Married to the Earl (The Wallflower Brides Book 3)

by Samantha Holt

  “I do not mind at all. You know I take pleasure in organizing things.”

  Joanna followed Mrs. Dandridge downstairs to the drawing room that looked out over the front of the house. Carts rolling by and the chatter of people could be heard through the long windows and shadows of passersby flashed across the gauzy curtains.

  Ambrose stood by the empty fireplace, hands clasped behind his back. Her heart gave a jolt at the sight of him and she sighed inwardly. There was no denying he was handsome, and somehow getting more and more handsome by the day. It was mightily unfair. Handsome men never did much for her—she rather liked a person’s mind first—but the man was proving time and again that his mind was quick, and kind, and witty.

  It would be so much easier to avoid kissing him if he had the personality of a toad.

  “Shall I bring you some tea?” asked Mrs. Dandridge.

  Joanna looked to Miles, who shook his head. “I am fine if you are.”

  “Not for now, thank you, Mrs. Dandridge.”

  The woman ducked out of the drawing room and closed the door. Joanna smiled to herself. Gone were the days when she had to entertain a man with the door open and her mother nearby, listening in carefully. What an odd thing it was to spend so many years with everyone concerned for her reputation but now that she was widowed, no one cared one jot.

  The room seemed to shrink once the housekeeper had left. Aunt Liza’s house was no small one, but Ambrose seemed to suck the air out of the room and not in the most unpleasant way.

  Next to him, the stone fireplace appeared small and fragile. The George III chair in one corner would surely not hold his weight. Neither would the chaise longue. Ambrose was no huge man, not like Augusta’s husband, but the way he held his shoulders, how he kept his head raised, his gaze confidently lingering on her...he owned the space as though it were his drawing room.

  “I thought we were to meet tomorrow.”

  His lips quirked. “A pleasure to see you too.”

  “Ambrose, it has been mere days since we last saw one another.”

  “Too long.”

  She resisted the desire to roll her eyes at his charm, even though it warmed her slightly inside. “I have barely unpacked.”

  “So you have no time for a gentle stroll?”

  “I really shouldn’t leave Augusta to it...”

  “I visited with Mr. Barnes yesterday.”

  She straightened at this. “Oh?”

  “Are you certain I cannot persuade you to go for a walk? I promise I shall not dominate your time.”

  She blew out a breath. After several hours in the carriage, she longed to stretch her legs, and, naturally, he had her interest piqued with mention of Mr. Barnes. But it wasn’t fair to leave—

  “You should go.”

  Joanna swiveled to find Augusta peeking through the door. To think, she had been so absorbed in Ambrose’s arrival here that she had not even heard the door open.

  “Go,” insisted Augusta. “I’m tired after the journey so I shall be quite happy here.”

  Joanna narrowed her gaze at her friend. Her clear, fresh complexion revealed no fatigue and she had not seen her yawn or stretch once. “I do not think—”

  “I really think you should go,” Augusta pressed.

  “Oh, very well.”

  “I shall not make it too intolerable, I promise,” said Ambrose.

  After retrieving her pelisse, Joanna followed Ambrose out onto the pavement. “I thought we might wander to the park.” He pointed toward Hyde Park.

  The roads were thick with traffic, making conversation difficult until they reached the park. Great swathes of grass stretched out, cut into segments by wide paths. Daffodils bloomed in yellow splotches, swaying in the light breeze. Though the noise of people and carriages rattling by could still be heard, it seemed like a utopia compared to the busy streets.

  “I have only been in London a mere hour or so. How did you know I was here?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “It was easy enough to calculate what time you would arrive.”

  “I am certain this conversation could have waited until tomorrow, really.”

  “In which case, you could have declined the walk, but you did not.”

  Her cheeks warmed. He knew, he just knew. She could have gone against Augusta. After all, she had never been one to be bullied into doing anything she did not wish to do. It wouldn’t be the first time she had declined going somewhere with an interested man. But she had been unable to fight against it, no matter how hard she tried. She wanted to be in Ambrose’s company.

  “I needed to stretch my legs,” she said blithely.

  “Of course.” He released a knowing grin and she wanted to lecture him for being so smug, but she could not. If she did, then he would know for certain he was right, and she wanted nothing more than to spend time with him.

  “So will you tell me of Mr. Barnes? Is he to return as trustee?”

  “I think not.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Honestly, Joanna, we are better off without the old stick.”

  She glanced at him, spying his clenched jaw, and frowned. It was not like Ambrose to lose his temper. In fact, she was fairly certain he did not have one, but there was no avoiding the tension in his expression and the way his finger flexed when he mentioned the man.

  “What happened?” she asked softly.

  “Let us just say that Barnes is not the sort of man I ever want to work with again.”

  “Ambrose,” she pressed.

  “He made derogatory comments about you and your sex in general,” he admitted. “The man had me riled, I’ll admit that.”

  “You did not do anything silly, did you?”

  He shook his head. “As much as I wanted to strike the man down, there was no victory to be had in beating an old man.” Ambrose lifted his shoulders. “Unfortunately, men like that will not learn. It is a shame as they miss out on so much of what the opposite sex has to offer.”

  Joanna eyed him as they strolled past a huge tree, its trunk almost the width of a carriage. Generous leaves shaded them briefly from the sun, offering a good look at his expression.

  “There are a lot of men like him I am afraid. You cannot go around attacking them and hoping they suddenly change their minds.”

  “It is mightily tempting,” he muttered.

  “What will we do without him?”

  “I am fairly certain I can entice someone new onboard—someone with less old-fashioned ideas, I think.”

  “Well, thank you.”

  He paused. “What for?”

  “For standing up for me.”

  He shook his head. “I think you are entirely capable of holding your corner.”

  “Nevertheless, it is nice to know someone is fighting alongside you.”

  “Anytime, Joanna. I mean that.”

  His lips curved and she could not help her gaze darting to them, recalling, remembering. Lord, how wonderful his mouth had felt, how delicious he had tasted.

  A horn from behind made her jump. She twisted to see a small carriage drawn by a horse barreling toward her. Everything stilled as she stared the huge animal down, its hooves pounding in her ears.

  “Jo!” Arms banded about her waist and hauled her off the path. She felt the woosh of air as the vehicle rushed past her. The driver shouted something which she did not think was an apology.

  “Bloody idiot,” Ambrose murmured near her ear. “Stupid fool,” he muttered again. “Are you well?”

  She eased back, peering up at him. All she could do was nod. His arms remained around her, supporting her body. His chest was crushed against her chest, making her aware of each heavy breath. She swore she felt his heart pounding through his chest to hers and her gaze fell to his lips again. She closed her eyes and lifted her chin.

  “Not here.” He released her and she snapped her eyes open, feeling cold and bereft. But only for a moment. Ambrose took her hand and dragged her behind the huge trunk of a tree.
He pressed her up against the bark, holding her captive.

  Not that he needed to. She was there, oh so willingly.

  He brushed a strand of hair from her face and tilted her chin with a finger. “What do you want, Jo?”

  The casual use of her name warmed her further, making her limbs feel weak.

  The words burned on the tip of her tongue. She fought to hold them back but couldn’t even be certain why now. Why did she keep denying him? Why was she not allowed to take a lover? What would be the harm?

  “Jo?” he prompted.

  “Kiss me,” she said, the words rushing out on a gasp of air. “Please kiss me.”

  She half-expected some smug retort but he didn’t even smile. His gaze lingered on hers before dropping down to her lips. Finally, with a slowness that had her wanting to claw at him and drag him to her, he looped an arm around her waist and settled his lips over hers. All fight had gone, and she was lost, she just knew it. Regardless as to whether she was ready to take a lover, regardless as to whether Ambrose was even the right man for her, she was here now, and he had her claimed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Joanna stepped out of the carriage and slipped her fingers into Ambrose’s open palm. He curled his gloved hand around hers. A shiver ran through her, making the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. She glanced around at the people gathered on the pavement and swallowed hard. A tiny part of her longed to dash back into the carriage and burrow under the plush cushions there. How silly she was. There was nothing wrong with her spending time with Ambrose alone.

  Though, now she was wondering if she should have insisted Augusta come with her. However, after admitting to her friend she had kissed Ambrose not once but several times, her friend had insisted she would feel entirely silly being with them at Vauxhall.

  Joanna had not said it aloud, but she suspected her friend was well aware where this evening might head. As much as Joanna wanted to visit with some of the entertainers in Vauxhall and ensure their attendance at the fair, there were other reasons she wished to come out with Ambrose tonight.

  She resisted the desire to press hands to her swirling stomach. How was it this man could make her feel so unsettled, so like a young debutante hoping her introduction to society would go perfectly? That was the last time she had felt such a sensation and it made her feel giddy and a little silly to be experiencing it again.

  “It is busy tonight,” she remarked, forcing her attention on the people crowded around the entrance building to the pleasure gardens.

  “Madam Saqui is here tonight, I believe.” He nodded over to the poster plastered upon a wall, the acrobat’s name featured in bold writing near the top.

  “Imagine if we could have her perform at the fair, what a draw that would be.”

  “I somehow doubt she would have the time or inclination to perform for charity,” he commented. “Besides which, where the devil would we hang a tightrope?”

  “One of the balconies at Charlecote, of course.”

  He chuckled. “What a sight that would be! Let us not have any death-defying feats and stick to the course. I think jugglers will be just fine.”

  “And my mother will not have a heart attack. She always did loathe Madam Saqui’s tightrope act.”

  “I can see why she is a draw. I’ve enjoyed her past performances.”

  Ambrose offered her an arm and she took it, allowing him to lead the way into the entrance building. The outside revealed little of what they were to expect, and Joanna had always rather liked that.

  When she had first come out and been allowed to visit Vauxhall Gardens, the wide, brick building had been so deceptive. She had wondered for a moment if the gardens would be nothing more interesting than some of those she had visited locally, but once one stepped inside the building, purchased their ticket, and exited into the gardens, one realized there was nothing that could compare. From that day onward, she had adored the gardens and the visual feast it provided.

  Ambrose purchased their tickets and they stepped through the crowds. There was no instant relief from the noise of overly loud conversation once they stepped out onto the Grand Walk which led all the way down through the center of the gardens. The military band played nearby, and people crowded the paths walking in groups of up to at least eight people. Lamps were lit in every corner, on every tree, like little dancing fairies playing about the branches. She had always wondered how they lit all of them and imagined hundreds of men scurrying around to light them before the gardens opened in the evening, but her father had rather spoiled the picture by explaining the mechanics behind the lighting system and how it could be easily done in minutes.

  Regardless, she still felt as wide-eyed as ever, especially on the arm of Ambrose—a man who was not her husband or male relative.

  Her stomach danced again, and she drew in a breath, catching the scent of lamp oil and an overly perfumed woman.

  “Any preference as to where we go?” Ambrose asked.

  She shook her head, lifting her gaze to the lamps above them while they walked under the trees toward the Rotunda.

  “You’re quiet, Jo, it is unlike you.”

  She could confess, she supposed. Tell him that it was because she could think of nothing else apart from where this night might end. It was all unspoken and yet the possibility was there. It had to be, surely? Ambrose was not the sort of man to turn down a willing woman and she was certain she could bear it no longer. To be in his arms, to feel his kisses, his mouth against her skin. She could think of nothing she wanted more at present.

  If it did not happen, she might very well turn into a mad woman.

  “Vauxhall always has this effect on me,” she lied. Well, it was a half-lie. It always enchanted her, but it was only half responsible for her silence tonight.

  “You look like a little girl, seeing it for the first time.”

  She glanced at him, finding his gaze lingering upon her. “It is very hard not to take pleasure in the gardens. They are so beautifully done. I cannot think of a sight I enjoy more.”

  “I can,” he replied, a brow arched, his lips curving.

  “You are flirting with me.”

  “Always. I simply cannot help myself.”

  “So when you derided me for my interest in the hospital, that was flirtation?”

  He glanced at the floor. “I was not at my best, I shall admit. I did not see what you could offer.” He grimaced. “Good Lord, I am turning into Barnes with old age.”

  Joanna shook her head vigorously. “That would be impossible. Mr. Barnes is incapable of changing, you, however, are. After all, you are the one who defended my ideas to him.”

  “Goodness, that almost sounds like a compliment.”

  “Almost.”

  “Shall we head to one of the supper boxes?”

  “Not quite yet,” she said. She wasn’t certain her stomach could take food whilst it was tangled with nerves and anticipation, but a glass of arrack would not go amiss at some point.

  They ambled through the rotunda and Joanna paused to admire the luxurious fabrics hung from the ceiling which had changed since last time. When she glanced at Ambrose, she found him staring at her, his gaze heated. A fresh flood of sensation rushed through her, pooling low in her gut.

  God, this man would be the undoing of her.

  Once they exited the rotunda, they continued down what was known as the dark walk, moving farther away from the chatter and noise of visitors. She sucked in a breath as strains of music reached them amongst the lit trees.

  “What is it?”

  She pressed a finger to her lips and tilted her head. “One of my favorite songs to dance to.”

  “Ah.”

  “I cannot wait to dance again.”

  “Why wait?”

  “Pardon?”

  He took her in his arms before she could fathom his intentions. A strong arm banded about her waist to hold her firmly against him and he took her hand. The breath vanished from her lungs at his pro
ximity.

  They were entirely alone on this path, making every sensation, every touch of his body, of his fingers, seem entirely more scandalous somehow. He moved his feet and she had no choice but to follow. She was widowed and should not be dancing, however, there was nothing she wanted to do more than be swept up in his arms in this magical setting.

  Joanna closed her eyes for a few steps, allowing herself to disappear into the moment and forget that she was a widow, that her life had not gone the way she planned. She was an innocent debutante, full of hope, sharing her first dance with this enigmatic, handsome lord.

  When she opened her eyes, she found him staring at her. “What is it?” she asked softly.

  “It is hard not to look at you,” he confessed. “You fascinate me.”

  She smiled. “I do not think anyone has ever said that to me before.”

  To be certain, she had been called handsome and beautiful and a few other flattering words, but never fascinating.

  “I am glad I could be the first.”

  It was only when he moved a hand to touch her face did she realize they had stopped dancing. Goodness knows, her head still spun. He remained close, his hand on the small of her back. The faint pressure there made her feel protected yet aflame, as though she were standing too close to a fire, but she knew his hold on her would prevent anything from happening to her. She had never had to take risks in her life before—everything always happened so easily for her.

  But, tonight—even if it was just tonight—she wanted to take that leap into the flames.

  “Kiss me,” she urged.

  “As you bid.”

  She caught a brief glance of the wry smile before his lips met hers. Joanna closed her eyes and sank into the sweet warmth of his mouth, feeling those rippling flames roll through her until every part of her body tingled. He swept his tongue into her mouth and pressed the kiss deeper, leaving her breathless and weak in his arms. His hand curved around her neck, opening her up to him. She gave him everything he wanted, moving her body against his and sensing his arousal against her skirts.

  Chatter from behind one of the rows of trees broke through the cloud of desire muddling her brain. Ambrose eased away, holding her still so that there was no cold shock at the lack of his embrace. He held her close, her head tucked into his neck until the conversation faded, then allowed her to ease away.