Changing the Earl's Mind (The Lords of Whitehall Book 3)

by Kristen McLean

  “Surely that’s a bit extreme.”

  He lifted a brow. “You did not know him then. Few did, and even fewer seemed pleased about it. You met the majority of the latter at Barrington Park the day we left.”

  “Three men are the majority?” She smiled in disbelief. “That does not seem to be the case anymore.”

  “No, it does not,” he mused. He glanced toward the ballroom and shook his head before turning his attention back to her. “Lady Ainsley would like you.”

  “Do you think so?” she asked, unconvinced. She had her mother’s wild spirit, and her father’s determination, making her not the least bit genteel.

  He nodded. “She would appreciate your mettle, and be utterly captivated by the fact you come to blows with blackguards.”

  Her eyes widened. “You can’t tell her that! Besides, I only did it once.”

  “Once is enough.”

  “It isn’t something a proper lady would do,” she said.

  “No, I suppose not.” He pinned her with his sober, green gaze. “Very well, I shall wait until this is all over, and you leave England. Then I shall be free to divulge your secret, since I doubt you will ever wish to return.”

  Guilt filled her, leaving a sour taste in her mouth.

  She turned her attention to her hands, and the beautiful black silk gloves and pearl bracelet Lady Saint Brides had insisted on buying for her. “It’s awful, isn’t it? They have done so much for me, and all because I married a man I shouldn’t have, a man I didn’t care enough for to even try to help.”

  “If it makes any difference, it’s my money they are lavishing on you, and I do not mind at all.”

  He spoke with a sweet nonchalance that made her want to lean in to him, to allow him to convince her she wasn’t taking advantage of good people. She refused to give in to that lie.

  “It’s their time, kindness, advice, and companionship. They have accepted me as one of them, but how could I be after what happened to Frank?”

  “You couldn’t have helped him.”

  “I didn’t even try,” she argued.

  “What could you have possibly done?”

  “I don’t know. Something,” she said, clenching her fists tightly at her sides, nails biting into her palms.

  “Even now, you can’t think of a single thing that could have been done. Don’t torment yourself with this.”

  “That isn’t the horrible part.” She squeezed her eyes closed, forcing herself to voice her confession. “The horrible part is that I knew he had a problem, that he was going to get himself killed, and I didn’t care. Do you know why?” She lifted her face to meet his gaze, heedless of the tears threatening to spill onto her lashes.

  His expression remained inscrutable as he slowly shook his head. “You don’t have to say it.”

  “I hated him because he gambled away my dowry,” she admitted, the words turning to ash on her tongue. “It was all because of money. How petty I am.”

  Shame was a heavy weight, and sharing it with Saint Brides did nothing to ease her burden. She should have been confessing to Lady Umberton.

  Her heart ached, and all she wanted to do was be alone.

  She glanced out into the darkness of the garden. She wasn’t above hiding in the bushes if it meant she could be alone for a moment.

  “You are not petty.”

  She felt the soft touch of his fingers under her chin, and she was forced to meet his gaze, one as green as the emerald at his throat. His features had softened, and he was focused so intently on her that she forgot to breathe.

  “He gambled away your dream, everything you wanted,” he said, stepping closer, so close she felt his heat. “He betrayed your trust.”

  She shook her head. “That doesn’t justify my standing by while he destroyed himself. I could have saved—”

  He covered her lips with his thumb, and she froze.

  “You couldn’t have saved him, and Lady Umberton knows that. We all do,” he murmured, his breath warming her face. “She wouldn’t think badly of you, even if you could have saved her grandson. She and my mother are quite taken with you.”

  “I don’t understand why.”

  “You don’t have to,” he said, his eyes dropping to her mouth. “I have recently come to realize some things are without explanation.”

  She blinked. “You thought everything had an explanation?”

  He watched her mouth as she spoke, and the air grew heavy. She grew heavy.

  “Oh, yes,” he answered so low it was naught but a rumble. “I am quite fond of explanations, but I couldn’t explain a mystery of fate, or a chemical reaction inside of us science has yet to figure out. It’s madness. Something I can barely…” He stopped abruptly, seeming almost out of breath.

  “Something you can barely what?” she breathed, her heart thundering in her chest.

  “Control. Something I can barely control,” he said, and she sensed that was a difficult thing for him to admit.

  “You like control, don’t you?”

  He smiled faintly. “Yes, I do.”

  “And you do not like losing it.”

  When he shook his head, she felt close to him, dangerously so. The space between them seemed to shrink, his mouth so near she could taste him.

  His breath caressed her skin, warming her face. His scent surrounded her, masculine and clean, fresh. When he wrapped his arms around her and lowered his head, she lifted her face to his.

  It was the lightest touch of his lips on hers. It was slow, tender, and yet she felt its energy all the way to her toes.

  “We have been alone for too long,” he murmured against her mouth, stroking her jaw and neck with the back of his fingers. “I should escort you back inside.”

  She had just enough brainpower to understand his words. “No,” she breathed. “I can’t go back inside.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped short. Something changed in his eyes. They sharpened, focused, and he went very still. A moment later, he cursed under his breath and stepped away, his back rigid and his jaw tense.

  She felt instantly chilled without his warmth surrounding her. Then she heard a sound that turned her blood to ice. Voices. Worse than that, familiar voices.

  “Oh, here he is,” someone called out from the terrace doors.

  She cringed. She knew precisely who it was before Saint Brides stepped to the side and she saw the group of women coming their way. Three older women and four young, pretty ones, all with eyes only for him.

  He bowed. “Ladies.”

  “We have been looking everywhere for you, my lord,” one of the older women said, the very one who had scolded her in front of no less than ten others for daring to “pretend to be a lady in hopes of snaring an English lord” and “capitalizing on an elderly lady’s loss by coercing her to sponsor a Season.” Sarah had never been so embarrassed. She was only thankful Lady Saint Brides and Lady Umberton were standing out of hearing at the time. Perhaps they might enjoy the evening before they were publicly humiliated.

  “Indeed, Lady Atley?” he returned.

  “Oh, yes,” she confirmed, her head bobbing. “You see, you haven’t met my daughter and her cousins. This is their first Season.” She turned toward the young ladies, all in immaculate white gowns, two with beautiful golden blonde tresses, and two with enviable dark red hair. “This is my daughter, Lady Georgiana,” she said, pointing to one of the blonde beauties. “And her cousins, Lady Elise, Lady Margaret, Lady Anna, and their mother, Lady Fitzgerald, and my dear cousin, Lady Eugenia.”

  Sarah took a small step back. Wrapped head to toe in black as she was, no one would notice if she just slipped away into the garden. Of course, they wouldn’t notice if she began jumping up and down, screaming at the top of her lungs, either. They were all too distracted, staring starry-eyed at Saint Brides.

  Not unlike the way she must have been looking at him only moments before.

  She frowned. The man was dangerous.

  �
�Lady Georgiana, Lady Elise, Lady Margaret, Lady Anna,” he said in his usual detached tone as he nodded to each of them. “You look lovely this evening.”

  The four young swans curtsied gracefully, practically swooning over him.

  Sarah stifled a scowl. They were lovely, undeniably so, and certainly didn’t need anyone reminding them of the fact.

  “We are so fortunate to see you this evening, my lord,” Lady Atley gushed. “You are so rarely seen about town. Of course, a man with such important responsibilities must be terribly busy, not often blessed with the opportunity to dance at such a fine ball as this. And I understand you never waltz.”

  “Ah, yes. I doubt I shall endure such a lovely fête in the near future. I should count myself fortunate.”

  Lady Atley blinked, then smiled widely. “Of course, my lord. However, there’s always a first, you know. My Georgiana is a beautiful dancer, and by some miracle, she has this next waltz free.”

  One side of his mouth curled in a smile even Sarah could see was forced as she took a step backward toward the garden. Escape might be cowardly, but she could live with that. Sometimes, being a coward was the intelligent decision.

  That’s what this was: intelligence, survival. Besides, he could fend for himself. He was a grown man.

  “How lucky,” said the grown man. “No doubt you are thankful for the small respite, Lady Georgiana.”

  Lady Atley’s eyes widened, and Lady Georgiana frowned, a small crease forming between her delicate brows.

  “Oh no, my lord,” Lady Atley said hastily. “She adores dancing.”

  He swallowed hard. “Did you say this next set is a waltz?”

  “Yes, but we have established there is a first time for everything, my lord,” she practically cooed. “She would be the perfect partner for your first waltz.”

  Alarm flickered in his eyes. “Ah, I see. Well then,” he muttered. He turned, searching about him until his gaze landed on Sarah, by now several paces closer to escape. Then something akin to relief washed over his features.

  It probably was relief, she thought irritably. Misery loved company, and his company had almost escaped. Again. Would he ever just let her go?

  He turned back toward the ladies, who were looking from her to Saint Brides and back again confusedly.

  “I would love to claim the waltz with Lady Georgiana for myself, but Mrs. Tindall has already promised me this dance. Have you not, Mrs. Tindall?”

  Sarah’s eyes nearly popped from her skull, and she shook her head. Oh no. No, no, no, no. She would not!

  He turned with his hand outstretched toward her. “Your dance card, Mrs. Tindall?”

  “Mrs. Tindall?” one of the redheads whispered loudly to the others. “Isn’t she in mourning? How shameful.”

  “The nerve of that woman,” another whispered back. “She practically guilted poor Lady Umberton into sponsoring her.”

  Run, her mind screamed. However, he was gazing at her, and she could see the hint of desperation in his eyes. She could see the muscle that ticked in his jaw when she began to step backward. It seemed to say don’t you dare abandon me, which only made her want to run even more.

  And yet…

  And yet, he seemed so helpless, so frightened of these wretched women, and she wanted to help him. She pushed her legs forward and handed him the card.

  He bowed his head to scan the empty card and, without hesitation, scribbled his name diagonally across the entire thing. With a satisfied smile, he handed it back to her and then tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.

  “Mrs. Tindall,” Lady Atley said coolly. “I suppose we oughtn’t to be surprised his lordship would ask you for a dance considering he is your sponsor. The man is all duty, is he not?”

  “It is my pleasure to dance with Mrs. Tindall,” Saint Brides said easily.

  “Of course it is,” Lady Atley returned, her face twisting as though she had swallowed something sour. “You know, I had hoped the rumors were false, but I see now they were all too true. To think, a gentleman with your immaculate reputation would keep your mistress in the same house as your mother.”

  His face hardened. “Mind your tongue, Lady Atley. Circulating rumors is unbecoming.”

  “It isn’t a rumor if it is true. A friend of a friend spotted the two of you cozy as anything in a rustic, old inn.” Her icy glare landed on Sarah, and she enunciated, “Traveling together. Alone.”

  “They were mistaken,” he returned, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

  “I doubt it,” Lady Atley said easily. “You may find it rather difficult finding a suitable wife who wouldn’t mind your open affairs with the likes of Mrs. Tindall, a fallen woman from a savage country. Even a girl with a temperament as amenable and gracious as my Georgiana might require some powerful persuasion.”

  He forced a smile Sarah was sure was meant to be reassuring, but instead looked decidedly murderous.

  “Pray tell, what is the name of this friend of a friend?” he asked lowly.

  Lady Atley blinked with uncertainty, but she recovered, snorting, “So you can browbeat him into recanting his story? Oh, no, no, no, no.” She crossed her arms over her generous waist. “However, I am feeling rather charitable this evening. I am sure I could convince Lord Kinley to sacrifice his dance with Georgiana, thus opening a spot for you after this waltz. It would behoove you to start that persuasion now if you ever want a wife worthy of your title.”

  His gaze narrowed. “That is quite unnecessary, I assure you.”

  “Oh, I insist. Especially if you truly do plan on waltzing with Mrs. Tindall.”

  Sarah could feel his arm become more and more tense over the exchange. Now he practically shook under her hand, and small lines were forming around his eyes.

  “Lady Atley,” he said, his voice low with warning.

  “After dancing with a rustic American savage, I can only imagine that my daughter’s grace would be like a balm. Heavens, I do hope you can still walk once Mrs. Tindall is done with you.”

  He growled. The man actually growled, though it was so low Sarah was sure Lady Atley missed it.

  His hands curled into fists. “Lady Atley, you may take your daughter and Lord Kinley, and shove them—”

  “Onto the dance floor,” Sarah hurriedly interrupted. “After dancing with an American savage, how could he possibly settle for such an amenable, gently bred lady? The ennui would be absolutely terrific.”

  Several heads jerked toward her, wide-eyed, every one of them.

  She should have stopped there, she really should have, but what did she have to lose? Her face was already plastered all over England as a murderess, and apparently, what might have been left of her reputation was just stomped on and then ground into the mud.

  With that thought ringing through her mind, her mouth opened and words came out.

  “Or maybe he will throw caution to the wind and marry the savage?” she said with mock horror.

  Lady Atley gasped, as did the other two matrons, while two of the young ladies dissolved into scowls. The other two young ladies, Ladies Anna and Margaret, were not attending the conversation at all, but were glancing longingly back toward the ballroom.

  Saint Brides recovered first, lifting a brow at her. “So diplomatic of you,” he muttered. “Well then, shall we dance? I find myself eager to be rendered unable to walk.”

  “Oh, yes. We oughtn’t to waste any time with the maiming.” She allowed him to lead her back into the ballroom, into the mass of swirling silk and muslin. In the few seconds it took for his hand to settle on her waist, the other swallowing her hand, the warmth of the room had her skin tingling.

  “That was perhaps the most unpleasant interaction I have ever had the misfortune of enduring,” he said after they had seamlessly integrated with the other dancers. “I’m sorry she insulted you. You are not a savage, and for her to say such a thing at all, much less in your hearing, was unforgivable.”

  She shrugged. “I have been called worse. My mother
is a native from the Shawnee tribe. It took years for her to earn the respect and trust of our community, even after she married my father. But she was never bitter. She said people lash out when they are scared, and we must have patience with them.” She smiled. “Now they adore her.”

  “I very much doubt Lady Atley will ever adore anyone except herself.”

  She let her mind wander back to the terrace. “I think if she did adore herself, she would not be so unpleasant.”

  “Waxing philosophic now, are we? What a fierce bundle of surprises you are,” he murmured. “Of course, we may never know which it is. You may very well have given the woman an apoplexy.”

  “I wanted to shock her into silence.”

  “Mission accomplished. I doubt that woman will speak to either of us ever again, apoplexy or no.”

  “You’re welcome.” She smiled smugly, and he laughed. It was only a quiet chuckle, but it lit his face and melted her heart toward him another perilous degree.

  “You really ought to try not to act so scandalous,” he said, giving her a doubtful glance. “If you can.”

  “You mean behave according to the rules of your society? Why would I do something like that?”

  His visage sobered. “Because, if these rumors do get out, and your reputation is utterly ruined, I may not be able to save your neck.”

  Lord Almighty, she was tired of fighting this battle.

  “You know I’m innocent.”

  “I do, yes,” he answered. “But if I am suspected of having an affair with you, my testimony is useless, and Lady Umberton cannot be involved in a public trial, especially considering she sent those men after Tindall. She could be tried as an accessory.”

  Fear was once again trying to edge its way into her brain. She took a slow breath to calm herself.

  “Then what do we do?”

  “We handle the rumors,” he said firmly. “I have men on Fleet Street who can push out a story tomorrow confirming Mother’s account of things and cutting any conflicting columns before the paper hits the presses.”