Only an Earl Will Do (11 page)

Alice looked thoughtful, laying her book in her lap. “I will not, I promise you, but what are you going to do about him? He seems determined to have you as his future marchioness.”

Elizabeth fought not to grimace. She would never marry him, and Henry would help her gain that end. “He’s absurd, but I’m certain that in time he’ll move on to another victim.” Once they had the letter in their possession, Riddledale wouldn’t be able to crow about what he knew, for who would believe him without proof, and he would hopefully give up pursuit.

“I heard Mama saying that Josh is going to invite Lord Dean down for a week or so.” She twirled the rose about in her fingers. “He’s due to arrive by luncheon tomorrow. I fear your Lord Riddledale will not appreciate the competition.”

“Lord Dean and I are friends and nothing more, and as to what Lord Riddledale thinks on the matter I don’t give a fig.” Elizabeth mulled over what she’d once thought she could feel for Lord Dean, and realized it was nothing but ordinary. Having Henry back in her sphere, attentive and with as much honesty as they’d once shared, Lord Dean paled against the vibrant Scottish earl.

She’d certainly never had the reactions that she endured whilst around Henry. Just the mention of his name made her stomach flutter in trepidation and anticipation. No other man had ever made her feel what she felt whenever Henry cast his determined, heated gaze on her.

“If not Lord Dean, then who have you set your cap on, may I ask?” At her silence, Alice prodded her in the ribs. “Well?”

“No one at all.”

Alice frowned. “But I thought you liked Lord Dean. He was courting you at the start of the season. Has his ardor cooled?”

Elizabeth nodded, knowing the truth of her sister’s words. “You know I’ve had lots of suitors since Newland, but I’m not looking for marriage, Alice. I have little Samuel to care for and raise.” Who, she reminded herself, was due to wake up from his nap and would be awake for a play very shortly. “A husband is not a priority of mine.”

“You’re very young to stay a widow forever.” Her sister’s words reminded Elizabeth of her father’s only weeks ago and her promise that she’d at least try to find happiness in her future.

“If, and that is a stern if, I were to marry again, I would not settle for less than the deepest, heart-pounding love.”

Alice sighed. “Well, I’m sorry for Lord Dean, but the decision is yours, of course.” She sat up, pulling out a letter from her reticule. “Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you, we received a letter today from Isolde.”

Elizabeth was thankful for the turn of conversation. “You did? What did she say?”

“Just that she is staying in London only another week before traveling back to Avonmore in Scotland. She writes that Lord Muir is rumored to be courting Miss Andrews. You know, his American cousin.”

“What?” Elizabeth winced at the panic prevalent in her voice. “What did she say exactly?”

Alice nodded, her eyes bright with her sister’s interest in the matter. “Only that he’s been attentive about town with the chit.” She paused, throwing her a speculative gaze. “I didn’t think you liked Henry in that way. I know you’re friends again, but…this seems to bother you. Why?”

Elizabeth stopped listening, having started to pace before the hearth. Why would Henry court his cousin? His kisses, his mannerisms, his statements were not of a man who was interested in another. “There is nothing romantic between Henry and me.” Elizabeth pushed away the thought of their kiss and her unashamed lie. Oh yes, nothing romantic at all. “I do believe in this instance Isolde may be wrong. He’s simply being attentive and ensuring his guests enjoy their time in England.”

“And you trust his word after all that has happened between you?”

“I do.” She nodded, realizing that she did indeed trust Henry again, more than anyone else. At her sister’s continued confusion, Elizabeth disclosed the truth of the situation with Henry and what had transpired to keep them apart. Alice sat in stunned silence before she glared, her hands fisting in her lap.

“I hope you’ll serve Riddledale his comeuppance. How dare he interfere in matters that did not concern him. And trying to make you marry him. Why, I’ll never be polite to the man again.”

“You must continue on as you did before. I don’t want him to suspect of any plan to get the letter back. When I return to town I’ll try to persuade certain friends to sporadically suggest to Riddledale that he ought to hold a coming-out ball for his sister—as far as we know he’s not looking to hold one for her. It’s at such an entertainment that we intend to make our move and hopefully, all this mess can be put behind us.”

Elizabeth stood and walked to the windows that overlooked the side gardens, the green vista of endless lawns always a comfort, but what she needed to do was leave for London. It was time to take back what was rightfully theirs and be rid of Riddledale and his threats. She looked over at the rose, strode toward it, and threw the blasted thing into the fire. “I think I shall return to town.” She would deliver Samuel safely back to Newland Estate and then carry on to London.

Alice sighed. “I guess this is where I offer to stay and keep Mama company so you may travel to London?”

“Would you, dearest? That would be most helpful, and maybe in a week or two, with both Isolde and me in town, perhaps Mama will allow you to come up for a visit. Of course you’ll not be able to attend balls, but we may be able to attend the theater one evening.”

“It doesn’t signify since the season is almost over, but once you’re settled, I shall ask Mama.” Alice picked up her book again. “When will you leave?”

“Tomorrow, I think. There is a lot I need to discuss with Henry, and I cannot do it here.” She walked to the bellpull and rang for a footman. “And with any luck, by the time the season comes to a close, we’ll be well rid of Riddledale and will not have to suffer his presence in our lives anymore.”

Alice nodded. “Now that is the best of news.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I agree.”

Chapter Nine

With not much else to do, due to their mourning period, Elizabeth rode daily with Isolde in Hyde Park, a much-needed outing for them both. They cantered down the row, the smell of leather and the sound of pounding hooves always a soothing balm.

At the end of the track, they slowed their horses just as a party of three rode onto the row. Elizabeth had written to Henry asking him to meet her here by chance, and he’d not disappointed her. It seemed too long since she’d seen last.

She urged her horse abreast of Isolde’s as they walked toward Henry and his cousins. He looked up when he noticed her; the small grin only for her to see left a fluttering in her stomach. Elizabeth smiled at each of them, but the glower from Miss Andrews said more than words that their meeting in the park wasn’t ideal for the woman.

“Good afternoon, Lord Muir, Mr. Andrews, Miss Andrews,” Isolde said, as they pulled up their horses.

“Good afternoon,” Henry replied. “A lovely day for a ride, is it not?”

Elizabeth shifted on her seat, impatient to get the niceties over so she could speak with him alone. “It is a lovely day, and I’m glad to see you’re showing off our lovely park to your cousins, Henry.”

He caught her gaze and, like an unseen force, Elizabeth couldn’t look away. His eyes lit with mirth. “Are you staying in town for long?”

“Isolde leaves next week for Avonmore, but I’m staying for the foreseeable future. I’ll return to Newland Estate after the season.”

“How are you enjoying the season, Miss Andrews? I heard it said that you’re to settle here for some time. I can only assume, by such news, you like our country.” Elizabeth marveled at how Isolde could smile at someone who glowered back at her.

Much to her shock, Miss Andrews rolled her eyes with a decided sniff. It reminded her of Lord Riddledale, and she decided to dislike the American a little more because of it.

“England is tolerable, although the weather could be more congenial,” Miss Andrews said, looking anywhere but at them.

Elizabeth cleared her throat, the thought of cutting the woman here in the park with a serious setdown flittered through her mind. She wouldn’t do it, of course. For all of Miss Andrews’s faults, she was Henry’s cousin and guest.

“Well, perhaps on your next visit the gods will grant us better weather.” Elizabeth steadied her mare when it shifted beneath her, the animal itching for another run.

“My brother and I would like to travel to Scotland soon. I find I’ve had my fill of London.”

Elizabeth raised her brow. “I’m not sure if Lord Muir has told you, Miss Andrews, but Scotland is by far less congenial than England with its weather. Even in summer it’s likely to be cold. I do hope we do not scare you back to your homeland.” Miss Andrews’s eyes narrowed, and Elizabeth smiled, knowing she’d vexed the little minx. Good. With any luck, the viperish woman would scurry back to America instead of Scotland.

Miss Andrews shrugged. “I will see, will I not?”

Elizabeth patted Argo when she pawed the ground. “I’m sorry to desert you, but I must take my horse for another run. Lord Muir, would you care to join me? I know how much you are fond of riding.”

…

Henry clicked his tongue and followed Elizabeth onto Rotten Row’s track. “I won’t be a moment.” He threw the words over his shoulder, not wanting anyone else to join them. He lived to be alone with Elizabeth where no one could interfere with their chats.

“How are ye getting on back in town? I had heard the dowager has taken to her rooms at Dunsleigh. Is this true?”

Elizabeth sighed, watching two gentlemen canter down the row. “Yes, unfortunately it’s true, but I’m sure, given time, she’ll become better. My parents were a love match, as you know, and it’s hard when you lose someone you do not wish to be parted from.”

Henry couldn’t agree more. He watched her; a slight frown marred her brow, making her look sad, and the urge to hold her, comfort her, was strong. But within a moment Elizabeth seemed to shake the sullen thoughts away and said, “Father is gone, and as much as that pains us all, we must move forward just as he wished. And as for moving forward, did you receive your invitation to Lord Riddledale’s ball?”

Henry nodded, having not thought after his run-in with the blaggard in Whites that he would be invited. Luckily, his lordship had thought better of slighting him, not that Henry wasn’t fool enough to know Riddledale would be less than pleased when he received his acceptance. “I have. A most fortunate turn of the cards.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said, her eyes full of laughter. “I thought so, too. Lady Emily is a lovely young woman, and it’s quite unfortunate she was lumped with such a baboon of a brother. The ball will be a perfect opportunity for us.”

The words “opportunity for us” brought up a whole different scenario that Elizabeth and he could partake in at the ball. Of stolen moments away from the ton where he could kiss the delectable lips that haunted his dreams every night, long legs clasped about his waist in the throes of passion, of sighs and decadent kisses.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, it’ll be our only opportunity to gain entrance to his house. It’s most welcome that his lordship has decided to throw a ball for his sister’s coming out.”

Elizabeth laughed, the sound a balm to his soul. How he’d longed to hear her laugh, to make her as happy and carefree as she was as a girl. “I agree. The ball is perfect timing.”

“I will ask for the supper dance and take you in to eat, and after a quick repast we’ll sneak out to search his library.”

“You don’t think his lordship would keep the letter in his bedroom? I should hate to be caught rifling through his things in there. I’d be made to marry him on the spot, and that would never do.”

“If the letter is not in the library, then that will be, of course, our second option, but I’ll go alone, and you can keep watch if you like.” He wiggled his brows and she chuckled. “Unless you want to come into the room with me; if caught it would be I who would have the honor of your hand.”

She grinned, blushing a little. “Very amusing, Lord Muir.” She paused. “But you never know, maybe if we are successful with our plan we ought to offer up our services to Bow Street?”

Henry threw back his head and laughed. “If being a lady of leisure and an earl does not work out for us, perhaps we could.” He paused, realizing they had come to the end of the track. “Do ye wish to race back?”

Her eyes glowed with a competitiveness he knew well. “We’re not allowed to gallop on the row. You’re being a bad influence, Henry.”

“Ye have no idea, lass,” he said, winking.

Her eyes widened at his words before she kicked her mount, sending her forward and away from him at a blistering speed. He heard her laughter as he chased after her. Her horse Argo was fast and ate the distance of the track quickly, and it took him some time to come abreast of her.

She looked delectable, hair askew from the speed, her cheeks a light rosy hue. They pulled their mounts up together, both of them laughing.

“I think I won,” she said, gasping for breath.

Henry laughed; it was he who had won, for if she would only open her heart again to him, he would be the richest man on earth. “This time perhaps, but I hope to spar with ye again, my lady.”

She nodded, turning her horse to where her sister sat with Henry’s cousins under a copse of trees. “I look forward to it, my lord.”

Chapter Ten

“I cannot believe it. He has sent another gift of flowers.” Elizabeth held out the morning glory to Isolde. “I don’t know why he continues to harass me in such a way. He’s a veritable ass.” She growled and sat beside Isolde on the settee, looking up at the painting of her parents that hung above the hearth.

“He’s asked to marry you and is now, probably due to his threats, trying to woo you the old-fashioned way.” Isolde threw her a consoling smile. “Don’t let it irritate you so, my dear. They are only flowers, after all.”

In disgusted outrage, Elizabeth looked over at her sister, who sat embroidering a cushion. “How can you be so calm over it? Without even mentioning he’s trying to blackmail me into marrying him, we’re in mourning. How could he be so inconsiderate?”

The door to the drawing room opened, and Elizabeth turned to watch their butler walk in. “I’m sorry to disturb, Lady Isolde, Lady Newland, but you have a visitor who insists on being seen.”

“It’s still morning, Peter,” Isolde said, looking at the mantle clock. “Who is it that has called?”

Elizabeth too noted the time before she turned her attention back to the butler. John stood still, his wiry frame clearly uncomfortable at having to ask if they were at home in the first place. An inkling of unease crept over her and, when the butler announced none other than Lord Riddledale awaited entry, Elizabeth couldn’t hide the shudder of revulsion that ran down her spine.

“Thank you, John. Please advise Lord Riddledale we shall see him quickly, and please come back in five minutes to escort his lordship out.”

John bowed. “Yes, my lady.”

Isolde’s eyebrows rose. “Very well, I agree he is pushing the boundaries of society’s rules just a little.” Isolde held up her hand before Elizabeth could speak on that exact point. “I understand, dearest, your concern. However, let us see what he has to say for himself first before we send him to the gallows.”

Elizabeth bit her tongue and fought not to roll her eyes as Lord Riddledale waltzed into the room. He seemed to take in all the grandeur and comforts the room held and approved it all with a decided sniff. Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed at the money-hungry rogue, his desire for all things well-to-do obvious with every salacious look he bestowed on her family’s fine things. He came to stand before them, wished them a good morning, and then sat in the wingback chair across from them.

Elizabeth remained silent as Isolde smiled in welcome. “It is kind of you to call, Lord Riddledale. Pray what has brought you out so early in the day?”

He laughed and tweaked his nose. “Ah, yes,” he said, laughing out loud. “I know this isn’t the correct time for visiting, but since we are country neighbors and friends I thought you wouldn’t mind such an etiquette slip. I have come to pass on my condolences once more to your family over your father’s death and ask if Lady Newland would accompany me for a ride in the park tomorrow afternoon.”

Elizabeth felt her eyes widen at his request.

Condolences in one breath and a declaration of intent in the other.

The way this man went about was in poor taste. She may throw convention aside sometimes and do as she pleased, but Lord Riddledale knew how devoted to their papa they were. During this time of mourning, none of them would step out of line. His lordship’s wits were obviously muddled.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Isolde said. “But we are not permitted to drive in the park with gentlemen while we are in mourning.”

He waved her sister’s comment aside with a flick of his hand. “No need to stick to convention when we’re all old friends. And I saw you in the park yesterday with Lord Muir, so surely my invitation is also agreeable.”

“I’m sorry, my lord, but the answer is no. And yesterday in the park we only happened upon Lord Muir and his guests. It wasn’t intentionally arranged.” Isolde stood. “And it is probably best, since we’re alone, that you take your leave. I do not mean to be rude, but it is wrong of me to have even allowed you enter, as we’re unchaperoned.”

Lord Riddledale huffed out a breath. “But surely at your age, Lady Isolde, there is no need for a chaperone. Say, what are you now, four and twenty?” He turned his piercing stare toward Elizabeth. “And you, Lady Newland, are a widow. Perfectly acceptable me being here.”

Perfectly acceptable by society’s standard still didn’t mean they wished him there with them. Her sister blushed at the insult to her age, which was completely incorrect, and Elizabeth’s temper got the better of her, but before she uttered the words “prig” and “get out,” her sister spoke.

“Thank you for reminding me, my lord. That was very gentlemanly of you,” Isolde said.

“Always a pleasure, Lady Isolde.” Riddledale smiled, completely unaware of any wrongdoing. His lordship stood and bowed. “Lady Newland, might I be so bold to remind you I’m waiting for your answer to my question. I should like it soon, as my patience grows thin.”

Elizabeth also stood, standing almost eye level with the man. “You shall have it by the end of the night of the ball you’re hosting for your sister.”

He preened. “Very good. I look forward to the event with even more zeal.” His gaze raked her body in a most disturbing manner, and her fingers twitched, wanting to scratch out his eyes.

He was slimier than a toad, and becoming more so with every passing day. Then, much to her horror, he picked up her hand and kissed it, his wet lips meeting her skin along with the light touching of his tongue. Elizabeth ripped her hand away, wiping it on her dress. “Good day to you, my lord.”

Seemingly unfazed, Lord Riddledale smiled, leaning in close enough for only her to hear. “I’m so pleased to have you back in town, my dear. I have missed you.”

Elizabeth glared, not bothering to reply to his words as she watched him leave. When the door closed, Elizabeth rounded on her sister. “He. Licked. My. Hand.”

Isolde stared, unable to form words at that very moment. “I noticed,” she said at length. “He wasn’t good at hiding his…tongue.”

Elizabeth threw her hands up in the air. “What am I going to do? He’s beyond measure.” Elizabeth wiped her hand against her gown again, shuddering.

“He seems most determined. I hope you and Henry are able to get that letter back so this dark cloud looming over you can clear.”

How she hated the man at that very moment for treating her like something that could be bought, like a horse or a treat. “I’m determined to succeed. I’ll not let that man,” she said, pointing toward the window, “ruin my name and drag my family, including dear little Samuel, through the mud.”

The door to the room opened once again, and Elizabeth wondered who else wished to call at this time of day. “A message has arrived for you, Lady Newland.”

Elizabeth sighed and swiped the card from the silver salver. Her hands fumbled with the seal when she recognized the script. Dismissing the butler, she sat, wanting to read the missive immediately. When opening the parchment, a single violet sat atop the written words, just a small gesture that oddly meant more to her than a whole posy of hothouse blooms Riddledale thought to send.

“Who is it from, my dear?”

Elizabeth reread the note before folding it away. “Miss Duncannon. She has invited me for tea to discuss her travels. She’s returned from abroad, you know.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were friends with Miss Duncannon,” Isolde said, picking up her embroidery and packing it away in a small basket beside her chair.

Elizabeth nodded and strove not to blush. “Yes. She writes often.” She refused to react to her sister’s disbelieving stare and instead slumped back in her chair with an air of aloofness.

Isolde stood. “Well, I’m going upstairs for a bit. I’ll see you at luncheon.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I will see you then.”

Moments later Elizabeth sat alone and reopened the note. The little purple bloom’s scent wafted up and intoxicated her heart when she knew it should not. She looked to the neat flowing script and a smile quirked her lips.

E,

The violets await, abound the track that lead directly to me. Meet me there, one-of-the-o’clock.

I’ll be waiting.

H.

Elizabeth folded the missive and headed upstairs to her room. Thoughts of what she should wear bombarded her mind, the green or blue riding ensemble, hair up or down? No sooner had she had the reflections did she dismiss them. She was not a young girl anymore; to act like a love-sick fool would not do at all, and Henry certainly didn’t need more encouragement; he’d been forward too oft as it was.

They were friends, and they were working together to best Riddledale, so of course they needed to meet, but to flutter about and take too much interest in one’s dressing was too much, even for her.

She picked the blue riding gown.

…

Rotten Row had fewer horses as the weather started to turn, the wind whipping the leaves across the grounds in swirls. Elizabeth sat atop Argo. Her groom Tony, only a short distance away, occasionally checked her location before looking back up at the sky.

The echoing of hooves sounded through the woods, and Argo shifted beneath her, sensing another horse approaching at high speed. Elizabeth looked to where a single rider emerged from a copse of trees and smiled.

Henry.

She took in every detail of him as he rode toward her. The masculinity hidden under tight riding breeches, shirt and jacket that made her skin prickle in awareness knowing what was underneath the garments: a treasure trove of muscle and bronzed skin.

Nerves pooled in her belly when she thought of how they would proceed as friends if that was all they would ever be to each other. The last time such closeness had formed, a tryst beside a lake had ensued, hot and fast, delectable kisses that left one breathless and aching with need. Not to mention the heated kiss they shared only weeks ago. She shook the thoughts aside, not needing to remember what Henry looked like devoid of clothes or his mouth ravaged by her own. She was a widowed woman, a mother; her priorities should be elsewhere…but as he approached, his hair askew, all thoughts of staying strictly platonic with the gentleman present seemed too difficult.

Much too hard.

“Good afternoon, lass.”

The words of acknowledgment and the use of his Scottish term made her stomach clench. She shifted in her seat as warmth spread through her limbs. “Good afternoon, Lord Muir.”

Henry brought his horse beside hers. “Lord Muir? Surely ye can call me Henry. We’re friends in arms, after all, are we not?”

Tongue-tied, Elizabeth nodded, not sure if her words would come out as a squeak. Seeing him again, alone, only the two of them without family present—who had the uncanny ability to listen in on one’s conversation—left her as nervous as she was during her first ball.

She took a calming breath. “Of course I’ll call you Henry if you wish it.”

He smiled, his eyes alight with pleasure. “I do.” He paused, frowning up at the sky. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

Elizabeth had had her own misgivings on Henry arriving as well. Not about to state that, she clicked her tongue to move on. “Yes, the weather is turning, but I thought it best if we spoke.”

“I wanted to let ye know that a close friend of mine who’s also related to Riddledale, poor man, has drawn a layout of his lordship’s house for me. I would hate for us to get lost and end up under the stairs in the dark.”

Elizabeth met his gaze and realized that, although the words were said as a lark, his dark hooded gaze burned with intent. She shivered under the intensity of his eyes. Oh yes, staying strictly
friends
was going to be troublesome if not impossible. “That is wonderful news. I would never have thought of that.”

“I wished to be as organized as possible. We only need hope his lordship keeps the letter in the library where
apparently
from my source, his estate business is also attended to.”

“And after we have the letter, what then? Will we confront Riddledale?” How grand it would be to throw such a triumph back at the blackmailing ass’s face. To taunt him to try to ruin her family through a folly of hers that was none of his business in the first place.

“We will let him know the game is over, but that is all.” Henry laughed, shaking his head. “I can see your mind is working in its devious way. We will not gloat, lass, if that is ye thinking.”

She laughed. “La, you’ve turned into a bore since leaving for America. What happened to the Scottish fire that lives inside you? You may have dark hair, Henry, but even I know you’re a true redhead at heart.”

“You know me too well,” he replied. They rode down the side of Rotten Row beside the metal fencing that separated the track from the walking path.

“I do need to confess something, which, although I’m not overly proud of, ye should know.”

“What is it?” she asked when he remained silent, his brow furrowed. And what was it? She hoped it didn’t involve Miss Andrews and kissing her in New York. Elizabeth wasn’t sure if she ever wished to hear about that.

“I confronted Riddledale in Whites and…well, there was an altercation.”

Elizabeth snorted and then laughed. “You didn’t. Henry, you really are a natural redhead.” She reached over and clasped his long locks. The moment she touched him she knew it was a mistake. It left her longing to reach back, grab his nape, pull him across the small space that separated them and kiss him. Worse was the fact he leaned into her touch, taunting her to do exactly what she longed. Elizabeth pulled her hand away and gripped her reins. “What happened? What did you say to him?”

“I hit him, quite a bit in fact.” Henry raised his brow at her amusement, shaking his head. “He deserved a good beating, mind, but know this, even if we fail at finding the letter, I’ll not allow—and nor will your brother—ye to marry him. Scandal be damned.”

The thought of marrying Riddledale sent a chill down her spine. To have him touch her intimately, kiss her on the mouth, was more revolting than the time Henry had made her try haggis. “We cannot fail.”

A lone rider passed them, and they nodded in greeting. “Tell me, Elizabeth, how it was your marriage to Newland came about. I would like to know if ye would tell me.”