A Wicked Way to Win an Earl Read online

  Alec stared at his brother. Something about Robyn’s inflection on that last word stopped the retort on Alec’s lips. Was that longing in Robyn’s voice? Christ, he hoped not. Before he could decipher it, however, Robyn reverted to the lazy, bored tone that never failed to push Alec’s temper to the boiling point. “As to warning London, I suppose you should do just what you please, Alec. You always do.”

  Alec wrapped his fingers tightly around his glass. Losing the game. It was time for Robyn to leave. He gave a short nod. “Enjoy your evening, Robyn.”

  It was a dismissal, and Robyn knew one when he heard it. He unfolded his long frame gracefully from the chair and bowed to his brother. “I always do. Good evening, Alec.”

  * * *

  Alec hadn’t seen or spoken to Robyn since then. Not surprisingly, there had been no sign of him when Alec left Bellwood at midday. Robyn was likely even now still snoring off the remainder of last night’s debauchery. Or maybe Robyn was just avoiding him. Robyn generally did avoid him these days.

  Nonetheless, Alec made it his business to know if his scapegrace brother was contemplating a new liaison. He didn’t object to Robyn having liaisons—he wasn’t quite such a hypocrite as that. His brother could tup whomever he wished, with Alec’s blessing. The trouble was, Robyn wasn’t discreet. Far from it, and he’d spent the past year honing his gift for causing scandal.

  Well, not this time. Alec wouldn’t tolerate another scandal. Not with Lady Lisette and her mother attending the house party.

  Hard to believe it to look at the girl, but Delia Somerset was another explosive scandal waiting to happen, for all she looked like a London street urchin. Alec couldn’t tell whether she was pretty or not, and it made him uneasy. Robyn appreciated tangible qualities in a female, starting with a lush, obvious kind of beauty and concluding with a devastating bosom.

  Delia Somerset didn’t make sense, and Alec didn’t like it when things didn’t make sense. How had this plain chit captured Robyn’s fickle, roving eye? Was it possible Alec had overlooked a devastating bosom? He lowered his eyes to her chest for a quick inspection. Her dark traveling cloak was so practical and modestly cut, her figure in general remained a mystery. Perhaps another sneaky glance would reveal—

  “Lord Carlisle!” she snapped, crossing her arms firmly over her bosom.

  Damn it. Not sneaky enough. Alec raised his eyes from her breasts to find her glaring at him.

  “Before you start unbuttoning your breeches,” she said acidly, “perhaps you’d care to speak to the innkeeper about a carriage?”

  Alec grimaced. Sharp-tongued chit. “Have you a carriage about, George?”

  Mr. George shook his head. “’Fraid I don’t, me lord. Not today. Mrs. George took the inn carriage off to her sister’s house. I lets her take it, ye see, me lord, on account o’ otherwise her sister comes to visit us here, and I’d just as soon she didn’t.” Mr. George grinned. “Not much in life worse than an irascible female, if ye take my meaning, me lord.”

  Alec glanced at his silently fuming companion. “I do, George.”

  “We has the hay cart.” There was a brief pause; then George added doubtfully, “Yer welcome to it, me lord.”

  Damnation. It would be pitch-dark by the time they returned to Bellwood and fetched another carriage. Alec hated to leave William on the side of the road with an injury, not to mention a potentially hysterical female, but he’d pushed Miss Somerset about as far as she’d—

  “We’ll take the cart,” she said. Then she smiled. “Thank you, Mr. George, for your kindness in offering it to us.”

  “Of course, miss.” George, obviously charmed, beamed at her. “I’ll have the lad bring it ’round fer ye.”

  Alec stared at her. Just when he’d made up his mind she couldn’t possibly pose any real threat, she’d smiled, and there went George, scurrying off to the back room, almost tripping over his short legs in his haste to accommodate Miss Somerset. If she smiled at Robyn that way, spoke to him in that soft, husky voice . . . Well, even Alec had forgotten for a moment she was covered in mud and her bosom remained a mystery.

  The mystery wouldn’t be solved tonight, however. She wasn’t about to agree to remove her cloak so he could inspect her bosom. She wasn’t Maggie, after all. Still, if he exerted himself to be charming, who knew what he could wheedle out of Miss Somerset on the drive to Bellwood?

  “The cart is ready for ye, me lord.” George bustled back into the main room and took up his place behind the bar. “I wish you a good evening, miss,” he added, with a nod and shy smile for Miss Somerset.

  Alec rolled his eyes. It was time to get her out the door before George tried to kiss her hand.

  “It won’t be a comfortable ride,” Alec said, once they were outside. He eyed the cart. “Or a clean one.”

  Miss Somerset shrugged and made a move as if to spring into the cart.

  “Allow me, Miss Somerset.” Alec offered his hand. She looked at it as if it were a snake about to strike, but he seized hers anyway, determined to be charming, whether she liked it or not.

  Her hand was fine-boned, her fingers long and slim. He could feel her chill even through her glove. Surprisingly, Alec felt a stab of conscience when that cold, delicate hand slipped into his. He swung up next to her on the seat, and after a silent apology to Weston, he shrugged out of his coat and placed it around her shoulders. The mud would ruin it, but if she caught pneumonia, she could be at Bellwood for months, languishing. Even a plain country mouse could snare Robyn if she languished seductively enough.

  “No! I mean, no thank you, my lord. I mean, it’s not necessary to . . .” she stammered.

  Damn it. What was wrong with the girl this time? She looked aghast, as if she thought she could catch the pox from his coat. He was about to reassure her that he was as spotless as a newborn babe when it occurred to him it was not charming to discuss the pox with gently bred young ladies. “Your hands are cold,” he said gruffly instead. “It will be a chilly ride to Bellwood.”

  He took up the reins. “My sisters were grateful for your company during their stay in Surrey,” he began politely after a moment.

  There was a brief silence, then, “They were relieved,” she allowed. “They seemed to be under the impression the neighborhood was restricted to maiden aunts and elderly widowers.”

  “That’s the company their aunt usually keeps. They were fortunate to find such delightful young ladies in you and your sister.”

  There. That should do. It couldn’t be that difficult to charm a rustic like Miss Somerset.

  But if he’d been expecting simpering and cooing, he was disappointed. She gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “Are we to have compliments now, my lord? Ah yes, I remember. The Mirror of the Graces does say after a gentleman exposes his unmentionables to a lady, he should flatter her and pretend to admire her.”

  Alec chuckled. Did she really think she’d seen his unmentionables? “I only meant any company would be more engaging than their aunt Matilda’s. She’s not exactly vivacious, though Charlotte and Eleanor don’t need more of that.”

  She pounced at once. “Why is that? Do you disapprove of your sisters showing spirit, my lord?”

  “Not in the proper time and place,” Alec said, then cringed. He sounded like a prig. Prigs weren’t charming. This conversation wasn’t going at all the way he’d planned, and it was her fault. Talking to her was like having a thorn stuck in his boot. Every time he took a step forward, she pricked at him.

  “That rather defeats the purpose of having spirit in the first place, doesn’t it?” she asked, trying to stifle a laugh. “But truly, how unfortunate lively young ladies like Charlotte and Ellie should have such a disapproving brother.”

  She was laughing at him? “They have only one disapproving brother, at least.” He’d started to lose patience. “My brother Robyn detests disapproval, especially when it�
��s directed at him. No doubt you found him charming, Miss Somerset.”

  Christ. Now he sounded like a petulant child. Again, it was her fault. He felt like he was trying to charm a stick of furniture.

  “Oh, I did,” she replied without hesitation. “He has such gentlemanly manners.”

  Her implication was clear. Not like his elder brother.

  Robyn? Gentlemanly? Miss Somerset may be clever, but she was also hopelessly naïve if she hadn’t recognized Robyn for the rogue he was. Alec doubted she’d spent much time out of Surrey. There was one way to find out. “Did you spend the entire winter with your family in Surrey?”

  “Yes. We had a quiet winter. Some find the country a bit dull, I suppose. It’s not exciting, but it’s peaceful.”

  If she’d come to Kent for excitement, she was off to a promising start. “Have you seen much of the English countryside?”

  “No. I haven’t had much opportunity, my lord. We did have a chance to see some of Kent while the light held today.”

  “I see. Then you only go to London for the season?”

  There was a short silence. He glanced over at her. A faint frown had appeared between her brows.

  “I’ve never been to London, Lord Carlisle.”

  “No London season?” He managed just a touch of aristocratic horror. “How extraordinary.”

  “It’s grievous indeed, Lord Carlisle,” she returned dryly.

  Alec paused, as if still absorbing this shocking piece of information. “You have no relations in London?”

  She shrugged. “We have no relations in London who wish to host us for a season, my lord.”

  She’d phrased it so it wasn’t quite a lie. Alec already knew, of course, she did have relations in London. Her maternal grandmother was even now terrifying the ton from her town house in St. James’s Square.

  Lady Chase didn’t receive her granddaughters, then. If so, neither would anyone else. “So you and your sister don’t spend time in society?”

  “I have four sisters, my lord. We don’t spend time in society and not one of us has been to London. Nor are we likely ever to go.”

  Despite himself, Alec was momentarily distracted. “Four sisters?” Millicent Chase had been busy after her exile from the ton. Five girls. No money to speak of. Plenty of scandal attached to the family name, though. He had to give his brother credit. Robyn couldn’t have chosen a more spectacularly bad prospect than Delia Somerset.

  “Why did your other three sisters not accompany you to Kent?” he asked. Why not drag the whole penniless, scandalous lot along?

  “My youngest sister is just fifteen years old, and the next one in age to Lily isn’t yet eighteen. A house party isn’t appropriate for them.” She made the words house party sound like den of iniquity.

  “How kind of your parents to trust you and your sister Lily among us,” he bit out. At some point during this conversation, he’d started gritting his teeth.

  As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt it—a surge of such sudden and intense emotion he nearly dropped the reins. She’d gone still, as though she could keep it all inside her if only she didn’t move.

  “My parents are dead, my lord.” Her voice was expressionless. “They were killed in a carriage accident last spring.”

  Chapter Three

  She couldn’t get her breath. Grief closed over her head, a relentless, sucking tidal wave of it. She gasped a little, panicking. If she could just get her breath. Breathe. Breathing would stop the welling pressure behind her eyes and the torrent of painful words that rushed to her lips. Stop them before they spilled over and drowned Lord Carlisle.

  She bit her lip. Hard.

  Delia focused on the sky and concentrated on the fading light until the choked feeling began to ease. The afternoon dusk had long since faded into evening, but it was not entirely dark yet. Not dark enough for a sky full of stars. The faintest glimmers had begun to appear here and there in the deep blue above her, as though tiny pinpricks had been made in the dark canvas to let the starlight peek through.

  She took another deep, cleansing breath and silently exhaled. Her parents’ sudden death last spring wasn’t a secret, but it was private. She didn’t want to present it for Lord Carlisle’s dispassionate inspection. Or anyone else’s. Certainly not anyone high enough in the instep to attend this house party. She’d imagined the death of a disgraced London belle and her provincial spouse would be beneath their notice. The ton hadn’t bothered with Millicent Chase since she’d become Millicent Somerset. Why should Lord Carlisle ask about her family now?

  She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He had high cheekbones and firm, sensuously sculpted lips. It was an arrogant face. An aristocrat’s face. Now that she knew who he was, she could easily trace a likeness to his sisters in his features. Charlotte and Ellie were both beauties, with dark hair and merry black eyes.

  Lord Carlisle didn’t look merry at the moment. He looked grim. His large hands gripped the reins and he’d fallen silent after her last disclosure. She looked away. What did she care if he were grim? She cared only that he was silent.

  And really, what was there to say? I’m sorry you and your sisters are orphans? What an unspeakable tragedy? She was oddly rather grateful he said nothing. It saved her the effort of having to manufacture the empty words required when someone expressed their condolences. Thank you, my lord. Indeed it is a tragedy, my lord. No one wanted to hear the truth. My life as I’ve known it is over, my lord. My sisters are awash in grief, my lord. I’m not sure we’ll survive, my lord.

  Delia closed her eyes and listened to the soothing sounds of night. The deepening sky disguised her surroundings and for a little while she could imagine she was still in Surrey. The spring sunlight would have sunk below the roofline of the cottage by now, plunging the long narrow walkway and the modest front entry into darkness. Her sisters would be squabbling cheerfully as they prepared dinner—all except Hyacinth, who would muck about in the gardens for as long as possible, dirt caked under her fingernails, ignoring Hannah’s orders to come indoors.

  Delia had been gone for less than a day, and already she longed for home with an ache that left her breathless again. An entire fortnight in Kent seemed impossible, an eternity—

  “The carriage is just ahead,” Lord Carlisle said. His voice was low but it startled her. She’d all but forgotten he was there. He pulled the cart up beside a bulky dark shape at the side of the road, barely discernible in the dusk.

  Delia was out of the cart almost before it stopped. “Lily!” Her voice trembled. Her sister had been stranded on the road for hours, in the cold and the dark. Lily’s health was precarious at the moment. What if she—

  Before Delia could become truly alarmed, however, a slim figured appeared in the doorway of the carriage. “Here, Delia,” Lily replied in her soft voice. “We’re all right.”

  “Thank goodness for that.” Delia rushed toward her sister, removing Lord Carlisle’s coat to drape it around Lily’s shoulders. “I’m sorry it took such an age to return for you both. I was delayed by—”

  She stopped. What could she say? That extra time was required for Lord Carlisle to fasten both his shirt and his breeches? “That is, Lord Carlisle was engaged with—”

  Alec stepped forward and bowed smoothly to Lily. “I apologize for the delay. I was on the verge of satisfactorily concluding an urgent affair when Miss Somerset interrupted me with word of your distress. It took a few moments to disentangle myself.”

  “Oh, dear,” Lily said with concern. “I’m sorry to interrupt such important business. I do hope the intrusion didn’t cause irreparable damage.”

  “You’re very kind.” He gave Delia a diabolical smile. “No serious damage was done. I’m certain to achieve a gratifying conclusion at the next opportunity.”

  Delia stared at him, her mouth open in astonishment. She remained
silent until Lily delicately cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

  “Lord Carlisle, this is my sister, Miss Lily Somerset,” Delia said sullenly, squirming with the indignity of making a formal introduction under the circumstances.

  Lily, as elegant and inexplicably as neatly attired as if she’d been out for a leisurely stroll, dipped into a curtsy that would have done justice to a London ballroom. If she thought it odd Lord Carlisle himself had come to fetch her in a hay cart, she gave no sign of it. She smiled graciously at him. “It’s indeed a delight to meet you, my lord, though William’s pleasure at your arrival must exceed even mine. He hasn’t uttered a word of complaint, but I’m afraid his ankle pains him.”

  A voice spoke up from inside the carriage. “Yer very kind, miss, but there’s no need to take on so on account of me. I’ve ’ad worse.” There was a rustling inside the carriage and then William limped to the door. He bowed awkwardly to Lord Carlisle. “My lord, I beg yer pardon—”

  “It’s all right, William.” Lord Carlisle’s voice was rough, but not unkind. He stepped forward to help William down from the carriage. “Lean on me.” He offered his arm. William hobbled over to the cart and heaved himself into the back with the earl’s assistance.

  Then Lord Carlisle turned to Lily and offered her a hand. “I apologize for the roughness of the accommodations. Miss Somerset chose expediency over luxury. The inn’s hay cart was the quickest means of fetching you.”

  Lily smiled. “That doesn’t sound like Delia.” She placed her tidily gloved hand in Lord Carlisle’s and joined William in the back of the cart. “She isn’t usually that practical.”

  “Is that so?” Lord Carlisle ran his eyes over Delia’s mud-splattered gown. “I find that difficult to believe.”

  Delia crossed her arms defensively over her chest. “I’m sure Lord Carlisle isn’t the least bit interested in discussing this, Lily. Shall we go, my lord?” She nodded at the cart. “It grows late. Your sisters will have expected us hours ago.”