The Earl's Intimate Error

by Susan Gee Heino

  But Archer was in a good mood—damn his hide—and he simply laughed it all off.

  “Go on, Woodleigh,” Archer said, nodding again in the direction he’d indicated Miss Canton had gone. “But I’m giving fair warning. If you don’t have a brain in your cockloft, I do. And I know how to use mine.”

  Woodleigh sneered. Archer was making bold talk for someone a hair’s breadth away from having his cockloft disconnected from his shoulders. Except that would take time away from getting to Miss Canton, and Woodleigh realized that was his first goal.

  He’d have to just let his friend go tend to his wound. Woodleigh had Miss Canton to think about now. He turned the corner of the hedgerow to go find her. What he’d do then, he hadn’t quite decided.

  It was a very large garden by Town standards. Mrs. Fitzmonger’s home was clearly built when this area was still somewhat remote—whatever era that must have been. Pru was woefully uneducated on the history of London. She did recognize a secluded spot for a good cry, though. And this appeared to be one.

  She sat down on a bench, but her moment of self-pity was almost immediately interrupted. Boots crunched on the ground, and she glanced up, expecting to find Lord Archer returning to retract his offer. It wasn’t Archer, though.

  It was Woodleigh, and his eyes were storming.

  “Are you well?” he asked, his voice tight and his teeth clenched.

  “I am, thank you,” she replied, wiping at tears and hoping he would pretend not to notice them.

  “You’re not well. You’re crying.”

  Drat the man. “I’m missing my home. Nothing more.”

  There was a tense beat before he spoke again. “Archer was here. Did he harm you?”

  “What? No. Of course not.”

  “I saw you with him. Together.”

  Oh, good heavens. Did that mean he saw them? Kissing? How uncomfortable this conversation was going to be. Woodleigh would no doubt be very upset when he discovered she’d rejected the one perfectly good offer of marriage she would likely ever get in her life.

  “Um, yes…about that…”

  “Did he hurt you?” he repeated.

  “I already told you, of course not!”

  “Then why are you crying?”

  “I told you that, too. I’m not.”

  He sat down beside her and tipped her face up toward him.

  “You are. These are tears.”

  “If you were any sort of a gentleman, you’d allow that I must simply have something in my eye.”

  “If I were any sort of a gentleman I’d have left Archer in a lifeless heap on the walkway, not merely bloodied his lip.”

  “You did what?”

  “The bounder deserved it, bringing you out here to be ruined at a public event.”

  “You think that’s what was happening?”

  “I know my friend and, to be honest, I know you, Miss Canton. I’ve seen how you’ve behaved; I know your ways. It was not very difficult to put the two together and recognize what was going on right under my nose.”

  Well, this was beyond the pale. What a terrible, hurtful thing for him to say to her. She huffed and jumped to her feet.

  “I think you’ve impugned my character enough for one night, sir. Perhaps we should be going?”

  He rose to stand next to her. To loom over her, actually. Maybe she should have remained seated. His flashing eyes and hulking stature were less intimidating sitting down.

  “Go? Why, did you make arrangements to meet Archer elsewhere?”

  “Apparently you have not insulted me enough. Very well, then. Tell me just what other scandalous things you believe I’ve been up to these last two weeks, since you know me and my ways so very well.”

  He took a step back and let his gaze rake over her. It was positively indecent, the way he was looking at her. Of course she felt the color rise in her cheeks, and she took an involuntary deep breath to make sure that her bodice was filled out properly—but truly she was very offended. At least she was trying to be. Drat the way this man made her heart pound.

  “For one thing, you’ve been wearing intentionally provocative clothing,” he said, his eyes fixing at her bosom.

  She took another deep breath especially for him.

  “Your own mother helped me arrange my clothing, sir. If I’ve been provocative, then it’s been your mother’s doing. Not mine.”

  “Well, you don’t need to be so chatty with every shifty-eyed lecher in London.”

  “That would be every last man in London. You would have me avoid all of them? I thought the whole point was for me to attract them?”

  “Not all of them, damn it! You’re supposed to be finding a husband, not building a ruddy man-harem for yourself.”

  “Honestly, what would I do with a man-harem?”

  “You certainly seemed to know exactly what to do with Archer,” he shot back. “How do I know how many others you’ve dragged into the garden for an interlude? Or two?”

  “It was one little kiss!”

  “I know what your kisses lead to,” he replied, far too loudly for propriety’s sake. “Or have you forgotten that?”

  Forgotten? No, she’d not forgotten. Nor would she ever forget. Woodleigh’s kisses were forever seared in her mind, marked on her body. They had lit a flame deep inside her and ruined her taste for other men. Indeed, after a thousand years she was not likely to forget about that.

  “Of course I’ve not forgotten.”

  He watched her, his face displaying a dubious distrust. She would have liked to look away from him, to be less reminded of what his kisses had done to her, but she just could not force herself.

  “Perhaps you need a reminder,” he said at last.

  She hadn’t the time to make sense of his words before he quickly moved toward her and pulled her tight into his arms. It was as if a warm wind had just blown over her, enveloping her in its stifling heat and knocking the air out of her lungs. She had to wrap her arms around him or risk being blown completely away.

  Then his lips were on hers, and she was right back in her father’s paddock, her senses taken over by this conceited gentleman who seemed to be the only one on the planet who could make her feel quite this way. It was infuriating and heavenly all at the same time. She pressed herself closer to him, drinking in his kisses and imagining that everything else could just disappear.

  “You taste like strawberry tarts,” he said quietly when his lips left hers and began to kiss her eyes and her neck and whatever other part of her he could locate easily enough.

  “I’ve been rather a pig, I’m afraid,” she mumbled, not quite coherently. “I ate two of them tonight.”

  “I love strawberry tarts,” he said, his lips finding their way back to hers.

  His tongue toyed with her, teaching her a game they could play that left both of them breathless and eager. But she wanted so much more than his kisses. Her knees were beyond weak, and she hung on him, afraid that at any moment she might beg him to toss her into the hedgerow and finish what they had started in Beldington.

  He seemed to feel the same way, as he moved her off the walk and into the shadow of the garden wall. The stone was still warm from the day in the sun, and she was glad for the support it gave her. She could focus all of her energy on exploring Lord Woodleigh. She wanted to touch him, to taste every part of him. Until someone came along to discover them, she was going to give it her full effort.

  “I want you, Prudence,” he whispered.

  Her given name sounded good on his lips. The fact that he wanted her sounded very good, too. They were racing to satisfy that want before people or reality might step in to stop them.

  She was slightly surprised when he pushed away from her. She glanced around, half expecting to find his mother or some other patron glaring disapproval at them, yet they were alone. The moonlight still filtered through the garden around them, and she was still panting, desperate for more of his touch, more of whatever he’d been giving her.

&
nbsp; “Promise me,” he said, “that you won’t kiss Archer ever again.”

  “What?”

  “Promise me, Prudence. I would hate to murder my best friend.”

  “But…don’t you think he’ll expect me to kiss him at least sometimes, once we’re married, I mean?”

  “Once you’re…You mean you and Archer? Married?”

  “That’s why he brought me into the garden,” she explained, still not fully in control of her breathing. “He asked me to marry him.”

  “He asked you to marry him?”

  “Don’t be so surprised. It’s not that unreasonable, is it? I am a gentleman’s daughter. I’m not unsuitable for him.”

  “You are unsuitable for him! You are completely unsuitable! Good God, you didn’t say yes, did you?”

  “I said I’d consider. Why should you be so adamantly against it? Am I too rustic, too uncultured for your friend? I’ll not be a credit to him, is that it?”

  “No! But…but this…what we’re doing here…”

  “Oh, so now you feel guilty. You’re just upset because you can’t have a little dally with me while I consider your friend.”

  “Hell no, I can’t do that.”

  “Well, then perhaps I should consider someone else. Mr. Oxland, perhaps? He seems rather keen. Would you feel less guilty if I were promised to him while you made love to me?”

  “You’re not promised to any of them! I won’t have it. Not now that…not after…”

  “After what? After I’ve let you put your hands all over me? Does this make me unworthy of decent men now?”

  “No, it’s not that at all.”

  “Well, what is it, then? What have I done that’s so horrible I’m not fit for society?”

  “You’ve made me…”

  He stopped. His eyes were an odd circular shape, and his lips moved with no sound coming out. At first she thought he was choking, but he gasped in a breath. She waited for him to finish his words, but instead all he seemed capable of was swallowing.

  “I’ve made you what?” she asked when it was clear he’d lost track of the thread.

  He took another deep breath. “You’ve made me love you.”

  Now she was the one choking. What had he said? She blinked furiously, trying to grasp what he meant but feeling her knees buckle beneath her.

  Fortunately he caught her before she fell down.

  “I love you, Prudence,” he said. “I don’t care what you told Archer, or Oxland, or any other damn gentleman. I want you to marry me.”

  “But…I can’t marry you. You’re engaged to Miss Holycroft.”

  “Not yet, I’m not,” he said, pulling her tighter. “It’s not official. There’s been no announcement, no papers are signed…I want you, Prudence, and nobody else.”

  “But I…”

  “But you muck out stalls and you run around in boys’ clothing? Well, I suppose I can live with a wife who does that.”

  She laughed at him. “No, I was going to say that I already told Lord Archer I’d consider him if things became desperate.”

  “Doesn’t matter. He’s a dead man the next time I see him, so you won’t need to worry about that.”

  “You will not kill Lord Archer!”

  “Well, you’ll stop considering his marriage proposal!”

  She must have appeared rather hesitant because he was suddenly serious.

  “You don’t…you don’t actually care for him, do you? Hell, Prudence it would rip out my heart if you did, but if you’d rather have him, I suppose…”

  “No, I don’t care for Lord Archer. Not in any passionate way, I assure you. It was just, well…I knew everyone wanted me to find a husband, so I said I’d consider.”

  “Well, you’ve found a husband. By God, Prudence, I’ve treated you abominably. Can you forgive me? Please say that you will, and that you’ll marry me at the earliest possible moment.”

  She pretended to be undecided. Yes, he had treated her abominably. There was no sense giving her consent too quickly, was there? He deserved to suffer in uncertainty just for a moment. Or two.

  “Well, I suppose there’s one thing you’ll need to agree to,” she said slowly, chewing her lip.

  “Anything. Name it.”

  “My father’s stable is in trouble,” she said. “Whomever I marry must agree to rescue it, to get my father back on his feet. Figuratively, of course.”

  “Of course! Whatever your father needs. All that I have will be yours, Prudence. Your father can build a hundred more stables if he likes.”

  “Good heavens, a hundred? I was already working my fingers to the bone mucking his stalls in the one that he had. Would you have me mucking a hundred?”

  “If that’s what you want, Prudence Canton, then that’s what you may do. Now please, put me out of my misery and say you’ll be my wife.”

  She tipped her face toward his so he’d have no trouble hearing her words. Or kissing her after them.

  “Of course I love you, my lord. And I’ll marry you today or tomorrow or whenever you want.”

  There was no need for more words after that. She was already snuggled against him, her lips primed and ready, so he took full advantage of it. If it were possible, he seemed to be kissing her with even more tenderness, more fervor than he had been before. His touch was not only tantalizing and hot, it was now possessive and sure. He’d been promised she was his, no matter who interrupted them now. He kissed her like a man devouring his favorite meal.

  Apparently they had remarkably similar tastes. She devoured him right back and reveled in his passion, knowing it was only for her.

  This was nothing like nuzzling a horse.

  About the Author

  Susan Gee Heino writes Historical Romance romps set in the English Regency time period. In 2008 she won Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart ® Award in the Regency Historical category, and since then has become a multi-published national bestseller. Today she lives in rural Ohio with an ever-changing menagerie of pets, her preacher husband, and two adorable (and frighteningly creative) children. She welcomes visitors to her website, www.SusanGH.com.