Romancing the Earl

by Darcy Burke

  Miranda’s aqua eyes lit. “Love, silly.”

  “Yes, love is silly.” Cate didn’t necessarily believe that, but she didn’t concern herself with love at all. She subscribed to what her parents had told her—that it would happen in due time if she was meant to find it. Their pragmatism appealed to her logical mind.

  “You only say that because you haven’t felt it.” Miranda looked over at Norris, who had scooped up their drinks and was now heading toward them. “I still contend Norris is interested.”

  Cate wholeheartedly disagreed. Yet they’d managed to enjoy their dances and even converse rather genially . . .

  Miranda floated away as Norris arrived with Cate’s sherry.

  “I didn’t mean to drive Lady Miranda away,” he said, handing Cate the glass.

  Cate took a fortifying drink. “You didn’t. She was trying to play matchmaker, but I set her straight.”

  His brows shot up for a brief moment. “You did?”

  “I’m not interested in making a match, and I have the sense you aren’t either.”

  “You are correct,” he said quickly. “I’m far too busy learning how to be a bloody earl.” He winced at his language. “Forgive me, it’s a difficult adjustment from my previous life to this one.”

  “I can imagine.” Cate behaved differently in social settings like this than when she and Grey were out searching for antiquities, so she understood what he meant. “For what it’s worth, that sort of language doesn’t offend my sensibilities.”

  He peered at her with an odd expression. Curiosity? Disbelief? Respect? Perhaps all of them. “You’re an interesting female.”

  She looked at him over the rim of her glass. “Does this mean I’m to have my own list of characteristics?”

  “It seems only fair.” He sipped his brandy. “I’d add persistent.”

  She laughed. “Very astute. Lest I disappoint you, permit me to carry on. I won’t allow you to ignore my quest for the tapestry. I intend to find it.”

  “How, if I don’t help you?”

  “I’m not certain, but I’ll find a way. It would, however, be far simpler—and more charitable—if you would deign to offer assistance.”

  He took another pull on his brandy, his gaze never leaving hers. As at Cosgrove, she felt a shock of icy heat as she bore his perusal.

  Shoving the bothersome sensation away, she plodded ahead. “I understand your brother spent a great deal of money and that you’re likely trying to refill the coffers. It’s why you want to sell the antiquities collection, isn’t it?”

  “Not entirely.” His tone was guarded. “I find it a dust-collecting jumble of nonsense.”

  She longed to show him how wrong he was. “I should love to walk through Cosgrove with you and show you just how incredible some of those pieces are.”

  His gaze dropped to her pendant once more. “Your passion for them is almost persuasive.”

  His use of the word “passion” provoked another stirring response, but this one carried more fire, blooming inside of her and spreading warmth to her extremities. “I could help you determine which items would garner the most money and you could sell those first.”

  He tipped his head to the side, considering. “In exchange for my helping you to find the tapestry?”

  “Of course—keeping in mind, I’ll still pay you for it once it’s located.”

  “I already have another antiquary who’s offered to help with the collection.”

  Bollocks. “Who?”

  “Lord Septon. Do you know him?”

  Bollocks again. Septon had contacted Norris? Had he mentioned the tapestry? He’d seen it at Cosgrove for many years and Cate had to wonder if he he’d ever tried to buy it. But of course the previous earl was notorious for never parting with his treasures.

  Or—and this was a far more troubling thought—had Septon puzzled out the map and gone on to find Dyrnwyn already? Cate swallowed against a rising sense of unease. “Yes, I know him quite well. You didn’t inform him that I came to see you?”

  His lips curved up slightly, displaying a rare bit of humor. “No, I thought that was a secret.”

  “It is. Thank you for keeping it as such.” She took a drink of sherry to try to quell her tumultuous nerves. “What can I do to persuade you? You need money. What if I offered you five hundred pounds for the tapestry?”

  Surprise flickered in his eyes. “Five hundred pounds for a magical sword? I’m not sure that’s enough.”

  “You don’t have Dyrnwyn.” She fought to keep her voice low.

  He leaned close. “I’m probably closer to it than you are.”

  “You wouldn’t know what to do with the map if you found it.”

  “Now it’s an ‘if’ I found it? I thought you were convinced I would find it.”

  She sensed he was provoking her on purpose. “Very, very infuriating,” she said under her breath. “I’m a generally optimistic person, and as such, yes, I choose to believe you will find the tapestry.”

  “Or it could be gone. What if someone else found it first?”

  Now she was all but certain he was taunting her. The unease rolling around inside of her became full anxiety. “You’re a beast.”

  “I’m pragmatic,” he said softly, moving subtly closer. “I don’t wish to cause you concern, and I can see from the creases in your forehead that I’m doing just that. There’s no telling where my brother hid the map and whether it’s still there.”

  She stood her ground, unsure if he was even aware that he’d crept toward her. While she was completely aware of every breath he drew. “You said your brother spent time in London. What about his house there?”

  “It was leased, so I’m afraid I no longer have access.”

  “Bollocks.”

  His eyes widened. “Pardon?”

  She cast him a disbelieving look. “Oh, you heard me.” Catching an unsettling amount of his unfortunately delicious scent of sandalwood and pine, she took a small step back.

  “Maybe I just wanted to hear you say it again.”

  “That I believe.” She lifted her chin and gave him an unflinching stare. “You didn’t respond to my offer of five hundred pounds.”

  “You don’t have five hundred pounds.”

  “You don’t know that,” she said crossly.

  He glanced up at the ceiling as if he were trying to find some patience from on high, but he’d given her the impression he was somewhat of a heathen, so she really had no idea what he was doing. When he looked at her again, his gaze was clear and bold. “I’d stake the tapestry on it.”

  “The tapestry you don’t have.”

  “The tapestry you’ll likely never have.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Now you’re just being cruel.”

  “Still being pragmatic, actually.”

  She took a long drink of sherry. It heated her throat and coated her stomach with a delightful warmth that she wished would soothe her rioting nerves. But with Norris standing there staring at her with his imperious blue-gray eyes and taut lips, she only felt frustration. And maybe a touch of desire.

  Desire?

  Now she was being foolish, and she blamed Miranda for bringing up love and matchmaking in the first place.

  She leaned forward and spoke in a low hiss. “I will deliver five hundred pounds to you, and you’ll help me find the tapestry.”

  “You won’t, but I admire your tenacity. I’ll add that to your list of attributes.”

  “Isn’t that the same as persistence?”

  His gaze warmed and her body responded in kind, heating in a most betraying fashion. “I think you’ve earned synonymous characteristics on that front, don’t you?”

  She turned from him. “I daresay we’ve spent more than enough time together without appropriate chaperonage.”

  “Amusing, given your uninvited visit last week,” he said.

  She looked at him over her shoulder. “I brought a chaperone.”

  “Is that what she is?�
�

  He’d moved beyond provoking into the realm of outright vexing. “You’ve just earned ‘aggravating’ in addition to ‘infuriating.’ Careful, lest I include ‘exasperating’ as well.”

  “I wouldn’t want that,” he murmured.

  She turned back toward him. “Do you know what you should want? Dyrnwyn. And I can help you find it. Forget five hundred pounds. Just what do you think that sword could be worth?”

  “Enough to kill a man?” The question was soft, but held menace. “Tell me, Miss Bowen, do you know who tried to buy the tapestry from my brother?”

  She tried to relax the tension rioting through her shoulders. “I do not.”

  He eradicated the distance between them, coming closer than he had yet. Closer even than during the waltz. “You know Septon and countless other antiquaries. Doubtless you could find out.”

  That’s what he wanted to bargain. Her assistance in determining what happened to his brother in exchange for his help with locating the tapestry. She looked up into his determined countenance. “You’re certain his death wasn’t an accident?”

  “The only thing I’m certain of, Miss Bowen, is that you’re the only person of my acquaintance who knew what my brother knew. For that reason alone, I’ve just decided to keep you close.”

  Chapter 4

  Elijah drew his mount to a halt. He missed Chester, his faithful horse in Australia, but he hadn’t wanted to subject the poor beast to the journey. It was hard enough on a man, let alone a creature who needed to run and jump.

  “But we’re getting to know each other, aren’t we?” Elijah patted Devon’s ebony neck and glimpsed two riders approaching. Good, she was punctual. He added that to the growing list of Miss Bowen’s attributes. He’d come up with several more in the days since he’d seen her last—chief among them was enticing. He’d looked forward to seeing her again far more than he cared to admit. He didn’t remember the last time a woman had occupied his mind for more than an evening. Never, he realized.

  Miss Bowen rode up beside him, demonstrating an excellent seat. Her companion, absent from the dinner party the other evening, stayed a few dozen yards distant. “I was surprised to receive your note this morning,” she said coolly, holding her reins with a loose grip.

  “I’m not sure why. I said I wanted to keep you close.”

  “I thought you meant under surveillance. I had the impression you suspected me of some manner of involvement in your brother’s death.” Her dark brows pitched low over her even darker eyes. “I assure you, I had nothing to do with the previous Lord Norris’s death and your presumption that I did is an egregious insult.”

  She was in high dudgeon. He fought to stifle an ungentlemanly smile. He enjoyed sparring with her more than he’d ever imagined was possible. He’d never met a woman who could give as good as she got—or was even interested in doing so. “My apologies. You are, however, much better acquainted with the antiquarian world than I. As such, I require your assistance to determine who offered to purchase the tapestry from Matthew.”

  She looked moderately mollified. At least, the pink in her cheeks faded. “I surmised as much the other night.”

  They’d discussed it briefly, but had been interrupted before they could continue the conversation. Hence his invitation for her to meet him today. “A pair of men visited Cosgrove in search of the tapestry. I should like you to help me identify them.”

  Her brow furrowed. “You don’t have their names?”

  “That would be too easy, wouldn’t it?” He ought to tell her that Septon had also inquired, but he was still assessing how to proceed on that front. Right now, Septon was a person of suspicion, and since she knew him “quite well” he wasn’t sure he wanted to confide in her.

  “Perhaps.” She smoothed her gloved hand over the side of her mount’s sleek neck. “They could have used aliases in any case.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” He continued to be impressed by her intellect. “My, but you are well versed in surreptitious behavior.”

  She turned her head briefly to look at her “chaperone.” “Grey and I have had occasion to use false identities. To protect my reputation, usually.”

  Perhaps her behavior surpassed surreptitious. “I see. Should I be concerned about mine? Reputation, that is.”

  Her eyes widened. “From me? I didn’t mean it like that. I sometimes go places a young, unmarried woman ought not. I do not behave inappropriately.”

  Did she not realize how that sounded? “Save being young and unmarried in unacceptable circumstances. What do your parents think of this?” Did she have parents? He knew she had a father, but did she also have a mother? And if she did, was their relationship any better than Elijah’s with his mother?

  “I do, and they fully support my antiquarian activities.” She looked as though she might make an addendum to that statement, but ultimately just pressed her lips together firmly and lifted her chin.

  Part of him wanted to pursue this rather provocative line of conversation, but it didn’t signify. Flirting with Miss Bowen, and bloody hell, he’d just realized that’s what he was doing, was the pinnacle of unacceptable. “Whether these men used aliases or not is moot since I don’t have a record of their names at all. My butler only said they were young gentlemen—perhaps in their middle twenties—but that was all he could recollect given that it was over a year ago. Now you see why I require your assistance.”

  “I’m not sure what I can provide. Such a description doesn’t bring anyone to mind. Most antiquaries I know are older—on the other side of fifty. The only people I know of that age are a few friends of my brother’s and, well, never mind.”

  “These men couldn’t be your brother’s friends?”

  “No.” She waved her hand. “His friends aren’t terribly serious about antiquities in any case. They sometimes follow Penn around because, well, never mind that too . . . Anyway, they’ve started to go their own ways, to see to their obligations.”

  He nodded, understanding that’s what men of a certain station—his new station—did. “You’re ‘never-minding’ a lot. Please elaborate.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “I would argue that twice isn’t ‘a lot.’”

  “You’re leaving information out, and it might be helpful to me.”

  “I highly doubt knowing that Penn attracts a following because of his success with women is important to your investigation.”

  Elijah couldn’t help himself. “Success with women?”

  She made a sound of abject disgust. “They trail after him like kittens mewling for their milk. He’s attractive, I suppose, and exceptionally intelligent. He has a certain . . . air. Or so they say. Obviously, I don’t notice. To me, he’s a bothersome older brother.”

  “I see. And the other ‘never mind’?”

  She glanced away, and he wondered if he ought to have pressed her. “Equally as unhelpful to you. The only other younger antiquaries I know are women.”

  He couldn’t mask his surprise. He’d thought her a singular female. “Like you?”

  She shifted in her saddle. “Yes. As you can see, I don’t know the men who came to see your brother.”

  Curiosity about these female antiquaries nearly overrode his thoughts, as had her description of her brother. Further proof that he found her too interesting by half, and ought to establish a greater distance lest they become something more than acquaintances. Hell, they were likely past that, weren’t they?

  He forced himself back to the topic: determining the circumstances of Matthew’s death. “Is it possible they were agents for someone else?”

  She considered this. “Anything is possible. What is it you want me to do? Interrogate the handful of antiquaries who will talk to me?” She looked to the side and muttered, “That’ll elevate my reputation.”

  He didn’t wish to cause her any problems. “I’ll interrogate. Just point me in the right direction.” A thought occurred to him. He could, perhaps, use this as an opportuni
ty to get to Septon. “Is it possible Lord Septon could help? You did say you knew him.”

  Her gaze, dark with apprehension, jerked back to his. “You need to be careful about what you say. Most people don’t realize the tapestry is a map, and you’d do well not to reveal that you know.”

  Her sharp reaction was a bit perplexing. “I thought Septon was a friend of yours.”

  “He is.” She fidgeted with the reins and he suspected she wasn’t telling him everything. Not that he expected her to, since he wasn’t revealing everything either. Would they ever reach a point where they would trust each other? He wasn’t confident their association would endure that long, but he had to admit it had already outlasted any of his expectations.

  She looked at him in grave concern, her forehead creasing and her gaze direct. “It’s important to me to be the one to find the sword. If other people know, my chances diminish.”

  Maybe trust wasn’t as far off as he’d thought. He heard the passion and determination in her voice and couldn’t help but admire her zeal. “I understand.” He also understood she didn’t want Septon to know about her activities. This affair only grew more curious with each passing moment.

  “I’ll be traveling to Bath tomorrow. Septon doesn’t live too far from there, so I’ll plan to visit him as well. Perhaps you could write a note of introduction?” He didn’t need one, but perhaps his cause would be aided by her relationship with Septon.

  She sat straight in her saddle. “I’ve a better idea. Why don’t Grey and I accompany you? You did say you wanted to keep me close.”

  He had said that, damn it. “No, you don’t need to come.”

  She sidled her horse closer to his. “Are you looking for the tapestry there? Doesn’t your mother live in Bath?”

  “How do you know that?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Miranda knows everything.”

  He was not surprised. “Do what you will, but we’re not traveling to Bath together. I’m trying to establish myself as a bloody earl. The last thing I need is to be aligned with a young, unmarried lady.” He said this to persuade himself as much as her.