The Danger in Tempting an Earl

by Sophie Barnes

  Katherine nodded as if in a daze. She felt weak and out of breath. Never in her life had she witnessed such an awful occurrence.

  “Come,” Lucien said as he placed his arm around her shoulders. “You’ve had a shock. I think it best if I take you home so you can rest.”

  Katherine blinked, realizing that he was absolutely right. Never before had she known such a desperate longing to be with her daughter, for seeing a woman almost killed before her very eyes was a stark reminder of how fragile life could be. “Yes,” she said, allowing him to guide her forward, “I would appreciate that a great deal.”

  “Any news on the mill in Ancoats, Mr. Simmons?” Katherine asked her secretary the following morning as she leafed through the pile of papers that were spread out before her on the desk. She still had trouble deciphering some of the legal jargon, but with Mr. Simmons’s help, it was getting easier.

  “I was just about to mention it to you, my lady, since I just received a letter from the owner this morning, assuring me that your terms have been met.”

  “And are you inclined to believe him?”

  “It would be foolish of him to lie when we can easily check the validity of it. Then again, he may have underestimated your dedication and think you unlikely of calling on him again anytime soon.”

  Katherine pondered this a moment. “You’re probably right. Would you mind riding up there to ensure that what he says is true?” she asked, recalling how filthy the factory had been when she’d first visited it. It was clear that Charles hadn’t cared about the work conditions at the mill while he’d been alive, but Katherine felt differently about it. As an investor, she had a responsibility toward the ­people who were helping her build and sustain her fortune. “I would come with you, but it would be difficult bringing Sophia along, and I’d rather not leave her.”

  “You needn’t explain,” Mr. Simmons told her kindly. “You’re a wonderful mother to her, my lady. The rest of the staff is in agreement.”

  It meant a lot to Katherine that he said so, for she’d been nothing but a bundle of nerves in recent years, always feeling as if she’d been walking on glass. Being allowed the opportunity to succeed at something was gradually restoring some of her shattered confidence. “I’ll start making the necessary arrangements, then,” Mr. Simmons said. “Perhaps you even have some new ideas that you wish for me to discuss while I’m up there—­ways in which to increase profitability?”

  “Oh . . . I don’t know. Allow me to think on it,” Katherine told him. “Thank you for looking out for my investments for me. Your help and advice have been invaluable to me since my husband’s death.”

  “Think nothing of it, my lady, for it is my job to do so.” He looked as if he wanted to say more, but he hesitated.

  “What is it?” Katherine asked.

  “I hope you won’t mind my saying so, but I must admit that I was surprised when you initially told me of your decision to continue with your husband’s work. It’s unusual for a lady to show such interest in these things . . . men’s things, if you’ll forgive me. I confess that I imagined you’d simply leave it all to me, and . . . well, I’m embarrassed to say that I didn’t think you capable. But I am impressed with the decisions you’ve made so far. The companies you’ve chosen to invest in have since given high returns. Indeed, your income has almost doubled over the course of the last year, and it’s all thanks to you.”

  Katherine couldn’t help but blush. It pleased her that Mr. Simmons had noticed how well her hard work had paid off. She’d spent weeks secluded in the study after Charles’s death, going over his documents and trying to get to grips with all the ledgers—­the vast records of Cresthaven’s income and expenses.

  It had been a daunting job, but it had also been a very rewarding one, for she was now aware of the specifics regarding each company her late husband had invested in and could discuss them properly with Mr. Simmons, allowing her the chance to be involved.

  After sinking a portion of her own money into a ­couple of companies, she found it particularly fitting that she should be a part of the process. “You are very kind to say so,” she told the secretary, “even though I still have a lot to learn.”

  A knock at the door brought Katherine’s attention to Carter, the butler, who had just arrived. “Lord Roxberry is here to see you, my lady—­I have shown him into the parlor.”

  Katherine’s heart did a funny skip. After returning home last night, she’d spent a great deal of time contemplating the peculiar effect Lucien had had on her at the ball. Removed from the fairy-tale splendor of it all, her mind had cleared, and she’d decided that the way in which her nerves had quaked and her heart had pounded in his presence had been nothing more than the product of a magical setting, a few insinuating words from her friend and perhaps a bit too much champagne.

  Today was a new day, however, and she had a job to do. If Lucien insisted on getting himself married, then she was going to make certain that he attached himself to the right woman. It was possible that Lady Julie would turn out to be the perfect candidate, for although she’d implied otherwise, Katherine hadn’t dismissed the idea, considering how smitten Lucien had seemed to be with the lady. But since this was her dearest friend’s future at stake, Katherine wanted to be absolutely sure that he was making the right decision. Therefore, being the practical sort, Katherine had made a list of all the ladies she thought suitable (and with whom she could see herself enjoying tea or shopping for fabrics, which of course was an essential factor).

  “Thank you, Carter,” she told her butler as she gathered up her papers and put them in a neat pile. “Perhaps you could ask if he’d like a cup of tea. I’ll just be a moment.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Oh, and Carter?” The butler halted and turned back toward his mistress. “Please inform Cook that his lordship has arrived and that she should start to prepare the picnic basket.”

  With a nod, Carter strode off. Katherine rose, as did Mr. Simmons. “We’ll talk again later,” she said as she went to the door. “We’ve yet to decide if we’re going to sell the stock in that coal mine in Durhamshire.”

  Heading toward the parlor, she stopped briefly in front of the mirror that hung in the foyer and took a quick peek at her reflection. Noting that she looked a little pale, she pinched her cheeks but then admonished herself for her silliness. This was Lucien she was meeting—­a close friend whom she’d met on countless occasions before and who was hardly going to care one way or another about her coloring. The thought stilled her as she gazed back into the eyes of her reflection, unnerved to discover how much Lucien’s perception of her suddenly mattered. She sighed. Lord, she was being ridiculous! And yet . . . a faint voice whispered to her that things had been different between them last night and that she had not been as indifferent to him as she would have liked herself to believe. Pushing a lock of hair back into place, Katherine quickly dismissed the notion. Now was not the time to be having fanciful ideas, especially when the gentleman in question was presently waiting to see her.

  But when she stepped into the parlor with a smile on her face, ready to greet him, her mouth went instantly dry and her stomach almost felt as if it was turning itself inside out—­a feeling that was not in the least bit comfortable but apparently hard to avoid as she took in Lucien’s appearance.

  Gone was his black evening attire and his neatly groomed hair. Instead, he wore a dark blue jacket with beige, snug-fitting breeches and black Hessian boots. His hair was slightly mussed, with a few stray tendrils brushing against his forehead. Good heavens, he looked like a prime figure of a man as he stood there casually gazing out of one of the windows. Perhaps she ought to have taken greater care in selecting her gown that morning, because right then, without the slightest bit of warning, her conviction that Lucien did not affect her in any way fell apart in its entirety. There could be no denying that without as much as looking at her, he�
��d taken her breath away. The realization flustered her, but she had no time to consider the implication of it, since he turned his head just then, spotted her and immediately came toward her.

  “Good morning,” he said, bowing from a respectable distance.

  Disappointment swept over Katherine. No kiss upon her hand? Idiot, she chided herself as she returned his greeting. It was midmorning, the magic of the previous evening had departed the instant Lady Rebecca had been shot, and considering how well acquainted she and Lucien were with each other, it would be absurd for him to go around kissing her hand at every available opportunity. Still, she couldn’t help but be a little put out by him not doing so, especially since she presently felt as if he’d reached inside her chest and touched her heart.

  He of course felt no such thing toward her, or he would have at least suggested that they marry each other now that he was in the market for a wife. Not that it mattered, of course, since she had no intention of acquiring another husband.

  Oh bother!

  “Have you received any word from the duke regarding last night’s incident?” she asked, both out of concern for Lady Rebecca and because she was desperate to concentrate on something other than Lucien—­impossible as that was when he was standing before her looking so rugged.

  “Nothing yet, I’m afraid.” He tilted his head. “You mustn’t worry, though. Considering her wound, she ought to be fine as long as she gets proper treatment—­I’m sure of it.”

  “That is a relief to know.” Silence fell between them. The clock ticked away on the mantelpiece. Katherine’s fingertips toyed with her skirt. “Have you seen many such wounds before? During the war, I mean.”

  “I’ve seen my fair share. More than I care to remember, I’ll admit.”

  A shadow fell across his brow, and Katherine chided herself for posing the question. In all likelihood, she’d just reminded him of his brother. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Drawing a deep breath, he pushed the air out slowly. “I brought my curricle along. Since you mentioned having a picnic, I thought we could drive over to the lake and go fishing—­save the race for another day?”

  “Are you trying to postpone losing to me?” Katherine teased, eager for a bit of easy banter and hoping that it would relax her agitated nerves.

  “Not in the least. I was merely trying to protect you from the truth—­that I have always allowed you to win.” He flashed a cheeky smile.

  “First of all, I don’t believe a word of it, and second of all, if you were a true gentleman, you would not be so ready to tell me of your superior riding skills. Instead, you would have allowed me to remain ignorant, providing of course that what you say is true—­which it is not.”

  He laughed, a low rumble that sent frissons scurrying across her skin. “I daresay I’ll never understand the workings of a woman’s mind, not even yours. I imagine it’s quite a muddle in there.”

  Crossing her arms, she tilted her chin in defiance. “And yet we do excel at keeping all our thoughts in order.”

  He leaned toward her and frowned, as if attempting to look inside her head. “Tell me, for I’ve always wondered, is there a specific part of your brain that you devote to gossip?”

  Keeping a straight face was becoming exceedingly difficult, but at least the humor was distracting her from other things, like the curve of his mouth as he smiled and the same spicy scent she’d smelled on him as they’d waltzed. Her stomach began to tighten, so she redoubled her efforts to concentrate on the conversation. “Of course,” she said. “How else am I to recall which lady caused a scandal by falling into the arms of a scoundrel?”

  “How indeed?”

  His eyes darkened for a moment, and as much as Katherine wished to look away, she could not. It was almost as if he was somehow testing her.

  “There is also a special compartment allotted to gowns, bonnets and”—­she waved her hand—­“shoes.”

  Lucien’s lips began to pucker, then he suddenly burst out laughing. Katherine smiled. This was what she’d missed—­this easy camaraderie between them. She watched as he wiped his hand across his eyes and straightened himself. When he’d gone to join the army, she’d been nineteen years of age and had inappropriately flung her arms around him in a tight embrace when she’d told him good-bye. She longed to do so again now, for it would be bliss to be held by him. Fearful of the reaction he’d stirred in her since yesterday, however, and recalling how startled he’d been by her forwardness four years ago, she decided that doing so would likely be a very bad idea.

  Instead, she smiled at him politely and gestured toward the door. “If you’d still like to meet Sophia before we leave, I can take you through to her right now.”

  Sitting next to Katherine, Lucien whipped the reins, pushing his horses into a canter, their hooves thudding against the graveled driveway. Eyes straight ahead, he did his best to quell his pounding heart.

  Follow your plan and you shall have her. Do not rush this.

  When she’d entered the parlor and he’d turned to look at her, it had taken every ounce of restraint not to stride across the floor and pull her against him. Gone was the silk and lace she’d worn to the ball, replaced instead by a modest morning gown that ought to have dampened his desire. Instead, it had only made him more eager to rip away the plain muslin with which she was garbed in hopes of revealing that extra bit of skin she’d displayed last night.

  A wave of heat crashed over him. No, this pursuit of his would require finesse, for although she was responding to him in a most delightful way, he also sensed a great deal of resistance. She’d said she’d never again marry and that she had no plans of ever taking a lover—­that she was content to remain alone. And yet, whenever he touched her, it was almost as if a flame sparked to life in her eyes. Oh, the lady might insist she had no needs, but Lucien knew better, and in time, he had every intention of showing her how skillful he could be at fulfilling them.

  An ache settled in his loins and he found himself clenching his jaw, his fingers gripping the reins as he urged the horses onward. “Your daughter is absolutely charming,” he said, settling on a topic that he knew would appeal to her and that he hoped would distract him from his wayward thoughts. “She looks a lot like you.”

  Katherine chuckled. “I think it’s too early to say so, but thank you.” Even though his eyes remained on the road, Lucien could sense that Katherine was looking at him. “You know,” she finally said, “I always suspected that you would be good with children, but I must admit that you are better than I ever imagined. Seeing you hold her as you did, tickling her belly and making her chortle, was very touching indeed. I daresay you’ll make an excellent uncle for her.”

  The compliment warmed his insides, even though he hoped his position as uncle would be a fleeting one and that he would soon become the babe’s papa through marriage. He felt the edge of his mouth curve upward. Today would mark their first day of courtship, even if he was the only one who knew it. It was all part of the plan he’d forged to heighten her awareness of him as a man—­a man in need of not just a wife, but a lover as well—­and little by little he meant for his every touch and whispered word to melt her insides until she could no longer recall a time when she did not want him.

  Ah, if only it worked, for the alternative was not a pleasant one.

  Arriving at a cluster of trees, Lucien parked the curricle, jumped down onto the springy grass below and secured the horses. He then helped Katherine alight, his hands resting firmly upon her waist as he lifted her down. Her cheeks appeared rosier now than they had earlier, he noted, and rather than release her immediately as he ought, he held her in place with one hand while the other rose to her cheek, his fingertips brushing gently across it. “Just a bit of dust,” he said. “There . . . all gone.”

  Stepping away from her, he handed her the fishing poles, then grabbed the picnic basket and a blanket and gest
ured for her to lead the way along the path that would take them through the trees and down to the lake. He was not the least bit oblivious to the dazed expression on her face. His efforts, it would seem, were already having a remarkable effect. He tried not to smile too much.

  “Do you prefer a spot in the sun or in the shade?” he asked once they reached the edge of the water. The weather was beautiful—­bright and sunny, with a clear blue sky. It was warmer than it usually was this time of year.

  “I think the shade might be too chilly, don’t you? I would personally welcome the sun’s heat. If we lay the blanket out over there,” she said as she pointed to a flat, grassy spot next to the lakebed, “we’ll even be able to anchor our fishing poles using those rocks.”

  Agreeing with her reasoning, Lucien spread out the blanket, placed the picnic basket at one end of it and asked Katherine to take a seat, which she promptly did, folding her legs neatly beneath her as she carefully placed the fishing poles to one side.

  “Have you been fishing since the last time we came here together?” Lucien asked. He was trying to envision what her life had been like in his absence.

  “When I made a cake of myself by falling into the water? Your sister has never allowed me to forget it, you know.”

  He hadn’t wanted to mention the incident again, as he’d hoped to avoid embarrassing her, but when he met her gaze, he couldn’t help but notice how bright her eyes were. Her lips twitched and she laughed. He smiled in return. “I trust you’ll avoid stepping out onto a slippery rock today.”

  “You can count on it, and in answer to your question, no, I have not.”

  “Well, it’s all very simple, if you recall.” He removed a small jar from his pocket and took off the lid. “Just pick a worm and place it on the hook.”

  With a stiff nod, Katherine quickly removed her gloves, just as he’d known she would, and reached inside the jar to retrieve her prize. It was one of the things he’d always loved about her—­how grounded she was, the sort of woman who never fussed over getting her hands dirty. She could be prim and proper when necessary, but in her element, which had always been outdoors, she never worried about spoiling her clothes or whether a spider might be crawling up her arm. Indeed, she was more likely to take a closer look at said spider and remark on its beauty.