Loving the Earl: A Loveswept Historical Romance

by Cullen, Sharon

  Slowly his startled gaze swept over her, taking in shiny black hair piled high. One curled, ebony lock rested seductively on the top of a firm, golden breast encased in an off-white gown.

  With all that dark hair and glowing skin, she reminded him of a Gypsy.

  But what fascinated him the most, what caught his attention more than the curve of her breasts and the bewitching color of her eyes, were the dimples peeking out at him when she smiled.

  The stunning vision held out her hand. “Emmaline Sutherland. And you are?”

  He hesitated. He might disdain society, preferring the open ocean to a stuffy ballroom, but he knew the rules, and one of the biggest was that a lady did not introduce herself to a gentleman. Intrigued, he smiled, bowed over her hand and kissed it.

  “Captain Nicholas Addison.”

  “Well, Captain Addison, why don’t you ask me to dance? Maybe a sarabande will alleviate our boredom.”

  If women didn’t introduce themselves to men, they certainly didn’t ask men to dance. Who was this woman? The fear of making a fool of himself kept his feet rooted to the gleaming wood floor. Would his leg withstand the complicated dance moves? If it didn’t, did he deserve the captain’s position just offered to him?

  He held out his arm for her to take. “Would you prefer a stroll instead?”

  She tilted her head, studying him while his elbow remained crooked for her hand.

  Finally she took his arm. “I’d be delighted.”

  As he guided her through the crush of people, he recalled his brother mentioning something about this ball being held for an Emmaline Sutherland. “So, Miss Sutherland, to what do we owe the honor of this route?”

  She grimaced, her gaze glancing over the dancers. “No honor. Aunt Dorothy will take any excuse to give a ball. I happened to be in town at the moment.”

  “You are not from London?”

  Her hand felt nearly weightless on his arm, yet he was well aware of its warmth beneath her glove.

  “Originally, yes. But I live abroad now and return infrequently. And you, sir? Are you from London?”

  “Yes, but like you, I am rarely here. I’m a sea captain and will set sail in a few days for Boston.” Not completely the truth. He was rarely in town because he preferred the family’s country home, where he didn’t have to encounter pitiful stares and whispers behind his back. If not for Kenmar’s summons, and Sebastian’s plea to attend this ball, Nicholas wouldn’t be here now.

  Miss Sutherland raised an ebony eyebrow. “Boston. How exciting.” Her tone lacked the aforementioned excitement, as if her mind was far away. “And who do you sail for?”

  “Blackwell Shipping.” Pride welled in his chest. Pride that he was once again doing something. Sailing instead of rusticating, as his brother called it. Sailing instead of recuperating. Sailing instead of feeling sorry for himself. “Where do you live, if not in London?” he asked.

  “Barbados.”

  “Barbados?” He turned to look at her.

  Amusement lurked in those curiously colored eyes. “Does that shock you?”

  More like fascinated. While Nicholas was well traveled, he didn’t know many women who were. In fact, he didn’t know any women who were. “No,” he lied.

  “My husband and I own a sugar plantation on the island.”

  Disappointment washed through him at the mention of a husband even though he had no right to his disappointment. It wasn’t as if he was able to pursue a courtship with Miss, or rather, Mrs. Sutherland. He was leaving in five days, after all.

  “And is your husband present tonight?” He glanced around the room, searching for an angry gentleman staring holes in his back.

  “He’s in Barbados overseeing the plantation. He never travels to London.”

  “I see.” But he didn’t see. If he had a wife as beautiful and charming as Emmaline Sutherland, he wouldn’t let her out of his sight. Definitely not to travel from Barbados to London alone. “Are you frightened traveling alone?”

  A smile touched her lips. “What would I be frightened of?”

  He shrugged, his discussion with Kenmar still fresh in his mind. “Pirates.”

  “Pirates are the things of fairy tales, are they not?”

  “Pirates are a very real threat, I’m afraid.”

  “Are you speaking of a certain lady pirate who attacks ships and eats men?”

  Nicholas chuckled. “Lady Anne they call her.”

  “Ah, yes. Lady Anne,” Emmaline said with a slight smile.

  “I’m afraid tales of her are most likely exaggerated. Especially the man-eating tales.”

  “You don’t believe in Lady Anne?”

  Nicholas hesitated, recognizing the same question he’d asked Kenmar. “I’m afraid not. Sailing is difficult enough for men. It’s not a lifestyle a woman would become accustomed to.”

  “But I sail frequently.”

  He detected a note in her voice warning that he was treading on unstable ground. Yet, a little devil stood on his shoulder and he felt an unholy need to goad this woman. Not a very gentlemanly thing to do, but that what-the-hell attitude took root again.

  “As a passenger. Not as a crewman. The work is strenuous and taxing. Not to mention dangerous.”

  “And you don’t think a woman is able to engage in such dangerous work?” Her voice was tight, her shoulders even tighter.

  He bit back the urge to smile. What a virago this woman was and what fun it would be to debate with her. He’d met very few men, let alone women, he’d had the pleasure to clash verbal swords with.

  “I believe a woman has her place in a man’s world, but not on the sea.”

  Silence stretched between them as they completed a circuit of the room and stopped where they’d started. Mrs. Sutherland looked up at him, seeming to assess him. He was relieved to see she wasn’t angry, merely interested, as if she were studying a bug pinned to a board. Or, better yet, an unknown creature pulled from the sea. Her gaze drew him in, made him think thoughts that were entirely inappropriate.

  He cleared his throat and stepped back. She’s married, Addison. You don’t dally with married women.

  She curtsied, although he had the impression the move was less etiquette and more mockery, which delighted him and had him forcing back a smile he was sure she wouldn’t appreciate. “Thank you for alleviating my boredom, kind sir. Your conversation was … enlightening.”

  He bowed, finding it more and more difficult not to smile. She certainly was peeved with him, and he found to his chagrin that he wasn’t at all pleased she was taking leave of his company. He would have liked to debate with her for the rest of the night. But that would be inappropriate. Besides, he was sailing in a few days and had to prepare for it. “My pleasure, Mrs. Sutherland.”

  A mere hour later, Emmaline observed Nicholas Addison leave with his brother, the Earl of Claybrook. Both men climbed the stairs, twin specimens of masculinity that had every female eye riveted to their wide shoulders and full heads of black-as-sin hair. Neither wore the wigs that were so in fashion. Emmaline had a feeling that others would soon follow in their footsteps, because the two were decidedly delicious looking without them. Each moved with an animal-like grace, although Nicholas had a hitch to his step that had her wondering what happened to him. The limp was his only physical flaw, although she didn’t consider it a flaw, just another fascinating aspect of a man who captivated her attention.

  Inside she was still smiling at their conversation. So, Captain Addison believed sailing too strenuous for women. She couldn’t help herself as she laughed out loud, causing a few heads to turn her way.

  Even though she disagreed with his assessment of females, she thoroughly enjoyed their verbal sparring, but something about him bothered her. Normally she was good at sizing up a man’s character. He’d been interested, but the interest in those deep navy eyes definitely cooled when she mentioned a husband. So he had morals.

  He’d been a gentleman, sincerely concerned for her safet
y when he spoke of pirates in that smooth-as-velvet voice. Which meant he was caring.

  He firmly believed a woman had no place on the sea, yet he wasn’t harsh about his belief. Merely naïve, as most men were. Unlike most of the gentlemen at the ball, who’d gone soft with drink and too much fine food, she felt his strength in the muscles of his arm, and in his wide shoulders unpadded beneath his coat. He was lean, the bones in his face finely chiseled, the pale skin stretched taut. There was no excess about him, as if he’d gone to hell and back, and the journey had taken everything from him, leaving him with nothing but what he needed to survive.

  There were shadows in his blue eyes, a weariness and deep grief. Yet when he spoke of sailing she glimpsed a man who commanded authority and demanded respect. No doubt he was a very good captain.

  No doubt she had her work cut out for her.

  Kenmar had picked his spy well.

  Read on for an excerpt from Katie Rose’s

  Mistletoe and Magic

  Chapter One

  New York, 1874

  “I see someone,” Jennifer Appleton whispered. Her half-shut eyes fell on the elderly woman seated across the table from her. “It is a woman. Has your mother passed over as well as your father?”

  “Why, yes!” Beatrice Osborne appeared surprised as she gazed at the lovely young woman before her. “He died in the war, while she …”

  “Her heart.” Jennifer nodded as the woman gasped in acknowledgment. “I have a strange feeling right here.” She pressed her hand over her left breast and appeared to shudder. “I feel she really left us due to a broken heart.”

  “She was never the same after seeing my father’s name on those papers.” Beatrice’s eyes filled. “And though they said she had a weakness due to the fever, I believe as you do.”

  “The war took many widows as well as husbands,” Jennifer said. “Did she wear a cameo?”

  “All the time!” The old woman pulled a chain from beneath her collar and displayed a beautifully carved pearl silhouette on a black stone. “This was hers. I can still smell her perfume!”

  “She knows that you wear it and think of her. I can see your father now. They are together on the other side. Know that they are happy and at peace. They will be there for you one day.”

  As if on cue, a harpsichord wailed somewhere in the old house, and a ghostly sound emanated from the walls. The chandelier trembled overhead, throwing dancing prisms of light about the room.

  “Your father wants you to know that he loves you, too …” Jennifer intoned.

  The music faded away, and Beatrice rose and hugged her as Penelope and Winifred entered with refreshments. “It was my parents!” She turned to the beautiful Appleton sisters, beaming with pleasure. “They were here, and I’ve missed them so badly! How can I ever thank you!” She pressed a sealed envelope discreetly into Jennifer’s hands.

  “I am glad,” Jennifer said, as Winifred and Penelope bestowed benevolent smiles on the wealthy widow. “We know what it’s like to miss your loved ones. I am very pleased we brought you a measure of comfort.”

  Beatrice disappeared through the door and the three sisters hugged each other in congratulations. “You were wonderful, Winifred!” Jennifer cried. “I swear I can still hear the music! And Penelope, when you jiggled the chandelier, I thought I was seeing ghosts! But how did you know about the cameo?”

  “I saw it beneath her blouse,” Penelope explained with a shrug. “It wasn’t hard to guess the rest …”

  Winifred gave her a shrewd look, but Jennifer merely laughed and collapsed in exhaustion. “It worked beautifully. By the time we’re done, I will have enough to pay for Winnie’s law books, and a gown for your debut …” Since Winifred couldn’t be a practicing attorney, she worked with Charles Howe and assisted him in his cases.

  Penelope slowly opened her eyes and saw the bright gaslights of the dressing room. It was only a memory, a vision of what had happened just a few years ago when she and her sisters were practicing spiritualism for wealthy widows in New York.

  It was clever Jennifer who’d come up with the scheme when they were orphaned at a young age. Their aunt, Eve Appleton, had taken them in when their parents died. Although she was generous, she was far from rich, and Jennifer realized they would have to find a way to earn some much-needed money. Thankfully, spiritualism was all the rage, and the three pretty young sisters soon attracted a moneyed following.

  The ironic part of their notorious past was that she, Penelope Appleton, had a secret: ever since she was a child, she could truly see the future.

  She had never told anyone, and had gone along with the charade when Jennifer pretended to summon ghosts from the grave. If on occasion she imparted a suggestion to her sister, it was simply considered a lucky guess. Clever Jennifer and brilliant Winnie had always thought of her as the pretty one, a girl who used her looks to enchant men and women alike, and who hadn’t another thought in her head except what she would wear tomorrow or how to use the curling tongs on her bangs to create a charming fringe. Yet if she concentrated deeply, got rid of the chatter inside her head, and really focused, she could close her eyes and see what was to come.

  When she’d met Mary Forester, she intuited that her son was Jennifer’s future husband. And she saw the same thing with Charles Howe in regard to her other sister, long before he and Winifred were even friends. Although neither courtship was without difficulty, Penelope was always sure deep down that these men were destined for her sisters, and that they would be supremely happy.

  Now that her sisters were wed, they had given up séances, and Penelope had kept her secret to herself. But now it was her turn. On Saturday night at the Vanderbilts’ Christmas ball, she would meet her one true love.

  She had already seen it.

  “Stop fussing, my dear, and please turn around so I can fasten your bustle.”

  Penelope broke out of her thoughts and managed a smile for the seamstress. Martha Winspear, New York’s most fashionable dressmaker, gathered up the satin and began draping the fabric, meticulously inserting one pin after another into the folds. Finished, she sat back on her heels and nodded with satisfaction.

  “There now. Turn around and see if that doesn’t look grand!”

  Penelope whirled to face the mirror, and then gasped with delight when she saw her new dress. Simple and elegant, the ivory satin ball gown dipped scandalously low in the bodice, only to pause at a black velvet belt, which encircled an impossibly slender waist. The rich fabric then molded to her hips in a daring mermaid silhouette before flouncing to the floor in a charming cascade of ruffles.

  “Martha, it’s gorgeous!” Penelope said with pleasure. “You’ve outdone yourself. Why, you will be the talk of the town after the Vanderbilts’ Christmas ball, I will see to it!”

  The seamstress beamed as she peered at the woman before her. She couldn’t wish for a better model to showcase her work, for Penelope was truly beautiful. Martha’s head cocked shrewdly as she took in the young woman’s perfect features, the soft blond hair that was the color of pure sunlight, and the rosebud mouth. But it was her eyes that bedazzled even the most casual passerby: violet blue, like the depths of a fairy pool, Penelope Appleton’s gaze made one feel enchanted.

  And there was no lack of funds to pay for the dress, Martha thought in approval. The older Appleton sisters had married well, so Penelope could afford any gown of her choosing to make her long-awaited debut.

  Looking critically at the garment once more, Martha smoothed a ruffle. “That is very kind, my dear. You will turn every other girl green with envy. And why not? You are the most beautiful of the famous Appleton sisters, after all! Come now, put on your gloves and your earbobs, and let’s go show the ladies!”

  Penelope grinned in excitement and, still holding her dress aloft, rushed out to the parlor where Jennifer and Winifred waited with their aunt Eve. The dressmaker dramatically turned up the gaslights as Penelope stepped out from behind a curtain onto the stage.
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br />   Three gasps sounded at once as the sisters rose in unison, while Eve fumbled in her pocket for her lace handkerchief.

  “Why, Pen, you are stunning!” Jennifer cried, a toddler on her knee. Scholarly Winifred removed her glasses to polish them on her sleeve, and then peered through the spectacles once more with approval. Aunt Eve dabbed at her eyes, choking back tears before coming to stand before her niece, her face full of emotion.

  “You are radiant, my dear! Your parents would have been so proud! Who else would have thought of putting a black velvet ribbon at the waist but you! You were always so clever! Your mother often talked about your debut and the plans she had for all of you. And now with two of you well married,” she glanced at Jennifer and Winifred approvingly, “that only leaves our Penny. I wish your mother could be with us here today!”

  “I feel she is,” Penelope whispered, glancing into the mirror with an odd look. “I know she is,” she repeated more firmly.

  The sisters were silent for a moment, thinking of their parents who had passed several years ago. It was Jennifer who looked up first, gave her sister a grin, and indicated the lovely gown. “I want to hug you, but I’m afraid to wrinkle that dress!”

  “Pooh.” Penelope whirled around and opened her arms to embrace them all. This time their tears flowed freely. Eve cried daintily into her linen cloth, careful not to wet the gown, Jennifer choked, and Winifred sniffled.

  They made a charming picture. Jennifer, her dark blond hair pulled back into a loose chignon and her mischievous gray eyes brimming with tears, looked as proud as any doting mother. Winifred’s severe bun and restrained dress only emphasized her elegant features, which were filled with affection for her younger sister. And Aunt Eve, plump and pretty in her blue morning dress with her sugar-spun hair gleaming in the lamplight, looked like a fairy godmother.

  Even the dressmaker joined in the emotional storm, wailing loudly before blowing her nose into her handkerchief with a snort that startled the other women into laughter.