The Seduction of an Earl

by Linda Rae Sande

  “Why didn’t you take my virtue last night?”

  The question, tinged with what might have been anger and probably some hurt, rang out in the suddenly cramped coach, a shock to the three sets of ears that heard it. Harold lifted his head and cocked it to one side, regarding his mistress and her look of utter astonishment for a full five seconds before realizing he, for once, wasn’t the one being accused of some wrongdoing. Henry, who had sat very still for that full five seconds and displayed the look of the one being accused, slowly turned to find his wife’s hand, the one he wasn’t now holding in a death grip, covering her plump lips. Her pale peaches and cream complexion had turned a bright pink. And, despite how tightly her eyes were closed at that very moment, a tear was forcing itself out of the corner of the eye nearest Henry.

  Oh, God, she’s going to cry. Henry ceased to breathe as he wondered what to say. What to do. And then instinct took over. He let go of her hand and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her hard against his chest. Her bonnet collided with his shoulder, but he had it stripped from her head in an instant, the quick flick of his wrist sending the offending velvet hat sailing onto the seat across from them. Although he wanted to kiss her just then, cover her lips and take possession of her with a punishing kiss that proved just how badly he’d wanted her the night before, how badly he wanted her right now, Henry simply held her body against his and kissed her forehead. If there had been any fight in her, he did not sense it. Nor did she feel stiff or unyielding in his arms. It was as if she melted against him, molding herself to fit into the empty spaces along the front of his body. “I wanted nothing more than to bed you last night, my lady,” he whispered hoarsely. “But it would have been ...” Wrong? Awkward? “Inappropriate,” he finally got out, rather proud that he was able to make such a sensible sounding excuse for himself.

  Hannah apparently didn’t agree, however. He felt her body suddenly stiffen, felt her head tilt until he could see her eyes. Angry eyes. Oh, God.

  “Inappropriate?” she repeated in a voice tinged with outrage. “I am expected to bear you an heir ... and a spare. How can I do that if you don’t bed me?” This last was delivered with the hint of a sob, as if she might really be on the verge of tears.

  Swallowing hard, Henry gave some thought to countering her annoyance with his own sudden ire. How could she talk to him like that? He thought he’d spared her a night of embarrassment at having to host her husband in the room in which she’d spent her childhood nights. He thought he spared her the discomfort of having to ride in a coach while tender down there. He thought he’d done right by her by not insisting on sexual intercourse in her father’s home. We’ll have intercourse when I am damn good and ready!

  And then he noticed Harold staring at him.

  The dog’s head seemed to shake ever so slightly from side to side, as if warning Henry that he was about to make a huge mistake. Or, perhaps he was warning him that it didn’t matter what he said or did. He’d already made a huge mistake and there was no getting out of it.

  Henry used one hand to cup his wife’s cheek as he stared down into her bright cornflower blue eyes, made more so by the unshed tears. Even limned with tears, they were gorgeous. He settled his lips over hers, barely pressing against her plump lips until he had completely captured them. And then he kissed her, deepening the kiss until she let out a slight moan that either signaled she was appeased or that she needed to breathe. Either way, Henry slowly let go and pulled away, his eyes watching her lids as they fluttered open. He saw defiance there, he thought, and realized he still needed to explain himself. “I did not wish to take your virtue in the bed in which you’ve spent your ... maidenhood,” he stated quietly. “I intend to do so in our marriage bed. I think perhaps my bed will be most suitable.” Although, now that he thought about it, that was where he and Sarah sometimes made love. “Or we can use the bed in the mistress suite. Your suite,” he amended quickly, realizing she knew nothing of Gisborn Hall. “I have every intention of bedding you ...” Frequently? Often? A couple of times a week? He was suddenly at a loss. How often did husbands bed their wives?

  “Every night,” Hannah stated quietly, her head nodding. “At least, until I am with child, and then as often as you wish,” she added, her face turning that shade of pink he was finding quite fetching. He wanted to spare me the embarrassment of losing my virginity in my own bed? Perhaps he is as considerate as his words make him out to be.

  Henry stared down at her. Every night? He and Sarah ... well, things hadn’t been very comfortable between them these last few months. She had come to the house the day before he made his trip to London, agreeing to spend the night in Gisborn Hall while Nathan and his friend Andrew stayed in the nursery upstairs. And she’d been ... willing, although he sensed something was wrong when he’d been unable to pleasure her quite like he was used to doing. His simple strokes and touching were no longer effective in bringing her to ecstasy. It was as if her body demanded a harder, more forceful union – a faster, more urgent coupling. Although it had left her apparently satiated, he felt as if he had violated her in some way. Even in the morning, when he was quite prepared to make love to her in the light from a golden red dawn, he turned over to find her already gone from his bed. She was dressed and pulling on stockings in front of the fireplace, her attention on the dying embers. He wondered how long she had sat there, staring. He had kissed her on the cheek, hugged Nathan as hard as he dared, and bid them both good-bye as he stepped into the ancient Gisborn coach.

  He hadn’t intended to get married while on this trip; he went thinking only to obtain the title to Ellsworth Park, so why had Sarah seemed so distant? So distracted? Now that he was going home with far more than he bargained for – a willing wife who would apparently tolerate his continued relationship with Sarah – Men only love their mistresses, she’d said – he wondered if Sarah would be more like she’d been for all the years before this one. Or would she become even more distant? Damn it, what was going on with the woman?

  “I shall come to your bedchamber every night then,” Henry finally agreed, nodding his head. “And should there be a night you do not want my company, you only need say so, and I shall take my leave of you.” There. That should be a suitable arrangement, he thought, rather glad they had the discussion done before arriving at Gisborn Hall.

  “Agreed,” Hannah replied with a nod of her own. Having carefully watched him as he made his proclamation, she wondered if he might kiss her on those occasions. Or were kisses reserved only for Sarah? For the kiss he had bestowed on her only moments ago was quite ... pleasant, really. Very satisfactory. Thrilling, even, when she thought for a moment she was about to be dumped on the floor of the coach – or rather onto poor Harold – had Henry let go his hold on her.

  Henry continued to stare down at Hannah, thinking of the kiss they had just shared. She had allowed it quite readily, returned it even. Had he wanted to continue the kiss, he realized she would not have objected. She’s gazing at me. As if she expects something. “What ... what is it?” he wondered, his face lowering to just inches above hers.

  “I would not object to being kissed, of course ... whenever you should think it ... appropriate,” she stammered. Appropriate? How could her command of the English language leave her with such a poor choice of words? She could have said whenever you desire or whenever you wish or anytime of the day or night.

  Good God, could she read his mind? “I ... Thank you. I will remember that,” Henry answered, watching her face as it pinked up again. Before he was quite aware of what he was doing, his lips were back on hers, completing the kiss he had started only moments ago, his attention so thoroughly on the kiss and the feel of her lips and the texture of her teeth against his tongue and the taste of her mouth and the scent of honeysuckle that wafted from her hair, that he didn’t realize the coach had taken a turn into the yard of a posting inn until the driver had jumped down from the box and opened the door to the coach. Ending the kiss as quickly
as he could, and then chiding himself for feeling embarrassed at being caught kissing his own wife, Henry straightened Hannah on his lap and nodded at the driver as the man put down the steps.

  While the horses were being changed out for a fresh team, they would have time to get tea and sustenance in the posting inn. For Henry, the time would give him a chance to learn more about his new wife. For Hannah, the time would give her a chance to realize her new husband was far more than she expected.

  As for Harold, it was a chance to relieve himself and to take a nap in blessed silence.

  Chapter 9

  Welcome to Gisborn Hall

  After nearly eight hours of traveling in the well-sprung coach, Henry was relieved when they made the turn toward Tadpole Bridge and his lands just north of the River Isis. Hannah had fallen asleep shortly after their luncheon a few hours before, and only stirred when the coach took a nasty bump or swayed more than usual. Her head lay in the small of his shoulder, his arm wrapped protectively across the back of her shoulders. His thoughts went to later, when he would join her in the mistress suite at Gisborn Hall and make her his wife. He wondered if she’d allow him to share her bed for the entire night, or if she would insist he return to his room.

  “Is that Gisborn Hall?” he heard in an awed whisper. Henry smiled, feeling a sense of pride. “Indeed,” he answered, giving Hannah a kiss on the forehead before allowing her to raise herself to a sitting position. Harold noticed the slowing coach and raised his head, his ears perking up.

  The imposing gray stone structure appeared to have been dropped from high up so that it embedded itself into the earth, its foundations quite solid and at an angle to the road leading up to the circular drive. Rectangular except for where the front doors were encased in a portico, the house was symmetrical down to the two topiary trees that flanked the entry. Dozens of windows stretched along the second story, each placed in perfect symmetry. The windows on either side of the front door were in triplets and pairs, suggesting the rooms there were larger, perhaps the library and parlor. From a distance, it looked simply grand.

  Hannah felt a stirring and grinned; she would be mistress of this house. Once they had pulled up into the drive and the horses were slowing in front of the double doors, she noted how the façade was weathered, one window was cracked and the plantings along the front of the house appeared in need of a gardener’s touch. A bit of work and it would be a suitable home, she thought.

  The coach door opened. Harold lifted himself and stepped out, apparently aware that neither human would be able to do so until he was out of the way. Gisborn squeezed Hannah’s hand and stepped out, turning to hand her down. Once Hannah was sure her feet her under her and her skirts were shaken out, she glanced around. A man not much younger than her was hurrying up to see to the horses, and a footman was undoing the straps that held their valises to the back of the coach. She allowed Henry to escort her up the five steps and to the front doors. She couldn’t help but notice Henry inhale before he pulled the brass knocker. Harold sat next to her as they all waited.

  No one answered. At least, not immediately.

  Hannah glanced at Henry, wondering if they had arrived on the butler’s day off. Hadn’t Henry sent word ahead that they would be arriving today? She was about to ask when the door opened to reveal an elderly man, so stooped he had to lean back in order to determine it was his master who stood at the door. “Ah, Gisborn,” the butler said as he stepped back to allow them entrance, a gnarled hand waving them in.

  “Parkerhouse. I’d like to introduce my wife, Hannah Forster, Lady Gisborn,” Henry said. “Oh, and this is Harold MacDuff,” he added as he indicated the dog.

  The butler, who was dressed quite formally and looked as if he’d been on staff at the house for at least fifty years, bowed in her direction. “Countess,” he said by way of acknowledgment, not showing the least bit of surprise. “Harold,” he said, affording the dog a nod. “May I take your cloak?”

  Henry gave Hannah a cocked eyebrow, an expression which seemed to say that Parkerhouse was always unflappable. Hannah undid the buttons on her pelisse and allowed the ancient butler to help her out of the coat while Henry gave instructions. “Could you let Mrs. Batey know we’ve arrived? And Mrs. Chambers, too? I believe we’ll have dinner in the smaller dining room. And have the mistress suite readied for my wife.”

  Parkerhouse nodded and shuffled off. Hannah watched him go. “How long has he been in service?” she wondered, taking Henry’s proffered arm. He led her down the long hall to the right, and Harold followed, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do.

  “He was my uncle’s butler and my grandfather’s butler before that,” Henry said with a shrug. Stopping at the first open door on the right, he waved her in. “The parlor, my lady,” he said with a nod. “If you’ll pull the bell, we may get some tea.”

  Hannah glanced around, noting the rich fabrics, the elegant furnishings. Despite the exterior looking as if it needed some attention, this room did not. Surfaces gleamed, and the Aubusson carpet was recently cleaned. “Take me on a tour of the whole house,” she suggested, moving to stand before him.

  Henry looked down on her, surprised by her request. “As you wish,” he agreed. Taking her hand, they left the parlor and wandered the halls of Gisborn’s estate home, Henry reciting interesting facts along the way, pointing at various artifacts and explaining their significance. Hannah hung on his every word, determined to learn everything she could about the house. She also noticed very few servants about; a footman or two bowed as they passed, but she saw no maids. When they reached his study, the room to the left of the front doors and the last stop on their tour of the main floor, he hurried to leaf through the notes that lay on a silver salver, shaking his head as he did so. “Looks like I chose a good time to be gone,” he murmured. He watched as Hannah slid her fingers over the backs of the chairs, gazed at the shelves of books and studied the framed drawings hung on the walls. Harold seemed to understand the significance of the room. He settled himself in front of the hearth.

  “You are an inventor, aren’t you?” Hannah asked rhetorically, studying one of the drawings that lay unfolded on a library table. It was a detail of the irrigation ditch where the gate would be installed, along with drawing of the gate and tracks in which it would ride when it was installed. It was exactly as he had described it in the Devonville House parlor just a few days ago.

  Moving to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her arms and holding her hands with his, Henry kissed her temple. “I am a farmer, my lady, but I admit to indulging my whims when I think it best for the estate,” he acknowledged, his lips barely touching her ear as he said the words.

  Hannah grinned, turning her head so she could regard him. “Indulging your whims?” she repeated, thinking he meant spending money on luxuries. Although the rooms they had toured were elegant and well-appointed, nothing was done to excess, nor were there expensive objets d’art on display nor were there paintings by masters decorating the walls. Henry dressed well and wore boots that suggested they were custom made, but other than a ruby cravat pin, he did not wear jewelry. Hannah glanced at her wedding ring, obviously the signet ring for the earldom. The ring was so large, she had to wear it on her middle finger, and even then, the band was wrapped with a bit of yarn to ensure it stayed put on her finger. “When have you ever done such a thing as indulge your whims?” she wondered with a teasing grin.

  “When I bought this for you,” he said, pulling a diamond and ruby ring from his pocket and settling it onto her left ring finger, next to where his signet ring already rested. “And when I married you,” he kissed her when she turned around in his arms, obviously surprised by the ring.

  “Henry,” she breathed, holding her hand up before her face as he held her around her waist. “It’s ... it’s beautiful,” she said, her tone reverent. She placed her other hand against his face and stood on tiptoes so she could kiss him. Henry pulled her against him, returning the kiss in equal measur
e. At the sound of a throat clearing, the two quickly ended the kiss and turned to the doorway.

  “Dinner is served, my lady, my lord,” Parkerhouse stated in a tone suggesting he hadn’t been aware they were engaged in a kiss.

  Stealing guilty glances at one another, the two made their way to the small dining room and had their first dinner together as Lord and Lady Gisborn.

  Hannah lay sleeping in the copper tub, her knees slightly bent and her breasts barely covered by water that had probably been covered with bubbles when she first climbed in. She looks like a mermaid, Henry thought, not quite sure what a mermaid should look like but deciding she was what he would imagine one to be if someone ever brought up the topic.

  He dipped a finger in the water. Still warm. And the tub, a rather large one as it was designed for a man of his size, had plenty of room for him even given the mermaid who occupied it.

  Slowly, Henry stepped into the scented water, making sure one foot was secure on the bottom of the tub before bringing his other foot up and into the tub. Hannah’s body moved forward, her head leaning to one side as she dozed. Henry lowered himself behind her, his arms along her back and gently pushing her so her knees bent a bit more. His own legs folded on either side of her body as he lowered himself to sit behind her. Wrapping one hand around her waist, he pulled her body back against his and watched with barely contained lust as Hannah’s head lolled onto his chest. The scent of honeysuckle caught in his nostrils. He breathed deeply, the inhalation interrupted when he noticed her bare breasts. Their curves were just above the surface of the bubble-topped water, her rosy nipples beautifully on display. No longer in the warm water, they tightened into ruched buds. Kissable buds.