An Earl Like You Read online

  His brows went up. “Why would you say that?”

  She pursed her lips in exasperation. Why did he have to say something foolish and spoil the moment? “I never have been. Please don’t say things you don’t mean.”

  For a second he was taken aback. “I beg your pardon.”

  Eliza sighed. “I’m not beautiful. I like beautiful clothes, and Papa insists on buying me beautiful jewelry”—she touched the pearls at her neck—“but I find myself doubting the eyesight or the sincerity of anyone who tells me I am beautiful.”

  It took him a moment to reply to that. Eliza’s stomach felt sour. Was Lord Hastings to be just like the other idiots who courted her? What a terrible pity . . .

  He cleared his throat. “I did not actually accuse you of being beautiful. I said you looked beautiful tonight. A subtle but significant difference.”

  “Yes, the gown,” she started to say.

  He stepped closer. “Is my eyesight failing? Let me make a closer study.” He took another step, until she had to tilt back her head to look at him. “Hold still,” he said, amusement softening his tone. He touched her chin.

  Eliza froze.

  Gently the earl tipped her face from side to side, his dark eyes intent upon her. “A few freckles,” he said thoughtfully. “But I find those charming.” His thumb brushed along her cheekbone and Eliza’s hands fisted in the folds of her skirt. “Your lashes are very long,” he murmured. “And your eyes . . . Your eyes are lovely. Like the fields of Rosemere under a summer sky, when the grasses are tall and verdant, and golden finches swoop in and out.” He fingered a wisp of hair that had fallen loose at her temple. “Your hair is the color of honey, and soft—like a favorite linen shirt that’s been washed a hundred times. Your lips . . .” He paused, his thumb lingering at the corner of her mouth, and Eliza almost whimpered aloud. “I want to kiss you,” he said, almost inaudibly.

  The breath whooshed from her lungs, and she nodded. A faint smile curved his mouth and then he bent his head. Eliza stood rigid as his lips touched hers, softer than a breath of air and gone almost as quickly as one. He lifted his head and looked at her. “Have you ever been kissed before?”

  She flushed scarlet and had to wet her lips before she could speak. “Not well kissed . . .”

  His shoulders shook. “Miss Cross, you leave me speechless.” He cupped her jaw in his hand as his other hand came to the small of her back and pulled her against him. “I’ll try to do better,” he whispered against her mouth, and then he kissed her again.

  If she had expected another soft touch of his lips against her, she was quickly proven wrong. This time his mouth settled on hers with intent, firm and insistent. When she gasped at the difference, his tongue slid between her parted lips and teased her until she moaned. He kissed as if he meant to conquer her, and Eliza was all too happy to surrender. His hands moved over her, gripping her waist, sliding up her shoulders to hold the nape of her neck as his mouth traveled over her eyelids and down her jaw. She whimpered as his teeth grazed her earlobe, setting her earring swaying, and she almost melted when his hand brushed her breast. It was an accident, she thought wildly, because they were pressed so close together—somehow her hands had got around his chest, beneath his jacket—but then he did it again.

  He muttered something profane and tore off his glove, and then it was his bare hand on her breast, his palm cupping her, his fingers teasing along the edge of her bodice until—oh heavens—his thumb went right over her nipple. Eliza’s start of shock turned into a shiver of ecstasy as he stroked the hard little nub again. He pulled her hard against him, until his hips met hers and she felt his unmistakable arousal. His mouth was hot and wet against her neck, and dimly Eliza thought that if he asked, she would tear off her dress and give herself to him right here on Lady Thayne’s terrace, in the rain, ten feet away from a ballroom full of people. This was what it meant to want someone with a burning passion. Thank all the saints in heaven she’d got a chance to feel it once in her life . . .

  He released her abruptly, clamping his hands on her elbows as she stumbled forward. He looked a little wild, with his hair mussed and his eyes burning. He quivered with every breath, and Eliza could only stare back. He’d kissed her until her brain melted and her tongue turned to lead. Good heavens, she wished he’d do it again.

  “Eliza—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Miss Cross.” A thin line appeared between his brows, as if something confused him. “That went further than I planned,” he finally said, his voice very low and still rough with want.

  She could barely give her head a helpless shake, and raise one hand in some futile gesture of forgiveness. A shudder went through him, and he let go of her. He half turned away, scrubbing his bare hand over his face. After a moment he faced her again, but there was something wild and unsettled in his expression. “I should return you to the ballroom. Your father will wonder where you’ve gone.”

  Papa. Oh Lord. Eliza gripped her hands together. Papa would surely know from one glimpse of her face what had happened. She thought he would be pleased—elated, actually—but she didn’t want to hear him point out that he was right and wasn’t she glad for it. This kiss, this devastating, exhilarating, wonderful kiss still felt too fresh and alive on her lips. Papa’s gloating might sour it; he would be thinking of a wedding and grandchildren while she just wanted to revel in the knowledge that the Earl of Hastings found her attractive. He wanted to kiss her. He even wanted to make love to her.

  Eliza supposed some fellow might have felt that way about her before, but this was the first time it was a man she wanted to kiss back. A man she wished would fall in love with her, and even make love to her until she expired of bliss.

  Hastings bent and retrieved his glove. Eliza smoothed her hair with trembling hands, remembering how he’d torn off that glove to touch her. His gaze fixed on her chest as he rose, and she realized, with mortification, that her dress was askew. She turned her back, but his arms came around her.

  “Let me.” His hands steady again, he ran his palms up her bodice to smooth her gown back into place. He took his time, his cheek against her temple, and Eliza tried not to shake like a leaf when his fingers brushed her nipple one last time before his hands drifted to rest on her hips.

  He put his mouth next to her ear. “Should I apologize for what happened?”

  The tiniest shake of her head.

  His lips touched the sensitive skin behind her ear. “May I call on you—just you, not your father?”

  Her heart was about to stop. She would faint and slide right through his arms to land in a senseless heap on the ground. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Thank you.” Gently he turned her around. Eliza gazed up at him, wondering if he could tell from looking at her that she was about to fall headlong in love with him. A small smile touched his lips, bemused but reassuring. “Until then, my dear.” He raised her hand and kissed it before very properly offering his arm. “We should return, before your father comes to call me out.”

  A shaky laugh burst out of her. If only he knew how desperately Papa longed for her to have a suitor. “I would persuade him against it, my lord.”

  He laughed. “I hope I could do that on my own, but I will never refuse your support.” He took her back into the ballroom, which now seemed incredibly loud and hot and crowded. Eliza whisked open her fan and waved it furiously, trying to dispel the blush she could still feel on her face.

  The Earl of Hastings had kissed her. Had put his hands on her like a lover would. Had held her against himself as if he wanted to devour her. And then he asked to call on her. There was a chorus of joy thundering in her head, and she barely heard the earl’s words of farewell.

  Papa had disappeared, but she soon caught sight of him, at the back of the room, deep in conversation with Mr. Grenville. Eliza made her way to his side, and he gave her a distracted nod. Mr. Grenville looked at her and flashed a knowing smirk, as if he knew what had happened. Eliza blushed all over again.
Mr. Grenville was a rogue, and she prayed he wouldn’t say anything to Papa.

  She stood quietly beside her father for some time, smiling blindly at the dancers and utterly uncaring of the fact that no one else asked her to dance. Every moment of her waltz, and then that kiss, spooled through her mind as if they were still happening, over and over again.

  “I’ve had enough. Shall we go?” Papa’s voice made her jump.

  “Oh! If you want to, Papa.” They went through the crowd and sent for the carriage. Eliza didn’t catch even the smallest glimpse of Lord Hastings.

  “Did you enjoy the evening?” Papa asked when they were cocooned in the dark coach, heading home.

  Eliza smiled to herself. “Yes, Papa. Very much.”

  Hugh drifted through the ballroom, speaking to friends and acquaintances without remembering a word of what he’d said. Some commented with surprise on his choice of partner. He’d meant to make a statement, to Eliza and to society, and by God, he’d done it.

  The thing was, he really hadn’t meant to do more than kiss her chastely. Just enough to declare his intentions and gauge her reaction. Instead he’d ended up almost ravishing her against the side of the house outside a ballroom filled with people. What was wrong with him?

  She’d made him laugh, of course, saying she’d never been well kissed. A charming joke from a spinster. So he’d kissed her again, and somehow between the sensual little moans she made and the way her fingers dug into his shirt as if she wanted to tear it off, he’d gone a bit mad. He’d had her breast in his hand, for Christ’s sake.

  The memory made a fine sweat break out on the back of his neck. Plump and firm with a thoroughly aroused nipple. He wanted to taste it. He wanted to strip her bare and lay her down and taste every inch of her, but especially those round tempting breasts. So much for fearing a shy, paralyzed virgin; she might be innocent, but Eliza had pressed against him and kissed him back until he completely forgot that he was pursuing her because of her father’s manipulations.

  That thought cooled his blood somewhat. Edward Cross wanted him to court and marry his daughter, did he? Hugh smiled grimly. Cross was about to get exactly what he wanted.

  And so was he. Not only Cross’s money, but Eliza herself.

  Chapter 12

  He went in search of his mother the next morning and found her in her private sitting room, with Edith beside her.

  “Good morning, darling.” Rose tilted her head to receive his kiss on her cheek. “You’re up early.”

  “I might say the same about you.” He regarded his sister with concern. “Is this healthy? I believed ladies avoided the morning sun for fear it would render them hopelessly unfashionable.”

  Edith rolled her eyes and laughed. “We weren’t out late last night like you were, silly.”

  Hugh had gone to Vega’s last night after leaving Thayne’s house, more out of habit than anything. Naturally his luck had returned and he walked out nearly three thousand pounds richer, now that he was within reach of almost twenty times that much. “As if I’ve got much choice! I hear nothing but shopping and ribbons and what Lady So-and-So wore to the ball last night.” He gave a mock shudder. “There’s too much talk of lace within these walls. It’s more than my brain can bear.”

  Edith threw a pillow at him. “Your male brain is weak indeed!”

  Hugh caught the pillow and grinned. “I’ve come to have a word with Mother, minx. I cannot handle speaking to two females at once, with my weak male brain.”

  “Very well, I’ll go.” Edith collected her embroidery and rose. “Before I leave, I have a question for you, Hugh. Reggie has tried to call on you twice and you’ve been out both times. When shall I tell him you’ll be home so he can come again?”

  Hugh had been deliberately avoiding Reginald Benwick. The young man had sent him two messages as well, pressing for a quick negotiation of the marriage settlements. He was unhappy with the Hastings solicitor, who was thankfully following orders to be as slow and unresponsive as possible. Hugh planned to put Benwick off for at least another fortnight.

  “Reggie? Oh yes, young Benwick. I’ll see him at some point. I’ve been busy of late, Edith.”

  Her brow creased in frustration. “But, Hugh—”

  “Soon,” he said firmly. “Don’t pester.”

  Edith turned to her mother for support, but Rose simply looked toward the door. “Your brother answered you, Edith.”

  His sister’s eyes flashed with hurt, but she ducked her head. “Yes, Mama. It’s so hard to be patient, though.”

  “Of course it is, when you’re in love,” said their mother affectionately. “You must endure.” Edith nodded and left, closing the door behind her. “Is there a reason you’re not anxious to settle things with Benwick?” his mother asked.

  “I’ve not had time,” said Hugh in a voice that warned her not to pursue it. “I’ll deal with him soon enough. I need a favor, Mother.”

  She was not pleased with his answer about Benwick, but her face softened at the request. “Of course, darling, anything.”

  “Invite Elizabeth Cross to tea.”

  “Who?” She inhaled sharply. “No—not Edward Cross’s daughter? You can’t be serious!”

  “That’s the one, and I am perfectly serious.” He met her shocked gaze evenly. “Please.”

  She jumped to her feet, wringing her hands. “No. No! You cannot mean it. I wondered, when you spoke so warmly of her the other day, but, Hugh—I warned you about getting attached unwisely—”

  “Mother, I try not to impose on you often. I am asking this now, and I expect you to do it.” Hugh didn’t often exercise his authority as head of the family, but this time he had to. “Send the invitation today.”

  Her mouth set mutinously. “I am not pleased.”

  “Thank you, Mother.” He got up. “I do think you’ll like her. She’s a lovely girl, warm and kindhearted.”

  “I don’t like this,” she warned him.

  “Be gracious to her,” he said. “For me.” For all of us, he added in his mind.

  She frowned but threw up one hand. “Very well.”

  He got proof that she’d done it the next morning. Edith was pacing in the hall when he went down to set out for a morning ride. At his approach she ran forward and seized his arm. “Tell me it’s a lark!” He frowned and she squeezed tighter. “Eliza Cross. It’s a joke, isn’t it? You lost a wager, or—or—”

  He walked into the morning room, his sister still clinging to him, and closed the door. “It’s not a joke, or a lark. What have you got against Miss Cross?”

  “Besides the fact that she’s nobody, a plain little mouse who wouldn’t warrant a second look without an enormous dowry?” Edith’s face turned hard. “Her father is the greatest scoundrel in Britain, and you want Mama to serve her tea.”

  “She is not her father.”

  “Reggie is appalled. He could barely speak of anything the rest of the evening last night at Lady Brewster’s soiree, even though I assured him I don’t want anything to do with her.”

  Hugh let out his breath. He didn’t have patience for this, but resisted the urge to say that Benwick should mind his own affairs. Benwick was part of the reason Hugh was doing this in the first place, Benwick who expected a handsome dowry from him for Edith. “Calm yourself, Edith. It’s only tea.”

  She stared at him. “It’s not,” she said in a low voice. “You’ve never asked Mama to invite another young lady to tea. You sat in her box at the theater. I could laugh that off, but then you danced with her—twice. Everyone was speaking of it last night, everyone!”

  “Don’t exaggerate.”

  At his tone, tears filled her eyes. “Please don’t, Hugh,” she begged. “Please! I—I won’t sit with her!”

  “I only asked Mother to do that.”

  “Neither will Henrietta!”

  “If Henrietta doesn’t want tea, she doesn’t have to join Mother, either.”

  Edith wrung her hands, obviously searching
for some argument that would dissuade him. “Her father is awful. Appalling! I can’t believe you would pursue a connection with someone like him.”

  Hugh might agree on all counts, but Edith’s vehemence was surprising. “What do you know of her father?”

  “Lord Livingston despises him. Reggie wouldn’t tell me why, but he assured me it was terrible. Now will you see reason?”

  He might have known it wouldn’t be smooth sailing, with Eliza warmly welcomed to his family. “Livingston may despise him, but I’ve not invited Mr. Cross—only Miss Cross. It’s not like you to be so cold to someone you’ve never met.”

  Edith’s chest heaved. “And it’s not like you to be so—so bullheaded! And stupid! What can you possibly see in her?”

  Much more than he’d expected to see. For a moment the memory of Eliza’s delighted smile, of her breathy moans, of the feel of her breast under his palm, filled his head. It was surprising that that was what came to his mind first, instead of the vast fortune Cross was promising him, but he couldn’t tell his sister any one of those reasons. Thank the blessed Lord, he didn’t have to tell her anything at all.

  “That’s enough, Edith.” He turned on his heel and walked from the room. She ran after him, still babbling, but Hugh put up one hand to stop her. “Enough, Edith,” he repeated quietly but firmly. He took his hat and gloves from the butler, and left her staring after him in furious despair.

  Eliza walked up the steps of Hastings House, sedate and polite on the outside but bubbling with excitement on the inside.

  The invitation from Lady Hastings had caught her completely off guard. She had hoped the earl himself would call in Greenwich again, but a note from his mother came instead, on thick hot-pressed paper with the Hastings seal in blood-red wax. Eliza had taken it to her father, speechless with disbelief.

  “Eliza!” He’d looked at her with such astonished delight. “The Countess of Hastings?”

  “She’s invited me to take tea with her.”

  “Well, of course you must go!” Beaming, he’d kissed both her cheeks. “What an honor—for Lady Hastings, of course, and I hope you have a pleasant time, as well.” It made her laugh at the time, but now she felt the prickle of nervous perspiration on her neck. What if she said the wrong thing? What if she spilled tea all over herself? What if—?