by Claudy Conn
Bess knew she was hopelessly in love with the Earl of Dunkirk, but she wasn’t sure if he was capable of loving someone as inexperienced in the fine art of lovemaking as she was. She just wasn’t his type. Sally Sonhurst was his type.
The touch of the earl’s hand on her shoulder made her spin around, and she felt the blush rush into her cheeks as she nearly collapsed into his arms. She managed to control herself, and then his voice saved her from herself as his tone caressed and he murmured, “What is it, lass? Ye look, disturbed, and it has me fair baffled. I thought ye had a lovely day?”
She smiled at him and asked, “Have you done overseeing the punch-making?”
“Aye, I have, so now then, answer me, dinna ye enjoy yer day?”
“Oh, my lord. I had the absolutely most wonderful day.”
“Then what is it?”
“Nothing …” she said, stalling for time. She had to regain her composure.
“Och, but doona tell me that, for we both know it isn’t so. There is something pestering at ye.”
“Oh, probably that incident today with that … that man, and of course what started it all—the boy I saw in the Gypsy wagon. I only caught a glimpse of him, but, my lord, he didn’t look like a Gypsy. He was so fair, and he seemed to have something in his mouth. And the scene seemed all wrong, but then I let it go, and now I am worried that I should have done something.”
“Well, as to that, many Gypsy women, well … they consort with locals, and a fair-looking child would not be extraordinary. And as to having something in his mouth, couldna it been a piece of bread?”
She frowned and with a heavy sigh continued, “I suppose, but it looked like a rag in his mouth, and he looked as though he had escaped some restraint, but his wrists seemed tied at his back. The Gypsy shoved him backwards cruelly.” She shrugged. “I don’t know … but then that awful man seemed bent on stopping me from investigating, for that was what I meant to do.”
“Why would he do such a thing?” the earl asked himself as much as he posed the question to her.
“Gypsy wagon?” Robby repeated as he approached them. “Are you saying there were Gypsy wagons at the Red Lion?” he asked with a shake of his head. “A carnival? Never say we missed a carnival?”
Bess allowed him a quick smile and shook her head as Donna intervened and took Robby in hand so that the earl could continue to speak with her uninterrupted. Her thoughts started nagging her again, and she felt her eyebrows come together.
“Again,” the earl said softly, “and because you are frowning—why?”
“I am not frowning,” she countered and blinked, as though blinking any would-be frown away.
The earl smiled ruefully and said, “Right then, lass. Why would the fop stop ye? He had naught to do with the Gypsy as far as I could tell.”
“Well, as to that, we don’t really know, do we? For instance, what was a fop doing at the inn? He didn’t stay to eat or drink, did he? He left immediately after his encounter with us.”
“Stands to reason he would.” The earl grinned.
She smiled at him. “Indeed, but then why did he stop there?”
“No doubt he had a bit of lunch before we arrived. Have ye no thought of that, lass?”
She sighed heavily. “I have and discounted it. Don’t ask me why. Female intuition.”
He frowned. “What then does that intuition tell ye?”
“When the nasty Gypsy opened the back of his wagon, a boy tried to get out. He had something, a rag, I think, stuffed into his mouth, and he looked frightened. That is what my eyes witnessed. What should my intuition tell me after that?”
The earl’s entire body stiffened. “Are ye saying the lad was a captive?”
“I don’t know. I am saying that he was young and appeared to be in trouble, and I shouldn’t have allowed that stupid dandy to stand in my way.”
“Now, this is punch!” said Robby, bringing over two glasses and offering them to Bess and the earl.
The earl and Bess took up the glasses, but both of them were deep in thought. The earl, however, sipped the punch and pronounced it to be quite tolerable.
“Tolerable? I say …” Robby, who had taken up a glass by then, answered, but then saw that the earl was jesting. He chuckled, threw his own down, and then complained that the punch glasses were absurdly small.
The earl turned to Bess and said, “Doona think of it for now. Mayhap I shall look into this in the morning.” He touched her chin and whispered, “Ye have the sweetest smile, lass. It must always be an object of mine to see that nothing interferes with yer pleasure, when ye are in m’company.”
“You are being quite outrageous again, my lord,” Bess returned in a lively manner. She had to protect herself. He didn’t really mean what he was saying. He was being gallant at best and wildly flirtatious at worst, nothing more.
“Outrageous? Why is that, lass? Why wouldn’t I want ye to be happy?”
He made it all sound so simple and easy. He made it all sound as though she read too much into it, which was precisely what she had been telling herself. He didn’t really care. She put up her chin and raised one brow at him. “You, my lord, are an accomplished flirt. I have only one season of flirting in my pocket. Therefore, you take unfair advantage.”
He laughed and then lowered his voice to tell her, “Doona think that, m’darlin’ lass. I mean what I say to ye, this I swear.”
She almost believed him but then wrapped herself up in a protective armor and insisted her heart go and hide. “Cad!” she accused on a light laugh. “You do it so well, but one season was enough to teach me who to be wary of. I am a green girl, yes, but certainly not a fool.”
“Tell him,” Robby said with a laugh. He had returned with a larger glass of punch to grin at their exchange. “That’s right. Run him through, put him to earth. It is just what he deserves.”
“And ye call yerself m’friend, ye blood-thirsty blackguard,” the earl said with a hearty laugh.
Much jesting and rallying followed this, and the Gypsy, his brightly painted wagon, and the boy within its walls were temporarily forgotten.
Bess’s father arrived in time for dinner and announced his intentions of collecting his wayward crew in the morning and returning home.
The earl would hear none of it. “Never say so, for Lady Bess’s horse is not ready for the journey,” he argued reasonably.
The viscount eyed him consideringly and shrugged. “A problem, but not one we cannot overcome. I shall hire her a mount for the trip home—”
The earl cut him off. “Hire?” He shook his head. “So that is what you think of my hospitality? You would hire before you would take one of my own on loan?”
“John,” Bess’s father reproved gently, “you are too good. I must return to the Grange in the morning. There is nothing for it. I have some things I cannot put off to my bailiff.”
“Then be comfortable. Leave your daughter with us, and return as soon as you may. Searington is, after all, just a bit more than an hour’s ride.”
Bess put on her ‘unconcerned face’ but secretly wanted her father to agree to the earl’s suggestion.
Her father’s brow arched, and after a long look at his daughter said, “I have no doubt what your answer will be when I ask. What say you, my daughter?”
She laughed and said, trying to sound very adult and reasonable, “I confess that I would much rather make the trip home on my own Missy when she is recovered.” She turned to her friend. “What say you, Donna—will you stay as well?” Her eyes penetrated her friends’ with her plea.
“Of course they are staying,” the earl answered for them as he took control of the situation. It occurred to Bess that he was a man who would always take control and manage matters to everyone’s satisfaction. She liked that about him. He didn’t just emit self-assurance. He was self-assurance.
As her father still hesitated, the earl regarded him and said quietly, “Your daughter will come to no harm while she is at Se
arington.”
“Of that I never had a doubt,” Bess’s father returned promptly. He put up his hands. “Very well then, I shall of course return as quickly as I may.” He turned to Bess. “Well then, it is decided. I shall leave in the morning and probably won’t see you before I go, as I will leave quite early, but I should be back within a day or two. I will send your Maddy, and, please, Bess, don’t plague the poor dear, as she is getting on in years, and although you are, I know—” He put up his hands to stall her obvious objection. “—too old for your nanny, she will maintain the proprieties in my absence, and it will be pleasant for her, I believe.” He turned to her friends. “Shall I have my coach stop by and request your maid to put up another portmanteau for you two, as I will send along some additional clothes for Bess?”
“Oh, yes, that would be wonderful,” Donna answered thankfully.
“But, Papa, I am, as you say yourself, too old for my nanny. It is most humiliating, for while I adore her, I certainly don’t need a nanny to look after me.”
“I am not certain of that,” he teased, but his hands were up. “However, you should have a proper chaperone whilst I am not here, and it will do her some good to get out and about for a bit.”
Donna and Bess immediately put their heads together as though they were children planning an adventure, and a great deal of amiable conversation ensued.
It wasn’t until later, when everyone bade each other good night, that Bess’s father leaned into the earl and said, “Don’t let my daughter run you ragged.”
Bess turned away from the grand staircase and, hands on hips, objected, “Papa, I heard that!”
“Heard it, did you?” Robby remarked. “Good then, tell m’sweet wife as well, and mayhap the earl and I will survive the two of you in the same house!”
Laughter filled the hall and stairs as they continued to jest at one another, and Bess thought she couldn’t be happier.
Oh, but, yes, she could—she could be happier if she were hand in hand with the big Scottish earl and headed for the same bedroom. The notion made her body burn.
~ Eight ~
DONNA PLAYED WITH the pretty embroidered pillow she held in her lap and did not quite look at Bess as she said, “I am not sure how I feel about what I am going to say, but I am going to say it anyway. I think the earl fancies you, Bess. And what is more to the point, I think your father is as taken with him as you are. I cannot think of any other reason he would allow you to remain under the earl’s roof, even with Maddy and us as chaperones.” She shrugged and then did look Bess in the eye to add, “Stands to reason. After all, he can’t think the earl a libertine, can he? He would never have left you here.”
Bess frowned. “Well there, that is what I said from the start. The earl is very good and kind, and as to his reputation with women, well, people say the most outrageous things and then expound upon them till they are quite blown out of proportion. Papa does not give credence to gossip. But why you should think the earl fancies me? ’Tis nonsense.”
“Is it?” Donna shrugged but said nothing more.
“Indeed. And why you should say such a thing is quite perplexing. You are the one that warned me against him. You told me he was a rogue and I should not think of him, not flirt with him, not do anything with him because he had a reputation of breaking hearts.”
“Here is the thing,” Donna said thoughtfully. “The earl would not, but I rather think you fancy him as well, and I am just wondering what it is you have in that naughty brain of yours.”
Bess laughed. “You are outrageous.”
“Yes, I said those things, and I believed those things, but watching him, seeing the two of you together—I am not so sure. Bess, the look on his face when he is watching you … well, it is remarkable. I am not saying he is the sort to follow through. I still think he is not, and yet he does fancy you. There I have said it again.” She paused and considered Bess. “You see, I think he has a reputation for a reason. I think he has behaved like a rogue and a rake, but I’m not sure he is one at bottom.” Donna waved it off and said, “Never mind, for it probably doesn’t change a thing.”
“Meaning?” Bess puzzled up at her.
“Meaning, playing games with him won’t do the job,” Donna answered flatly.
“Playing games? I am not playing games. The fact is, I think I am losing my heart to him,” Bess said softly.
“Oh dear, I am not sure about all of this. Something tells me he rather more than likes you, but I think at the first sign that you are too attached to him, he will bolt.”
“I quite agree. I am not playing games, but neither am I stupid,” Bess said on a heavy sigh. “I know he is intrigued by me, and I also know he is not in earnest—not yet. I am not his type, or so he thinks. He believes he isn’t really ready for a love match. No doubt, he thinks a connection—a marriage of convenience with Lady Sonhurst—will give him the heir he needs and allow him to be free as well.”
“You are quite right in that way of thinking, and yet, Bess, I have seen him looking at you when he did not know I was watching, and I must say, as I already have, he is certainly taken with you.”
“Perhaps for the moment, but I know it means nothing to him.”
Donna got up and paced before she went to the morning room window, obviously troubled.
Bess followed her and touched her hand. “Don’t worry about this, Donna, I do so like him a great deal, and I see that there is more to him than the reputation he has so enjoyed, and I have a plan.”
The morning room door opened wide, and Robby, his hair windblown, his grin wide, strode into the room and jovially announced, “You will never credit it, but of all things, there is a carnival!”
Momentarily diverted, the girls in unison repeated, “A carnival?”
“Where?” Bess demanded excitedly.
“Not more than five miles from here. Where is Dunkirk?”
“How do you know, Robby?” his wife asked as she went to him.
“Had it from Fleetwood,” he answered happily.
“Fleet?” Bess asked in surprise. “How could you have it from Fleet?”
“Why couldn’t he have it from me?” said a voice from the open doorway.
“Fleet!” Bess exclaimed in high glee as she skipped towards him and held his lapels. “You are here, you silly boy. What are you doing here?”
“Well,” admonished Sir George Fleetwood, “what sort of greeting is that?” He slid an arm around her waist and hugged her to him amiably. “Thought you might be happy to see me, pet, and all you can do is call me a ‘silly boy’?”
She giggled happily and, still in his hold, got on tiptoe to plant an affectionate kiss on his fair cheek. “There. I am happy to see you, but that doesn’t answer my question.” She was in fact surprised, because before she had left for Searington Fleet had warned her off the earl, advising her that he was a libertine. She hadn’t thought he even liked the earl.
The earl arrived at this moment, and Bess saw him out of the corner of her eye. He looked irritated, and she wondered what was wrong as he walked towards her and Fleet.
“Sir George,” the earl said in a friendly way of greeting, “welcome. When did you arrive, and to what do we owe this pleasure?”
“To answer you, my lord, I have only just arrived. Been invited to put up with friends not far from here. However, what really brings me to Searington,” he said simply, “is Bess. Missed her.”
Bess flushed and gently disengaged herself from Fleet’s hold. She felt the earl’s gaze on them and saw a dark annoyance in his eyes. She turned to her friend and reproved him in a merry voice, “Beast. You are not here to see me. As far as you knew, I was supposed to be on my way home with Papa today!”
“Ah, so you were,” Sir George returned, “but met your papa on the road. He said you were staying on a few days here.”
Bess laughed. “You are incorrigible, saying you are here because you missed me when you are only stopping by on your way to stay with frien
ds!”
He laughed and pinched her nose. She slapped his hand away, and they both laughed. She turned, found the earl looking stormy, and wondered at it. Was he jealous? Could he be jealous? No, how foolish to think he would be jealous of a boy like George. Anyone could see they were only friends; besides, what did he care? He didn’t.
A servant arrived with a tray of refreshments, and Bess laughed to see Robby’s face light up as he moved towards the tray exclaiming, “Hot buns! Look devilishly inviting.” He moved into position and began serving himself. Then he turned to his wife and asked with a show of a bun in the air if she required one. She laughed and shook her head.
“So tell us, Fleet, where exactly is this carnival?” Bess said as she began pouring and serving tea around to everyone.
“Indeed, you will like it, Bess. I don’t think we’ve been to a carnival in a couple of years,” he said, taking a cup from her and sitting on the sofa to pat a place beside himself for her.
She gave the earl his cup of tea and did, in fact, plop down beside her friend and agree, “Yes, oh yes, I should like it immensely.”
* * *
He felt a fool, jealous over a pup of a boy, but he always faced the facts, and the fact was that he was having to exercise control over himself in Lady Bess’s regard. He had never wanted to be the sort of man that tripped over himself in pursuit of a woman. He wasn’t that man and would not be that man—damnation! Was he that man?
He couldn’t deny the steam that filled his head when he had walked in to find Sir George’s arm possessively around Lady Bess’s lovely trim waist. He’d wanted to pick the lanky lad up and throw him out the window.
Nothing for it—he had to be honest with himself and admit that was how he felt.
He calmed himself. He knew that the two had been friends for years, and yet the pup had a look on his face when he stared at her—and Sir George did stare at her, every chance he got. No doubt the lad thought himself in love with her. How could he not be in love with her? She was everything any man could ever want in a woman. She was bright and saucy, kind-hearted and dear, beautiful of mind and exquisite of body.
