moment, she forgot that she was perched across his thighs, forgot that she was still wearing her old-fashioned night rail that billowed around her like a ship’s sail. She forgot everything except how wonderful it felt to be with him like this and buried her face against his neck.

  “How do I not remember you?” he murmured incredulously as he nuzzled her temple, his laughter fading. “How is that possible?”

  Her heart skipped, once, before it leapt into a wild tattoo that pounded so hard against her ribs that she feared he could feel it. Slowly, she shifted back, their faces nearly even.

  “It was fate’s doing,” she answered a bit flippantly, yet more breathlessly than she intended. “I wasn’t meant for you.”

  His eyes turned predatory as he reached up to tuck a curl behind her ear. The gesture should have been one of comfort. Instead, it was pure seduction, one that twisted an unbearable ache low in her belly.

  “Not then, no,” he acknowledged in what was little more than a husky purr. “But are you meant for me now?”

  The heat of him tickled down to the tips of her bare toes. Electric. Thrilling. Dangerous.

  How easy it would be to surrender, to simply turn toward him and whisper yes…

  He would give her pleasure, a man with that body and those eyes, one capable of making her laugh with abandon. One with the reputation of a rake and the soul of a patriot. One who thought she was beautiful even with a scar marring her cheek. For a few hours in his arms, his body moving over hers, moving inside hers…bliss.

  Until he slipped from her bed.

  Then it would end. How could it not, when it could only ever be physical between them? He would give his body but not his heart, not to a woman who didn’t trust him enough to share her identity. Not to a woman whom he would never love once he learned who she was and the havoc she could wreck upon his life. And in the throes of passion, if he called out her name, the name that was nothing but a lie, how would she bear it?

  “No.” She blinked hard to clear the sudden stinging from her eyes. “I’m not.”

  When she slipped from his lap, she froze. Her stomach lurched into her throat.

  A man stood in the doorway at the top of the stairs, leaning a hip against the frame, casually watching them. At his side, his hand gripped a pistol.

  “Well then.” The man crooked a brow, his gaze sliding between the two of them. “Apparently, I’ve been going to the wrong barber.”

  Chapter 16

  Ross stepped protectively in front of Grace, who had paled as white as her night rail.

  “Don’t be frightened.” He squeezed her arm to reassure her. “This is my brother Christopher.”

  “That does not make this any better,” she bit out in a hissing whisper in his ear, her fear turning to simmering anger. She folded her arms over her breasts as she tried to hide behind him. “I’m in my night rail!”

  Ross bit his cheek to keep from laughing. The brave woman who had tied him up and then coerced him into helping her had been stopped in her tracks by modesty. But he couldn’t hold back the possessiveness that warmed his chest at noting that she hadn’t cared about wearing the night rail in front of him.

  “It’s all right,” Ross returned over his shoulder. He somehow managed to keep a straight face as he lied, “He’s going to be a vicar.”

  A groan of mortification rose from her. “Not any better!”

  He couldn’t help but laugh, and received a slap on the back from Grace.

  He turned to face her, taking her shoulders and carefully keeping as much of her hidden from Kit’s view as possible. Odd, that he didn’t like the idea of his brother looking at her in her nightgown any more than she did. “Go change while I talk to Kit. I’ll introduce you when you’re dressed, all right?”

  She gave a grudging nod, then leaned around him to shoot a murderous glare at his brother.

  “Vicar,” Kit reminded her apologetically, holding up his hands in a gesture of innocence.

  “Carlisle,” she flung back.

  With a toss of her head, she stalked into the adjoining bedroom. The door slammed shut.

  “So,” Kit drawled, amusement coloring his voice, “you’ve gotten yourself an asset.”

  “I’ve gotten myself a hellcat,” Ross corrected with a grimace.

  “And here I was, worried about you as a fugitive on the run, alone.” Kit grinned admiringly. “Not so alone after all.”

  Ross leveled a quelling look at him. The very last person he wanted to discuss with his brother was Grace. That unwillingness was born of unrealized possession and utter confusion. And a hell of a lot of frustration. So he drawled instead, “Picking locks again, I see.”

  Kit slipped the pistol into its holster beneath his jacket. “Practicing for the gaol cell they’re going to toss you into.”

  “Thank God.”

  He grinned as he hugged Christopher. Too many times in the past fortnight he’d been certain he’d never see his brother again. Now the rush of relief nearly overwhelmed him.

  He slapped Kit’s shoulders as he stepped back. “Evelyn got the message to you without any problems, then?”

  “You have no idea,” Kit muttered with a pained expression.

  Ross laughed. “Thank heavens for bored shipping heiresses!”

  He was more grateful than he could ever express to Evelyn Winslow for delivering the message, and to Kit for believing her. For the first time since he jumped into the Channel, he had hope.

  “Ellsworth sent me here, but…” Perplexed, Kit glanced around the old groom’s quarters. “What is this place?”

  “A property he lets out to an artist for use as a studio.” That was as much of an explanation as Ross was willing to give. He was one of a handful of people who knew the secret life that the Marquess of Ellsworth was leading, and he planned on keeping it that way. Even from his brother. “And the only safe place for us to stay in London.”

  Kit arched a curious brow. “When did you become an us?” He sat on the chair, settling in for a long story. “Start from the beginning, and don’t spare the details.”

  With an aggravated sigh, Ross leaned against the wall and told his brother everything that had happened during the past few weeks, from the moment he found the list of names and could finally make all the connections between Wentworth and the French. Kit knew about the original letter, knew about Sir Henry’s murder and why Ross was relentless in hunting down the traitors. But he didn’t know anything about the past month, how Ross stole the list of names from the embassy, how he found the other documents that all pointed to Wentworth’s guilt. So he detailed his every move, until he reached the point where he’d forced his way into Grace’s cottage. Then details became heavily censored.

  Kit listened intently, without interrupting. Thank God. Because he had every right to say I told you so.

  As an agent working secretly for the Home Office, his brother had been invaluable in providing advice and connections during the past year. But Kit had thought him reckless from the beginning for going after Wentworth alone and had warned him that there would be no one to help him if something went wrong. That had launched the fiercest argument of their lives, with Kit publicly threatening to become a vicar in retaliation. So my older brother won’t be the only one who martyrs himself, he declared right in the middle of Lord Hawthorne’s ball the night before Ross left to return to Paris. He’d departed without a goodbye from his brother, not knowing when—or if—he’d ever see Kit again.

  But now, Christopher was here, coming to his assistance when he needed him. Ross had never felt more gratitude for his brother in his life.

  “And the woman?” Kit prompted as Ross reached fo
r his shirt to dress.

  He yanked it on over his head and tucked it into his breeches. “Her name is Grace Alden.” Or at least, that was the name she used. It rankled him to know that she still didn’t trust him enough to share her true identity. “I came across her in Sea Haven, and she agreed to help me travel to London.”

  “You’re in London now. So why is she still with you?”

  A damnably fine question. “Because in exchange for helping me, I agreed to help her secure her son’s inheritance.” Not a lie. But also not the reason she was still with him. Kit was right. He should have sent her packing back to Sea Haven by now, promising to help her after he was exonerated. Whenever that was. If that ever was.

  No. The reason she was still here was that he simply didn’t want to part from her.

  “What does that entail, exactly?” Kit pressed, the suspicious agent in him rising to the surface.

  “Hire a solicitor, make a few inquiries, serve as a character witness…” He shrugged a shoulder and fastened up the half dozen shirt buttons at his neck. “I told her that I couldn’t make any promises on how successful I’d be.”

  Especially if he went to the gallows. Which was still a very real possibility.

  “There are lines that agents should never cross with their assets.” As Kit kicked his boots up onto the washstand and leaned back in the chair, he eyed Ross with a close scrutiny belied by his casual posture.

  “Then it’s a good thing that I’m not an agent and she’s not an asset.” He shrugged into his plain brown waistcoat and grumbled, “And no lines have been crossed.”

  Although not for lack of trying.

  That thought only tightened the coil of frustration inside him until he thought it might just snap. No other woman had ever gotten to him the way Grace had. And not only physically, although he certainly wanted that pleasure. No, the woman had proven herself to be so much more than just a beautiful companion. Brave, brilliant, fierce, determined—

  For once, he found himself respecting a woman for more than her physical attributes. It was damnably disconcerting.

  “Does she know what you’ve been up to?” Kit asked quietly.

  “Yes.” He grabbed the hem of his waistcoat and yanked it into place.

  “Yet she didn’t turn you over for the reward.”

  “No.” He pulled at each shirtsleeve in turn. “She’s loyal.”

  When Kit said nothing, Ross glanced up at him, and his brother wordlessly leveled an accusing stare.

  “No lines have been crossed,” Ross repeated firmly.

  “Yet.”

  His mouth twisting in aggravation, he smacked a hand at Kit’s boots, to make him drop his feet to the floor. More out of irritation that his brother could practically read the thoughts swirling through his mind than so he could use the mirror over the washstand to tie his neckcloth.

  “Does she look familiar to you?” Ross asked as casually as possible, keeping his gaze on his reflection and his face inscrutable.

  “No, and I’d remember that scar,” Kit commented, completely unaware of the anger that off-handed comment shot through Ross.

  She was stunning, damn it. Even with that scar. No, stunning because of it. He couldn’t think of a better symbol of the contradiction she embodied than that scar—a life of struggle branding the beautiful woman beneath.

  “Should I recognize her?”

  Ross finished the knot and turned away from the mirror. “I suppose not.” He couldn’t fault Kit for not remembering her when he couldn’t do the same. “Besides, Grace isn’t your worry.” No, she was a problem all his own. A deliciously enticing, incredibly frustrating problem. “The worry is what we do next. All I have is a handful of stolen documents, and they’re not enough.” He raked his fingers through his hair, his frustration mounting. “I need indisputable proof that puts Wentworth in Le Havre with the French.”

  “You’re thinking of his personal diary,” Kit said knowingly.

  “Yes.” A man like Wentworth would certainly keep a journal—in fact, he’d keep two. One that he could hand to the authorities in case he was ever questioned, in which he lied about his daily activities and recorded nothing but a fabricated, unblemished existence. And the real one that acted as his account book, in which he detailed all his illegal transactions, including bribery, murder, and treason. “It’s his life. He won’t have it far from his reach.” It would be here in London, and in his private residence. He wouldn’t risk keeping it at his office in St James’s Palace. “The question is, how do we get it?”

  Kit stood and turned to look out the window, pulling back the gauzy lace curtain to peer thoughtfully down at the alley below. A quiet gesture, one that could have been confused for contemplation, except that Ross knew that Kit was one of the best agents the Home Office possessed. That glance outside was one of survival, to make certain he hadn’t been followed.

  “We can search his house, but you’ll have to wait to do it,” Kit warned.

  Hell no. Waiting was the last thing he could do. Not only was his own safety placed at greater risk each day he failed to act, but so was the safety of every man on that list. “I’ll do it tonight.”

  “No, you won’t.” Kit let the curtain drop into place and turned away from the window. “The ambassador’s masquerade ball is tonight, and he won’t cancel it, not even in the face of the turmoil you’ve unleashed inside the Court. If anything, he’ll make certain to host it because he won’t want to appear to be anything less than fully devoted to the crown.” He shook his head at the futility of what Ross was proposing. “All of Mayfair will be there. You’ll be walking into a lion’s den.”

  “All of Mayfair,” Ross repeated thoughtfully. At the devilish plan forming inside his head, he smiled slowly. “All of them in masks.” Perfect.

  “Oh no.” Kit’s face turned grim. “That was not a suggestion.”

  “A crush of masked guests? Seems like the perfect cover to me.” It was also the easiest way to gain entrance to the house. No one would give a second thought to a masked man entering along with the rest of the guests, his face safely hidden.

  “Until you reach the front door,” Kit reminded him pointedly. “Something tells me that neither of us made the guest list.”

  “Ellsworth most certainly did.” As the most respected peer in England, Dominick Mercer received invitations to nearly every society event held during the season. But as one of England’s most eligible bachelors, he rarely attended in order to avoid marriage-minded mamas and sisters eager to attach him to their families. Most likely he wouldn’t be planning on attending tonight, and Ross could take his invitation. “We’re of a size. Behind a mask, I’ll resemble him enough that no one will suspect I’m not Ellsworth. Once inside the house, I’ll sneak up to search Wentworth’s study and bedroom.”

  “That floor will be guarded.” Kit folded his arms over his chest, eerily reminding Ross of their late father whenever he disapproved of whatever antic his sons had done. “How do you plan to sneak past them?”

  He frowned. “I’ll need a distraction.”

  “You’ll need me,” Grace answered as she entered, putting the last of her hairpins into place.

  Ross swept an appreciative glance over her, taking in the way she looked in the morning sunlight in a simple muslin dress, her toffee-colored hair now upswept to reveal a stretch of elegant neck.

  He needed her, all right. More than she realized.

  Her eyes shined with determination. “I’ll create a distraction for you.”

  “Absolutely not.” He’d already placed her into more danger than he should have. The last thing he would do was dangle her beneath Wentworth’s nose like a shiny bauble. “I told you, no more play acting. I won’t let you take unnecessary risks for me.”

  “What better idea do you have?” She looked at Kit and shook her head. “You can’t do it. Ellsworth will be expected to arrive with a female guest.” Her assessing gaze swept over him from hat to boots. “And I don’t t
hink you’d look attractive draped in ribbons and lace.”

  Kit winked at her. “You’d be surprised.”

  She laughed softly.

  Ross clenched his jaw. Nothing amused him about what the two of them were proposing. If anything happened to her—

  “I won’t let you do this.” He fought back the urge to shake sense into her. “This isn’t like pulling the wool over the eyes of some country constable or a group of soldiers. These men are trained guards.” And killers. “They’ll see right through your act.”

  “What act? I just need to be female. I think I qualify, don’t you?”

  “Nicely,” Kit murmured, raking a glance over her that set Ross’s blood boiling.

  He glared murderously at his brother, which only seemed to amuse Kit more. “We’ll find another way.”

  “There is no other way.” A mix of aggravation and resolve thickened her voice. “Something tells me that the marquess rarely attends such events without a female companion. If you show up without one, pretending to be Ellsworth, you’ll draw too much attention.” She held his gaze in hers and repeated softly, “You need me, Ross.”

  The harsh taste of capitulation rose on his tongue. Damnation. She’d cornered him. Again.

  “Fine,” he bit out, having no choice but to agree. “But you’ll do exactly as I say.”

  She gaped at him, as if offended. “Don’t I always?”

  Good Lord, did she actually believe that? If so, he was in far worse trouble than he’d thought.

  “So you take Ellsworth’s invitation,” Kit agreed, calling their attentions back to the plan for the evening. “That will let you through the front door.”

  Ross nodded. “Wentworth’s personal assistant will most likely be overseeing the guards, so he’s the one we have to distract.”

  “Just point him out to me in the crowd.” A determined smile lit her face, but Ross would have sworn he heard uncertainty in her voice.

  As he looked at her, with bravery visible in the firm hold of her shoulders, his chest tightened. He knew then that he’d protect her at all costs, whether she liked it or not. Including with his life.