Attracted to the Earl

by Bronwen Evans

  “Hearing you talk about a connection like that makes me envious.”

  She smiled and looked away, silent for a moment. Finally, “Do you think a person can find true love twice in their lives?”

  He wondered how someone found it once in a lifetime. “Seeing what I have seen in this world, I would never say never.” A woman as beautiful and vibrant as Abigail should find someone to love her.

  “What about you? Have you ever been in love?”

  He wasn’t surprised at her question, for it felt as if they had always known each other. “I’m not sure I know what love is. I have never been devastated by the loss of a paramour.” Only then did he realize what he had said. “I beg your pardon.”

  She didn’t even blush. “I’m not a young girl. I understand the ways of the world. I gave myself to Scott before we married, and thank God I did or I would not have that wonderful memory to cherish.”

  He loved her frankness. “Have you taken lovers since?” He hated how much he wanted her answer to be yes.

  “I believe that is a loaded question, my lord.”

  He refused to play games or try to seduce her dishonorably. “Perhaps. I can’t lie. You are a very attractive woman and I will admit I am bereft of female company here.”

  Her eyes darkened and he knew she understood what he was implying. He reached forward and took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. She did not withdraw it.

  “Flattered though I am, I do not wish to complicate nor endanger my position here.”

  He moved closer. “I expect nothing from you that you would not freely wish to give. And nothing would endanger your visit here.”

  He held his breath waiting for her answer but she said nothing, she merely slipped her hand from his and stood up.

  Her breath caught. “I too won’t lie. You are a very handsome man and the attraction is there, but that does not mean an affair between us would be a good thing—for me at least.”

  He rose to his feet and moved to stand in front of her. “I will not pester you,” he smiled, “not much, anyway. However, the moment I saw you, even looking like a drowned rat, I wanted you.”

  He leaned toward her and she did not draw back. He gently cupped her chin in his hand and pressed his lips to hers. He almost sighed with contentment. They were all he’d dreamed about. Soft, full, and tender. He wanted to drink in the tenderness until his body quivered. It took but a moment for Abigail to open to him. As his tongue slipped into her hot and inviting mouth his groin tightened and he moved back a tad so she would not feel his urgent reaction to a simple kiss. He did not wish to frighten her.

  Her tongue dueled with his and to his surprise and relief she did not back away from the kiss, she participated wholeheartedly.

  There was heat, want, and need between them and he finally could not stand it a moment more, he swept her into his arms and deepened the kiss. Abigail’s taste was intoxicating. The feel of her soft curves pressed against him drove him on. There was no way she could not feel how much he wanted her.

  Guy could not tell how long they stood there, a smoldering embrace in the sun, the smell of the roses filling the air. He did not wish to end the kiss. He wished he could lay her down on the green grass at his feet and make love to her all afternoon.

  So much for not impugning a guest in his house.

  On that thought he came to his senses, breaking the kiss. He stood breathing heavily, still holding her in his arms. She looked confused before she pushed out of his hold.

  Her eyes met his and he saw the fire burning within. She wanted him.

  “Well, there is no denying we are attracted to each other,” she said as she gave a small laugh. “I’m sure Rose would be thrilled her bench created such a romantic interlude.”

  Guy shook his head. “It wasn’t the bench. It was you.”

  She smiled and ran a hand over her hair, checking to see if his embrace had disheveled her. She turned to look at the forest before them. “I don’t know why I’m worried about my hair. I’m not sure what state we’ll be in for visiting once we hack our way through this.”

  With that they made their way into the forest; nothing else was said about the kiss, but it was all Guy could think about. He wanted more. He wanted her with a force he’d not felt in a long time.

  Pushing away his desire, he held the thorny branches aside, allowing her to enter the woods ahead of him.

  She stepped into the darkness and exclaimed, “However, the wildness is quite breathtaking.”

  That’s not quite how he’d describe the forest. The wild brambles of the overgrown boxwood hedge, where a pair of musk rosebushes formed a blanket up one of the gnarly tree trunks, didn’t look as foreboding as he remembered as a young lad, and he hoped that once they were within the foliage, and the sun was blocked out, that would not change.

  He led the way, hacking the thorny rose vines as he went. It was slow going, especially as Abigail stopped to take deep lung-filling inhalations of the roses’ delicious honey-like perfume. He used this moment to allow the fragrance to clear his disturbing memories, his heart slowing its frantic beat.

  He let Abigail’s unaffected joy at the wildlife surrounding them fill him, and on impulse he picked one pink rose that matched the color of her luscious lips and offered it to her. Her smile stirred his rioting desire before she took it from him and walked farther into the trees through the dense undergrowth.

  Guy just stood there watching. Fear, like creeping vine tendrils, wrapping around him. He hoped that he didn’t disgrace himself in her company, for then he could imagine the awkward questions that would follow. How did you tell a woman who loved the plants surrounding them that the last time he was in this wood his father put a noose around his neck, hanged him from a tall bough, and left him for dead.

  Chapter 7

  Abigail twirled the flower between her fingers as she walked ahead, pushing aside ferns. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had given her flowers, or a flower, as was the case now. Probably not since Scott.

  She also could not remember reacting to a man’s kiss the way she’d wantonly succumbed in his lordship’s arms. How had she allowed herself to be kissed by a virtual stranger? Even her kisses with Scott had not made her body come alive like it had moments ago in Guy’s arms. But then, she’d never known passion before Scott.

  She tried not to read anything into the gesture of the flower. At least his lordship was honest in his approach and what he wanted from her. While she was definitely attracted to him, she did not want an affair with an earl no matter how he stirred her desire. She did not want Patrick to think she’d seduced the earl for information. Best to keep their relationship platonic.

  Platonic. There was nothing platonic about that kiss or her reaction to it. Patrick was not the only thing holding her back. Maybe it was because Guy stirred her senses and she was too aware that heartbreak would likely follow. What if she fell in love? There was no future with a man of his social standing and she longed for a real home with a man who loved her. She didn’t want to grow old alone.

  She’d been swayed by Guy’s story about his tutor. The idea of love blossomed merely from hearing about the bench he’d built for his wife, and then she and Guy had shared that amazing kiss…One day she hoped to find such a man as the tutor. A man who would build her a bench, or perhaps gift her with other little thoughtful things. She wanted the fairy tale. However, normally she would not have been opposed to an affair while staying at the Argyle estate. She’d had a satisfying affair in Ireland but had quickly realized that her lover was not the man she wished to spend the rest of her life with. And here the threat of Patrick Neville and what he wanted her to do made the idea of sleeping with his lordship distasteful.

  Her thoughts of Patrick made her think about the time by the bench. For a moment Guy seemed so cold and yet he was not a cold man. He’d picked a flower and given it to her. He’d welcomed her and Dora and Molly into his home when he didn’t have to. What w
as it about the bench that upset him so? She replayed the scene in her head. He seemed to freeze when she mentioned the writing on it. It was almost as if he could not read the words. Did he have problems with his eyes?

  She watched him hacking their path through the forest. No. He appeared to see very well. An image of his face the night in the library when he told her he loved Robinson Crusoe but the book was Moll Flanders. She looked at the tall, proud, intelligent man walking ahead of her. She wondered if he had trouble reading. Was that why he needed two men of business to help him?

  Her heart began to race. Was this the family’s dreaded secret? How could a man manage an estate without being able to read? He could have a trusted, loyal friend help him. Is that why Mr. Hunter was there? Mr. Hunter told her he’d been his lordship’s batman during the war. War would likely bond them.

  She could now understand why Patrick was ferreting out the information. She frowned. Surely having trouble reading was not a crime or a scandal. She tried to understand what Patrick could do with this secret. Her thoughts were interrupted when the earl asked her, “How did you find yourself specializing in drawing plants?”

  Abigail hated that question, and it was asked so often. She had her backstory memorized and it was mostly lies. “I was lucky enough to be accepted into the School of Industry in London, do you know it?”

  “No.”

  “It was set up by Mrs. Wakefield. It’s a school for girls. It was Mrs. Wakefield who spotted my drawing talent and let me draw plants for her children’s books.”

  “And Lady Calthorpe?”

  “Her ladyship is one of the school’s benefactors. She saw my work and with some encouragement from Mrs. Wakefield, she commissioned me to find rare plants and draw them. She pays for my rooms in London when I am not traveling.”

  “You obviously love what you do.”

  She laughed. “I do. I’m also grateful for my talent. I don’t know what sort of work I’d have otherwise. This life allows me more freedom than most jobs, and also to save for my future—and Dora’s.”

  “You could marry. I realize you have to get over your fiancé, but most women look for advantageous matches.”

  “If I met the right man, perhaps I would think on it. As to Dora, I want her to achieve whatever she wishes. If that’s to fall in love and marry a good man I’d be very happy. However, I’m also ensuring she has skills that make it possible to have choices in her life.”

  “I’m sure very soon Dora will have men falling at her feet.”

  “Ah, but it has to be the right man. The wrong man can make your life a misery. It pays to have choices.”

  She heard him sigh as he walked behind her. “Choices are a luxury, aren’t they?”

  She wondered what he had no choice over. He was rich, handsome, titled…the world was easy for him. She was about to ask if he’d ever struggled, but then she remembered he was a war hero. He’d likely faced many hardships and horrors on the battlefield. She’d seen men on the streets of London still in shock, or with terrible injuries.

  She stopped and turned to face him. “You live in luxury. You could do whatever you please. Not having choices are usually the bane of the poor.”

  “True. I apologize. It’s just I would never have chosen to be the earl. If one of us was supposed to die, it should have been me on the battlefield.”

  She turned away and kept walking. She could not imagine what losing a brother was like. Losing a brother, and then having to take his place. “I’m sorry for your brother’s loss. However, I’m sure you will make an excellent earl.”

  “Why’s that? You don’t even know me.”

  Tread carefully. “I know you are kind. You did not turn me out into a cold rainy night when I arrived looking like a drowned rat, and you had no idea why I was here. You have allowed me to stay when your family is just out of mourning. Of course I have no idea of your ability to run an estate, but I suspect you can hire someone for that. You have both Mr. Hunter and Mr. Mathis.”

  Having two men of business was unusual. Perhaps he simply wanted to provide Mr. Hunter with employment, but he was also the valet, yet helped in his lordship’s study too. So lost in her musing was she, she let go of a fern palm and heard the smack as it hit his lordship.

  “Ouch,” she heard behind her. Looking over her shoulder she saw a large scratch just under his lordship’s chin.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she uttered as she stopped and offered her handkerchief to help stop the bleeding.

  “My fault. I was not paying attention.”

  “See, you are nice. It was my fault. I should have waited to see if you had hold of the frond.” As he pressed the linen to his chin she looked about. “The undergrowth is not getting any thinner. In fact, it might be getting worse. Let’s go as far as that large oak and then turn back.”

  His lordship looked past her to where the huge tree with a dangling piece of broken rope stood and she watch his face turn a deathly white. Suddenly, right before her eyes, his lordship dropped the handkerchief she’d given him, his hands going to his cravat, tearing at it like a madman, his breath coming in rasping pants.

  She took a step closer, reaching out to touch his arm at his obvious distress. His mouth was open and he was trying to breathe, as if someone were choking him, taking big gulps of air.

  “Are you all right?”

  He could not seem to speak through his—panic. Instead he stepped back, and before she could grab for him, he fell backward over a tree root. She watched as almost in slow motion he crashed into the undergrowth, the thud of his head hitting wood reverberating through her. Watching the Earl of Argyle’s eyes roll back into his head nearly made her heart stop. She rushed to kneel by his side and thanked the Lord he was still breathing. She tried to help him sit up and felt the blood at the back of his head and knew she’d have to get help. He was out cold and she could not move a man of his size on her own—but she didn’t want to leave him like this.

  She took off her jacket and covered him. Then she lifted her trouser leg and sliced off some of her pantaloons with the little dagger she always carried to help her cut plants, but also defend herself if need be.

  She bandaged his head wound as best she could, hoping that by the time she’d finished he might stir, but alas, although his breathing was even, there was no sign of recovery.

  Luckily she could follow the trail of the slashed undergrowth back to where the horses were tied. She remembered his old tutor’s house was just across the paddock. She’d go there first and see if she could get help.

  With a lot of effort she moved his lordship into a sitting position against the tree. She rested his head back against the tree trunk with the fabric from her pantaloons wrapped round his head to stem the bleeding, which had slowed.

  Then as fast as her trouser skirt would allow, she ran for the horses. She was so pleased she’d asked to ride astride.

  * * *

  —

  It only took her ten minutes to reach the cottage hidden behind a copse of trees. The door opened and a young man walked out as she drew up.

  “Could you help me, please? His lordship has had an accident in the forest and is hurt. I’m not strong enough to move him. We entered the forest just behind the bench seat.”

  The young man immediately called out to someone inside. “Simon, his lordship’s hurt.”

  A younger lad emerged, the pair obviously brothers.

  “Simon, run to the main house and summon Brodie and the other grooms to help.”

  Simon didn’t need to be asked again, he took off at a run.

  “I’m Nigel. Brodie, the head groom, is my uncle. This is Brodie’s mother’s house. We often come over to do odd jobs for her.”

  Abigail turned her horse toward the forest. “I’m Miss Abigail Pinehurst. Can you swing up behind me?”

  Nigel answered by leaping onto her horse’s rump. “Can you remember the way back?” he asked as she started to urge her mare into a gallop.

&n
bsp; On a nod they were off. In no time they reached the forest and she led Nigel to where she’d left the earl.

  * * *

  —

  Guy slowly opened his eyes. His head was pounding and it took him several moments to realize where he was—and that he was alone. He rested his head against the tree trunk and tried to sort out the jumble in his mind.

  The tree. He’d seen the tree—and panicked. He closed his eyes and moaned, which had nothing to do with pain but with embarrassment. What must Abigail think of him? What could he tell her to explain his odd behavior?

  Speaking of Abigail, where was she? He moved his head to look around and it swam. He reached up and discovered the bandage and blood.

  He tried to stand by inching his way up the tree but a wave of nausea hit hard, so he slid back down and waited.

  The problem with waiting was he had time to think, to remember. And he remembered everything of that terrible day. The way his ribs cracked under his father’s beating. The way the rope burned his neck as his father dragged him through the forest. How he’d peed himself when he realized his father meant to hang him. The way his nails scored his neck as he tried to stop himself from choking…

  He wished he could forget, but the day was hot like today and the smell of the forest invaded his nostrils and he remembered everything as if it were only yesterday instead of over fifteen years ago.

  He wished he could forget but even the death and gore of the battlefield was not as vivid as that day.

  His tutor, Mr. Heaphy, told him his amazing memory was God’s way of compensating for not being able to read or write. Mr. Heaphy realized his ability to memorize and helped him use that as a means to fool his father.

  Unfortunately, his father was not a stupid man. The day he worked out Mr. Heaphy, Reginald, and Guy had been fooling him…well, it led to his father trying to kill Guy by hanging him from the tree a mere five hundred feet from where he now sat.

  Only Reginald’s quick actions that day had saved him. It was also the day he’d run away to join the army, with Reginald’s blessing.