Loving the Earl: A Loveswept Historical Romance

by Cullen, Sharon

Blythe barked out a laugh and ran a hand through his hair. “I have that to be thankful for at least.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “You left me locked in a room in a brothel. What did you expect me to do?”

  “What any sensible woman would do. Stay there until I came to fetch you.”

  “So I was to bide my time until you saw fit to finish whatever illicit activity you were engaging in?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am not your luggage, my lord. I don’t sit in a closet until you decide you need me.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I put you there to keep you safe and that was not a brothel. That was Marchant’s residence.”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  He leaned forward. “And what would you know about brothels, my lady?”

  She turned away from him, too furious to speak. She knew about brothels because Richard loved to frequent them then return home smelling of liquor and women. He bragged that he got more satisfaction out of paid services than he did with his wife. The humiliation still stung.

  “Where are we headed?” Blythe settled into the squabs, long legs splayed, head resting on the back, hands folded on his stomach, as if he were ready for a nap.

  “I am headed for Place Dauphine. Let me know where you would like to be dropped off and I’ll ask the coachman to stop for you.”

  “Place Dauphine? What business do you have there?”

  It infuriated her that he completely dismissed her not-so-subtle hint that he leave. But what else should she have expected? Compliance? “I have something to sell, if you must know. Not that it’s any of your concern.”

  His eyes twinkled and she marveled that his anger had so quickly dissipated. Surely he was still furious over her escape, yet he seemed to have forgotten all about it. “Selling your wares, my lady?”

  Her shoulders straightened. “I don’t believe I like your tone of voice, my lord. Nor your insinuations. If I’d wanted to sell my services, I would have done so quite easily at Marchant’s.”

  His mouth thinned and anger snapped in his eyes. Ah, so the anger was still present. She instantly regretted poking the beast yet refused to take back her words.

  “That is nothing to jest about,” he said between clenched teeth.

  “Yet wasn’t that what you were insinuating?”

  He shifted and didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

  “Did you not say you were traveling to Italy?” he asked.

  Wary of the sudden change of subject, Claire watched him, waiting, unwilling to answer his question for fear there was a purpose to it.

  Blythe suddenly sat forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped loosely as he stared at her closely. “I have a proposition for you.”

  “No.”

  “You haven’t even heard it.”

  “I don’t need to.”

  “Hear me out.”

  “No.”

  He sighed and sat back, tapping his fingers together as he contemplated her. He could contemplate her all he wanted. She was not granting him whatever boon he’d thought up.

  “My meeting this evening—”

  “Ah, yes. The mysterious meeting that forced you to imprison me for hours on end.”

  A jaw muscle twitched. Claire knew she was pushing him, but she didn’t care. He wasn’t one of her brothers. He wasn’t her husband—thank you, Lord. She had no ties to him and therefore didn’t have to bend her will to his. Yes, he could return to England and tell Sebastian she was traveling without a maid and had lost all her papers, including most of her money. But even if he did, she would arrive in Italy long before Sebastian came for her. Besides, she very much doubted Blythe would want Sebastian to know he’d locked her in a room at a brothel.

  Very well. It wasn’t a brothel, but it may as well have been.

  “My meeting has led to another meeting,” he said, apparently choosing to ignore her caustic remark.

  “How nice for you.” She infused all of the sweetness she possessed into her voice. Admittedly it wasn’t much at this point, but quite enough that he narrowed his eyes.

  It took him a few heartbeats to reply, no doubt because he was chewing on his anger. She hoped he choked on it.

  “You have no chaperone. No maid. No money.”

  She eyed him pointedly. “If the purpose of a chaperone is to dictate to me, then I reject your services as my chaperone.”

  “That’s not what I was going to suggest.”

  “Lord Blythe, even you, a degenerate gambler and drunkard, understands that two adults of the opposite gender cannot travel together without raising eyebrows. It’s unseemly. And while you may not care about your reputation, I do.” That was a lie. She didn’t care one whit about her reputation, which was already in shreds if anyone discovered what she’d been about the last few days. All of the busybodies in London, Paris and Venice could hang for all she cared. Too many years she lived under the fear of her reputation. Her brothers threatened her with it. Her husband pounded it into her—literally. And what did it get her? Vapid friends who cared only for the latest scandal and fashion, who turned a blind eye to her predicament or suddenly disappeared when she needed help.

  “If you would let me speak, my lady. Please.”

  She pressed her lips together. She would let him speak but that didn’t mean she had to listen.

  “I have urgent business in Venice.”

  Oh, she was not going to Venice with him.

  “And as you pointed out, I cannot be a suitable chaperone for you. I think it best that you return to England—”

  “Absolutely not.” Her blood ran cold as all her fears came to fruition. She just knew this was going to happen. From the moment she discovered who he was, she knew this didn’t bode well for her adventure. “I will find a chaperone, my lord. You need not concern yourself with that. And I will continue on my journey while you continue on yours. There is no reason either of us has to be put out.”

  He sighed. She would like to think it was an exasperated sigh because he certainly was exasperating her.

  “I would not be a friend to Sebastian if I allowed his sister to roam all over France and Italy unchaperoned and unguarded.”

  She surged forward and planted her finger in his hard chest. “Oh, no you don’t. You will not bring my brother into this. And what is this allowed? You aren’t my brother. You aren’t anything to me besides a barnacle and a … a … a blight. You don’t allow me anything. No one does anymore.”

  Her finger ached from coming up against the hard muscles of his chest that twitched every time she poked him. An odd look came into his eyes and she sat back, pushing away the fear crawling through her.

  She had enough experience to know not to speak her mind so plainly, yet she couldn’t help herself. And she didn’t want to stop. It felt good to thumb her nose at convention and all the rules her brothers and her husband instilled upon her. If she wanted to travel to Italy alone, she would travel to Italy alone. If she wanted to sail a ship by herself, she … Well, she couldn’t do that because she didn’t know how. But Emmaline did and if Claire asked, Emmaline would certainly teach her.

  The point was that a whole world was open to Claire and she had every intention of enjoying every bit of it.

  Chapter Ten

  Nathan stared at Claire, a little awed, a lot frustrated and, much to his bemusement, a bit aroused. She was … magnificent. Full of fiery purpose, something he’d found sorely lacking in himself the last few years. She spoke her mind without thought to the consequences, which he firmly believed most people should do.

  She possessed courage, this woman. And she was beautiful to boot.

  She shot him an irritated glare. “Stop staring at me like that.”

  He bit back a smile and settled into his seat. Poor Sebastian. What a time he must have had with his sister. Their parents died in an influenza epidemic that left Sebastian in charge of his younger sister and brother while he navigated the complicated world of the earldom. What a
trial she must have been for the new earl. It was a wonder Richard put up with her as well.

  She was staring out the window again, her earlier awe of the city conspicuously absent. Most likely because she was furious with him.

  He still had no idea who had been following him or even if he’d been followed, but he firmly believed that returning Claire to England was the best course of action. It would keep her safe and allow him to concentrate fully on his own purpose.

  She sighed. “You’re thinking awfully loud over there. If you’re contemplating ways to get me to England, you’re wasting your time.”

  “I don’t believe it’s a waste of time.”

  “Why?”

  “What’s keeping you in Paris?” What brought you here, Claire?

  Sebastian said she wanted an adventure, but Nathan didn’t believe that anymore. At times there was a desperation about her, a drive that brought her to this point. What was it?

  “Nothing is keeping me here but the desire to see a city I’ve only read about in books and heard about from friends.”

  “Your brother or your husband never brought you to Paris?”

  A pained look crossed her face and Nathan almost regretted he’d asked. Almost. His curiosity got the best of him however, and his regret didn’t last long.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  She faced him fully. “What is this about, my lord?”

  “Nathan.”

  She shot him a pointed look. Hell and damnation, how was she able to turn his normally cold heart to molten lava with just one look?

  “Why do you care?” she asked.

  He could have sworn she looked confused, as if someone caring was foreign to her, but that couldn’t have been right. Sebastian Addison was her brother, had even gone so far as to search out Nathan to watch out for her. And her husband had been the Richard Hartford. One of the most influential, popular men of the realm before his death.

  Before he could form an answer, the carriage slowed and the driver called out, “Place Dauphine, my lady.”

  The moment was lost yet was also indelibly marked on Nathan. He suspected he’d learned something about Lady Claire in that last moment but he was damned if he knew what. He was a master cardplayer with a reputation as a winner and a shrewd businessman that few crossed. He earned that reputation by reading people, yet he couldn’t get a good read on Claire.

  The carriage pulled over. Claire jumped out before Nathan had a chance to move. Quickly he scrambled out, fearing he looked most undignified to be seen chasing after a woman. Luckily the famous street was dark, the shops not yet opened for the day, nor would they be for another hour at least. He searched the shadows more carefully than he would have a few days ago. Claire had left Marchant’s in a hurry so Nathan doubted the miscreant who he thought was following them had time to pursue. They may have lost him, but Nathan wasn’t taking chances.

  Claire was directing the driver to lower her trunk to the ground.

  Nathan cleared his throat but neither paid him any mind. In fact, the driver kept looking at him with a suspicious eye. What was that all about? “Excuse me, my lady.”

  Claire barely afforded him a glance. “Yes?”

  “May I ask what you’re about?”

  “I need my luggage.”

  “I can see that, but why do you need your luggage? I hope you’re not planning another escape.”

  “I’m not the one who needs to escape, my lord.”

  The driver managed to lower the trunk without help and Claire opened it, rifling through the garments and muttering to herself.

  What did she need here, at Place Dauphine? Somehow he doubted she was here to peruse the baubles and gems the area was famous for. In the two days he’d known her he’d yet to see her wear any jewels. Besides, she had no money in which to purchase them. How could she possibly think she could stay in France with no money and no letters of introduction? The woman was mad and had to eventually realize it was best for her to return to her brother.

  “Do you need assistance?” He eyed her silk undergarments, discomfited at his visceral reaction upon seeing a woman’s most private clothing. Clothing he’d seen too many times to count. He shifted, uncomfortably aroused.

  “Of course I don’t need your help. Aha, here it is.” She pulled out a dingy brown gown that had certainly seen better days. Why in the world would she ever pack such an ugly garment? That piece of refuse should have been cast off years ago.

  Nevertheless she climbed back into the carriage with the gown clutched in her hand. The driver looked at Nathan, but all Nathan could do was shrug his own confusion and follow her.

  When he entered, her head was bent over the gown pooled in her lap. She was muttering again, pulling at the seams. Nathan made himself comfortable on the opposite side of the carriage and settled in to watch and wait. From his vantage point she almost looked like a young girl in her first blush of womanhood, but he knew firsthand that wasn’t true. He didn’t precisely know her age but guessed it to be in her midtwenties. If he remembered correctly, Hartford had been married to the chit for nearly half a decade. Sebastian had said it wasn’t a love match, so what type of marriage did they have?

  What business is it of yours, old fellow? None whatsoever. Or so he tried to tell himself, and yet he couldn’t let the thought go. Nathan was a good enough mathematician to know that things didn’t add up. Hartford passed not long ago. A year at the most and yet here was his widow out on an “adventure.”

  Claire began pulling things out of the ripped hem, and as she placed them on the seat beside her, Nathan could only stare dumbfounded.

  Emeralds and rubies glinted at him in the morning sunlight. Sapphires followed, woven into lacy golden chains. A diamond ring rolled off the seat and fell to the floor of the carriage. The matching earrings quickly followed.

  Nathan sat forward. “What the hell is all this?”

  “Jewelry.” She looked at him with a grin of triumph. “See? I’m not as destitute as you believed. I can well afford to stay in Paris indefinitely if I so choose. And hire the best chaperone.”

  Claire would have gloated at Nathan’s shocked expression but she’d been told that gloating was unladylike. Instead she gathered her small fortune into her reticule. By now the sun was up and there was movement in the shops. Surely the proprietor would open early for her. After all, she was selling some very expensive jewelry.

  She prepared to exit the carriage but Blythe jumped to open the door for her. There was a confused look about him that made her want to smile, but that would be gloating.

  He helped her down and looked about him, as if he expected someone to leap from the shadows.

  Claire turned to him, determined that this time they would part ways. “Well, my lord, it seems this is farewell.”

  He shot her a frustrated look. “Where will you go, Lady Claire?”

  She spread her arm wide while her other hand clutched the heavy reticule. “It’s a vast city. I can go anywhere I choose. Do anything I choose.” She loved the sound of that. Freedom was as precious as she’d always thought it to be.

  “There are dangerous parts of the city. Places no gently bred woman should venture.”

  Her smile slipped. Why must men always step on her happiness? Why must they force their pessimism on her optimism?

  “I promise I’ll be careful.” She stepped away. “Good luck in Venice, Lord Blythe.”

  He looked at her for several long moments as if he could see into her mind. She turned quickly, not wanting him to witness anything but her walking away.

  The proprietor had opened his doors by the time she reached it and swept in, her wide smile back in place, excitement humming through her.

  Less than five minutes later she was stomping out, frustration and anger a tangled knot choking the words right out of her. What a pompous, arrogant man!

  Blythe was leaning against the carriage, arms crossed, as if he had all the time in the world. Claire scowle
d at him. “I thought you would be on your way by now.”

  “What brings such a frown to your face, my lady?”

  She scowled harder, looking around for the driver. Mayhap he could help her since the officious proprietor refused to do business with a woman. “Where is the coachman?”

  “He’s been awake all night. I sent him to the nearest pub to get something to eat and some rest.”

  “You had no right. He was my driver.” Mortified to discover that she was very near tears, Claire blinked several times.

  Blythe raised his brows. “What’s amiss?”

  If he’d said something caustic, she would have been fine. If he said something caring, she would have snapped back. Instead he’d asked in an offhand way as if he were inquiring if the weather was clear. The tears threatened again. Tears of frustration that every time she turned around, an obstacle was thrown in her path. All she wanted was to be on her own. Was that too much to ask?

  “Claire?”

  She turned her head away from him, determined that he would not see her cry. More determined that she would not let this latest setback get the best of her.

  He touched her elbow.

  She sniffed and blinked some more, fighting to get her wayward emotions under control. “I need to ask the coachman something. Do you know which pub he went to?”

  “I believe it was the one two doors down. Mayhap I can be of some assistance.”

  “No, but thank you, my lord. I’m sure you need to be on your way.”

  “I’m not leaving you standing at the side of the street crying.”

  “I’m not crying.”

  Amusement danced in his eyes. Such dark, warm eyes. They reminded her of the chocolate she liked to drink before rising each morning. Quickly she pulled her gaze away. What in the world was wrong with her? Now was not the time to be thinking of chocolate. Or Lord Blythe’s eyes.

  “Of course you aren’t,” he said. “My mistake. Now, how can I be of assistance?”

  She didn’t want his assistance. Didn’t want to be beholden to him in any way, and definitely didn’t want to swallow her pride and admit she needed help. Except she did need help. But as soon as she sold her gems, she could finally wave farewell to Blythe and his irritating, constant presence.