An Earl Like You

by Caroline Linden

  Cross shrugged. “Then I’ve lost. Speculators are accustomed to that, too.”

  “I would accept that as a rational, if very stupid, explanation if it were the only instance.” Hugh shifted his weight, trying to keep his anger in check—anger and fear. “Since it struck me as a strange thing to do—speculating so wildly on a debt you know will never be paid—I spoke to my solicitor. He assured me I have no more obligation to discharge the debt to you than I had to Sir Richard, but he also mentioned a few curious documents he’d received of late. You’ve bought more of my loans.”

  Cross dipped his head in acknowledgment.

  “To what purpose?” Hugh’s composure was slipping. Fury tightened his voice. “Spare me any rubbish about investments and odds. You have systematically bought up a very large portion of my debt. No one does that on a whim. Why?”

  “Calling it an investment was not rubbish.”

  “If you own it, you must know how large it is,” Hugh said in icy tones. “How unlikely it is ever to be repaid in full.”

  It had stunned him, when his solicitor mentioned that the bulk of his debts were now held by Edward Cross. He hadn’t even connected the name to the man for a moment. To the best of his knowledge, he and Cross had had no other contact than the single strained conversation at the Vega Club. Why would a man buy up a perfect stranger’s debt? It brought back every sense of unease Hugh had felt that night.

  It was unsettling enough that he finally had to come ask. Cross hadn’t contacted him, hadn’t spoken to him, hadn’t done anything to collect on the very large sum Hugh now owed him. Who the devil was this man? By his reckoning, Cross had paid off over eighty thousand pounds of mortgages, loans, tradesmen’s bills, even debts of honor racked up by Hugh’s father. There was no chance it had been done out of generosity or altruism.

  “If you won’t explain why, at least assure me you will hold to the repayment terms I already agreed to,” Hugh demanded when the man only gave a maddening shrug instead of answering him.

  “Repay it as you’re able, my lord. I can afford to wait.” Cross twisted in his chair as the sound of barking drifted through the open window behind his desk. “Do you like dogs, Lord Hastings?”

  Hugh’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.” He rose from his chair. “If you won’t explain your actions and do not intend to make unreasonable demands, I shan’t impose on you further. My solicitor will see that payments are directed to you.”

  “Stay a moment, Hastings,” said Cross absently. He seemed to be listening to the dog instead, his gaze fixed on the window. “All dogs? Even mongrels like the one my daughter has?”

  Hugh wanted to leave, but didn’t. It galled him that someone had this hold over him. “I like any good-natured dog. I’m not fond of lapdogs who bite.”

  “Good, good,” murmured Cross. Finally he looked at Hugh again, and got to his feet. “I thank you for your visit, sir.”

  Thin-lipped, Hugh glared, but finally made a stiff bow.

  “Perhaps you’ll dine with us some night,” added Cross. “My daughter and I would be honored to have you join us.”

  The cool but polite refusal was on the tip of Hugh’s tongue. He really wanted nothing to do with Cross or his daughter, but the desire to know was like a splinter, sharp and festering. “Perhaps.”

  “Would tomorrow evening suit you?” Cross smiled faintly at his expression. “I’ve no wish to detain you today, my lord, but there are . . . opportunities we could discuss.”

  “Opportunities.” Here it was, thought Hugh grimly. Whatever Cross wanted from him. His name on some venture? His influence with other aristocrats? He had precious little Cross could want, but he did have friends and was well-regarded in town. The Hastings title was an old and venerated one.

  Cross waved his hand. “Nothing criminal! They could be very much to your benefit. I didn’t mean to give offense—quite the opposite. Come to dinner and we’ll speak of it then.” His distant air had vanished, and the tone of command again permeated his otherwise pleasant invitation.

  His jaw tight, Hugh nodded. What choice did he have?

  Cross owned him.

  Chapter 4

  Eliza paced the carpet in the drawing room, deeply worried.

  Papa had invited the Earl of Hastings to dine. “Why?” she’d blurted out in horror when he told her at dinner the previous day.

  “We might have business together, His Lordship and I.” Papa hadn’t noticed her dismay. “I want to make a good impression, so wear something fetching.” And he’d winked—winked, as if he hadn’t seen with his own eyes how unattractive and awkward she’d been when the earl called.

  Once Eliza got over her shock, she rushed to begin planning. The ordinary menu was discarded, and a better, more impressive one planned. All the maids were dispatched to clean the dining room and drawing room from top to bottom. She went through her entire wardrobe in search of a decent dress. Somehow that seemed vitally important, if she hoped to supplant the first dreadful impression the earl must have formed of her. Willy, against his will, had been shut up in her room, and the staff was forbidden to let him out no matter how much he barked.

  But if she was confident that the dinner, the house, and even her dress were beyond reproach this time, there was still the question of what she would say to the man. Anxiously she wiped at an imaginary smudge on the clock on the mantel. She still had not thought of a witty comment to make, let alone enough comments to form a conversation. As bad as it was to suspect the earl thought her mad after a few minutes in her company, she was very afraid he would think she was an idiot after an entire evening.

  The door opened. “The Earl of Hastings,” said Roberts, the butler.

  Eliza squeezed her hands together one more time in a final prayer for poise, and turned to face her guest.

  The force of how handsome he was hit her like a blast of heat from the kitchen ovens. Tonight his hair was tousled into romantic curls, and his black evening clothes made his eyes even darker. He strode in with easy grace and made an elegant bow. “Good evening, Miss Cross.”

  “Lord Hastings.” Her face felt hot as she curtsied. “Won’t you be seated?” She perched on the edge of a chair to avoid crumpling her skirt.

  He glanced from side to side as he sat on the sofa. “I am on guard this time, if any dogs are to join us.”

  Eliza blushed and gave a nervous laugh. “Oh no! Willy has been safely locked away. I do apologize for the way he behaved yesterday.”

  Lord Hastings smiled. There was a deep dimple in his cheek, and all those little lines around his eyes crinkled. Eliza’s heart fluttered. “I daresay he behaved much as any boy would after a good scrubbing in the bath.”

  “Oh?” Flustered, she wet her lips. “I wouldn’t know. I am an only child, sir.”

  “When I was a boy,” he said, his smile lingering, “I might have fled a bath or two myself. Not generally once it was complete,” he added as she smiled involuntarily, “but with no less fervor.” He paused. “He’s a pup still?”

  “I think he’s about a year old.” Lord Hastings raised an eyebrow in question, and she explained. “I found him under a bush last summer. He was a tiny thing then, but he’s grown a great deal . . .” She cleared her throat. “Our head groom, who is very knowledgeable about dogs, thinks he must be a year old.”

  “I never argue with my head groom,” replied the earl at once. “Wiser men are hard to find in Britain.”

  Eliza laughed again, but less nervously this time.

  “I hope he is faring well, after leading you on such a chase.”

  “Very well,” she said. It was easier to talk about Willy than anything like politics or society gossip, and Lord Hastings was making it very easy. Eliza loved her dog and instinctively warmed to the earl for showing interest in him. “Willy is very fond of chasing birds in the garden. His utter lack of success in catching any only seems to redouble his determination to try, and he often ends up in the mud.” She wrinkled her nose. “Although so
metimes I think he likes being in the mud, since it looks like he’s rolled in it from head to toe.”

  The earl laughed. A shiver went up Eliza’s spine. Heavens, he had a wonderful laugh, and even more wonderfully, she had inspired it. “No wonder he needed bathing.”

  “Yes. Although for a dog who likes mud and mud puddles as much as he does, Willy hates getting bathed. His tail goes down and he looks at me as if I’ve just sentenced him to the block.”

  His eyes were still crinkled up in a faint smile. “I trust he forgives you soon after.”

  “Yes, well . . . I might—I might have given him a bit of ham afterward in apology.” Lord Hastings laughed again at her hesitant confession, and Eliza’s smile grew wider. “The way to Willy’s heart is to feed him. Even Papa—” She paused; where was Papa? It was unlike him to keep a guest waiting.

  “Is he a favorite of your father?” prompted the earl after a moment.

  Eliza blushed a little. “Papa will never admit it, but I think he’s very fond of Willy. He accidentally gave Willy his name—it’s short for ‘will he ever stop barking?’”

  “No,” said Hastings in open amusement.

  “Oh yes! He said it every time Willy was playing in the garden—chasing birds, you know—and I hadn’t thought of a better name for him. I began calling him Willy to tease Papa, but then it just . . . stuck.” She made a helpless gesture with one hand as the earl grinned, his dimple catching her eye again. What a handsome man he was. And so kind and charming, too. She’d sat here talking to him all this time and not felt stupid or tongue-tied once. “I think Papa’s quite fond of Willy, but he refuses to admit it.”

  “It’s very much his loss,” declared Lord Hastings. “Dogs are often better company than people.”

  “Yes, indeed!” Eliza beamed at him in delight. “Very much so.”

  He smiled at her again, so warmly Eliza thought she must be dreaming. Never had she met a gentleman so friendly and informal. She hoped he did a great deal of business with her father and came to dine regularly. For a moment some of her fanciful imaginings didn’t seem so ridiculous.

  The door opened and Papa strode in. “Good evening, Hastings. Apologies for my tardiness.” He bowed.

  The earl, who had risen at his entrance, returned the greeting. His face was wiped clean of expression and humor. “Mr. Cross.”

  Papa folded his hands behind his back, looking quite pleased with himself. “Eliza, my dear, you’ve met our guest, so there’s no need for further introductions.”

  “Yes, Papa.” She edged toward the door. “I’ll tell Roberts we’re ready.”

  Papa waved one hand. “Nonsense. I know you’ve got it plotted down to the minute, and the footmen are standing ready to lift the covers as we speak. Shall we?” He swept out his hand.

  “Miss Cross?” The Earl of Hastings offered his arm to her. Eliza jolted in alarm; she had not expected to touch him. But Papa had already turned and walked out of the room. Gingerly she put her fingertips on his forearm, unable to stop the tiny shiver that went through her as his muscle flexed.

  The dinner passed like a dream. Lord Hastings was much more formal with Papa than he had been when it was just the two of them, talking about dogs, but Eliza had expected that. She knew her father had a certain reputation for being hard and ruthless in business, and he’d said Lord Hastings came on business. Most people who did business with Papa acted with reserve. They didn’t know her father had a soft and loving heart, but she suspected she might be the only person who saw that side of Papa regularly.

  There was no talk of business, though. Instead Papa seemed determined to bring up every difficult topic under the sun. He quizzed Lord Hastings about the prospect of parliamentary reform. He asked the earl for his thoughts on Catholic suffrage. Next came the Corn Laws, and Eliza began to fear her father would give offense. When Papa began pressing the earl to say clearly whether or not he supported the laws, Eliza had enough. She’d listened in silence, but it was clear to her their visitor was not enjoying himself. His dark eyes were flat and unsmiling, and his answers grew shorter and more clipped. She wondered why her father was hounding his guest, as if he were judging the earl instead of trying to court his business investment.

  “Enough of that, Papa,” she said in light reproach. “I wonder if Lord Hastings has seen the new production of Lionel and Clarissa at the Theatre Royal.”

  The smile Lord Hastings gave almost bowled her over. It was warm and relieved and filled with gratitude. Apparently he had not enjoyed the political conversation any more than she had. “I have not, Miss Cross, but my mother and sisters assure me it is marvelous. They particularly enjoyed the melodrama accompanying it.”

  “Did they?” She smiled in surprise. “Papa, may we see it? If Lady Hastings and her daughters have been, it cannot be improper.”

  “Perhaps.” Papa leaned back and gestured for more wine. “Would your friend Lady Georgiana Lucas accompany us?”

  Eliza gave him a warning glance under her eyelashes. He was prone to mentioning Georgiana, sister of the Earl of Wakefield, when he wished to impress someone. “She might, if you take a box and Lady Sidlow gives her permission.” Countess Sidlow was Georgiana’s starchy chaperone in London, and she was not fond of theater. Georgiana was not usually permitted to go. “Will you take us?”

  Papa chuckled. “You know I can’t refuse you, my dear.”

  She beamed at him before turning back to the earl. “How old are your sisters, Lord Hastings?”

  “About your age, Miss Cross,” he said. “Edith is the elder, and Henrietta the younger. Edith is in her first Season this year, and Henrietta is eagerly anticipating her own next year.”

  That meant the Hastings girls were a few years younger than Eliza, who was three years past her Season, even after persuading her father to let her wait until she was nineteen. “How exciting for her. Is Lady Edith enjoying it?”

  “Very much. She is especially pleased by her court gown.” He said it with a wry lilt to his voice, which also made Eliza smile.

  “Any new gown is worth a moment of delight, let alone one that fine.” She had seen Georgiana’s magnificent court gown, though never had one of her own. Not even Papa could get her presented at court, much to his irritation and Eliza’s relief.

  “Ladies and their shopping!” Papa shook his head. “I’ll never see the fascination with silk and lace.”

  “Fortunately that age of fashion is over for gentlemen,” Eliza said pertly. “Although you would look very handsome, Papa, in a long wig, with a velvet coat dripping in gold lace, and of course the heels worthy of Charles II.”

  Lord Hastings made a faint sound that might have been a smothered laugh. Papa raised one brow at her, his mouth twitching. “Fortunate indeed. Keep your laces and ribbons and all those other fripperies.”

  “I will, thank you.”

  “They are far more suited to ladies,” said Lord Hastings. He raised his glass to her. “Every lady of my acquaintance does far better justice to lace and silk than any man ever could. Particularly you, Miss Cross.”

  Her heart gave another sigh. She knew it wasn’t true, but he was very gallant to say so. “Thank you, sir.”

  By the time dinner was cleared away and Eliza excused herself to leave the gentlemen to their brandy and their business discussion, she felt flushed and tipsy. She went to the drawing room and opened one of the tall windows that overlooked her garden. The soft scent of roses drifted up to her as she leaned out into the cool air.

  Lord Hastings had to be the most handsome, charming, delightful man in all of London. After the first few moments she hadn’t felt awkward or shy with him, and not once had she stammered herself into embarrassed silence. She hadn’t even giggled, which was astonishing to her. For a moment she let herself imagine he might come to dinner regularly. Might compliment her regularly. Might stop by their box at the theater to pay his respects. Might smile at her in that way he had that suggested he found her interesting and charming
. . .

  Then she laughed a little at herself for spinning daydreams again. “Silly,” she whispered to the silent roses. “But at least it’s a lovely dream.”

  Chapter 5

  Hugh still wasn’t sure why he’d come.

  It was a long trip to Greenwich, and he had no idea what Cross wanted to discuss. But it had kept him awake all night, thinking about why Cross might have bought his mortgages and other debts, and so here he was.

  The one bright spot had been Miss Cross. Whatever her father was up to, Hugh was certain she had no part of it. She was shy for one thing, with a pretty pink blush whenever he teased her about the dog. Hugh probably wouldn’t have noticed her if she hadn’t burst into his life looking like a half-drowned scullery maid in pursuit of a dog, but he could tell her heart was warm, and she seemed without guile or calculation.

  Unlike her father.

  When the door closed behind her, as she left him and Edward Cross to the brandy the servants rushed to serve, he dismissed Eliza Cross from his mind and focused on her father. “Well?” he drawled.

  Cross’s posture relaxed. He took a healthy sip of his brandy and lounged back in his seat. “How was your dinner, sir?”

  “Excellent.” Hugh could feel the frost on his own words. “To what do I owe this invitation?”

  Cross shrugged, and motioned for the servants to leave. “A desire to become acquainted.”

  Hugh counted to ten to keep his temper from boiling over. “Mr. Cross,” he said, biting off each word, “we are not peers. We have little in common. There is no reason for us to become acquainted except for the fact that you now own most of the debts I owe.”

  “Thanks to your father,” Cross interjected.

  Hugh clenched his teeth. “Yes. That is the way of inheritance.”

  “Not mine,” said Cross baldly. “My father left me nothing, for good or for ill.”