Married to the Earl (The Wallflower Brides Book 3)

by Samantha Holt

  “I should imagine you would rather see it as a grand house once more, ready for a ball.”

  She glared at him. “Considering we hardly know one another, Lord Newhaven, it is a wonder you can imagine anything that I might think.”

  He shrugged. “It is not hard to take a guess.”

  “If we wish to take guesses, I would rather expect you would prefer this house to be used for raucous house parties.”

  His lips quirked. “I suppose we should cease guessing then.”

  “That would be preferable, yes.”

  “Let us continue our tour.” He opened another door, leading through into a drawing room.

  No furnishings existed and a thick layer of dust coated the grand stone mantelpiece. Beneath her feet, the rugs were worn and frayed. “This is going to take a lot of funds.”

  “My understanding is we have enough to ensure the house can be converted into a hospital, but our current pledges will not cover the ongoing running of it.”

  So, he knew something about his charity. That was interesting. She could not be certain why the earl had decided to take a closer look at how things were run but he was not entirely ignorant. However, if he was to be interfering with her work, she would have to speak up. They had far too much toil ahead of them for him to be causing any chaos.

  She paused by the fireplace and turned to face him as he wrenched open the shutters on one window. Blinking in the sudden influx of light, she tilted her head. “Why exactly have you decided to assist the charity? Mr. Bartlett told me you are only a figurehead.”

  “Well, that is incorrect. I am also the biggest donor.”

  She lifted a brow.

  “Does it surprise you that I might wish to actually have a hand in the running of the charity?”

  “Frankly, yes.”

  A smile curved his lips. “Well, I do enjoy a frank woman.” He strode over to join her by the fireplace. “And why have you taken up the mantle as the charity’s latest philanthropist?”

  She could come up with some pithy remark perhaps. Some flippant reply that would have him eyeing her with amusement once more, but she could not help feel they had reached some odd moment of honesty. She blew out a breath. “I should like to find something useful with which to occupy myself. Being a widow is a tiresome occupation.”

  “For someone like you, I imagine it is.”

  “Someone like me?” She stiffened her shoulders.

  “Someone as vivacious and as intelligent as you.”

  The air flew from her lungs. She let her shoulders drop. “Oh.” for some reason, the flattery made her cheeks warm.

  Preposterous.

  While they might have rarely engaged in conversation, she knew well enough Lord Newhaven was excellent at flattery. Regardless, she could not help but let the words ring over and over in her mind, even as they toured through the rest of the miserable, dusty house.

  With any luck, she would be able to forget the words as soon as she was out of his presence. And she had no doubt it would be soon. There was no chance the Earl of Newhaven would wish to continue his work with the charity. Before long, he would be bored, and she could continue on without him.

  Chapter Four

  Strains of music drifted through the air, fighting to be heard over the female chatter that surrounded Ambrose. He didn’t much mind balls—even local ones—but he struggled to focus on what was being said to him.

  Mostly because Mrs. Lockhart was in attendance.

  She stood with Viscountess Ashwick and another young woman with unruly cinnamon-colored hair, all the way over on the other side of the earl’s ballroom.

  But she’d spotted him. As much as she was trying to pretend she had not, he could feel her gaze dart over to him every now and then. For some reason, that woman’s attention made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

  It could be because she was beautiful. It might even be because she was stubborn and unwilling to bow and scrape at his feet. He smirked to himself. He was not without experience of strong women—several of his lovers had been similar—but none quite seemed like Mrs. Lockhart and he could not fathom why.

  Especially when he’d done nothing but think of her since their meeting at the hospital.

  He slid his gaze across the gleaming, polished floor and eyed her as she spoke animatedly to her friends. Though in mourning wear, she shone brighter than the jeweled chandeliers above.

  Her golden hair, coiled perfectly atop her head, benefited from the candlelight immersing the room, and her skin glowed. There was no denying Mrs. Lockhart was a fine beauty with a figure to match. However, he’d known beauties just as he’d known stubborn women. So why was she so intriguing?

  She turned slightly and glanced his way. As soon as their gazes met, hers shot away and he would bet if he’d been close enough, he’d have seen her blush. He was not the only one intrigued, he could swear it.

  Well, he could stand around all day, stealing looks like some naughty schoolboy or he could go and talk to her and see if her angry demeanor toward him had dissipated. He thought they had reached some sort of an accord, albeit a fragile one, after the tour of the hospital, but it had been hard not to try to rile her up.

  Exchanging words with her had been about the most interesting thing to happen to him in weeks. It seemed her interest in helping was genuine and he could not deny she’d be a boon to the cause. If he wanted to do this charity thing properly, having her aid would be no bad thing.

  Ambrose lifted a glass of punch from a nearby tray and made his way across the room, squeezing between bodies, and stopping to exchange brief, polite greetings with a few acquaintances. Several women inquired not so subtly if he was dancing tonight. He avoided the question, knowing it was odd indeed that the Earl of Newhaven had yet to dance. He enjoyed it greatly usually but tonight...well, he was simply not in the mood.

  Mrs. Lockhart’s shoulders stiffened as he approached from behind. Her red-headed friend murmured something, and she finally turned, a tight smile spread across generous lips. “Lord Newhaven, I did not know you were in attendance.”

  Liar, he was tempted to say, but instead he set a polite smile across his face. “How odd. I could have sworn I saw you looking my way.”

  There it was, the delicious blush that he had anticipated seeing. Well worth forcing his way through the crowds for.

  “You must have been mistaken,” she said airily, wafting a fan in front of her face vigorously.

  “I must have been.”

  A moment’s silence spilled over them, her gaze clashing with his own. She knew he could see through the lie, but it appeared she was unwilling to admit it, unwilling to concede. He let his grin expand. Oh, how he liked this woman more and more with each passing second.

  Finally, she turned, snapping shut her fan and gesturing to her friends. “You must know Lady Ashwick.”

  “I do indeed.” He bowed his head toward the dark-haired woman.

  “And this is Mrs. Waverly.”

  “Ah yes, I know your father. A pleasure, ladies.” He offered out his arm to Mrs. Lockhart. “May I steal your friend for a moment? We have charity business to discuss.”

  Mrs. Lockhart scowled. “I am certain we can—”

  “Not wait another moment to discuss this,” he finished for her. “Or else, I can remain here and talk with your friends. Perhaps one of you may like a dance?”

  “No!” she snapped. “No,” she repeated a little less dramatically this time. “We can talk.” She took his offered arm and he could have sworn he heard a frustrated sigh over the music.

  Smiling to himself, Ambrose led her over to the open doors of the room and out onto the veranda that looked out over wide swathes of lawn. Lanterns were speckled across the grass and down either side of the grand stone steps that led downward. A few faint shadows implied they were not the only ones walking around the gardens tonight and he did not much blame them. The cool air of the evening brought a welcome change from the stifling
warmth of the ballroom. Not to mention, the generous gardens would provide excellent opportunities for illicit liaisons.

  Not that he was intending to seduce Mrs. Lockhart.

  No, he merely wished to talk to her further. To understand what it was that had him so fascinated. Heck, he was trying to do something different, and if he swept in and seduced the widow, he would be playing his usual role with ease. As tempting as it was, this was not the path he intended to follow, not if he wanted to surrender to that itching urge to make a change in his life.

  “A pleasant evening,” he commented as they made their way down the stairs.

  She paused at the bottom of them, drawing him to a halt with her hand still upon his arm. He glanced down at the pristine white gloves laid across the dark fabric of his jacket, momentarily wondering if this would be the only physical contact they would have during their acquaintance and feeling a tightening in his gut at the thought.

  But, had he not just vowed things were to be different? That meant he did not need to seduce every beautiful woman who came across his path anymore.

  Not that he seduced every beautiful woman. But there had been a great many.

  “I did not expect to see you here tonight.”

  “Oh?” He began a gentle stroll and she had no choice but to follow along or tear away from him. Given that there were several people around, she apparently opted to appear polite and remained at his side while they traversed the grass. The spring evening offered the scent of flowers, drifting teasingly from some unseen spot, and a few stars overhead, partially covered by just visible puffs of cloud that moved lazily across the dark blanket.

  “I had thought you would return to London.”

  “Well, I could not very well aid in setting up the hospital from there.”

  She twisted to view him, offering him a look at her slightly pursed lips. “I believe you could actually.”

  Ambrose couldn’t resist a grin. “You do not think I can offer better assistance in person?”

  “A man like yourself...” She waved a hand up and down him, “is surely better suited to remaining in Town?”

  “A man like myself,” he murmured. “And what sort of a man is that?”

  She tugged her arm from his and faced him fully, turning beside the dark outline of a tree. “You know very well what I mean.”

  “A handsome man?”

  She made a disgusted sound.

  “A wealthy man?”

  “No!”

  “A man with charm, manners, and wit?”

  She threw her gaze upward. “A man who is a rogue and a rake.” She came toward him and jabbed a finger into his chest. “A man who will surely lose interest in this hospital and leave me doing all the work before long.”

  He rubbed the spot she’d jabbed, unable to keep the grin from his face. “And here I was thinking we had come to some sort of mutual understanding.”

  “Well, I have had time to think on that...”

  “Why must women always spend so much time thinking,” he mused.

  Mrs. Lockhart sucked in a gasp. “A man who is clearly chauvinist.”

  He lifted both hands. “Come now, I adore women.”

  “Yes, when they’re in your bed,” she muttered.

  “In all seriousness, Mrs. Lockhart, what precisely have I done to offend you? Aside from being the very epitome of—what was it?—a rogue and a rake?”

  Her shoulders dropped a little and she frowned at him. “You were rude to me.”

  “I do not recall.”

  “You dismissed me from the first moment, my lord. As though I could not offer anything useful to the charity.”

  “So I judged you from what little I knew of you, and for that you are angry with me.”

  She stilled. “Yes,” she said finally.

  “Interesting.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “You think you are so clever.”

  “Oh no, I know I am.”

  “Christ,” she uttered under her breath.

  “Well, now that we have established that we have both misjudged one another, does that mean we can start afresh and perhaps work together properly?” He offered out a hand.

  Mrs. Lockhart peered at it. “I suppose.”

  “You can take my hand, you know. It is not poisoned.”

  “Men shake hands. Women do not,” she said archly.

  He shrugged. “I did not take you as the sort of woman to conform to the rules of society.”

  “As we just established, we do not know as much about one another as we thought.”

  “Perhaps we can get to know one another.” He offered his arm once more. “It is a beautiful night, shall we continue our stroll?”

  “For a little while,” she conceded. “But after that, I must return to my friends. Chloe loathes balls.”

  “Chloe is the red-headed one, correct?”

  “She is.”

  “Funny that she should be friends with you. Before you were married, I rather recall people talking of how wonderful a dancer you were.”

  “I did not realize you paid attention to me.”

  “I was a little distracted, that much is true, but one could not escape the tales of what a perfect little society miss you were.”

  Her expression soured. “You make it sound so frivolous.”

  “Balls and the like are frivolous. But fun too. And what is life if we cannot have fun?”

  She sighed. “Except I cannot dance at present and therefore I find them a bore.”

  “Ah.” Ambrose grimaced. No doubt, the widow still had some grief to work through. He should have trod a little more carefully there. “I am sorry for your loss.”

  “I’m tired of sorry,” she admitted.

  “Then I’m sorry I’m sorry.”

  Mrs. Lockhart released a light laugh. “That’s more like it.”

  “Grieving is a personal thing and people deal with it differently. I often wonder at the traditions one must go through during the mourning period. I could certainly have done with a party or two after my father’s death.”

  She glanced at him. “Yes, you are right. It is not that I am not sad, but I am just...” Her brow creased. “I’m not certain what I am but it seems silly to sit around and dwell on one’s grief.”

  “You are not wrong, though sometimes to grieve properly, one must at least spend a little time dwelling.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I spent the first month of Noah’s death dwelling. It was a sorry sight.”

  “Well you are anything but a sorry sight now.”

  “And that is the charm of which you were speaking, I presume?” she said with a smile.

  “Oh no, Mrs. Lockhart, you have only witnessed the barest bones of my charm.”

  “You may wish to work on it, Lord Newhaven, even if those are your barest bones.”

  He chuckled. “I shall try my best.” He nodded toward the house. “I think we had better return before someone notices we have been together, alone, for some time.”

  “Indeed. We would not wish to damage your reputation.”

  Ambrose laughed again. He certainly had not expected to end up working with a woman like Mrs. Lockhart, but he considered it might not be a bad thing at all.

  Chapter Five

  Joanna pushed back the curtain of the carriage window to eye the house as they approached down a long road. Avington Park occupied some forty acres to the best of her knowledge and was a distance away from her home, tucked in the Hampshire countryside. She had never visited it, mostly because the family—and the earl—were rarely there.

  Uniformly square, with a red brick frontage and a dashing white pediment set slightly back in the center of the building, the handsome house was framed charmingly with select trees and a vast flat lawn.

  Charming. Her mind fell on that word and she muttered it to herself. Rather like its owner.

  Who, unfortunately, really was charming, even if not in a way she had expected. She rolled her eyes to herself. After their wal
k, she had become almost convinced he was not nearly so bad as she thought, and that he really did wish to make this hospital a success. However, once they had returned to the ballroom, she spied him with a beautiful older woman, who had hardly been able to keep her hands to herself, and she could not help feel that perhaps she’d been mistaken to doubt her first impression.

  She blew out a breath and gripped the doorframe when the vehicle hit a slight bump in the road.

  Regardless, she had no choice but to work with him. The charity was named for his family, after all. So when she received an invitation to a meeting of the trustees at his house, she had been unable to decline, particularly because there was no chance she was allowing him to push her out.

  Why it had to be at his house, she did not know. She cast her gaze up the impressive frontage of the building as the carriage came to a halt. She supposed there was some masculine thing behind having people on one’s territory. Well, very little daunted her in life and he would need to do more than show off his beautiful home to intimidate her.

  The door opened and she offered a hand, unthinkingly to the footman, only to find bold, green eyes, crinkled at the corners, looking up at her.

  “Oh.” She reflexively withdrew her hand, but Lord Newhaven kept it held tight. She clamped her teeth together and forced a smile. “I did not expect you to greet me,” she said tightly.

  “The other trustees are gathered so when I saw your carriage approach, I thought I might take a moment to warn you.”

  “Warn me?” She climbed down and removed her hand from his, trying to forget the feeling of his fingers curled around her gloved ones.

  “The trustees are old and dull. You shall hate every moment of this.” A teasing smile spread across his lips.

  “If you are trying to dissuade me...”

  “Not one jot. In fact, I was looking forward to your arrival. You will add some color to the room.”

  She gestured down herself. “I bring no color at all, my lord.”

  “Nonsense.” He gestured up the stairs that led to two tall, wooden doors, one slightly ajar. “Shall we?”

  He led her into a large dining room and she swiftly calculated the dark mahogany table could seat thirty people. With white paneled ceilings, and rich red walls, the masculine overtones of the room were not lost on her, especially when she set her eyes on the five men who rose from the table as she entered the room.