Undone by the Earl

by Elizabeth Rue

  She knew about Julia Howe.

  Foolishly, this possibility had never occurred to him. He was so sure that Sir Neville would propose today, Adrian never considered that Sir Neville would tell her about his ward. After all, Sir Neville was the one to insist that she and her family never know what happened. Obviously, catching Adrian and her together had changed Sir Neville’s opinion of what she needed to be protected from. There was nothing else short of Sir Neville eloping with her that could so guarantee that she’d never be in Adrian’s arms again.

  Even while he respected Sir Neville for fighting for the woman he wanted, Adrian felt another surge of dislike for the man. And yet Sir Neville had every right to tell her what he believed was the truth. Indeed, Sir Neville was acting honorably, trying to protect her from ruin. No, it wasn’t Sir Neville who deserved his anger.

  It was Edmund.

  Adrian wanted to tell Miss Colbrook the truth. Badly. To erase the shock and disdain for him from her face.

  But he couldn’t. Not without putting his brother’s life at risk all over again.

  “Why Julia?” she asked softly, stepping closer to him. If she’d yelled, the words couldn’t have been more of a blow. “Why a respectable young lady with every chance of an honorable life?”

  His throat tightened. “I will not speak of it.” He turned and strode toward the manor.

  “Was it because she was illegitimate?” She hurried to keep beside him. “Did you believe her birth put her beneath respectability?”

  “It is not your concern.” He felt a sharp pain in his right palm and realized he still clutched the roses. “Sir Neville should not have told you.”

  “You are criticizing him for trying to protect me?” she said. “You? You claimed you were a reformed man, and I was foolish enough to believe—”

  He stopped and spun around so quickly she nearly crashed into him. Instinctively, he reached out to steady her, gently grasping her arm. Her delicious scent washed over him, and he had the sudden inappropriate desire to not let her go, but to drop the roses and take her in his arms.

  “I am reformed,” he said. She gazed at him for a moment, and then jerked away as if he were the worst sort of villain. Indeed, that’s what he was to her.

  “Do you deny you ruined Julia?” She stared at him, and the anger in her eyes made his heart sink. He wanted desperately to gain her understanding, to tell her everything. It was madness to even consider it. She would almost certainly feel obligated to tell Sir Neville if she learned the truth. Or she might let it slip to Madeline or someone else who would tell him, and then Sir Neville might very well be furious enough to challenge Edmund in vengeance. Adrian couldn’t take such a chance with Edmund’s life. As long as Miss Colbrook hated him and believed he was the villain, Edmund was likely safe.

  And her believing him responsible would solve the problem of his increasing attraction for her. Already, her fury at him for what she believed he’d done was evident in her eyes, although it was tempered with a small flicker of hope. He must dash that hope. This was exactly what he needed to ensure that he didn’t make a fatal mistake and carry their indiscretions too far. So why did he feel no relief, only a raw ache?

  He gripped the roses tighter in his fist, feeling the thorns press against his skin. He forced the words from his mouth.

  “I do not deny it,” he said.

  She stepped back, startled, as if she’d hoped he would refute it. “You ruined Julia’s life,” she said as if she didn’t quite believe it. “Ruined and abandoned her.”

  “I have not abandoned her. She is being cared for.”

  Her eyes widened. Sir Neville apparently hadn’t told her that detail. “You are taking care of her?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  Realization shone in her eyes. “She goes by the name Miss Carpenter?”

  “Mrs. Jameson,” he said, struggling to control his anger. He wasn’t surprised that she remembered the names she read in the ledgers. No doubt she now believed Miss Carpenter to be another young woman he ruined. He felt fury churn inside him—at Edmund for forcing him into this position, at himself for allowing it to happen, at Sir Neville for telling Miss Colbrook, and even at her for the accusation and hurt that shone in her eyes.

  “Where is she living?” she asked. “I wish to write to her.”

  “She resides not far from Eastgate. But it is better that she has no contact with anyone from her past—”

  “I must know that she is well.”

  He stared at her for a moment. “You may give me a letter,” he finally said, “and I shall see that she receives it.” He lowered his voice. “I ask you not to tell Miss Madeline of this.”

  “Do you think I would bring her such pain?” She curled her hands into fists. “She adores you!” As I once did, her eyes said. “She would be heartbroken if she knew.”

  “Miss Howe chose to do what she did,” he said quickly. “I shall not speak of it again.”

  He couldn’t endure to look at her any longer. He turned and strode away. Halfway to the manor, he hurled the roses to the ground, cursing as one blossom stuck, its thorns deep in his palm. He plucked it free, tossing the flower onto the stone walkway with the others. He wiped the blood on his dark coat as he continued to the house. It was without a doubt far less painful than his conversation with Miss Colbrook.

  An hour later Anna tossed the letter, two pages thick and sealed with a dark red stamp, onto the table before Lord Wareton. It landed atop his crisp, unwrinkled newspaper, slid off, and came to a stop when it met his teacup and saucer.

  “When can I expect it to be delivered?” she asked.

  His chair creaked as he leaned back, frowning at her. His eyes looked paler than usual in the brightness of the drawing room, a soft green, not, she thought bitterly, reflecting the truth of his soul. He was no gentleman, only a selfish rake.

  If he were wholly without admirable qualities, she might despise him less, but she’d been deceived by his charm and the good she saw in him. Since the moment he’d admitted to ruining Julia, she’d felt a growing hatred for him. When her anger threatened to subside, the sorrow that was ready to take its place frightened her even more. So she nurtured her rage, reminding herself of what he’d done. But one question plagued her.

  Did Julia love him?

  She’d never known Julia well. Sir Neville’s ward had spent most of each year away at school, and when she’d come home to visit, she generally didn’t socialize but remained at his invalid wife’s side. Sir Neville had said that Julia was a gifted pianist and that his wife had loved to hear her play and that Julia would perform for hours to comfort her. As far as Anna knew, Julia had been a devoted and obedient ward, and in spite of her illegitimate parentage, a respectable young woman.

  To have been seduced by Lord Wareton and to have behaved so shockingly, Julia probably loved him desperately.

  But did he love her in return? Julia was the daughter of a gentleman, a distant cousin of Sir Neville’s, but because she was illegitimate, even if Lord Wareton wished to, he could never marry her without disgracing his family. Yet he didn’t behave like a man in love, only as a man with a mistress whom he visited once a week while flirting with other women. Women such as Lady Stratford, and, if ever so briefly, Anna herself.

  He was the worst sort of libertine.

  She should be relieved she found out in time, before she’d allowed herself to become completely carried away by his charm. Her foolish heart should know better than to trust a man like him. Some men were surely capable of profound change, but in his case, he’d only changed in appearances. Even if he hadn’t gone so far as to seduce her as he had Julia, he still risked a scandal that could devastate their family.

  She’d been weak and imprudent. Sir Neville might have saved her from making a horrible mistake. She owed him a great deal.

  “If there is a reply, you will receive it within a fortnight,” Lord Wareton said quietly.

  “If?”

&nb
sp; “I can make no promises.”

  “I would not believe them if you did.” She swore for an instant that he looked wounded or ashamed or both, but then it was gone, and his expression was impassive again.

  “You are no fool, Miss Colbrook.”

  She glared at him. “Not anymore.”

  “There you are, Miss Colbrook!” Cecelia bounded into the drawing room, a large basket of flowers in her hands. Lady Stratford glided in a few steps behind her.

  “Where did you disappear to?” Cecelia said in a rush as she hurried towards them. “We were waiting for you to bring more roses.” She didn’t wait for a response before turning to her brother. “Look, Adrian, the most beautiful flowers in the garden. They are for the arrangements for the dinner party tomorrow.”

  “Have we interrupted?” Lady Stratford asked as she swiftly scanned his face and Anna’s.

  “You have not,” he said quickly. He snatched up the letter and slipped it into his coat.

  “You are writing someone,” Lady Stratford said, touching his arm. Her voice was soft, teasing. “Or is it a letter for you? Do share. You know how I love secrets.”

  “Is it from Edmund?” Cecelia asked, smiling. “Saying when he will arrive?”

  Lord Wareton drummed his fingers against the table. “Since when is Edmund expected?”

  “Lady Carlton said he would likely visit within the week,” Cecelia said, her smile fading. “She wrote to him.”

  “Of course she did,” he said.

  “I am looking forward to making your brother’s acquaintance,” Lady Stratford said. “I have heard so much about him.”

  Lord Wareton glanced at Lady Stratford, and his face softened. “You may be one of the few people who won’t regret those words,” he said mildly. “I would not raise your hopes, however, as Edmund only appears about half the time he promises to.”

  “He is a rogue, then? Like his elder brother once was?” Lady Stratford’s husky voice made the word “rogue” sound indecent. She caressed his arm through the sleeve of his coat.

  “Indeed,” he said. “Worse.”

  Anna felt a stab of anger, watching him smile at Lady Stratford. With everything he’d done, he still felt free to flirt and complain about a troublesome younger brother. She couldn’t believe she’d thought him so reformed, and so noble, that she’d allowed him to kiss her. Twice!

  Lady Stratford laughed. “He sounds fascinating. Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Colbrook?”

  “In comparison to his brother, I have no doubt he will be delightful.” Anna barely realized what she’d said until she saw Cecelia and Lady Stratford’s eyes widen. Cecelia giggled. Lord Wareton scowled.

  “Come, Cecelia,” Lady Stratford said, smiling. She released Lord Wareton’s arm and took his sister’s hand. “We shall join Miss Madeline and Lady Carlton in the sitting room. The duke is to call shortly.” Lady Stratford led Cecelia away, her words lingering in the air after her. “We shall let your brother finish his conversation with Miss Colbrook.”

  Lord Wareton watched her leave, frowning. He looked to Anna and his frown grew. “I believe our conversation was concluded.”

  “Yes,” she said. “It is quite over.”

  As were any foolish hopes she’d had. She would no longer have any difficulty fighting her attraction to him. No matter how reformed he was in appearances, what he’d done was too horrible to be forgiven. She only hoped that she could endure living with him.

  10

  One week later Adrian lounged in the library, reading. The ladies had gone calling, and he was hidden in the farthest corner of the room, slouched in an oversized armchair behind an enormous potted plant. He’d come to the library thinking he might reread The Odyssey, his favorite, or perhaps indulge in some Milton, when he’d spotted the red-bound book on the table. He’d picked it up, intending to return it to its proper spot, but had absently flipped it open and scanned the first page...

  Many chapters later, a shadow abruptly fell across the pages. He looked up to see Miss Colbrook standing in front of him. He slammed the book shut and covered it with his arms.

  “Good morning, Miss Colbrook.”

  “Good afternoon. What are you reading?” She was wearing the plain blue gown that she’d worn his first day at Wareton. She looked beautiful.

  “Nothing interesting.” He shrugged.

  “It looked like...” She crossed her arms. “Let me see it.”

  “No.”

  Her lovely eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

  “Because, quite frankly, it is none of your concern what I read.”

  “You were very enthralled. Perhaps I would like to read it when you are done.”

  “You would not.”

  She continued to frown at him. Despite the fact that she now clearly despised him, he still thought of her constantly. He must do a better job of fighting it. After all, was she really so ravishing? There were far more gorgeous women in the world. So why did he keep fixating on the fullness of her mouth and breasts? And why, even when she was scowling at him, did he have the strong desire to take her in his arms and kiss her again and—

  He must stop thinking this way. Even if he weren’t convinced she would slap him soundly if he should so much as take her hand now, it was an impossible situation and a pointless attraction. He tried to find something about her that wasn’t appealing. Looking her over, his frustration and annoyance grew. Her feet, he thought, seeing the dark toe of one of her shoes poke out from beneath her dress as she tapped her foot impatiently at him. She had rather large feet for a woman. Unfortunately, thoughts of her feet—which were, in fact, perfectly suited to her height—led to memories of glimpses of her slender ankles and long legs. Like when her dress had slipped as he’d carried her across the brook. Or when he’d followed behind her as she climbed the hillside in the rain, her skirt hiked, her ankles and nearly everything else visible through her wet, tight clothing...

  “Was there some reason you came in here,” he said, too loudly, “other than to bother me?” He’d been extremely irritable the past week, ever since their confrontation in the garden. They both had.

  Two days ago, she’d finally started to speak with him again, although her manner was still far from pleasant. They couldn’t tell anyone else in the manor about what had happened, or talk to each other about it, and they were both so frustrated by each other’s presence, he wondered how much longer they could possibly endure the situation.

  Unlike him, she at least wasn’t suffering from their mutual attraction any longer. She despised him so strongly, any affection she once had for him had clearly ended. He could see it in the way her eyes narrowed, her back stiffened, and the way she frequently clenched her hands in his presence. She loathed him. How else should she feel about the man she believed ruined her neighbor, and who’d made scandalous advances on her as well?

  “I need a new book,” she said. She wandered over to the bookshelves and ran her hand along a shelf. Her slender fingers stopped before an empty space.

  “The Guide to Game Keeping is missing.” She turned and glowered at him.

  He sighed. “Very well. Here is the damned book.” He held it out to her. “Go ahead, take it.” He shook it at her.

  “Oh no. I would not want to read that. It would mean admitting to ignorance.”

  Deserved or not, he didn’t think he could suffer her temper much longer. But what could he do? Sir Neville hadn’t offered for her. Adrian couldn’t order her to leave Wareton, and he refused to leave himself. He would have to find a way through it.

  “You have made your point,” he said. “Why are you here? Weren’t you and the others out calling on the Dunburys?”

  “We went out hours ago. You must have been so lost in your reading that you were not aware of time passing.”

  The butler entered the room at that moment.

  “Excuse me, Lord Wareton, Miss Colbrook,” Smith said, “a message just arrived for your lordship.” Smith handed him the note and left.
One glance at the handwriting and Adrian knew his day was about to get much worse.

  “Edmund,” he muttered. He stood, dropped the book onto the chair, and strode towards the windows. Did Edmund need money? Or help getting out of some scrape, likely involving a female? Adrian unfolded the paper.

  “Bad news from your brother?” Miss Colbrook followed him across the room.

  “The worst,” Adrian said, refolding the paper. “He’s coming for a visit.”

  “When?”

  “Today.” Adrian sighed. “No time to escape.”

  She frowned. “Will his visit be so terrible?”

  “You clearly don’t remember him well.”

  “Well enough,” she said. “Mr. Sinclair was always quite charming and well-mannered.” She glared at him. “Much like his sister.”

  And there was the sharp wit he recalled so well from London. He’d been reintroduced to it at length the past two days. Not that he blamed her, given what she thought of him. If only he didn’t wish to kiss her so badly, he might not care so much.

  “Edmund has done little but cause trouble for some time,” he said. “He is described as many things, but never well-mannered.”

  Miss Colbrook turned and walked to the chair where he’d been reading. Her hips swayed enticingly, and the curves of her backside were tantalizingly evident beneath her pale skirt. What would it be like to undress her, to free her voluptuous figure from the confines of corset and gown, to see and feel her naked beneath him—

  “He could hardly be so terrible,” she said as she snatched the book from the chair, “or Lady Camden never would have invited him to her estate last month.”

  Adrian frowned. “What?”

  “I heard that he attended her recent house party.” She turned and clutched the book against her delightfully full chest. He forced his gaze away.

  Edmund, they were speaking of Edmund…

  “Lady Camden,” Adrian said, “the queen bluestocking herself?” He shook his head. “Clearly someone with a ghastly sense of humor started that rumor.”