The Reluctant Earl

by C. J. Chase

  Alec’s brows arched as he studied her face. Could he read her cooperation with—and fascination with—the new earl? Heat crept over her cheeks.

  Who stood to gain if the cause failed...and would be willing to murder an earl to achieve that goal? “Alec, be careful. If the government believes your group responsible for Lord Chambelston’s death...”

  “They will interpret every demand as a declaration of war and respond accordingly.” Alec’s vivid green eyes regarded her steadily for several long seconds. “You must be careful, cousin. The county...the country...is in turmoil. Things could quickly become dangerous.”

  Chapter Five

  Julian escaped Lord Sotherton’s study after a brief consultation with his brother-in-law. He climbed the stairs—thoughts focused on where he would stash his carefully crafted note—and nearly knocked over a redheaded maid polishing the woodwork.

  “Pardon me.”

  The maid blinked, as if she’d never been addressed by a member of the household. Knowing his sister, she probably hadn’t.

  Julian strode into his bedchamber and scanned the furnishings. Where would Miss Vance look should she prove disloyal? Perhaps the armoire? He slid open a drawer and tucked the note amongst his linen shirts, trying not to imagine her searching his belongings. And hoping against hope she wouldn’t betray him.

  Now to check on Caroline. He exited to the hall and tapped on the door next to his bedchamber. Silence. “Caroline?” He knocked again.

  Unease stirred low in his stomach. He twisted the knob and let himself into the room. A cheerful fire blazed on the hearth, its light glowing on the golden walls. A quick survey of the room revealed only Caro’s nursemaid dozing in a chair, but no Caro.

  “Anna!”

  She blinked sleepy eyes, then bolted out of the chair. “I—I’m sorry, my lord.”

  “Where is Lady Caroline?”

  “Lady Caroline?” She glanced toward lonesome toys in the corner and blanched. “She... I—I—”

  “You lost her?” Julian marched out of the room, the groveling maid pleading forgiveness in his wake. He gestured down the hallway. “You look there.”

  “Yes, my lord.” She curtsied and backed away, then turned and ran.

  With a sigh, Julian retraced his steps to the still-polishing maid. “Excuse me.”

  She lifted a wary gaze to his. “My lord?”

  “I seem to have...misplaced my sister, Lady Caroline. She is small, with brown hair and blue eyes. I was rather hoping you might have seen her.” Surely Caro wouldn’t have wandered to another floor, not when stairs gave her such difficulty.

  The suspicion on the maid’s face softened. “I saw Mrs. Anderson bring her here, but I didn’t notice her leaving. She is...” The maid hesitated, as if searching for a gentle word to describe Caro’s condition.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll locate Mrs. Anderson. Perhaps she knows where your sister is.” The maid collected her rag and disappeared to find the housekeeper.

  Julian checked his own bedchamber, just in case Caro had wandered there in search of him. No one. He returned to the hall.

  “Caro!” he called to the face peeking from behind a door across the hallway.

  “Jules!” She rushed to embrace him.

  He glanced past her to a gaping doorway. “What were you doing?”

  “Look for you.”

  “You found me.” He started to wrap his arms around her, but she pulled away.

  “See?” She held up a hand and uncurled her fingers to reveal the gleam of gold.

  “What do you have here?”

  “Pretty gold.”

  “Yes, very pretty. May I?” He picked up the item, a gold locket and chain. “Can you show me where you got this?”

  Caro grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the room. Assuming he wasn’t violating a woman’s privacy—Elizabeth had mentioned no female guests in residence—Julian followed her into a masculine-looking chamber of dark paneling and rich green fabrics. Opposite the four-poster bed, a paper-strewn desk was home to a half-filled brandy decanter and glasses. An odd location to find such a feminine bauble. His sister paused on the rug, her head tilted and her bemused gaze on him as she waited.

  “Where did you find this, Caro?”

  She pointed to the armoire.

  Julian slid open the drawer and peered at a cache of other feminine trinkets. He settled the locket against a bit of green ribbon. Sentimental reminders of a lost love? Hopefully their owner—Killiane? his brother?—wouldn’t notice they’d been disturbed. “Come, Caro.” Julian guided her to the hallway and pulled the door shut behind them just as the maid returned with the housekeeper.

  “Ah, Mrs. Anderson. Thank you for coming. As you can see, my quest met with success.”

  “I’m delighted you found her, my lord.”

  “Yes, it is a relief to us all.”

  But no doubt especially for Anna, the nursemaid who raced to join them, her face red and her breaths rapid and raspy. “For shame, my lady! Running off like that!”

  Julian bit back his annoyance for his sister’s sake. “Come, Caro.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her toward the gold bedchamber. Once he had shut the door behind the three of them, he rounded on the nursemaid. “Don’t you ever again berate my sister for your negligence.”

  Anna’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Now, we shall speak no more of this.” Unless Anna proved inadequate to the task. He leaned forward and kissed the top of Caro’s head. “I have to go for a while, but I’ll return in time for dinner.”

  “Dinner.” Caro’s face broke into a smile. “What for dinner?”

  “I don’t know yet. Perhaps we can convince Cook to provide you a special treat. You stay with Anna.” Julian let himself out of the room.

  Dinner. Another obstacle. Undoubtedly Lizzie would reject the notion of Caro eating with the family.

  He paused beside the maid who had returned to her polishing duties. “Do you know where I might find Lady Teresa?”

  “I believe she often reads in the blue salon on Sunday afternoons.”

  “Thank you. I shall check there.” He paused, turned and looked at the maid again. “And thank you...?”

  “Molly, my lord.”

  “Thank you, Molly, for your assistance with my sister.”

  “I had a sister myself thus, but she died quite young—only eight.” A sad sort of smile tugged on the maid’s face. “We all loved her the same and felt her loss keenly.”

  Julian tried to remember Caro at eight, but he’d spent most of that year—the year of Trafalgar—at sea. “I’m sorry. When was this?”

  “Four years ago.”

  A younger sister, then. Like his.

  “My sister found enjoyment in simple pleasures.”

  “Yes, Lady Caroline has much to teach the malcontents.” Including him. And Elizabeth, if she were only willing to surrender her resentment.

  The maid’s expression closed again, returning their relationship to its proper distance. “Is there anything else you require, my lord?”

  “Ah, no. Thank you.” He withdrew and traipsed to the blue salon.

  “Uncle Julian!” Teresa smiled as he entered. “Did you just return?”

  “About an hour ago.” How would this relative accept the news of Caro’s arrival? “I brought a guest with me. Your aunt Caroline.”

  “How delightful! Caroline is your...youngest sister?”

  “Yes. Felicity is between your mother and me.” As had been Gregory, whose untimely death had propelled Julian from ordinary sea captain to a land-owning aristocrat. “Our youngest brother Kit lives in America, and Caroline is our baby sister—not much older than you, in fact.” In years, anyway.

  “I should like to meet her.” The blue cushion of the window seat echoed the same hue in Teresa’s eyes.

  “She is in the chamber next to mine—the gold bedchamber, I believe Hawkesworth called it. I left her
there with her maid. Caroline is...” Not like other people.

  Understanding softened Teresa’s brilliant gaze. “I’ve heard.” That she seemed indifferent could only issue from her governess’s influence. He didn’t doubt Miss Vance’s sense of justice and compassion for the weak and oppressed—even if he disapproved of how she manifested those convictions.

  “I, ah, thought perhaps I would ask Miss Vance if she would evaluate Caroline.” An unwelcome thrill simmered through him at the prospect of seeing Teresa’s governess again. “You wouldn’t know where I could find her?”

  “She has Sundays off, of course. I think she goes to visit a friend. Or maybe a relative.”

  Friend or relative—or companion in arms against the government? “Do you know where?”

  A sly smile stole across Teresa’s mouth. “I can’t say for certain, but I believe she usually walks in an easterly direction. She should be returning presently if you’d like to intercept her.”

  “Then perhaps I shall ride that direction. Would you care to join me?”

  “Thank you, but I already agreed to ride tomorrow with my cousin Reggie. I think I shall visit my Aunt Caroline. It’s long past the time I should have made her acquaintance.” Teresa set down her book and rose from the seat. She walked to the doorway with him.

  “I’m certain Caro will enjoy your company.” He gave her a bow and marched away. Once at the stable, Julian ordered the groom to saddle Sotherton’s bay.

  “I’m sorry, my lord. Mr. Fleming took him out some while back. Perhaps the black gelding...?”

  “That will be fine.” Julian yanked his gloves over his fingers. When the groom had readied the horse, he rode off to find Miss Vance. And her mysterious friend.

  * * *

  The sun’s glare had warmed the top layer of snow to slush, and as Leah trudged along the path, water squished inside her boots and soaked her stockings. The cold radiated from her toes upward, until the chills rippled along her spine and reminded her she needed her boots resoled. With what funds?

  She considered the few coins remaining in her reticule, and the weight of her responsibilities sat heavily on her shoulders. A few birds flitted among the branches of the rough-barked trees along the path, and she watched their flight with envy. If only she could mount the sky and escape.

  In the distance a beautiful bay—Sotherton’s stallion, she was certain—raced across the snow-covered field, its well-mounted rider dressed in black. His tall hat and fashionable cloak marked him as a gentleman. Lord Chambelston, perhaps, returned to finish his quest—or to spy on her? Anticipation stirred in her belly. Leah squinted, but the low afternoon sun hid the rider’s face in shadows.

  She glanced over her shoulder, but Alec, like the small hamlet where they’d parted, had vanished in the distance. Her cousin’s last words echoed in her mind and circled her heart with icy dread as the horse and rider drew closer. The blood froze in her veins as she identified that scornful smile.

  Not Lord Chambelston.

  To be certain, she’d rather meet a roving band of rioters than this so-called gentleman.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Vance.” Reginald Fleming steered the horse to block her path. “Are you having a pleasant stroll?”

  “Until now.” She tried to continue forward, but he refused to let her pass. “Excuse me.”

  “Oh, no. I fear I can’t do that. Didn’t your companion warn you the path is dangerous for a woman alone?”

  Her heart pounded in her chest. “My companion?”

  “Shame on him, leaving you to fend for yourself.” He nudged the horse closer, forcing her to retreat into deeper snow. “And here you give the appearance of such a paragon. What would my virtuous aunt say about your wanton ways? Surely she would not approve of keeping her daughter in the care of such a woman.”

  A frisson of fear joined the cold rippling down Leah’s spine. What price would Fleming demand for his silence? And how much more expensive should he ever discover the destination of her Sunday walks? Phoebe.

  Too much.

  Fleming leaned from the horse. His arm snaked forward as he reached for her wrist. No! Leah yanked away, leaving her glove in his grasp. Her momentum propelled her backwards against a tree trunk and knocked the wind from her chest. A bare branch scraped her cheek as she struggled to regain her equilibrium.

  Too late. Fleming seized the advantage of her momentary paralysis.

  His fingers circled her forearm. He hauled her closer, close enough she could see the mad pleasure that lit his eyes at her unease, could smell the wine that polluted his breath, could feel the excited heat of his power over her. His hat tumbled to the ground, revealing the scar on his forehead. Unfortunately she would find no convenient poker this time.

  The temperamental horse lurched and snorted and stomped on her foot, pinning her in place. Pain shot through her leg.

  A leer of lewd pleasure twisted Fleming’s lips. “A pity it’s so cold. Perhaps we can find a more sheltered place—a place where we could finish what we started three years ago.”

  “No!” Never, never, never. Leah jerked but he tightened his grip.

  “Oh, you will regret—”

  She lowered her shoulder and thrust it into the horse’s side. The stallion’s ears plunged back as it staggered and thrashed. Fleming lost his hold on her hand in his attempt to control the animal. Leah snatched the opportunity and—ignoring the agony in her foot—fled to the other side of the tree.

  Fleming lashed the horse’s haunches and charged toward her, crop raised above his head. She ducked under a branch, steeling herself against the imminent blow.

  Air whooshed above her, then a crack reverberated across the landscape, that of leather on flesh, followed by a roar. But not hers. A stripe of red slashed the length of Fleming’s cheek. He wiped his sleeve across his face, dropping his crop as he whirled to face this new threat. “Who do you— Chambelston!” He fought to control the high-strung horse.

  “Fleming.” Chambelston’s low growl rolled across the suddenly still landscape. A tic throbbed along the tense line of his square jaw as he once more swished his riding crop against his shoulder. The bay stallion flinched and pranced again, footfalls muffled by the packed snow.

  “What are you doing here, my lord?” Fleming hauled on the bay’s reins, his eyes glittering challenge and promised retribution.

  “My business is not yet concluded. And I believe you have an urgent commitment. Elsewhere.”

  Fleming aimed another—threatening—stare at Leah. “As you say, my lord, a pressing commitment elsewhere. Miss Vance, your servant. I didn’t realize your next companion would arrive so precipitously.” He wheeled the horse around and cantered off in the direction of the hamlet where Leah—and Alec—had recently passed, his uncovered locks bouncing in the breeze.

  What if he should encounter her cousin? And learn his identity?

  “If I may be so bold as to escort you home, Miss Vance?”

  Slowly Leah turned to look at Chambelston, high above her on an ebony horse, crop still upraised like an avenging angel’s sword. Several days’ absence only made him more imposing, and her pulse quickened with her reaction. His dark cloak billowed out behind him, and his hat threw all but his frown in shadows. And yet, though she couldn’t see his eyes, she felt their careful regard, studying her, weighing her.

  Much as she appreciated his timely intervention, she feared his uncanny perception. “Thank you. But don’t let me divert you from your business.”

  “You are my only business today.”

  “Me?” Had he a suspicion of Fleming’s plans and followed him? Or had he sought out her in particular?

  “You have a job to do for me.”

  “Oh, yes, of course.”

  Lord Chambelston hesitated for interminable seconds, then swung down from his seat on the horse. The cloak swirled around him as he moved unnervingly nearer. “You are bleeding.” Golden flecks of compassion glittered in the eyes of brilliant blue. He tugg
ed off his glove and stroked her cheek, his bare fingers soft against her skin. Not even the sting of the scrape protected her from the disquiet of his gentle concern.

  “’Tis only a scratch.” Heart pounding, she brushed his touch away.

  “Come. It grows late.” He held out a hand to her.

  Ignoring his offer of assistance, she stepped forward. Pain shot up the length of her leg and her knee buckled, plunging her toward the snow.

  Chambelston swooped down and caught her before she reached the ground. His arm wreathed her shoulders as he held her erect. “You are injured.”

  Warmth invaded Leah’s heart, and the tang of wool and leather teased her senses. “The horse trod on my foot. I shall be fit enough presently.”

  He cast a skeptical eye toward the low-hanging sun. “Not soon enough, I’ll warrant.” He hefted her onto the horse, his hands strong and dependable around her waist. Safe.

  And so very unlike Fleming.

  Leah struggled to find her balance, unaccustomed to the awkwardness of sitting sideways on a man’s saddle. The movement shifted her skirt and revealed a slash in her boot where the bay’s iron shoe had sliced the brittle leather. New soles would be of little use to her old boots now.

  A splotch of gray against the trampled snow drew Leah’s attention. “My glove!”

  “I’ve got it.” Chambelston retrieved the article and passed it to her. His palm brushed hers and propelled a fresh torrent of emotions swirling through her. Then he gathered the reins and led the horse along the path at a sedate walk that allowed her to keep her seat.

  “So, this job. What would you have me do?”

  “I made inquiries while in London. The right money to the right people... I think I’m closer to finding out what really happened at the riot.” He stared ahead at the horizon, his square jaw rigid.

  She thought back to the anonymous note in his pocket. “The riot where your father was injured?”

  He gave a single, curt nod. “I want you to inform your friends.”

  “I’ll see to it tonight when we return.” Leah hesitated, then decided sharing Alec’s news harmed no one—and might even help her cousin and his confederates if it triggered Chambelston’s sympathy. “I heard—overheard, that is—two people talking about your father.” One being her.