Loving the Earl: A Loveswept Historical Romance

by Cullen, Sharon

  “The proprietor refused to do business with me.”

  “Mmm.”

  Claire took a deep breath. “He said he wouldn’t purchase my gems without the approval of my husband.” She clenched her teeth together when she thought of the man’s pompous air and his superior sniff. As if doing business with a woman was beneath him.

  Damn it. It was as if her husband’s hand was still clutching her from the grave.

  Blythe held out his hand and Claire looked at it blankly.

  “Give me the jewels.”

  She hesitated, staring at those long, tanned fingers. The jewels were all she had left, the only thing keeping her from returning home with her tail between her legs.

  He wiggled his fingers. “What other choice do you have? I’ll pretend to be your husband.”

  Oh, good God, how had it come to this? She’d sunk to a new low, having to trust the likes of Nathan Ferguson.

  She closed her eyes in defeat and placed her reticule in his outstretched hand. Several long moments passed until she finally looked at him. He was staring at her, an unreadable expression on his face as he tested the weight of the reticule. Already she regretted handing it to him.

  “Would you like to come with me? We can pretend we’re happily wed.” His smile was more of a smirk and it was exactly what she needed to get her emotions back in line.

  “Absolutely not.”

  His laugh followed him into the shop.

  Nathan pocketed the substantial blunt the proprietor gave him for selling Claire’s jewels. It’d been easy enough to pretend he was Claire’s husband. The shop owner asked no questions, more than pleased with the quality of the gems.

  Nathan turned to exit the shop, but instead of leaving, he stepped into the shadows to watch her. She was standing by the carriage, looking down the street, her hands clenched in front of her and the morning sun glinting off the waterfall of red hair.

  An unexpected pang of guilt hit him in the stomach. She looked so innocent standing there, waiting for him to deliver her money. She was altogether too trusting.

  He’d known she would have a difficult time selling her jewels. There were scrupulous dealers and unscrupulous dealers. Dealers who would not blink twice at selling a woman jewels but balked at purchasing her jewels for fear she was up to nefarious deeds—like funding an escape from her spouse. No dealer wanted to face a furious husband.

  Fortunately for Nathan, she’d stumbled across a scrupulous dealer.

  She was chewing on the corner of her lip again, her small teeth working the soft flesh. His body hardened, his fingers clenched into fists and his own tongue touched the corner of his mouth, wondering what hers would taste like.

  He stepped back, appalled at his thoughts. She was definitely not a woman to toy with. She came from a very respectable family that would string him up by his balls if they knew he’d dallied with their sister. Nathan didn’t need that sort of trouble. He didn’t want that sort of trouble.

  Yet he couldn’t very well leave her in Paris when someone was after him.

  Her blunt sat heavy in his pocket, and his anger at himself and the situation didn’t help matters. He found that he was just as angry at Sebastian for throwing them together. What if he told Claire that Sebastian had asked him to watch out for her? He suspected the scene would not go well. For him or Sebastian. Claire wanted independence. Desperately. He was interested in learning why a woman who was given everything would want to run off on her own.

  He exited the shop and her gaze immediately went to him.

  “Well?”

  His voice deserted him. His power of thought deserted him. His ability to breathe deserted him, so stunned was he by the pure beauty of her.

  She made an exasperated sound. “Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to tell me if you sold my jewels?”

  “I sold them.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Oh, thank goodness. And … thank you, my lord.”

  “My pleasure, my lady.”

  They stood there for what seemed like a very long time. Finally Claire shifted. “May I have the money?”

  He put his hand in his pocket and felt for the solid wad of blunt. His fingers closed around it but he didn’t draw it out.

  Claire’s brows furrowed. “My lord?”

  Why did it bother him that she refused to call him by his given name? Why the hell did it matter?

  The driver returned and climbed up on the box. “Where to now, my lady?”

  Claire looked at the driver, then at Nathan. “Can I have my money, please?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Nathan’s fingers convulsed around the wad.

  A man across the street caught Nathan’s attention. The man was leaning against the side of a shop, dressed in nothing spectacular—breeches and cloak and wearing a cap pulled low over his eyes—but watching them in a way that bothered Nathan.

  “Stay here.” He shot Claire a pointed look before crossing the street. He had to wait for a coach and six to rumble past and after it did, the man was gone. Nathan looked both ways and spotted the fellow a few shops down, scurrying away, looking furtively over his shoulder. Nathan took off after him. Claire called his name but he paid her no mind.

  His prey turned into an alley.

  Nathan was practically running now.

  A man stepped out of a shop right into Nathan’s path, causing Nathan to skid to a halt.

  “I say!” The man quickly sidestepped then peered at Nathan. “Blythe, what the devil are you doing running down the street like that?”

  “Burnbaum.”

  Burnbaum looked down the street then back at Nathan. “What is this all about?”

  “Nothing.” Damn it all to hell! He lost him thanks to Burnbaum. He tipped his head to the man, seething inside. “Good day.” He turned on his heels and stomped off toward Claire, leaving Burnbaum stuttering.

  “Who was that?” she asked.

  “Lord Burnbaum.”

  “Not him. The man you chased.”

  “I don’t know.” He grabbed her arm and steered her toward the door of the carriage.

  She shrugged out of his grip and shoved her hands on her hips, blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes. “What was that all about?”

  “I’ll tell you later. Right now we have to get back inside the carriage.” He looked behind him but saw nothing out of the ordinary. A gentleman and lady were exiting one of the shops, the lady taking the gentleman’s arm and laughing at something he said.

  His heart thundered, not from running after the miscreant but at the thought that Claire had come so close to the fool.

  Who was he and what was he about? Of course he might not be after Nathan. He could easily be a thief watching the businesses that catered to the very wealthy. Yet Nathan’s gut told him otherwise. And if he was after Nathan, there was no doubt he knew Nathan was with Claire. Now, more than ever, it was imperative that he send her back to England and safety.

  Nathan herded her into the coach as Claire tried to back out of it. “Lord Blythe, what is this about?”

  “Get in. We’ll talk about it later.”

  “Nathan!”

  “Is this what it takes for you to use my given name?”

  He pushed her on her derriere, causing her to land with an oomph on the seat. She straightened, brushing her hair out of her eyes as Blythe entered the coach and slammed the door closed. The conveyance sprang forward, the driver urging the horses into a trot. Blythe leaned across her to close the shades, his scent and heat engulfing her until she couldn’t breathe properly.

  Claire crossed her arms, angry but also intrigued. “Are you going to tell me what this is about?”

  “I thought I knew that man.”

  “Do you chase every man you think you know?”

  “No.”

  “Does he owe you money?”

  He seemed to think about that for a moment. “Not that I’m aware of.”

  She quirked a brow. “And how many
men owe you money that you don’t remember them?”

  “Quite a few, actually.”

  She shook her head, bemused. She’d never met anyone quite like Nathan Ferguson before. “Lord Blythe—”

  He sighed. “So we’re back to formalities?”

  She pursed her lips, biting back her sound of frustration. “Will you please tell me why you chased that man through half of Place Dauphine?”

  “I didn’t like the looks of him.”

  She glared at Blythe for a long moment. “Very well,” she finally said. “Keep your secrets, if you wish. Please give me my money and I’ll have the driver drop me off at the next hotel and you can be on your way, chasing whomever you come upon.”

  He looked at her with those dark, hooded eyes, the stare piercing. “I can’t do that.”

  A sick feeling crept into her throat. “Can’t do what?”

  “I can’t give you your money.”

  “Why not?”

  “What I mean is, I will give you your money.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “When?”

  “As soon as you board the ship back to Dover.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes narrowed and her cheeks heated in anger. “Let’s be clear about this, Lord Blythe. I am not going back to England. I am staying in Paris, and you are returning my money to me.”

  He sat back, an amused smile playing around his lips. “Considering I have your money, you’re making a considerable amount of demands.”

  She drew in a deep breath through her nose, then let it out slowly and slammed her palm into the cushion. “I am not going to England and you can’t keep my money.”

  “What money?”

  “The money you received from selling my jewels.”

  He sat back with a smirk. “What jewels?”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it, words lost in the roiling fury flowing through her. “The jewels I handed you to sell.”

  Those dark brown eyes continued to drill into her, hard and uncompromising. This was the man society whispered about. This was the scoundrel who supposedly killed a man in a duel, and who so many people owed money to because they were foolish enough to come up against him.

  What a fool she’d been to hand over every penny she had with the naïve belief that he actually wanted to help her.

  “Congratulations, my lord.”

  “Congratulations for what, my lady?” He raised his brows, that damned smirk still in place.

  “I never thought I could despise anyone as much as I despised my late husband. You have proved me wrong.”

  She could have sworn he winced, but that was simply wishful thinking. The man didn’t have a compassionate bone in his body.

  They rode in silence while Claire stared out the window, seething, furious at herself for not learning her lesson, at Blythe for duping her and at the world in general for conspiring against her. Would she ever learn? Would she ever be free of men who bullied and controlled the women around them? A sinking feeling in her stomach told her no. All men were bullies and scoundrels. You simply had to dig a little deeper on some of them.

  Eventually Blythe pounded on the ceiling, instructing the driver to pull over and stop. He climbed out of the coach and turned back to her. “If you would be so kind as to remain in the carriage, my lady.”

  She sliced him with a shriveling look. Or at least she wished her look could shrivel him. All it did was make him grin before he closed the door and left her alone. She looked around, found her old gown on the floor and scooped it up. A quick search proved that she’d been very efficient in retrieving all of her jewels. Not a one was left behind.

  She tossed the gown on the floor with a frustrated growl. She truly was destitute. There had been many, many times during her marriage when she’d wished for anonymity, for freedom. There had even been times she would have been happy to escape with nothing but the clothes on her back. Now she had that and it wasn’t as wonderful as she’d dreamed.

  The carriage creaked and leaned to the side, indicating that either the coachman disembarked or Blythe had climbed on top. Should she escape? Could she escape? And where would she go?

  With a huff she fell back against the squab. Her head pounded and her stomach cramped, while real fear clawed up her throat. She had no intention of returning to England. At least not before she experienced the adventure she’d planned.

  The carriage started moving again and Claire lost her chance to escape. Not that it mattered. Alone, with no money, in one of the most notorious cities known for its debauchery was almost as dire as being spirited away by an infamous gambler and rake.

  For the next few hours the carriage rumbled through the streets. If Claire wasn’t so angry, frustrated and worried, she would have enjoyed the views. As it was, she stewed; coming up with and dismissing so many escape scenarios that her head spun. It seemed her only option was to get the money back that Blythe had stolen from her, and that would take cunning and skill. Cunning she had. After all, she’d learned it from the best—her late husband. Skill was another thing entirely and something she didn’t possess. She prayed luck was on her side.

  An hour or so later the carriage finally stopped, then shifted as Blythe jumped down.

  He opened the door and Claire blinked at the bright sunshine spilling in.

  “My lady?” He held his hand out to help her down.

  She merely stared at it, then quirked a brow at him.

  He sighed and lowered his hand. “I’ve been awake all night and need some rest. I’ve instructed the driver that his services are no longer needed, so you best climb out before you find yourself heading back to Calais without your money.”

  She had to clench her hands together to keep from hitting the bounder.

  Like the lady her brothers taught her to be, she descended the small steps with grace and elegance and looked around. “Where are we?”

  “Paris.”

  She shot him a scornful glance. “Where in Paris?”

  He placed her hand on his arm but she immediately snatched it away. “If you think I’m pretending that everything is all right, then you’re sorely mistaken, my lord.”

  “Nathan.”

  She huffed out a breath. “This is—”

  “Highly irregular. I know. You’ve told me before. Several times.”

  She stopped and turned to him. “What is happening here? Why do you insist on returning me to England? Why won’t you give me my money?”

  He took her arm and guided her through the doors of a very elegant inn. The dark interior blinded her for a moment, making her rely on Blythe’s strong arm to guide her.

  He spoke to the proprietor but Claire barely noticed. The money had to be on his person somewhere. She simply had to discover where, retrieve it and walk out of the inn. The plan was simple. The execution more than likely would not be as simple, but she had to try. She wasn’t returning to England, and she was sick and tired of men and their autocratic ways, always thinking their ideas were the right ideas. Never thinking that a woman might have a bright idea as well.

  Well, she had a few of her own, and one of them was to escape from this man.

  She bumped up against him, hoping to feel the blunt in his waistcoat pocket. Instead she drew in a startled breath. He was solid as a rock, all hard muscle and lean leg. For a moment she was so disconcerted that she was almost glad for the support of his arm.

  He slid her a sideways look. “Is everything well, my lady?”

  “Perfectly.” She refrained from looking at him for fear that he would read her intentions, and see how flustered she’d become just by brushing up against him. For being a drunkard and a gambler, he was surprisingly fit.

  They were led through the common room and up a lavish set of white marble steps that led to the bedchambers. She had to act fast, before they were shown to their respective chambers, for she wouldn’t have another opportunity to discover where her money was.

  A smili
ng maid curtsied and showed them into an exquisite sitting room with other rooms leading off it. Claire stopped just inside as Blythe made his way farther in.

  He murmured something to the maid, who blushed and scurried out, closing the door behind her with one last, longing look at him.

  Claire stared dumbfounded at the closed door, but the maid didn’t return to fetch her and escort her to her own chambers. Her gaze slid to Blythe, who began to untie his cravat.

  “What are you doing?” Claire’s words emerged more as a squeak. She took a step back and came up against the closed door. “Wh-Where are my chambers?”

  He sighed, tossed the cravat on the nearest chair and began unbuttoning his waistcoat. He tipped his head to the set of doors to the right. “Through there.”

  She spared the door a glance. “I can’t sleep here. With you. That is to say—”

  “I know what you mean.” He ran a hand through his hair. “If you’re concerned about your virtue, know that I am too tired to do anything at the moment.”

  “That’s not amusing.” Her voice shook and she had the devil of a time stopping her hands from shaking as she fumbled for the door handle. “This is improper,” she whispered.

  He held his hands out at his sides. “This entire fiasco has been improper. What’s one more night? We both need to sleep and I’d rather you be close. You’ll have your bedchamber and I’ll have mine.”

  He finished unbuttoning his waistcoat and the garment joined the cravat. His hands went to the buttons of his shirt. Claire held up her hand to stop him from shedding any more garments. “My lord. Undress in your bedchamber, if you please. I’ll …” She swallowed. “I’ll remain here while you sleep.”

  He stared at her as if he didn’t quite believe her. Which he shouldn’t, but she was willing to promise anything to keep him from stripping down to his drawers in front of her.

  His lips thinned as he contemplated her for a few more heartbeats. He appeared to want to say something then seemed to change his mind. “I’ll sleep for a few hours, then we’ll be on our way.”