Undone by the Earl

by Elizabeth Rue

  9

  Anna tried to conceal her anxiety as she climbed into Sir Neville’s curricle.

  “Shall we visit May Gardens?” he asked while he helped her to her seat.

  She forced a smile. “That would be lovely.”

  They rode at a leisurely pace out to the main road and then to the west, towards Highton Park. As the carriage climbed a long hill, she turned back to take in the view of Wareton and watched as the manor vanished into the trees.

  She couldn’t help but wonder what Lord Wareton was doing. At dinner last night, he’d avoided her gaze, and soon after, he’d disappeared into the study for the rest of the evening. She also hadn’t seen him at breakfast that morning, which suggested he was deliberately avoiding her. He obviously regretted what they’d done as keenly as she did.

  Or did she?

  She should feel relieved that he wasn’t trying to seduce her. Instead, she quietly fumed. How could he kiss her so passionately one moment and then ignore her the next? Had he no concern for her feelings? For all she knew he might toy with her again, and who knew how far he might take it next time. Most frightening of all, she didn’t completely trust herself to resist him if he did decide to seduce her.

  There was one way to escape the problem. Should Sir Neville make an offer, she could accept and leave Wareton before the situation became any worse. Sir Neville had become a good friend. She didn’t love him romantically, but so many marriages that weren’t love matches were still quite content, oftentimes more successful than marriages where strong emotions were involved. After all, a husband who could never claim a woman’s heart could never break it, either. Married to Sir Neville, she would never suffer as her mother had, even if he had half a dozen mistresses. Yet knowing Sir Neville, who was so proper and had always seemed so devoted to his wife, he likely had none.

  She turned back around in the carriage and glanced at him. He smiled fleetingly, his dark eyes warming, but he said nothing. She studied his thick, chestnut hair streaked with gray that curled out from under his dark hat, his intelligent eyes, and his elegant clothes.

  He was a good, honest man and a just landlord. He gave to charities regularly and attended church without fail. In everything he did, he was the model of an honorable gentleman. He would be a fine husband, she was almost certain, and he would treat her well.

  By society’s standards, such a marriage would be far beyond her reasonable hopes, and everyone would expect her to accept without hesitation. Marrying him would enable her to have what she’d always wanted: a home of her own, far grander than she ever imagined, and perhaps even a family.

  So why did the idea leave her feeling so...empty?

  Her strong desire to refuse Sir Neville had nothing to do with any foolish ideas about Lord Wareton, absolutely nothing.

  She forced her thoughts back to the man beside her. Sir Neville drove with his head held high, practically looking down his nose at the road. He allowed the horses not the tiniest bit of freedom, but kept them carefully paced as they climbed a hill.

  “You have a new pair of matched grays,” she said.

  “Yes.” He appeared pleased that she noticed.

  “They seem eager to go faster.”

  “Not to fear. Not in your presence, Miss Colbrook. They are powerful horses, and I wouldn’t wish to frighten you.” He lifted one hand from the reins and briefly patted her fingers.

  She was about to reply that she would enjoy it if he gave them freer rein, but his caress startled her into silence. Sir Neville was always so restrained. He never touched her outside of offering his arm for a stroll or assisting her in and out of carriages. He’d patted her hand without lingering, but that he had touched her at all was unusual.

  She swallowed hard on the knot forming in her throat.

  They rode in silence until they reached the south end of Highton Park. Sir Neville’s gardens were among the most impressive in Somerset, with plants imported from throughout the world. He had several hothouses and employed over a dozen gardeners. In that respect his estate was even more impressive than Wareton.

  Sir Neville halted the carriage at the arched stone gate. As he helped her down, she couldn’t help but compare him to Lord Wareton. Sir Neville’s hands were strong but his touch felt ordinary, with nothing like the intensity she felt from Lord Wareton’s touch. And Sir Neville released her the moment she had both feet on the ground, lingering not one second past what was proper.

  He secured the carriage and turned to her.

  “There is something particular I wish to talk to you about,” he said. “I have wrestled with it for some time, but now I cannot keep it from you any longer.” He didn’t smile as he offered her his arm. “Perhaps we could walk to the vista and speak there?”

  She nodded. As they strolled slowly through the garden, she held on to him lightly. They walked in silence, the only sounds the soft crunch of their boots and his walking stick scratching on the gravel path. She let her eyes wander over the lush vegetation, inhaled the perfume of greenery and blossoms, and all the while her heart ached.

  Only some of the ache was from worrying about Sir Neville proposing to her. Much was from thinking of Lord Wareton and their embrace yesterday. She had lain awake most of the night, alternating between emotional extremes, thinking of the joy of kissing him and the pain of knowing that what they did was wrong and should never be repeated. Little could distract her from thinking of him for long, and after yesterday, it was even worse.

  “You seem troubled,” Sir Neville said softly. “I’m not surprised, given the situation you find yourself in.”

  She said nothing. What could she say? She could hardly discuss her feelings for Lord Wareton with Sir Neville.

  The path widened into a circular clearing, bordered by blooming hedgerows and half a dozen curved stone benches. Highton Manor sat on a hill in the distance, as impressive as a castle, its square towers rising high above the main building. And Sir Neville had been given all this magnificence as a gift. She often forgot that he hadn’t been born to such wealth. He behaved as if he’d been bred to the upper levels of society when in fact his father had been a gentleman of modest fortune, generations removed from any rank, and Sir Neville’s maternal grandfather had been in trade.

  “It is so beautiful here,” she said, “and you have made it even more remarkable.”

  “I have tried to care for the estate as it deserves,” he said, pride evident in his tone. “His Highness was most generous with me.”

  “No more than you deserved.” They’d had a similar conversation several times before, but she knew it always pleased him to speak of it. “Few would have acted as bravely as you did. You risked your life against four armed men, even after you were wounded.”

  “I had the cover of the woods,” he said, “while they were in the open road.”

  “Still, it could not have been an easy thing to shoot them.”

  “It was not as difficult as you might imagine.” His tone was casual. “They deserved it.”

  She nodded. “You probably saved the lives of everyone in the carriage.”

  “And I saved the constable the trouble of hanging them later,” he added dryly, smiling.

  “True,” she said. But she couldn’t think of it lightly, even though she knew what he did was right. She thought of Lord Wareton and how he refused to speak of the violence he’d endured. How different he and Sir Neville were. But so were the circumstances of their heroics, so it seemed unfair to compare them.

  Sir Neville frowned. “You seem distressed. Forgive me for going on about such an indelicate subject. Let us speak of something else.”

  Her gaze returned to the garden. “This is my favorite place on your estate.”

  “My wife designed it,” he said. “She had three different sets of benches made before settling on these.” He stared at the benches.

  “You miss her,” she said gently. “I’m sorry.”

  “I do, but…” He looked at her again. “P
erhaps lately not as much as I should.” He stopped walking and turned to face her. She dropped her hand from his arm and took a step back.

  “Miss…Anna,” he said softly. He’d never called her by her given name before. “I hope it comes as no surprise that your happiness is of particular concern to me.” He stared at her, carefully assessing her reaction.

  She fought the sudden urge to move further away from him. To stop him before he could propose.

  She was being utterly senseless. She should be afraid of staying at Wareton, not of leaving. She should let Sir Neville make an offer, accept immediately, and leave Wareton as soon as possible, before disaster struck. Disaster in the handsome, disturbing form of the Earl of Wareton.

  He cleared his throat. “I believe it also comes as no surprise that I fear Lord Wareton may be a threat to your future happiness.” A delicate way of phrasing the situation.

  “I had thought to wait longer to make my intentions clear,” he said. “I made a promise to my late wife that I would wait longer before I…” He hesitated and cleared his throat. “And, well, I also know it has long been your wish to see Miss Madeline settled before thinking of your own happiness. However, recent events—”

  “Sir Neville, before you go any further, please understand that is still my wish.”

  He frowned. “But under the circumstances—”

  “I am resolved not to consider my own future until Madeline is settled.” She could hear the panic in her own voice. “I cannot be persuaded otherwise. Forgive me, but I shall hear nothing else on the subject.”

  He stared at her a moment, then nodded. “I expected as much.” She was prepared to argue with him further, and she felt a wave of relief that he had given in so easily to her protests. And a touch of surprise.

  “I have always respected your deep concern for your stepsister,” he added. He almost seemed relieved that she’d rebuffed him.

  But now she understood.

  She never doubted that Sir Neville cared for her, and his protectiveness towards her seemed genuine, but sometimes she wondered at his reserve. She sensed his restraint wasn’t only due to a strict sense of propriety. Despite his attentions to her, there were times, like now, when he seemed conflicted about his feelings. But she hadn’t known until now that he’d promised Lady Mary to wait longer before remarrying.

  Yet he had been ready to offer marriage to protect her from Lord Wareton, even if it meant breaking that vow, even when in his heart he clearly wasn’t yet ready to marry again.

  He stared at her, his expression growing increasingly grave. “There is something I should tell you,” he finally said. “I have debated the wisdom of it for fear of distressing you, but now I believe, under the circumstances, it is the right thing to do.”

  He tapped the handle of his walking stick. “But it brings me no joy, you must believe me.”

  She frowned. “What is it?”

  He stilled his hand and gripped his walking stick tightly.

  “I made it known that Julia went to Scotland to be spared the pain of my wife’s passing.”

  “Yes.” Julia? What could he have to tell her about his ward?

  “That is not the truth.” He let out a long breath. “While we were all in London before Mary’s death, Julia was in fact…compromised.”

  She stifled a gasp. Lady Stratford’s rumor was true after all.

  “I tell you this,” he continued, “only to try and protect you from a similar fate.” He clearly could see that Lord Wareton was toying with her, and he feared that she would be ruined like Julia.

  “Sir Neville, I am grateful for your concern, but my situation is different—”

  “Please, there is more.” He held out a hand. “I have reasons beyond simply the shame of the scandal for concealing what happened.”

  “What do you mean?” she said.

  “I learned who the villain was almost immediately. I longed to call him out for what he did.” Anger flashed in his dark eyes. “Yet I couldn’t bear the pain I knew it would bring to others close to me. I especially feared what it would do to our friendship. But now I find what I once did to protect you and your family, now puts you at great risk—”

  “Protect me?” Her heart raced. Even as she spoke, she knew what he was about to say. Yet foolishly, she hoped that it was all a terrible mistake.

  “Yes,” he said, “the man who ruined Julia is Lord Wareton.”

  No.

  She clutched the nearby bench and lowered herself onto it, her hands shaking. How could it be? It was almost too much to believe, and yet, everything made sense. Lord Wareton and Sir Neville’s animosity went beyond anything to do with her. It explained the strain between the men, and the fact that they wouldn’t speak of how they’d met.

  Sir Neville gently touched her shoulder. “I had to let you know that he cannot be trusted. I am sorry.”

  She shook her head. “You have behaved with such admirable restraint. To have endured his company after what he has done, to extend your friendship to him, to all of us...” She couldn’t continue. Her mouth felt dry, and her throat tight.

  Sir Neville was an even better man than she’d believed, and Lord Wareton was far worse, a scoundrel who had toyed with her emotions and risked bringing scandal on their family. He’d claimed to be reformed, and she’d believed him. She’d opened her heart and extended her friendship to him, accepting that he’d become a new man. She thought of the day they’d walked together and how candidly they had spoken. He must have been amused at her naiveté. Likely just as he was for her allowing him to kiss her.

  She glanced at Sir Neville. His eyes were narrowed, his face dark with concern.

  “Forgive me for telling you,” he said. “I have shocked you.”

  “You owe me no apology. I am grateful for what you have done to protect my family.” She reached out and took his hand, squeezed it briefly, and let her hand fall back into her lap. Her fingers still trembled.

  Sir Neville was a noble gentleman who was willing to marry her in order to protect her. Lord Wareton was a shameless villain who only wished to seduce her.

  Yet her foolish heart ached for the villain.

  After his second ride around the estate, Adrian stopped deceiving himself that he wasn’t waiting for Miss Colbrook’s return. He passed the main road to the manor half a dozen times before he finally spied Sir Neville’s carriage. Adrian kept his horse still and watched from the trees as Sir Neville helped her down from the curricle. Adrian was too far away to see their faces clearly, and he couldn’t ascertain anything from their body language. Sir Neville climbed back into the carriage and nodded farewell.

  Adrian vowed he wouldn’t ask what happened. Either Miss Colbrook would tell him soon enough or Sir Neville would call, requesting the formality of Adrian’s blessing. And when he did, Adrian would give Sir Neville his approval, because that was what he should do. It was the best thing for everyone.

  Sir Neville was a wealthy and respectable man. He would make her an excellent husband. And they were well suited to each other. Weren’t they?

  No. For no logical reason, Adrian was certain they weren’t.

  Sir Neville was honorable but he was too restrained, too proper, too much of a cold fish. Oddly, those were words that not long ago Adrian would have used to describe Miss Colbrook as well. Now he knew better.

  He thought again of kissing her. Would she kiss Sir Neville as passionately? Why did the idea make his gut ache?

  Foolish, unreasonable jealousy.

  As much as he hated to admit it, there was nothing lacking in Sir Neville as a potential husband, especially for a woman of Miss Colbrook’s background. It would be a highly advantageous match for her. Adrian should be pleased for them both, and yet not only wasn’t he happy that Sir Neville wanted Miss Colbrook, but irrationally, he couldn’t bring himself to like Sir Neville. In fact, he liked him less and less every day. It was to the point where even the mention of Sir Neville’s name was beginning to grate on h
is nerves.

  Yet it wasn’t just about Sir Neville. He admitted that he didn’t want her to marry anyone—not right now, anyway. He wanted her badly, enough to feel a strong sense of possessiveness, stronger than he’d felt for any mistress or lover in the past. Perhaps his feelings were so intense because he’d been so long without a woman. No matter, it was pointless.

  He turned his horse away from the manor and urged him to a gallop, heading north. One more long, exhausting ride was what he needed to clear his head and get over the absurd jealousy he was feeling. Anything was better than returning to the manor, for his aunt had invited Lady Stratford over for the afternoon, and he was in no mood to speak with either of them right now.

  Two hours later he was back at the manor, sweaty and tired, striding to the house from the stables, when he caught sight of Miss Colbrook’s bonnet above the hedgerows in the garden. Unable to help himself, he changed direction.

  He found her by the rose arbors in the center of the garden. She was kneeling before a rose bush with her back towards him, a basket several paces behind her lying on its side with several red roses spilling out onto the gravel. Her sapphire blue shawl had fallen from her shoulders, and the edge touched the ground.

  He bent down and picked up the roses, brushing the gravel from their petals.

  “Did you accept his offer?” He blurted out the question despite all the promises he’d made to himself not to ask. She hesitated at the sound of his voice, then continued cutting the stem.

  “There was no offer to accept.” She snapped the rose off sharply with her knife. Her voice was strangely flat.

  “No offer?” He stood, leaving the basket on the ground. She almost seemed devastated that Sir Neville hadn’t proposed. Did she secretly want an offer from him after all? His chest felt strangely tight at the possibility.

  “I stopped him before he could propose.” She laid the knife carefully on the ground, her hand trembling. She slowly rose and turned to face him. As he looked into her eyes, Adrian felt the breath leave his body.