The Earl Takes a Fancy

by Heath Lorraine

  Because they’re perfect, sized to fill a man’s palms without leaving him wanting for more.

  “—whom I should marry?”

  Right. They were discussing something else entirely. “I have respect for the aristocracy and for men in particular. I don’t like to see the male of the species tricked into marriage, no matter how comely the trickster.”

  Now, she balled her fists and sent them to her hips, narrow hips if the way her skirts fell were a true indication. Miss Trewlove curved in and out in a most delectable manner.

  “Whatever gave you the impression I would use deceit to gain a husband?” She sounded truly insulted, then rolled her eyes. “The letter? I can admire a man, a relationship, without using what I know of it for duplicity. Have you an encounter in your past that causes you not to trust women?” She gave him a long, slow, thorough once-over that made him feel as though she were skimming her fingers over every inch of his skin. Sympathy filled those eyes that reminded him of the finest chocolate. “Did she break your heart?”

  What Elise had done, how naïve he’d been, was none of her concern. “If I’d realized it was your wish to spar and pry, I’d have not ventured from my residence.”

  With a grimace, she squeezed her eyes shut. “My apologies. I wanted to ask a favor of you, and I’ve probably mucked things up to such an extent you’ll refuse me.” When she opened those large eyes of hers, they reflected such sincerity that it might be impossible to find the words to refuse her, whatever she asked. “I hope you won’t think me overly familiar, but I noticed last night, during the few minutes when you were actually paying attention to your book, that you seemed to excel at reading as you were turning the pages quite quickly.”

  “As I said, I was educated. Oxford.”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “I see.”

  He didn’t know why he’d felt a need to impress her. Unwilling to elaborate further, he felt a fool for mentioning it in the first place.

  “Then you’re perfect,” she said.

  He scoffed. “I don’t believe that term has ever been applied to me.” Certainly not by Elise, at least not after they married. Before that, she had him strutting about like a bloody peacock, thinking every aspect of him pleased her, when it was only his title that held any significance for her.

  “Well, for what I have in mind you’re perfect. My brother’s secretary, Mr. Tittlefitz—you might have met him when you leased your residence as he sees to those matters—and I hold a class for adults every Monday and Wednesday. We focus on teaching reading. As my nights are going to become quite busy once I am introduced into Society, I wondered if you might be willing to take over for me when I’m not available.”

  Not if his life depended on it. Why would he want to spend any more time in the company of a title chaser than he had to? Even if she wouldn’t be there, their paths would surely cross to some extent. The only favor he intended to do was for himself, and that involved keeping his distance. “I’m sorry. I fear I haven’t the patience for such a task.”

  “But it is so rewarding.”

  “Do I look to be a man in need of rewards?”

  She couldn’t have appeared more stricken if she’d just witnessed him kicking a puppy. Damn her for making him regret the harshness of his tone.

  “To be quite honest, you struck me as a man of leisure who might be in want of a way to fill his hours and wouldn’t need recompense for the task.”

  Her mien reflected that of a woman challenging a man—damned if he didn’t want to give in to her, to allow her to have the victory, but that way lay madness. “I may be a man of leisure but that does not mean I haven’t responsibilities and duties that take up a good measure of my time.”

  “Excuse us, Miss Trewlove.”

  Without hesitation, she moved nearer to him, out of the path of the women and children exiting her parlor, bringing with her the tantalizing scent of oranges.

  “Goodbye, Mrs. Byng. See you next Friday.” She patted the heads of the children, bid farewell to the mothers, giving attention to each person, large and small, young and old, who walked by. Or were carried. Even the babes in arms received a touch on the cheek or tip of the nose.

  When everyone had departed, she looked up at him, and he realized he’d not taken a step back, not one iota, that he’d remained inappropriately near, so close he could feel the warmth radiating from her. His hand flexed, twitched, as though it desperately wanted to reach up and cradle her cheek, determine if it was as silky soft as it appeared.

  “My apologies, Mr. Sommersby.” Her low voice was the rasp of whispered secrets. “Of course, you have important matters that require your attention. I do hope you’ll forgive my impertinence.”

  At that moment, he had the absurd thought that he’d forgive her anything, and understood with absolute surety that she was a danger. She wouldn’t use the letter as a means to her end. She would use her brown eyes, her luscious mouth, her pert breasts, her narrow waist, her kindness. In the end, some gentleman would fall without ever realizing he’d been felled. Such was her power.

  He stepped back. “Good day to you, Miss Trewlove.” Then he strode down the hallway to the stairs and descended them as though hellhounds were nipping at his heels.

  Chapter 6

  That evening, Fancy slipped out of her shop, closed the door, inserted the key—

  “Miss Trewlove.”

  With a tiny screech, pressing her hand to her chest in order to keep her heart behind her ribs, she swung around. “Mr. Sommersby.”

  He’d not been waiting for her, surely. Granted, she’d been preoccupied with locking up but certainly would have noticed had he been there. He’d merely come around the corner at the precise moment she was striving to sneak away, and her guilt was attributing nefarious purposes to his arrival. People were still out and about, going to the pub, going home. Wagons, carts, and buggies traversed on the street. Children ran hither and yon. Amidst all that, it was merely coincidence that their paths crossed. Besides, after their encounter that afternoon, it was unlikely he’d search for any excuse to be near her. She certainly had no desire to be near him. “If you’re in want of a book, you’ll need to return tomorrow as I’m in the process of closing up.”

  “Yesterday, it seemed nothing would prevent you from matching a person with reading material.”

  “Yesterday I didn’t have plans.”

  “I’m intrigued. You’re not by any chance going to the Jolly Roger for dinner?”

  Was that interest in his tone, hope that they might again share a table? The man confounded her. Earlier it had been as though he couldn’t escape her presence fast enough. She owed him no explanation, but found a sort of perverse pleasure in revealing that her life also included things that took up a good portion of her time. “Actually, I’m off on an adventure.”

  She peered up at the windows leading into Mick’s office, grateful not to see him standing there. After telling him that she’d be dining in tonight, she didn’t need him to catch sight of her up to no good. She couldn’t remember a time when she was allowed to do anything that wouldn’t better her marriage prospects. She’d been restricted from exploring areas far from home because her mum had worried someone might lead her astray, might introduce her to spirits, cigars, gambling, or profanity. Her siblings had all been able to do as they pleased, whereas she’d been watched like a hawk. Surely a bit of rebelliousness was in order.

  “What sort of adventure?”

  “I really don’t see that it’s any of your concern.”

  He released a long, drawn-out suffering sigh. “I realize you are no doubt miffed about my response earlier—”

  “No, not at all.” A lie. She was greatly disappointed his answer would result in them having fewer opportunities to become fast friends and would place an additional burden on Mr. Tittlefitz. “Your time is yours to do with as you please. As is mine.” Then as a bit of obstinacy hit her, she decided she really didn’t care if he knew her plans. As a matter
of fact, she took satisfaction from the thought of possibly shocking him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, a penny gaff awaits.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze becoming more intense, as though she’d suddenly grown a second head. “Why in God’s name would you go to a penny gaff?”

  Again, she owed him no explanation but where was the harm in giving one? While Aiden owned a club catering to women’s fantasies, she was forbidden from going there and had to make do finding her own entertainments. With a sigh, she turned the lock before slipping the key into a hidden pocket at the waist of her skirt, very much aware that light fingers would be about where she was going, so anything of import that might be nicked was hidden away. “When I have my entrée into Society, I will be expected to behave with utmost decorum and places such as this will be forbidden to me.”

  “They should be forbidden to you now.”

  She rolled her eyes at his admonishment. What should it matter to him how she spent her evening? “They have been, which is why I’m going tonight. It might be my last chance to actually experience one.”

  “Alone? Without a chaperone? Have you gone mad?”

  “It is not the sort of place where one takes a chaperone. Besides, she might tell Mick, and he’d be none too pleased.”

  “As well he shouldn’t be. I forbid it.”

  She barked out a laugh. “You are not in a position to forbid me to do anything, Mr. Sommersby. Good evening, sir.”

  With a slight turning of her shoulders, she edged past him and strolled up the walk. His footsteps, loud and with purpose, echoed around her.

  “How are you going to get there?”

  “I’m hiring a hansom a few streets over.” When she was well beyond Mick’s keen eyesight.

  “You can’t go alone. There are dangers, Miss Trewlove.”

  “I’m prepared for them.”

  “Pickpockets, brigands, thugs. All manner of men with ill intentions who will not hesitate to take advantage of a woman alone.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Mr.—”

  He grabbed her arm. Fortunately, it wasn’t the one holding her reticule. She swung it with all her might. It thunked against his head and sent him staggering back, his hat flying into the street. Catching his balance, he pressed his hand to his head. “What the devil is in that thing?”

  “Books.” Darting forward, she rescued his hat before it was crushed beneath the wheels of a passing carriage. Back on the pavement, she extended it toward him. “I’m so sorry. I reacted without thought, although I also suspect you were striving to demonstrate how a blackguard might attempt to take advantage.”

  He failed to respond to her assessment but had an air of guilt about him. “Why would you take books to a penny gaff?”

  She lifted her reticule. “Because they provide weight in case I’m accosted. I have a small dagger hidden away behind the waistband of my skirt and a knife tucked into my boot.”

  “Do you know how to use them?”

  “Quite effectively, actually. While my siblings have always sought to protect me, they also knew I lived in the rookeries and they couldn’t watch over me every hour of every day. So they taught me how to look after myself. I do hope I didn’t damage your skull. You have a rather nicely shaped head, and I’d hate knowing I made you lopsided.”

  He laughed, the sound deep and rich, echoing around her, through her, taking up residence in her soul.

  “Miss Trewlove, you are . . . I am beyond words. Still, I can’t allow you to traipse off into an unsavory part of London.”

  Penny gaffs were generally found in the poorer sections of London. “Again, Mr. Sommersby, you are not in a position to allow me to do anything.”

  He shrugged. “I suppose I shall have to pop into the hotel to let your brother know.”

  A fissure of fury swept through her. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “I can’t help but believe that if something unpleasant were to happen to you and he found out I let you go off unaccompanied that he’d have my head.”

  “Don’t be daft. He’s not going to find out.”

  “People are wandering about. I’m certain one or two have made note of our conversing. Word is likely to get back to your brother, and I will have no defense for allowing you to go off alone.”

  Why was he insisting upon accompanying her? After this afternoon, she’d fully expected him to avoid her at all costs. She was on the verge of screaming like a shrew. “Mr. Sommersby, it would be inappropriate for me to be seen with a man without benefit of a chaperone.”

  “What are the odds you’ll run into anyone you know?”

  “Oh, one in a thousand, I should think, but—”

  “Thus we’re unlikely to be seen or recognized by anyone of importance.”

  “True, but—”

  “You’ve also had dinner with a gentleman without benefit of chaperone.”

  He had her there, but still she felt a need to argue. “I was not having dinner with a gentleman. He was merely making use of the chair at my table.”

  He flashed a grin, so devastatingly perfect that she would be content to spend the rest of her life saying things that would bring forth that smile. “Semantics.”

  “I would further argue that Becky, nay the entire staff, served to chaperone that dinner.”

  “I’ll give you that. I felt their eyes on me the entire night.” He took a step toward her. “How’s this, then? You are going to the penny gaff alone. I, however, have decided I’m in the mood for some entertainment this evening and am going as well. Not with you, of course. But as we’re heading in the same direction, I daresay space will be available on the seat in your cab, so where is the harm in our sharing the ride?”

  There was harm aplenty within the small confines of the hansom cab, he realized when her thigh was pressed up against his, when the rocking motion of the conveyance occasionally caused the side of her breast to rub up against his arm. She seemed unaware of the touch whereas his body reacted as though she’d climbed into his lap.

  Leaving her shop earlier, he’d felt rather like an arse for not accommodating her request, even as he justified his reasons for avoiding her. Then on his way to the pub, he’d been taken aback by the joy that had spiraled through him when he’d rounded the corner and caught sight of her in a modest deep buttery shaded frock with a square neckline that revealed the hollow at the base of her throat and an inch or so of skin below it. He’d been dazzled and unable not to think about dipping his tongue in that provocative spot in the center of her collarbone. Which was no doubt the reason he’d been so damned reluctant to part ways and was now accompanying her on her adventure. Lust was once again driving him to make stupid decisions, and yet he couldn’t seem to find it within himself to regret the choice he’d made.

  She’d instructed the driver to take them to the Devil’s Door. He wasn’t familiar with that particular establishment but was rather confident as to what he would find there since he’d visited other gaffs in his youth when he and his friends had been in the mood for ribald entertainment. “How did you even hear of this place?”

  “When I was twelve or so, a lad who lived near us invited me to go with him. I asked Gillie what I should wear”—she slid her gaze over to him—“and that put an end to that. She explained that it wasn’t the sort of place a proper lady would ever frequent. But I’ve thought about it over the years and decided before I truly become proper, I should have a night of being improper. So here we are.”

  “What became of the lad?” He wondered if she’d loved him, retained a tender spot for him in her heart.

  “Six months later, he married another lass who lived in the area.”

  “Good Lord! How old was he when he asked you to go with him?” He suspected it was more the fellow’s age than where he was taking her that has resulted in her sister squashing things.

  “Fifteen. They marry young in the rookeries. His bride was all of fourteen, although I doubt she was actually ever a bride. I suspect
they had no ceremony. They might not have even had a license. Often couples simply move in together, declare themselves married, and who is to know different? My siblings will pay for the license of any of their employees who wish to marry. As you can well imagine, they are keen to ensure the children are legitimate.”

  “Was it difficult growing up not being so?” He abhorred the thought of her being made to feel less.

  “My family made it not matter. Still I was aware that it did. My children will be legitimate, and that’s important to me. As will be their father, a right and proper lord, who can trace his lineage back generations. The wonder of that, to know who came before him.”

  He’d always taken it for granted, had actually seen it as a burden, not only to live up to his parents’ expectations, but to the expectations of those long dead.

  “Anyway, that’s how I know about this particular theater. Have you ever been to a gaff?”

  “I have.”

  “Did you enjoy the shows you saw?”

  “To be honest, I can barely recall them. But if you enjoy the din in the pub, the rowdiness of a penny gaff should absolutely delight you.”

  Her profile was to him, but he saw the slow upward curl of her mouth. Would any lord be able to resist that innocent yet seductive movement? Could he?

  “I’m counting on it.”

  “If I may be honest, I’m a bit surprised your family doesn’t keep a closer watch over you. Young, unmarried, living alone.”

  “They don’t imagine me misbehaving, doing what I ought not because I was ever so good while I was growing up, never got into trouble. I also think they believe having Mick living across the street, able to drop in on me at any time, serves as a deterrent to misguided actions.” That slow upward curl again. “But he is very much preoccupied with his wife. He’s mad about her, you know.”

  “I assume you’re hoping for the same level of devotion.”