The Reluctant Earl

by C. J. Chase

  “Are you injured?” Leah tugged on her arm, noting the rent in the fabric of the fine riding coat.

  “Not me.” Teresa’s hands shook as she pressed a handkerchief against her cousin’s temple near to the spot where Leah’s poker had left its mark three years ago. Bright red blood infected the white linen and the supple dun of her gloves. “But Reggie...”

  Leah’s gaze traveled over Fleming’s abused body. In addition to the gash on his head the angry shadows of forming bruises stained his eyes and cheeks. His hat had long vanished, and the tattered remnants of his coat waved in the breeze. She tugged a glove off his hand, noting the swelling already stretching the red skin. Despite her loathing of the man, a fragment of sympathy lodged in her heart.

  Approaching footsteps tossed snow against Leah’s skirt. She glanced up as Chambelston squatted beside them. “Did you catch any?”

  “They all got away. Knew just where to hide.”

  Which meant they were local. Some of Alec’s...friends?

  Leah pulled her gaze from the mesmerizing pools of blue and glanced around. Only then did she realize how close they were to the place where someone had fired a shot only yesterday. At her.

  Chapter Seven

  Julian studied Fleming’s swollen, broken body where he lay amid snow trampled by boots and spotted with blood. The slash across his cheek—administered by Julian only yesterday—had disappeared under dozens of angry welts. A warning or an interrupted murder? “How is he?”

  Miss Vance’s troubled gaze met his. Did the same questions whir through her mind—or did she know the answers? “He needs a doctor, and soon.”

  “I sent two of the grooms back to retrieve a sleigh.” Julian ripped his stare from the unruly tendrils defying her normal tidiness and focused on his niece. “Teresa, did you recognize any of your attackers? Were they from nearby?”

  “I don’t know.” Teresa’s chignon slipped a bit farther as she tilted her head to peer up at him. Her cousin’s blood sullied the trim of her riding habit and the fingers of her gloves. Anger and pride warred in Julian. No fainting spell or hysteria for his niece. She had kept her head during the assault, indeed her bravery bordered on foolishness. “That is, they spoke like local men, but they’d blackened their faces with soot, of course.”

  “That should make them remarkable. We’ll ask around. Someone will have noticed a man covering his face with soot.”

  Miss Vance tapped his arm. “It’s Plough Monday, my lord.”

  “What day?”

  “Plough Monday. Do you not celebrate the day in Somerset?”

  “I can’t say I’m familiar with the term.” But then, Julian had spent most of his life at sea, not in England at all.

  “On the first Monday after Twelfth Night, it is customary for the farm workers here to cover their faces with soot. They decorate their ploughs and pull them from house to house asking for money.”

  “Must be a local custom. I’ve never seen any such procession.”

  “It provides farm workers with a few extra coins during the depths of winter.”

  “How convenient that of all days of the year, Fleming would be attacked on a day when half the men in the district have blackened faces.” What a perfect opportunity to commit mayhem.

  “Perhaps someone will remember a gang of painted plough boys without a plough.”

  “But why Fleming, a mere visitor to these parts?” Ugly thoughts invaded Julian’s mind. A visitor, yes, but one who had attacked a local woman only yesterday. A local woman with a connection to the violent rabble who had fatally injured his father? He looked to Teresa again. “Do you remember the size of this mob? I counted five.”

  She pursed her lips. “That is probably correct, but it seemed like more.”

  No doubt. “Did they have any weapons? A pistol perhaps? A knife?”

  “Not that I saw. Only the cudgels.”

  In other words, they were perfectly inconspicuous.

  “My lord!”

  Julian whipped his head up as the two grooms reappeared with the sleigh. They drew the horses to a stop near Fleming. “We’ll have to lift him. Grab his feet,” he instructed one of the grooms. Julian positioned himself behind the prone man’s head.

  The groom clamped his arms around Fleming’s boots. “Ready, my lord.”

  “Lift!”

  The two of them hoisted the wounded man onto the upholstered seat. A moan escaped Fleming’s lips once and his eyelids flickered, then he fell back into his swoon. Teresa followed them to the side of the sleigh.

  Julian covered her hand with his. “Would you prefer to ride with your cousin?”

  The blue of Teresa’s eyes hardened to crystal and her skin tightened over her cheeks. “I would be more useful on horseback if they return.”

  “They won’t.” Julian hoped. He led her toward Wetherel, who held her horse.

  She accepted the reins, then paused when Julian would have assisted her into the saddle. “I’m glad you arrived when you did, Uncle Julian.”

  “The credit belongs to your governess. Miss Vance worried when you didn’t return home in a timely manner.”

  A smile flickered on her mouth despite the shadows that lingered in her eyes. “Then I’m pleased she persuaded you to join the search.”

  He hoisted her onto the horse, then sidled closer to Miss Vance. The breeze ruffled the collar of her coat. Fleming had harassed her at the piano and assaulted her on the path. And more? She had good reason—perhaps even more than he knew—to detest the man and wish him ill rather than well. “Someone needs to ride in the sleigh with Fleming and monitor his injuries.”

  “And as the least experienced rider, I’m the preferred candidate.” Resignation darkened the hazel eyes to brown.

  “I realize this is difficult for you. Fleming doesn’t deserve your kindness.” He smoothed a finger along a cheek pinkened by the cold. “Just don’t take advantage of his swoon to complete his attackers’ mission.”

  As he’d hoped, the dimple momentarily flashed before she straightened her shoulders. “I’m surprisingly resistant to such urges. Consider, my lord, you know a secret dangerous to my well-being—and I haven’t yet murdered you in your bed to prevent you from publicizing it.”

  “For which I am vastly grateful.” He wrapped his hands around her waist, lifted her into the sleigh and waited while she arranged a blanket over Fleming’s motionless form. “How far to the nearest doctor?”

  “Assuming he isn’t out with another patient, you’ll find him several miles to the north in the village.”

  Past the copse where the assailants had disappeared. Julian considered the assembled group. With the miscreants possibly yet lurking in the vicinity, he couldn’t send a single man alone into the area. “Wetherel, take a man with you and fetch the doctor. And take this also. Just in case Fleming’s friends return.” He extracted the second, still-loaded, pistol.

  “But my lord, you may have need of it.”

  “I have another.” Julian thrust the weapon into the man’s hand.

  “Already discharged, sir.”

  “But they won’t know which is which. You are riding toward them while we are riding away. You have the greater need.”

  A silent look passed on the long gaze the groom leveled at him. “Thank you, my lord.” He gestured to one of the other men who mounted Miss Vance’s horse, and the two rode away.

  * * *

  Leah lifted the edge of Teresa’s handkerchief and examined the wound on Fleming’s head. At least the bleeding had subsided to a trickle. The fiend would probably survive. She returned the cloth to his forehead, applying pressure to this bloody injury so near to the jagged edges of his three-year-old scar. The one she’d drawn with a poker.

  “Whoa!” The driver gave a shout and the sleigh skidded to a halt before the grand entrance to Rowan Abbey.

  Long established boxwoods directed visitors toward the door that now swung open. Lights blazed from the windows in expectation of their r
eturn. Stable boys rushed forward to take the horses while footmen—and even Hawkesworth the butler—scrambled from the house to carry the injured man. Lady Sotherton swept into the fray, her frown drawn more tightly than usual as she studied her nephew.

  Leah backed into a corner of the sleigh while men seized Fleming and lifted him out of the vehicle. “Watch his head.”

  The butler gave a crisp nod. “I’ll see to him, Miss Vance.”

  Lady Sotherton retreated a step as the servants carried Fleming past, then she looked to her daughter. Her eyes, normally so cold and hard, widened as her gaze swept over the disheveled hair and blood-spattered coat. “Teresa? Are you...are you injured?”

  “I’m unharmed.” Teresa dismounted from her horse, then sagged against her mother.

  Leah scrambled to exit the sleigh, but a hand on her shoulder forestalled her.

  “Give them a moment together.” Chambelston’s deep voice rumbled in her ear and his warm breath wafted against her cheek.

  “I...” Leah watched in wonder as mother and daughter clung to each other. Conflicting emotions collided within her—happiness for Teresa’s sake, and yet, a redoubled sense of exclusion—as the two moved to the house.

  “She still needs you.”

  “Not really. Not for much longer.”

  “And she’ll always love you.”

  “But it’s her mother she most wants.” As it should be. Still...Leah pulled her gaze from the women disappearing into the manor and stared at her hands. With Fleming’s blood staining the threads, her gloves were well and truly ruined now. Absently she tugged them off her fingers and dropped them onto the upholstery.

  Chambelston’s hand, still resting heavily on her shoulder, gave her a squeeze. “Come. You need to get inside, too.”

  Except for the groom waiting to drive the sleigh away, they were alone, all the others having retreated to the house. “Yes, thank you.”

  Chambelston held forth his hand. The dark fabric of his greatcoat disappeared into the deepening gloom of twilight, but the lights from the house glimmered on his face. After a flicker of hesitation she placed her palm against the leather and let him assist her out of the conveyance. “Where are your gloves?”

  “I...” In what way could she explain her revulsion to all things related to Reginald Fleming?

  As the groom urged the horse into motion, Chambelston tugged the leather from his fingers, then wrapped his hand—big, strong, warm—around hers. His thumbs stroked the sensitive skin of her wrists right above her frantically beating pulse. “Your skin is like ice. I hope you haven’t succumbed to frostbite.”

  How could she think of cold when his actions filled her with warmth? Nightfall spawned shadows. And intimacy. The quiet closed around them as the horses retreated to their stable. She should move away—run, even—lest she create more heartache for herself.

  Instead she raised her gaze to his face.

  His eyes gleamed with unfamiliar intensity and...yearning? Time slowed. Stopped. Tension coiled low inside her as he lifted her hands—both of them—and pressed them to his cheeks on either side of his face. Warm skin and rough stubble tingled against her touch. “Leah.” He whispered her name, the name only her cousin had used in...how long?...and lowered his face. His lips brushed hers. Soft. Seeking.

  The breeze tossed silken strands of his hair against the sensitive skin of her knuckles, a whisper-light caress. A spark of delight ignited in her heart and radiated through her, a sweet burning ache in her chest. The power of her loneliness and longing flared through her, melting the strength from her bones.

  And then he withdrew. Only inches, yet far enough to let the rush of common sense and regret return.

  Leah lowered her hands and retreated a step on shaky knees. Foolish, foolish woman with no more sense than a silly girl. How could she ever allow herself to suppose that one of her position, of her past and with her insane sister could aspire to a match with a wealthy lord? “We should go in the house before we are missed.” Or seen.

  He stretched forth his arm—as if to tempt her to imprudence once again—and then as if he too realized the absurdity of their actions, he let his hand fall to his side. With a nod of his head, he fell into step beside her. “Miss Vance, it was unpardonable of me to put your reputation at risk like that. Still, I beg your forgiveness.”

  “Of course.” The dull throb in her foot paled beside the intense agony in her heart.

  “Good. For the world, I wouldn’t have you think me the kind of man who takes advantage of unprotected females.”

  Lord Chambelston had offered her a position, but she could never serve on his staff. Even if she hadn’t had Phoebe to concern her, she could never live in his household and subject herself to the agony of seeing him day after day. Not after these sweet, reckless moments.

  Once inside the entrance hall Chambelston passed his coat to the hovering butler. “I trust the men have Fleming safely settled in his chamber?”

  “Indeed, my lord.”

  “Good.” Chambelston stared thoughtfully at the servant. “Hawkesworth, do you know of any unusual activity involving Mr. Fleming? Have any been inquiring about him of late? Or did he receive any messages recently?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Thank you. The doctor should be here presently. Notify me when he arrives.”

  Hawkesworth withdrew while Chambelston escorted Leah across the entrance hall.

  At the bottom of the staircase she paused and labored to imbue her words with a lightness that revealed none of the heaviness inside her head and heart. “Thank you for all your assistance today. What with Lord Sotherton and Viscount Killiane’s departure for London, I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

  “My niece is fortunate to have you in her life. And perhaps my sister has at last located some of her misplaced humanity. A pity it took such an atrocity.”

  “Better now than never, I suppose.” With a final nod, Leah scaled the stairs to the schoolroom above.

  What did it mean? She brushed a finger against her lips, as if she yet felt Chambelston’s touch. A momentary lapse...or something more? The better she understood the man, the less she thought him capable of trifling with the affections of an impoverished governess. After all, he hadn’t used his power over her when he’d had the opportunity, nor seen her fired or charged for her crimes. Why would he put her position in jeopardy for whim?

  Painful memories assailed her with familiar doubts. Once before she’d placed her hopes in a man’s attachment, only to find his ardor wane when faced with the reality of her situation, her sister. The jaws of responsibility snapped around her again, imprisoning her in her nebulous existence. No doubt with the weight of an earldom on his shoulders, Lord Chambelston would find such connections—to her, to Phoebe—equally intolerable.

  Unless he didn’t know until after the vows had been spoken.

  So many advantages—for her. Funds for Phoebe’s care. Safety for Alec. Even security for herself. But could she be so callous as to take advantage of his regard for her own gain?

  Leah paused in the schoolroom entrance and watched the maid playing with Lady Caroline. The two held hands and twirled, then dropped to the floor in a flourish of giggles. Sorrow tightened around Leah’s chest as memories of a young Teresa bombarded her mind. Her life here was coming to a close. Where would she go?

  Molly glanced up, her anxious gaze flickering over Leah. “Miss Vance?”

  “We found Lady Teresa. She is fine.” Leah strolled to the other side of the room to join the two women. She extended a hand and helped Lady Caroline to her feet. The light of the laughter in her eyes reflected on the soft blue of her gown.

  “I’m so glad.” The concern eased from the Molly’s mouth. “Anna?”

  Leah turned to see the maid in the doorway.

  “I’ve come to take Lady Caroline to her dinner.”

  “Dinner.” The girl’s smile broadened and she obligingly left with her maid.


  “No doubt Mrs. Anderson requires me.” Molly paced toward the door, then stopped and turned. “What of Mr. Fleming?”

  “A gang of men attacked and severely beat him. He was still unconscious when we returned. Wetherel went to fetch the doctor.”

  “But they left Lady Teresa unharmed?”

  “Other than being understandably distressed, yes.”

  Pain shadowed the maid’s eyes and rested on her still features. “Mr. Fleming obscenely used women he didn’t consider his equal. Perhaps he ill-treated the wrong man’s sister or wife. Still, I will pray for his recovery.”

  “And do you believe God will hear your prayers?” He had ignored enough of Leah’s—and if Molly had fallen victim to Fleming, at least one of hers had also gone unheeded. Leah no longer bothered the Almighty with her petitions.

  “God always hears our prayers, Miss Vance. But sometimes he has another plan, a greater vision for our future than we can see with our limited focus on the here and now.”

  Try as she might, Leah had never perceived any great purpose in her sister’s suffering. “And what great design did your God have in mind when He allowed you to be abused by the likes of Fleming?” The unkind words and bitterness poured forth before Leah could block them as she had for so many years.

  “Perhaps, Miss Vance, God allowed my ordeal so I could minister to you.” With quiet dignity, the maid exited.

  Leah stared at the closed door for several long moments, emotions whirling with a mix of contempt and contrition. Despite the hardships, Molly had a serenity Leah lacked.

  Because...?

  Her gaze dropped to the desk where she’d sat for so many hours and days and years with Teresa. Teresa, who even now probably shared dinner with her mother and other members of the family, except for her incapacitated cousin.

  Who had attacked Fleming? Local men, if they came on foot and knew how to disappear like wraiths into the trees. But why?