The Earl's Bargain (Historical Regency Romance)

by Cheryl Bolen

  What would he do when he located the mysterious lord? His first objective, of course, was to persuade the man to sell him the house on Grosvenor Square. Harry was prepared to pay whatever it took to regain ownership of the house, even if he had to pay twice what it was worth.

  But what else did Harry wish to accomplish when he finally came face to face with the evil man? A surge of hatred rippled through him. He would have to find out why the man had orchestrated his father's downfall. What could his father ever have done to generate such vile contempt? Harry would never be able to peacefully lay down his head until he knew the answer to that question.

  Also, Harry was possessed of a strong conviction that the disappearance of his mother's portrait was intrinsically tied up with the mysterious lord. And he vowed to do everything in his power to learn the whereabouts of the portrait.

  Despite his hopes that they would make Falwell by nightfall, Harry had not counted upon how early it got dark in these parts. Darkness forced them to stop for the night -- though it was barely past four in the afternoon -- in the village of Helporth. Had the terrain been less hilly with more reliable roads, he would have instructed John to continue. But it was far too dangerous for those unused to the region.

  In Helporth, they disembarked from the carriage and stood still in front of the inn where they watched cool white mists rolling across the surrounding countryside like curls of smoke from a chimney. There was an eerie, unreal quality about it. Finally, Louisa set a gentle hand on his arm and urged him into the inn.

  Surely, he thought impatiently, Louisa could not continue to feign fatigue and beg to go to her room for the night before the clock struck six.

  Neither of them was hungry yet, though they had bespoken a private parlor at the Three Lambs Inn. In the room's darkness, he and Louisa perused the map of Cornwall.

  "A pity it's grown so dark for I do believe we could have reached Falwell in another hour's time," she said, looking up at him with her blue eyes.

  Fighting the urge to stroke the satiny skin of her face, he nodded. "There's something to be said, though, for arriving in the daylight."

  Louisa turned away to watch the fire's licking flames. "If your offer for a game of piquet is still good, I believe I shall take you up on it.

  He procured cards, and they commenced an amiable game, which was followed by another and another until they were finally hungry enough to eat.

  Harry was growing sorely tired of eating at inns and sleeping on beds which were much smaller than what he was accustomed to. He was impatient to ride his mount and not sit in a cramped, stuffy carriage. He was consumed with curiosity about the vile man he was taking such great efforts to meet. Thinking on all this caused him to grow angry.

  And as had become his custom, whenever he was angry, he took his anger out on Louisa.

  "I think I shall be sorry to see our journey come to an end," she said softly, sipping her wine and gazing into his face with a dreamy expression.

  He harrumped. "Not I! I'm so sick of Cornwall and of riding in carriages I pray I'll never again darken the misty peninsula as long as I live."

  She looked offended. "Surely the journey's not been all bad?"

  "Tell me, madam, one good thing that's occurred since we set off from London?"

  It cut him to the quick to see the look of pain which flitted across her lovely face at his thoughtless words, but he knew it was better to hurt her now than to cause her a lifetime of pain.

  "I shan't impede you, my lord," she said with dejection. "Once you find your lord, you have my blessings to ride off on your own precious mount back to London." She threw down her napkin and rose from the highly scrubbed table. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I shall go to my bed."

  Shoving the table as he got to his feet, he said, "And I believe I shall go to the tavern."

  * * *

  Louisa would have been better off had she stayed in London. True, she would have had slimmer financial prospects, but at least her heart would not have been so badly bruised. How much better off she had been back in London than she was now.

  Nothing could be more painful than having Harry's cherished presence slammed into her every waking minute. Being so close to him, yet knowing a love between them could never be. Wanting to touch him, too feel him close to her, yet knowing such intimacy could never happen. Worst of all was the painful knowledge that Harry detested her. What had she done to have merited such wrath? Surely she had not been mistaken weeks earlier in her thinking that he welcomed her company. He did. Then.

  But not now.

  She was torn apart. As painfully as she needed him, her need to be away from him was even greater. She lay in the soft feather bed, the peat fire smoking in the grate, her every thought of Harry. Already she mourned his loss.

  Almost as much as she regretted having come on this journey with him.

  * * *

  The following morning they rode for ten miles when Harry decided he and Louisa would walk while the carriage went on to Falwell.

  "I'm bloody tired of being cooped up in a blasted carriage," he said.

  "Me too," Louisa said in a low voice as she fell in step beside him.

  He was not sure how far they were from the coast, but its feel and smell were strong here. His thoughts flitted to the day Louisa had plunged off the cliff and of how worried he had been that he'd lost her.

  Fortunately, there was no coastal cliff to gobble her up here. Just a hilly, pleasing landscape, air tinged with salt water, and perennial breezes that swept Louisa's soft muslin gown to outline the gentle curves of her body.

  He felt compelled to draw her hand into his as they walked along the footpath. Even with no words passing between them, he was oddly warmed by her presence as they trod up the forlorn hill.

  When they reached the top of the hill, Harry's breath caught at what he beheld. On the next bluff there arose a mighty castle. Its turrets caught the light of the mid-day sun, the castle's solidness the antithesis of Tintagal's ruins. His chest tightened. This was it. Their quest had ended.

  Chapter 20

  Long after the innkeeper's wife had cleared away their dinner dishes at the Speckled Goose Inn that night, Louisa and Harry sat in the parlor discussing their plans for the following day.

  "I cannot believe our good fortune," Louisa said happily. "To think tomorrow is actually the Public Day at Gorwick Castle."

  "The home of Lord Tremaine," he added dryly.

  "I know you're right. I shouldn't be getting my hopes up. After all, how many times have you been at Public Days and actually set eyes on the Lord of the Manor or – in this case – the Lord of the Castle?"

  He looked at her incredulously. "I've never been to a Public Day in my life, unless you count Cartmore Hall."

  "No, I don't expect you would have," she said, laughing. "How stupid of me."

  "Except for pulling flowers from the edge of cliffs, I'll wager you've never done a stupid thing in your life."

  The crimson began to roll up her face.

  "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you," he said, placing his hand over hers.

  A bubbling heat surged through her at his touch."You know very well you have put me to the blush again."

  "I seem to have a facility for doing that."

  She smiled, glad that she could find humor in herself.

  He grew pensive. "What if we don't see the Lord of the Castle tomorrow?"

  "Then we'll just have to find a way to stay within the castle walls when the tour is over."

  "I don't like the sound of that," he said. "It could be dangerous -- if Tremaine is the man who ruined my father."

  "Since he's reclusive, I don't think the lord would recognize you. After all, you spent eight years out of the country."

  "But he might recognize you."

  "I told you there was no way he could have seen me that night."

  "How can you be sure?"

  "For one thing, I was in darkness. For another, he had to be sixty feet awa
y from me."

  "Had the man ever seen you, he would remember."

  "How so?" she asked, puzzled.

  "You are an exceptionally beautiful woman."

  Sweet heaven above! Her cheeks were flaming again. She didn't know how to respond. To thank him would be to acknowledge the truth to his statement -- which would be the pinnacle of conceit. How did practiced flirts handle such a situation, she wondered, not that she wanted to resemble those empty-headed girls in any way. Her inexperience with men -- despite eight years as a married woman -- only brought home how inadequate she was for Harry. Not that he would have had her anyway.

  He reached toward her and traced her nose with a single finger. "Sorry I made you blush."

  She tried to make light of the sensual gesture. "I daresay Cook could bring me to blush by reciting the grocer's list."

  He laughed at that, then poured more wine.

  Together they drank three bottles of wine, though Harry's glass count far exceeded hers, as did his capacity for drinking spirits. Louisa began to yawn, and the next thing he knew, she laid her head on the table, right next to the dripping candle, and went to sleep.

  Harry carried her upstairs to their bedchamber, his insides turning to pure mush. Louisa had a habit of doing that to him.

  Their room was dark when he placed her on the bed to light the taper. That done, he removed her pelisse. She would just have to sleep in her gown because he wasn't about to draw her wrath for such an action. He stood there a long while, drinking in her loveliness. He thought of going back to the tavern and drinking himself into oblivion, but for some inexplicable reason he could not leave Louisa.

  He moved to the bed, stripping off his clothes until they heaped on the well-worn wooden floor. Then he climbed beside Louisa. She began to softly moan, then she called his name. Harry.

  She called his name again.

  Then with a disappointment deep and gnawing, he realized Louisa was asleep.

  "Harry!" she said once more, urgency in her voice.

  He placed his arm around her. That it was his name she called – and not that beast Godwin Phillips' – pleased him. His own comfort was far from his thoughts. He was consumed with the urge to take care of Louisa for the rest of her days. To protect her from men who would use her. Or abuse her. To let her know what it was to be cherished. To awaken the passion of true love he knew budded within her soul.

  For in this passionate little bluestocking lay the promise of all his dreams. Louisa Phillips was the only woman who could ever replace his mother as the Countess Wycliff.

  * * *

  Edward stopped to change horses at Woking. Because of the fair weather, he had made excellent progress. He was going to push himself to make Salisbury by nightfall, and if he continued at this pace, he could be deep in Cornwall tomorrow. With his riding crop in one hand and his unraveled woolen neck scarf in the other, he jumped from the box and strode toward the tavern. A drink would do his parched throat good.

  Then he heard it. A small voice had said his name. And the deuced thing about it was the voice sounded like Miss Sinclair's. "Mr. Coke."

  There it was again! Couldn't be the young lady's. She was miles from here, safe and snug at Wycliff House, though it was no longer called that. Nevertheless, he decided to turn around to see who it was who was calling his name.

  Had the king himself been standing there addressing him, he could not have been more taken aback. For the quite lovely Ellie Sinclair faced him, and she was dressed as a tiger! And from the direction she had come from, he realized she had been perched for the whole world to see on the back of his phaeton! That is, the whole world except him.

  For a moment he scowled at her, completely seized with anger. What could she possibly be thinking of to come all this way with no chaperon? Whatever was he to do now? Two days could be lost in taking her back to London, and he had no assurances the foolish chit would even go.

  What a fool he'd been to trust her to be complacent and stay behind. After listening to those radicals she surrounded herself with, how could he have been stupid enough to think the girl would do the conventional thing?

  "You are angry," she said feebly, walking toward him in her masculine togs.

  Where ever did she find them? From a distance she would be taken for a boy, but no one seeing that lovely face could have any doubt as to her gender. He wished for a fleeting second that she could be ugly. Then this would be much easier.

  "Course I'm angry. You've cost me valuable time."

  "How so, sir?"

  Did the deuced girl have to gaze at him in such an innocent manner? Blast her! "Naturally, I'll have to take you back to London."

  She huffed and stuck out her flattened chest. "I will not go."

  Were she really a boy he would have been able to speak authoritatively to him, but he couldn't do so with Miss Sinclair. She was, after all, a lady. "Now see here, Miss Sinclair, you cannot travel with me."

  "Why not?"

  "Because you're a lady." He swallowed. "And I am a gentleman."

  "My sister, sir, is a lady, and your cousin is a gentleman, and they are travelling together, and you yourself admitted there was no lewdness between them."

  "But I never said it was appropriate. In fact, it would be extremely inappropriate if it weren't for the fact your sister's been a married lady."

  She thought on all this for a moment, standing there in boys' clothing that was still too big for her. "There will be no impropriety if people think I'm a boy."

  "But you're not a boy!" Seeing a man leave the tavern and not wishing to be overheard, Edward rushed toward Miss Sinclair and walked her back to his gig. "See here, Miss Sinclair, it ain't proper for you to be traveling with me," he said in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

  She looked up at him, those blue eyes of hers flashing. "What is proper and what is improper is merely in the eye of the beholder. Do you not agree?"

  "I agree," he said, rolling his eyes.

  "You and I know there is no impropriety between us, do we not?"

  "We know there is no impropriety," he said with the voice of one reciting a familiar passage in a favorite book.

  "Then as long as others believe that I am a boy, there will be no impropriety! So it's all settled."

  "What's settled?"

  "I'll continue to act the part of you tiger all the way to Cornwall."

  "Can't have you sitting behind on that rail," he uttered.

  She shrugged. "Could I be your little brother, then?" she asked meekly, her voice like that of a much younger girl. She stuck out her chest. "See, I have bound my breasts so I look like a lad."

  He turned away, an unfamiliar flush creeping into his cheeks. "I will not look at your breasts."

  "Oh, you cannot see them," she said cheerfully.

  "I should hope not!" he exclaimed, turning back to face her, a scowl on his face.

  "Oh, Mr. Coke, I have put you to the blush!"

  "You have not," he snapped.

  She linked her arm through his. "Then it is all settled."

  God in heaven, what have I ever done to be saddled with the likes of Miss Ellie Sinclair? he asked himself.

  * * *

  When Harry awoke Louisa with a cup of hot tea the following morning, she nailed him with an accusatory stare and said, "Confess, my lord, when I slept last night you brought a hammer into our chamber and pounded my head soundly with it."

  He laughed. "I fear you consumed far too much wine."

  She raised herself to a sitting position. "How did I get to bed?"

  "I carried you up the stairs."

  He thought he liked it better when she blushed. Her complacency disturbed him. This was not his Louisa.

  His Louisa. He cherished the idea. To the very core of his soul, he cherished Louisa Phillips. She was undoubtedly the finest woman he had ever known.

  Yet he knew Louisa was the only woman who could ever claim his heart. The only woman – indeed, the only person – whose life
was more precious than his own.

  Chapter 21

  At breakfast – which Louisa and Harry again took in their private parlor of the Speckled Goose Inn – Harry ate heartily, but Louisa had little appetite.

  "Has my special elixir helped your head?" he asked softly.

  She nodded. "The head's better. Would that I could say the same for the rest of me. Why did you allow me to drink so much, my lord?"

  "I am not your master, Louisa."

  She could have sworn he said those words with regret. The effects of the wine must be lingering, clouding her thinking.

  When the innkeeper's wife brought another pot of hot tea, Harry questioned her. "I say, my wife and I are trying to decide if Lord Tremaine is the same man we once met in London. Tall, distinguished looking with a beard."

  "That sounds like him," the woman said. "Only saw him once meself. At St. Stephen's Church the day they dedicated the new windows. Lord Tremaine paid for them himself. 'Twas the only time I know that he set foot in the church. The family pew sits empty as you please at the front of the church Sunday after Sunday."

  Harry gave her a shilling and lavish compliments over the comfort of their room.

  Louisa could barely contain her excitement until the woman left the parlor. "Oh, Harry! Lord Tremaine has to be our man."

  He nodded solemnly. "A good thing today is Public Day at the castle."

  * * *

  Since the weather was fair, they decided to walk to the castle, which perched on a cliff above the village of Falwell.

  "I understand it dates to the twelfth century," Harry remarked as Louisa gazed up at the stone fortress.

  A mighty fortress it must have been, guarding much of the Cornish coast through the Middle Ages. Its battlements had eroded over the centuries but were still plainly visible even from a half mile away. Bulky round turrets anchored each corner of the square castle grounds.

  As Harry and Louisa wound their way through the cobbled streets of Falwell, Harry found himself wondering if there was a moat around the castle. Moats and castles had fascinated him as a youngster. He had more than once lamented that Cartmore Hall was not a castle.