An Earl of her Own

by Heather Boyd

  Rafferty squinted at her and then the comb. “What do you intend to do with that?”

  “There’s blood on your face and your hair.” Rebecca smiled tightly and began dabbing at his bloody skin carefully, and then his hair. The spillage wasn’t too widespread, so it was only a matter of moments before she was satisfied. Once the blood had been removed, Rebecca carefully combed his dark hair into pleasing waves.

  He looked up when she had finished. “Would my dying bother you?”

  “I’ve no idea. Why do you ask?”

  He smiled softly. “In the avenue, after the accident, you said you didn’t want me to die.”

  She gaped. “You fainted.”

  “No.”

  If Rafferty had heard her plea that he not die, then he had possibly heard it all—her rant about him and the disappointments of her life too.

  He waggled his brows, which she took as confirmation.

  Oh, he was devious! Face flaming, she clenched her jaw a moment before speaking with forced civility. “Why would you pretend to faint?”

  “I closed my eyes because the world was spinning, and I kept them closed to fight off a wave of nausea. I was not in a fit state for conversation with a lady of your delicate sensibilities. To be honest, I was desperate to say what was really on my mind at the time.”

  “Do tell?”

  He shrugged. “I should like to clear up a misunderstanding between us. What you said about me, before your father arrived, is quite incorrect.”

  “You should never have heard anything of the sort,” she complained. “If you were a gentleman, you would have made your consciousness known.”

  “If I had appeared awake, I doubt you would ever have been so forthright.” He winked. “I do not pity you in the slightest. I merely like the challenge of getting under your skin. For the record, it’s my opinion that any man who turns his back on his lawful wife is an idiot. If you were mine, you’d be in this bed with me already.”

  She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Even in his sorry state, he thought only of pleasures of the flesh. “Unbelievable.”

  “I can see that my confession has unsettled you, but I will not apologize for being blunt. I may not have an opportunity to be so again, so please bear with me. We’re lucky to be alive, and I don’t intend to waste another moment worrying about offending your delicate sensibilities.” He sat up slowly. “You are an attractive woman, and I think you actually do like me.”

  “I don’t. I—” He started to rise, and she held him down. “Where are you going? Stay in that bed, my lord.”

  “Now if only you would say that to me when my health is improved.” He pointed across the room as he subsided again. “I’d like some wine to dull the pain. Please.”

  Rebecca shook her head. Rafferty was pickled more often than not. A few drinks and he might forget all about her and this improper conversation. “I’ll fetch you a glass.”

  “Thank you. I could kiss the person who sent that bottle up.”

  Rebecca choked. She may have sent the wine but she did not want to kiss him. Rafferty’s overfondness for spirits was something Rebecca thoroughly disapproved of. However, today she was feeling slightly more sympathetic than usual. Receiving stitches was never pleasant.

  She handed him a measure, and when he drank the lot, she fetched the bottle and refilled the glass for him. “Your valet should be summoned to look after you.”

  “I sent the fellow away. He’s an expert at polishing my boots to a high shine and starching a neck cloth, but he’s useless for ailments. Stomps his way through my chambers all the time, too. My head hurts too damn much to put up with that.”

  “Language, my lord.” Rebecca sighed, realizing that for the moment, she was all the earl had. “What else can I fetch for you?”

  “Now that you mention it…” Rafferty’s eyes lit up with excitement—eagerness. When his outstretched hand brushed her hip, she dodged him easily.

  “Not that,” she chided, shaking her head in exasperation. “Can you only think of one thing?”

  “Naturally, I’m a man.” He chuckled softly and drank the remainder of his second glass. “It seems a little bright in here.”

  Rebecca went to the tall windows and drew the curtains closed, throwing the room into near darkness. Once her eyes had adjusted, she returned to the earl. “Anything else?”

  “The bottle,” he admitted quietly. “Bring it to me.”

  She picked up the bottle again, but Rafferty wouldn’t let her refill the glass.

  He sighed and held out his hand. “I appreciate your assistance more than words can say, but you don’t need to see me at my worst. You should go. My head is killing me.”

  “Very well.” She looked at the bottle and reluctantly handed it over. “Shall I have another sent up, too?”

  He didn’t drink from it immediately, but he didn’t look at her again. “Probably should. Thank you.”

  She nodded, appreciating his restraint in her presence. “Do you need anyone to sit with you, keep you company?”

  “No, thank you.” Rafferty’s gaze darted toward her, and a shy smile twisted his lips. “I will rely on my imagination and the memory of your tender concern to comfort me.”

  Rebecca threw up her hands. “Oh, you are impossible.”

  He quickly caught one and brought it to his lips. “Do you realize my late wife would have left me completely in the servants’ care, were she still alive today?”

  Rebecca blinked as Rafferty kissed the back of her hand. “Surely not,” she gasped, breath coming fast.

  Rafferty smiled slyly as he released her. “You wouldn’t be the first to be surprised by that. I thought most wives the same until recently.”

  “I thought yours a love match,” she admitted. “We all did.”

  “That is what my late wife wanted everyone to think,” he confessed, looking away. “She loved the attention and envy of other women, so when she talked of our marriage, it was always with substantial embellishment of her part in it.”

  Lady Rafferty had seemed an ideal wife, and Rafferty a devoted husband. Apparently, Rebecca had been wrong. “You didn’t love her.”

  “I adored her until the very end,” he said, so quietly Rebecca shivered. He sounded so sad, and she was trying to think of a response when his gaze lifted. “Run along now and let me get drunk in privacy.”

  “Of course.” She dropped a curtsy to Lord Rafferty. “My lord.”

  He leaned in her direction. “But do come back when I’m feeling better, and we can continue our discussion. Do you hate sleeping alone, too?”

  “Yes,” she said without thinking, and Rebecca’s face flamed with embarrassment. That was too bold. She did not talk like that, or discuss the regrets she harbored with anyone.

  She turned away for the door on legs suddenly no longer steady.

  At the doorway, Rebecca glanced back once, only to find Rafferty watching her closely. She waved her fingers at him like some silly nitwit with a beau and then fled into the hall.

  Once outside, and confident she was alone, she shook her head. Lord Rafferty was a worse flirt than she’d ever imagined; even injured, all he could talk about was pleasures of the flesh.

  But what was genuinely unaccounted for was that she could still feel the touch of his lips on her skin even now.

  Chapter 3

  Adam drank the afternoon away, acutely aware the pounding in his head accentuated a newfound dread for his own mortality. He might have died today. He would have died without an heir, too. Perhaps it was time to consider his future properly.

  It was time to marry again.

  Adam could not trust his future to fate. Even Whitfield knew he’d be the next man leg-shackled. Succession aside, there was also his daughter to consider. Adam couldn’t leave Ava all alone in the world, at the mercy of a distant relations kindness when they inherit everything that should have gone to a son.

  Adam leaned back and closed his eyes. He had hoped, no exp
ected, to marry for love again. His first wife had appealed to him from the moment he’d laid eyes upon her sweet face. He’d asked for her hand within weeks of that first meeting and had never regretted his impulsive decision.

  He opened his eyes and looked about his empty room. If romantic love were denied him, Adam must choose with his head. But what qualities did he want in a second wife?

  The answers came quickly. The lady he would marry had to have the right family connections, intelligence, obviously, a sweet, biddable temperament, and most of all they had to be compatible in the bedchamber. Someone nearer his age would be acceptable too. Giggling young ladies fresh on the marriage mart were a trial to talk to. He wouldn’t want to bed one.

  He also wanted someone who might come to care about him one day.

  A lady he could tease.

  He grinned suddenly, remembering the day in a completely different light.

  Adam had flirted with Rebecca Warner today and survived to do it again. She had complained, of course, but still had shown real concern for his wellbeing. He had thoroughly enjoyed being the center of the woman’s attention too, even if the peace between them couldn’t last. Rebecca had made it plain on many occasions that she did not approve of him. As a wife Rebecca Warner would be unbearable. He’d never have a moment’s peace.

  Adam lifted his hand to his head and carefully felt through his hair for the wound. He must have hit his head harder than he suspected to be considering Rebecca as anything more than someone to annoy on occasion.

  If he were truly foxed, out of his mind with drink, he would never consider the effort it would take to win Rebecca Warner’s good opinion for any reason.

  No, Rebecca Warner would never do for him as a wife. He probably shouldn’t pursue her for a lover either. Rebecca was most definitely the marry first, kiss later sort of female. She would not fall easily into his arms.

  He tossed the bottle aside in frustration.

  No, Adam required wife not a lover. He needed a son to inherit Gable Park and his fortune. In a few short years, he would be launching Ava on the marriage mart also. He’d need help for that, so of course, a wife would help with the chore.

  A knock sounded at the door, and he looked up slowly—almost excited that Mrs. Warner might have returned to check on him but discovered her father instead. He was profoundly disappointed by that.

  The Duke of Stapleton waited at the open door, a ready smile on his face. “Can I come in?”

  “Assuredly.” Adam sat up straighter when he noticed the duke had a fresh bottle in his hand. “Is that rum, perchance?”

  “Indeed,” the duke murmured as he uncorked the bottle, and Adam caught the scent a moment later.

  “Thank you.” Adam needed a stronger beverage to get him through the long and lonely night ahead. He had been feeling sorry for himself since the accident. And since Adam’s confession to Rebecca about his late wife’s fickle nature, he had become unwisely nostalgic, too. He missed being married, even if his union hadn’t been ideal in the end. He was glad of the distraction a new bottle brought, and his host, too. “The bottles of sweet wine you sent up earlier have done their job, and I’m ready to continue.”

  The duke frowned. “I didn’t send any wine up to you.”

  “Ah, well, whoever it was knows my tastes well.”

  The duke smiled and handed over a refilled glass. “How are you feeling now?”

  “I’ll be right as rain soon enough.”

  “Good.”

  Adam sipped the stronger beverage slowly, relishing the taste. A few of these and thoughts of what he’d put himself through soon would indeed be banished from his mind tonight. The marriage mart was no picnic, and he’d be returning for the season to survey the available ladies every year until he had chosen a wife. Stapleton had had it blessedly easy. “So the announcement was made but have you really made peace with your youngest’s decision?”

  The duke scowled and strolled to the window and looked out. “She gave me little choice in the end.”

  “And Whitfield? Have you really forgiven him?”

  The duke continued to stare out the window and didn’t answer.

  Adam swung his legs off the bed and stood slowly. He was very pleased the world was steady again because he’d had as much lying about as he could tolerate for one day.

  He shuffled to the window to see what kept the duke’s attention.

  Out on the lawn, in full view of everyone at the manor, Whitfield and his future bride were holding what seemed to be an enthralling discussion as the sun set. Adam remembered those sweet moments fondly. Holding hands, stealing kisses, and the later discreet encounters that made falling in love so easy. For him, those heady days hadn’t lasted much beyond the first year.

  “No one can help who they fell in love with.”

  “It’s an adjustment.” The duke looked at Adam and nodded. “But there’s no turning back now. Besides, what does it matter anyway whether I’m happy or not?”

  Adam shrugged. “I wanted to make sure all is well before I ask for a favor.”

  The duke narrowed his eyes. “What sort of favor?”

  “I’ve been away from home too long, and if I’m to stay until the wedding occurs, I’d like to send for my daughter to join me here.”

  The duke’s brows rose high. “She’s always welcome to visit when you come. I should have thought to say so before.”

  “Good. Ava’s had little to do with society, and it is high time she met your grandchildren. The wedding seems an opportune time for them all to become acquainted with her.”

  The duke laughed softly. “And you miss her.”

  “Indeed. As much as you will miss your daughters when they all leave you.”

  “Well, there’s to be another child by winter, so I imagine I’ll never be alone again for the next twenty years.” The duke grinned. “The more the merrier, I always say.”

  Pleased that Ava’s arrival wouldn’t be an imposition, he considered the upcoming house party. The Westfalls were a large family with many branches to be found in all corners of England and Ireland. Adam hadn’t met half of them yet, and he’d known the family at least twenty years or so now. “How many are coming to stay for the wedding?”

  “A goodly number but none of the Irish lot, of course. They’d never arrive as fast as my daughter wishes to be married, but I’m sure they’ll understand.”

  “But your heir is coming with his children?”

  “Milo had better bring them this time. No doubt Samuel is coming with the twins, so unfortunately, Lady Ava will have the worst of my lot to contend with. I’m not sure about the other guests yet.”

  Lord Samuel’s twins were said to be a handful, a pair of rebels in the making. “I’m sure she’ll manage.”

  But Adam worried about his daughter a great deal anyway. She had no one but servants for guidance until he married again. His influence wasn’t the same as having a mother to advise her how to be a proper lady.

  “It’s hard not to worry about your children, especially when they’re stubborn,” the duke admitted.

  Adam considered that. “Ava isn’t stubborn. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Give her time and appreciate these carefree days.” His grace chuckled. “It’s when she’s out in society and later that you’ll lose a great deal of sleep over her.”

  “Was Lady Jessica so worrying for you?”

  “They all worry me.”

  Adam laughed softly and leaned a little to the side and hooked his finger into the collar of his discarded coat. “I suppose it is natural for fathers to worry, no matter their offspring’s ages.”

  “What do you think you’re doing?” the duke demanded suddenly.

  “What does it look like? I’m dressing.”

  The duke took Adam’s coat from his fingers. “You’re not leaving this room.”

  “I am. I owe my daughter a letter, but I’ve nothing to write it with here. I am going to the library, and then I think I might find
a comfortable chair to drink the night away.”

  The duke unexpectedly helped Adam put on his coat as if he were a valet. “I know just the right room for you. Quiet, out of the way. I’d be happy to join you later.”

  “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” It occurred to him suddenly that if he married again, his new wife might have been with him while he drank the pain away. Or maybe if he was married, he might not want to drink so much.

  Adam collected the bottle of rum and tucked it under his arm. “Lead the way, your grace.”

  Halfway down the stairs, they met the duchess, who was on the way to her own rooms. It was clear as day that the duke and duchess liked each other. When the duke promised to follow her once Adam was settled, and then watched her walk away, Adam stifled a laugh.

  “How did you do it? Forget that once upon a time you had a life with someone else.”

  The duke raised a brow. “A second marriage is not lesser than the first. It takes courage to consider such a change, but I really had nothing to lose. I fell in love again quite painlessly, I assure you.”

  Adam smiled at the way the duke described the upheaval of taking on a wife. The arguments, the compromises that must be made. Not all marriages were peacefully lived. “I always thought marriage was about finding someone you wanted to annoy for the rest of your life.”

  The duke roared with laughter and gestured to the back of the manor, instead of the library. “That’s a unique way of putting it.”

  Adam rubbed his jaw. The duke had married his daughter’s companion, Mrs. Gillian Thorpe, after more than half a year of knowing each other. Her grace had no fortune or exalted connections to speak of at the time. If she hadn’t been employed here, the pair might never have met or married. There had to be a reason behind his sudden decision to remarry. “Proximity, I suppose, helped with your pursuit.”

  The duke smiled, a hint of roguish victory in his expression. “Of course. How else can a man in want of a wife capture her attention if he is never near her?”