Romancing the Earl

by Darcy Burke

  She took her time coming abreast of him and when she did, she said nothing. She spared him a quick glance and nothing more.

  “I’m going to ask if we can lodge in these people’s barn. Just wait in the yard while I speak to them.”

  “What if they don’t speak English?” Her question was oversweet and the look she gave him would’ve curdled cream.

  He hadn’t considered that. “We’re close enough to the border. I’m sure they speak English.” He hoped they spoke English.

  She pursed her lips at him but said nothing further.

  They rode into the yard, and he dismounted. He stretched his legs as he made his way to the door. He cast a look back at Cate, but couldn’t read her expression in the diminishing light.

  He set his knuckles against the door just as it came open.

  A ruddy-faced man in his fifties raised a lantern and looked Elijah up and down. “What can I do for you?”

  “Good evening, kind sir. We’ve traveled quite a long distance and we simply can’t continue tonight. I wonder if we might lodge in your barn?”

  The farmer glanced back at Cate on her horse. “Of course, of course. My wife will clobber me if you sleep in the barn, however. She’ll insist you sleep upstairs in one of our children’s old rooms. I’m Charlie Hewitt. Is it just you and your companion?”

  Blast. He hadn’t planned on having Cate come into contact with anyone. How was he to explain a woman dressed like a man?

  Elijah glanced back at her and realized he had to think fast. She’d dismounted and was striding toward them. Her gait was confident, purposeful, but unmistakably feminine.

  “Mr. Hewitt, I am Jones and this is my bride-to-be. I’m afraid your kind hospitality has forced my hand. We are on our way to Gretna Green. Please excuse her disguise. It was necessary in order to sneak her away from her overbearing cousins.”

  Mr. Hewitt had two impressively bushy gray brows, which currently resided somewhere barely south of his hairline.

  Cate joined Elijah at the door. “Good evening.”

  “Anne, this is Mr. Hewitt. I was just telling him how we escaped your malevolent cousins so that we may wed at Gretna Green.”

  Her gaze reflected the merest hint of surprise, but Elijah doubted Hewitt had caught it. In fact, Elijah was surprised he had caught it, but then he’d come to know Cate quite well in the last several days. That was a sobering and somewhat troublesome realization.

  Cate smiled. Thankfully the grime on her face didn’t disguise its brilliance. “Good evening, Mr. Hewitt. I deeply appreciate your hospitality.” She slid her arm around Elijah’s waist, shocking him with the contact, but he kept his composure. “You are most kind to help us on our journey to happiness.” She tipped her head into Elijah’s side and he wondered if she was overselling the ruse.

  An attractive, white-haired woman appeared behind Mr. Hewitt. “What have we here, Charlie?”

  “A young couple on their way to Gretna Green.” Hewitt’s gaze had turned a bit skeptical. Elijah held his breath.

  “Oh!” Mrs. Hewitt stepped forward and the lantern light showed her to be slightly plump, with an apron tied about her waist. “How romantic. Do come in.” She gasped when she caught sight of Cate’s face. “Whatever happened to you, dear?”

  “I tripped when we stopped for lunch.” Cate had once told him that she and Grey were used to disguising their identities. It appeared she was quite good at fabrication of all kinds. Elijah added ingenuity to her list of traits.

  “Well, you’ll want to get cleaned up before supper. We’ve already eaten, but there’s plenty for the both of you.” She reached out and grabbed Cate’s hand to drag her into the house. “Come in, come in.”

  Cate lifted one shoulder as she gave Elijah a wordless look and followed Mrs. Hewitt inside.

  “Let’s get your horses settled,” Hewitt said as he ambled toward the beasts.

  Elijah trailed him. “So long as you’re sure this isn’t an imposition.”

  “It isn’t, but I’ll trust you to do right by that young lady. Her reputation is already gone and from the looks and sound of you, you’re gentleman enough to know what would happen to her if you don’t wed.”

  “I am, and I place Anne above all else.” Elijah tried not to let the man’s words bother him. Cate was a lady, and her reputation—if she’d had one at all—would be in shreds if anyone knew of her activities. But for now she was Anne . . . Someone on her way to Gretna Green.

  After they took care of the horses, Elijah cleaned up in the barn. When he entered the house for supper, he stopped short at seeing Cate. She stood at the table, helping Mrs. Hewitt to set it, her hair clean and damp, hanging down her back. She wore a simple, homespun gown that was a bit too short and too loose around the waist, but the bodice hugged her breasts perfectly. And her face was clean. He’d thought the mud hadn’t disguised her beauty, but he’d been wrong. He’d almost forgotten how the curve of her lip and the saucy tilt of her nose took his breath away.

  “Mr. Jones,” Mrs. Hewitt said, “please join us. I’ll bring some mutton stew and fresh bread.” She disappeared through a doorway into the presumed kitchen, leaving them alone. Elijah wasn’t sure where Mr. Hewitt had gone after stabling the horses.

  “They’ve allotted us rooms upstairs,” Cate said, laying the utensils on the table.

  Rooms, plural. That was for the best. Spending the evening pretending that they were to be wed was going to try his resolve. He was glad he’d be able to seek refuge alone when it concluded.

  “I’m sorry for the ruse, but he offered us lodgings in the house and I had to think of a way to explain why a woman would be dressed as a man.”

  “You devised the perfect reason, just as you concocted the perfect escape plan in Harlech. You ought to have been a spy. I believe subterfuge and deception are two of your best skills.”

  “Thank you. I think.”

  Mrs. Hewitt returned with two bowls of steaming stew. She set them on the table. “Just let me get the bread.”

  “May I help you, Mrs. Hewitt?” Cate asked.

  “That isn’t necessary. Please, sit. You must be famished. Mr. Hewitt is pulling some ale. He makes it himself and I daresay it’s the best you’ll find this side of Hereford.”

  “Sounds wonderful, thank you.”

  Elijah held a chair for Cate to sit and took the one opposite her with the second bowl of stew. For a minute, they simply ate, both eager to appease their hunger. Mrs. Hewitt brought a basket of thickly sliced bread and a dish of butter. Behind her, Mr. Hewitt carried a tray with four cups. After setting the bread and butter down, Mrs. Hewitt took a seat while Mr. Hewitt distributed the ale.

  “Tell us about how you met and fell in love,” Mrs. Hewitt said before taking a drink of ale.

  Good God, this was going to be worse than he’d thought. Elijah’s gaze connected with Cate’s and they wordlessly decided that she would talk. He might be good at devising plans, but that didn’t extend to spinning romantic tales.

  Cate finished a bite of bread and washed it down with a swig of ale. “It’s quite a story.” Her dark eyes lit with mischief and Elijah stifled a groan. Perhaps he ought not have let her take the lead.

  “Magnus came through town with his acting troupe a few weeks ago.” Magnus?

  “You’re an actor?” Mrs. Hewitt asked, her bright blue eyes intrigued.

  Apparently. Or perhaps not. “I’m more the director and organizer of the group.”

  “I see.” Mrs. Hewitt sounded less enthusiastic than before.

  “Oh, he still acts,” Cate said, smiling. “He played Sir Andrew Aguecheek in Twelfth Night—that’s when I first saw him.”

  “And it was immediately love, wasn’t it?” Mrs. Hewitt smiled at Mr. Hewitt. “It was that way with us too.”

  Mr. Hewitt coughed gruffly.

  “Yes, I was instantly smitten.” Cate threw him a playful glance. She was enjoying this tale far too much. “Of course, Magnus didn’t see me in the
audience, did you, Magnus?”

  What the hell sort of name was Magnus, anyway? “No.” He could hardly wait to hear how he met her and undoubtedly fell at her feet.

  She gave him a coquettish look. “I admit I was rather forward. I waited for him after the performance to tell him how much I enjoyed the play. We shared a mug of ale at the pub and by the end of it had decided to marry.”

  Elijah coughed to cover the bark of laughter that rose in his throat. What utter tripe.

  “Why are you eloping?” Mrs. Hewitt asked, looking between them. “Mr. Jones mentioned your overbearing cousins. Were they not in favor of the match?”

  Elijah surprised himself by interjecting. “Not at all. Miss Thimblebottom is an orphan, you see.” He cast Cate a look to see what she thought of her name, but her expression was relatively placid. Save her eyes, which were charged with deviltry. “She is—rather was—at the mercy of her selfish relatives, who sought to marry her off to a local gentleman she did not fancy.”

  Mrs. Hewitt gave Cate a sympathetic pat on her hand. “Was he awful?”

  Cate nodded. “Oh yes. He smelled of elderberries and cheese. Rancid, stinky cheese. And he was quite old. He could be my grandfather. I might have been able to suffer all of that; however, he was also fond of barking at the children in the village—an irony since his chief desire in taking me as a wife was to have children.” She shuddered and again Elijah had to quash his amusement.

  “Mr. Jones here rescued you,” Mrs. Hewitt said.

  “Indeed.” Cate smiled at him as she resumed eating.

  Mr. Hewitt leaned toward Elijah. His face, lined with age, formed deeper creases. He spoke in a low tone. “Are you certain you wish to marry her? You aren’t merely playing the gentleman to save a young lady?”

  Cate’s spoon halted on the way to her mouth—only briefly, but Elijah caught it. She’d overheard Mr. Hewitt.

  “I am quite certain I wish to marry her. Miss Thimblebottom is the soul of kindness and gentility and I am more in love with her than I ever imagined possible.”

  Cate turned to look at him. Her eyes glowed with wonder.

  Elijah averted his gaze, suddenly uncomfortable. He was playing a role. Hell, she was the one who’d cast him as an actor. Still, something about the words had stirred him. Love was an emotion he’d barely experienced. Those he’d loved as a child had either killed the emotion in the case of his mother, or abandoned it in the case of his father, when he’d drunk himself to an early grave.

  “Well, that is just terribly romantic.” Mrs. Hewitt dabbed at her eye. “What of your acting troupe, Mr. Jones?”

  “They are continuing on. I have an assistant who is managing the company while I am away. You can see why we are traveling so quickly since I must return to my duties.” Apparently he was better at weaving lies than he’d thought.

  As they finished their meal, Mrs. Hewitt asked questions about the sorts of plays they performed, whether they might come anywhere near there, and if Cate wanted to try her hand on the stage.

  “I think I might,” Cate answered. “I believe I possess a certain talent for pretending to be someone I’m not.”

  “Indeed you do,” Elijah said softly. He smiled at her to complement their ruse, but found it wasn’t difficult. She might provoke him to fits of anger and frustration, but she also drove him to feelings of contentment, and of course, desire.

  After supper, Elijah yawned purposefully and asked if they might find their beds. Mrs. Hewitt showed them upstairs, which sported two small, identical rooms across the hall from each other.

  She leaned close and whispered something to Cate before bidding them both good night and disappearing down the narrow stairs.

  “What did she say?” Elijah asked.

  “She said Mr. Hewitt insisted on us having separate rooms, but that she was well aware that we were up here alone and she wasn’t one to judge.” Cate arched a brow at him and crossed her arms. The movement pushed her breasts up against the top of her gown, drawing his eye to the tantalizing flesh.

  He jerked his gaze back to her face. “Where are your clothes? You’ll need to wear them again when we leave in the morning.”

  She stood in the doorway of her chamber. “They’re hanging in my room. This gown once belonged to one of Mrs. Hewitt’s daughters. I’m only borrowing it for the evening.”

  He wanted to say she looked lovely. That he’d never seen her look more beautiful. But such comments would only encourage her to continue her campaign. “Good night, then.”

  He turned and went into his chamber before he could do something foolish. He closed the door and set about ripping his clothes off in rising frustration. His mind wandered over her arguments. She didn’t expect marriage. She wanted a sexual encounter. With him. With no strings that would bind them together. They were in the middle of nowhere with their identities completely cloaked. If there was ever a time to accept her invitation, it was now. Here.

  He stood in the center of his room, wearing nothing but his breeches and boots.

  With a vicious oath, he went to the bed and sat. He tugged off his boots, barely resisting the urge to throw them against the wall. He decided to toss his stockings since they wouldn’t make noise, but the effort was annoyingly dissatisfying as they simply landed in a silent tangle on the other side of the room.

  He stretched out on the bed and tried not to think of Cate. Those damnable dark eyes of hers floated through his mind. Along with those eminently kissable lips that liked to challenge and amuse him. Her attempts to persuade him lingered, coaxing his body into a raging lust. His cock lengthened and grew thick in his breeches. His hand went to his fall.

  He could pleasure himself or allow her to do what she wanted.

  Throwing his arm over his eyes as if he could block her from his brain, he groaned. And then he pushed up from the bed. With purpose, he strode from the room and crossed the small corridor to her chamber. He didn’t bother knocking, just opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him.

  Moonlight streamed past the flimsy curtain that barely covered the small window and illuminated her wide-eyed expression as she sat up in the bed.

  His body was strung tight. “We will do this precisely my way and it will be only this night. In the morning, we will not speak of it again and you will not demand any more of me. Are you agreed?”

  She stared at him in silence. He held his breath, cursing himself for being a fool. She nodded slowly. “Yes.”

  Anticipation pulsed through him. “Tonight, you are mine.”

  Chapter 16

  Cate could scarcely believe what he’d said. The possession and desire in his voice were unmistakable and so arousing she could barely stand it. With hands that were suddenly trembling, she pushed back the coverlet. She wore an insubstantial, ill-fitting chemise provided by Mrs. Hewitt. It gapped at her chest, revealing far more flesh than was seemly, but that didn’t matter, did it? None of this was seemly and she didn’t want it any other way.

  She wanted to ask why he’d changed his mind, but even more, she didn’t want to give him an opportunity to change it back.

  His eyes were pale in the moonlight, the lids hooded, giving him a brooding, almost predatory look. She was his prey. And she was eager to be. She shivered.

  He came to the bed and she realized the first button of his fall was undone. That simple incongruity gave him an air of carelessness that she’d never seen before. He was a soldier, dutiful, honor-bound, absolutely scrupulous.

  She scooted to the edge of the bed. Her head was on level with his hips. The evidence of his desire stood thick and rigid in his breeches. She’d touched Iscove’s, stroked it. Reveled in its softness and marveled at her power as she’d brought him to completion, his seed spilling over her hands. That he hadn’t been able to do the same for her had been frustrating, but she had no doubt that Elijah would.

  Wetting her suddenly dry lips with her tongue, she reached out and caressed the bulge. He sucked in a breath
. His hand stroked her jaw and he tipped her head up. The second her gaze connected with his and registered the stark lust in their depths, liquid heat gathered between her thighs. Her breasts felt heavy, full, eager for his touch.

  She unbuttoned the remainder of his fall, her eyes never leaving his. The connection between them grew hotter, as if it lived and breathed. She slipped her hand inside his breeches and ran her fingers along his length, wishing his small clothes weren’t in her way.

  “Cate, how in the hell do you know how to do that? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know who else you’ve touched like this.”

  “It wasn’t like this.” It had been completely dark. Here, there was the moonlight and she could see him well enough to appreciate the muscles delineating his chest, the pale swath of hair that marched toward his groin. “This is much, much better.”

  He groaned as she pushed his breeches down over his hips. He helped her strip them down his legs then kicked them off before clasping her hand. With a swift tug, he pulled her to stand before him. The top of her head came to just beneath his chin. She pressed a kiss to his collarbone, licked her tongue along his flesh.

  He tangled his hand in the back of her hair and pulled her head back, tipping it to give him access to her mouth. Which he took ravenously. His kiss was hard and deep, his tongue sweeping into her with brutal, delicious strokes. He held her fast, plundering her while his other hand pushed her hips to his. His erection pressed into her belly and she longed to feel him flesh to flesh.

  As if he read her mind, he let her go long enough to rip the chemise over her head. Cool night air soothed her heated flesh, but not in the way she wanted. She burned for something only Elijah could give her.

  He turned them, switching their positions so that he was next to the bed. He sank down on the mattress and pulled her forward to stand between his thighs. Wordlessly, he ran his palms atop her collarbones and stroked them down over her breasts, just barely grazing her nipples. Already stiff, they pulled with want and she gasped with disappointment when he didn’t increase his touch. His hands traveled lower, skimming over her ribs and belly and then outward to her hips. He clasped her outer thighs and ran his fingers over her buttocks. Every touch, every caress ignited a new fire of need. Her legs went soft, but she didn’t buckle.