When Good Earls Go Bad: A Victorian Valentine's Day Novella (12 page)

She swatted him on the arm. “That must have been some studying you did.”

“I’m very glad you enjoyed the results of my long and arduous dedication to the subject,” he said, kissing her mouth again.

“Mm-hm,” she replied. “But you have to let me up.”

“Fine, I will,” he said, moving off her, but tucking her in close to his body, “but this time don’t leave me,” he said before he fell asleep.

A Belle’s Guide to Household Management

Despite what you might have heard, a whistle is not particularly clean. Do not use it to gauge the state of your home
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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

S
he didn’t leave. Even though she was absolutely startled and wanted to wake him up to ask him questions about why not and why her and why now, but she knew that he wouldn’t be able to answer her satisfactorily, plus it didn’t really matter, except it did, because it was him and her, and she hadn’t even thought it was a possibility.

Plus there was how he’d brought her pleasure, even though it was his first time, and she wondered just how good he’d be at it in ten more tries, or fifty, and then got melancholy that the fiftieth time wasn’t likely to be with her.

She didn’t think she’d ever do it again now that she had done it with him. Not that he’d ruined her for anybody else, precisely; it was just that being with him had shown her how good it could be when you loved someone. And it wouldn’t be fair or honest to do all this with anybody else.

But what was she doing, anyway? She was lying in bed with her employer, a man who was going to be leaving soon, and taking her heart with him.

And even though she had so many other questions, on this fact she was absolutely certain: that she loved him, and now he’d ruined her for anyone else.

Damn it.

But this was all part of life, wasn’t it? And she couldn’t get all mopey and ruin the short amount of time they had together.

And the day after tomorrow was Valentine’s Day, and even if he had no clue about the holiday or, what was more likely, thought it was a foolish holiday, she had a Valentine for once, one who made her feel special and desired, even if just for a little while.

“W
ake up, Annabelle.” The words were accompanied by some sort of soft touch on her breasts. She opened her eyes to see him holding her feather duster, the feathers lightly stroking her nipples. It felt absolutely luxurious, but also funny because it was him—a very naked him—holding something so odd for him to hold, a look of intense concentration on his face.

“Good morning,” she said, reaching up to caress his cheek. “I’m still here, as you asked.”

His eyes traveled down her body, then back up to meet her gaze. “I see that. And I am very pleased.” He trailed the duster down over her belly, then onto her thighs.

It tickled, but not in an agonizing way; more of a prolonging-the-delightful-pleasure way. He continued working the duster over her body, trailing the feathers across her lightly, his cock stiffening against her hip.

“Maybe you are the real housekeeper here,” she said with a grin, then pulled him onto her and kissed him until he dropped the duster and used his fingers and his mouth on her instead.

“Don’t you have meetings today?” It was about an hour later, and Annabelle was completely and totally sated; he’d seen to that. It seemed he was making up for lost time.

“No, I have a meeting tomorrow.” He frowned, as though thinking, then looked at her. “I am wondering—would you be able to attend the meeting with me? I have to speak with the potential investors of the silk company, and I’m not certain . . . actually, never mind, I know . . . I cannot speak with the same enthusiasm and authority you can.”

“Really? You want me to attend a business meeting?” Somehow that trust made it feel as though her heart were going to burst through her chest. He knew she wasn’t a housekeeper, he definitely knew she wasn’t a cook, and yet he wanted her to come speak to a group of business men about something she did know about.

She loved him even more then.

“Yes, if I didn’t want you to attend, I wouldn’t have asked you.” He spoke in his usual entirely practical way. “Naturally.” He paused, and when he spoke again, it was much more hesitantly. “So, will you come with me?”

“Of course,” she said. “Only what are we going to do today?” Because tomorrow was tomorrow, and it sounded as though she had one entire day to spend with him, and she knew once his business was concluded he would likely return to Edinburgh and she would never see him.

And she couldn’t think about that right now or she’d cry and ruin their day together.

O
f course he could have spent the day much more practically: going over his presentation, or working on his other business affairs, things that didn’t require he be in London, or even write some delayed letters to his sisters and his mother. But he didn’t want to. Another first.

He wanted to spend the day with Annabelle, hear her laugh, feel her almost palpable joy, perhaps steal a kiss when they were out walking.

So they decided to walk to the National Gallery and look at art, something he would have rolled his eyes at if someone had told him he would do and actually enjoy. On the way there they stopped at a bookstore and spent an hour browsing, discovering they both liked stories with lots of dialogue, nothing too sad, and filled with colorful characters. He bought her a few books, wishing he would be able to sit in a room with her somewhere and read with her, only knowing they couldn’t.

The National Gallery was relatively empty, and they could stroll together, arm in arm, Matthew feeling a contentment he didn’t think he’d ever had.

She paused in front of a painting and pointed to it with one hand while squeezing his arm with the other. “This one is lovely, don’t you think? The way the colors of the sky all sort of blend together, and how the cows look so peaceful.”

His enjoyment of the art was due in no small part to her enthusiasm over the works. And she was enthusiastic, spending a good half hour looking at a picture that appeared, to Matthew’s view, to be a few hills and a farmhouse.

But when she spoke about it, he could see its beauty, could almost feel the waving grass and see the puffy clouds, with all the tiny people working in the fields, and achieve a bit, he thought, of her emotions seeing the painting.

How wonderful must it be to see everything through that joyful lens? Although he was starting to, wasn’t he, beginning with seeing her as the epitome of joy? And now that he’d seen her like this, he didn’t want to stop looking.

What was he going to do about that?

His practical mind was screaming at him to stop speculating about the future, that nothing could continue between them. But his practical mind, heretofore the only mind he’d thought he had, was being drowned out by his newly discovered romantic mind.

He didn’t want to let her go. Ever. He wanted her and her joy in his life, not to mention his bed, forever.

“And these flowers! My goodness, they are lovely.” They had walked to stand in front of a painting depicting a vase of flowers. Apparently lovely flowers, according to her.

Matthew glanced around but saw no one nearby, so he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her to him, lowering his mouth to kiss her. Not a long, passionate kiss, that would be foolish, but just something to try to express how he was feeling without saying anything.

Given that he was accustomed to saying precisely what was on his mind, it was hard not to just tell her, but—for the first time, number eight—he was unsure of what exactly he wanted to say beyond “I love . . . ”

The realization hit him like he’d been struck by lightning. Of course. Of course he loved her. That explained all the unexplainable emotions and feelings he’d been having since he met her. That explained why he didn’t want to leave her, ever, and why just spending the day with her felt like the most fun he’d had in his life.

And the nights . . . well, those were pleasurable as well.

“Matthew, are you all right?” she said, gazing up at him as he still held her against his body.

No, I’m not. I’m in love with you.

“I am fine. Tell me, what are your favorite flowers?” he said, turning them back so they were once again looking at the painting.

“Definitely roses. Or no, maybe daffodils. Or peonies. I do like irises, even though they seem so gawky, standing so straight and tall.” She laughed, and met his gaze. “It is so typically me, isn’t it, that I just love all flowers.”

“It is,” he replied, tightening his grip on her waist.

And I love you for it
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A Belle’s Guide to Household Management

The housekeeper is the mistress of her domain, but she is not the mistress of her master, even though he pays her for her services, is able to tell her what, when, and how to do them, and requires her to dress appropriately
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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“I
will not be making dinner tonight.” Annabelle clutched Matthew’s arm as they strode home. They’d gotten tea at a restaurant near the museum, and Annabelle felt so proud to be in the company of such a good-looking man. She’d caught a few of the ladies nearby looking at him, and she wanted to get up and stick her tongue out at each of them, taunting them with the knowledge that she was the only woman ever to lie with him.

But that would be entirely inappropriate. So she just smiled knowingly as the ladies accidentally caught her eye, and that seemed to convey just about the same thing.

“I don’t want you to make dinner either,” he said in a sly tone. “Mostly because I don’t want you to cook. Nor do I want to cook.”

She swatted him on the arm and laughed. “Fine, I am a terrible cook. Shall we eat at the same place as before, or do you want to wander to find someplace new?”

He looked down at her and smiled, a smile that made her heart do a few flips inside her chest. “I’d like to wander.”

She grinned and made a sweeping gesture with her other hand. “We will wander, then.”

They walked together in silence, but it was a lovely, companionable silence. Annabelle kept wanting to say something about how she felt, but she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, not on their day together. So while she opened her mouth frequently, she didn’t speak, because how would she say anything without saying it entirely? “I’ve fallen in love with you over the course of a week, and I want to be with you and your strong, handsome chest and your very sly wit for the rest of my life.”
What could he possibly say to that?

Even though not saying something usually ended up in her saying something worse. She’d have to try to prevent—

“Oh, look!” She stopped in front of a shop window, one with an array of Valentine’s Day cards, each more fulsome and ridiculously gaudy than the rest.

Of course she loved all of them.

“T
hey have a lot of cards in the window.” Matthew spoke as though he were reporting on facts, not marveling at the beauty and splendor of them. Of course.

“Yes, Valentine’s Day is tomorrow.”

She felt him shrug.

“It’s a holiday for people who don’t know what to say the rest of the year. Why can’t they just say how they’re feeling? It would save a lot of money.”

Practical Matthew. If she weren’t well aware of who he was and how he felt about impractical things, she would feel suddenly sad that he cared for the day so little.

As it was, her heart only fell a little bit.

“That’s right, you would likely say, ‘I care about you very much, how can you not possibly comprehend that? If I did not care for you, I would say so.’ ” She lowered her voice to mimic his.

“Yes. That is what I would say,” he replied, without a hint of humor.

Had she offended him? On their day together? Now her heart really was sinking.

“I only meant—”

“Let’s go find a place to eat. I find I am suddenly quite hungry.” He began to walk quickly away from the shop, dragging her with him.

She wished she could tell him how that made her feel, too. But she couldn’t tell him that without admitting the other.

Thank goodness they would be eating soon, so she couldn’t speak. Now if they could just continue that for the remainder of their time together, she would escape with her heart only a little trampled.

V
alentine’s Day. Tomorrow had to be Valentine’s Day, didn’t it? And he hadn’t remembered, since why would he, the day had never meant anything to him before. But he hadn’t missed how her face lit up when she saw all the cards, and he knew that the day was significant, especially to lovers.

And they were lovers now.

Of course it would be the day he’d asked her to attend a business meeting, of all things, with every intention of leaving London soon thereafter.

On the other hand, if he were to do something he’d never done (number nine!), and indulge in an extravagant, romantic gesture, perhaps she would consider returning to Scotland with him. As his countess.

Even though she was nothing like the woman he’d imagined finding in six months, a solid, dependable woman who was never foolish, spoke little, and could likely make toast. Nothing like the woman he had, quite unexpectedly, fallen in love with.

The woman he’d do any number of foolish things for if it meant he could have her forever.

“I
need to see my uncle before the meeting.” Matthew had been more brusque that morning, only kissing her for a few minutes before looking at the clock and scowling.

It was as though yesterday and last night had never happened, and they’d returned to being just earl and housekeeper.

Although Annabelle didn’t think it was usual for an earl’s housekeeper to be admiring her employer’s backside as he dressed. So perhaps not quite like that.

Even though she was already mourning his loss, at least right now she could enjoy the view.