How Not to Marry an Earl

by Christine Merrill

  It was a strangely passionate defence of a man Potts claimed to barely know. But she was having none of it. ‘The idea that he does not care about me is almost worse than that he does,’ she said. ‘Much damage can be done in ignorance, you know.’

  ‘Then when you meet him, you must take the time to tell him what you want.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘You cannot expect him to read your mind like one of the books in your library.’

  ‘Because speaking my mind worked so well with you,’ she said and watched him start again.

  ‘You have made it plain that you do not wish to marry him,’ Potts reminded her. ‘What can you have to say that would be more shocking than that?’

  ‘I have ideas on the running of the estate that might not be in line with what he wishes to do.’

  His beautiful lips pursed in a thoughtful pout, forcing her to take a cooling sip of wine so that she could concentrate on what he might say with them. ‘I suspect he will listen to your opinions, request further information and proceed on them, if he finds them wise.’ He gave her a thoughtful look. ‘Which he probably will, since he has heard that you are a very intelligent young lady.’

  She snorted and took another sip of wine. ‘You have not met many earls, have you?’

  ‘Until recently? No, I have not.’

  ‘And you are new to this country, as well. You are still enamoured of the American idea that men can be self-made and rise to great heights based solely on their ability.’

  ‘They can,’ he said with an earnest sincerity that made him all the more charming.

  She finished her wine and stared morosely at the empty crystal, knowing it was unwise to take more, lest she be seen as intemperate. ‘What you believe to be true has nothing to do with the way things actually are. Comstock is Comstock because of who his father was. Or, in this case, his grandfather. He is the last flower at the end of the last branch of the family tree. And I?’ Perhaps she had already had too much wine, for she was not sure of how to end the metaphor to account for the fact that women were not part of the tree at all and girls were even less than that. ‘Let us simply say that he will not take to my suggestions any better than the last one did.’

  ‘You did not get along with your grandfather?’

  ‘We managed well enough,’ she replied. ‘He adored me when I was a child. And as I grew he was still quite fond of me. At least he was when I behaved as my sisters did. They obeyed him in all things. In return, he doted on them.’

  ‘And you were not so obedient?’ he said.

  ‘He said I read too much and that it affected my mind.’ She gave up the struggle to moderate herself and reached for the carafe.

  He was on his feet, refilling her glass before her arm was fully extended.

  She gave him a nod of thanks. ‘Girls are not supposed to think too hard. Women even less so. We are expected to be obedient to our parents and subservient to our husbands.’

  He smiled. ‘I have already noted that subservience is not your strong suit.’

  ‘It makes no sense to follow a man who is going in the wrong direction,’ she said, staring at him. The candlelight made him even more handsome than he was in daylight, softening some features and throwing others into sharper relief. She wanted to stare at him, to drink in every last detail so that she could remember him before he disappeared from her life.

  She wanted to. But that would be rude. Instead, she removed her spectacles, pretending to clean them with her napkin and letting her poor eyes render him a pleasant blur.

  ‘And what direction was your grandfather taking that you did not want to follow?’

  ‘The same way his father and grandfather took. The path of least resistance,’ she said. ‘He sought to preserve the house and the things in it as it has always been. His successor is likely to do the same, since he will be taking the advice of other men who are all doing exactly that.’

  ‘And what would you do, in their stead?’

  ‘If I was the Earl?’ She smiled. ‘I would get a proper inspection of the house to see if the far wing is even worth saving. It makes no sense to have the rooms if they are falling to ruin and never used.’

  ‘And once that was done?’

  ‘Do the same with the dower house. Grandmama must be provided for. But she should not be expected to live in a house with dry rot and loose bricks. If that house does not suit, perhaps he can rent her rooms in London and designate a suite of the manor for her use when she visits.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Then he should sell everything that is not nailed down. What is the point of keeping things that are never seen and never used, just for the sake of posterity?’

  ‘An excellent question,’ he agreed.

  ‘And if that is still not enough, he should sell the rest of the diamonds, should we manage to find them. It will be somewhat more difficult to give up such a prominent part of the entail. But we have been managing on paste for so long, I see no reason we should not continue to do so.’

  ‘Those are all excellent suggestions and much in line with what I would have said.’ He added an approving nod.

  ‘And there are likely other sources of income that have not been considered,’ she added. ‘But when I made even the smallest suggestion, Grandfather banished me from the library.’

  ‘He locked you in,’ Potts said, horrified.

  ‘He locked me out,’ she corrected. ‘And out of his study, as well. He denied me admittance to the things I loved and refused to speak to me until I promised to be quiet again.’ He had filled her glass again and she drank deeply. ‘But I refused to be silent, so the doors stayed locked. That was how things ended between us, for he died later that year.’

  ‘I am very sorry,’ he said, in a quiet voice.

  She sighed. ‘My sisters had no problems with him. But then, they never bothered Comstock with anything more taxing than the colour of the sky and whether it might be wise to take a coat when he rode out.’ She stared down at her plate, no longer hungry for the food on it. ‘But he taught me that it was better to be alone than to feel alone.’ She looked up at Potts. ‘The day he died, I stole his keys and unlocked the doors. But I do not mean to stay and see them locked again. I will not be ignored in my own home, or bartered off to marry a stranger, or any of the other things that might happen to me should I stay. I want a say in my own future.’

  She was becoming overwrought with the memories, for when he answered her, it was with the calming tone one used on small children and horses. ‘I will speak to him. It will be all right.’

  ‘Because you are good at solving other people’s problems, aren’t you, Potts?’ she said, and watched him start in surprise.

  ‘What makes you say that?’ He seemed honestly puzzled.

  ‘This afternoon, you said that your dear Prudence was with child,’ she said and watched to see if he squirmed.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, his face as blank and unreadable as it had been when they’d played chess.

  ‘Not your brother’s child, for you mentioned that it was fatherless. But I doubt you’d have left her, had you thought it might be yours.’

  ‘Perhaps you give me too much credit,’ he said, admitting nothing.

  ‘I do not think so.’ She stared at him, losing herself in his bottomless dark eyes. ‘You are not the sort to scatter your seed unheeding of the consequences. If you were, you’d have had no second thoughts on my offer this afternoon.’

  ‘The identity of the child’s father does not matter,’ he said, filling his own glass again. ‘I promised my brother before he died that I would take care of her. I would not be doing so if I let the world call her a whore and her child a bastard.’

  ‘You do not sound very happy about it,’ she said.

  ‘My happiness does not factor into the equation.’ He drained his glass, refilled it and drained it again. ‘When I
make a promise, I do not break it. I told my brother he need not worry and I will tell you the same. You will have nothing to fear from Comstock. You have my word.’

  Then he pushed away from the table as if that was all it would take to leave his problems behind. ‘But let us speak no more of the future. It will come fast enough without our worrying about it. Let us forget the Earl, the diamonds and everything else. Would you fancy chess? Or perhaps some other game that you stand a better chance of winning?’

  He was taunting her. And despite herself, she smiled. ‘How are you at billiards?’

  ‘Abominable,’ he said, smiling back.

  ‘And you will be even worse on a warped table. This bodes well for me. Come, let me show you the billiard room.’

  Chapter Eleven

  The Comstock billiard room was everything he could have hoped for. Though it must have been empty for some time, there was a faint smell of tobacco still hanging in the air. The walls were hung with trophy mounts and paintings that alternated between hunting scenes and pretty women showing an excessive amount of flesh.

  It was a testament to the diligence of the servants that though the house was practically empty, the crystal decanters on the sideboard were kept well stocked with brandy. He poured a glass for himself and, after a moment’s thought, a smaller glass for her. They’d both had too much wine at dinner, but to be sober was to remember his duty and his future, and he did not want to do either. He set his glass on the edge of the table and turned to select the straightest of the cues from a rack along a wall.

  Charity poked at the fire and surveyed the table. ‘There should be an iron around somewhere, so we can get the worst of the wrinkles out of the felt. Try the little Chinese cabinet behind you.’

  He turned to the corner she’d indicated and was alarmed to discover a mate to the one that he had seen in the bedroom above. Knowing the sense of humour that gentlemen exhibited when ladies were not present, it was probably not wise to open it in front of her. ‘It is locked,’ he said, then waited to hear her announce that it never had been before.

  ‘I believe the key is on one of the ledges,’ she said, now pointing above his head. ‘When we girls wished to play, we usually had Chilson prepare the table for us. But I have dismissed the servants for the evening.’

  ‘I see.’ She seemed occupied with choosing her mace, so he turned quickly, snatched the key from its place and bent down to unlock the doors, blocking the sight with his body.

  The shelves of this one held an array of erotic objets d’art rather like the things he had seen some of the sailors carving from walrus tusks to pass the time on the crossing. ‘No iron,’ he said, wincing and slamming the cupboard shut again.

  ‘Oh, well. I suppose we shall have to make the best of it, then.’ She gave him a wicked smile. ‘Shall I set up the game?’

  ‘If you would,’ he replied, eager for the distraction.

  She removed the balls from a tray on a side table and leaned across the breadth to put them in their proper place.

  He took a long sip of his brandy. As she’d sat across from him at dinner, he’d noticed that her gown was pleasantly low-cut. Even lower than on the previous evening, in fact. Without the depressing distraction of a false diamond, he had been able to enjoy the sight of her. But his admiration had been well within the bounds of gentlemanly good taste.

  Now, as she bent low over the table, he could see all the way to Delaware. And an excellent view it was. He turned his head, only to find himself staring at a painting of randy cherubs. The opposite way was the Chinese cabinet, which he did not want to think of, much less look at.

  As she stood up straight again, he gathered his wits and forced himself to look her in the eyes.

  ‘Now, what shall you give me if I beat you?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Last night, you tricked me into letting you help with the puzzle box. Tonight, I shall name the stakes.’

  He took a gulp of brandy, preparing himself.

  ‘I think I should like another kiss, please.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘It is not so much to ask, is it? The one you gave me this morning was very nice and it has not changed anything between us.’

  After all he had seen today, he was in a much different mood than he had been this morning. But to tell her so would reveal far more than he wanted her to know about the contents of his mind and, perhaps, his breeches.

  ‘A kiss,’ he repeated, to buy time to think. He was quite handy with a cue and she was just a girl who could not be trusted to keep the felt intact without using a mace. He would beat her, just as he had last night. ‘I think that can be arranged,’ he said at last. ‘And if I win, you will stop pestering me about such things.’ One game and he would have his peace of mind back, intact, just as it had been before he’d met her.

  ‘Of course,’ she agreed. She was staring at him again. ‘Well, don’t just stand there holding your stick. You may take the first shot.’

  He managed to break the balls without scratching, but just barely.

  ‘A terrible shot, Potts,’ she said, smiling sweetly at him. ‘For you, at least.’ She twirled the mace in her hands, holding the tail end of it forward to shoot, unencumbered by the weighted end behind her. Then she leaned forward again. As he was staring at her breasts, there was a snick of the cue meeting the balls. Then, some magic he had never seen before sent them spinning wildly around the table, caroming off banks and each other to end just where she needed them to be.

  Over the next few minutes, she avenged herself of every British loss from Bunker Hill to the Battle of New Orleans. Her skill was staggering, her smile sweet and her breasts nonpareil.

  Her grandfather’s brandy was also exceptionally potent and he’d had too much of it. Why else would he be thinking the things he was thinking about her?

  Love.

  He smirked at the idea. He had known her for only a day. He admired her intellect, of course. Her good sense, as well. She was a wickedly smart chess player. If she would school him at billiards, he might make his living on it back home. But if he loved anything, he loved her breasts, which were almost falling out on to the table as she sunk the shot that finished him.

  Then, she stood up again and her bodice gave a friendly bounce of encouragement. ‘Another game? But remember, you will owe me even more kisses, should you lose.’

  ‘What would be the point?’ he said with a happy sigh. ‘You have mastered me.’

  ‘I seriously doubt that,’ she said, placing her mace into the rack and walking around the table towards him. ‘Now, if you would be so kind as to give me my reward?’ She smiled and held out her arms to him.

  And, God help him, he finished the last of his brandy and stopped resisting.

  * * *

  This kiss was different from the last one.

  That had been soft and gentle and a little exciting. It had been everything she had hoped for in a first kiss.

  She’d had no doubt she would beat him and had known that this kiss would be coming almost as soon as they had started to play. Still, it took her by surprise. It happened a split second sooner than she’d planned, for he had eagerly closed the distance between them as she’d approached. Since he was sure of her consent, he did not bother to hesitate, sealing their lips and taking her open mouth with a sudden, challenging thrust of his tongue. Then he gripped her waist and lifted, balancing her on the edge of the billiard table and stepping between her spread legs.

  It seemed that the last few seconds were but a preamble. Now he was kissing her as if she were food and drink and air, as if he could not survive if they were parted. It was glorious. She kissed him back as best she could, matching the movements of his tongue and trying to return the pleasure he was giving her, afraid that at any moment he would stop and she would be alone again.

  But when he did stop, it was only
to whisper, ‘Just one? Or do you want more?’

  ‘More,’ she murmured. ‘More.’

  ‘You do not know what you are asking,’ he whispered into her ear and ran a finger along the top of her bodice, then back up her throat. ‘I want to bite you. Here. Here. Here.’ His finger tapped the pillow of her breast, the side of her neck and the place where her pulse hammered in her throat. ‘I want to suck on your skin like a juicy peach and mark you so the world will know I’ve done it.’

  This was the point where she was supposed to object. But she could imagine his teeth on her throat and every muscle in her body seemed to tighten in eager anticipation. He stared into her eyes and, when he was sure she would not cry off, his hands cupped her breasts and squeezed them possessively, then more slowly, massaging them through the fabric of her gown. ‘But anything that happens between us will need to be secret. There are places that I can kiss you that will not show. Would you like that?’

  He meant in places that were always covered by clothing. She tried to take a breath to show that she was calm and not the least bit frightened by what she had suggested, but it came out as a wordless gasp. So she looked into his eyes and nodded.

  ‘Before we continue, I must know something.’ He touched the tip of her nose with his finger. ‘Did you know what was in the cabinet when you brought me here?’

  Her reason returned with a thump at the non sequitur. ‘What?’

  He stepped to the side, turned the key and opened the cabinet doors.

  She stared in silence at the contents. Grandmama had frequently hinted that her generation was not confined by the current morality and enjoyed themselves without guilt. Charity had to admit that her views towards Potts might have been coloured by the suggestions. But she had not thought that her grandparents were quite so free as this.