To Wed a Wicked Earl (23 page)

She looked to him then. Really looked at him. Perhaps for the first time since he joined their party. He was a handsome man, she had always thought so. But for some reason, today his looks paled in comparison to…well, to Rothbury’s. She didn’t know why she was suddenly looking upon him differently, only that she was.

His auburn locks were clipped short, his dress impeccable as always…

“Hurry,” he whispered, stopping her thoughts short.

Not quite believing him, she slid a side a glance down the table to see for herself. Miraculously, Louisette and Miss Drake were now talking in hushed tones. And apparently, they had forgotten about her taking a bite.

Charlotte seized upon the opportunity and tossed the scone over her shoulder. She never heard it fall, and it surely would have clunked on the floor, so it must have gone straight out the open doors. She hoped to God that it hadn’t accidentally clubbed a servant.

“Thank you,” she murmured to Tristan.

“You’re welcome,” he answered back.

Suddenly, Rothbury cleared his throat loudly, nearly making Charlotte jump. “Miss Drake,” he called.

“Yes?”

“Would you mind passing down another of my grandmother’s delicious scones to Miss Greene? She loved it so much, but was too shy to ask for another.”

“Of course! Of course!”

Louisette beamed while Miss Drake placed another rock on a linen napkin and handed it to a servant to give to Charlotte.

Oh, that man!

Leaning back in her chair, Charlotte raised a brow, locating his leg.

He anticipated her move, however, and caught her foot before it met with his shin. Despite her anger, she shivered as his hot hand smoothed over the top of her stocking-encased foot. She thought he would simply let go, but he squeezed gently, meaningfully.

She gave a small gasp, jerking back her foot from his hold. Which was a mistake, because he held fast and her slipper dropped to the floor.

Her gaze darted to the others seated at the table. No one seemed to notice what was happening at this end of the table.

“Dropped something, Miss Greene?” Rothbury asked.

“Um, no.”

“Allow me to retrieve it for you.”

But before he moved an inch, Charlotte abruptly rose from the table. “If yo–you’ll all excuse me. I’d like a bit of fresh air.”

Surprising her, Lord Tristan rose as well. “May I accompany you, Miss Greene? I must be on my way, and wanted to speak with you privately before I left.”

She looked to her mother.

“Go on,” Hyacinth said between bites of her chicken. “If you stay within sight, I should see no reason. Why not stand just across the way?” She gestured with her napkin toward a row of forget-me-nots and tulips just outside the window.

Charlotte nodded, suppressing the urge to look at Rothbury and judge his reaction. She wasn’t even sure of her own reaction. She should be delighted, shouldn’t she? Lord Tristan was here of his own accord and he wanted to speak with her privately. Whatever could he have to say? Had being caught in Rothbury’s embrace worked that well?

But just before she turned away, she felt his warm hand heavy on her arm.

“Your slipper, Miss Greene.”

Blinking down at it dumbly, she hoped no one would remark on why it had come off in the first place. She bent to sit, but Rothbury stopped her.

His hand at her heel, he gently slid it back onto her foot without taking his eyes away from her face.

“Thank you,” she said, then pressed her lips together. She had to remind herself that she was mad at him. That he was angry with her.

She turned and left, Lord Tristan following her out.

Outside, the burst of sunshine made her eyes smart. She had to put a hand over her brow to shield them.

“Miss Greene?”

“Lord Tristan,” she answered, not certain how she was to act, given that he so coolly had broken her heart just a few months ago.

Could she so easily forgive him?

Smiling, he walked toward her, grasping her hands within his and giving the knuckles of each a kiss in turn.

“Please,” she said, pulling them from his hold.

“Too bold. I’m sorry. I did not expect to see you here,” he said.

“Nor I you,” she replied. “I-I mean I knew R…Lord Rothbury invited you to luncheon, but I had not expected you to come.”

“I wanted to visit some of our old haunts,” he said, his bright blue eyes nearly sparkling with an inner light. “Haven’t visited Aubry Park in an age. Well, the manor house anyway. Nothing much has changed. Fishing spot still looks exactly the same.”

“I see,” she said all politeness.

“The maze,” he lifted a sweeping hand, “is the same as well.”

She nodded. “Yes, I became familiar with it as well, earlier today.”

“Got lost, did you?”

“Quite.”

He smiled in such a fashion that, had he not broken her heart months ago, would surely have made her sigh.

“And of course I wanted to visit the horse farm. Interested in an Arabian filly.”

She nodded, plucking a purplish-blue wildflower from the edge of the path.

He shifted his stance, looking nervous. It was so unlike him. He took off his hat and started smoothing the brim, turning the hat circularly. “And I wanted to see you.”

She fought to keep her jaw from going slack. “Me?”

“Yes. The circumstance at which we parted left me no room to approach you. To explain the way of things.”

Her spine straightened, determined to deliver her words with dignity. “There is nothing to explain. You told me I was a cut above the others. You told me you had always liked me. You told me I was the only genuine one of the bunch and that if you had to spend the rest of your life with any of us, it would be me.” She swallowed, surprised at how calm she felt. “And then you chose someone else.”

He shook his head slowly, those beautiful, beguiling blue eyes never leaving her face. “You and Harriet were the only women attending my brother’s ghastly bride quest who were sincere in your regard of me. Though I believe Harriet’s regard was hastily placed.”

She remained motionless, her every nerve on edge for what he would say next.

“Believe what you want of me. I don’t blame you at all. But I didn’t want to marry. It is still my wish to remain a bachelor. And I meant everything I said to you. However, in choosing you, I knew I couldn’t bring myself to break your heart. I would see that the deed was done. I would go through with the marriage, uphold my vow. But by choosing Harriet…”

A frown marred her brow. “Are you trying to tell me that you knew your brother was going to marry my friend, thus there would be no need for you to marry and carry on the line?”

He nodded solemnly.

“And by choosing Harriet…”

“And by choosing Harriet, I knew she would cry off as soon as she realized she wasn’t going to be marrying the heir apparent or possibly giving birth to one eventually.”

“So you picked her because you knew she’d release you?”

“Precisely.”

Raising her brows, she shook her head. “I don’t know what to say.” Did he want forgiveness? This had all turned out very neatly for him, hadn’t it?

“You don’t have to say anything. I only wanted you to know that I meant what I said.”

What was she to do now, she wondered? Thank him? Offer him forgiveness? Go skipping through the tulips in a burst of joy that could not be contained?

However, she was saved from making any sort of decision when everyone began descending the steps and making their way back to the carriage, the servants staying behind to straighten the mess.

“I see you are going to be off as well,” he said.

She gave him a small smile. “Are you not to return to the manor along with us?”

He looked down at her, his expressive mouth curling with a rakish grin. “No, I’m off to take another gander at the filly Rothbury keeps promising will be ready for the three-year-old-filly race this summer. But I’ll see you again, I’m sure. Your best friend seems to have stolen my real brother and replaced him with one who smiles, laughs, and jokes. But of course, only for her.”

“Of course,” she said, smiling genuinely now, thinking of how happy Madelyn and Gabriel were together.

Taking her arm, Tristan draped it over his, ushering her down the row toward the carriage.

The others were still some distance away. Rothbury, strangely, was not with them. Where had he gone?

Coming to the carriage, Tristan bent his head low. “Miss Greene,” he whispered in her ear. “Regarding Lord Rothbury…you would be wise to remember one little thing.”

“Hmm?”

“Lord Rothbury is rarely what he seems.” Tipping his hat, he turned on his heel to offer a brief but charming good-bye to the others.

Charlotte didn’t know what he could have meant by that, but it sounded ominous indeed.

“Did you have a nice little chat?”

Charlotte nearly jumped as Rothbury’s deep, sultry tones sounded behind her.

She suddenly felt nervous, jittery. “We had a nice chat. Yes. We did.” Tristan’s warning rang in her ears. Just what did he mean?

The others now joined them, Miss Drake and her mother talking animatedly about a patch of haunted woods nearby. Rothbury helped the women into the carriage and then turned his amber-flecked gaze on her.

Schooling her features into a composed expression that she did not quite feel, she twirled the little flower she still held between her fingertips.

“And where did that come from?”

She looked down at the bloom she had plucked while talking to Tristan. Hmm. If she didn’t know any better, she would swear his question had a definite jealous ring.

“It came from the earth,” she said sweetly.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Indeed. It is exactly what you asked.”

His eyes changed, taking on a sudden vulnerability that stunned her.

“Did he give it to you?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say yes, but she decided against it.

“No,” she said. “I picked it myself.”

He gave his tawny head a shake, the vulnerability she saw disappearing so fast, she rather thought she must have imagined it.

“You know,” he remarked, his teasing lilt returning to his voice once again as he helped her into the carriage. “The lord of the manor considers flower plucking on his property to be a capital offense.”

“He does, does he?” she asked, smiling. “And what is the punishment for my heinous crime?”

“Oh, I don’t think you’d like my manner of chastisement at all.”

“I wouldn’t?”

“Not at all,” he murmured, shaking his head slowly, his hooded eyes skimming ever so slowly down her body and back up again.

“Wh-Why don’t you tell me?”

Barely perceptible, he moved his head, gesturing her to venture near the open door of the carriage. When she was close enough, he whispered, “First, I’d take you inside my library…”

“And?”

“…bring you over to my desk…”

“And?” She swallowed, held her breath.

“…sit you upon my lap…and feed you all of my grandmother’s left-over scones.”

She straightened, her lips twisting with playful aggravation. “Oh, Rothbury,” she admonished in a whisper. “You are an awful, awful man.” Laughing, she settled herself back into her seat.

Once they returned from the pavilion, the women returned to their chambers to rest and change for dinner. Charlotte busied herself by writing three letters, one to her cousin Lizzie and the other two to her friend Madelyn.

Dinner proved to be a quiet affair, as Louisette decided to forgo eating, choosing instead to stare blankly at a portrait of a horse hanging on the wall across the room until a very tired-looking Miss Drake bid Charlotte good evening, then ushered her charge up to her private chambers. Which left Charlotte quite literally alone. Her own mother had complained of an ache in her back and requested to dine in her room. She was now sleeping.

Rothbury hadn’t even come to dinner.

To Charlotte’s dismay, Miss Drake had explained that he was needed in the village to assist a family whose barn was in need of repair and on the verge of collapsing. He would most likely return after they had all retired. The news left Charlotte in a whirl of confusion. Just why did she feel so disappointed that he wasn’t going to be able to join them?

Dear Lord. Did she miss him? How could she miss him? She had spent more time with him in the last two days than she had in the past year. What in the world was wrong with her?

Perhaps she needed to relax a bit. A book. Yes. Perhaps she would find a book to read before she retired for the evening. Indeed, it was a splendid idea.

And then perhaps she’d quit lying to herself and just admit the truth—that she was going to wait up for him in the hopes he’d kiss her again.

Lamp in hand, she moved down the hall leading from the dining room. The manor was quiet and dark. Except for the footman who had come to clear away the dinner dishes, she hadn’t seen or heard another servant.