The Earl's Desire

by Alexia Praks

  “Come along, Maria,” Merrick said, leading her into the Hall.

  * * *

  Christine dashed out of the drawing room, hurried along the corridor, and raced up the stairs toward her room. She was very glad that the evening was over. She was sure she was going to scream like a madwoman if she were to stay and watch those high-society women throwing themselves at Merrick one more minute. They were competing for his attention, she was sure, and they had done it in the most disgusting way, in her mind. They had thrown themselves at him by sweetly talking to him, smiling at him, fluttering their lashes at him, and showing their beautiful white cleavage at him. She shook her head and stalked across the corridor. Aye, she had had enough for one day.

  “Master Smith!”

  She turned to see an old maid who looked a bit like a witch with a long, thin nose and narrowed, dark eyes watching her.

  The maid curtsied and said, “My name is Kate. I am Lady Ferguson’s maid, sir.”

  “And?” Christine queried. She did not want to be bothered with anything just at that moment. She just wanted to go to her room and not think about Merrick, who was undoubtedly falling head over heels in love with a witch named Anne Wilson.

  “And I was wondering if you could help us, sir.”

  “Help you?” Christine narrowed her eyes.

  “Aye, sir. You see, Lady Ferguson wondered if you could please help her with something,” the maid said.

  What game was this Lady Maria Ferguson playing at, Christine wanted to know.

  “All right, Kate. Tell me, and then I’ll see if I can help.”

  Kate smiled. “Aye, sir, come with me,” she said and led Christine the way.

  The moment Christine stepped into Maria’s room, an overwhelming smell of roses reached her nostrils. She felt the strong aroma oppressing her, and she wanted to gag.

  “I have brought Master Smith here, my lady,” the maid said.

  Christine adjusted her eyes to the dimly lit room and found Lady Ferguson sitting on a velvet chair in front of the mirror.

  “You have come, Master Smith,” the woman said.

  Christine widened her eyes. Gosh, but the woman was very beautiful indeed.

  “What can I help with?” she asked curtly.

  Maria got up and walked toward the table beside the bed. She opened a drawer and took out a sheet of paper that was folded like an envelope. She strolled gracefully toward Christine.

  “I want you to take this and give it to Merrick.”

  “A letter, is it not?” Christine asked, her eyes on the envelope waving before her as if a child hungrily eyeing sweetmeat that his mother forbade him to have.

  “Aye, Master Chris, for Merrick.” She nodded and turned to the maid. “Kate, bring me that reward.”

  The maid disappeared into the darkness and returned with a pouch. It looked heavy.

  “Here…” Maria handed Christine the letter. “Don’t forget to give it to Merrick. And this is your reward.” She opened the pouch and gave two pounds to Christine.

  When Christine simply stared at the coins, Maria said, “You are the luckiest one of all the children Merrick saved from the streets. He took you in as his own ward and let you stay in this Hall. He could have left you at St. Peter’s House, an orphanage he and the duke created. Here, take it. You’ll probably need it when he no longer wants you here. Oh, and be sure he reads it.” She grabbed Christine’s hand and dumped the money in her palm. She then turned toward the mirror, dismissing Christine.

  Christine wanted to punch the woman in the face. Maria was insulting her. But the woman was right in a way. She was only a slum kid Merrick had saved. One day, when he had married Lady Anne, he wouldn’t want her to stick around anymore. The very thought hurt her deeply. She clutched the money in her hands as Kate opened the door for her.

  In the corridor, she turned her attention to the letter. She wondered what the contents of that letter contained. Oh, she wondered so much. Mayhap she was inviting him to her room.

  She was so busy with her thoughts about the possibilities that the letter contained that she did not realize she had reached her destination. She opened the door and slid in while still examining the envelope, turning it over in her hands.

  “What do you have there, Chris? You seem mighty interested in it.”

  She snapped her head up and saw Merrick watching her. “No, ’tis not that interesting. In fact, ’tis for you,” she said as she shoved the letter to him.

  Merrick took it. The aroma of roses reached him. He knew instantly it was from Maria. He unsealed the envelope as Christine shoved past him. He ambled toward the candle to read the message. As usual, she sent her love to him, inviting him to her bed that night.

  “I thought I told you not to attend me,” he said and placed the letter into the top drawer next to his bed.

  “I know. Did you enjoy dinner?” she asked as she took out his banyan.

  “Yes, that I did, and you? You sat so far away from me I didn’t get to talk to you.” He came to stand behind her.

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t miss me,” she said. Because you had all those females throwing themselves at your feet.

  She could sense him behind her, and her nerves became tense. She twisted around to face him. “Oh!”

  He stood there only inches from her. She could feel his warm breath on her forehead. She studied his face. He was handsome, and his eyes, they were so intense and so passionate as he gazed at her. “I—” She shuddered. She felt her knees weaken.

  “I should think that you’re tired now. Mayhap you would like to go to bed?”

  “What? But, but—” Then realization hit her in the face. He wanted her to leave, so he could go to his mistress, and he and she could—

  She bowed her head. “Very well. Besides, I am tired.” She squeezed herself between him and the wardrobe and marched to the door. “Good night, my lord,” she said. Hope you enjoy sleeping with your woman. She shut the door behind her, refusing to look back at him.

  She ran into her room and threw herself onto the bed. She hit the soft pillow as tears poured out of her eyes. She just couldn’t believe that Merrick had a mistress, this redheaded beauty. She couldn’t believe that he had brought her here and then would sleep with her with the house full of guests. Oh, she hated him. How could he do that? She didn’t want to see him anymore—for the rest of her life, in fact.

  She sat up and sniffed. Maybe not seeing him for a while would be for the best. She nodded and decided there and then to go and visit her family at the cottage for a day. That would surely stop her from thinking about Merrick and his stupidity. What type of a man was he, anyway, to have his future wife under the same roof as his mistress?

  The next morning, without telling anyone except for Mr. Jacob, who drove her to the cottage, she visited her family and fully enjoyed her time there with her grandparents, Tyson, and the hounds.

  NINE

  “Send word to Peter, Jacob. I want information in two weeks. Whatever that information may be,” Merrick said as he climbed onto the saddle.

  Peter, his private investigator, had sent him a letter a few weeks back telling him that he had information about this case of a missing family, a family with the last name Clarkson that the Earl of Queensbury had requested him to find.

  Merrick had asked the earl why he wanted the family found. The old man, however, had refused to give him any more information than the basic facts—that there were four people in the family: one male in his seventies, three females; one in her sixties, one in her late thirties, and one in her late teens or early twenties.

  Jacob said, “I must say, the family went missing years ago. They could be anywhere. ’Tis hard work tracking for clues as to their whereabouts, let alone finding them. For all we know, they could be anywhere in Europe or even in America, what with the war raging on like this.”

  “Wherever they are, we’ll find them. I’ve promised Lord Queensbury that I would, and we’ve done this before,” M
errick said, his tone firm as he stared off into the distance, thinking about those times three years ago when Frederic had been kidnapped.

  The police had been useless at the time, and so he had to form his own detective team. He was desperate, after all. His son was missing, for God’s sake. Within three months, his team had found the whereabouts of Frederic.

  “We’ve done this before, we can do it again,” Jacob commented as he narrowed his eyes at a small figure walking toward the stables. He waved his arm and shouted, “Master Chris!” He turned to Merrick and smiled. “He didn’t tell me when he wanted to come back. It seems he has been walking.”

  Merrick gritted his teeth in annoyance. That little brat, he thought, hadn’t even bothered to inform him that he was visiting his family at the cottage yesterday. Merrick himself had been in a panic when he couldn’t find the youth anywhere. The servants had turned the Hall upside down looking for him.

  Christine turned to see Mr. Jacob waving at her. Beside him she saw Merrick and his black stallion. Her heart skipped a beat, and then it started drumming fast. Her smile froze for he looked as though he was ready to slay her. Even this far away from him, he still had the power to frighten her out of her wits. Yes, she was right. He could look dangerous when he wanted to. She knew she should’ve told him where she was going. But she didn’t want to see him at the time. That was a good enough reason for her.

  “Hello, Mr. Jacob. How is your day today?” She smiled sweetly at the stable master, hiding her anxiety underneath and ignoring the angry beast that was ogling her.

  “Where have you been?” Merrick scolded.

  Christine shuddered at his cold voice. Of course he knew where she had been. He was just taunting her to make her feel sorry for her actions.

  “I’m sorry, my lord, that I didn’t tell you I was visiting my family,” she said. His masterly position made her feel even more vulnerable.

  “Why so down, Master Chris?” Jacob asked.

  “Get back to your work, Jacob,” Merrick said, his eyes still blazing at Christine.

  The stable master nodded, smiled reassuringly at Christine, and left them—leaving Merrick’s thunderous silence killing Christine deep down inside.

  “Merrick?” she started and licked her lower lip with her small tongue.

  “You have the gall to call me Merrick?” he demanded.

  “I’m sorry I left without telling you,” she said meekly, and her hands were twitching behind her back.

  “Don’t you ever do that again, do you hear?” he gritted out. “I was damn worried.”

  Christine winced and peeked up at him for she heard that painful hurt in his voice. When she saw him, he was staring at her intensely, and there in his eyes, she saw it. The grief in his eyes was so raw that she could not find words to describe it. Her heart constricted for his pain, for him. Then she realized that this deep pain within his heart was not because of her at all. She was sure he wasn’t worried about her absence. After all, he had left her here alone for months. It must be something else, or rather someone else. She wondered if one of the women was hurting him. She guessed the person responsible was Lady Anne.

  She lightly touched his thigh. She wanted to comfort him, to help ease his pain. He stiffened and shifted his stallion so that her hand slid off his thigh.

  “Did somebody hurt you?” she asked, and her voice was sincere and low.

  He stared at her. His jaw tightened. “Yes, somebody is hurting me.”

  Christine sucked in her breath. So she was right. Lady Anne was hurting him.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “Out!” he replied.

  Christine stared at her hand that he had rejected. So he didn’t want her to comfort him. The realization hit her hard. She felt very desolate indeed.

  Merrick turned his stallion and nudged it to go—riding out fast—leaving dust and gusts of wind behind.

  Christine stared at the handsome figure of man and horse galloping farther away. Tears spilled from her eyes.

  She hid in desolation, crying for an hour. When all her tears were drained, she ran back to the Hall. She approached the back door and heard noises in the kitchen. She knew Mrs. Ross was organizing the menu for dinner again with Mrs. Thompson, the cook. She poked her head in the kitchen, and sure enough, Mrs. Ross and Mrs. Thompson were seated on the far side of the table discussing the menu. She saw Betty peeling potatoes, humming to herself. She was turning to leave when Betty saw her.

  “Master Chris.” The maid dropped the knife and potato.

  Christine raised her brows in question as the maid ran to her.

  Betty stopped and moved her head about in every direction, looking to see if anyone was around. She ignored both the housekeeper and the cook for they weren’t paying them any attention.

  “What is it?” Christine asked.

  “Well, you see, Master Chris, it’s about the bet,” Betty whispered.

  “The bet, I see,” Christine replied but was not seeing where this was going at all.

  “Master Chris, what’s wrong? Why are your eyes all wet, and you look like you’ve been crying?”

  “It’s nothing.” Christine turned her face away.

  “But, Master Chris, you have been crying.” The maid tried to turn Christine to face her, but the other girl wouldn’t cooperate.

  Both the cook and the housekeeper stopped their discussion and turned to look at Christine.

  “Betty is right, Master Chris, you don’t look right there. Tell us what’s wrong,” Mrs. Ross said.

  The cook snorted. “Come tell us, Master Chris. Tell us who bullied you,” she said, folding her arms about her large bosom.

  “Oh, it’s nothing really,” Christine replied.

  “Come now, you must sit down.” Betty led Christine to the chair next to Mrs. Ross. She seated Christine there and placed herself on the next chair. “Then tell us what’s wrong,” Betty suggested.

  “Well, actually nobody has hurt me directly, but you see, somebody has hurt someone I care about, and it kind of hurt me as well,” she said, looking down at the table, thinking about Merrick.

  “I see. Tell us who this person you care about is,” Mrs. Ross put in.

  Christine shook her head. “Oh, I can’t. That is, I don’t want to.”

  “That won’t help much. Why don’t you tell us who this person that hurt the person you care about is?” Betty carried on.

  “Oh no, I can’t do that either.” Christine thought seriously if she were to tell everybody that it was Lady Anne then, Lord, what would happen?

  Mr. Sam, the head gardener, poked his head in through the door at that moment.

  “Hello, everybody, what’s going on?” he asked innocently.

  “Master Chris needs help,” Betty answered.

  “Does he now?” Mr. Sam straightened and walked toward them. He came to sit opposite Christine and then leaned forward. “Tell me, Master Chris, what’s bothering you?”

  “It’s nothing really.” Christine tried to smile.

  “Somebody hurt someone that he cares about,” Betty supplied.

  “Really? And who is this someone you care about, and who is this other someone that hurt that someone that you care about?” Mr. Sam asked.

  “He can’t tell us, Mr. Sam. Come to think of it, it could be any one of us.” Betty placed a finger to her lips, contemplating the situation seriously.

  “Aye, now that I think about it, it must be someone in the Hall or at least someone who Master Chris knows of, right?” the cook said, nodding her head.

  “That’s right,” Betty agreed.

  “So you can’t tell us who this person is?” Mr. Sam asked.

  Christine shook her head. She really didn’t know whether to laugh or cry for the path this situation was taking.

  “I know,” Mr. Sam boomed out.

  “You know what?” Mrs. Ross asked.

  “I know what to do,” Mr. Sam said, smiling with mischief.

  �
��And what would that be?” Betty asked, getting quite excited.

  “That is easy, you see. Master Chris, you said this someone hurt this other someone that you care about, and does that hurt you too then?” He saw Christine nod. “I see. Then what you must do is to get even.” He nodded his head as though this was a sound solution.

  “What do you mean, get even?” Christine asked.

  “Don’t listen to him. Mr. Sam, I think it’s about time you leave us to our work, and you get back to your gardening,” Mrs. Ross ordered, standing.

  “What he means is, Master Chris, to seek revenge,” Betty explained, nodding her head.

  “Oh!” Christine was dumbfounded.

  “Mr. Sam, did you hear what I said?” Mrs. Ross asked.

  Mr. Sam got up from his seat and nodded his head in the affirmative.

  “Well, then, hope my advice helps,” he said and turned toward the door. “Oh wait, I was here for something. Master Chris, can you help us tomorrow? I’m rounding up some people to help clean the pond in the east garden. It hasn’t been attended to for a long time, now that I think of it. His lordship wants it cleaned up for the guests and the house party, you know. I was wondering if you could supervise us. You’re good with designing and all. And Mr. Ross told me the earl liked what you did to the Hall.”

  “You want me to help?” Christine asked.

  “Aye, Master Chris, err, tomorrow, all right?” When he saw Christine nod, Mr. Sam turned and left the kitchen.

  Christine was following Mr. Sam out the door when Betty called to her. “Master Chris, where are you going? Wait, I need your help, too.”

  Christine stopped in her tracks, waiting for Betty to catch up to her. Betty caught up and led Christine outside to some bushes where no one could see them.

  “What’s this about, Betty? Is it that bet thing again?” Christine asked, wondering what she could do to help.

  “Oh yes, Master Chris, it’s about the bet. See, I want your help.”

  “But I don’t know what I could do to help,” Christine interjected.

  “Please, would you help me? I really want to win that bet,” Betty pleaded.