The Earl's Secret

by TERRI BRISBIN

“No, I went to the address and no one lives there. Many of these buildings are being abandoned or are falling into ruin as families and businesses take up quarters in the New Town.”

  He laughed then, the absurdity of the situation striking him. “It is astounding to me that you can calmly discuss the problems of urban development when you were just nearly killed by part of that very problem.”

  She nodded, still seeming to watch him with suspicion, and said, “I have been told often that I am different, Mr. Archer.”

  “Now that I have saved your life, do you think it permissible for you to address me by my given name?”

  Her expression turned into one of disdain and he was stunned by it. Certainly they had experienced enough of an acquaintance to allow it? Perhaps not in London, where no one, not even his mother, called him by it, but here where no one knew him, could it not be permitted?

  “I did not take you for such a stickler of conventional behavior, Miss Fairchild.”

  From the anger flashing in her gaze that turned her usually warm brown eyes into the hue of molten copper, he expected an angry retort. She appeared ready to deliver one until another bolt cut through the sky above them, so strong it blinded him for a moment. When he looked into her eyes, the anger was gone. He would blame her changeable mood on her close call with danger.

  “I cannot believe that I am going to admit this to you, Mr…. Mr. Archer, but I fear I am overwhelmed by the events here today. I must go now,” she said in a rapid sentence as she tried to step around him. The booming thunder as it filled the close and echoed around them seemed to change her mind on the matter of leaving.

  Anna took a deep breath and tried to focus on anything, anything but the man before her. Her shock at seeing him running toward her, screaming out her name and then pulling her to safety would explain her reaction. Surely, someone who had faced certain death could be forgiven for not remembering that she hated the man who saved her life?

  The same excuse could be given for her lapse of judgment in allowing that same hated man to kiss her…and kiss her…and again until she was so breathless she could not then think clearly.

  Now, even as she tried to blame the storm for keeping them in such close proximity, Anna knew that her plan to approach him logically and coolly at their next meeting was in complete shambles. The second part of her plan was to keep things impersonal and social and never to allow him close enough to engage her emotions. Her failure to adjust and regroup as things went from bad to worse at this first encounter since learning the truth spoke more to her inexperience than to her intentions. She’d almost convinced herself that she could flee him now and put her plan back into action when he blocked her escape from the close.

  Candidly, she did not think he did it for a purpose other than the honorable one of her protection—well, at least until he pulled her back into his strong embrace and lowered his mouth to hers. She could think of no explanation for this incessant need of his to kiss her. Her thoughts were scattering as she realized that he, Mr. Archer or Lord Treybourne, had not changed since their last meeting. The person who had changed was her.

  But, if she had changed with the knowledge of his true identity and his deception, why did his kisses still thrill her? Why did she wish to push herself farther into his embrace and allow him to continue to hold her and protect her against the wild storm blowing around them? Why did she not denounce him for the scoundrel he was?

  Anna intended to do just that until his hands moved up to cradle her face and to hold her still during his sensual assault. She did, truly, plan to pull away and reveal that she knew his name, and the charade would reach its end. Then his tongue dipped inside her mouth and touched hers and all rational thoughts fled in the swirl of desire that grew deep inside her.

  How could she explain this? She, the liberal, reformist bluestocking, kissing the very lord of the peerage who defended everything she opposed? And with such abandonment of proper behavior?

  The only thing she could consider was that her heart was finally overruling her mind. Concentrating, she tried to pull away from whatever control he was exerting, but he did the one thing she did not expect. He moaned out her name.

  “Anna,” he whispered against her mouth.

  She did not hear it so much as feel it reverberate through her. Anna’s heart and body reacted before her mind could stop them. She did the only thing worse.

  “David,” she whispered back.

  Neither of them noticed for several minutes that the rain had stopped.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Noises around them, the kind that said the city and people were stirring and coming out to survey the damage from the storm, finally drew their attention. The voices grew closer and louder. There were several people calling out her name. David released her and watched with consummate male pride as she touched her mouth and then looked at his.

  As they stepped out away from the building and into the street of the close, Anna took a moment to right her appearance as best she could. Her long coat hung loose due to his most recent attentions and, its usefulness done, David helped her to remove it even as he slipped his off as well. The showers left a humid pall over the city and the heaviness of the canvas increased the discomfort caused by wearing wet clothes under it.

  It took but a moment for his driver and Mrs. Dobbs’s son to see them and call to them. David managed to wave them off and escort Anna to the school himself, but nowhere along the walk there did he find the words he wanted to say. Truth be told, he was completely undone by what had happened between them. Such innocent passion given to him by a rare woman. It was more than he ever expected and absolutely more than he deserved.

  And she deserved better than he could give her.

  The stone segments of the building could have hit him and it would have been with less force than did that realization as it struck him.

  Anna deserved better than he could ever offer her.

  The streets became crowded as befit the early afternoon in the city and any sounds of torment he might have made were covered by the sounds of workmen, coaches and horses and other beasts of burden around them. A glance at the woman at his side showed her to be wholly focused on the cobblestones and bricks of the sidewalks and street as they walked up the High Street toward the school.

  Honor demanded that he cease his attentions toward her. More than that, the affection that was growing between them made his discomfort rise. If he cared, and the way his heart pounded and his breath stopped at the sight of her in danger told him he did, then he must stop escalating a situation he knew could never work.

  Any thoughts he had of expressing his affection or his concerns over his behavior toward her ceased when they approached the school. Mrs. Dobbs, like a watchman on duty, called out at the first sight of them. Then, surrounded by some of the girls who lived there, she climbed down the steps and waddled toward them not unlike a mother duck leading a pack of ducklings. Once they reached Anna, he did not signify at all, and was lost among all the caring and concern expressed loudly and with vigor for the one who did.

  His driver now stood by the carriage waiting on him, so David watched as Mrs. Dobbs drew Anna close and put her arm around her shoulder, guiding her up the steps and through the doorway. It was just as the door was closing, with him standing like a forgotten beggar on the sidewalk, that she turned back to him for a moment.

  Their eyes met and, in that scant second, it was only the two of them again. He recognized a question there in her gaze, but she did not ask it and he did wonder if she could see the way he felt about her in his eyes. Then her lips moved and she said the words without speaking them.

  Thank you, she mouthed.

  Mrs. Dobbs bustled her in and the door slammed behind the group, leaving him to consider her words. The driver called to him, rousing him from his thoughts, and David climbed into the carriage at the edge of the street. For now, he would return to his house, change his now-soaked clothes and begin to make his plans for ans
wering Goodfellow’s latest volley and returning to London. As much as he wanted to stay, the truth had fallen on him many ways this day.

  First, he learned that a man could find a woman who was right for him in every essential way and fall in love with her. Then, he ascertained that he could indeed fall in love with a young woman who was wrong for him in every way possible.

  Finally, he discovered that hell was realizing both of those things at the same time and knowing that honor demanded a certain outcome that carried a high price to pay—his heart.

  He arrived back at the house and discovered three people waiting for him. The first, Thomas, he expected. Ellerton and Hillgrove were the surprises.

  “I have some news, my lord,” Thomas began when David motioned for him to speak. “About Miss Fairchild.”

  As expected, Hillgrove and Ellerton quieted and turned their attentions to the discussion. He’d rather hear it all in private, but his two closest friends were involved already and would be drawn into his plans more in the near future.

  “She owns the magazine.” Thomas, excited by his discovery, stammered out the words. “And her involvement with the school is far more substantial than I…we first thought.”

  “She? There is a woman involved in this?” Ellerton asked.

  “From the look on his face,” Hillgrove replied, nodding his head in David’s direction, “there is definitely a woman involved, and in more than some school or magazine.” Walking closer and laying his arm over Ellerton’s shoulder, he nodded at David. “And from the painful expression on Trey’s face, I would make a wager on another involvement with the woman under discussion, as well.”

  “Damn you, Hillgrove! This is not the time to make light of the situation. Thomas, go on.”

  When the two men looked as though they might interrupt with more unsuitable merriment, he quelled them with a look. Pointing at two chairs near his desk, he said, “Sit there and listen. There will be time enough for your comments after you realize the depth of this.”

  David took the chair behind the desk and nodded to Thomas, who held piles of papers and portfolios in his hands. He held them out to David, who now suspected he knew what was revealed inside.

  “Apparently, after securing a modest investment from an unnamed source, Miss Fairchild started up the magazine. After several years of careful stewardship, she has paid back the original investor and owns it totally today.”

  Ellerton’s loud gasp covered his own surprise. “A woman owns the Scottish Monthly Gazette?” He glanced over at Hillgrove and then at David. “I thought that your old schoolmate, that Hobbs-Smith chap, owned it.”

  “As did I,” he said, unable to stop the heaping measure of respect from flooding his soul at her success. “As does Edinburgh and London and anyone who reads it.”

  The room quieted as the other, more complicated, possibly even dangerous implications sunk in.

  “No one can know these things,” David warned. “Your reaction is mild compared to that which would happen if Edinburgh discovered that a woman was running the magazine and using it to support unfortunate women.”

  David knew exactly what would happen—investors and advertisers would run in the other direction, the targets of their editorials would attack once they knew they’d been embarrassed by a woman’s publication, and subscriptions, the other lifeblood of financial success, would dry up immediately.

  Yet she held it all together admirably. Not many men could have put this scheme together and pulled it off as well or for as long as she had.

  “So, Hobbs-Smith works for her? And Goodfellow? They’re working for a woman?” Ellerton asked. At Thomas’s nod, he continued with his questions. “What did you mean, she supports unfortunate women?” Turning to Hillgrove, he shook his head. “Dear God, do not say she is one of those reformers?”

  “Apparently, she is that, too,” David said dryly. In spite of his friends having somewhat more liberal views on some topics, even they had their limits.

  “One can only hope that the marquess does not learn of this. I fear his opinion of reformers is not nearly as accepting as mine might be,” Hillgrove offered.

  If his father discovered that the publication making a mockery of his beliefs was owned by a woman, he would destroy it without compunction or any measure of indecision. Then something else occurred to him, but he hesitated before asking. “Thomas, there is more about Miss Fairchild, is there not?”

  The young man shuffled his feet a bit and then placed the records and such on the desk. “There is, my lord.”

  Thomas searched through the papers, pulled out a small portfolio and handed it to David. Before he could review the contents, Thomas explained. “Although some rather substantial donations come in from other ‘sources,’ Miss Fairchild is the main financial support for the Kirkhill School and Home for Women.”

  Ellerton whistled low and long at the disclosure. “A reformer and a bluestocking and the owner of a charity school. Could she be any more of a target for the marquess and his Tories?”

  “Only if she were Goodfellow himself!” Hillgrove exclaimed and laughed.

  David laughed, too, but something about the notion unsettled him. He shook his head as he realized that, in spite of MacLerie’s refusal to confirm it, he still believed it was Robert MacLerie who held that position.

  Ellerton laughed now. “No, for no solitary woman could pull off each of those things. I believe that Hobbs-Smith handles the magazine for her, in return, no doubt, for the public exposure it gives him and his hopes for a seat in Commons. I read his name in several newspapers and publications recently.”

  So had David, and Nate had not denied such aspirations when faced with the question. It would behoove him to publicly support the ideals of the Whigs and to manage one of its clearest voices.

  “As for the school, well, that is at least more fitting for a woman’s involvement. But has she no father or brother to guide her in the proper behavior expected of women today?” Hillgrove asked. “It is simply not acceptable for a woman to take a place of authority in such endeavors, though. No matter her family situation.”

  Now it was David’s turn to laugh, and he did. If Ellerton or Hillgrove met and had a chance to know Anna, they would understand how foolish the question was.

  “Miss Fairchild has had to support her sister and aunt and has done an admirable job of it.”

  His friends turned as one and stared at him. He’d shocked them now, for their mouths hung open and they shook their heads. Thomas simply watched and said nothing.

  “It sounds as though you are quite taken with the young woman, Trey. Is there more going on here that should be made known to us?”

  “Ellerton! Look at his face!” Hillgrove said, rising from his seat and approaching the desk. “Look there.”

  Hillgrove pointed at his face and David could not stop himself—he reached up and touched it, searching for whatever Hillgrove referred to. He could find nothing out of sorts there, and shrugged.

  “That is the expression of a man besotted over a woman.”

  “Bloody hell!” David replied.

  His harsh expletive drove Thomas back a step and his nod sent the man out of the study. Once the door was closed, David turned to his friends. This kind of speculation must not be allowed to get out of control.

  “Imagine it, Ellerton. The earl and the bluestocking,” Hillgrove chortled after offering his assessment.

  “The marquess’s heir and the reformer.” Ellerton now offered his own witticism. “It has the sound of one of those dreadfuls that my sister sneaks away to read.”

  “This is precisely why I did not invite you here to assist me in my efforts. The two of you are like old matchmaking mothers who have nothing else to do but seek amusement at a dear price to those involved.”

  David closed his eyes, not believing his loss of control—indeed, not believing how much he had just revealed to his companions. The silence grew, filling the room and all the space between them as he
tried to figure out a way out of this uncomfortable situation. Finally, giving in to the inevitable embarrassment to follow, he took a breath and opened his eyes.

  Hillgrove and Ellerton were staring at him once more, but at least they were not speaking. David cleared his throat to say something, anything, however Ellerton held up his hand to forestall it.

  “We have been in each other’s pockets these last few weeks without much for entertainment, Trey, and I fear that Hillgrove and I forget ourselves sometimes. My apologies,” he said, nodding at David.

  “Apologies,” mumbled Hillgrove as he turned his gaze to the ceiling.

  “To clarify my predicament to you both, Miss Fairchild has no idea of who I am and does not realize the severity of the problems that she will face if the marquess discovers her connections to the magazine. He holds a grudging respect for a gentleman or nobleman who steps forward and involves themself in political discourse, but a woman would earn his scorn and retribution.”

  “Just so,” Ellerton agreed.

  Standing and walking to the window, David looked out at the deceptive clear skies and then back to Ellerton and Hillgrove. “And I am experiencing a certain modicum of chagrin knowing that a woman is running the very publication responsible for my public downfall as successful spokesman for the Tory party.”

  “How have you kept your presence a secret here? Surely the city is alight with talk of the battle between you and Goodfellow,” Hillgrove asked as he rose from his chair and lounged against the desk’s edge.

  “As you can see, I have used Dursby House not at all. I have my man-of-business handling most of my daily tasks and am carrying out everything else by correspondence.”

  “Speaking of correspondence, have you written your reply to the latest essay? Goodfellow certainly made some advances in the Whigs’ position in his recent article.”

  “Ah, so you have seen that?” David asked. News traveled on fleet feet, he knew, and bad or embarrassing news apparently moved with even more haste. “Are you truly just arrived from the north?”