The Danger in Tempting an Earl

by Sophie Barnes

  Picking a worm for himself, Lucien slipped it onto his hook and looked at Katherine. She appeared to be struggling with hers. “Do you need some help with that?” he asked, his eyes riveted upon her fingers.

  “If only it would stop wriggling so much, it would make the task so much easier.”

  Lucien suppressed a bark of laughter. “Yes, because that is precisely what any other creature would do—­wait limply to be impaled.”

  She looked at him with a frown. “Are you trying to put me off?” She appeared to make another attempt, but once again the worm maneuvered itself away from the hook.

  Deciding to take advantage of the situation, Lucien leaned over and placed his hand on Katherine’s. “Like this,” he said as he adjusted her hold on the worm. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he then showed her how to hold the hook properly in place while he helped her bait it. He didn’t linger once the job was done but removed himself immediately from her person and rose to his feet, taking his fishing pole with him. “Now all you have to do is toss the line in the water. I can help you with that as well if you wish.”

  “Err . . . no thank you . . . I mean, I’d like to attempt it on my own.”

  She moved hesitantly, he noticed, and with less determination than when she’d selected the worm. In fact, she looked adorably unsettled, for which Lucien had to applaud himself. If he wasn’t mistaken, his closeness and touch had had the desired effect. Casting his own line into the water, he watched as Katherine did the same. Unlike her previous attempt eight years earlier, she remained on solid ground this time and did not slip or fall as her line flew neatly out over the water, the hook landing with a satisfying plop. “Ha!” she shouted, her eyes bright and her smile unwavering as she turned toward Lucien. “I did it!”

  “So you did,” he grinned. She was mesmerizing in her victory, her face glowing with more happiness than he’d seen in her yet since his return, as if some heavy burden weighing her down had been momentarily dismissed. He eyed her quietly as she secured her fishing pole between the rocks and returned to the blanket.

  Following her, he could not help but notice the gentle sway of her hips as she walked or the grace with which she took her seat. The memory of her wet gown hugging her every curve flashed before him so powerfully that he forgot himself, emitting a groan at the sudden discomfort it wrought.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, all wide-eyed concern.

  Taking a deep breath, Lucien sank down onto the blanket and crossed his legs. “Yes. Quite. Shall we see what your cook has prepared?”

  With a nod, Katherine reached for the picnic basket and flung open the lid, revealing a bountiful feast of mincemeat pie, smoked herring, some cheese and a bottle of wine. To their unfettered delight, there were crêpes with strawberry jam for dessert.

  “Are you still an avid gardener?” Lucien asked as he bit into a slice of pie.

  “Yes,” she said. “I love watching my plants flourish, which I suppose explains why spring is my favorite time of year.”

  “Your daffodils do look lovely lining the driveway—­don’t think I didn’t notice.”

  Katherine beamed at him. “They do brighten things up, don’t they?” She gave him no chance to respond before saying, “I allocated part of the back garden to herbs and vegetables last year. Can you believe that Cresthaven did not have a vegetable garden? You must come and see it during the summer, for I have every confidence that the tomatoes I have recently planted will be among the juiciest in the county.”

  “I do not doubt it for a second,” Lucien remarked, though he could well enough imagine other juicy things he’d like to sink his teeth into, like Katherine’s plump lower lip, for example.

  “And what about you?” Katherine asked. “Was all as you expected it to be at Roxberry Hall when you returned? You must forgive me, but I quite forgot to ask last night. How terribly thoughtless of me.”

  Lucien grinned. She was prattling on as if she was nervous. Her hand reached for her glass, and, raising it to her lips, she took a hasty sip of her wine. “Not at all,” he said. “In fact, everything was mostly as it was when I left, though I do believe my absence and my father’s death have forced Mama and Grandmamma to see more of each other than either of them would have wished.”

  “I always thought they got along rather well, or at least that’s how it appeared.”

  Arching an eyebrow, Lucien selected a piece of cheese. “Their opinions differ greatly on most issues, as does their method of conveying them.” He took a bite of his cheese.

  “I suppose your grandmother does have a tendency to be more forward than your mother, whom I’ve always considered quite reserved.”

  “Precisely.”

  There was a pause, then Katherine quietly said, “I believe they agree on at least one thing, though, and that is that you must marry.”

  Meeting her gaze, Lucien felt his pulse quicken. “True,” he said.

  She looked away and reached for one of the pancakes. “And . . . as promised, I have considered some . . . possible candidates.”

  Lucien felt his eyes narrow. Was it just him, or was she deliberately trying to busy herself with something—­anything at all—­that would not require her to look at him as she spoke? How very interesting. “And?” he asked, feeling suddenly cheeky, “is Lady Julie on your list?”

  Katherine’s eyes flew toward his, her lips parting ever so slightly while her chest began to rise and fall in a flurry. “Yes,” she told him pertly as she smoothed the skirt of her gown. “You seemed quite taken with her, so I thought you’d be pleased to have her included.”

  “Oh, I am,” Lucien murmured, for it could not be more obvious than if Katherine had actually told him so herself that she did not care to contemplate his marrying Lady Julie. “I’m very pleased indeed.”

  “But she is not the only one on the list, of course. I’ve also included the Earl of Mayhaven’s eldest, Lady Theodora, the Earl of Thisdale’s daughter, Lady Annette, and the Duke of Sylverton’s daughter, Lady Charlotte.”

  “Fine ladies, I’m sure,” Lucien murmured. He studied her for a moment before saying, “How exactly did you end up married to Crossby? I never had the impression that you were particularly fond of him.”

  Her posture grew rigid. “I admit that I always found him a bit self-obsessed when we were younger, but then he went to war and . . . when he returned he was entirely different. He was attentive and kind.” She plucked at her gown. “The first time he called, he brought me wildflowers, which I considered surprisingly sweet, as I would have expected a man like him to bring roses.”

  Lucien clenched his fists, recalling how Crossby had once declared that any woman could be had with a bouquet of roses. Lucien had challenged the statement by saying that he knew of at least one who’d rather have wildflowers, and Katherine’s name had been mentioned in that context. “My understanding is that you married him rather quickly,” he said.

  Katherine nodded. “Our courtship was quick, but such is often the case these days. I didn’t have my sights on anyone else and neither did he, so when our parents discovered how well we were getting along with each other, they encouraged us to marry.”

  “I’m sure your parents were especially pleased by the match you made.”

  “I believe so. They always hoped I would marry a lord, so when Crossby’s intentions became clear, they urged me to accept, so I did.” She took a breath and relaxed her shoulders. “But what about you? I’m sure you must have seen some wonderful places during your travels.”

  Lucien took a sip of his wine. “Crossing the Alps was a spectacular experience.” He shook his head at the memory of it. “The beauty there is so enormous that it surrounds you, draws you in and leaves you utterly breathless. Italy was remarkable too, the Roman architecture unlike anything you’ve ever seen in England.”

  Katherine leaned forward. “Did
you see the Colosseum?”

  “I did,” Lucien said.

  “Oh, it must have been a magnificent sight,” she sighed. “I’d love to visit it myself.”

  “Perhaps you will,” Lucien said, deciding to add Rome to the list of potential destinations for their wedding trip.

  “I’m not so sure,” Katherine said. “My intention is to become a companion to a lady who’s never set her feet outside of England and who I doubt has any intention of ever doing so.”

  “So much more reason for you to marry an adventurer,” Lucien suggested. “You know, I can see you as the wife of a privateer, sailing the high seas and such.”

  Katherine rolled her eyes, but her words, “We’ll see,” were promising. She raised a rolled-up pancake to her lips and took a tentative bite.

  Averting his gaze, Lucien looked at the lake and considered jumping into it. If there was ever a time when a cold swim would be more than welcome, it was now. Frustrated, he rose to his feet and went to check on the fishing poles. He’d ventured down a dangerous path, he realized, one from which he dared not veer, even as it challenged his tightly reined sense of control.

  With his back turned toward Katherine, he took a deep breath and expelled it, deliberately pushing the tension out of his body. He needed to relax, to calm the blood that pumped so furiously through his veins each time she spoke, fluttered her eyelashes or puckered her lips. Christ, how he longed to throw himself on top of her, to declare himself her humble servant, to love her . . . pleasure her . . . fulfill her every desire, as he’d wanted to do so often over the past years that the mere mention of her name set his insides aflame. He loved her, yes, but by God if he didn’t also lust after her like a youth who’d yet to know a woman’s touch.

  On a heavy sigh, he looked over his shoulder at the spot where she was sitting, delicately licking some jam from her fingers after finishing her pancake. Feeling his restraint grow taut, Lucien returned his attention to the lake and to the fishing lines that pierced the surface. One of them squirmed, rippling the water.

  “It appears you’ve caught a fish,” Lucien said as he picked up Katherine’s pole and started to reel in the line. A small ide emerged, wriggling from side to side. Crouching down, Lucien carefully held the tiny fish in his hand and began prying the hook out of it.

  “Poor thing,” Katherine murmured.

  Her words drifted over Lucien, startling him with her closeness. He hadn’t realized she’d gotten up and come toward him; he’d thought she’d still been seated at a comfortable distance from his aching heart. It was all too much, the force with which she drew him. He felt a muscle twitch in his cheek in response to the strained expression he forced into place as he desperately sought to keep his feelings for her at bay. And yet her voice beckoned with its sweetness, allowing him no choice but to turn his head and look up at the woman who stood beside him. His gaze traveled the length of her legs, past the spot where he knew her thighs to be, to her belly and the rounded softness of her breasts. Abruptly, he rose, almost knocking her sideways in his haste to regain some of his crumbling composure.

  Being the gentleman that he was, his arm reached out instinctively to steady her. “Forgive me,” he said. “That was terribly clumsy of me.”

  Her eyes, which had been focused on the fish, met his for the briefest of moments before traveling down to the spot where his fingers still rested against her elbow. He withdrew his hand, apologized again and began to busy himself with freeing the fish—­anything that would calm his racing heart in the wake of what he’d just seen in the depths of those haunting green eyes: confusion twined with fear. But beneath those emotions he’d glimpsed something else—­something he’d been dreaming of for years: raw, unfettered desire.

  The fish squirmed between his fingers as he unhooked it, offering barely a splash as Lucien tossed it back in the lake. Drawing a deep, fortifying breath, he stood for a moment just staring at the water, allowing himself the luxury of reveling in his progress. It was much too soon for him to act on his feelings for Katherine, but there was no harm in congratulating himself on his efforts, for it was clear to him now that she was no longer indifferent to him . . . that something in her regard had shifted.

  “Shall we pack up and head back?” he asked. “I feel a chill coming, and I’d hate for you to catch a cold.” Tilting his head, he looked at her as she stood there beside him.

  She frowned, then nodded. “Yes. I suppose we ought to.” Her words, slightly breathless, reflected her bewilderment.

  Lucien smiled as he went to retrieve the picnic basket. Things were most assuredly progressing as he had hoped, and as long as he persisted with the right amount of patience, he had every confidence that Katherine would soon be his.

  “May I call on you again tomorrow?” he asked her later as they drove up the driveway toward Cresthaven. “We could have that race we discussed and finally settle the matter of who is the fastest.”

  “Then I suggest you choose your horse carefully,” she said with a smile, “and consider the stakes.”

  “Oh, believe me, Kate, I’ve been considering the stakes for a very long time,” he murmured.

  She looked at him, all wide-eyed and with that same bewildered fear she’d made him privy to at the lake. “What are you saying?” she asked.

  “That I know you well enough by now to realize that you’ll never allow me a moment of peace if I happen to lose—­not when I’ve told you you’ve no chance of winning.”

  “Oh,” she said as they pulled up to the front steps.

  Jumping down, Lucien rounded the carriage and helped Katherine alight. Was it just his imagination, or did she actually gasp when he seized her about the waist? Determined not to give himself away yet, he released her as soon as she was on the ground and offered her a gallant bow, while a footman fetched the picnic basket and fishing poles. “It was a pleasure seeing you again,” he said.

  “Likewise,” she said.

  There was a pause that felt like a hesitation, as if she intended to say something more, but when she didn’t, Lucien wished her a pleasant afternoon, climbed back up onto the seat and whipped the horses into motion. It had been a productive day for him in terms of steering his relationship with Katherine in a new direction, though there could be no denying that he would have to use restraint where she was concerned. She wasn’t ready for his advances yet, and if he rushed, he’d only succeed in scaring her off. This he felt like a certainty deep within his bones.

  Something had happened to her in the time they’d spent apart, something that she was attempting to hide, though her smiles failed to mask the fear and pain within her. Whatever it was, Lucien meant to uncover it, because however much he wanted to make Katherine his, he wished to see her happy so much more.

  Chapter 8

  “Mr. Goodard! What a surprise,” Katherine said, setting her book on the table as she rose to greet her unexpected guest the following afternoon. She’d been expecting Lucien, who was supposed to arrive at any moment, and had decided to wait for him in the parlor, where the light was particularly good at that time of day.

  “Lady Crossby,” he said. “I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion, but I couldn’t stay away after our conversation the other evening. You seemed distressed by what I said, and I haven’t felt comfortable about it since. I hope you’ll accept my apologies.”

  “Of course I will, though I daresay there’s nothing for you to apologize for. If I appeared distressed in any way, it was only the result of my own folly.” She studied him a moment. He was a striking man—­tall and handsome, with honey-colored hair and deep blue eyes. “Since you did come all this way, though, I do hope you’ll stay for tea. Lord Roxberry will be joining us as well.”

  For a spell, it looked as though Mr. Goodard might decline, but then he nodded, slapped his gloves against his thigh and strode further inside the room. For a man who’d appeared in com
plete control of himself on the few occasions she’d seen him, Katherine couldn’t help but notice that he seemed mildly uncomfortable. “Please have a seat,” she offered, gesturing to a chair clad in gray and lilac damask silk.

  Sweeping aside his coattails, he accepted her offer, although his posture remained remarkably stiff. “May I ask for your advice, Lady Crossby?” he abruptly asked, surprising her twice in the space of five minutes.

  “Certainly, Mr. Goodard.” How curious! They’d only recently become acquainted with each other through Louise and Huntley, so she found it odd for him to seek her opinion on anything.

  A maid entered with a tray holding a teapot, cups and a plate full of triangle-shaped sandwiches. As soon as she had once again departed, Katherine reached for the teapot and poured them each a steaming cup. “Milk and sugar?” she asked.

  “Just sugar. One spoonful if you please.”

  She handed him his cup, and he accepted it with a polite “Thank you.”

  Picking up her own cup, Katherine sat back against the sofa and waited for Mr. Goodard to enlighten her. He was biding his time, it seemed, which only made her all the more curious about the subject.

  “Lady Crossby,” he eventually began, then paused. For several seconds he just sat there, peering at her in a most discomforting way. “Considering your friendship with Roxberry, I thought you might know . . .” He took a breath and eventually blurted, “Are you by any chance privy to his plans for the future?”

  “Sir?”

  “What I mean to ask is whether or not you’re aware of any interest he might have for a certain lady.”

  “May I ask which lady you’re referring to?” Katherine asked. “I would hate to draw my own conclusion in case it is wrong.”