The Seduction of an Earl (7 page)

He frowned, wondering what kind of brother William Slater was to his sister. “It sounds as if there’s a story or two there,” he hinted. The path on which they walked suddenly split into two; Henry led them along the path to the right, thinking perhaps it circled around and would bring them back to the same place.

Hannah dipped her head, the pink flush appearing where her bonnet didn’t hide her neck from view. “I will have to know you much better before I will tell those tales,” she countered lightly. She raised her head back up to find him looking down at her with a much more serious expression than she was expecting to see. “What is it?” she asked, wondering if she had spoken out of turn.

“I was serious. About what I said back at the phaeton. About ... courting you,” he stammered, chastising himself for making such a cake of his declaration.

“I know,” Hannah said with a nod, her slight smile not indicating how she felt about the topic.

“So, may I?” he countered, taking the hand that rested on his arm and bringing it to his mouth. He placed a kiss on the back of her gloved hand, tempted to peel back the fabric until he could expose her knuckles and kiss them directly.

“I thought you already were,” Hannah whispered, an eyebrow cocked into a teasing arch.

Henry’s face split into a huge grin. “You minx!” Glancing about to be sure no one could see them, he cupped her face with one hand while he placed his other at the small of her back.

Henry nearly chastised himself. He hadn’t intended to kiss the chit. At least, not like this. Their earlier peck next to the phaeton could hardly be considered a kiss. But she had looked at him as if she expected him to kiss her, a gaze that clearly invited him to at least press his lips to hers. So he had done it, and, out of a sense of propriety, ended it as quickly as he could. They were in the park, for God’s sake. Anyone might have spotted them.

But now they were hidden behind a series of hedgerows and trees that already displayed their early spring greenery. He had asked if he could court her, for what?
The third time?
And she stood there with an expression that gave away nothing, and then informed him that she thought he had already begun.
The minx, indeed
. Of course, he had to kiss her at that point. What else could he do? And should her lips remain parted, as they clearly were as his lips settled onto them, well, it was her own damn fault that his tongue was going to want to participate.

He hadn’t expected hers to get involved, too!

For a girl who had only been out for one Season, Henry was astonished at her behavior. How many men had she kissed like this? And did she leave them all feeling as if their kiss was the most important act of courting in the world of courtship?

Perhaps a kiss was, he considered suddenly. This one certainly ranked at the top of his list as the most satisfying, most all-consuming, intimate, powerful kiss he had ever bestowed on a woman. Which probably wasn’t saying much since he had only ever kissed Sarah. And she didn’t
like
to be kissed.

At some point, he would have to end it. At some point, his cock was going to make itself readily apparent behind the fall of his doeskin breeches. And given her close proximity to that particular location – she was practically plastered against the front of his body – she was about to find out just how aroused this kiss was making him. In her defense, though, he had been the one to pull her that close, his one arm lashed about her waist while the other had moved from her jaw to her neck to the back of her head, just under the damned bonnet that he wished he could remove so he could undo the pins in her hair and run his fingers through the silken strands.

He had to end this. Now.

Hannah gently pulled her lips away from Henry’s, her eyes still a bit unfocused and her lips feeling every bit as swollen as her breasts and that space between her thighs. Even knowing he would kiss her, properly this time, she was sure, Hannah was still unprepared for the sensations his lips and tongue created as their mouths met. This was the kind of kiss Elizabeth had spoken of, the kind of kiss where lips were parted and tongues tasted and explored and debutantes were ruined.
What have I done?
she wondered as she tasted him on her tongue, the sensation of his teeth and tongue still lingering there. She had allowed him to pull her against his body, so that there was very little, if any, space between them. His lips on hers had been ... perfect. A perfect fit. And he was gazing down at her with just a hint of surprise on his face, as if he, too, couldn’t believe what they had done.

She placed a hand along the side of his jaw and lifted her lips back to his, giving him a quick kiss before removing her hand to rest on his shoulder and settling her feet back onto solid ground. No wonder she’d been pressed against the front of his body – she’d been standing on tip-toes and would have fallen over otherwise! Well, except that his hand was still firmly at her back.

Henry blinked. And then, because he didn’t know what else to do, he lowered his lips onto hers in a quick counter-kiss to hers. As he raised his face from hers, he watched as her lips curled up into a mysterious little smile. “You’ve done this before,” he accused, his voice kept light despite the fact that he was suddenly feeling ... possessive?
Jealous?

Hannah’s eyes widened. “I assure you, Gisborn, I have never been kissed like that. Nor have I ever ...” She allowed the sentence to trail off as she shook her head, as much in denial as in wonderment.

Henry’s eyebrow arched so that it nearly touched the errant curl that rested on his forehead. “Never?” he countered. There wasn’t any malice in his question, but Hannah clearly heard the disbelief in his voice.

Hannah dipped her head. “When I was twelve, my brother dared my elder cousin to kiss me, but, I assure you, it was more like the peck you gave me back at the phaeton,” she explained with another shake of her head. She didn’t notice Henry’s sudden look of offense; he’d replaced it with an impassive expression before Hannah lifted her head so that she could regard him directly. “And I do not believe Harold’s kisses count, but if you insist on including them, well, I assure you, I have never kissed
him
back,” she stated rather firmly, suddenly feeling a great deal of shame at her wanton behavior. Her face had to be bright pink. She’d never done anything so impulsive in her life! She had behaved like Elizabeth! But at least Elizabeth had been kissing a man who had already declared his affection for her, if not his intention to marry her.

Henry had only asked if he could court her.

The sound of Henry’s chuckle brought her eyes back up to his. He was shaking his own head back and forth as he noticed the soft pink blush that colored her face. She was rather fetching when she was embarrassed. “Well, should you ever wish to bestow such kisses on me again, I think I shall not mind,” he murmured, his face a study in controlled mirth. And then, as quickly as his humor had shown itself, it disappeared. “If your father hasn’t already sent out a rescue squad for you, he will do so momentarily. I should get you back home.”

Surprised at his remark – did he really mean she was invited to kiss him should she wish to again? – Hannah took a deep breath and nodded. Given how eager her father had been to have her join Gisborn on the ride in the park, she rather doubted he would send a search party so quickly.

Perhaps after a fortnight or so.

After all, wasn’t that how long it took to get to Gretna Green and back if a couple decided to elope?

“Will you be at the Attenborough’s ball this evening?” Hannah wondered, thinking she would save him two dances if he so wished. She placed her hand in his and climbed up and onto the phaeton, forgetting about keeping her ankles covered as she did so. The earl’s attention had moved from seeing her safely onto the conveyance to the briefly exposed ankle when she pulled her skirts onto the bench seat.

Henry lifted his head and considered the question. “I do not know if I have been invited,” he replied with a shrug. “There was a stack of correspondence at my house in Bruton Street, but I fear I’ve not yet had a chance to read it.” He undid the horse’s reins from around the tree where he’d parked the phaeton and easily climbed up into the seat. He didn’t add that he rather doubted there would be an invitation to a ball given by someone he’d never met.

“Lady Attenborough is quite vexed that there won’t be enough gentlemen at her ball,” Hannah stated, placing her hand on his arm when he had the horse and phaeton back onto the carriage way. “If I could secure an invitation on your behalf, would you consider attending?” Even as the words left her lips, she realized how
fast
she sounded. She was practically inviting him to be her escort!

“Will you allow me to escort you?” he wondered, negotiating the phaeton past a curricle that had stopped so its occupant could converse with a man on horseback. Hannah recognized the man in the curricle as one of her suitors from last Season, but his attention was squarely on Lady Penelope, a veteran of two Seasons who had yet to make an advantageous match despite her considerable dowry.

Hannah grinned at his query. “If my father allows it, then, yes,” she hedged, her facing pinking up again.

Henry grinned, thinking how easy it was to court a lady. “I must warn you. I have not yet taken ownership of my new town coach, and the one I have with me on this trip is positively ancient,” he started to explain.

Her grin broadening, Hannah leaned in so her shoulder grazed his. “The Attenboroughs live across the street from Devonville House.”

“I’ll call on you at nine,” he countered as the phaeton passed through the park gates. “You must promise me three dances ...”

Hannah’s gasp could probably have been heard by the coach that followed them. “Gisborn!” she started to admonish him. A debutante never danced more than twice with any gentleman. But he was already holding up a finger, as if to make an additional request.

“Including the supper dance. And I plan to take you for a turn on their terrace, or in their gardens, or wherever it’s dark or dimly lit.”

Hannah’s mouth was now open in a most unbecoming expression of shock. “Gisborn!” she said again.

“Well, I shouldn’t want us to be where just anyone could see us should you wish to bestow another kiss on me,” he explained, his barely contained mirth finally turning into a teasing smile.

“Gisborn!” was all Hannah could say in reply, not yet realizing his comments were made to shock her for the sole purpose of hearing his name said in her lyrical voice.

And, despite the impropriety of his requests, Hannah was quite sure she would grant him every one.

Dearest Charlotte,

I hope this letter finds you happy and in good health. I write quickly and with a happy heart as Henry Forster, the Earl of Gisborn, has brought word of your impending nuptials to your beloved duke. You may even be married as I write! (I am led to believe Wainwright would obtain a special license.) I also write with a happy heart to Thank You for your recommendation of me to Lord Gisborn. He called on Father this morning to ask permission to court me! Which, of course, Father was happy to provide. He seems most impatient to see me settled. Gisborn then took me on a ride in the Park, where conversation came easily between us. He asked if he could court me; I don’t mind telling you I waited until his third query on the matter before giving him my blessing and kissing him (Elizabeth has been most firm with me as to kissing, assuring me it is Necessary to kiss a man to whom you expect to wed). As Gisborn is in a hurry to return to his farms in Oxfordshire, and to his son and the boy’s mother, I am led to believe that, should he ask for my hand, he, too, will obtain a special license and see to it we are wed within a week! Can you imagine? This evening, we are to attend a ball at Lord Attenborough’s house. As Lady A. is always concerned about a lack of gentlemen this early in the Season, I was able to secure an invitation for Gisborn. He will join Father and me for the walk across the street. Although it is only fashionable to arrive at a ton ball by carriage, I can think of nothing more ridiculous when a ball is merely across the street. I shall feel quite special being escorted by not just one, but two gentlemen. I must end this in order that Lily can dress me for tonight. I wish you happy, Charlotte! Or, should I say, Your Grace? Sincerely, Hannah.

Chapter 6

A Ball and a Wedding

Lily completed ironing the last of a series of ringlets into Hannah’s hair and stepped back, admiring the series of tiny braids that wrapped around a tumble of curls atop her mistress’ head. Hannah had been quite clear with her instructions for her hair and seemed more concerned than usual about which ball gown to wear. A white chiffon Grecian column gown with braided chiffon ties crossing beneath her breasts won out over the white satin de Naples gown for the simple reason it made her look like a titled woman.
A countess
? she hoped as she reviewed her profile in the looking glass. The maid wondered at her sudden interest. “Is there something special about the Attenborough’s ball, milady?” she wondered, placing a series of pearl-tipped pins into the elaborate coiffure.

Hannah opened a pot of lip color, a cosmetic she rarely used. She had not yet told her maid about the earl who had asked to court her just that morning. Gisborn had returned her to Devonville House, along with the phaeton, and given his thanks to her father for the use of it. With one last kiss on the back of her hand, the earl took his leave, saying that should she be able to secure an invitation to the ball for him, he would return at precisely nine o’clock. Hannah glanced at the mantle clock, a surge of nervousness welling inside her. It was nearly that now.

“An earl has asked to court me,” she admitted, a lifted shoulder suggesting earls asked for permission to court her every day.

“Oh!” Lily replied as a smile spread on her face. “The gentleman who called on your father earlier today, perhaps?” she asked, attaching pearl ear bobs to Hannah’s earlobes. She had attempted to catch a glimpse of the man from her vantage point at the top of the stairs, but he had already passed by the time she dared take a peek.

Even before Hannah could dip her pinky into the color pot, the sound of horses pulling a carriage came from the street below.
Of course, there should be the sound of horses and carriages
, she scolded herself. A ball was about to start across the street. But just as she finished applying the barest hint of lip color, she heard the front door closing. “I think he’s here,” she whispered, the nervousness in her belly growing. Just the thought of Henry Forster set flutterbies to tumbling in her stomach. She remembered the feel of hardened muscles beneath her hands when she’d had to hold onto him as he helped her down from the phaeton – twice! And the feel of his hands as they gripped the sides of her waist – she was sure she could feel their warmth even through his driving gloves and her gown and corset. Hannah pulled on her long white gloves and watched as Lily placed a string of pearls around her neck.

“There,” Lily said with a great deal of satisfaction. “Now you truly look like a fairy princess.” She continued to admire Hannah’s reflection. “And who will be your prince?” she wondered, curious as to the identity of the man.

Hannah grinned, a dimple appearing in one cheek. “The Earl of Gisborn.”

Lily’s face fell in an instant. “I beg pardon, milady?” she whispered, one hand going to her chest as if she had been physically struck.

Noting her maid’s look of shock, Hannah turned to face her directly. “What is it, Lily?” Becoming alarmed, she reached for the servant’s hand. “You look as if ...” She paused. “Do you ...
know
the earl?” she asked, remembering the girl had come to London from Oxfordshire.

“Randolph Forster?” Lily whispered, her eyes too wide. “He’s awfully ...
old
,” she managed to get out.

Relaxing back into her vanity chair, Hannah dipped her head. “So old, in fact, that he has passed on,” she whispered back. “Henry Forster, his nephew, inherited the earldom.”

The news seemed to take a great deal of time for Lily to process. “
Henry
? The farmer?” she spoke, her attention no longer on her mistress. Her eyes came back to regard Hannah. “He is ...” Her face reddened and she stepped back.

“In love with another,” Hannah finished for her. “Yes, I know. He told me about the mother of his son,” she explained, wondering how much more Lily knew of the family.

Taking a deep breath, Lily’s nodded. “Mr. Forster is a very ... handsome man,” she offered finally. “I saw him a time or two when my mother and I would go to Bampton to shop.”

Hannah’s eyebrow popped up. “Indeed? Did you actually live near the Gisborn estate?” she wondered, her hands folding in her lap. Should Gisborn offer for her hand, perhaps the maid had information she could use to help her decide if she should accept the man’s suit.

Lily shook her head. “I am from a farm near Witney. We only heard stories about the old earl. He didn’t pay his tenant farmers very well. And he seemed ... angry all the time.”

Considering her maid’s words for a moment, Hannah felt as if a stone had dropped into her stomach. “And what do you know of his nephew? Besides him being handsome?” she added, giving her maid a teasing grin in an attempt to hide her sudden unease.

But Lily merely shrugged. “Not much, I am afraid. He was away at school and then he was with his woman and their son ...” Her voice trailed off. “Do you expect he will ask for your hand?” she wondered then, her eyes lit with excitement. “If you should accept, I would be very happy to be your maid at Gisborn Hall!”

Hannah smiled, deciding that she would indeed want Lily to join her. Lily would be closer to her home, closer to relatives. “I am glad to hear it,” she offered. She turned back toward the mirror. “So, what do you suppose the earl will think of me like this?” she asked, angling her head to be sure her hair held its elaborate coiffure.

“He’ll think you’re a fairy princess,” Lily answered with a firm nod. “He’ll wish to kiss you before the evening has even begun.”

About to roll her eyes, Hannah caught her reflection in the glass and stared at herself. Pearls instead of her mother’s diamonds had been the better choice, she realized. She looked sophisticated, and yet, she also looked like she had stepped out of the pages of Sleeping Beauty, after the prince had kissed her awake and sworn his undying love.

Well, Gisborn wouldn’t be doing
that
. He loved another.

There was a knock at the door and her father’s voice sounded from the other side. She hurried to open it, allowing Lily to follow with a satin shawl. The maid draped it over her elbows just as she opened the door.

The marquess stepped back upon seeing Hannah emerge from her room, a look of shock on his face. “Did you see my daughter in there, by chance?” he asked, his Scottish burr more pronounced than usual and a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Good God, Hannah! You look as if ...” He clasped his hands in front of his body as if to still them. “Well, you look ... lovely,” he stammered, the humor turning to admiration.
She looks like her mother did when I married her!

“Thank you, Father,” Hannah said, dimpling. Her father had never reacted like
that
before! “Has the earl arrived?” She immediately regretted asking; she knew she shouldn’t seem so eager, so nervous.

“Just got here. He may not live in town very often, but he’s obviously got a chronometer and a decent valet.” He held out his arm and Hannah took it. “Makes a rather dashing figure, he does. Asked me if he might be allowed to dance with you more than twice this evening.”

“Oh?” Hannah answered, trying to sound a bit shocked. “And, of course, you would not grant him permission to do such a thing,” she suggested with a hint of humor, trying to quell the flutterbies that were at it again in her stomach.

“Oh, I told him he could have as many dances as he wished,” the marquess answered, his face contorted into a smirk.

“Father!” she admonished him. “If you truly did that, then you had best inform Lady Jersey, or I will never be allowed in Almack’s again!”

William Slater shook his head, his eyes truly full of humor. “I rather doubt you’ll ever have to go to that despicable place again,” he countered with a shudder.

Hannah was about to ask why he would say such a thing, but they’d reached the bottom of the stairs, and she was suddenly breathless. The Earl of Gisborn stood before her in black satin evening clothes, his snow-white cravat perfectly tied. A ruby pin gleamed from within the folds. Bowing deeply, he moved toward her as she completed her curtsy to take her gloved hand and kiss the back of it.

“My lady, you look like perfection embodied,” he murmured, holding his arm out for her.

Hannah blinked. She could think of no one who would dare say such a thing to a lady, unless it was said in private, perhaps. Or by George Bennett-Jones.
He
would say something like that to Elizabeth. Probably had done so a dozen times or more, now that she thought about it. “Thank you, my lord,” she murmured, her face taking on the familiar pink blush. Goodness, she hardly knew what to say! He was so regal, so handsome. She couldn’t believe it was the same man who had paid her a call that very morning and taken her on a ride in Hyde Park!
The farmer?
Lily had said. The Henry Forster who stood before her certainly didn’t look like any farmer Hannah had ever seen, nor could she imagine him working in the fields.

Hannah placed her hand on his arm and realized she would, indeed, be escorted by two gentlemen this evening. They all paused as Hatfield opened both front doors before they proceeded down the steps and across the street to the Attenborough’s.

Henry held himself as erect as possible, aware of Hannah’s occasional glances in his direction, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. He could hardly believe his. How had this woman managed to make it though an entire Season without being claimed by the first available duke or marquess? How could she possibly
still
be on the Marriage Mart? She was perfection, he repeated to himself. Lovely. Gracious. A good conversationalist. With a good disposition. Despite her huge dog that would more appropriately be called livestock than a pet, she was the perfect woman to be his countess.

He thought of the ruby signet ring tucked into his waistcoat pocket. If he was brave enough to ask for her hand during a walk in the gardens, he would have something to put on her finger tonight. A jeweler in Ludgate Hill was making the ruby and diamond ring he planned to give her on their wedding day. He had Lady Charlotte in mind when he had ordered it, but somehow he thought it would look better on one of Lady Hannah’s long fingers. With luck, the goldsmith could have it finished on the morrow. The special license he’d procured from the bishop in Doctor’s Commons was back at his house in Bruton Street. If she accepted his suit, they could be married in a few days, and be on their way to Oxfordshire the day after that. After all, every day he was gone from home was another day lost in starting the irrigation ditches and in preparing the fields for planting.

“Did you attend any balls last Season, my lord?” Hannah asked, allowing Gisborn to step them around a carriage parked in front of the Attenborough home.

Henry turned his head slightly. In the dim light of a nearby gas lamp, he tried to see her face and found it mostly in shadow. What was visible seemed almost angelic. “I did not. I was only in town in February, so I was able to attend Mrs. Worthington’s musicale and a few lectures at the Royal Academy,” he replied. He noted that the marquess was quiet. In fact, the man didn’t seem to have his attention on either of them but rather on the crowd of ball guests as they made their way up the flagstone path to the front doors. “Will there be a card room, my lord?” he wondered, curious as to Devonville’s silence.

The marquess seemed reluctant to tear his gaze away from the crowd in front of them. “Lord Attenborough always has a lively card room, Gisborn,” he responded. “And the supper is quite good if you’re of a mind to eat at midnight,” he added, his tone suggesting he was not.

Henry turned his attention back to Hannah. “Are you of a mind to eat at midnight?” he asked in a subdued voice.

Shivering at the sound of his question, Hannah had to swallow before she could respond. “Lady Attenborough’s lobster patties are the best in all of London,” she hinted.

“My favorite!” Henry replied, giving her his best smile. “Will you stay and have one or two with a glass of champagne?” he wondered, his voice lowering.

“It depends on the company,” Hannah retorted, feeling like a coquette, her lashes hiding her eyes as she made the remark. Her lip curled a bit, though, and gave away her answer.

“And will there be company you wish to keep?” he countered, enjoying the opportunity to flirt.

Hannah cocked her head to one side, realizing she didn’t know whom to expect at the ball. Elizabeth and George would be there. This would be their last ball before they headed off to Sussex. “I expect Lord and Lady Bostwick will be in attendance,” she replied. “I would like to introduce you if you’ll allow it,” she offered, wondering if he might already know them from prior Seasons.

“I would like that,” he replied, lifting the hand that rested on his arm so he could bring it to his lips and kiss the back of it. “And I would like to dance every waltz with you, if you’ll allow it.” Henry heard the slight inhalation of breath Hannah made on hearing his words, wondering if he had shocked her with the request. He thought her father’s permission to dance as many as he wanted had been said in jest; now, he wasn’t so certain.

Given there would probably be only two waltzes played during the entire ball, Hannah lifted her head and said, “I will allow it, of course,” the flutterbies tumbling in her middle.

And suddenly, they were in the crowded vestibule, Hannah giving up her shawl to a footman as her father and the earl waited. It was then she realized she hadn’t brought a reticule or a fan. How could she forget? How could Lily allow her to get out of the house without at least a
fan?
She could only hope the early Season ball would not become a crush. But if it did, she hoped Gisborn would escort her on the back terrace so she might get some air.

As she rejoined them for the receiving line, she glanced about to look for anyone she knew. She looked for Elizabeth and George but saw neither. She did notice Lady Fletcher, George’s aunt, and Lady Pettigrew as they joined the line. The two older women had their heads together, apparently continuing whatever conversation they were having in the park earlier that morning.

Lady Attenborough raised her eyes to meet Lord Gisborn’s. Hannah watched the older woman’s reaction, pleased to see the delight in the viscountess’ face. “Why, Lord Gisborn, you’re not at all who I expected!” she said as she allowed Gisborn to raise her gloved hand so he could brush his lips over her knuckles. Lady Attenborough was positively blushing!

Henry realized their hostess probably expected his late uncle and wondered at how they would know the man. He rarely visited London in his later years.

Hannah, having completed her greeting to Lord Attenborough, turned and noticed the raised eyebrows of those behind them in the receiving line, realizing they had overheard Lady Attenborough’s curious remark. Afraid they would think Gisborn was a gate crasher, she was about to say something like, “Lord Gisborn inherited the title from his late uncle last year,” when Henry gave Lady Attenborough a winning smile. “I do hope your invitation is not withdrawn, my lady. I had so looked forward to a dance with you.”

Beaming, Lady Attenborough turned to her husband. “Attenborough! Look who ’tis. Randolph’s nephew, Henry!” She turned back to the suddenly surprised earl. “We spent a very lovely week at Gisborn Hall many years ago,” she explained. “You were still in short pants and ...”

Lord Attenborough nudged his wife. “Livvie, darling, let the poor boy be,” he admonished her. He held out his hand to Henry and the earl stepped over so he stood in front of the familiar man.

“Lord Attenborough, so good to see you again,” Henry stated with a slight bow.

“And you. How are the Gisborn farms?” he asked, his head tilted up a bit as he was a good deal shorter than Henry. “Still growing wheat, beans and barley?”

“Indeed, and on a bit more land now,” Henry replied with a grin. And then he was at the end of the line and holding his arm out for Hannah. Her father had her other arm. A footman announced them to a ballroom not yet crowded. The orchestra was playing somewhere off to one side and footman scurried about with champagne on trays as they descended the seven steps to the ballroom floor.

The Attenboroughs had spared no expense on candles. The three massive chandeliers hung above the room had hundreds of them, giving the room a bright, golden glow. The French doors to the flagstone terrace and gardens were already opened. Outside, paper lanterns bobbed in the gentle breeze, giving off light that seemed to dance. The ball had barely begun and yet everything seemed magical.