Not the Kind of Earl You Marry

by Kate Pembrooke

  He shook his head. “My sister is nothing if not deliberate, and she’s perfectly aware that strictly proper behavior requires that door to be wide open, since there is no one here to perform the duty of chaperone.”

  “But your sisters know the truth. It doesn’t make sense that they would encourage a match between us.”

  “I don’t know about that. I can tell they like you. I know they think I’ve evaded parson’s mousetrap far too long.” He gave a nonchalant shrug. “I suppose they consider that reason enough. They must, since they’re blatantly pushing us toward one another.”

  She frowned. “The idea is preposterous.”

  “Is it?” He took a few deliberate steps in her direction.

  “Y-yes.” She raised her chin a notch. “Absolutely it is. How can you not see that?”

  He moved closer still until there was less than a foot separating them. “I admit the idea would have seemed far-fetched just three days ago when we were glaring at each other over your dining table, but we’ve gotten along rather well since then, don’t you think?”

  “That’s only because this charade would be impossible to carry off if we didn’t make an attempt to be cordial to each other. Don’t make the mistake of reading more into it than that.”

  “And here I thought I was growing on you,” he teased. “I’ll have to try harder.” Her cheeks pinkened becomingly, but the wariness returned to her eyes.

  “That would be wasted effort,” she protested. “We’re ill-suited for each other.”

  “My sisters evidently don’t think so.”

  She gave a huff of impatience. “Your sisters don’t know me well enough to make that judgment.”

  “All right. Then you enlighten me. Why are we so ill-suited?”

  “Because I wouldn’t be the sort of wife you’re looking for.”

  “Ahh.” He nodded and clasped his hands behind his back. “And pray tell, what sort of wife do I want?”

  “Someone like you.”

  His brows shot up. “I can’t even begin to guess what you mean by that. You’ll have to be more specific.”

  She let out a frustrated exhale. “Someone from a prominent family like yours, who’s adept at playing the social games the Beau Monde is so fond of playing. Someone who wouldn’t rather stay at home curled up with a book, who would make a good political hostess, who could further your political ambitions and not hinder them. Someone who would look good on your arm while you attend the endless parade of social events. Someone more like Lady Jane.”

  “Lady Jane wouldn’t have picked up a grubby little boy and cuddled him on her lap.” The words came out more harshly than he intended, but it aggravated him that she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—grasp that he didn’t want someone merely because she had an attractive face or an enviable social status. “Do you really think I’m that shallow?”

  She had the grace to look as if she regretted her words. “I didn’t mean it quite the way it sounded.”

  “Let’s put aside any notion that Lady Jane, or someone like her, is a rival to you. I’ve fixed my interest on no particular lady to date. But when I do, I promise you she won’t just be a pretty ornament on my arm.”

  “I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to suggest you would choose a girl only because she was beautiful, but you do have to admit that would be true of many men.”

  “But not true of me. It might interest you to know, that like you, I place more value on a person’s character than on looks or a family name.” They stared at each other through a long beat of silence, before he reached out, placed one finger under her chin, and gently tilted her face up. “Besides, you underestimate your charms, Miss Hurst.” His gaze took a leisurely perusal of her face before settling on her mouth. “I find you very attractive. Very attractive indeed.” Slowly, he bent his head closer, giving her the chance to draw away if she chose to.

  She didn’t.

  So he leaned in closer and closer until his lips touched hers, tentatively at first, then exploring with a more determined purpose. His hands came up to cradle her cheeks as he deepened the kiss, coaxing and teasing, and at last tasting as her lips parted beneath his. Her mouth tasted like tea and lemon, and felt like heated satin. She raised herself up on tiptoe, and wrapped her arms around his neck as she kissed him back. Her enthusiastic participation prompted him to lower his hands, sliding them around to the small of her back, drawing her flush against him.

  She felt so good in his arms, so right. The way she fitted against him, the way she met him kiss for kiss, not shyly, and yet not boldly either. Each of them equally taking and giving, exploring and discovering, sliding toward a delicious oblivion of desire.

  He was vaguely aware that his hands had slipped down to cup her sweetly curved backside, and that she offered no protest he’d done so, and then his ability for rational thought faded away as the passion of the moment overtook him. Overtook them both as notions of propriety were cast aside.

  Until a voice from the entry hall brought them back to their senses.

  “Ridley, see that the carriage is brought around,” Libby instructed the butler.

  They both stiffened guiltily, and Miss Hurst moved back as far as his embrace allowed, which wasn’t far at all, since she was still pressed tightly against him, chest to thigh.

  “Now she comes back,” William muttered, his arms falling away. He stepped back, ran a hand through his hair as he eyed her with a rueful expression.

  Miss Hurst’s hands moved to her hair, checking it for signs of disarray, adjusting a few hairpins.

  “Don’t worry. Your hair looks fine,” William assured her before his sister re-entered the sitting room. Now her lips…they were another matter altogether. They had the telltale signs of having just been thoroughly kissed.

  “Charlotte, I called for the carriage. William can see you home,” Libby said brightly. Her gaze sharpened as she took in Miss Hurst’s appearance, but she only said, “One of the maids can serve as a chaperone.”

  A guilty flush stained Miss Hurst’s cheeks. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary. I’m sure your brother has more pressing matters to attend to. I can certainly ride home alone.”

  “If that’s what you wish,” Libby said, glancing uncertainly at William.

  “I assure you, Miss Hurst, I am at your service should you wish my company, but I shall accede to your wishes regardless.” He wasn’t completely surprised that she’d rejected Libby’s offer that he see her home. She’d retreated behind that aloof demeanor again.

  “It’s been a lovely afternoon, but I don’t wish to impose any further. Thank you for everything though, your earlier generosity, a delicious repast, the way you’ve welcomed me into your lives.”

  Libby reached out and took Miss Hurst’s hands in her own. “The pleasure has been all ours.”

  Ridley returned and informed them the carriage was waiting. William had to satisfy himself with taking his leave of Miss Hurst with Libby looking on. He wished they’d had a moment of privacy, because the matter of that kiss still hung between them. But evidently his sister deemed she’d given them more than enough privacy already.

  Settling things between them would have to wait. Knowing Miss Hurst, she’d probably want to ignore that kiss, to act as if it had never happened.

  But it had happened, and William was determined to know what it meant—if it meant anything at all—about their future together.

  * * *

  What had she been thinking?

  Charlotte had asked herself that question repeatedly since leaving Lady Peyton’s residence. It had filled her thoughts while she dressed for dinner, and then kept her so preoccupied and quiet during the meal that Phillip had inquired—with some concern—if she was feeling all right. She’d blamed a headache and used it as an excuse to retire early to her room, preferring solitude while she grappled with her emotions.

  Even now as she finished preparing for bed, her cheeks still grew warm whenever her thoughts returned to that kiss
and the memory of the way his lips felt—so warm and right against her own. Of how it felt to be held in his arms, of the way the feel of the firm masculine planes of his body against her had ignited a warmth right down to the very marrow of her being.

  Gah! She had to stop dwelling on it. Much easier said than done, and yet after expending all this mental energy she was no closer to understanding her actions than she had been six hours ago. With a heavy sigh, she sat at her dressing table, picked up her silver-backed hairbrush, and drew it through her hair. She studied her reflection in the looking glass, a bit surprised that she didn’t look a jot different from how she had this morning. Which was silly, of course. It’s not as if being kissed marked you somehow.

  And yet she felt different…changed…not the same girl she had been a mere twelve hours earlier. And that, she supposed, was the reason for all this self-inspection. She didn’t want to let a man affect her like this, to rattle her, to make her question what she knew about herself. On some level, it was precisely what she’d feared before she agreed to go ahead with this betrothal—that she’d become so enmeshed in the pretend she’d forget what was real.

  In truth she still wasn’t sure why she’d let that kiss happen. And she couldn’t chalk it up as merely the natural curiosity of a spinster who’d never been kissed, because it wasn’t her first kiss. Not that she had a vast body of experience when it came to kissing, but she’d received a few mistletoe kisses in her youth, and at sixteen, Johnny Martin, the squire’s youngest son, had pulled her behind the refreshments’ tent during Fair Day and planted his lips on hers in a relatively chaste kiss, though Charlotte had found it thrilling at the time. Poor Johnny later died at the Battle of Waterloo, and she hadn’t been kissed since.

  Hadn’t even come close to being kissed.

  So was it any wonder, when Lord Norwood had signaled his unmistakable intent to kiss her, and given her the opportunity to object, that she hadn’t?

  Not only had she not objected, she’d encouraged him. A hot flush swept over her at the memory. For heaven’s sake, she’d curled her arms around his neck and snuggled against him with greedy wantonness.

  What had she been thinking? It would be one thing if they truly intended to marry, but as she frequently reminded others, theirs was a sham engagement. How had she lost sight of that fact?

  It might have had something to do with that moment he took her hand in his to inspect the ring on her finger. She’d briefly let herself imagine what it might be like if things between them were real. It almost definitely had something to do with him capering about the sitting room on his hands and knees. It had been impossible not to admire his broad shoulders as he easily gave the boys their rides, and equally hard not to notice the way his trousers stretched tightly over a very finely shaped derriere.

  He hadn’t been the only one left breathless after those rides. How could she have known that the sight of him clad in shirtsleeves and waistcoat would send her pulse racing? Or that it would take all her strength of will not to smooth back his dark, unruly hair when it fell over his brow while he entertained his nephews?

  Something about seeing him relaxed and disheveled…she’d let down her guard, failed to remember the demarcation between pretense and reality, and had been swept up in a kiss that never should have happened.

  All because she’d allowed her thoughts to roam down paths better left untrodden.

  She wouldn’t—wouldn’t, wouldn’t, wouldn’t—make that mistake again.

  Chapter Ten

  The next day shortly before noon, William was working in his study when Stevens poked his head around the door. “I believe you’ll wish to see this, sir.” His secretary held up a note, and at William’s nod, walked over and handed it to him.

  “Thank you, Stevens.” The secretary went back to the small office he occupied just off William’s study. The wax seal bore the imprint PH. William had sent a draft of the marriage settlements to Phillip Hurst, advising him to look them over and then contact William when he was ready to discuss them. He’d been waiting for Hurst’s reply. He broke the seal and unfolded the single sheet of paper.

  Norwood,

  Charlotte plans to run errands this afternoon. Could you come over at half-past one? Our business shouldn’t take long to discuss. I haven’t mentioned this to Charlotte. I think it’s best that way.

  Hurst

  William smiled at Hurst’s reluctance to tell his sister they were having the marriage settlements formalized, although he acknowledged the man was likely right. She wouldn’t be happy about it if she knew.

  “Stevens,” he called.

  A few seconds later Stevens appeared in the doorway. “Yes, sir?”

  “Please send a reply to Lord Hurst telling him I’ll arrive at half-past one per his request.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  William turned back to the report he was preparing on ways to fund England’s lingering war debts. He’d like to finish it before heading over to see Hurst.

  So it was that an hour and a half later he was mounting the front steps of the Hurst residence. Hopkins answered his knock, inscrutably correct as befit his station.

  “Good afternoon, Hopkins,” William said. “Would you inform Lord Hurst that I’ve come to call?”

  “If you will follow me, my lord. I’ve been instructed to take you straight up.” Hopkins led the way upstairs to a modestly sized room with a pair of tall windows that overlooked the back gardens. Phillip Hurst sat at his desk, where a maid was just laying out an afternoon repast of sandwiches and fruit.

  “Norwood,” he said in greeting, as both servants exited the room. “Perfect timing. Sit down and help yourself to a bit of sustenance.” He indicated a chair in front of the desk. William pulled it out and settled himself into it.

  “I always seem to catch you when you’re eating,” William said with a grin.

  The other man waved a careless hand through the air before reaching for a sandwich and setting it on a plate in front of him. It wasn’t the dainty type of sandwich often served with afternoon tea but a substantial concoction made of thick slices of bread, meat, and cheese. Surprisingly, Miss Hurst’s brother maintained a slim build despite an apparently hearty appetite. “This is just a snack to see me through to dinner,” Hurst continued. “Going over the estate ledgers makes me hungry. Have some if you like.” He pushed the platter of food closer to William’s side of the desk.

  “Thank you, but I ate before coming here. I’m eager, though, to hear your thoughts about the settlements. I’d like to have them finalized as soon as possible.”

  Hurst nodded and finished chewing his bite of sandwich. He wiped his fingers on a napkin and drew out a sheaf of papers from a stack sitting on his desk. “That makes two of us. Very good of you to have it drawn up so quickly. I’ve read through everything, and have no objections to what you’ve outlined in it. I added a few notations, just minor details. The exact sum of Charlotte’s dowry, the amounts of a couple familial bequests she’ll come into on her twenty-fifth birthday. Nothing that changes the document substantially.”

  “Good enough then.”

  “I’ll send this on to my solicitor for him to go over,” Hurst said. “Just to make sure everything’s right and tight, as it were.”

  “Naturally. I would expect you to.” William nodded approvingly. “If he has any suggestions, I’m amenable to hearing them. At this point, it’s really an exercise in form more than anything else, since as things stand, your sister intends to jilt me when it becomes convenient to do so.”

  “True,” the other man agreed. “But Charlotte ought to be protected in case a marriage does occur between the two of you.”

  “A highly unlikely event, unless you know something I don’t?”

  Hurst chuckled. “I’m not implying anything. If I were a betting man, I wouldn’t put my money on Charlotte becoming Lady Norwood. No offense to you, of course, but she is quite adamant this isn’t a real betrothal.” He gave William a pointed
look. “You and I know it is real, even if temporary in nature. For some reason, Charlotte doesn’t want to acknowledge that.”

  “She has made her views clear,” William agreed.

  “This is just so we can cross our t’s and dot our i’s.” Hurst indicated the document he held. “Without a serious intent to marry, it’s essentially meaningless. Even so, I’m not going to mention we’re having it drafted.”

  William lifted a brow. “You think it’s going to upset her that much?”

  Hurst scrunched his face into a thoughtful grimace. “Don’t get me wrong. My sister is one of those rare females who isn’t prone to fits of drama. She’s remarkably calm and rational most of the time. Clearheaded, logical, doesn’t bend a man’s ear with idle chatter.” He gave William a frank look. “It’s a shame you created such a bad impression the other morning because she’ll make some man a fine wife.”

  “I do regret that mightily,” William said.

  “You’d have a heap of work to do, to get her to regard you in a favorable light. Every once in a while, she digs in her heels and there’s no changing her mind.” He shook his head. “Not to belabor the point, but I think we’ll all be happier if we don’t enlighten her.” He emphasized this by waving the document in the air, before setting it to the side.

  “All right, I won’t bring it up, but neither will I deny its existence if she somehow tumbles onto the fact I had it drawn up.”

  “Fair enough,” her brother said. “It’s possible I’m wrong to anticipate her wrath. I mean she did agree to wear your betrothal ring, and I wouldn’t have expected her to do that.”

  She kissed me passionately yesterday, and I didn’t expect that either.

  “She presents a worthy challenge to a man,” William said. A challenge he found harder to resist the more time he spent in her company.

  Phillip Hurst gave him a sharp look. “I’m not sure of your meaning, but I caution you to take up that challenge only if you do mean to marry her. I won’t have you trifling with her affections.”