Enchanting the Earl (The Townsends)

by Lily Maxton

  After they departed and made their way back down the trail, Eleanor glanced at her brother, chewing on her lower lip worriedly. “Do you think it’s dangerous here?”

  He ran his hand through his hair. “I’ve never heard of wolves in Scotland.”

  “But if Mr. Cameron’s seen them…this is quite a secluded area…if wolves survived, it would probably be here.”

  “True,” he said. “But maybe Mr. Cameron mistook what he saw.”

  “How would he mistake a pack of wolves?” Annabel asked.

  “I don’t know. Perhaps he was half asleep and saw a couple of stray dogs. Perhaps he was foxed.”

  “Mr. Cameron rarely drinks,” she pointed out. “He’s straight as an arrow.”

  Lord Arden stared at her. “And how would you know about Mr. Cameron’s drinking habits. Do you visit him often?”

  There was a weight to the question, an intensity that made Annabel think he was asking something he didn’t say.

  “On occasion,” Annabel said truthfully. “I’ve never seen him foxed.”

  “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t get foxed,” he said, sounding irritable. “We’ll stay vigilant,” he assured his sister, “but until I’ve seen these wolves myself, I’m not convinced there’s a problem.”

  Hell and damnation. Annabel’s fingers curled as she squeezed all her frustration into her fist. She’d hoped Lord Arden would be a little more concerned about rampaging wolf-dogs.

  She’d have to try a different tactic.

  Chapter Seven

  Later that day, Theo walked toward the stables to check on the horses. This was the most walking he’d done without rest in some time, and his flesh chafed where it rubbed against the artificial leg, even with a sock covering it. His progress was about twice as slow as it had been when he’d walked up the slope with Miss Lockhart and Eleanor.

  He glanced around as he remembered the Highlander’s warning about wolves. Be vigilant, all the time. He already was vigilant, all the time, whether he wanted to be or not…but that didn’t mean he thought he could fight off a pack of wolves. Hopefully, the man had been mistaken about what he’d seen.

  As he walked, he wondered, not for the first time, about the nature of Annabel’s relationship with the strapping Ian Cameron, who slung boulders around as though they were piddling children’s toys. With an ailing aunt and no other companions except for servants, Annabel would be mostly left to her own devices. Was it so far-fetched to think she might spend time with Cameron, who was only a stone’s throw away? That she might be curious? That she might be tempted by his muscles and his damnable bonnie knees.

  Good God, the man was the quintessential rugged male and he was practically living in Annabel’s backyard.

  And was it so far-fetched to think that Cameron would be tempted by Annabel, who roamed the moors and never pinned her hair all the way and laughed with the abandon of a temptress?

  Theo’s heartbeat spiked as his grip tightened on his cane. Whatever mischief Annabel Lockhart got up to in these lonely moors wasn’t his concern. In a few short weeks—or sooner, if fate had any fondness left over for him—she would be gone, and he’d never have to think of her again.

  There was a small gravel walking path that led to the stables, which Theo was quite grateful for after dealing with the treacherous terrain on this side of the castle the day before. The stable doors were open, and Theo entered, nodding at the stable boy—the son of one of the Highland families—who carried a bucket of water.

  Theo was surprised to find narrow stalls that were all empty, except for his own horses that whickered softly at his entrance. He patted the neck of a gray mare, breathing in the scent of oats and straw and manure.

  But then, he didn’t know why he was surprised. If Annabel and her aunt lived on a modest income, horses would be an unnecessary expense.

  But she’d said she’d gone riding that day, hadn’t she? Had she taken one of his without asking?

  The mare watched him with dark, intelligent eyes. He thought about trying to ride, but he didn’t know how that would work with his artificial leg. Would he need someone’s help to mount and dismount? He wasn’t sure if it would be worth the effort and potential embarrassment.

  When he heard feminine voices, he turned away from the mare and followed them behind the stable. As he stepped into a transient patch of sunlight, the sight that greeted him made him go completely still.

  Miss Lockhart sat, wearing men’s clothes—more specifically, riding breeches—astride a stocky Highland pony. Her hair tumbled from its pins in disarray, caressing her shoulders lovingly. She had her head tipped back as she laughed at something Eleanor had said, uncaring that her lawn shirt was not entirely opaque, uncaring that her breeches gripped her thighs like a second skin.

  Or a man’s wanting hands.

  He blinked at both the thought and the sudden surge of lust that accompanied it. Swift, strong, unwelcome lust, like a kick to the stomach. Her behavior was beyond the pale. It should horrify him, not make him want to dip his hands into the neckline of her shirt.

  When his gaze strayed beyond her, the spark in his abdomen turned to outrage. Eleanor and Georgina came into view, and he gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached. His sisters, instead of adopting men’s clothing, had simply hiked up their dresses to ride astride, revealing their stockinged legs. He truly didn’t know which was worse.

  If this was a glimpse of what an hour alone with Miss Lockhart would do to his normally well-behaved sisters, he’d have to be vigilant for more things than rabid wolves.

  He made a noise—an incoherent growling, most likely—and Annabel’s head jerked in his direction. Her smile faded slightly at his thunderous expression, though the rosy glow on her cheeks remained as a sad monument to her former happiness. All of the women’s smiles faded.

  He felt like a curmudgeon, but was he the only one who hadn’t lost all sense?

  “Get off that horse,” he said to Georgina.

  She frowned at him but swung down nimbly, her dress falling to cover her legs.

  “And you,” he said, turning to Eleanor. “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?”

  “Theo,” she said awkwardly. “We didn’t expect you.”

  “Obviously,” he said scathingly. He noticed she had a streak of dirt on her cheek and his stomach jumped with concern. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Your face is dirty.”

  “Oh.” She flushed suddenly, and Miss Lockhart broke into the silence. “The Highland horses don’t like to be stabled for very long, my lord. One must catch them if one desires their use.”

  “Catch them?” Theo repeated.

  “Oh yes,” she said, in an annoyingly bright tone. “They usually just wander about the hills until you chase them into a bog or some such thing.” At Theo’s look, which he was sure spoke of violence, she continued quickly. “These we just followed about for a while until they decided to let us catch up with them. Nothing dangerous. They’re quite gentle creatures, really.”

  They looked docile enough, staring at him benignly, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that young ladies should not be chasing horses, or riding astride, or showing their legs. He couldn’t believe he even needed to point this out to them.

  “It was quite thrilling,” Eleanor said. He glanced at her sharply. She breathed in the air as though she were drinking it. She looked happy, gloriously happy, and he abruptly realized that he’d never before seen her quite this happy. It took the edge off his anger.

  “You’re lucky you didn’t find yourself stuck in a bog,” he grumbled, though his voice was softer.

  Annabel swung down from her horse without assistance. “There’s nothing to worry about there. You’ve only a few small bogs on your land, and I know the places to avoid. I’ve stepped in them myself a time or two.”

  They all stared at her. Theo had to admit he wasn’t staring just in surprise. As she turned to give her ho
rse a gentle pat, his eyes were drawn from the ground up, to long legs and soft thighs and a very nicely curved— She turned around and he jerked his gaze back up. He wasn’t some lecherous rake. He could avoid staring at her breech-clad legs for the length of a conversation.

  He hoped.

  He hoped rather desperately.

  “There’s a trick to getting out of them. You need to stay calm, first of all. When people panic, they get sucked in further.”

  “If we had gotten stuck, we might have been found preserved in a few years, like the bog bodies,” Eleanor, who was interested in things most people shied away from, said. Theo blamed this predilection on their father, who’d thought nothing of taking his eldest daughter, though only a girl at the time, with him as an informal assistant while he treated sick patients.

  He’d also fancied himself an amateur naturalist—and Eleanor had taken a keen interest in entomology, handling with reverence six-legged creatures that most people would shriek at the sight of.

  His sister had grown into a woman who was not squeamish in the slightest, even when she should be.

  “That’s morbid,” Theo remarked.

  “It’s fascinating,” Georgina replied.

  Miss Lockhart looked interested, too. He was, unfortunately, outnumbered by unusual women.

  They began to walk. The horses, now loose, stopped to eat some grass and drift from spot to spot. They must be hardy creatures, to live wild in this place of peaks and crevices, bogs and heath, cold sea air and open sky.

  He fell into step behind Miss Lockhart, which, he realized quickly, was not a good place to be. His gaze strayed lower and again he jerked it back up, almost wildly. He could just imagine her reaction if she looked back to find him glancing at her arse. She would probably laugh in his face.

  And he would probably deserve it. He kept his gaze pointed at the back of her head and its riotous tumble of hair. He itched to gather the tendrils in his hands just to know what they felt like, so he would no longer have to wonder if they were soft or coarse.

  His itching palms annoyed the hell out of him.

  “No more riding astride,” Theo said to his sisters.

  “Theo,” Georgina complained.

  He lifted his hand in a sharp gesture. “No. I won’t have you displaying such inappropriate behavior.”

  Annabel glanced back at him. “There’s no one around to see,” she said. “If your sisters live here, they’ll enjoy a freedom that most young women don’t have. That kind of freedom seeps into your skin. Into your very soul, really.”

  Theo scowled, thinking, uncharitably, that she should be the one writing poems about food. “Then they’ll either have to control themselves, or I’ll have to hire a governess to keep track of them day and night. I probably should anyway.”

  A look of irritation flitted across Eleanor’s face. “I’m a little old for a governess.”

  “Georgina isn’t.”

  “We went for one ride. You don’t have to be such a curmudgeon all the time,” Georgina complained.

  Perfect. He was the villain and Miss Lockhart was the exciting one. All he was trying to do was protect them, and he felt exactly like the curmudgeon George accused him of being. His tenuous hold on his patience snapped. “Just because an aging spinster with no hope of a good marriage, or any marriage at all, thinks something is a grand idea, doesn’t mean it is. You two aren’t going to turn into heathens just because she’s halfway there already. You’re going to have dowries, you’re going to display proper manners, and you’re going to make good matches, and I don’t want any more arguments.”

  A thick silence blanketed them like snow. Theo only realized how cruel he’d sounded after the words had tumbled from his lips, unarrested. He only realized he’d done harm when Annabel, her back as stiff as a board, hurried forward, creating more and more distance between them with each step.

  “Theo.” Eleanor’s voice held all the disapproval of a disappointed mother.

  “I didn’t mean to upset her,” he said, ignoring a savage ache in his injured leg.

  Georgina’s eyebrows drew together. “You called her an aging spinster with no hope of marriage, and a heathen, and you didn’t expect to hurt her feelings?”

  “I didn’t say she was a heathen,” he uncomfortably defended himself. “I said she’s halfway there. There’s a marked difference.”

  “Hmmph,” Georgina uttered.

  “I’ll apologize. If you two promise not to chase after horses and ride astride.”

  His prompting drew a reluctant “very well” from them.

  He watched Annabel disappear into the castle, a spot of white and beige and yellow hair, a small, almost vulnerable spot. He’d never thought of her as vulnerable before. It caused a funny little twinge, somewhere in the area of his heart.

  Or the area where his heart used to be.

  Chapter Eight

  After another dinner of broiled fowl, left over from the previous night, in which Annabel did her best to avoid talking to Lord Arden, or looking at Lord Arden, or even leaning in Lord Arden’s direction, they retired to the drawing room.

  Annabel had thought she had thicker skin than that—she usually did have thicker skin than that. Why should she care what he thought of her? And nothing he said wasn’t true… She was an aging spinster; she probably wouldn’t marry; she behaved in a way polite society might call heathenish because polite society wasn’t here to judge her.

  One disapproving earl who hadn’t had an ounce of fun in his life should hold no sway over her emotions. He shouldn’t have the power to hurt her. But it seemed that he did. The memory of his words were like a sliver stuck underneath her skin—persistent, annoying, painful.

  “Miss Lockhart?”

  She glanced up from the fireplace and found the object of her thoughts about two feet away from her, standing with an uncomfortable hunch to his shoulders. She grimaced and returned to staring at the flickering orange and yellow flames.

  “I suppose I should apologize.”

  That had her turning toward him swiftly. “You suppose?”

  He had the grace to look embarrassed. “I know I should apologize. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

  He was sorry for offending her, not sorry for saying it in the first place? As far as apologies went, it wasn’t a very good one. “What is the point of apologizing,” she said through her teeth, “if you still believe everything you said?”

  “I—” He broke off, started again. “Just because I think something doesn’t mean I should say it.”

  “So you are not apologizing for the sentiment. You’re apologizing for the disconnect between your brain and your mouth?”

  He frowned. “I admit I occasionally speak without thinking through the repercussions of my words.”

  She huffed out a laugh. “Occasionally?”

  His frown deepened into little wrinkles around his eyes and on his forehead. “Do you make anything easy?”

  “I don’t see why I should. And I don’t accept your apology.”

  He exhaled a sharp breath. “Fine.”

  “Well, then.”

  “Well, then,” he agreed. He twisted to go, but suddenly turned back, his cane thumping down forcefully. “The first thing I said to you. When I asked what you were. It wasn’t meant to be an insult. If you’re going to hold something against me, don’t let it be that.”

  She opened her mouth to ask him how he’d intended such an outrageous statement, if it wasn’t an insult, but he was already stalking toward the other side of the drawing room. Her jaw closed with a snap.

  Not long after, Robert came to stand by her side, and she was almost relieved. By his ready smiles, by his easy conversation, by his handsomeness, which was warm and undemanding, not cool and stark. Robert didn’t have the intensity of his brother, or his penchant for saying things that offended her.

  But somehow, she found her reluctant gaze drawn back toward the solitary figure of Lord Arden more than once througho
ut the evening.

  …

  After everyone else had retired that night, Annabel went to check on Fiona. Her sister wasn’t asleep, but Mary was. They quietly went into the kitchen so they could talk. Annabel set the candleholder on the chopping table, casting a small ring of light around them.

  “How was Mary today?” Annabel asked.

  “Fine,” Fiona said. “Though a little restless. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep her content like this. She takes after her aunt. She longs to go outside and explore.”

  “I know,” Annabel said helplessly. “Give me a little time.”

  “You think you can get the earl to leave?”

  “I have a few ideas,” she said evasively, though in truth, her ideas were dwindling. The blasted man was amazingly stubborn in his determination to stay in this rundown castle. She’d thought the suggestion of wild wolves, and especially the idea that his sisters might turn into hoydens with a lack of outside influence, would be enough to make him contemplate the notion of leaving. But he’d barely batted an eyelash at Ian’s story about the wolves, and while he’d been upset about his sisters’ riding astride, he hadn’t been concerned enough to leave, only to throw around the threat of a governess.

  It was maddening.

  He was maddening.

  She could get along with just about anyone, but Lord Arden, it seemed, was not just anyone.

  “This is our home,” she continued. “I’m not giving up that easily. Aunt Frances said he’s agreed to let us stay until he can find another situation for us, so I should have at least a few weeks.”

  She’d think of something. She had to.

  “I’ll keep you safe here, Fiona. Colin won’t find you.”

  Fiona’s face paled. She spread her hands on the chopping table to keep them from trembling, and Annabel immediately regretted her thoughtless words. More than anything, she regretted that her brother-in-law’s name had the power to make Fiona look so frightened.