The Earl Most Likely

by Jane Goodger

  “These are lovely, Mr. Billings. Do you have a pencil?” He grabbed the pencil that always rested behind his ear and handed it over with a grin. Harriet dropped the pencil inside the sack and looked about.

  “Is there anything else, Miss Anderson?”

  “No. Yes.” She took a small breath. “Is Lord Berkley about?”

  Mr. Billings’ grin faded. “Haven’t seen his lordship yet this morning.”

  “Please tell him I am here in case he needs to discuss something with me,” Harriet said. “I will look for you when I return so you can send the men to the barn.” It seemed for a moment that Mr. Billings was about to say more, but he tipped his cap and Harriet went on her way.

  As she walked to the barn, Harriet hummed softly, a small smile on her face. It was a glorious day, a small bit of smoky fog hovering just above the grass, the sun shining through it creating an enchanting world where everything was muted and lovely. The birds seemed as happy to see the end of the rain as she was; their birdsong seemed unusually loud and cheerful. Or perhaps everything seems more beautiful when you are in love, she thought. At that moment, it didn’t matter that it would end, that they would say good-bye; she wanted to embrace this feeling of wonder and pure happiness and never wanted to forget what it felt like. Maybe it was better to have loved and lost after all, she mused.

  Even sliding open the barn door made her smile, for it reminded her of that day when she and Augustus had gone to the barn to see his lions, the day when he’d wondered out loud what she would do if he kissed her. The pile that had once dominated the barn was now greatly diminished and all objects were carefully laid out and easy to identify. Taking out the pencil and her first tag, Harriet headed for a large urn that had once stood just outside Augustus’s study. She drew a crude picture of where it went with the words “outside Lord Berkley’s study,” then placed the tag propped up against the urn.

  Harriet became absorbed in her work, moving from one object to the next, and so was unaware of time passing.

  “Catalina.”

  Harriet had been in the process of tying a tag on a large shield when she heard his voice behind her. She smiled, then attempted to school her features so he wouldn’t know just how very happy she was to hear his voice. She needn’t have bothered, for as soon as she turned, he swept her up into his arms and spun her about, laughing.

  “God, I’ve missed you,” he said, then kissed her as only a man who truly misses a woman can. “Say you’ve missed me or my heart will break.”

  Laughing, Harriet said, “It’s only been four days.” God, I’ve forgotten how handsome he is, she thought.

  “A lifetime,” he said with a growl, then pretended to gnaw on her throat like some starving wolf, making Harriet dissolve into laughter. She wrapped her arms around his neck, loving the feel of him, his familiar warmth and solid strength against her.

  “I’ve been here for hours,” she said, pretending to pout. “Where have you been?”

  “No one told me you were here until I mentioned your absence to Mr. Billings. I got the idea that he didn’t want to tell me you were here, so I beat it out of him.”

  “Beat him, did you. Poor Mr. Billings,” Harriet said, teasing him. “He’s only trying to protect me from a lecherous old earl.”

  Augustus let out a laugh, a purely joyful sound. “I beg your pardon, Miss Anderson, but I am not old.”

  Raising one eyebrow, Harriet said, “But you are a letch?”

  “Absolutely,” he said seriously. “Especially when it comes to you. I was mad with missing you.” This time when he kissed her, it was long and slow and more wonderful than Harriet could have imagined. With a low groan, he deepened his kiss, and Harriet pressed her center against his hard manhood, not caring how shameless she was acting. It had been days and days since they’d been able to make love, and she suddenly felt as if her entire body was on fire for him. Losing all sense of propriety, Harriet whispered, “I want you. Now, please.”

  He grinned down at her, his eyes dark with desire; then he grabbed her wrist and headed for the door. Harriet thought he was bringing her to the cottage, but instead, he pulled the door closed and pressed her against the wood. “I have thought of nothing but this for days,” he said, then kneeled before her.

  Harriet let out a small sound of dismay as he lifted her skirts and dove beneath, chuckling at his own behavior. Before she knew what he was about, she felt him open her drawers and then, to her delighted shock, he kissed her at the apex of her thighs in the same manner he kissed her mouth. She felt his hands go around her buttocks and pull her close, and he let out a low humming sound of pure satisfaction that sent a wave of desire through her.

  It was the strangest feeling, to have him there between her legs, to not see him but only feel what he was doing. And what he was doing could only be described as blissful. This was what he had thought about for days? Harriet began panting as the sensations grew, as her knees became weaker and weaker. He held her up with his hands as he made love to her with his tongue, driving her over the edge in only a matter of minutes. She came, her hips moving almost violently, but he held her against him as she pulsed her release.

  When she was done, she sagged against the door, and he stood, looking like a man who was quite pleased with himself. “Worth the wait,” he said, then kissed her. In one fluid movement, he picked her up. “Wrap your legs around me,” he said, his voice low and strained. Harriet did as he asked, realizing what he intended, and feeling yet another thrill run through her entire body. He pushed up her skirts with one hand as the other held her easily in place and then entered her in one fluid, glorious, movement.

  “Oh, God, Catalina, I knew it would feel like this,” he said, then moved against her, his face strained, his arms shaking. He thrust into her, again and again, holding her up, one arm protecting her from the hard door behind her, his face buried in the crook of her neck. She could feel his hot breath on her shoulder, feel his muscles bunch and contract with every thrust, feel the beginnings of another climax.

  “Oh,” she said, when she realized it might happen again. She began moving against him in an almost desperate attempt to reach the pinnacle once more.

  “Yes, my love,” he said, and she couldn’t help but smile at his gentle encouragement, as if she had anything to do with what was happening to her. And then she realized, she did. If she moved a certain way, if she pulled her legs tighter against him, the pleasure grew immeasurably.

  “Oh,” she said again, this time long and drawn out, an involuntary sound.

  He drove into her and brought her again to heaven. He groaned, pushed one final time, his breath harsh and heavy against her shoulder; then he collapsed to the ground, bringing her on top of him, laughing as he went.

  * * * *

  Augustus had never felt such pure happiness in his life. This girl, this laughing, wonderful girl who seemed to enjoy their lovemaking as much as he, who was somehow innocent and a siren all at once, was becoming far too important to him. He would think about that later. For now, he simply wanted to feel her against him, listen to her soft breathing. As uncomfortable as the hard wood floor was beneath him, he thought he could stay this way forever, with her lying atop him, a warm ragdoll completely spent.

  “I very nearly went to get you,” he said. “But I could not think up a reason to drag you from your home in a rain storm. Mrs. Statler reported you made good use of the time away.”

  She lifted herself up and propped her chin with both hands, resting her upper arms against his chest. “The dress is lovely. Thank you. I very nearly told Mrs. Statler to go away. It’s terribly improper of me to accept such a gift. It smacks quite a bit of what a gentleman would do for his mistress.”

  “I couldn’t bear for you to wear that yellow gown again.”

  “Neither could I, which was why when I saw the blue material, I agreed. Terribly shameful of me
.”

  “I adore shameful women,” he said, pulling her down for a quick kiss.

  “Are you uncomfortable?”

  “Severely.”

  She laughed, a sound that did strange things to his heart. Then she rolled off him and deftly stood up before offering her hand as if to assist him. Giving her hand a skeptical look, he sat up and stood without her assistance. “How old do you think I am?”

  She pretended to think. “Considerably older than I,” she said finally, then burst out laughing, unable to keep a straight face.

  He grinned, realizing how much he was going to miss her teasing, the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed at something he said. A wave of depression caught him off guard. This would all end in a few days’ time. He would pay her and she would go off to find her cottage and he would find a suitable bride, one his grandmother approved of.

  “My grandmother arrives tomorrow, you know. Today will likely be the last time we can be together like this.”

  “Oh. I didn’t realize,” she said, looking as though it bothered her as much as it bothered him, though he wouldn’t let her see how distressing it was. To admit his feelings for her would only confuse things and cause more hurt in the end. He would honor his promise to his grandmother, even though it appeared she had recovered nicely from her “deathbed.” No matter what was happening in his life, she had always been there for him. When he was a lad, her home was the one place he experienced what it was like to be loved. After Lenore died, his grandmother had immediately come to Costille House to help arrange her funeral. She refused to listen to those who suspected he had killed her and had offered her unrelenting support. Marrying someone she approved of was the least he could do for the old gal. He only wished it hadn’t become such a bitter pill to swallow.

  “You’ll get to meet her at the ball. I think you’ll like her. Just remember her bark is much worse than her bite.”

  “Will you let her know who I truly am?”

  She looked so worried, he brought her to him and kissed her forehead. “I think I’ll have to,” he said. “She’s the one who invented Lystengrad, after all.”

  Letting out a laugh, Harriet said, “Good. I shouldn’t like lying to your grandmother. Do you think she’ll be awfully upset about our ruse?”

  “Not at all. I suspect she’ll be excited to be part of discovering our murderer and will admire your plan for exposing him.”

  “That’s good. I must confess I’m a bit nervous about the entire evening. I’ve never been to a ball with such a lofty guest list. I fear the moment I open my mouth I’ll be exposed as a fraud.”

  He gave her a look of mock surprise. “Have you not been practicing your accent?”

  Looking suddenly shy, she said, “I have. It’s a terrible German accent because I’ve only met one foreigner in my life. St. Ives isn’t what one would call a mecca for foreign visitors.”

  “Let me hear.”

  She took a deep breath and shook her shoulders a bit, as if casting off Harriet and putting on Princess Catalina. “Good evenink, Lord Berkley. It is such a plazur to be in this ball.” She grimaced, and Augustus laughed.

  “Wonderful,” he said. “It is a terrible German accent, so everyone will believe you’re from some little country no one has ever heard of.”

  “Except you and your grandmother.”

  “Yes.” He kissed her, not able to stop himself, and when he deepened the kiss, Harriet pulled away, a smile on her face.

  “Lord Berkley, Mr. Billings will certainly be wondering where I’ve been. Should he decide to come to the barn to check on my progress, I would not want to be discovered in a compromising position.” She lifted her chin pertly. “In fact, we should open the door.”

  Augustus stared at her, trying to determine whether she was jesting or not, for he’d never seen this particular Harriet Anderson. “Oh?”

  “Yes, indeed. And then we should walk over to the cottage.” She tried to keep her face stern, but failed miserably and dissolved into giggles.

  “And what, pray tell, should we do once we get inside that lovely little cottage?”

  Harriet shrugged. “I believe I shall be inspired once we are there.”

  It was strange what happened next. He was standing there staring at her, smiling gently, and he felt very nearly like he might cry. What an odd thing. He looked away, baffled and slightly embarrassed by his unmanly behavior. Nearly brought to weeping by a slip of a girl who wanted to make love to him? Good God, what was happening to him?

  “What is wrong, Gus? What did I say?”

  He let out a small laugh. “I adore you,” he said, then held out his hand and led her to their cottage.

  * * * *

  Two hours later, Harriet, feeling quite happy and satisfied, left the cottage and headed to the barn to complete the work Augustus had so wonderfully interrupted. Though she would have loved to have stayed in the cottage all day, she knew Mr. Billings would worry about her, especially if he’d gone to the barn while they were in the cottage. Only a few items remained that she had not tagged, and she was quickly done. Before leaving, she closed the barn door, a blush tingeing her cheeks when she thought about what she and Lord Berkley had done against that very door.

  Each time she thought about how she was behaving, she was struck by her own boldness, how different she was now from the girl who had met Lord Berkley at the John Knill ball. Had anyone told her that within six months she’d be swiving with the earl against a barn door, she would have either laughed or slapped the person in the face. Probably laughed.

  It was still a pretty day, the sort that reminded one of summer despite the barren trees, and Harriet hummed as she walked toward the castle. As she entered the courtyard, she spied one of the younger workers. “Hello, Will, can you tell me where Mr. Billings is?”

  “Of course, miss. I saw him in the great ’all not long ago putting up the brackets what ’olds the torches.”

  “Thank you.” Harriet walked into the castle, surprised at how close they were to completing the job. She had, of course, seen the progress, but each time she was struck anew by all they had accomplished. It was precisely as it had been when she’d toured the place six years ago. The suit of armor, a fierce-looking fellow, was the same but for a small dent in his breast plate. That small dent was bothersome, but Harriet forced herself to look past it and followed the sound of Mr. Billings’ booming voice.

  “I have all the items labeled, Mr. Billings,” Harriet called, ignoring the colorful language the older man was using as his men moved a large table that could seat more than twenty guests. While impressive, Harriet thought the table highly impractical and not at all the thing to use for a dinner party. It was so wide, one could not converse with the guest opposite, and so long, if one was sitting at one end, it was nearly impossible to see who sat at the opposite end. Still, the heavy wooden table bore the scars of centuries of diners and it was fun to imagine knights and ladies of old sitting beneath the massive, iron chandelier that hung above the table.

  “Thank you, Miss Anderson. I hadn’t realized it would take so long to complete your task.”

  Harriet looked around the room, satisfied with what she saw. Everything was precisely as it should be… Except for the portrait of Lady Greenwich, hanging nearly hidden in the shadows on the far wall. She walked over to the portrait and looked up at it, feeling slightly uneasy.

  “Mr. Billings,” she called, “who put that portrait here?”

  He joined her by the portrait, his cheeks slightly more ruddy than usual. “It was in the gallery and I thought it should hang somewhere in the public rooms. She was the lady here, after all.”

  Harriet stared, not at the portrait, but at Mr. Billings, for something in his voice was disquieting. “I do not believe Lord Berkley would approve,” she said softly.

  His jaw tightened imperceptibly, but he no
dded, then lifted it from its hook. “I’ll return it to the attic.”

  “I do think that would be best, Mr. Billings.”

  Later, as she started her trek home, she thought about Augustus, how happy he’d seemed. Unlike her, he hadn’t tried to hide how much he’d missed her. He almost seemed like a man in love. There it was, that thought she’d tried to suppress for days now. What if Augustus did love her? What would that mean for them? Would they still say good-bye after the ball? Or was it possible, dared she hope that…

  “Stop it, Harriet,” she said fiercely, angry at herself for even allowing that dream to enter her silly head. But what if… She couldn’t help but let out a happy little squeal. What if he did love her and what if he couldn’t live without her and what if he asked her to be his wife? What would she say?

  “No,” she said, with a firm shake of her head, even though a tiny part of her—perhaps a larger than tiny part—knew she was lying to herself. Of course, he wouldn’t propose, and hoping he would was the height of foolishness, even if such dreams were entertaining. She didn’t truly believe there was even the slightest chance he would ask her to be his wife, but it was still great fun to think about. Yes, but with those great hopes came bigger disappointment. Why did she always allow herself to take such flights of fancy?

  “I need to get such silly thoughts out of my head,” she said firmly. Her heart would ache and it might even break, but she needed to prepare herself for that, not allow herself to dream about things that would never happen.

  A calm stole over her as she approached her house from the garden side. In the distance she could see their gardener, seemingly digging a hole, probably for some new plant Clara was planning to set in the ground when she returned. She waved to him and he straightened abruptly and waved back, one quick sweeping movement of his arm. It would make far more sense for a girl like her to set her cap for their old gardener than to set it for a young, handsome earl. Lord Berkley would never ask for her hand so she would never have to think such things. She mustn’t ever allow herself to fall into such dreams again, but it was so hard to, when all she’d ever had for years were her dreams.