“There is no imposition. In fact, I insist.” Grinning, he extended his arm. His day coat clung to his chest, revealing a muscular physique.
“That is most generous, but I cannot allow it.” Rose forced a smile.
Pity flickered in his eyes as he held her gaze.
How mortifying. A flush spread from her chest up her neck. The last thing she wanted was to become his charity case.
“At the least, allow me to take you home,” he offered.
She flashed a smile and turned, intending to take her leave. “I can see myself home. Thank you.”
Taking her elbow, he turned her to face him. “Nonsense. There is no reason for you to hire a hackney when I have a perfectly good carriage right here.” He gestured toward the same impressive coach that had delivered Lady Julia to her door the previous day.
Rose nibbled her lower lip in thought. The pair shared the same surname, but how were they related? Could they be siblings or cousins, perchance? Regardless, Lady Julia was fond of him. Perhaps not all lords were as odious as Annie’s earl had been. Surely, she would not come to harm simply by allowing him to drive her home. “Very well.” She sighed.
A thrill of longing went through her when she wrapped her hand under his upper arm. She was certain the reaction had nothing to do with her current predicament. Stop you ninny, he is a lord. Lords do not court untitled misses. Mayhap if she told herself that enough she would get him out of her mind.
Lord Aubry waved off his driver. Instead, he opened the door to his coach and pulled down a tiny step for her to use. Holding her firmly, he assisted her up into the black lacquer barouche, his crest emblazoned on the door. Her skirt rustled as she sat down on the overstuffed leather seat. She had never been inside such a fine conveyance.
The lopsided grin he offered set her heart aflutter. She smiled back before averting her gaze. It would not do for him to see how deeply he affected her. Besides, her thinking became muddled while looking at him. She needed to focus on the problem of Mr. Wolfe. There had to be a way to stop him, without sending her to the poorhouse. There simply had to be.
ENCHANTED BY THE EARL
CHAPTER TWO
Dewitt Wolfe paced his office still holding the fancy lord’s invitation in his hand. Where had the blasted man come from? More importantly, why did he insist on interfering? He thought the earl’s presence a mere wrinkle when he had intervened at Rose’s. Now Dewitt realized the lord could present a bigger problem. He caught him off guard when he ordered him from his betrothed’s home. Now, he beckoned him to engage in a meeting. Why?
Bloody hell. What could a fancy lord want with his untitled, penniless flower? The earl would not cow Dewitt again. He swore an oath to himself and he meant to honor that vow. Status made little difference to him. Rose was betrothed to him when they were children. His pulse sped at the thought.
The betrothal contract had burned along with his family home. Everything went up in flames, including his parents. Following the fire, the creditors came, removing anything he had left of value, even the family’s horses were confiscated. Over the years, Dewitt worked hard, scraping, lying, cheating, and even killing when necessary to rebuild his life and ensure nothing was ever taken from him again.
When Rose’s parents died, she conveniently forgot about their arrangement—a fact he had not counted on. Her copy of the betrothal vanished, as well. Dewitt had her cottage searched a few months earlier while she was away with her insufferable grandmother, visiting relatives in the country. No trace of the document could be found. He had hoped to use it as a way to remind her of what her parent’s had wanted for her.
Did this Lord Aubry know of their betrothal and her desire to escape it? Perhaps Rose had gone to him for assistance. He shook his head. A lord would not help an untitled miss, especially one without wealth. Unless, she graced his bed.
Dewitt’s blood boiled as an image of his Rose, naked and writhing with passion beneath Lord Aubry, sprang into his mind. He shook it off. No, she was entirely too proper to be duped into becoming any man’s mistress. Something else must be going on. Whatever that might be, he would not allow the earl to interfere with his plans for her. She belonged to him.
Lord Aubry’s meddling would not change a thing. He would marry Rose by force, if necessary. Surely, the situation would not come to that. He owned the home she loved and her desire to hold onto the cottage should be enough to change her mind. He had spent a small fortune to manufacture the mortgage documents. Now that they were his, she would be too.
He snatched up his riding gloves. Lord Aubry waited for him at a gentlemen’s club and he would not disappoint.
* * * *
Hunter lifted his glass, taking a slow sip. The amber liquid blazed a trail down his throat. Mr. Wolfe should be making an appearance at any moment. The man would be a fool to ignore his request. He drummed his fingers on the table as he stared at the door before taking another drink. Glancing around the room, he noted that White’s was rather empty at this early hour. A good thing, since Hunter did not wish for a large audience.
He set his glass down when Wolfe bustled through the door, thrusting his hat and riding gloves at a doorman. Hunter took note of the fine day coat and expensive-looking breeches Wolfe wore. The man might not belong to the gentry, but he clearly had means. Hunter’s gaze met with Wolfe’s as a waiter showed him to the table.
Wolfe sat across from him, one hand resting on the smooth surface of the wood. Hunter raised an eyebrow, taking note of the man’s defensive posture. “Would you like a drink?”
Wolfe’s mouth pulled into a menacing grin. “I would prefer to get right to the point. Why have you summoned me?”
So, the man was not interested in pleasantries. That suited Hunter, as he had no intention of becoming chummy. He took another drink then methodically swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “I wish to make you an offer on Miss Woodcourt’s cottage.”
“The property is not for sale.”
A peculiar reaction indeed. Why was Wolfe so swift to reply? Hunter leveled his gaze at the man. “Name your price. I am a very wealthy lord. Surely we can come to terms.”
“Your wealth is of no consequence. As I said, the property is not for sale.”
Wolfe’s icy tone gave him pause. The pit of his stomach soured. An image of Miss Woodcourt came into his mind. She tried to hide her worry yesterday, but the tension in her shoulders, coupled with the way she averted her gaze, gave her away. A primal need to protect her filled him. Why?
“I will give you twice what the property is worth. Far more than what is left owed on the mortgage.” Hunter drained his glass, not taking his gaze from Wolfe. Only a madman would refuse such a generous offer, and Wolfe seemed too shrewd to be insane.
Pushing back in his chair, Wolfe rose to his feet. “No amount will change the fact that I am not selling. Good day, my lord.” He strode to the door.
Hunter narrowed his eyes at the other man’s retreating form. He had thought Miss Woodcourt made a mistake. Perhaps it was an accounting error. He wanted to purchase the property so he could return the cottage to her. Now, he had no doubt Wolfe was up to something nefarious. The moment he got involved, he became honor-bound to stop Wolfe. He left White’s the same way Wolfe had gone.
The journey back to his townhouse took under ten minutes. Hunter handed his riding coat and gloves to the butler, before instructing him to send for Lady Julia.
The memory of Rose’s altercation with Wolfe made him scowl. Julia’s maid normally escorted her on errands. He only accompanied her to Miss Woodcourt’s on a whim. Would she have been in danger if he had not been there? Wolfe clearly wanted more than the cottage. A chill ran through him at the thought.
A swish of skirts brought his thoughts back to the present, and he turned at the hearth. Julia trapsed over to him, dropping a kiss on his cheek. “Brother dear, tell me why have you sent for me?”
He stepped back. Questions swirled in her eyes and he grinned, reaching
for her gloved hand. At two and twenty, Julia was younger than he by four years, and Hunter had always fawned over her.
“You look as lovely as ever, my dearest sister.” It was a heartfelt compliment. She was dressed in a green silk gown, with a matching bonnet that put him in mind of crisp green grass. Long white gloves covered her hands and a delicate green fan swung from her wrist. Hunter released her, taking his time to answer.
“Oh, how you do go on.” She shook her head as she worked to remove her bonnet. “And you did not answer my question.”
“Let us sit, shall we?” He moved to a blue velvet chase.
Julia sat across from him. She flipped her lace-and-silk fan open with a smirk. “Do tell me what you are about. The suspense is positively killing me.”
“Very well. I wish to know the date of your next appointment with Miss Woodcourt.” He had considered suggesting she have Miss Woodcourt come to her townhouse for the fittings, but knew ‘Jewels,’ as he had called his sister since childhood, would ask too many questions. She never could stand being kept in the dark, but he did not want to share his suspicions with her. Not when all he had was a hunch. He would not put his baby sister in harm’s way.
She pointed her gaze at him and one corner of her mouth tugged up. “Did you call me over here just to ask about my frocks? Honestly, Hunter, have you nothing better to do?”
“Just answer me, Jewels.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chaise.
“If I do, will you tell me what this is all about?”
The little imp endeavored to bargain with him. She had done so for as long as he could remember, never giving up information without first attempting to gain something for herself. Some things never changed. “Just answer the question.”
“Oh, very well. But understand you are no fun at all.” She circled her fan in the air. “I have a fitting tomorrow.”
“I will accompany you,” he said in a tone that brooked no refusal. “For what hour shall I order the carriage?”
“Late morning will do. Now, tell me what this is about.” She leaned toward him, eyes dancing with mirth. “Are you sweet on Miss Woodcourt, brother dear?”
He balked at the preposterous supposition. “You have a very active imagination.” Miss Woodcourt intrigued him, but he did not fancy the young lady. Did he? No, he could not possibly. Even if he were in the market for a wife—which he absolutely was not—she was an unsuitable match. When and if he ever married, it must be to a woman of good breeding.
Julia sighed. “More’s the pity. She is a delightful woman.”
He called Miss Woodcourt’s image into his mind. With her delicate features and expressive green eyes, there was no denying she was a pretty thing. But he knew lots of pretty girls. Attractive aristocratic ladies far better suited to him. No. He sympathized with Miss Woodcourt’s plight and intended to help, nothing more. Besides, he had a duty to protect Jewels.
“I merely wish to escort you is all. I miss spending time with my baby sister.”
“While your words are sweet, I do not believe them.” She smiled. “All the same, I shall allow your escort. Just do not tarry. I will go without you if you fail to arrive by ten in the morning.” Jewels stood and smoothed her green skirts. “I must be getting home now.” She walked to the door and stopped. Turning to him, a mirthful smile curving her lips, she said, “You could do a great deal worse than Miss Woodcourt.”
Hunter opened his mouth to argue, but closed it. She was gone before he could speak.
Only Jewels would champion for him to wed a common miss. He shook his head. All of London would snub him forevermore.
Blast! Jewels had gotten inside his head. Before she arrived, he had not given any thought to Miss Woodcourt as a match. He shook his head to dispel the ridiculous notion.
Hunter looked up when his butler entered the room. “Lord Sinclair is here to call on you, my lord.”
Hunter’s long time friend, Garret Tumbly, Viscount Sinclair strolled into the room.
“Fancy the timing, Sinclair. I find myself in need of your expertise.” Hunter moved to the whiskey decanter and filled two glasses.
Sinclair positioned himself on a wing-back chair with his legs stretched out in front of him. He took the glass Hunter handed him. “I am happy to oblige.”
If anyone could help him discover what was afoot between Wolfe and Rose, Sinclair could. The two became very close after they met at Eton, a friendship that only grew during their Oxford days. Now he thought of Sinclair more like a brother than a friend.
They had played their hands at solving mysteries during their school days. Nothing too complex, but Sinclair had unraveled his share of misdeeds, including the case of Hunter’s missing waistcoat. As it turned out, another boy had stolen the coat in the hopes of seeing him punished.
“Are you planning to keep me in suspense all evening?” Sinclair took a drink of his whiskey.
“I was reflecting on our Eton days.”
“Ah, yes. We raised our fair share of hell back then.”
“I may need to do so again.”
Sinclair leaned forward. “What have you gotten yourself into?”
Hunter downed the contents of his glass. “Have you heard tell of a Mr. Dewitt Wolfe?”
“The name does not strike a memory. Should it?”
“No, but the situation would be easier to explain. The man seems to have taken something that does not belong to him.”
A slow smile spread across Sinclair’s face. “I must admit I am intrigued. Go on. Tell me all there is to know.”
Hunter relaxed back against his chair. He knew Sinclair would be interested. Now he hoped his friend would have some good ideas. A plan of action was what he needed—a way to protect Miss Woodcourt from Wolfe’s dealings. He recounted all he knew of the situation.
When he finished, he moved to refill his glass.
“How do you know the girl is on the level?”
Anger rose up in Hunter, heating his skin more than the spirits could. “I was there. I saw the interactions with my own two eyes. There is nothing dishonest about Miss Woodcourt.” He peered at Sinclair.
“Very well. How do you wish to proceed?” Sinclair stood up, ignoring Hunter’s burst of temper, and strolled to the window. “You need proof if it is your desire to see him charged with a crime and her property returned.”
Hunter reached for the decanter. As if he had not thought of that himself. The issue was not what he needed so much as how to get it. “Have you any pearls of wisdom as to how I might acquire said evidence?”
“I may have an idea.” Sinclair’s eyes twinkled as he held up his empty glass. “But first I need a refill.”
Hunter chuckled. “Plotting with a clear head would not do.”
“Never that.” Sinclair seated himself again and set the decanter on a nearby table. “You said this Wolfe fellow is a businessman. If I had to place a wager, I would bet the proof you seek is in his office.”
“Yes, my man informed me Wolfe keeps an office by the docks, but I cannot very well stroll in and expect him to hand over the proof.”
Sinclair held the decanter out to Hunter. “You have not had enough to drink as of yet, or you would be saying this yourself.”
“Saying what?”
“Get an address. Tomorrow night we break in.” Sinclair held his glass up.
Hunter grinned, reaching for the whiskey. He filled his glass, his blood suddenly racing with excitement.
ENCHANTED BY THE EARL
CHAPTER THREE
Rose’s blood turned to ice, freezing in her veins. She blinked at Mr. Wolfe as he ambled up her walkway. Why was he here again? Her dread climbed with each step he mounted. Surely, he had returned to demand her hand once again. She would never marry him, not for any reason.
“Do not look so put off, my lovely petal.” A lecherous grin spread across his lips, as he stopped in front of her.
She pressed her shaking hands into the folds of her gown. It would not d
o for him to see how intimidated she was by his presence.
“Your fancy lord attempted to purchase the cottage this afternoon, but have no fear. I sent him packing.”
Though her heart pounded like a herd of horses, she kept her eyes fixed on Mr. Wolfe’s. Fancy lord? He must mean Lord Aubry, but why would Lord Aubry want her cottage?
“You should have sold. I will never marry you.” She glared at him, her hands on her hips.
Wolfe feathered his fingertips across her cheek. “Never say never, darling.”
A shudder ran through her, and she took a step back. “Pray keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Wolfe.”
His eyes darkened, and a scowl etched deep lines in his face. “That is no way to speak to your betrothed.” He leaned toward her. “And make no mistake, we will be wed.”
Rose’s pulse quickened. This was not an idle threat. He had already proven how far he was willing to go. There had to be a way out of marrying him. She fisted her hands at her sides. “How did you manage it?”
The vicious smile he offered her chilled her to the marrow. She stepped back and snagged her shawl on the rough wood siding of the cottage.
“Manage what, my love?” He stepped closer, making her feel like a rabbit trapped in a snare.
“How did you make it appear as though my mortgage was unpaid?”
He leaned in very close, bringing his hand to rest against the house beside her head. The smell of unwashed body combined with his foul breath wafted up, and burned her nose. “It is of no consequence. What is done is done and shall remain that way. When we marry, I will give the cottage back to you as a wedding gift.”
She spun away before taking several steps across the porch. “You can sell my home, I do not care. Take everything I have, and you still will not have me. I will never be your wife.”
“We shall see about that.” His final words hung in the air as he stomped down the steps.
Rose slumped against the house, watching him gallop away on his horse. What was she to do? She could not marry him. A lump formed in her throat. How could her father promise her to such an odious devil?
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