The Earl’s Wicked Seduction (Historical Regency Romance)

by Ella Edon

  “Fine,” she said. “Whatever you want to be called, then. Are you coming?”

  “I am ready to go wherever you wish to lead me,” he replied.

  Emilia shot him a look. She was sure he was laughing at her this time, though she had no idea why. She sighed.

  “I can help you only if you promise to be silent. I’m going to take you outside, following the servant’s stairs. If you put up a fuss, then so help me, I shall get Harris to tie you up again. Now. Are you ready to leave?”

  “Yes, milady.”

  She shot him a look, checking he wasn’t still laughing at her. He was looking at the floor, though, and seemed contrite.

  She peered out through the doorway, looked left and then right, before leading him to the door into the servants’ stairwell.

  The place was dark and smelled of moldering plaster. She felt her way down, surprised as always by the rough plastered walls and the uneven, bare stone steps. She didn’t like to think of June and the others in such poor surroundings.

  We can’t have them using the main stairs, though – what would people think?

  They would think what Luke Preston thought already – that they were quite mad.

  Shaking her head at the folly of society, she led Luke down the steps towards the doorway.

  They went out into the soft morning sunshine.

  “Morning, milady,” Harris greeted her. She smiled at him.

  “Thanks, Harris,” she said. “I have the prisoner, as arranged.”

  She saw Harris give Luke a long stare. “You behave yourself,” he warned. “If I hear a moment’s trouble, I’ll break your head.”

  “I’ll be quiet,” Luke said meekly. She felt her brow shoot up in surprise.

  He can have manners sometimes.

  She stepped back to let him get up into the coach. He frowned at her. They stood opposite one another in the doorway, at a confused stalemate.

  “Milady?”

  “Sir?”

  She blushed as he gestured to the door. Of course! He was waiting for her to get in! She lifted herself up the two metal steps and sat down heavily on the leather seat, cheeks flaming.

  “I have still got manners,” Luke reproached, stepping up into the carriage. He sat down opposite her. Instantly, Emilia became aware of the proximity of his knees – they were the width of her hand away, no more. She could feel the heat of his skin through her silk skirts, and she flushed crimson.

  If anybody sees me, I’m going to be disgraced!

  No fashionable young woman would be caught alone in a coach with a strange man! The thought was scandal.

  Oddly enough, the notion made her smile, a delicious tingle starting in her belly and working its way up to her cheeks.

  It was almost as exciting as a masque. With costumes and coverings over the eyes, nobody could tell who was who. Indiscretions could happen and nobody was disgraced. Being here was almost that tense.

  “On, lads,” Harris called, and the horses stepped neatly out of the drive, into the rising morning.

  Emilia leaned back, eyes closed, as they rattled over the cobbles. The wan daylight filtered in and she felt her excitement give way to wearisome tension as they rattled out across the cobblestones.

  She shot upright as Luke shouted in vexation, eyes flashing open.

  The sight before her made her laugh, almost as much as his shock had that morning. Face red, brow damp, he was fighting with the curtains.

  “Why are they sewn together?” he demanded.

  Emilia raised a brow. “Do you think I’m stupid? That I’d let you shout and scream and show your face to every passerby on the route past the park?”

  He sighed. She saw his cheeks lift as he grinned. She felt his admiration. She smiled shyly back.

  “Very clever,” he said.

  She smiled at him. “I’m still not opening the curtains,” she said. “However much you flatter me.”

  “I assure you— I don’t flatter,” he said lightly. His eyes met hers.

  Emilia felt a slow flush of heat through her body. His eyes – that striking blue – glowed in the pale light of the carriage. They held hers with peculiar intensity. He had a small wrinkle in the corner of them, the product of many similar smiles, no doubt. His eyes held hers and it felt as intimate as if they had clasped hands.

  Emilia swallowed hard and looked at her fingers.

  “Your solicitor is in Goldsmith Street?”

  “Um, yes,” he nodded. “Very good. How did you deduce that, may I ask?”

  She raised a brow. “Father’s solicitor is also in Goldsmith Street,” she said mildly. “I think almost everyone has a solicitor there.”

  He laughed. “That’s likely true.”

  She grinned. “I imagine everybody in London, all flocking here for their legal matters. What if they all had to come on the same day?”

  “Well, the street would be blocked for miles.”

  They both chuckled. The coach slewed sideways around a corner, and Emilia’s knees bumped into his.

  “Sorry,” she gasped.

  “Easy, there,” Luke said softly. He reached out to steady her. Emilia felt his touch warm her skin.

  Her eyes held his again. Inside, her heart was pounding like a horse’s hoofbeats. She looked into his eyes and she saw a strange look in them, one that clenched inside her like a fist. He leaned forward fractionally, knee still pressed against her leg, and she felt herself melting, then she tensed.

  “You will not take liberties, Lord Westmore.”

  “No, milady.”

  He leaned back against the seat. His eyes sparkled at her, and she felt as if they looked at her in a peculiar way. It was a way that she’d seen men look at women, but only rarely, seen directed toward her. And never by somebody who made her feel like Luke did. She went red.

  “We must be almost there,” she said. “That was Baker Street.”

  “Goldsmith Avenue,” the coachman called down.

  “Very good.”

  Emilia blushed. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” she echoed.

  “Again, I was not flattering.”

  She frowned at him censoriously, but he was already alighting from the coach. He held out his hand and she stepped down. Her ankles were jarred a little by the sidewalk.

  “This way,” he said. He stepped towards the gutter, so that she could walk without danger of her skirts being soiled. She felt her heart glow at the prospect. They went up the street towards the bustling commerce where the seamstresses and jewelry-makers had their shops.

  “Easy, milady,” Luke said, as a fellow in a top-hat almost bowled into her. He linked his arm through hers, sheltering her with his body. “Mind your step!” he shouted at the fellow.

  Emilia saw the man turn around and give Luke a hard glance. Luke shrugged. They carried on.

  “Sir, you needn’t,” Emilia said, tensing her arm. It was linked through his, her wrist pressed against his chest. She could feel the rise and fall of his breathing and the soft linen of his doublet. It felt nice.

  “I disagree,” he said lightly, smiling at her. “If we appear to be together, it will arouse altogether less suspicion. Don’t you agree?”

  “Only if nobody I know sees me,” she murmured. Her heart sank. All she needed was one of the town gossips to catch her with a man, and no chaperone in sight!

  “I agree,” he said. “Which is why we’re in luck. Here is the office.”

  Emilia swallowed hard. He was pointing to an office with thick, diamond-paned windows, a sign that said, “Mr. B. Harville, Solicitor,” over the door.

  “Very well,” she said. She hesitated at the door. Should she go in with him?

  “I’ll wait here,” she declared, as he went in through the door, pausing on the threshold. “When you come out, I’ll join you.”

  He grinned. “As you wish, milady.”

  Emilia nodded and he went in, shutting the door carefully behind him. The doorbell clinked, and then she was alone
.

  “Good,” she said. Her words were unconvincing, even to her. She felt strange, standing there alone in the street without him. She hesitated in the door, then shook herself.

  “Come on, Emilia Herston,” she said firmly. “Forget about him. He’s busy, and you’re free awhile.”

  She walked across the street to where a silversmith had his premises. She looked idly over the collection, and felt her heart twist in her chest as she looked back at the office.

  “Take care, Luke,” she thought to herself. She already missed him.

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  Ella Edon is an American author of steamy historical Regency romance books. She started pursuing her childhood passion of putting stories to paper after experiencing two of the most life changing experiences of her life.

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