Earl Interrupted

by Amanda Forester

“But I believe there is,” said Emma, her head behind the newsprint. “Oh!” She looked up over the paper, her mouth a perfect oval. She bent back down and read a passage about Wynbrook and Lady Kate. The society paper had done little to hide their identities and shockingly claimed Wynbrook and Kate had eloped.

  Dare was confused for a moment, but then remembered that Wynbrook and Kate had taken off after him in Wynbrook’s coach. Apparently, someone had seen them chase after the coach that held Dare and jumped to conclusions. He shook his head. Why had nobody been looking out the window of the posting house when Kate had been abducted?

  “This is nonsense,” said Kate in a slightly strangled voice that did not quite seem her own. “We simply need to tell people that…” She paused, looking at Dare, unsure.

  “We shall tell people we planned to meet Darington on our journey,” said Wynbrook. “We then traveled together to your home, where we were married.”

  “Married?” Kate glanced around the room, silently pleading her case to all present. “Surely there can be no cause for anything so extreme.”

  Dare hated to see her uncomfortable, and certainly this was not the way he had hoped Wynbrook would propose, but it was done and hopefully for the best.

  “Robert?” Kate barely mouthed the word at him. Her eyes were desperate. Though he thought she should marry Wynbrook, he hated to see her so unhappy. It was now up to her whether or not to accept the proposal.

  “I think I should attend to some of my correspondence,” said Emma with a tight smile, rising to her feet. It was clearly time to leave Kate and Wynbrook alone.

  Dare rose with Emma and gave his sister and Wynbrook a brief nod. “Good luck,” he said as he walked to the door. It was directed at both of them, though for different reasons.

  “I am so sorry,” apologized Emma in a fervent tone as Dare shut the door to the drawing room.

  Dare was confused. What had the lovely lady done to require such an ardent apology?

  “I should not have read the society pages. I fear I have made things difficult.”

  Dare waved off her concern. “You have nothing to apologize for. Best they know.”

  “Still, I hate to see your sister so distressed.” Emma looked up at him, her cheeks plump and rosy, her eyes compassionate. She was as beautiful as any siren and Dare was hopelessly entrapped.

  There was a pause and he recalled that staring silently at her was perhaps not the best social response. He had to struggle to remember the topic of their conversation. “Wynbrook is a good man. I hope she will accept the offer. Her decision though.” He had given up long ago trying to figure out why his sister did things the way she did. His job was to simply support her, and so that is what he did.

  “I am sure she would not want to marry someone who was offering just because they were caught in a compromising situation.” Emma stopped short as if recognizing that her description was rather similar to their own situation.

  Dare also saw the clear similarity between Kate’s situation and theirs. He hoped Wynbrook could help Kate to see that marriage might suit her. He further hoped he could convince the lovely lady before him to accept his proposal.

  “Shall we retire to the library?” he asked. This would allow him to speak with her without any interruptions.

  “Oh, yes, I would like that exceedingly well.”

  “I should have asked this before, but is there anyone who will be missing you that we should alert to your safety?”

  “Well, I am sure that Eustace will have noted my departure, but I certainly do not wish him to be alerted.”

  “He cannot touch you here at Greystone.” Dare would defend her against whatever unpleasantness her stepbrother might bring. In truth, he hoped to be given the honor of protecting her for life.

  “Thank you. That is very kind.” She smiled and her whole face came alive.

  “I do hope you will stay with us here. My sister would appreciate your company.”

  “And I would like to see the wound heal a little more, if you are amenable.”

  “Yes, I think that would be essential.” He would agree to anything if it meant she would stay.

  “Then stay I must, at least for a few days. I am supposed to meet the lady who is to be my chaperone to America in Portsmouth in a few days. The ship is scheduled to leave in four or five days, I believe.”

  Dare’s mouth went dry. He could not let her sail away. He gave a nod, his mind spinning. He only had a few days.

  They reached the end of the hallway, and Dare pointed in the direction of the library, motioning for her to proceed down the next passage. His step grew slower as the pain in his side demanded that he pause for a moment to catch his breath. The medicine helped, but he felt much better when sitting.

  Emma glanced back, concern instantly shining in her eyes. “Oh, you poor thing. Let me help.” She rushed to him, but he put up a hand to stop her.

  “No!”

  She blinked at him and he realized that had sounded more forceful than he intended, but he did not want to be her “poor thing.”

  “I am fine. Just walking a bit slowly.” Dare put a hand on the wall to brace himself.

  The housekeeper made an appearance, probably drawn by his loud voice as it echoed down the empty hall.

  “Mrs. Brooke,” called Dare to the housekeeper. “Could you show Miss St. James to the library?” He turned to Emma. “I need to attend to something and will join you shortly.” He stood up tall and bowed slightly, ignoring the angry complaint from his injured side.

  There was nothing Emma could do but follow the housekeeper, though she threw him a glance of concern over her shoulder as she left. He doubted she was fooled by his attempt to prevent her from knowing how much he hurt. In truth, if it hadn’t been for his desire to see Emma and, more importantly, her to see him as something other than an invalid, he would not have left his bed.

  When they were out of sight, Dare leaned back against the wall to rest. He wanted to sit down, but he feared someone would turn the corner of the hall and see the master of the house sitting on the floor. Emma might be alerted to the situation, and that was the last thing he wanted.

  As he rested, he thought about how best to conduct the proposal. What would be the best words?

  Miss St. James, you are the loveliest creature ever born. You have saved my life and I am forever in your debt. Would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?

  That was good. Or maybe…

  My dear Miss St. James. With your own blessed hands, you have healed me and given me back my life. I am forever in your debt, and my deepest desire is to spend the rest of my days repaying this debt as your devoted husband and slave.

  Hmmm…maybe too much. How about…

  Miss St. James. You are eminently practical, reliable, and levelheaded in a crisis. Your beauty is beyond compare. You stand as a shining exemplary of womanhood. Your hair is golden, your mouth like rosebuds, your eyes deep pools of timeless beauty. You are like the sirens of myth. Your breasts alone could drive a man into madness…

  No. No. NO.

  Dare took a few more steps and leaned against the wall once more, though this time it was his mind he needed to get into better regulation, not just his body. He wished to propose marriage, not terrify the girl. He had done this before. How could it be so difficult now? Of course, his previous attempts had been flatly refused, so perhaps it was best not to try to replicate a failed offer. Still, it didn’t seem like it should be so difficult. He just needed to propose sensibly. And yet, he could not shake the fear sparked by his past rejections.

  He did not want to fail.

  Really, truly did not want to fail.

  Young, unmarried females typically terrified him, but he felt comfortable when he was with Emma—and desperately uncomfortable, but never in a manner that made him want to run away. No, he only wante
d to see her more.

  She was beautiful, intelligent, kind, skilled, beautiful, sensible, practical, cheerful, beautiful…really, really beautiful. Maybe her breasts had driven him to madness. They quivered when she walked. Or laughed. Or breathed. Quivered! How was a man supposed to think when something so tempting was trembling right under his nose? It was impossible.

  If he could pull himself together enough to make an offer she would accept, he would be allowed the opportunity to introduce himself more formally—or, more importantly, informally—to her breasts. He could actually touch them. Cup them. Hold them.

  “You all right, my lord?”

  Dare was brought forcibly back to reality and realized he was leaning on the wall, his hands outstretched, fondling the air. He dropped his arms immediately and stood upright no matter how it pained him to regard Mrs. Brooke.

  “I…I was just… I’m not myself.” He ended in a mutter. There was no way to explain his actions.

  “It is the laudanum, I warrant,” she said kindly. “When Jonathan, the footman, hurt his ankle, he took a goodly amount. Helped with the pain, but he also had an entire conversation with a set of fire irons. Later, he said he was sure they were talking back.”

  “Yes. Laudanum. Very bad. Not in my right mind.” Dare was relieved for a plausible explanation.

  “You ought to be upstairs. I warrant Lady Kate will be quite irritated by you walking about. And Miss St. James as well. They seem very attentive.”

  “Cannot stay in bed. Just catching my breath before going to the library.”

  “I’ll call Jonathan to help you, then.”

  “No, I’m perfectly fine. Do not trouble yourself.” But the housekeeper was gone, and before he had reached his destination, the footman appeared and offered to help. The assistance was helpful, but Dare’s grand entrance was rather marred by being assisted into a chair by a ruddy-faced footman.

  Emma sat in a narrow block of sunlight from the one open window drape. She smiled when they entered, the pale winter light illuminating her golden hair and giving her an ethereal presence.

  This was the woman he would marry. If only he could get her to say yes.

  Twenty-one

  Dare waved off the footman and attempted to regain his dignity by walking stiffly to a chair beside the lovely Emma St. James.

  “You should be resting,” chastised Emma.

  “I am fine.”

  “Here, this should help.” She darted up and grabbed a cushion from the settee across the room and shoved it behind him before he could even think of standing. Her movements were so bright, quick, and easy, he cursed himself for being slow and injured. He would have resisted her ministrations, but the pillow did help.

  “Are you comfortable?” asked Emma with a cheery smile.

  Comfortable? No. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Good, good. Shall I call for some tea?”

  “I am fine. Unless you are hungry. Yes? Is it teatime? Tea, tea would be nice,” Dare stammered. This was not going well.

  Emma jumped up and pulled the bell and was back at his side. “You really ought to be resting. I shall be grieved if you pull a stitch.”

  Before Dare could answer, Mrs. Brooke was at the door. Everyone looked expectantly at him, and he realized since he was the host, he should do the ordering. He had not been the master of his own home in so long he did not know quite what to do. “Some tea?” he finally managed.

  Mrs. Brooke nodded with a curtsy and was gone.

  Now was the time. He needed to say something. He looked around the vacant room for inspiration. Bookcases stretched from floor to ceiling on three walls and heavy, dark drapes covered most of the windows. It might have been a pleasant library—had there been any books. The bookcases were all empty, a towering monument to a life stripped of all the things that make it worth living. This was a tomb—silent, empty, dead.

  Emma also looked around the room, following his gaze. In a flash, she jumped up and flung open all of the green drapes to allow in the natural light. Dust filled the air, dancing in the shafts of sunlight. “I like this room. ’Tis good place to read.”

  He stared at her. “We have no books.”

  “This room is like the opening beat of a song: full of promise. You can fill these shelves with anything.” She gazed wistfully at the empty shelves and sat back down beside him.

  He continued to stare back at her. How did she do it? How could she be so cheerful, even in the face of loss?

  “Miss St. James,” Dare began, trying to remember the words he had practiced.

  “Yes?” Emma leaned forward, her ample décolletage on full view, and it must be acknowledged there was undeniable quivering. Quivering!

  His mind went blank.

  Don’t stare at them. Do not stare at them. Look away.

  “My lord?” she asked.

  The formality struck him odd, and he dragged his focus back to her face. “Robert or Dare, please.”

  “If you wish. You started on a very somber note with the ‘Miss St. James,’ so I thought we were back to formalities in this setting.”

  “No, no I just… I wanted to say something of import.”

  “Yes?” she prompted.

  His attention was now captured by two bright-blue eyes and plump, pink lips. So delicious. He shook his head and put a hand over his eyes. She was dangerous to look at. There was no place he could focus that didn’t make his jaw go slack and his mind go blank.

  “Oh dear, have you a headache? Sometimes that is an effect of the laudanum.”

  “No, I am quite fine,” he lied. Actually, he did have something of a headache, probably from trying to focus on what he wanted to say. How was he going to do this?

  “Miss St. James,” he began again. At her raised eyebrow, he amended it. “Emma, I owe you a debt I can never repay, even if I follow you all your years as your faithful slave.”

  Emma blinked at him, unsure. This was not coming out right. He needed to flatter her.

  “You are as beautiful as any siren who led sailors to their deaths.”

  “Errr…my thanks.”

  This was a disaster. “I want you to know… That is, you slept with me… I mean, we spent the night together in an inn. Feel the obligation is mine to—”

  “Oh dear, let me stop you there. I can see your discomfort. You think that because Lord Wynbrook feels obligated to offer for Lady Kate, you should make an offer to me too. That is very kind of you, and it does your scruples credit to think of it, but please do not make yourself uncomfortable on my account.”

  “Not uncomfortable,” protested Dare, desperately uncomfortable.

  “Yes, of course you are. Let me assure you that there is no need to trouble yourself on my account. No one has noted us together who can besmirch our characters. Thus, we do not need to concern ourselves.”

  “I still feel that I should offer—”

  “No,” she said, louder than he was expecting. Perhaps louder than she expected for she seemed startled at the sound of her own voice.

  “That is,” she amended, “I do not wish you to feel obligated to me in any way.”

  “But I am. The honor of the marriage for you… I…I would live in obligation of an unpayable debt…” He didn’t even know what he was saying anymore. Everything was coming out wrong. He could see the conversation sailing straight into the rocky shoals but could do nothing to prevent the worst string of words from emerging from his lips. “I think I might be concussed,” he muttered.

  “There now. Do not worry yourself over me.”

  “But…but you need the protection of marriage.”

  “I am on my way to America to be married.”

  Dare frowned. “Why?” It was not the most tactful of questions, but he did not care anymore.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  �
��I asked you why. You told me you were running away from home. You told Kate and Wynbrook your stepmother arranged the match. You have refused my offer because you wish to wed an American you have never met, and I would like to know why.” His voice was gruffer than he intended, but he could not help the emotion his bluster betrayed.

  Emma looked down and straightened her skirts. She was spared from having to form a hasty reply by the entrance of the maid, who arrived with the tea tray. Emma busied herself in setting up the tray and served out.

  “Forgive me. I have no right to ask,” Dare added in a softer tone when they were alone again.

  Emma glanced up at him and then looked back down, a guilty expression on her face as if she had been caught. “No, I do not mind. My stepmother initially brought the option to my attention, but I am sure Eustace would never have approved. In the end, it was my choice. My decision. It was the best option I had and I took it. I am quite excited about the prospect of going to America. It should be a grand adventure.” She straightened her skirts again. “So you see that you do not need to worry about me. All is well.” Her eyes gave him the opposite message of her words.

  If he were any gentleman at all, he would have let it be. She clearly did not wish to speak of it, but he was too angry to let it go. He was angry at her refusal, and even angrier at the unknown American who was ruining his chances to pursue an acquaintance with the lovely Emma St. James.

  “You have another offer,” he said quietly.

  “Oh, but I could not trap you into marriage. What a horrid way to repay you for saving my life.”

  “You saved mine.”

  “So we are even and can part as friends.” She looked up rather timidly and must have been flustered by his expression, for she looked down again and busied herself with the tea. “Milk or lemon?”

  “Black.”

  She handed him the cup.

  “Forgive my rudeness, but I must know. Why did you say marrying an American was the best option you had?” demanded Dare. He was well past attempting to be civil.

  Emma took a sip of tea but did not look up at him. “My father left the estate to me, to be held in trust by my stepmother and stepbrother until I reached my majority. They did not feel I was competent to take over management of the estate. It all got rather unpleasant. Leaving to marry the grandson of the Earl of Langley, even if he is an American, seemed preferable.”