The Earl's Desire (2 page)

The stranger didn’t move.

“
Hey, ’tis none of yer business, so leave. I’m teaching that brat a lesson. If you won’t leave, I’ll do the same to you, you hear? And sack you, too!”

“
I do believe there are other ways to teach that child a lesson,” the stranger retorted coldly, shoving Mr. Brad back.

“’
Tis not your business, so leave it be.” He pointed his thick finger at Christine on the ground. His knees were shaking, and all because there was a devil of a big worker standing up to him. “This brat destroyed one of me precious and most expensive vases. He’s just a slum kid. No use in this world. A nuisance!”

“
This is no way to teach that boy a lesson, do you hear?” the stranger said in a low, heated voice. “Not flogging. Especially not flogging.”

“
It’s none of your business!” Mr. Brad shouted. Then, ignoring the stranger, he turned to the body on the ground and raised his strap again.

In a flash of shadows, Mr. Brad was seized by the arm and swung around, and a manly knuckle flew forward and smashed his face. His heavy body slammed against the wall and then crashed to the ground next to Christine. At once, Todd rolled up his sleeves and marched toward the stranger.

“
Behind you!” someone shouted from within the darkness.

The stranger twisted and ducked low, slipped around to Todd’s back, got him by the arm and punched him hard in the face. The skinny man fell to the ground, unconscious. Satisfied, the stranger turned toward the ragged form on the ground. He pulled the body up and gruffly said, “You all right, boy?”

Christine, awed at the sight before her, nodded. He smashed Mr. Brad’s face! She couldn’t believe it! He had done it! And he had saved her life.

She struggled to her feet and was about to say thank you when her knees gave out and she collapsed to the ground again.

In a second flat, the stranger caught her in his strong, powerful arms.

He was so very warm and so very wonderful, Christine thought, and she just wanted to close her eyes and stay in his arms forever. He smelt beautiful, too—of earth and pinewood and something else.
Spice?
He smelt delicious. Her stomach growled. Aye, she was hungry.

Mr. Brad at this moment regained his senses, scrambled up, and barked, “What in hell d’you think you’re doing?”

“
Saving a boy you are trying to kill,” the stranger snapped.

“
Like I said, ’tis none of your business. That bastard destroyed me vase, and he can't pay for it,” he shouted.

“
How much was the vase?”

“
Twenty pounds,” he snapped and took a heavy breath. “You see? That bastard couldn’t pay for me vase if he worked for the rest of ’is life. And the same goes for you!” His small eyes flared as he howled, “You’re fired! You hear? You’re fired!”

“
I don’t give a damn because I don’t work for you,” the stranger retorted.

Mr. Brad’s mouth hung open for a second in confusion before he recovered himself. “That brat broke me vase. I’ll kill ’im if it pleases me to.”

The stranger glanced at Christine for a split second and turned his attention to the manager. “What’s your name? So I can pay you.”

Christine snapped her head up to look at her savior. Her already-pale face turned even paler with horror. All that she could see of him, however, was the shadow of his strong features that, despite this dim light, she rather liked—a lot.

“
Are you serious?” Mr. Brad stammered for he knew no one living in this town was as rich as he was.

“
Does it look like I’m joking?” the stranger said in irritation.

“
No.” Mr. Brad smiled greedily.

“
Jacob, my satchel.”

Mr. Brad looked confusedly around him in the darkness. At first he saw no one, but then a shadow of a man appeared with a black leather bag.

The stranger retrieved a wad of pound notes and a heap of sovereigns while Mr. Brad stared as though his very life depended on them. Mr. Brad snatched the pile when the stranger handed it to him and moved to the window to catch light from inside the building. There he started counting the notes and golden coins to make sure they added up to the sum he wanted. His eyes flared with greed when he saw there was extra money—over double the twenty pounds he’d demanded.

“
The rest is for the release of this boy from the contract you made him sign. He is no longer your property, nor will he work for you further. You have no rights from this moment forward in any way over the boy.”

“
My lord, ’tis getting late,” Jacob said.

Mr. Brad snapped his head up and widened his eyes. “My lord?” he mumbled, and his body shook with uncontrollable cowardice.

Jacob said, “Aye, he is his lordship, the Earl of Huntingdon.”

Mr. Brad, paralyzed for only a moment at hearing this powerful title, rushed forward and started to mumble some apology. The earl, however, did not pay any attention to him. He was aware that the youth was getting weaker and leaning farther onto him. Looking down, he noted that the boy had fainted. He picked his survivor up in his arms and carried him toward the barouche.

* * *

Merrick William Hasting, the fourteenth Earl of Huntingdon, glanced at the youth lying unconscious on the seat opposite him. The scrawny boy looked malnourished and very dirty, which did not repulse the earl as it would many of his peers. On the contrary, he accepted the youth lying across from him for what he was and pitied the boy with his whole heart. He detested mistreatment toward children, especially in factories, and he could not stand by and watch any child receive abuse. He had, in fact, saved many children from the streets and workhouses. He and his good friend Maximilian Devilyn, the Duke of Lynwood, had a house built especially for them in the country just north of London.

Merrick took out his handkerchief and cleaned the youth’s face, scrubbing around the cheek and working up toward the forehead. He noted that the boy was starting to regain consciousness.

“
How are you feeling?” he asked, wiping the dirt from under the boy’s chin.

Christine blinked and looked around the interior of the carriage in confusion. The world was spinning, which caused her to feel nauseated. She closed her eyes again to gain her composure. A short moment later, she felt better and lifted her eyelids. She gazed at her savior long and hard. He had dark brown hair that curled at the nape of his muscular neck. His face was strong and very handsome with a straight nose, firm lips, and eyes that were teal blue. Her heart of its own accord started to beat fast. Her body too started to feel warm and weak. It was not the type of weak that one felt when one was exhausted from overwork or from being beaten almost to death but a different type of weak that was rather pleasant.

Merrick sat back and studied her, his eyes sharp as he took in everything. He noted the violet eyes, the straight nose, the generous lips, and the small chin. Despite the thick smudges of dirt on top of that face, Merrick decided that the boy was pretty. Surely it was very odd indeed for a boy to be
pretty
.

He cleared his throat and asked, “What’s your name?”

There was a moment of hesitation, and then came the weak reply in a voice that Merrick thought didn’t sound at all like a young boy, “Chris, sir.” The voice was too soft, too feminine, and far too pleasant to belong to a kid in the slum of Hamming.

“
Where is your home, Chris? Do you have one? I want to make sure you get there safely and see that your parents are taking good care of you.”

Christine decided that his eyes were too intense on her face, and her heart started to do a series of somersaults because of it. She lowered her eyes and told her heart to calm down. He was only asking her a question, after all.

With a small voice she squeaked out, “In the country, sir. ’Tis very far, sir. You can drop me off here. I’ll walk home.”

Merrick narrowed his eyes. “Don’t be a fool! You’d faint even before you could take a step.”

He was right, of course, and she shoved her face against the emerald-green cushion to avoid eye contact with him, her body curled up into a ball.

Merrick saw that she was shivering in her ball form and wondered if it was from the cold. He took his long overcoat off and gently wrapped it around her.

Christine gasped the moment she felt his warm hand brushing against the side of her face as he laid the thick wool coat over her. This caused her insides to shudder pleasantly, and a sigh escaped her lips.

Merrick noted that she was still shivering and wondered if his coat was enough to ward off the cold. Without further ado—and not caring that the blood and dirt-stained Christine would soil him in any way—he picked her slight body up from the seat and dumped her onto his lap.

Christine stopped breathing for a split second the moment she found herself on her savior’s lap, her head against the wall of his hard chest and her body embraced within his strong arms. She glanced up to see the handsome man smiling at her, his teal-blue eyes twinkling.

“
Look, I’m taking you to your home, is that clear?” he said with a no-nonsense tone of voice. “When I want something done, something I consider to be right, I expect it to be done. Do you understand?”

Christine bit her lip, wondering why this man would go to such lengths to help her. She didn’t know these people existed. Didn’t these wealthy nobilities only care about themselves?

“
Sir.” She licked her lips as she thought about how she should proceed. This, of course, drew Merrick’s attention. The lips were pale and dry as dust, and yet why they fascinated him so he didn’t know.

“
You’re very kind. I don’t know how to repay you that money, but I assure you that I
will
repay you.”

The lips trembled in the most delicate way. Merrick watched in fascination at the anger and frustration playing in those eyes that were brewing with tears.

“
Chris, you don’t have to repay me.”

“
But that money you gave Mr. Brad is ever so much.”

“
It’s not much to me.”

Christine just stared at him.

“
I want no repayment.”

“
It’s charity,” she said.

“
It’s a gift.”

A gift?
Nobody had given her a gift before. She lowered her eyes and said, “But we don’t know each other.”

“
We do now,” Merrick replied promptly.

Christine chewed her lip in contemplation for a moment. This was, after all, hard to believe. Then, as if she had come to a conclusion, she said, “Then how will I ever thank you?”

Merrick couldn’t seem to quit gazing into those amazing violet eyes. They drew him in as though he had no control over his own mind. He blinked, looked away, and said, “A thank-you will suffice, Chris.”

“
Oh,” was Christine’s reply. Then she said, “But I
will
repay you. It is not in my nature to only take. I must give back. Perhaps not in money but in other ways. Perhaps one day you may want something from me, anything at all. Will you promise to ask me for it? Whatever it is that you may want?”

She wouldn’t quit gazing at him until he reluctantly agreed with a nod of his head. Satisfied, she closed her eyes, snuggled her face deeper against his warm chest, and tried very hard to ignore the dull ache along the length of her back. Slowly, with the rocking of the carriage traveling along the country road, she drifted off to sleep.

Merrick found himself watching her sleeping for a while, his arms growing rather numb. He, however, didn’t mind for she wasn’t at all heavy and he rather liked the soft body against his. When he realized that that was indeed very odd, he quit his staring and closed his own eyes for he was himself quite tired from the long journey from London.

Instantly, his mind of its own accord flashed to his beloved wife, Angela, and his son, Frederic.

Dead!
They were both dead—had been dead for two years now—leaving him all alone in this world. The pain—it was truly unbearable at times, and it was piercing his heart now, twisting and burning.

He gritted his teeth and flashed eyes open.

Violet eyes were gazing up at him. “Are you in pain?” the soft voice whispered. “You have a wound?”

Merrick scowled, his body stiffened. Suddenly, he felt a cold hand touching the side of his face as if to soothe him of his torment.

“
The wound, it will heal,” Christine said, smiling up at him.