The Seduction of an Earl (5 page)

“And what will modernizing entail?” she countered, the tilt of her head suggesting she was truly interested in the topic. She refilled his teacup and followed it with a bit of cream.

Henry watched her hands as she saw to his tea. She had elegant hands – smooth, pale hands with long, perfectly shaped fingers. He could imagine those fingers traveling over his body, gripping his shoulders as he kissed her senseless, teasing his manhood into hardened steel, digging into his back as he rode her during intercourse, the fingernails leaving little half-moon brands in his skin as he brought her to ecstasy.

What the hell?
Mentally pinching his swelling manhood, Henry swallowed. Hard.

He dared a glance in Devonville’s direction. The marquess seemed quite interested in farm modernization, as well. “My lands border the River Isis. It’s my intention to have irrigation ditches dug on both ends of the land as well as down the middle, at right angles to the river, to allow the fields to be watered during dry times and drained in times of too much rain.” Pausing a moment to be sure his audience was still interested, he saw Lady Hannah’s brow furrow.

“How, then, will you keep the river from flooding your fields when there is too much rain?” she wondered, her body barely perched on the edge of her chair. She was leaning forward again, apparently very interested in irrigation.

The thought of river water spilling into the ditches he planned to have dug in the next few weeks was suddenly replaced with the thought of Hannah’s breasts spilling forth from her bodice and into his eager hands. He was sure one of them would fill a hand completely, perhaps even overflow the edges of his fingers and flood onto his  ...

Gates
! he admonished himself. He had to think of gates.
The gates of hell
. And higher necklines.

“At the points where the irrigation ditches and the river meet, there will be a sort of gate – a large, flat piece of iron with a rope attached that can be strung over a pulley. Then the gate can be raised and lowered between two guide tracks,” he explained, his hands motioning in the air as he described the devices, making sure to include the marquess in his explanation. “A sort of dam that can be put into place when no water is needed, and then lifted up when the ditch needs to be filled.”

Hannah’s mouth opened as she listened to his explanation, understanding immediately how the system would work. “That’s brilliant! Did you come up with the idea yourself?”

Henry couldn’t help but allow a grin at Hannah’s enthusiasm. “Thank you,” he murmured, nodding as he said so and suddenly feeling as if her assessment was the last bit of encouragement he needed to actually put the irrigation system into place.
I could name the system the Gates of Hannah
. “Some of it, yes. I like to design things to ... to solve problems,” he admitted.
The Gates of Hannah
. He found himself imagining Hannah, naked and atop his bed, her milky white thighs spreading apart, gates to the heaven that could be his as his manhood thrust into her warm, wet cocoon, flooding her with his seed ...
Christ! We’re talking about farm modernization here
, he chastised himself, shifting his position in the chair and lowering his teacup and saucer to better cover the evidence of his erection.

Devonville was watching him with a good deal of interest. “You’ll have to excuse Lady Hannah’s ignorance of modern farm techniques. Her other best friend recently married Viscount Bostwick. His farmlands in Sussex are undergoing the same modernization.” He turned his attention to his daughter. “I don’t suppose Lady Bostwick talks of such things when she visits, though,” he added, a hint of derision in his voice.

Her face displaying a sudden wash of pink, Hannah regarded her father with a mix of surprise and embarrassment. “Certainly not today,” she agreed with a shake of her head, not adding that Elizabeth Bennett-Jones wouldn’t be the least bit interested in anything having to do with farming techniques. Her primary interests of late seemed to revolve around activities that could be performed in a bedchamber. Or in other rooms of a house when servants were not present.

Alarmed at the marquess’ comment, Henry felt a twinge of embarrassment on behalf of Lady Hannah. Did the man realize how critical he sounded of her wish to understand the topic at hand? Henry remembered Hannah’s response to her father’s query about Lady Bostwick. So, she
was
the woman who had left just before his arrival.

Hannah sighed and gave a wan smile. She set her teacup on the table.
How could Father say such a thing in front of a guest?
she wondered, her joy at having so easily followed the earl’s explanation suddenly gone. Her father had never done such a thing to her during dinner parties.

Was he chastising her because of her conversations with Elizabeth? Did he even know the topics of Elizabeth’s every-other-daily visits? Had he overheard the viscountess telling Hannah of her bedroom antics? Of how much she loved being married to George Bennett-Jones – because he was so attentive and because there was such joy in their marriage bed?

Or had he simply decided his daughter shouldn’t know such things as how irrigation gates worked? It seemed to her he should be more concerned about Elizabeth’s titillating conversation.

“Perhaps we can go for that ride now?” Henry spoke, his tone suggesting he was trying to lighten the mood in the room. He also needed something to concentrate on besides Hannah. Never in his life had the presence of a woman had him so addled. And never had he experienced such vivid thoughts of what he might do with one should he get her in his bed.

The marquess brightened. “The phaeton should be in the drive by now,” he said as he stood up. Both Henry and Hannah stood as well. Harold, sensing the change in the dynamics in the room, was already standing. His brown eyes seemed to focus on each of the room’s occupants for only a moment before moving to the next, as if he was trying to size up the situation. Then he concentrated his attention on his mistress, as if he took cues from only her.

“My bonnet is in the vestibule,” Hannah said with a nod, “But I must go to my room for some gloves and a shawl. Please excuse me. I’ll be but a moment,” she added as she moved to the parlor door. Both gentlemen bowed as she and the dog took their leave.

As Hannah climbed the stairs to her room, she wondered at her last comment. Perhaps she shouldn’t have seemed so eager. Perhaps she should make the Earl of Gisborn wait a few minutes.
Did she sound desperate when she said she would be ‘but a moment’?
That she so wanted the earl to like her that she would hurry so as not to keep him waiting? And if he did find her biddable, did he plan to court her? A frisson shot through Hannah’s body at that thought, nearly causing her to gasp as she stepped over the threshold and into her bedchamber. Despite not being invited to do so, Harold followed on her footsteps.

Hannah’s father regarded Henry for a moment. “You probably think she’s a feather-headed twit, don’t you?” the Marquess of Devonville suddenly stated, his apparent disappointment displayed quite clearly on his face and in how his shoulders slumped.

Henry had to suppress the first thing that came to mind by way of a response. “Actually, I found her interest in the topic quite unique for her sex, and she seemed intelligent enough to follow my explanation.
I
see no reason to be critical of her,” he countered, hoping his annoyance at the marquess wasn’t too apparent in his response.

  “Indeed?” Devonville replied with a tilt of his head. He made a sort of humming sound in his throat as he considered Henry’s comment. “Then, if you should wish to, you may continue the topic on your ride in the park,” he said with a shrug. “But I must remind you, Gisborn. She is just a chit. Although she had a governess and attended a finishing school, don’t expect the topics of her conversation to be too challenging.”

Henry bristled at hearing the marquess’ words as the two of them made their way to the vestibule. “I assure you, my lord. I don’t really have any expectations at this point.”

“Expectations of what?” Hannah wondered as she finished pulling on a glove. A deep pink shawl was carelessly draped across her shoulders. From where she stood on the last step of the stairs leading to the second floor, she had been able to watch her father and Henry as they continued their conversation outside the parlor.

Admiring her figure from where he stood, Henry considered how to respond. Should he make light of his last comment to the marquess? Or lay it all on the line and explain exactly why he was there? To do so would risk her possible derision at his intentions. It might also result in her admiration of his forthright manner. At the moment, Henry decided he didn’t have the time for a drawn-out courtship. If Hannah Slater wasn’t interested in becoming the Countess of Gisborn, he may as well find out right now.

Henry walked to the base of the stairs, his line of sight nearly equal with hers. Regarding Hannah for a moment, he took a deep breath and reached for her hand. “Expectation that you would allow me to court you, in the hope that we could marry next week, so that I might return to Gisborn Hall with you as my countess, and see to it an heir is on the way, and those irrigation ditches are dug, and the gates are built and working before seeds are planted in the fields next month,” he managed to get out quite calmly. “Are you ready?” This last was delivered in a completely different voice, as if his other words were merely spoken in rote, rehearsed over a dozen times to sound nonchalant and wooden.

Lady Hannah blinked once and considered every word he’d just spoken. She blinked again, realizing Henry Forster was quite serious. A slow smile spread over her face. “I am ready,” she answered as she took his proffered hand and made her way to his side.

Chapter 5

A Ride in the Park

“Tell me truly. Are you the least bit interested in irrigation ditches and water gates?” Henry wondered. He had just offered his hand as Lady Hannah made to climb up to the bench seat of the bright red phaeton. She paused in taking the first step up and raised her eyes to meet the earl’s.

“I must admit, I was not at first. Until you explained them in terms that I could understand. Now I find myself rather curious as to how they will look when they are operating.” She resumed her climb onto the seat, thankful the earl had provided a strong arm for her to grasp for balance as she ascended the equipage. Henry caught sight of an ankle above her silk slipper as she lifted her skirts to clear the side rail. The shiver passed through him again, forcing him to close his eyes and take a deep breath to steady himself.

What is happening to me
? He’d seen Sarah’s ankles plenty of times, even massaged them while she was in the later months of her confinement. But there was something about Hannah’s ankle that made him want to stroke it, kiss it, hold it between his hands and write poetry ...
What the hell?

Henry Forster had never written an ode to anything in his life!

Noticing Henry’s reaction, Hannah felt a sense of disappointment settling over her. Had she been too bold in admitting her lack of interest in irrigation ditches? Should she have lied and claimed she was eminently interested and could think of nothing else more important to the future of agriculture in Great Britain? In the few instances where it was easy to speak the truth, she had just done so and now found herself regretting it.

Before climbing up to the seat and taking the ribbons from the groom, Henry nodded his thanks to the young man and asked if he would see to the coach and driver still waiting for him in the carriageway. Handing him a coin, he told the groom to request the coach return to Devonville House in two hours.

Once up and onto the phaeton, Henry found the seat didn’t provide much room. He was careful to leave space between the edge of Hannah’s skirts and his thigh. He turned and regarded Hannah with a grin that grew into a brilliant smile. “Someday soon, I hope you will be there to witness the first time I raise the gates on my irrigation system,” he said before turning his attention to the matched greys.
As to those other gates
...

Staring back in surprise, Hannah gave him a tentative smile in return. “I rather hope so, too.”

He allowed the impatient beast a loose rein and steered the phaeton up Park Lane toward Oxford Street. “I have other plans for the farm, of course. I’m afraid my late uncle – the ninth Earl of Gisborn – was not interested in modernizing, so there is much to do,” he remarked, avoiding a vegetable cart that had suddenly been pushed into the street. Although Hyde Park would not be crowded this time of the morning, the streets leading to it were teaming with carriages and carts and all manner of equipage and horses.

“What else has to be done?” Hannah wondered, her face turning up to regard the earl’s profile. He was a truly handsome man, she thought. And not at all like the gentlemen she’d met at last Season’s balls. Gisborn was bronzed from the sun, his torso and shoulders shaped as if he performed manual labor. She wondered what he looked like without a shirt, wondered what it would be like to stroke skin that stretched over hardened muscle, to see him over the top of her as he moved to claim her virtue, to feel him enter her, thrust into her, bring her to ecstasy like Elizabeth described in such vivid detail.

Henry shrugged and gave her a quick glance. “It is more a case of what doesn’t need to be done,” he answered finally. “I have some new cast iron plows on order. But I am thinking there must be a way to make one that will do the work of three or more, if I can just figure a way to mount the plows and have them pulled behind several draft horses. Then it would be possible for one man to plow ten or more acres a day.”

She was thinking that being plowed once a day would suit her just fine if it was everything Elizabeth described. Cocking her head to one side, Hannah tried to imagine what Henry was describing. “Wouldn’t you have to be seated above the plows then? So you could drive the horses?”

A costermonger selling oranges suddenly darted onto Oxford Street, forcing Henry to rein in the horse. The sudden jerk in the phaeton caused Hannah to shift dangerously on the bench. There was a moment when she seemed suspended in mid-air and might have been forced completely off the high perch. But Henry had his arm around her back in an instant, his hand pressed against the side of her waist and pulling her towards him. She let out a squeak of surprise and grabbed onto his thigh. And then blushed a bright pink as she quickly pulled her hand away to instead take purchase on the bench front.

“I’ve got you,” Henry said calmly, although it took everything in his power to keep the horse reined in and her body on the bench seat. “Are you alright?” he asked then, fighting the urge to yell at the costermonger for his negligence.

Hannah held her breath, the sensation of his arm and hand sending a startling jolt of
something
through her body just then. “I am fine. Truly. I ... I apologize. I should have been holding on,” she murmured.

“No apology is necessary, my lady,” Henry countered, not removing his arm. “Especially since you have given me a rather brilliant idea.” This last was said in a quiet voice, as if he was suddenly deep in thought.

Wondering what she had said or done to give him a brilliant idea, Hannah glanced in his direction and rather hoped the brilliant idea was something that could be done in a bed. She supposed she should ask him to remove his arm, but she found she rather liked it right where it was. When he suddenly turned to look at her, Hannah felt her face heating up again.

“I believe I can make a plow that will do three furrows at a time,” Henry said, as if he was still deep in thought and having an epiphany at the same time. “Two shire horses and a seat on top of the yoke that houses the plows. And there would be the yoke for the horses ...” His eyebrows cocked as a grin settled on his face. And then he seemed to realize his arm was still around Hannah. “Oh, pardon me,” he said as he quickly removed it. He changed hands on the reins and then moved to take Hannah’s gloved hand and place it on the arm that had been around her back. “Just in case,” he said as he noticed Hannah’s questioning look.

Hannah grinned, trying hard to put out of her mind the feel of his thigh beneath her hand as she moved to steady herself a moment ago. It was solid muscle. He obviously rode a horse or exercised regularly. And now his arm, under the same gloved hand, felt just as solid.

“By the way, Lady Charlotte sends her regards,” Henry said as he negotiated the phaeton between two ancient barouches just inside the entrance to Hyde Park. Their occupants, looking at least as old as the equipage in which they rode, were waving to one another just as he made the turn.

Surprised at the mention of Charlotte Bingham again, Hannah angled her head up to stare at Henry. She also wanted to avoid being recognized by Lady Fennington. Should the dowager viscountess notice she rode unchaperoned, she was quite sure she would be the topic of drawing room conversations for a week. At least the earl blocked her from being seen by Lady Fletcher, although the baroness wasn’t much of a gossip. She was George Bennett-Jones’ aunt, in fact, and would probably encourage Hannah to take a turn with an eligible bachelor, chaperoned or not, and would probably offer to provide the equipage, too. “May I ask when you spoke with her?” Hannah wondered, hoping to keep the surprise out of her voice. She and Elizabeth Bennett-Jones had said their good-byes to Charlotte not even a fortnight ago. The daughter of an earl and betrothed to a duke, Charlotte had departed for Sussex with the intention of marrying when she turned one-and-twenty. Hannah remembered that day would be Saturday.