Undone by the Earl

by Elizabeth Rue

  He glanced at Miss Colbrook again. Damn it, she was probably right. Again.

  He looked ahead at Jane Stratford, strolling beside the duke, her hips swaying gracefully, every movement alluring, every stitch of fabric and lock of hair perfectly arranged. She was the essence of wealth and aristocracy from her feathered hat to the tips of her kidskin boots. She was the picture of what a countess should be—elegant, sophisticated, regal.

  He imagined her as his countess, as mistress of Wareton, and the manor filled with her tastes, her friends. There would be constant parties and fetes and breakfasts for the cream of the ton, and eventually, knowing her, the Prince Regent himself could very well dine at Wareton. A marriage to her would mean building even more powerful connections and undoubtedly grand marriages for his sister, cousin, and eventually their own children, should they have any. She would likely permit him two, he suspected, although he wondered if she would want many more. Yet any children she had likely would be doted on and would no doubt marry well, as nothing short of a match with nobility would likely satisfy her.

  Undoubtedly, she would also expect him to have affairs, and wouldn’t care so long as he was discreet and made the required appearances with her. He suspected she would wish to have her own indulgences as well. It would be a proper English noble marriage, effective at building connections and wealth and, therefore, by most estimations highly successful.

  And marrying Miss Colbrook? A far different scenario leapt to mind. She would be a countess who could run the estate down to every detail and who would care for the tenants like an extended family. She would probably spend as much, if not more, of her time with her commoner neighbors as she did with members of the ton. A marriage to her could mean far more modest matches for his sister and cousin, and less prosperity for all of them.

  Miss Colbrook wouldn’t likely allow him to keep his distance, either. She would pry into nearly everything, not only matters of the estate, but his personal matters as well. She wouldn’t likely tolerate a mistress, and she would spend a great deal of her time and his money helping those less fortunate. And as for children—the idea of having children with her made his chest tight—he suspected she’d be quite happy to have more than two.

  Unquestionably, she would be a wonderful wife. But Lady Stratford was correct in her observation—not for him.

  His family would gain even more status if he chose a wife like Lady Stratford. He must fulfill his obligations and act in his family’s best interests.

  And despite his rank, in some ways he thought Miss Colbrook deserved better. She deserved a gentleman who could put his affection for her above all other considerations. Lady Stratford had merely confirmed what his conscience already told him—that for her own happiness, she deserved Sir Neville. So Adrian must encourage the match, no matter how much jealousy he felt, and no matter how much he hated to do it. It was best for everyone involved that she marry Sir Neville.

  Sir Neville waited for her even now. He and Madeline had descended from the carriage, not far from where the others strolled by. Sir Neville looked towards Adrian and Miss Colbrook, tapping his walking stick, waiting.

  Adrian couldn’t delay any longer. This might be the last time he would speak with her privately for some time.

  He stopped walking. “There is something I must tell you.”

  She paused and turned to face him. Her eyes narrowed beneath the wide brim of her bonnet.

  “Should Sir Neville make you an offer in the future, I would encourage you to accept it.”

  “Would you?” she said. “I suppose it would be the sensible thing to do.” There was no accusation in her eyes. Only a horrible disappointment.

  “He cares for you a great deal. Consider all he has done for you.”

  She stared at him, resignation seeming to settle on her face. That was how it should be. She must understand how impossible it was for anything to happen between them again. It would take very little encouragement on her part for him to give in to his desire. Even now, his mind drifted between anguish at what he must say to her, and the desperate desire to kiss her again, to caress her as he had the night before—

  No. He forced himself to look away from her beautiful eyes, her full lips. He stared at the bow in her bonnet ribbon, just below her chin.

  “Perhaps now you will change your mind about insisting Madeline marry first.”

  Miss Colbrook had to leave Wareton before it was too late, before she caused him to lose everything he’d worked for, and all he’d vowed to do.

  “You truly wish me to marry Sir Neville?” she asked quietly.

  He forced himself to meet her gaze. She stared at him, her face full of conflict. He gazed into her blue eyes, his stomach in knots, his fingers digging into his palms. He saw the weight of everything balanced in her eyes—everything he shouldn’t want, all he couldn’t have.

  Behind her, Sir Neville waited not far away, standing at the end of the path, leaning on his walking stick, his eyes hidden by the shadow of his hat. Madeline stood beside him, fidgeting with the loose ties on her pale green bonnet, her face anxious.

  “Yes,” Adrian said. “As soon as possible.”

  18

  Three days passed. Three days in which Anna tried desperately to decide what she should do with her conflicting emotions. Three days and mostly sleepless nights of considering the impossibility of her situation.

  She loved a man whom she could never marry, even if he were foolhardy enough to agree to it. If they did marry, he would almost certainly grow to resent her, and they would end up in a miserable marriage. Like her mother, she would be bound to a man who didn’t love her in return. Even worse, a man who could very well grow to hate her for what he’d given up for her.

  No. He would marry another woman. And she must marry someone else as well, or not wed at all. She would likely spend the rest of her life pining for him in silence, forced to see him and his wife socially. She would be left with memories of a few wonderful kisses and caresses and the rest only fantasy and unfulfilled dreams. It was still a better alternative than earning his lifelong hatred.

  But there was a third option. It was shocking, but it would give her something, some small bit of joy, and it was all she could ever risk without bringing ruin to the family. A few weeks ago it would have been unthinkable, but now everything had changed; ideas that once seemed impossibly reckless looked more and more like reasonable choices.

  She forced herself to interact with him as normally as possible. They both tried to behave as if nothing had happened, but they usually avoided each other’s gaze and spoke with everyone else in the room but each other. Once, when she ran into him unexpectedly as she strolled through the garden, he turned and quickly walked the other way.

  By the third day she was desperate to escape the manor and spend some time away from the other ladies, so she declined to go calling with them. Instead, she went alone to visit some neighbors, saving Mrs. Hunter’s cottage for last so she might stay there the longest.

  It was a warm, fine day, and Mrs. Hunter’s children played outside, running and laughing on the hillside behind the cottage. Mrs. Hunter and Anna sat on a wooden bench at the rear of the house, watching them frolic. A steady breeze carried the scent of freshly-turned earth in the nearby garden to Anna and cooled her half-bare arms.

  Emma started to cry and Mrs. Hunter rocked her, humming softly until she settled.

  “May I hold her?” Anna asked. “If you think she’ll allow me?”

  “By all means.” Mrs. Hunter smiled and handed her the baby.

  “Mrs. Hunter,” Anna said, “there is something...” As Anna settled Emma in her lap, the baby looked as if she might fuss for a moment, but she stilled at the sound of her voice. “May I ask a very personal question?”

  “It is about Emma, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have never asked, all this time. I wondered if you ever would.”

  “Do you have any regrets?”

/>   “I should, shouldn’t I?” Mrs. Hunter said. “Perhaps that’s why some ladies—like Mrs. Lutton—are right about me being a bad egg.” She smiled. “But I regret nothing. I wouldn’t trade Emma, or that week, for anything in the world.”

  “Week?” Anna let the baby grab her finger and looked at Mrs. Hunter.

  “He was a surveyor from Oxford, staying not far from my old house. I was missing my husband terribly when I met him. He had shoulders like this...” She swung her arms wide, grinning. “And the handsomest, most devilish eyes.” She sighed and glanced at Emma. “He doesn’t even know about her.”

  “You didn’t try and tell him?”

  Mrs. Hunter shook her head. “I didn’t want him to stay for that reason. I wouldn’t use a babe to try and force a man into something. I knew what I was doing, at my age, with the brood I already have.

  “I won’t lie and say we were madly in love, either,” she continued. “We might have been, given more time. There was something so...well, I wondered if I might see him again.”

  “Then he might return?”

  “I am not holding my breath.” Mrs. Hunter laughed. Then her face grew more somber. “I suppose my only regret is that the babe may pay some price for my selfishness. And yet, here she is treated as all the others. Thanks to your kindness.” Mrs. Hunter frowned. “But why do you ask?”

  “I was just curious.” Anna glanced down and adjusted the buttons on her gloves.

  “Indeed? And you waited until now to ask, for no particular reason?” Mrs. Hunter’s face changed to an expression she often wore just before she reprimanded one of her children. “Whatever you are thinking,” she said, “remember, you and I are very different, in situation, in experience—”

  “I know.” Anna nodded. Kind and completely trustworthy as Mrs. Hunter was, Anna couldn’t bring herself to admit what she was considering.

  “A woman in your position has much more to lose...I would not wish to see you hurt.”

  “Of course not. Yet I cannot help but wonder which would hurt more?”

  “What do you mean?” Mrs. Hunter asked.

  “What if you hadn’t had that week but wished you had?”

  “That would be far worse than—” Mrs. Hunter stopped abruptly and cleared her throat. “I mean, I think it would depend on—”

  “Thank you.” Anna smiled, looked down, and stroked a lock of Emma’s dark hair. It didn’t really matter what Mrs. Hunter said. She merely confirmed what Anna had already decided.

  Lord Wareton wished her to marry Sir Neville. Yet she would never marry him. Perhaps she wouldn’t marry at all. But she wouldn’t grow old without knowing what it was like to be with Lord Wareton, the man she loved with all her soul.

  She would offer herself to him. This afternoon.

  Not long after she returned home, Anna learned from Smith that Lord Wareton had gone for a swim, a new habit of his as far as she knew. She walked to the lake near the northern edge of the estate and soon found him, swimming in a cove sheltered by towering oaks. His coat, shirt, boots, and stockings lay heaped on a rock close to the water.

  He was not far off, his strokes strong and smooth as he headed toward land. She stood in the shadow of the oaks and watched him glide closer. A few yards from shore, he stopped swimming and rose from the water. She stepped back, startled by the sight of him without coat or shirt. She stared as he wiped his eyes and combed back his hair with his fingers.

  His hands, face, and neck were tan from all the time he spent outside. But the rest of him—muscular arms, shoulders, broad chest and back—was paler, normally hidden beneath clothes. Only a swath of hair shadowed his chest, a darker brown than the sandy brown of his head.

  He turned and stood motionless for a moment, still unaware of her presence, staring out across the lake. His face was somber.

  She stepped out of the shadows. “You have learned how deep the water is.”

  He spun around, his eyes wide. “How long have you been here?”

  “Not long.”

  He waded out of the lake. His breeches, the only thing he wore, stuck to his body like a second skin. His feet were bare.

  He was the most handsome creature she’d ever seen. Yet he seemed self-conscious. Frowning, he quickly grabbed his shirt from the pile of clothing on the grassy bank.

  “Please,” she said softly, stepping towards him, “Do not put it on.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. After a moment he dropped his gaze and pulled the shirt over his head. He began to button the front.

  She willed the fluttering in her stomach to stop. She forced herself to breathe slowly and speak calmly.

  “Lord—” She paused. No. “Adrian.” He froze. It was the first time she’d ever called him by his given name. “I want you to make love to me.”

  19

  Adrian thought he’d lost his mind. Surely, he was hallucinating. Sleep deprivation and sexual frustration had finally taken their toll.

  “You want what?” he whispered. All the cool relief he’d felt from his swim vanished as he stared at Miss Colbrook, looking so beautiful in her simple white gown and blue bonnet, saying the unthinkable.

  “I do not expect anything, I do not want anything else.” Her voice was steady. “But I cannot bear the thought of never being with you.”

  “You know what you are asking?” he said hoarsely.

  Of course she knew. She might be innocent but she wasn’t ignorant. Barely a moment had passed over the past few days without him thinking about how she’d responded to him, how despite her inexperience, she was so unexpectedly passionate, so intoxicating she nearly overwhelmed his self-control.

  “Please, Adrian,” she said, a delicious huskiness to her voice. The sound of his name on her lips was as great an arousal as touching her soft skin or breathing in the delicious scent of her hair. In an instant he was fully erect, his heart racing.

  He strode to her and pulled her against him. Raising one hand to her cheek, he tilted her face up towards his. He drank in the beauty of her blue eyes, dark lashes, and straight nose. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips parted, waiting for his kiss. He reveled in the heat of her body against his, the feel of her luscious curves that he ached to touch. And now she was asking him to make love to her, to explore with abandon what he’d merely tasted before, what he’d dreamed of for weeks.

  Miss Colbrook. Anna. He returned his gaze to her eyes, the most beguiling eyes he’d ever seen, eyes that looked into his with not only naked desire but, at last, complete trust. He bent his head to claim the first kiss, no longer thinking of what it was to be an earl. Only a man faced with a breathtaking woman who wanted him as intensely as he wanted her.

  Anna watched Adrian wade into the field. The grass was up to his knees, a lake of slender greens and browns. He knelt and used his body to bend the blades and carve a small clearing. He offered a hand to her and she took it, their fingers entwining as he pulled her down beside him. They knelt facing each other, their legs nearly touching.

  She would know, if only this once, what it was to spend a few hours in the arms of the man she loved. To not do so, she knew, she would ache with regret the rest of her life.

  Slowly, he drew her against him. When their lips met, she forgot her doubts and worries. She gave herself over to desire.

  The gentle, smoldering kisses they’d shared before were gone. Instead he battered her mouth, cheeks, and neck with his lips. She responded to his delicious assault with equal passion, tasting the wholeness of his mouth, kissing the roughness of his face and the corded muscles of his neck. When she pressed her lips against the hollow of his throat, pausing to feel the hammering of his pulse beneath her mouth, he groaned.

  He drew back and turned her around, her legs stretching out against the soft grass as he lowered her onto the ground. She let her head fall back as he again kissed her neck, moving closer to the bodice of her gown. He began to caress her through her gown, touching her only a finger’s breadth away from her breast
s.

  “We should not do this,” he whispered against her skin. “Tell me to stop, Anna. Tell me.” He was giving her one more chance to be prudent, to keep them from taking a step that would change them both forever.

  “No.” She took his hand and drew it upward. She gasped as his fingers curved around her breast, and his thumb brushed her nipple. With his other hand he reached behind her and loosened the drawstrings of her gown. A moment later he lifted the white muslin skirt to her hips. She raised herself and arched her back, freeing the gown so he could pull it over her head.

  Locks of hair slipped from her chignon as he tugged the gown off and tossed it onto the grass. He knelt over her, pulled all the pins from her hair, and dropped them to the ground. Then he lifted her hair and slid his fingers through her tresses, slowly letting the shining locks cascade around her.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured. He began kissing her again and rolled her onto her side, their mouths still joined as he reached behind her. The laces of her corset whispered softly as he pulled them free. A few seconds later the corset landed with a rustle in the nearby grass. Her chemise, trapped just above her hips, tore as she tried to wriggle free of it. Grasping it together, they finally cast it aside. Her stockings and garters followed.

  Anna lay completely naked, the outdoor air cool and strange on her skin where it had never been before. And a man’s gaze—his gaze—was on parts of her no male had seen before. She supposed she should feel shy or ashamed, but instead she stretched out fully, feeling a rush of joy.