Undone by the Earl

by Elizabeth Rue

  He paused to kick a small pebble out before him. She was unaccountably pleased that he bothered to explain himself to her. And since he was being so candid, she wondered if she might learn the one thing about him that most perplexed her.

  Everyone who knew him had been astonished when he abruptly joined the army over three years ago. Eldest sons in line to inherit large estates rarely purchased military commissions. His reputation as a wastrel made it even more of a shock and his reasons a mystery.

  “Why did you purchase a commission?” she asked. “Patriotic duty?”

  “In part.”

  In part?

  “It is said you acted heroically,” she said, hoping he would tell her more. So far, he’d revealed little of his time in the military and when he did, it was never about battles, only of his friends or local civilians he’d encountered. He’d related only light stories, suitable for dinner conversation.

  “No more than many soldiers,” he said, his face somber. “And far less than others.”

  “You are modest.”

  “No.” He sighed, his eyes flashing with anxiety. “But I shall not speak of killing as if it were a glorious thing and as if I were brave for merely surviving.”

  “Forgive me,” she said, immediately regretting raising the subject.

  “No.” He glanced at her and his face softened. “It is all right. It is just...I joined the army for selfish reasons. I was running away.” He frowned. She thought he might regret even that small revelation but surprisingly, he continued.

  “I realized I was nearing thirty with no accomplishments to speak of.” The hesitation in his voice made her suspect there was more to his decision than he was telling her.

  “I became an officer to remove myself from many of my old friends and former habits,” he said after a moment. “Since I’ve been home, I find I miss very little of them. I have quit gambling, I have no desire to go to London and live in the clubs or drive carriages about at breakneck speeds or any such nonsense. It all seems quite tiresome now. I wish to be productive.”

  “You sound as if you have become a veritable saint,” she said. She thought again of the account entries. Reformed as he seemed, he certainly still had secrets.

  “Not quite. There is one vice I shall never give up entirely. A man must have some indulgences.” He smiled mysteriously.

  One vice? What did he mean? Was he actually referring to his mistresses?

  He glanced at her and laughed. “Drinking, Miss Colbrook,” he said, grinning. “Drinking. Although only in moderation now.”

  Drinking indeed, she thought, stifling her annoyance that he’d read her thoughts so easily. Two vices then.

  They walked in silence for a time, the path sloping gently downward as it wound through the trees. The rushing of a brook grew louder, competing with the calls of birds and the scuffing of his boots on the path.

  Her irritation with him faded as she thought of all he’d just shared with her. Remembering the questions he’d asked about her childhood, she suddenly wanted to tell him about her own past. Of how her mother had said that her father had only pretended to love her in order to marry her for her inheritance. How over the years her mother had grown to despise him for being below her own class, for tricking her into sacrificing the chance to marry a gentleman by making her believe she was marrying for love. Anna wanted to speak of the anguish it had caused her to be separated from her father. Perhaps because of his own troubled childhood, he would understand.

  The strength of her desire to talk to him surprised her. Yet she held back from revealing anything. As pleased as she was that they were becoming better acquainted, it also made her uneasy. Why exactly she couldn’t say.

  They rounded the final bend in the path before the water.

  She frowned. “The bridge is gone.” Where the trail met the wide brook, only the splintered remnants of a small wooden footbridge were left.

  “The heavy rains last night must have taken it,” he said. “Is there a narrower spot nearby?”

  “No. We shall be forced to go back.”

  “Why? It looks shallow, and only a few strides across. I can carry you.”

  “Carry me?” She looked at his hands and thought of them touching her, imagined his strong arms holding her body. Despite the cool air emanating from the water, she suddenly felt warm.

  “No,” she said quickly, “I do not think so.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “Why not?” Would he guess she was having improper thoughts if she refused? Carrying her across made perfect sense. It was the practical thing to do, and if he were almost any other man, she would likely have thought little of it.

  “You…will get wet,” she stammered.

  “Barely. It looks no more than a foot deep.”

  “It is really not a long walk back the way we came—”

  “Don’t be silly.” Then he was at her side, towering over her. He lifted her off her feet and held her against his chest. His arms were warm and strong around her. Disturbingly so.

  “No, I am too heavy,” she said. “Put me down.” It was a feeble excuse. Tall as she was, he was clearly very capable of carrying her.

  “You are not. Keep hold of me.”

  She had no choice but to slip her arms over his shoulders. He smelled delicious. Not of cologne, but something subtler. The scent of soap and something else clung to his clothes. Wood, that was it. He smelled like the forest, probably from his work earlier.

  He held her beneath her knees and at her back. The soft fabric of his coat tickled her through the thin sleeves of her dress. He waded into the brook as if she weighed little. It was slightly deeper than he’d guessed, and he lifted her legs higher to keep her feet from touching the water. Her skirt slid back, revealing her ankles and white stockings.

  He suddenly looked strained. Perhaps she was too heavy after all.

  She stared up at him as he took several careful steps. “I am too heavy.”

  He stopped in the center of the brook, the water flowing around him to almost his knees. He held her high against his chest, his arms steady, and looked down at her. He smiled mischievously, his expression similar to the one he wore when teasing his sister or Madeline, playful and gentle.

  “Perhaps you are right,” he said. “Shall I put you down here?” He lowered her nearer to the water, until the heels of her shoes skimmed the flowing surface.

  She laughed and held him tighter. “You wouldn’t! Even for you, that is...” She gazed up into his green eyes and instantly forgot what she was about to say.

  His smile faded. He looked down at her strangely, his eyes wide, as if he just realized that he held a woman in his arms, and their faces were only inches apart. His breath caressed her face as his gaze slid from her eyes to her lips.

  She stopped breathing. Surely, he wasn’t considering...?

  For an instant she was uncertain what he would do next: kiss her or drop her in the brook like a hot coal. Or perhaps, she thought as she felt him sway slightly, he would lose his footing, and they would both fall into the cold water.

  But he quickly steadied himself. Then he drew his head up and strode to the shore, splashing her skirt with each stride. He deposited her abruptly on the other side and began marching down the path, leaving her standing there, dazed. Finally, he paused and looked back.

  “Are you coming, Miss Colbrook?” He turned fully around. His face was sober and restrained.

  She hurried to catch up with him.

  “You are in a hurry?” She spoke as if nothing unusual just happened. Did something unusual just happen, or almost happen?

  “I am traveling to Eastgate today.” He walked more quickly than he had before they crossed the brook. He may not have wanted to kiss her—no of course he hadn’t wanted to—but he’d suddenly become aware of the potential impropriety of the situation, probably from the foolish way she’d been gazing at him. It was the obvious explanation for his sudden reserve.

  “Business at your estate?
” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  She’d learned that he planned to visit Eastgate once every week and to stay overnight despite the relatively short journey from Wareton. She wondered if he planned to visit either of the women listed in his account books during his time there. It didn’t take much imagination to guess that they might be the reason for the overnight stay.

  That unspoken suspicion seemed to hang in the air between them. He glanced at her and, almost as if he could read her thoughts, his eyes went cold.

  The amiable man she’d spent the morning with was gone.

  5

  A week later Adrian sat in the study, contemplating how to best avoid his aunt, when he heard her determined footfalls growing louder in the hall. Damn. He thought that he’d have more time to make himself scarce, given the debate that had been raging in the sitting room only a short time ago over what the ladies would wear to that evening’s ball. He briefly considered climbing out the open window into the garden. If only there were fewer shrubs, it could be done without too much noise or difficulty...

  Lady Carlton marched into the room and cornered him at his desk.

  “You have been avoiding me, Adrian.” She wore a yellow and black striped afternoon dress that made her resemble a bumblebee.

  “My dear aunt,” he said, “you are imagining things. I’ve been extremely busy.” He gestured to the ledgers scattered across his desk. “These books are still quite disordered—”

  “Rubbish! Nothing about this estate is disordered.” She lifted a paperweight from the desk, a miniature swan carved from limestone, and frowned at it.

  “Several eligible gentlemen will be attending the ball tonight,” she said. “You must make their acquaintance as they may be potential suitors for your sister and cousin, and perhaps even Miss Colbrook.” She placed the swan back on the desk with a thud. “Have you spoken to her yet about the subject of marriage?”

  He sighed. “No, not yet.”

  “You must encourage her to invite suitors.”

  Lady Carlton had repeated the same words every day since their arrival at Wareton, but he had avoided raising the subject with Miss Colbrook. And after what had almost occurred a week ago, he avoided speaking to her as much as possible.

  What had possessed him to ramble on as he had, to tell her his reasons for joining the army? He rarely spoke of it to anyone, yet he had confessed his epiphany as if he wanted her understanding or even her approval. The idea was preposterous. Even if he’d stopped short of telling her everything, it still irritated him that he’d shared so much.

  Even worse, when he’d carried her across the brook and she gazed up at him, her face bright with laughter, she’d looked so attractive that he’d almost forgotten himself completely. The flush of excitement on her face and her delightful warmth against him had caused him to actually contemplate kissing her. He’d been angry with himself ever since. Four years ago, he would have kissed her and never considered the consequences, but not now. There was no longer room in his life for selfish indulgences. Yet it frightened him that he’d come so close to behaving recklessly again. If he’d kissed her, he would have invited a tempest of problems that he had no wish to even consider.

  Even if she weren’t unsuited to him in nearly every way—situation, connections, and temperament—and even if she had any interest in him, which she almost certainly didn’t, their unequal positions made even a kiss unthinkable. He wasn’t legally her guardian, but as her only male relative, however distant, he was still in a sense her protector. To even think about her in such a way was not only foolish, it was also dishonorable. Yet for the past week, even while trying to avoid her, he’d found himself distracted by her.

  And it was growing worse.

  Since returning from Eastgate, he’d tried his best to ignore her. When he couldn’t avoid her company, he acted as reserved as possible, and if that failed, he resorted to deliberately irritating her. She’d quickly responded in kind, much to his relief. Still, he noticed things about her that he had no wish to, such as the way her hair changed color in candlelight and sunlight or the distinctive rhythm of her shoes brushing against the carpet or the subjects of the books she read.

  His aunt was right; encouraging Miss Colbrook to marry was the best course of action for many reasons. He shouldn’t delay any longer. It was time to learn why she remained unwed.

  “You must attend the ball tonight,” his aunt continued. “Not only will your presence likely hasten a match for one of them, but also...” She smiled and he knew something bad would follow. “A lady will be there who is of particular interest to you.”

  “No such lady exists.” What on earth was she up to?

  “Is that so? Forget I mentioned it then. You have always liked surprises.” She turned away.

  He sighed. “What lady?”

  She faced him again, smiling smugly. “Lady Jane Stratford.”

  “Why should she be of interest to me?” He rose, strolled to the window, and pulled the heavy glass shut. The scent of flowers dissipated and the study suddenly seemed oppressively quiet.

  “Perhaps you have not heard the most recent news?”

  “No, I have not.” He turned back towards his aunt. Her smile had become a smirk. She remained uncharacteristically silent, apparently savoring the suspense.

  “I thought not,” she finally said, “for it seems you two have been completely out of touch the past few years. She was not even aware of your elevation to earl. When I wrote to her—”

  “You wrote to her?” He tried to keep his voice calm.

  Lady Carlton sniffed. “Why should I not?”

  “You always ridiculed Miss Farth—Lady Stratford. Claimed she wasn’t good enough to associate with, even when I was of no rank.” He turned and gazed out the window again.

  “That was before she became a baroness and inherited a fortune. That is the news. Lady Stratford is now a widow, and she is just out of mourning.”

  Widowed? Oh hell.

  “She wrote that she was looking forward to leaving York and returning to civilization,” his aunt continued. “She has family here, and she is to visit Somerset indefinitely.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” he asked, no longer bothering to hide his irritation.

  At that moment Miss Colbrook strolled into the garden. She was close to the manor, examining some plants that had been added only the day before. She wore a wide-brimmed bonnet and the same white muslin dress from their visit to Mrs. Hunter. She seemed oblivious to his presence at the window as she stopped to inspect a fledging juniper bush. She bent forward to touch the plant, presenting him with a clear view of her shapely backside. He momentarily forgot all about his aunt and Jane Stratford.

  The sun shining through her skirt made the outline of her legs quite—

  “Because...” Lady Carlton was suddenly beside him. She glared at Miss Colbrook. “It is my duty to help you find a lady worthy of your interest.”

  “Indeed.” He turned away from the window. Was his notice of Miss Colbrook so obvious? He thought he hid it well. He didn’t even wish to notice her. In fact, he resented it profoundly.

  He walked as far away from the window as he could, stopping at the hearth. He came face to face with the painting, the one of the auburn-haired women that he’d intended to order removed but for some reason hadn’t gotten around to yet. He scowled at the picture, then leaned against the mantel and crossed his arms.

  What the devil had his aunt been talking about? Ah yes, finding him a wife.

  “So poor Miss Farthington is suddenly worthy?” he said. “Of an earl, even?”

  Lady Carlton strode away from the window. “Lady Stratford is now one of the wealthiest women in England. She may have been born to a family of modest means, but her parentage is quite respectable. Her father was a gentleman, and now she has many new, high connections.” Lady Carlton glanced back toward the window. “There are certainly no merchants in her family.”

  Adrian s
ighed. “It is an unpardonable sin to have relatives in commerce.”

  “I am in no mood for your sarcasm,” Lady Carlton said. “You will speak to Miss Colbrook tonight and encourage her to accept suitors?”

  “It seems I have little choice.”

  She nodded. “That is correct.”

  Out of the corner of his eye he glanced toward the garden again. Miss Colbrook had straightened and was strolling beneath the rose arbor, away from the manor.

  “The Duke of Dulverton is expected to make an appearance tonight,” Lady Carlton said. “I shall see that he is introduced to Cecelia. Apparently, he is a man of great fortune and respectability. He is not yet thirty and said to be quite handsome.”

  “Most men with huge fortunes are said to be handsome,” Adrian said. But the idea of Cecelia becoming a duchess pleased him. What better way to fulfill his duty to her? A grand marriage was the least he owed her after leaving her in the care of his aunt for so many years. Yes, he vowed, Cecelia would marry well. If not the duke, then another gentleman of high rank and fortune. Perhaps a match for her would be one thing he and his aunt could agree on.

  “I must go help Cecelia prepare,” Lady Carlton said. With one final look of disapproval, she swept from the study.

  Miss Colbrook had vanished. Adrian returned to his desk and leaned back in his chair. He stared at the books before him without seeing them. He had no desire to go to the ball, but of course he must.

  And as for the news Jane Stratford would be in attendance... He sat up and opened the second desk drawer. He rummaged through it, then opened the third drawer. Finally, in the bottom one, far in the back, he found the box. It was small, of battered wood, and engraved with the initials AWS. He’d brought it with him from Eastgate but hadn’t looked through it in some time. Inside were a few keepsakes—his father’s favorite pipe, a picture Cecelia had drawn of him when she was ten, his baby cup—but mostly there were old letters, their broken seals crumbling.