The Earl I Adore (8 page)

The way she saw it, she had a choice. She could run away, lick her wounds and continue to be embarrassed by how things had progressed today, or she could ignore
his comments and pay attention to how important it seemed to him that he set her mind at ease.

He claimed to think of her as a friend, and she believed him, despite what he had said. She bit her lip. There were worse places to start a courtship. “Of course, my lord. And thank you. You didn't need to say all that, but I do appreciate it.”

“So we are friends again?”

The smile he gave her sent a silvery flash of attraction through her blood. She nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Does that mean I can stop playing?” Lady Julia called from the other side of the room, the words laced with dry humor.

Sophie had almost forgotten that they weren't alone. One would think that would be obvious, given the music the woman was playing, but it was easy to believe they were alone when lost in the crystalline depths of Evan's eyes.

Glancing toward his sister, he chuckled and shook his head. “Yes, brat. Though try to keep the eavesdropping to a minimum next time.” He came to his feet and offered Sophie his hand. “Shall we collect you tomorrow before the duet?”

She slid her hand into his, trying not to betray the hitch in her breathing as she allowed him to help her to her feet. It had been an odd visit, but she was relieved to be back on good terms with the earl. With an uncharacteristically shy smile, she nodded. “I look forward to it.”

“S
o Lord Evansleigh's declaration of disinterest was a
good
thing?”

Poor May. She looked quite lost after Sophie's retelling of the day's events. They were only halfway through the Night of Austrian Composers event at the Pump Room overlooking the Roman Baths, but Sophie simply couldn't wait until the end to share her rather harrowing experience. Since intermission was a half hour in length, Sophie had rushed to explain it all as they stood in the corner of the hall beneath the stern statue of Beau Nash, sipping their restorative yet disgusting cups of the famous waters of the Baths.

At least two hundred other concertgoers were packed into the space, but the resulting din only worked in their favor. Anyone wishing to overhear their conversation would have to be right on top of them. As it was, she and May had their heads together like the gossipers they were, assuming it was possible to gossip about oneself.

“Yes. Well, no.” Sophie paused, pursing her lips. “Actually, it was somewhat of a good thing, liberally flavored with a healthy dose of humiliation and insult and, in the end, more or less worth the suffering.” She took another
sip of her drink, wrinkled her nose at the warm, bitter flavor, and quickly took a bite of her shortbread biscuit.

“In what way, exactly?” May asked, waving away a server who would have taken her nearly empty glass.

“Well, it secured me an invitation to join them for the operatic performance. Considering that he barely knew I existed four days ago, I count that as a success.” Step One and a Half—having a conversation with the earl—may have come about in an unforeseen manner, but it
had
come about. Clearly Step Two—having him fall madly in love with her—was practically at hand. She gave a mental roll of her eyes at that particular thought.

Beside her, May flipped open her fan with a practiced hand and put it to use. Despite the pleasant evening outside, the room seemed to be getting warmer by the minute. The wisps of pale hair at her temples stirred in the manufactured breeze as she lifted an eyebrow. “Yes, but the real question is whether or not you wish to pursue the man at all.”

“I did give quite a bit of thought to that,” Sophie admitted. “But it speaks well of him that he would put so much effort into setting things right. I can't imagine my father ever doing so. Or my mother. Or most people, for that matter.”

May dipped her head in a sort of doubtful agreement. “I suppose so. But wouldn't it be lovely if men weren't quite so adept at the art of putting one's foot in one's mouth?”

“Yes, quite.” Sighing, Sophie finished off the rest of the biscuit, savoring the buttery sweetness. The earl's willingness to apologize wasn't all of it, of course. The truth remained that the very sight of him still made her stomach drop to her toes. The sound of his voice sent chills whispering down her neck, and the feel of his skin
against hers was enough to make her weak in the knees. Truly, everything about him seemed custom made to send her heart racing.

The good news was, after he had chased her down on Camden Road, she had found it somewhat easier to form a complete sentence in his presence. That was progress, wasn't it?

“So what is your plan?” May asked, interrupting Sophie's wandering thoughts. “For your outing with him tomorrow, I mean.”

“Do you mean, how do I make him fall deeply and irrevocably in love with me?” She winked, and May chuckled, amusement lighting up her blue eyes. They were a darker blue than Evan's, but still quite striking in the candlelight. “I'm working on that part. Perhaps you could lend me your captivating good looks for the evening? Or your confidence—that would work, too.”

May rolled her eyes, clearly not impressed with Sophie's humor. “Very funny, but you are perfect exactly as you are. Besides, I think we need a plan that is a little more practical than that.” She sounded as though she had something in mind.

“What sort of plan?”

“The kind that involves your dear friend May monopolizing dear sister Julia's attention, so that you may steal off with the earl and woo him properly. Perhaps you can show him how nicely your ankle is healing.”

“May!” Sophie exclaimed, laughing at another of her outrageous suggestions.

“What? A little flash of leg has helped many a lovesick woman's cause, I imagine.”

Shaking her head, Sophie said ruefully, “Perhaps if one has their heart set on becoming a mistress. I want to
be his wife.” She belatedly glanced around, making sure no one could overhear their conversation.

“I imagine it works for both. The difference is, a mistress lets him have what he wants, while a wife keeps him breathless for more.”

Sophie covered her mouth, attempting to stifle her laughter. “You shall surely be the death of my innocent soul, Mei-li Bradford. It's little wonder your aunt wishes to keep her thumb on you.”

“Oh, please. I can see for myself you like being scandalized,” she replied, grinning wickedly.

“Did I hear someone say ‘scandal'?”

Gasping, Sophie whirled to find Mr. Thomas Wright—a
vicar
, of all things—lifting a devilish blond brow as he approached. She had met him only in passing, but from what she knew of him, he was an easy, amicable fellow. Sophie started to respond, but May beat her to it.

“Hard to say. Were you eavesdropping?”

He put a hand to his heart, the very picture of innocence. “'Pon rep, I was not. There isn't an eave in sight,” he added with a wink. “I do have remarkably good hearing, however, particularly when there is something involving two beautiful ladies and scandal.”

May's fan paused as she gave him an arch look. “Does that come in handy when you are in the midst of your flock, kind vicar?”

“Not nearly as much as when I'm away from it.”

May's laugh was clear and luminescent, rising above the buzz of the crowd. Several people turned to stare, including Lord Wexley. Sophie bit her lip at the censure she glimpsed in the viscount's eyes, but May didn't pay the least mind. “You, Mr. Wright, are clearly a devil in vicar's clothing.”

“No, simply a
man
in vicar's clothing.” He waggled his eyebrows, plainly teasing. “Now, to the true reason for my visit. I hear tell that you lovely ladies are two-thirds of a rather magnificent trio that I had the dreadful misfortune of missing.”

Sophie grinned. “Well, if that is what you heard, then who are we to argue? And as a matter of fact, our trio shall be made whole again in a few days when Miss Effington returns.”

“So I heard. Which is why I come to you, hat figuratively in hand, to beg you to lend your considerable talents to a small party I am hosting on Monday, before my father arrives and leaches all the fun from the place. Terribly short notice, I know, which is why I thought it prudent to remind you that we are practically family.”

Both May's eyebrows shot up. “Family? How on earth do you figure?”

“Well, your Miss Effington shall shortly be my sister-in-law . . . in-law. Once removed.” He rolled his fingers dismissively. “Something like that, anyhow.”

Sophie couldn't help but chuckle. “Your logic sounds remarkably like my own. In a word: convoluted. However, I am never so happy as when I am performing with my fellow trio members, so I for one would be delighted to play. May?”

“Oh, I wouldn't miss it. Assuming Charity is in agreement, you may count us in, Mr. Wright. Heaven knows my aunt would never have me turn down an invitation issued directly from one of God's servants.”

“Excellent,” he replied, clapping his hands together in a prayerful position. “God bless, and all that.” With a final bow, he turned and disappeared back into the crowd.

At that moment, the master of ceremonies stepped onto the conductor's podium and announced that the
program would resume in five minutes. Sophie sighed and turned to May. “I suppose we should go back to our seats,” she said, wishing they could spend the rest of the night planning a way to win the earl's heart.

May nodded as she snapped her fan closed, letting it dangle from the ribbon tied to her wrist. “What can I do to ensure that things go well tomorrow night?”

Shaking her head, Sophie said, “Illicit leg flashing aside, I do like your suggestion of monopolizing Lady Julia. Do you think you can talk Warden Stanwix into allowing you to attend the performance tomorrow?”

May gave a delicate little snort. “Don't worry about my aunt; I'll think of something. Anything I should know about Lady Julia, other than her sharp tongue?”

Sophie thought for a second. “She is a harp player. Also, she never had a London Season. Or
any
Season, as far as I can tell. She's spent the majority of her life at home in Ledbury, so this is all quite new to her.”

“Sounds very much like a woman I can relate to,” May replied with a wry shake of her head.

“Indeed. Let us hope you have better luck with her than I did.” As for Lord Evansleigh . . . well, if things didn't go well tomorrow, there would be no hope of achieving Step Two. Therefore, Sophie intended to put everything she had into capturing Evan's interest. If that meant breaking a few rules of propriety, well, as Mama was wont to say, the ends absolutely justified the means.

*   *   *

Evan had one objective for the evening: to not wound, insult, aggrieve, or otherwise cause harm to poor Miss Wembley. One would think this would be an easy enough task, but their past encounters had disproven that theory.

He glanced at his sister, who was watching the city passing by as their open-topped landau wended its way
down Camden Road. Much to his relief, she had been even-tempered since Miss Wembley's departure, but still . . . “Be nice,” he admonished, admittedly out of nowhere from her perspective.

Startled, she cut her gaze to him, her lips twisting in a grimace. “Pot, I see you've met Kettle,” she said, mimicking an introduction.

Touché.
Still, he didn't relent. “You know what I mean. I intend to be on my best behavior tonight, and I expect the same from you.”

“You needn't lecture me. I apologized, and I meant it.” She shrugged, fingering the tassels of her little beaded reticule. “I rather think I might actually like the girl.”

“Well, that is a relief,” Evan replied, sarcasm tinting his words.

“I'm serious. I'm impressed with how well she handled things yesterday. If I had been in her shoes, I don't know if I would have reacted half so well.”

Evan nodded, but held his tongue. He agreed with her completely on that. Miss Wembley had shown real grace, and that was something to be admired. It was one thing to accept an apology; it was another to honestly forgive. He was quite looking forward to the performance tonight, but that aside, he was pleased that she'd agreed to join them. After spending the past decade floating among the
ton
but never really engaging, it was almost a relief to allow himself to actually be honest with someone. Not that he was in the habit of lying to others, but most of his friendships leaned toward the superficial. It was a means of self-preservation for him, just as isolation was for Julia.

In fact, he'd been much more frank with Miss Wembley than he'd intended yesterday. He had revealed more of himself and of his past to her than he had to anyone
in recent memory. Why was that? Was it the inherent sweetness he sensed in her? Those big, innocent-looking eyes that really seemed to see him when he talked to her? Or perhaps it was the fact that, however unintentionally it had come about, she already knew that he was not interested in anything other than friendship. That alone took the pressure off his shoulders.

The carriage slowed as they turned down Miss Wembley's street. Every house looked exactly like its neighbors, each sporting a white door, warm-toned limestone block, and tall, shutterless windows. Even though he'd been to her house, he couldn't have said which one it was to save his life.

Moments later they glided to a stop. Before he could step down, the nearest door opened and Miss Wembley stepped out. As usual, she looked like a ray of sunshine, swathed in a becoming yellow gown and sporting a jaunty beribboned bonnet that tied beneath her chin with a floppy bow. She wasn't a conventional beauty, not by a long shot, but something about her made him smile.

“Good afternoon, Miss Wembley,” he said, quickly disembarking and offering a small bow. “You are looking very well today.” He paused, surprised when she pulled the door closed behind her. “Will not your mother join us?”

She bobbed a curtsy before shaking her head. “Good day, my lord. I'm sorry to say she has a bit of a headache this afternoon, and wishes to stay abed. Since we are not in London and the event is part of the festival, she felt Lady Julia's presence should be adequate for propriety's sake.”

“Really?” he said before he could think better of it. Honestly, Mrs. Wembley didn't seem the sort to pass up the opportunity to join them. He would have guessed she'd jump at the chance to try to push her daughter on
a supposedly eligible nobleman. It wasn't a particularly kind thought, but he'd wager it was accurate enough.

Miss Wembley's cheeks reddened as she offered a dimpled smile. “Indeed. Provided the carriage remains open, of course. A happy coincidence that the top is already down; I should hate to cause any delay in our departure. Oh, and lovely to see you, Lady Julia. Thank you so much for inviting me.”

His sister gave a little wave from where she sat. “Good day, Miss Wembley. I'm very much looking forward to our afternoon together.”

Evan relaxed. At least they were off to a civilized start. Stopping beside the landau's step, he held out his hand to Miss Wembley. “May I?”

She nodded and slipped her fingers onto his palm. “Thank you,” she murmured, the words nearly lost in the sounds of the traffic passing by. As she stepped up, the horses shifted, moving the landau just enough to upset her balance. She gripped his hand tightly as she lurched backward, and he automatically steadied her by placing his other hand at her waist.