My Brown-Eyed Earl

by Anna Bennett

  Meg wrinkled her nose. “How positively charming. Have you no pleasant recollections? Something a bit more appropriate for dinner conversation, perchance?”

  A roguish smile spread across his face, and a wicked gleam lit his eyes. “I have a pleasant memory or two. Unfortunately, the most pleasant ones happen to be the least appropriate.” With that, he speared a hunk of meat with his fork, popped it into his mouth, and chuckled, as though inordinately pleased with himself.

  He seemed to delight in pushing the boundaries of polite behavior—and making her feel uncomfortable. Well, turnabout was fair play.

  Meg swallowed a tender morsel of asparagus, fortified herself with another sip of claret, and leaned back in her chair. “I suppose that one of the inappropriate memories you cherish is spying on me while I swam in the lake.”

  His devilish grin vanished, and his throat worked like he was having difficulty swallowing his manly mouthful of meat. “I should explain,” he managed to choke out.

  “I quite agree. Please, take your time,” she said sweetly. “I’ve waited eight years to hear your explanation; a few more minutes won’t kill me.”

  Meg congratulated herself as she lifted her fork and savored a bite of fish. It tasted a bit like victory.

  Chapter EIGHT

  Will hammered a fist against his chest, dislodging the hunk of lamb in his throat, then chased it with a healthy swig of brandy.

  Dear Jesus. Certain experiences from a man’s past—particularly during the ages of 13 to 18 years—were best left undiscussed. The lake incident qualified as one of them.

  He’d assumed Miss Lacey would want to avoid the topic as much as he did, if not more so. After all, she was the one who’d been caught swimming nude in the lake. Weren’t vicar’s daughters supposed to be modest and meek?

  Apparently, no one had informed Miss Lacey. An errant curl dangled from her temple, all the way to the swell of her breasts, which were covered in their entirety by her abomination of a dress. A crime, that.

  Her lips parted in expectation, and her eyes dared him to speak the truth. She would not be content with platitudes or niceties. She was willing to relive her profound humiliation—in order to see him squirm.

  “Are you certain you wish to discuss this?” he asked.

  She raised her chin. “I don’t think we should let it fester any longer. Tell me, Lord Castleton. Why did you think it acceptable to spy on me?”

  “It was August in Oxfordshire,” he began.

  “Yes.” She rolled her eyes. “I was there.”

  “Do you want to hear my version of the story, or not?”

  Heaving a sigh, she nodded.

  “Patience, Miss Lacey. If you’re always in a rush to get to the end, you miss all the fun.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Your wisdom abounds.”

  “Thank you,” he replied solemnly, as if her compliment had been sincere. “It was August,” he repeated, “and everyone in the household was hot and irritable. I’d argued with my father that morning.”

  “About what?” she asked.

  “He said I wasn’t taking my studies seriously enough.” He grinned at her. “That was true, incidentally. I didn’t take anything seriously. But I suspected that my father’s foul mood had less to do with my poor study habits than with … well, let’s just say he had his own problems.” Financial difficulties of his own making, to be specific—but Will saw no need to air that dirty laundry. “I didn’t have to be a scholar to know it was in my best interests to leave the house. My cousin, Thomas, had just left for London, so I grabbed my fishing pole and headed for the lake alone.

  “The air was heavy and still—the way it feels when an afternoon storm is brewing. But it hadn’t rained in two weeks, and the lake was lower than usual. I walked to my usual fishing spot and cast my line, but nothing was biting. I couldn’t return to the house, so I started walking along the shore.”

  She sniffed, skeptical. “And you just happened to end up near my family’s house?”

  “I think I’d been hoping to find you,” he said. “I erroneously assumed you’d have your clothes on.”

  “While I was swimming?” she asked, incredulous.

  Damn, he was enjoying himself. “No. I thought you might be out for a stroll … or fishing.”

  Her brow creased. “But we were barely acquainted. Why would you seek me out?”

  “I didn’t plan to; my feet simply took me there. And when I realized where I was … well, I hoped I’d see you.”

  “Why?”

  “As I said, my cousin had returned to London. You were a serious, thoughtful girl. I thought you’d be a good listener.”

  “You wanted to talk with me?”

  Will raked his fingers through his hair. What in hell had made him admit that? “Maybe. I wouldn’t have walked to your front door and knocked, but I hoped I’d see you on the path.”

  She shot him a cynical look. “That doesn’t explain why you were staring at me from behind a tree trunk.”

  “No, I suppose it doesn’t.” He stroked his chin, choosing his words with care. “When I heard splashing, I ran toward it, expecting to find you and your sisters fishing or wading. But when I reached the shore, it was you, alone—swimming in the middle of the lake like you’d been born with gills, dipping below the surface, then emerging, sleek as an otter.”

  She blinked and tilted her head, waiting for him to continue.

  “At first, I just stared in admiration. You swam better than Thomas.”

  “But not you?” She rolled her eyes again.

  Chuckling, he said. “That’s hard to say, Miss Lacey. One day we shall have to put it to the test.” He met her eyes and turned serious. “The point is that I stared because I found you mesmerizing. Not just your nakedness, but you. The way you glided across the water. The way the sunlight reflected off your skin. I’d never seen a creature so free … or so beautiful.”

  She swallowed as she stared back at him, her green eyes a storm of emotions.

  “And the truth is,” he continued evenly, “that I haven’t seen anything as beautiful since.”

  * * *

  Meg could barely breathe.

  Everything the earl had said was improper. Good heavens, he’d referred to her nakedness. And at the dining table, no less.

  His scandalous recounting had transported her back in time, to that day in the lake. Cool water had kissed her deliciously naked skin and swirled around her legs while the sunlight warmed her face. For a few blissful, stolen moments, she hadn’t been a poor vicar’s daughter, but a water fairy—magical, powerful, and free.

  There was no denying it; his wicked words thrilled her. Like a feather slowly brushing over her bare skin, they teased and tantalized, awakening every inch of her body. She was all too aware of his gaze now, lingering on her mouth, neck, and breasts. Her heart beat faster; her nipples tightened, tingled, and strained against the confines of her stays. A sweet and seductive pulsing between her thighs made her squirm in her chair. It was all too difficult to fathom.

  He had watched her and found her beautiful.

  Even more unbelievable, his heavy-lidded gaze suggested that he still did.

  But she could not allow herself to be taken in by his charms or overwhelmed by her own undeniable physical reaction. He was her employer—at least for now—and nothing more.

  “That is quite a story,” she managed.

  “I told you it would be worth the wait.” His wicked grin told her he knew the effect his words had on her. He paused a beat, and his expression turned serious. “Do you believe me?”

  God help her, she did. Oh, she knew rakes like him were quite capable of spouting pretty lies in order to bend women to their will, but she’d caught him off guard. In the centerpiece’s flickering candlelight, she’d seen a glimpse of the boy he’d been. She was sure that he’d revealed more than he intended.

  And that it was the truth.

  “I believe you.”

  She
could almost see the air rush out of his lungs.

  “Then I am forgiven?” he asked hopefully.

  “Are you apologizing, my lord?” She raised an eyebrow expectantly. Heady feelings aside, she could not make this too easy for him.

  “That’s a difficult question.”

  She snorted. “I don’t think it’s difficult at all.”

  “I would not apologize for being momentarily dumbstruck by the sheer beauty of a rainbow, nor for appreciating the awesome power of a storm.”

  Oh, he was good. Still.

  She leveled her gaze at him. “Rainbows and storms aren’t capable of feeling abject humiliation. They don’t experience the helplessness that comes from having one’s privacy violated. And most important of all, rainbows and storms can’t…” She closed her eyes momentarily and breathed through her nose.

  “Yes?” Lord Castleton leaned toward her.

  “… they can’t be naked.” Blast it all, now she was discussing nakedness at the dining table.

  “Your point is well taken.” He removed the napkin from his lap, placed it next to his plate, and pushed his chair back slightly. To make room for those long, muscular legs, she supposed. But then he reached across the corner of the table and took her hand, enveloping it in his own and sending a frisson of excitement through her limbs. She reminded herself to breathe.

  “I do owe you an apology, Miss Lacey. I hope that you will forgive me for forgetting my manners and losing my head at the sight of you swimming in the lake. I’m sorry for the embarrassment and hurt I caused you. I’m sorry that I spoiled whatever friendship we might once have had.” His thumb brushed lightly over the back of her hand, as he spoke, distracting her from his words.

  But somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew they were the right words.

  “I forgive you,” she said.

  He sighed with the sort of relief one reserved for passing a particularly difficult exam or for narrowly escaping a precarious fall. “Thank you, Meg.”

  Not Miss Lacey, or even Margaret, but Meg. Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged. Only a handful of people in the entire world called her Meg. They were the ones who knew about her fear of spiders and her weakness for chocolate—the ones she stayed up with, talking, crying, and laughing until the wee hours of the morning. Her inner circle.

  “May I call you Meg?” He asked as though he already knew her answer would be yes. As though he were the Prince of Rakes, used to having his wishes granted in these sorts of matters.

  “I don’t think—”

  “I’ll still address you as Miss Lacey in front of the twins,” he assured her, as if he’d deftly eliminated her only possible objection.

  “I don’t anticipate us spending a significant amount of time together when the girls are not present.” Still very aware of the pressure of his hand on hers, she could not imagine why she didn’t pull away. Clearly, any contact with him impaired her ability to think properly about what was, well, proper. Blast.

  “Perhaps then,” he said smoothly, “you can humor me. Permit me to call you Meg whenever we’re alone, unlikely as those circumstances may be.” He made a great show of looking around the spacious dining room populated by only the two of them, then shot her his signature smug grin. “In turn, you may call me Will. Whenever you like.”

  “Will,” she repeated, more for her own ears than his. The name sounded innocuous enough, and they had been neighbors once.

  What was the harm in allowing it? In eliminating surnames and titles they would simply be peeling away an unnecessary and often stiff layer of formality. It was akin to her dressing without a corset.

  Far from prudent, but no one else would know. And after the earl had apologized, the least she could do was make a token gesture in return.

  “Very well,” she said evenly. “You may call me Meg when we are in private.” Then, because she didn’t want him to think she was in favor of throwing all the rules of propriety to the wind, she quickly added, “But now I must take my leave and prepare the girls’ lessons for tomorrow. We have a busy day.”

  She pulled her hand away and stood, ignoring the way her fingers still tingled from his touch.

  He frowned as he rose. “Will you be working in the library?”

  “No,” she said breezily. She did not want to risk having him join her there. She’d peeled away quite enough layers for one evening. “I believe I shall retire to my room.”

  “Very well. I’ll escort you there.”

  Chapter NINE

  Meg bristled. “I am quite capable of making the journey to my bedchamber without assistance.”

  “You almost swooned earlier,” Will said.

  “How gallant of you to remind me.”

  He shrugged. “And then you drank claret at dinner. Therefore, I will escort you to your room.”

  Feeling her blood heat, she crossed her arms. “I feel that I should have some say in this matter.”

  “I feel that I should be allowed to play the part of a gentleman. After all, you’ve already emasculated me once today.”

  Dear God. He was never going to let the incident go.

  “Besides,” he continued, “I won’t have you tumbling down the stairs, creating yet another mess for Gibson to clean up.” Ouch. He stepped closer, much closer than was proper, and offered his arm. “Indulge me this once … Meg.”

  Her name was a whisper on his lips. Soft. Seductive. Meanwhile, his eyes gleamed mischievously, daring her to say yes.

  Though she knew she shouldn’t, she slipped her hand in the crook of his arm and let him slowly lead her from the room and down the corridor.

  They made their way up the staircase in companionable silence, but she was much too aware of his long legs brushing her skirts and his powerful thighs flexing as he took each step. Swallowing, she averted her gaze.

  Thankfully, this sweet torture was almost over. When at last they reached the landing, she whirled toward him, intending to bid him goodnight. Mistaking her sudden movement for tipsiness, he gasped and steadied her, his large hands encircling her waist.

  They stared at each other for several seconds, and Meg noticed he was breathing almost as hard as she was.

  “You weren’t about to fall just then, were you?”

  “No. I am generally able to manage a staircase without catastrophe.” Although she’d tried for a breezy tone, it sounded more breathy.

  He frowned at his hands, still firmly settled just above her hips, as though they’d betrayed him. “Well then, this is embarrassing.”

  Embarrassing, yes, but also exhilarating.

  “There has been no shortage of humiliation today,” she agreed.

  His brow wrinkled. “But today wasn’t all bad, was it?”

  “I suppose not—if you discount Diana’s near trampling and me breaking your crystal glass and kneeing you in the—” She threw up her hands and leaned her forehead against his chest. “It’s been a horrid day,” she mumbled into his waistcoat.

  He chuckled, but Meg didn’t care. It felt so good to stop sparring with him, to let down her defenses for a moment and simply absorb his strength. She was tired of fighting him and perhaps, more specifically, the attraction she felt toward him.

  As though he understood, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her flush against him. “Everyone is safe,” he reminded her. “Diana, you, and even me.” He held her there at the top of the stairs and lightly caressed her back and neck till she was certain her knees had turned to jelly.

  “Come,” he said softly in her ear, “sit down next to me.”

  He helped her sit right there, on the top step, settled himself beside her, and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “It’s not a bad view from up here.”

  Meg had to agree. Moonlight streamed through the transom above the door in the foyer, making the polished marble floors glisten below them like a river. The chandelier’s teardrop crystals twinkled above them like stars. And the stairs, covered in a plush runner, rose up to meet th
em like a grassy hill in the countryside.

  In was easy to imagine that they were miles away from London, and that only the two of them existed. “It’s lovely.”

  “Do you want to know my opinion about today?” he asked.

  “Please.”

  “As far as days go, I’d say today was a very good one.”

  She shot him an incredulous look. “I fear your standards are rather low.”

  “I don’t think so. First, it must be noted that in spite of the near misses, all serious injuries were averted. Almost as remarkable, you and I reached a truce. But for me, the best part of today was dining with you and, well … right now.” He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze, which she felt somewhere in the vicinity of her chest.

  She swallowed, then asked the question she simply had to know. “Why is now the best part?”

  “I suppose I like having someone to share the view with.”

  Odd. He sounded almost lonely.

  “And because,” he continued, “while I do enjoy our little battles of wits, I also like to see you smile. Your smile is…” He rubbed the stubble on his chin as he searched for the words. “Bright, fleeting, rare. Like a comet shooting through the midnight sky.”

  She blinked slowly, letting his words sink into her skin and thrum throughout her body. Dumbfounded, she stared at the chiseled perfection of his face. “That’s … beautiful. But my smiles are not so rare.”

  “No? The ones directed at me are rare.” Cupping her face in his palm, he lightly brushed his thumb across her cheek. “I suspect you’ll make me wait seven years to see it again.”

  She smiled at that, because it was ridiculous and sweet and because she couldn’t stop herself if she tried.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth, and his expression turned serious. “Meg,” he breathed. It was a question. A plea.

  In response, she leaned forward.

  And then his lips were on hers.

  It was the height of foolishness to allow the kiss, even worse to invite it, but it seemed to be the predestined ending to their strange, emotional day. All of the fighting, the bargaining, and the revealing had led to this, the most unlikely of kisses.