Earl of Wainthorpe

by Cameron, Collette

  “You met her? Do you know where she is then?” Pierce shot up at once, and the bedcoverings slid to his waist, exposing his naked chest. He sucked in a hissing breath between his teeth and clutched at his exploding head with both hands.

  Amanda gasped. “Pierce! For pity’s sake. Have you no modesty?”

  “None, Mandy, and I’ll remind you, you are the ones who appeared in my bedchamber at seven in the morning.” She was always the easiest to embarrass.

  Rebecca snickered as she sank onto a chair. “Are you completely nude, brother dearest?”

  Pierce cocked a brow in answer, and his most outlandish sister laughed outright.

  Lenora spun to face him. Arms akimbo, she shook her head, though wry amusement ticked her mouth up a jot. “Must you be scandalous all of the time?”

  “I do try.” He gave her a mischievous wink, which softened her disapproval further.

  Unsurprisingly, Lenora remained the most proper. Although in her defense, she had assumed the role of mother to her younger sisters when only thirteen. Then years later, Pierce arrived in England: an angry, resentful child, full of hatred for his father’s people. Through love, patience, and a good deal of persistence, she won him over.

  They all had, and he remained devoted to them, despite his reputation as an unfeeling rake.

  “I was not expecting to entertain company before I shaved and enjoyed a pot of coffee.” He rubbed his palm across his stubbly chin. “And I’m honored to think you found the situation so serious, that the three of you are at my bedchamber door before the cock crows. I believe that’s a first for you all.”

  With a mocking grin, he yawned again and scratched his chest. He never entertained his few ladyloves at home. His house was his sanctuary. Which is why he rarely ever permitted callers. Not even the wicked earls, excepting Pembroke and Coventry.

  “I wasn’t keen on rising before dawn. I’ll tell you that.” Amanda plopped into the other armchair. She did look rather peaked.

  His attention dropped to her middle.

  Was she increasing again? That would make five for her.

  In consideration of their tender sensibilities, he drew the sheet a trifle higher. “Lenora, pull the bell, and I’ll ask Popplewell to bring tea up as well as coffee. And a tray too. I’m assuming none of you have broken your fast?”

  “We’ve already seen to it,” Rebecca said. “Although Popplewell and your other staff are in quite a fuss at our arriving on your doorstep at this hour. I truly thought they might refuse us entrance for a moment.”

  Hardly. No one denied the trio anything.

  That worrisome notion wiggled its way into his mind and took root. He surveyed them, each in turn. They were up to something, and primal instinct shouted he was not going to like it.

  Giving Pierce a conspiratorial wink, Rebecca pulled off a glove. “I’m actually rather hungry, and I normally eschew breakfast. Must be the excitement.”

  “Pierce darling, did you truly win that sweet girl at cards?” Curiosity rather than condemnation pulled Amanda’s fine brows together. She settled more comfortably in the armchair and placed a palm on her abdomen.

  Yes, most definitely in the family way again.

  Covertly eyeing Amanda’s belly, Pierce tried to estimate how far along she was. Not very. She wasn’t showing.

  He hid a delighted grin behind his hand. He loved babies.

  Other people’s babies.

  Wouldn’t do for that weakness to get out. He did have a reputation to maintain.

  Jaded, hardened, cynical, uncaring. Man about town.

  But holding an infant, smelling the babe’s sweet essence and listening to its soft breathing—nothing was quite as special. Sacred almost. Of course, when they cried or needed their diapers changed, he promptly returned the child to its doting mother.

  “I did win your Miss Salisbury, but the situation isn’t quite what you think.” A cracking good headache thrummed inside his skull, and he touched a fingertip to his right temple. The familiar puckered ridge pulsed to the same tempo as the din banging in his head.

  “That’s perfectly horrid and beneath you, Pierce darling.” Lenora’s features softened, and she came to stand at the foot of the bed. “What could you have been thinking? I know you feel you must cock-a-snook at society. And I understand why. I truly do. But we know,” again she gestured to their sisters, “that you are a truly decent, caring man despite doing your utmost to convince everyone otherwise.”

  “I bet he was thinking how beautiful Miss Salisbury is. Her eyes are the most unusual color. Like spiced, mulled cider. Very alluring. Don’t you agree, brother dearest?” Rebecca quipped with an impish grin. “Though I thought you preferred brunettes.”

  “No, Becca, dear. You’re mistaken. That last actress was a blonde.” Face a shade paler than it was a moment before, Amanda shook her head. “And the demimondaine before that was too.”

  For the love of God. How did they know that?

  Something that felt very much like a flush of chagrin heated Pierce’s neck and face.

  Apparently, he wasn’t discreet enough. Or … had someone spied on him? No, his sisters wouldn’t have given such orders, but any one of their starchy husbands would have done. That notion rather stuck in his craw.

  “No, no, my dear. That was the one prior, the widow, I believe. She was not a natural blonde either. Dark roots with a few strands of gray.” Her pointer finger on her chin, Lenora had such a look of concentration on her face, if the situation wasn’t so ghastly uncomfortable, he would laugh.

  Time to change the subject before they listed every woman rumored to have been with him. They would be heartily surprised to learn there weren’t nearly as many as he led others to believe. The actress was a skilled chess player, and he posed—fully clothed—for the widow’s sojourn into oil painting.

  “You didn’t answer my questions. Do you know where my ward is?”

  That stopped the trio’s conjectures as swiftly as a blast of artic air up their costly skirts.

  “Ward?” they chorused as one, their light peridot eyes huge as their neat eyebrows shot upward.

  He did chuckle then. If they practiced their reaction, they couldn’t have been more synchronized.

  “Yes. Ward.” He raked a hand through his hair. So Bianca had failed to mention that tidbit to his sisters. “Just how foul a man do you take me for? I insisted Fairfax sign over Miss Salisbury’s guardianship. A man like that wouldn’t hesitate to barter her again. To prostitute her. I knew I held a winning hand, but I took no chance of him wheedling his way back into her life.”

  Forehead knitted, Rebecca laid her gloves on the table beside her chair. “But is that legal? Just to sign over a guardianship like that?”

  He hunched a shoulder, then snatched the sheet as it ventured into embarrassing proximity of his hips. “I don’t know. Unlikely. But I mean to pursue that very issue when I rise. Something I could do more readily if I didn’t have you three in my bedchamber. If you’re so keen on propriety, you’ll vacate at once.”

  “I’m sure Mason knows a person or two who might advise you. I shall speak to him the instant I return home.” Lenora, too, set about removing her gloves.

  Evidently they intended to stay and eat, too.

  Something they’d done when Pierce had first arrived in England. However, breakfasting in a belligerent boy’s chamber was a far cry from doing so in an adult male’s. Even if he was their brother.

  What the devil was keeping Popplewell?

  Amanda, her eyes bright with approval, fairly beamed. “I knew there must be a noble explanation. You were trying to protect Miss Salisbury’s honor. Oh, she shall be so relieved.”

  Only eleven years his senior, she usually championed him.

  “So she’s safe? You know where she is?” Inexplicable relief encompassed Pierce.

  “I’m right here, your lordship.”

  And Bianca was.

  And so was Popplewell, finally, as well as Els
ie, one of the maids.

  “Excuse me, miss.” His head angled at a stiff, disapproving angle, Popplewell, followed by Elsie, brushed past Miss Salisbury. They hustled into the chamber and swiftly set about depositing their laden trays.

  Bianca wore what must be a borrowed gown. Most likely Rebecca’s as she was the tallest of his sisters. The light peach spencer over a mint green gown complemented Bianca’s coloring. Soft burnished ringlets framed her face under what could only be described as a charming green bonnet adorned with silk flowers in coral and yellows.

  Good Lord, she was stunning. And deliciously tempting.

  She looked like a piece of fresh fruit. And he wanted to pluck her from the tree and taste her sweet essence.

  Her curious dark honey-toned gaze slowly roved over Pierce’s bare chest and shoulders before following the thin trail of dark hair from his abdomen to where it disappeared beneath the sheets. Instead of blushing or looking away as most proper young ladies would have done, she met his gaze and tilted her head, a distinct dare in her bearing.

  Was she accustomed to seeing men’s naked chests?

  No, she might not have averted her hungry gaze, but pink tinged her high cheekbones. She couldn’t control the instinctive response, and it provided him a small reprieve to know she was not as unaffected as she pretended.

  Still… “My banyan, Popplewell.”

  Oddly, with her standing in his sister’s finery, looking every bit the proper lady, Pierce felt at a disadvantage. With that glorious hair and those equally magnificent eyes, she would shine everyone else down if dressed thusly at an assembly or rout.

  Did she suspect his nakedness beneath the bedcovers?

  Bold and unflinching, she sank her keen gaze to his lap, and her lush mouth quirked upward. Her cheeks glowed brighter, too

  He’d never met a woman like her before. One who fascinated him and rattled his senses—and stirred his softer parts as well—with a single knowing glance. No false pretense of demureness or offended sensibilities, but most assuredly not the hardened, calculating glint of a woman of loose virtue either.

  Zounds. Never felt so blasted awkward in his life.

  And the trio had never been so silent in all of theirs.

  It couldn’t be Bianca’s warm treacle eyes caressing his skin from across the room causing his disquiet. Or the glimmer of amusement slightly crinkling the corners of her mouth.

  It hit him then.

  She was enjoying his discomfort. Immensely, if the pleased smile framing her mouth were any indication.

  With Popplewell’s assistance, Pierce managed to slide his arms into his burgundy robe and close it over his chest without exposing more of his nude form. Sliding a hand through his hair for the third time, he turned his mouth down. Time to take matters in hand and end this preposterousness.

  “You really oughtn’t to be in my bedchamber, Miss Salisbury. It’s most improper. You risk utter ruin.”

  The slow bowing of her mouth made his nape hair stand straight on end.

  Excitement or trepidation?

  For the longest moment, he couldn’t force his focus from those coral pink lips. She must’ve noticed his impolite stare—how could she not?—because her smile widened the merest bit.

  She alone possessed the ability to fluster him in a way no other woman had before. It unnerved him. A great deal, truth to tell. Since a young lad, he’d stoically controlled his emotions and his responses.

  Her mouth curved up a fraction farther, and he gave himself a mental kick in the arse.

  Hell, he was still gawking like a milksop.

  Noting his gaffe, she swooped in to verbally pin him to the headboard.

  “And you’re a perfect model of decorum, my lord?”

  Her voice was not low and husky. Still, it held a depth, a melodic richness that made him yearn to hear her talk more.

  She touched a finger to her cheek, the movement calculated and coy. “Or, as my guardian, should I address you as Pierce now?”

  Popplewell made an inarticulate noise, which sounded very much like he’d swallowed a whole ham. Teapot in hand, he turned to gape at her in disbelief.

  The quick-witted maid rescued the tilting vessel lest the flummoxed servant douse his feet with the scalding brew.

  One of Pierce’s sisters gasped and another giggled.

  He couldn’t be sure which did which, for he spared them not a glance. Every part of him was attuned to the mocking, angry beauty mere feet away.

  God’s bones she was bloody magnificent.

  Miss Bianca Salisbury had issued a challenge as surely as if she’d called him out.

  It was to be a battle of wits, then, was it?

  Something stirred and bloomed deep in his chest. He savored robust competition, and matching his sagacity against hers appealed mightily.

  Let’s see how miffed she is.

  “Why don’t you go below and wait for me there?” This time his gaze did include his sisters. “We can discuss matters when I join you. After I’m properly attired.”

  “I don’t think so.” Bianca plopped her behind—not sank gracefully, but actually plopped hard enough to bounce his behind—onto the end of his bed. She toyed with the fringe edging her reticule.

  She gazed around his chamber, inspecting each corner thoroughly before turning that enthralling tawny gaze upon him.

  “So, Pierce, am I to live here? With you?”

  Bianca’s hackles rose at Lord Wainthorpe’s censure, and she adjusted her position on the bed, giving her irritation time to ebb. She might’ve also wiggled a bit more exuberantly than necessary to increase his transparent as crystal uneasiness.

  If she entertained a penchant for mischievousness, that is.

  “Oh, this will never, never do. Miss Salisbury,” Lady Timberly said, her voice tight with alarm. “You shouldn’t be in a gentleman’s bedchamber, and most assuredly you cannot sit on his bed when he’s within.”

  Up to this point, the Viscountess exemplified a peeress’s calm demeanor, but now she appeared rather flustered and clearly expected Bianca to bolt to the door straightaway.

  Bianca arched a brow and hid a grin when Pierce shifted his legs as far away from her as he could without wrapping them around his neck.

  “You’re here.” She pointed out the obvious, knowing full-well it was not the same at all.

  “Yes,” agreed Lady Mulbrury with a sweet smile. “But he’s our brother. It’s not quite so scandalous, you see.”

  “Still most indecorous,” Popplewell grumbled. “Invading a gentleman’s chamber. Him still abed.”

  “I agree whole-heartedly.” Lord Wainthorpe looked pointedly toward the doorway. “If you please, ladies?”

  A hint of disagreeableness underscored his request.

  Eager to leave his comfortable bed now, was he?

  If he wore a stitch beneath his banyan, she’d forfeit her virtue. Even with his hair tousled and stubble as black as soot covering his strong jaw, he managed to appear disturbingly attractive. Probably knew it too.

  Heeding Lord Wainthorpe’s hint, after collecting their gloves, his sisters filed to the doorway. They paused at the entrance and as one glanced at Bianca, clearly anticipating she would trundle below with them.

  Intractable and pig-headed, Bertram had called her more than once.

  Bianca had waited in the drawing room already. After nearly thirty minutes of pacing back and forth in the entirely too masculine room, its furniture severe and ruggedly masculine—not unlike its owner—she became impatient.

  Then her temper, the dratted mulish thing, poked its head up and started listing the offenses against her. The more she contemplated the situation, the more riled she became. Until she clobbered the cushion in her lap and jumped to her feet.

  So, she’d explored her way to Lord Wainthorpe’s chamber. His room hadn’t been hard to find. The partially open door and feminine chatter, interrupted every now and again by his deep voice, lead her straight to his doorway with b
ut one wrong turn.

  Which brought her back to the present and the expectant faces regarding her.

  “Do go along. I’ve much to discuss with your brother. Popplewell can act as chaperone.” She fluttered her fingers at Pierce’s sisters and, hiding a less than dainty yawn behind her hand, swung her feet onto the bed and rested her back against the post.

  Ah, much better.

  Her leg was bothering her again today. Probably London’s damp air.

  Mrs. Garside laughed and looped her arm through Lady Timberly’s. “Oh, I do like her, Nora. She reminds me of me.”

  At the nonplussed expression on Pierce’s face, Bianca swallowed hard against the giggle bubbling up her throat. Clearly he hadn’t a clue what to do with a female who didn’t pour herself all over him.

  Popplewell—poor fellow—looked on the verge of apoplexy, but the saucy maid grinned and exchanged a glance with Lady Mulbrury, who winked.

  “Why don’t you run along, Elsie?” Lady Timberly suggested to the intrigued servant. “We’ll be along shortly.”

  She gave Bianca a telling look.

  Lady Timberly was not accustomed to being defied either.

  Bianca never acted irresponsibly or rashly. Except with rebellion escalating in her veins and outrage hammering her heart, she tossed aside reasonable behavior.

  “I’d just as soon hear what grand plans Lord Wainthorpe has for me now.” She tilted her head, doing her utmost to read his bland expression. His features gave nothing away. However, the silverish flecks around his irises gleamed a trifle brighter.

  Annoyance?

  “I’m sure you had something positively splendid in mind when you insisted Bertram assign you my guardianship,” Bianca managed around another indelicate yawn. “I cannot wait to hear what it is.”

  “I’d rather like to know that myself.” Lady Mulbrury glanced at her sisters. “I’m sure we all would.”

  Bianca would eat tripe for a week if his lordship had any better luck than she in finding a satisfactory solution. Contriving a concerned mien, she plucked at the dark poppy colored counterpane.

  “You don’t seem old enough to have a ward my age. Are you sure you’re up to the task, Pierce? I’m not at all acquiescent.”