The Untouchable Earl

by Amy Sandas

  Besides, it felt terribly hypocritical to continue preaching decorum considering her change in circumstances.

  “I am going to get some air,” Portia declared suddenly. Before Lily could respond, she slipped through the crowd toward the doors thrown open to the balcony. Lily watched her go, understanding her sister’s desire to escape.

  She would have returned to Emma’s side then, but some flash of intuition urged her to glance to her left. And then she couldn’t move, even if she’d wanted to.

  The sight of Lord Harte making his way through the crowd in his slow, reserved manner secured her to the spot. A tingling blast of exhilaration seized Lily’s system, awakening every nerve, sharpening every sense.

  He was resplendent in a dark-blue coat, the exact color of his eyes, over a champagne-colored silk waistcoat. His nearly black eyes looked out over the drawing room, assessing and dismissive at once.

  Lily held her breath.

  Moments later, his attention swept past her. The touch of his gaze was so brief, she might have missed it if not for the sudden spike in her body temperature.

  She stared after him, helpless to do anything else, as he continued on until he was obscured again by the growing crowd.

  Lily glanced around. He must have seen her. She stood alone, in full view despite the steady flow of guests. The subtle weight of disappointment and uncertainty settled in her stomach. She wondered at his ability to so completely disregard her existence.

  She certainly couldn’t do the same. Goodness, she had deteriorated to a trembling mess from a single sweeping glance. She was a dreadful ninny and so entirely out of her depth.

  Was it possible he did not feel the same intense reactions she experienced?

  She feared it was.

  But then she remembered the way he had looked at her in his bedroom. Even though he had sat so stern and cold, fire had burned fierce in his eyes.

  Reclaiming her breath, she pressed her hand to her abdomen just below her sternum.

  Was this part of their agreement?

  Was she to expect avoidance—or worse, animosity—whenever she encountered him in society?

  She had requested their relationship be kept secret, but surely that should not mean they could not interact as acquaintances, at least.

  The sound of music from the ballroom next door signaled a start to the dancing. Lily looked up to see her first partner for the evening coming toward her.

  It was Mr. Campbell, a gentleman who could not be further from the earl in nature and character. Mr. Campbell was open, friendly, and charming without being insincere. Lily was reminded that despite the twenty-years-plus separating them in age, this man had been at the top of her list of prospective suitors.

  Odd, how easily her interest had faded once she had seen the earl. A frown threatened at the thought. Lily did not like to consider herself a fickle sort, but there simply was no comparison between the two men. Even if she still thought to consider Mr. Campbell as a possible future husband, such an option was no longer available. At least, it wouldn’t be once she was the earl’s mistress in truth.

  The thought of her arrangement with Lord Harte sent a flush of heat across her skin. She hoped it did not show in the pink of her cheeks.

  Mr. Campbell reached her side and performed a small bow, displaying just the right amount of respect and courtesy. His smile was pleasant. “Good evening, Miss Chadwick. You are looking lovely as ever.”

  Lily smiled back. “Good evening, Mr. Campbell, and thank you.”

  “I believe I have claimed this dance, though if you would prefer not to move to the ballroom just yet, I can take you around for some refreshment.”

  Lily shook off her discomfort and the lingering effects of having seen Lord Harte. Regardless of her altered circumstances, no one could suspect anything had changed. She would do what she could to protect her family from potential scandal, and that meant continuing to play the part of hopeful debutante.

  “I would be delighted to dance, Mr. Campbell.”

  With an agreeable nod, the gentleman offered his arm, then led her through the milling guests toward the wide archway opening to the ballroom. Before passing through into the next room, Lily caught a glimpse of midnight blue from the corner of her eye. She turned her head—just a slight repositioning of her chin—and saw Lord Harte standing in the shadow of a marble pillar. His gaze was steady and intense as it followed her progress on Mr. Campbell’s arm.

  She nearly tripped over her skirts. Her nerves tingled. It was a wonderful sensation to experience such a delicate, intrinsic loss of control.

  Thank goodness Mr. Campbell was an accomplished escort. He offered no comment on her sudden clumsiness, and by the time Lily regained her composure, they had passed into the ballroom, leaving Lord Harte behind.

  The dance was a simple quadrille, allowing Lily far too much opportunity to glance about the room in hopes of seeing Lord Harte watching her. Aside from that one time he had escorted Miss Farindon onto the floor, she had never seen him dance. She hoped he might have followed her into the ballroom, but as the quadrille went on and she was forced to engage in light conversation with Mr. Campbell, she realized the earl had remained in the drawing room.

  When the dance ended, Mr. Campbell escorted her to where Angelique and Emma were seated among the other chaperones, having moved to the ballroom once the dancing had started. Lily had only a moment to catch her breath before she was claimed by her next partner.

  Hours passed, and still Lily had no further glimpse of Lord Harte.

  Perhaps he had left. But how could that be? They had never discussed how they would go about the logistics of their relationship. Surely, they had to find time to be alone together.

  Oh, she was so ignorant of such things.

  The night continued steadily on. Lily’s feet began to ache, and her cheeks grew sore from the constant smiling. It was unbelievably difficult to participate in all the niceties necessary for polite socializing when your heart simply wasn’t in it.

  Was this how Portia had been feeling all Season? She would have to be more sympathetic to her sister’s complaints.

  It was well after midnight, and though the musicians were claiming a break, they would soon return to play for another set. The party was still in full swing, yet Lily wished only to go home. Glancing at the dowager countess, she saw Angelique’s eyes drooping. The lady would soon be sleeping in her seat. Though anyone who did not know her well would have missed it, to Lily, Emma also looked drawn and tired. Perhaps it would not be so difficult to convince them to make it an early night.

  Just as she was about to suggest it, Portia approached on the arm of her last dance partner, who deposited her gratefully into her family’s fold. As soon as the stiff young man walked away, Portia turned to her sisters.

  “I am quite ready for this night to be over,” she declared in her blunt manner.

  Emma sighed. “It does seem to be dragging on rather painfully, doesn’t it?”

  Lily had expected her older sister to argue for them to stay at least another couple of hours. That she didn’t showed more than anything else how things had changed in the last two days.

  “What is that, darlings?” Angelique perked up momentarily. “Is it time to depart?”

  Lily said nothing, but waited patiently as Emma paused and looked at each of them in turn, assessing and calculating which course to take.

  “Yes,” she said finally, which resulted in a heartfelt “Thank goodness” from Portia. “I think we can all stand for an early night,” Emma added. “Shall we?”

  Portia stepped around to offer her support to Angelique while the older lady rose to her feet.

  The Chadwicks and the dowager countess said their good-byes to their hostess, then left the ballroom as a group to make their way through the drawing room. That was when Lily finally saw him aga
in.

  The sight of him was so unexpected that an audible gasp slid from her lips. Thankfully, her family had not heard it.

  The Earl of Harte stood speaking with several older gentlemen near the doorway to the front hall, as always looking elegant, remote, and handsome in his harsh, untouchable way.

  Her stomach tightened. He had been present the whole night and hadn’t once tried to seek her out, or speak with her, or request a dance. And now she would have to pass right by him to leave.

  Her steps had slowed when she noticed him, and she trailed behind the others. She tried—she truly did—to keep her eyes focused on Emma’s back. But as she passed his position, her gaze involuntarily slid sideways, craving just one more glimpse of him before she left.

  He was speaking to the others in his company, and Lily found her attention arrested by the sight of his lips forming each word and the way his eyes focused intently forward. In less than two seconds, she would be past him, but before she was, he flicked a casual glance in her direction. Buried within the blue of his eyes, she saw evidence of a deeper awareness. She used to believe it was anger, but she now understood it to be far more complicated.

  And then she was past him. A poignant sense of loss filled her. Tonight suddenly felt like a terrible missed opportunity.

  She lowered her chin, intending to quicken her steps to catch up to her family, who had already gone out into the front hall. Before she could reach them, a footman came up beside her, halting her progress. The servant presented a neatly folded missive, and Lily took the note instinctively. Opening the folded paper, she read its contents, then quickly concealed it in her glove as she glanced back over her shoulder toward the earl.

  Another brief flick of his gaze sent a swift rise of exhilaration through her blood.

  The note had not been signed, but it was from him. She knew it as certainly as she knew there were stars in the sky. With a trembling breath, she hurried to catch up with her family.

  Her night was not over yet.

  Thirteen

  One hour and twenty minutes later, Lily slid through the deep shadows of Angelique’s town house, heading toward the kitchen and the door leading out to the gardens. Breathless excitement kept her alert for anyone else who may be about at the late hour. But her great-aunt kept only a minimal staff, who retired early. Lily did not encounter a single soul as she made her way.

  Stepping into the fragrant garden, she noted even the moon assisted with her mission as it hid its full silver light behind a passing black cloud.

  The mews beyond your garden. 2 a.m.

  That was all his message had said. No words of breathless anticipation. Not even the hint of a suggestion that he might be looking forward to their first engagement.

  None of it detracted from Lily’s own excitement.

  What did it say about her that she was so eager to meet a gentleman in secret for the purpose of initiating an illicit relationship?

  Defiance flared inside her. Oh, if her sisters could see her now.

  Then she glanced back over her shoulder at the windows of the house, realizing that was still a possibility.

  She drew her cloak more securely around her as she ran forward along the twisting lane. She made her way through the plots of vegetables and herbs, then past the roses and the willows that framed the back of the walled garden. She sought out a gate tucked into one corner, though in the full darkness, it was harder to locate than she had expected. By the time she found the latch and pulled it open—silently, thank goodness—the moon had started to glide beyond the cloud, illuminating the narrow lane beyond.

  She passed through the gate and stepped hesitantly to the side, pressing her back against the stone wall as the gate swung quietly closed beside her. The hood of her cloak cast much of her face in shadow but did not hinder her view as she scanned the darkness.

  She saw the carriage almost immediately. It stood beneath the reaching branches of one of the willows no more than thirty feet away. The horses were well trained and did not even bother to nicker at her sudden presence.

  He sat in that carriage. Waiting in the shadows. For her.

  Lily held her breath and pressed both hands firmly against the rioting flutters in her stomach. She sensed danger and excitement. Both urged her forward.

  Becoming the earl’s mistress would afford her protection against an uncertain future. But that was not the true reason she stood there.

  The earl had promised pleasure. His eyes had touched upon some deep yearning within Lily that she simply had not wanted to deny. There was something powerful in her reaction to him. She experienced something in his presence she wanted to explore. The heat, the tingling awareness, the whoosh of energy that made her feel like she could dance on treetops. He made her feel…daring.

  While she stood there, her back still pressed to the stone wall, the carriage door swung open, and the earl descended from the vehicle to stand facing her in the lane. He wore a greatcoat but no hat, and the hard angles of his features were evident, even at the distance still separating them. He stood silent and resolute under the silver light of the moon—watching her, waiting for her.

  With a flutter in her belly, she started toward him. With each step that brought her closer, rising anticipation washed away any lingering questions about her motivation. She was here now, and nothing seemed as important as getting to him.

  The closer she came, the more she was able to detect in his person. He was so rigid in his bearing, so cold and…resistant. His expression was hard and aloof. But still, she sensed the fire he kept contained behind his forbidding stare. What caused such a dichotomy in his manner?

  Fear crept in.

  But it was a fear unlike any she had ever experienced.

  As a child, Lily had been afraid of thunderstorms. She used to worry when her parents would go out at night, leaving her and her sisters to the care of their nurse. Then as she grew older, after her mother died, Lily feared the uncertainty of life. She feared having any part in causing distress for those she loved. Especially when Emma already had so much to worry about with Portia’s rebelliousness and their father’s descent into the twin vices of drinking and gambling.

  But she had never known the kind of deep disquiet she felt in that moment as she considered how she would be changed once she climbed into the earl’s carriage. Yet, it was not an unpleasant sensation. Intense and personal, but not alarming. It was not a reaction to him or the unusual context in which she stood. It was a direct response to everything she felt inside.

  It was herself she feared. She could not deny, as she looked upon the earl, the exhilaration burgeoning inside her.

  She hadn’t realized she had stopped in her approach until he shifted. Not much, just a slight angling of his shoulders as he lifted his hand and held it out to her, palm up.

  His fingers were long and elegant in a way that exuded strength and competence. The intrinsic desire to touch him overruled all other thought. Lily took the last couple of steps to reach him and brought her hand out from beneath the heavy fall of her cloak to place it in his. He wore no gloves, and his hand was smooth and warm, and his touch sent a jolt of lightning through her system. His hand seemed to twitch, just a subtle tightening of his fingers as her palm slid across his, and she wondered if he felt the jolt as well.

  She climbed into the carriage. The vehicle swayed as he climbed in behind her, taking the seat across from her. Then the door closed, and with a gentle jingle of the reins, they started off.

  She had done it.

  The curtains were drawn over the windows, preventing any relief to the darkness enveloping them. The atmosphere was surreal and painfully quiet despite the sound of the horses’ hooves and the creaking movement of the carriage.

  A kind and thoughtful gentleman would say something to put her at ease.

  The earl was not such a man.

&nbs
p; Typically, Lily appreciated quiet moments, but tonight was not typical, and her nerves forced words to tumble from her lips without conscious choice. “You were at the Beresford ball tonight,” she said inanely.

  He replied, “I was.”

  Two small, insignificant words, yet spoken in his rich, velvet tone, they had a visceral effect in the darkness.

  “I would have danced with you.” Again, she wished she could take it back as a blush warmed her cheeks. It sounded like a complaint. And hadn’t she already acknowledged to herself that she had never seen him dance but that one time?

  He did not say anything right away, and Lily hastily muttered, “I am sorry,” then felt even more ridiculous for apologizing when she had no apparent reason.

  Goodness, she was a disaster.

  There was another long moment of silence during which she could hear his breath, long and even. Then he spoke.

  “There is more than one reason I could not dance with you.”

  Lily was surprised he had decided to provide an explanation. He did not seem the type to explain himself.

  “I dance only once per Season, and only with a lady of innocuous charm. It is a rule I have followed for years. Any deviation could be noticed.” His voice lowered. “You demanded a condition of discretion in our relationship. Not only would a second dance this year be noted, Miss Chadwick, but discretion may have become impossible if I had been in a position to touch you earlier tonight.”

  He paused then, and Lily sensed a slow shift in the atmosphere around them. Her muscles tensed.

  “Why is that?” she whispered and was amazed at her own boldness.

  She heard the subtle sounds of him shifting his position on the seat. The sound of soft fabric sliding against leather lingered in her senses. Her skin grew hot beneath her cloak.

  “I am in unfamiliar territory,” he murmured. “There is an intensity to my desire for you I have not experienced before. I do not yet know how that will manifest, so I must proceed with caution.”