To Challenge the Earl of Cravenswood (Wicked Wagers 3) (4 page)

With lightness in his step, Henry trotted up his front walk.

For a change, his footman was most surprised to hear a whistling and chirpy master enter the house, especially as he had nasty gash on his forehead. But then all of the nobility were a bit crazy.

Chapter Three

Amy tossed and turned in her bed, unable to sleep. Her body still hummed deliciously. Henry St. Giles. She’d kissed him, and more. Her face and skin heated.

The year he’d finished at Oxford, she’d fallen completely in love with the twenty-one year old second son of the earl. She’d stand at her window each day merely to catch a glimpse of him. Any dreams of a marriage were simply that—dreams. Her father would never allow her to marry a mere second son.

But two years ago, after his brother's death...He was now the Earl. Her father could hardly object to a match. Unfortunately, Henry obviously had no desire to wife hunt. Or maybe it was simply no desire for her. 

One night she’d been hiding from her father in Henry’s private garden. She’d overheard him talking to his dead brother. Henry had just become the earl and seemed lost in grief and responsibility. How she’d longed to offer him comfort. She’d meant to leave him to his privacy. She’d been mortified that she hadn’t turned tail and fled as soon as he started unburdening his heart. A proper young lady did not eavesdrop. She didn't mean to stay and listen to his personal conversation, but something in his lonely chat with his recently departed brother penetrated her heart.

She’d learned something about Henry St Giles that day. She learned they had quite a bit in common. They both wanted more out of life. Not materials things. They were both looking for something personal, something deeper, a connection with another human being.

Last night they’d connected all right. She plumped her pillow and tried to relax. The morning sun was well up in the sky. She should get up. But she dreaded the morning now. What if Henry realized who he’d kissed in his garden? He’d thought her someone else. His heart might belong to Millicent. If Henry realized what he’d done, he’d try to offer for her. She could not have that. Not if he loved another.

Worse, she had to go back to the garden. She’d lost one of her emerald earrings. They were a gift from Lord and Lady Wolverstone. They’d had them especially designed as a thank you for saving Sabine from a sadistic rapist. It was the first time she’d worn them. 

The earring likely came off when Henry’s hand sunk into her hair. If anyone found it in the garden and showed it to Marcus, her identity would be revealed.

She knew what would happen then. The duke would see her betrothed to Henry in a snap of his ducal fingers.

Her father had lost his temper with her at Lady Skye’s ball last night. He’d wanted to announce her engagement to Jeremy Montague, Marquis of Chesterton. Her threat of causing a scene the only reason her father angrily relented.

Yesterday she had made her own list of possible candidates. She’d gone to the ball to begin her planned assault, determined to thwart her father’s list of husbands with one of her own choosing. Sabine had promised to help. Only Amy couldn’t confess to her friend that there was only one name on her list. Henry St. Giles, the Earl of Cravenswood. 

She had not seen him bestow his favors on any of the young debutants. She’d also investigated him as much as she could without raising eyebrows. According to her friend Latisha’s brother, he did not appear to have a mistress. He didn’t appear to have anyone. He looked lonely and sometimes a tad sad. His brother’s death had changed him.

She’d been delighted to learn that Henry wasn’t in love with anyone. But she’d been wrong to hope. It appeared he did have someone special. He’d called a woman’s name last night. Millicent sounded more than a casual acquaintance. When he spoke her name, it sounded as if he loved this woman. His voice choked and it held such longing.

So who was Millicent?

With an exasperated sigh she threw back the covers. She wouldn’t find out who Henry’s mysterious lady by lying in bed moping. She moved to the bell pull to summon her maid. She knew exactly where she would go today. A quick trip to explore the garden and then on to Telford House. She had information to gather.

When she next saw Henry she’d have to pretend indifference. It would be difficult given her body remembered very well what his clever fingers could do. She swallowed her longing. She prayed he would not be visiting with Harlow when she called on Caitlin.

This morning she would visit with the two ladies who knew the most about Henry St. Giles. Or at least would know how to find the answers she sought-who was Millicent and what is she to Henry? Lady Dangerfield and Lady Wolverstone. Caitlin and Sabine would help her she was sure, especially since she’d been instrumental in ensuring Sabine married her one true love, Marcus. If they didn’t have her answers, she’d ask them to discretely extract the information from their husbands, Henry’s best friends.

#

The next morning, Henry was up early. For once in his miserable life, Charles was on time. Just when Henry felt like death had come knocking, his cousin looked fresh and alert. He felt like the worlds biggest hypocrite.

His bad temper made the meeting short and functional. He laid out his plan. 

“Charles, you will offer for Hilda Lulworth and I will guarantee you an annual income of six-thousand pounds.” He held up his hand stilling Charles’s cry of protest. “In addition, I refuse to pay any of your gambling debts except this current note, and if you should end up in the poorhouse, I’ll move Hilda into the Dowager house on my estate. I’ll ensure Hilda’s security, but not yours.” He turned a ferocious gaze on his useless cousin and added, “Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

Charles made to stand his mouth spluttering curses but his father put a hand on his shoulder, stilling him. “That sounds more than generous. However, one small point. Hilda is expecting a match with you. What if she should refuse?”

“Then Charles will woo her and ensure she doesn’t refuse.”

“I bloody won’t marry that mouse of a woman.”

Henry raised an eyebrow, and spoke slowly and carefully, ignoring the pain thumping through his head. “Then I won’t cover your notes and you can rot in the poorhouse for all I care. The choice is yours.”

Thomas cleared his throat. “I believe Henry is being more than generous, Charles.” He stood, indicating to Charles to do likewise. “We shall not take up any more of your time. Be assured I shall ensure your wishes are adhered to.”

They reached the door before Henry spoke. “By the end of the season this marriage is to take place. Only then will I pay off your debts. Plus, Hilda will at all times be treated with respect and kindness or I shall cut you off without a penny.”

Charles’s back stiffened but he remained silent. His only form of rebellion was the slamming of the door upon his exit.

Henry dropped his head in his hands, praying he’d done the right thing for all concerned. He’d have to talk with Hilda. He didn’t look forward to that conversation.

Henry wrote a quick note and summoned a footman with directions to deliver it to Lulworth house. He would settle the matter this afternoon. 

His stomach heaved—from guilt or his hangover he wasn’t sure. But even with a hangover from hell, he couldn’t stop from wanting to begin his search for the owner of the earring nestled safely in his jacket pocket.

He rose, moved to the window, and looked out over the garden. If not for the earring he’d have thought last night a perfect dream.

He’d start the search in his garden. He couldn’t get the feel or response of the woman from last night out of his mind. She’d felt perfect in his arms. Perhaps she’d thought so too. Maybe she’d return to the garden...

He strode from the room, determined to find the answer he sought. As he descended his front steps, his hopes rose when he spied a splash of lavender and white through the foliage. Someone was there. The dress indicated it was a woman. He entered quietly. She could be searching for her earring.

He crept closer, sticking to the grass rather than walking on the gravel path.

As he rounded the bushes, and the fountain came into view, the sight that greeted him saw his senses sharply focus.

Two round globes greeted him. A woman was on her knees, under the bench. The fabric of her white linen dress pulled taut across her plump behind. His arms moved as if to mold his hands to the beckoning sight, and he had to check himself. Hadn’t he molested enough women recently?

She was moving right and left, searching for something. This was his mystery woman. He was sure of it.

He caught a flash of pale skin, raven-black hair, and the scent of citrus. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. Blast. He couldn’t swear it was the same scent as last night. He wished his head didn’t hurt so much, and that he’d not been so drunk. He opened his eyes and cleared his throat.

At the sound, her head rose sharply and smacked the underside of the bench. “Owe!”

The deliciously plump bottom began wiggling as she backed out from under the seat, and Henry’s body reacted immediately. Heat licked at his groin and blood raced south.

She muttered under her breath, twisting to look over her shoulder. Her appalled gaze reached Henry and she froze, eyes widening with shock.

Henry’s shock matched hers, but he hid it under what he hoped was a friendly yet non-threatening manner, in the sense
of I’m not about to attack you again
kind of way. It
was
Amy. His neighbor.
Please, dear God, don’t let me have molested Amy. 

“Have you lost something, Lady Shipton?”

Warm honey coloured eyes quickly masked her shock and she seemed fixated on his bandage. “Oh, you’ve hurt yourself.” She gave a little giggle. “Who on earth dressed your wound? It looks as if a child has played doctor with your head.”

“Quite. Thank you for your concern. I had a small accident.”

He watched to see if guilty recognition entered her face, but it remained blank, except for amusement. Irritation stirred. He became more direct.

“In this very garden. Last night, actually.”

Amy looked around anxiously. “You were attacked in your own garden?” She took a step back.

He blanched. Perhaps it wasn’t Amy. He hadn’t meant to frighten her. “Good lord, no. I tripped and fell.”

Of course it couldn’t have been Amy. Surely Amy would have stopped him immediately. A young woman of quality, an innocent young woman would never have allowed such behavior. Her screams would have brought her servants running. Besides, he’d never been attracted to Amy Shipton. 

Idiot
. How had he not noticed that she was, in fact, very attractive? Perhaps because, as a second son of an Earl, he allowed himself to harbour hopes for a wife who would love him, but he never looked above his station. Never would he have expected to be able to marry the daughter of a Duke. But now.... There was nothing to stop him. Why had he never noticed how appealing his young neighbor was?

He ran a critical eye over the young woman before him.
Christ
. His mouth watered. She’d grown up.

Her face was pretty enough. Wide forehead, high cheek bones, and warm, honey-brown eyes. But it was the cupid bow lips that drew a man’s gaze. The lips pouted and made a man think wicked thoughts. What he’d love to teach her to do with those lips...

He swept his eyes down and then back up her dainty frame. Her breasts were the right size, enough to fill his hands. She curved in all the right places, in exactly the right proportions. Plenty of flesh to cushion his body. Enough for a man to hold on to. She looked like a woman built for pleasure. His pleasure.
Get a grip, man.

She was however, respectably dressed. In fact, the dress more than adequately covered every inch of her, buttoned up to the neck. Yet, every inch of
his
body reacted to the sight of her.
Unusual.

His suspicions were back in play. The last few months his body had been reluctant to feel desire, yet here he was reacting like a stallion scenting a mare, to a properly clothed, respectable, young woman. Why? Did it recognize what he could not? 

He repeated his question. “You were looking for something. What have you lost?”

She gathered herself reasonably quickly, yet she wrung her hands. “I apologize for being in your garden, my lord. I don’t want to get into trouble.”

Oh, my God. It was Amy.
He fought down his horror at the thought he’d basically molested a virgin. No wonder she didn’t want to discuss what occurred last night. Yet, his mind screamed he’d found her.

 “You’re not in trouble, Amy.” First names were appropriate given she would soon be his wife. “Please let me take care of everything.”

She looked at him wide eyed. “You can find Tinkles then?”

His mouth opened and nothing came out. At his look of confusion Amy promptly burst into tears. “I’ve lost Tinkles.”

“Tinkles?”

“My guinea pig.” She dropped to her knees again under the nearest bush. “I let him out in our garden next door and he fled through the gate into your property before I could stop him. I thought I saw him in the daffodils behind the bench. Could you help me look for him?”

Henry could barely form a coherent thought with her bottom now firmly pointing upward once again. His hands inched forward and he pulled them back, anchoring them at his side. What was wrong with him? He’d not been this randy since he’d lost his virginity with the local barmaid at fifteen. Not even Millicent made his blood quicken as much as one glimpse at this respectably covered bottom.

It couldn’t be Amy.
He’d watched her grow up and he’d never once wanted to throw her down in the grass and lick her from head to toe, stopping midway for her pleasure.

But here she was. Bottom up, in his garden the night after he’d found a very expensive earring. An earring she could well afford. Guinea pig? Could this be a coincident? The Duke of Shipton’s garden did back onto his. The story was plausible.