An Earl to Enchant: The Rogues' Dynasty

by Amelia Grey

  Arianna walked over to her dresser and poured a portion of the mixture into a glass and then added water from a pitcher. As she walked back to Morgan, she swirled it in the glass.

  Handing him the potion, she said, “Take this and drink all of it.”

  He smelled it. A wrinkle formed in his brow. “What is it?”

  “It’s a potion that my father made from herbs and plants. As he got older, he often had pain in his joints, and he said it helped him.” She paused and let her gaze sweep down his face. “Trust me, Morgan, and take it, please. I promise it will take away the pain, and you will feel better by morning.”

  He extended it back toward her. “If this has laudanum in it, no thank you. That puts me to sleep and leaves me with a headache the next day.”

  “It doesn’t and it won’t. Please try it.”

  He took the glass from her and drank it all. He winced and coughed as he brought the glass down from his lips.

  “Was that supposed to taste like ground leaves in dirty rainwater?”

  “Yes.” She smiled and dropped the little bottle into his coat pocket. “It’s made from several different plants. Take another spoonful the same way, in water, before you go to bed, and one tomorrow morning. Your hip will be feeling much better.”

  He nodded and handed her the empty glass. “I will take your word for it, but I fear my other pain will still be with me.”

  He turned and walked out the door without looking back.

  Eleven

  My Dear Grandson Lucas,

  When I read things like this from my dear friend Lord Chesterfield, I do wish that I had met him before the winter of his life. “A wise man, without being a Stoic, considers, in all misfortunes that befall him, their best as well as their worst side; and everything has a better and a worse side.”

  Your loving Grandmother,

  Lady Elder

  Morgan leaned heavily against Arianna’s door and composed himself, forcing his rigid body to relax, trying to swallow the foul taste of the tonic she had him drink. It amazed him how quickly he was completely focused on Arianna and all the wonderful things he wanted to do to her that he forgot all about his cousins below stairs, waiting for him. He chuckled mirthlessly, took a deep breath, and sighed softly. He had wanted to take Arianna so badly his body trembled and ached all over.

  But he had to stop thinking about that. He had to stop thinking about her. She confirmed what he suspected. She was an innocent. An innocent who had a very healthy and eager yearning to taste desire, but he could not oblige her.

  Making love to her would bind her to him in a way he wasn’t ready for. He would stay with women like Miss Goodbody. He chuckled softly to himself as once again he questioned his sanity in sending the courtesan away before he thought things through. That was so unlike him. But everything he’d done since Arianna had arrived was so unlike him.

  He rubbed his forehead and shook his head. What had happened to the quiet country life he had had just a few days ago? Ah, but then he remembered thinking not too long ago that coming to Valleydale had not been one of his brighter ideas, and that hadn’t changed. Morgan always took the time to develop a thorough plan, and he didn’t like anyone or anything upsetting his plan.

  Recently, nothing was going according to the way he wanted it, from designing every detail of Miss Goodbody’s visit to wanting to invite Arianna to have dinner with him tonight. His cousins’ surprising him with a visit had spoiled that. Now he had to go to the drawing room, face his cousins, and somehow explain Arianna to them.

  As Morgan hobbled down the stairs, he straightened his shirt, pulled on the tail of his coat, and combed through his hair. He didn’t know what Arianna had made him drink, but his hip wasn’t feeling better yet.

  There was only one way to handle his cousins, and that was with all the confidence he could muster. When he made it to the bottom of the stairs, he started whistling and continued all the way down the corridor and into his drawing room, limping as little as possible. His cousins were sitting in the two upholstered wingback chairs, each drinking a glass of wine. They were chatting but fell silent as soon as he rounded the doorway.

  “Ah, I see you two made yourselves at home, as I suggested,” he said in a convincingly jovial tone, considering the weight he still carried between his legs. “Good.”

  Morgan walked over to where the decanter sat on the marble-topped table and looked down at the claret in the crystal decanter. His thoughts went immediately to Arianna. He kept seeing her fair skin, the slight indention of her waist, the gentle flare of her hips. He remembered the soft yet firm feel of her body. He remembered the taste of her lips, her skin, and the hauntingly exotic scent of her that still filled him night and day and drove him to distraction.

  There was no doubt that if he had ever needed the false courage that Lord Chesterfield said came from a bottle, he needed it now. He had to force himself to get his desire for Arianna under control and off his mind. If he didn’t, his cousins would know, and they would make mincemeat out of him in no time.

  With his glass full, he walked over and sat down on the settee that stood opposite the two chairs where his cousins were seated.

  They looked at him curiously, but neither man had said a word since he entered the room. That made Morgan more uncomfortable than if both had been badgering him with questions at once.

  “Now, where were we?” he said and took a much-needed drink of his wine.

  His cousins remained silent, looking at him as if he might actually have taken leave of his senses.

  So Morgan added, “Tell me exactly what day you will be leaving London, and I’ll plan to arrive the day before so that there will be no chance Gibby will be left with none of us in Town.”

  Blake guffawed. “Do you think we are going to let you get by with not telling us who that woman is that we saw dancing in your window?”

  Suddenly feeling devilish, Morgan said calmly, “What woman?”

  “What woman indeed?” Race asked incredulously, moving to the edge of his seat. “The woman you ran upstairs to see the second we walked in the door! The woman you just spent a quarter of an hour with.”

  “Who is she?” Blake demanded, taking up the argument. “And what the bloody hell is she doing in your home dressed that way?”

  Morgan smiled. “Curious, are you?”

  “Yes,” they both chimed in.

  Race leaned back in his chair again and crossed one leg over the other. “You’re damned right we are, and by the way, where the devil are all your servants? We asked Post to have someone retrieve our satchels from our horses, and he said he would have to do it, as you’ve given everyone except him and his wife a holiday.”

  “Forget the absent servants, Race,” Blake said.

  “How can I?”

  “Because that’s the least of our concerns. What the devil is going on here, Morgan?”

  “I think it’s already quite apparent why the woman is here,” Race interjected.

  As Race and Blake argued among themselves, Morgan chuckled. It felt damn good to know something the two of them didn’t, and he would absolutely love to leave them in the dark about her, but he couldn’t. As Arianna would be going to London and establishing a life there, so he had to advise them about her. The trick would be to do it with as little fanfare as possible. Though how he could do that after her dance he had no idea.

  “Calm down, both of you,” Morgan finally said. “It’s not what either of you are thinking.”

  Morgan once had hopes of Arianna’s arriving in London without anyone, other than Constance, knowing she’d been to Valleydale, but Arianna had obliterated that possibility. Now he had to try to make them see she wasn’t what she appeared to be from what they had seen in the window.

  “It’s a long story,” Morgan began.

  “We’re staying the night, and dinner hasn’t been served, so I think we have time to hear everything you have to say.”

  “And if we haven’t heard a se
nsible story by sunrise, we’re not leaving,” Race grumbled.

  Morgan took another sip of his wine to keep from smiling. “All right. I suppose I have made you wait long enough for answers. The story is not as risqué or even as interesting as it seems from appearances.”

  “And we are to believe that?” Race snapped irritably.

  “It’s true. Her name is Miss Arianna Sweet. She came from India, and she was very ill when she arrived here a few nights ago.”

  “That does not pass the sensible test, Morgan,” Blake said with a huff.

  “Perhaps you should try telling us the truth,” Race grumbled.

  “I am,” Morgan interjected.

  “Really? She didn’t look Indian.”

  “And she certainly didn’t look ill to me,” Race added combatively.

  “She’s not. Indian, that is. She’s as British as we are, but believe me, she was quite ill when she arrived here what must have been about a week ago.”

  “All right, I’m not saying I believe you or that I don’t, but why did she come to Valleydale?” Blake asked, finishing off the wine in his glass and then getting up and walking over to the decanter.

  “Yes, this estate isn’t exactly on the way from India to London,” Race complained as Blake held up the wine to see if either Race or Morgan wanted a refill, and both shook their heads.

  Morgan waited for Blake to sit down and then proceeded to tell them about the night Arianna arrived, minus the part about Miss Goodbody. They listened with few interruptions, and he ended the story with: “I’ve seen her less than a handful of times since she arrived, and not at all for the first couple of days, as she was too ill to leave her room.”

  “If she arrived at your door dressed in any way similarly to the way we saw her just a few minutes ago, I can certainly well understand why you felt the need to insist she recuperate here.”

  Suddenly the tables had turned, and now Morgan was the exasperated one and they the ones having the fun. “I can assure you she was not dressed like that, nor did she look anything like she looked in that window tonight.”

  “We believe you,” Race said and tried to hide his smile behind the rim of his glass as he took a drink.

  “Yes, I’m quite certain I would have demanded she recuperate here, too.”

  Suddenly, the wine tasted foul in Morgan’s mouth, and he scowled. He didn’t want them thinking the worst about Arianna.

  “She was wearing a very proper dress and cape,” he defended irritably. “But she’s been in India for ten years; her clothing is bound to be a little different from what we’re used to.”

  “A little?” Blake said with a grin. “How far can you stretch credulity, Morgan?”

  “You blasted devils. She was in the privacy of her room and had no reason to believe anyone would be in a position to look into her window. Now, I have no idea what her clothing looks like, but if needed, Constance can help her in that area when she gets to London.”

  “Constance?” Blake asked, his tone changing from humorous to inquisitive.

  “Yes, since Grandmother is no longer with us, I wrote to Constance and asked if she would come to Valleydale and escort Miss Sweet to London. She needs help finding a place to live and a suitable companion. The things her father expected our grandmother to help her with. And things I know nothing about.”

  Morgan drained his glass. “What are you two scoundrels laughing about?”

  “You,” they said in unison.

  “Why?” he said, feeling more defensive than he wanted to. “I had to allow her to stay here. She was very ill when she arrived. You both know our grandmother would have turned over in her grave if I had not taken her in and helped her. You bloody blackguards. Have some respect.”

  “We do,” Race said.

  “You’re not acting like it. She’s Sir Walter’s niece, you drunken devils.”

  “We aren’t drunk. And I agree, you had to help her,” Blake said.

  “Me too.”

  Morgan hated the feeling that he had to defend Arianna and his choice to help her. “Damnation, she came here hoping our grandmother could assist her. I did the next best thing and asked someone who could.”

  “You don’t have to convince us, Morgan,” Blake said, trying his best to hide a smile but not succeeding. “You did the right thing.”

  “I agree,” Race added.

  “And so you sent the servants away so they wouldn’t know she was in the house with you and start gossip that would be difficult to stop?” Blake asked.

  “Yes,” Race answered for Morgan. “Can you imagine the gossip there would be if a servant had seen her dancing as we did? It’s all very believable, Morgan. Everything you did was completely appropriate, and we would have done the very same thing.”

  “Hell yes, we would have,” Blake added.

  Race laughed again and said, “Morgan, it’s a damn good thing you left London to avoid being snared by a beautiful young lady.”

  “You know what,” Morgan said, rising and walking over to pour himself another glass of wine, “you two can go to hell.”

  “We probably will,” Race said, “but not tonight.”

  “Right,” Blake added with a grin, “tonight we go only as far as India.”

  Race and Blake howled with laughter.

  Twelve

  My Dearest Grandson Lucas,

  Read these wise words from Lord Chesterfield and you will know why I enjoyed his friendship. “Be upon your guard against those, who, upon very slight acquaintance, obtrude their unasked and unmerited friendship and confidence upon you. Examine farther, and see whether those unexpected offers flow from a warm heart and a silly head, or from a designing head and a cold heart; for knavery and folly have often the same symptoms.”

  Your loving Grandmother,

  Lady Elder

  It was bloody awful.

  It had been two days since his cousins left, and Morgan was waiting to feel better about their visit, but that hadn’t happened yet. He would have given anything if his cousins hadn’t seen Arianna dancing. What a hell of a thing to have happened. Sometimes his cousins could be such bastards. For once, he thought as he walked into the drawing room to wait for Constance, he was glad they hadn’t stayed longer than overnight.

  Post had told him that Mrs. Pepperfield had arrived and was resting from the exhausting trip from London. She would be in the drawing room at six o’clock to meet with him. He walked over to the marble-topped table to make sure a fresh bottle of wine had been opened, but should have known he didn’t need to do that now that all of Valleydale’s servants had returned. Post and his wife no longer had to do everything.

  He stood at the table and stared out the front window that showed a magnificent view of the front lawn with its lush greenery and tree-lined drive. But it took only seconds for his mind to drift back to Arianna. He hadn’t seen her since the night his cousins arrived and proceeded to have one hell of a wonderful time at his expense. Knowing those two, they were probably still laughing. But he found some consolation in thinking they were probably also wondering how much he hadn’t told them and never would.

  The only way he’d been able to stay away from Arianna was sheer willpower. He’d had to search long and hard for it but finally found it when she had told him she was an innocent. He hadn’t lost interest in her, far from it. And keeping his distance from her hadn’t been easy.

  It had been sheer torment, but Morgan didn’t want the strings that came with deflowering a maiden. He would feel duty bound to marry her, and that was what finally gave him the willpower to resist her allure. Being leg-shackled at age thirty wasn’t in his plans—no matter how desirable Miss Arianna Sweet was.

  So whenever his body yearned for her, whenever he couldn’t get the taste of her, the feel of her, the smell of her out of his mind, whenever he thought he would go mad with wanting her, he would simply remember her innocence and the price he would have to pay if he took that from her. That alone allowed him to st
ay away from her. It was hard, though, damned near impossible, but so far, in the end, his willpower had come through for him in the nick of time.

  “Thank God, Constance has finally arrived and can see her safely to London.”

  “Are you talking to me, my lord?”

  Morgan turned around and saw Constance standing just inside the doorway to the drawing room. He smiled. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I was.”

  She wore a pale lavender dress trimmed in dark purple velvet that made her look absolutely fetching. Her vibrant auburn hair had been shaped into tight curls on the top of her head. Her wide green eyes sparkled, and she walked toward him with the confidence of a woman who knew where she stood with a man.

  He couldn’t help but notice that although she and Arianna were both beautiful women, they looked nothing alike. Constance’s hair and eyes were lighter than Arianna’s. And Constance looked strictly British through and through, while there was something teasingly exotic about Arianna, and for him, that set her apart from all other women.

  Morgan remembered Blake telling him that several men had offered for Constance’s hand this past Season, but she had declined them all. Looking at her now, he could easily understand why so many men had sought her favor. It wasn’t that her face was absolutely lovely or that her pockets were deep. It was her control, her self-confidence that made her beautiful.

  And if what Blake said was true—and Morgan had no reason to doubt that—she would continue to rebuff any gentleman’s attentions if he was looking for matrimony. Obviously Constance was enjoying the life of a wealthy widow and all the freedoms it afforded her. Only one thing would make a woman like Constance want to give up her freedom: true love, and it didn’t appear Constance was in the market for that any more than he was.

  Morgan met her in the center of the room, where she curtseyed. He bowed and then took her hand in his and lightly kissed it.