The Cheer in Charming an Earl (The Naughty Girls) (9 page)

AFTER TWO days of moping, Elinor came to the conclusion that she was much better off for having learned Lord Chelford was a libertine now, rather than later. She could move on to the business of becoming a spinster without the wrong-headed hope that her white knight would appear one day to change her life forever.

Except she couldn’t quite put Lord Chelford from her mind. No matter how thoroughly Aunt Millie tried to distract her with the benefits of applying egg yolks to her hair or the importance of pretty undergarments to a woman’s sense of completion, Elinor thought of
him
. Would he notice her hair shined softly? Would anyone but her maid ever have the opportunity to appreciate how long her legs looked in her new ivory-colored garters?

It was embarrassingly evident that she hadn’t forgotten him yet, as much as she’d tried. So when she glimpsed him striding up to the cottage with his greatcoat swirling about his legs and his breath puffing from his lips like steam rising from her morning chocolate, she was very sure no good could come of his reappearance in her life.

“Aunt Millie,” she whispered frantically, motioning for her aunt to join her at the window, “exactly how well
do
you know Lord Chelford?”

Her aunt peered over her shoulder. “I know his name. I know his face. Yes, that about sums it up.”

Elinor twisted to see her. “You made it seem more than that!”

One flaming brow arched. Otherwise, Aunt Millie retained perfect guiltlessness. “Sometimes gossip has a way of making one feel better acquainted. Well, then, this must be my chance for an introduction. Use the mirror, darling, while I distract him in the foyer.”

Elinor trailed her aunt into the hallway. “Surely he can’t be welcome here!”

“Mirror, darling.”

It seemed her aunt couldn’t be reasoned with. After expelling a sigh of resignation, Elinor went to the looking glass just inside the parlor door. Warm air from the fireplace must have warred with the damp weather to turn her hair into a frizzing nimbus of reddish curls. But after batting at the wisps with little success, she gave up and tiptoed into the hallway. Voices drifted from the foyer. One might have assumed that she’d learned her lesson about eavesdropping… But alas, no.

“…you’ve finally braved my front door,” her aunt was saying in that velvety voice of hers. “Third time’s the charm, hmm?”

Elinor halted abruptly. Had Grantham come before?

His chuckle sounded self-conscious. “I didn’t think you kept such a close eye on the gate.”

“One never knows what kind of riffraff will try to get in.”

Another awkward chuckle. “That is the precise sentiment, ma’am, that has brought me here today. You see, I tried sending an invitation to this direction and I’m afraid it was returned unopened,
both
times. I fear I’ve offended you.”

“Perhaps.” Aunt Millie drew out the
s
so slowly, it hissed through her teeth.

Elinor peeked around the doorframe. Her aunt’s fingers waggled behind her back as if beckoning Elinor to join them.

Elinor moved into the open doorway so she was visible. “Are you lost, Lord Chelford?”

When his gaze flicked to hers, she drew a sharp breath. “I seem to be in the right place now.” His warm voice held no hint of the discord between them.

“My cook keeps a sweet cordial in the pantry,” Aunt Millie announced. She swept past Elinor. “I think I’ll go find it.” The door to the kitchens thumped closed moments later.

Lord Chelford doffed his tall beaver hat and set it on a hook by the entry. Rightfully, he didn’t attempt to come toward her. “I hope your Christmas passed uneventfully, all things considered.”

She held her spine rigid and looked down her nose at him with as much imperiousness as she could muster. “You speak like a gentleman yet your actions prove otherwise. If you wish to be a contradiction, you must find some other young woman to torment.”

He leaned forward. Oddly, he appeared hesitant and somewhat humble. “But I don’t, you see. I
don’t
wish to be incongruous.”

Her heart leapt. Did he mean it?

The possibility that he might be in earnest was too appealing to resist. She eyed him skeptically. “Go on.”

His lips parted. No sound came forth. His greatcoat churned as he spun on one heel and turned to his left. He touched his knuckles to his lips. Then he faced her again.

She watched his peculiar dance with apprehension. What was he about?

“I asked my guests to leave,” he said at last, “so that I might request the honor of your presence at dinner. Mrs. Rebmann is invited too, of course. I assume she is the aunt you spoke of? My cook has become most inventive since the hearth went out. I think you’ll both find the meal enjoyable.”

“And the company?” She couldn’t nip her impertinence entirely, though she was intrigued by his guileless invitation. Was he afraid she’d reject him?

“To your liking, I hope.” He took a step toward her. “Please say you’ll come.”

How easy would it be to refuse him! She could embarrass him as he’d embarrassed her. But when she opened her mouth to decline his invitation, what came out instead was, “Yes.”

A smile broke across his face. “Good. I had hoped you wou—Well, never mind that. Tonight? Or tomorrow? At your leisure, really. I can make any evening work.”

“Tonight,” she interposed. “I shouldn’t want to draw out the suspense.”

His smile broadened. His eyes were merry, as if he were charmed by her. Then they darkened to a ferrous gray. “Elinor…”

She hugged herself, forming a barricade between them. “Please, Lord Chelford. There should always be a measure of propriety between us.” Now that she knew of his reputation as a rake, she couldn’t assume an attraction on his part indicated affection.

Slowly, his gaze wandered the length of her, hungry, yet respectfully holding back. Again her heart turned over. Did he see her differently now? A woman, rather than a child? Or was it her own character that had changed? Was she less
wonderfully naïve,
now that she’d learned how easily her heart could be broken?

It didn’t matter. She couldn’t allow his kisses to overcome her sense.
Not
that he had tried to kiss her again. More’s the pity.

“Right you are, Miss Conley,” he mused in a drawn-out way that sent goose pimples across her arms. “I’ll send a carriage at half five. If that’s not too late?”

She accepted with a curt nod, enjoying her newfound mettle. “It’s sufficient.”

“Until then.” He flourished his leg then went to the door. With a sweep of his hat, he let himself out. The door closed quietly behind him.

“Oh!” Elinor exclaimed.
“Oh…”

The day dragged on after that, as the hands of the clock ambled lazily toward the appointed time. Finally, at half five promptly, she and Aunt Millie ascended into Lord Chelford’s carriage. Hot bricks had been placed on the floor and fur blankets smelling faintly of lavender were piled thick on the cushioned seat. Elinor huddled against her aunt’s lithe arm as the horses began to pick over the still-icy road.

It was slow-going to Chelford, leaving Elinor yet more time to think. And doubt. Why had Grantham bothered with her, when he’d thought her such a ninny just a few days since? Aunt Millie had said he’d come by the cottage before. Why? Had he grown tired of his lady friends? He’d said he’d sent them home, but why? She could think of no other reason for him to have turned his sophisticated attention on her than abject boredom. But why had he sent his friends home, if not to make it possible for her to call on him, as he’d said?

As often as she could persuade herself that he’d sent them home so he could court her properly, she could as easily convince herself otherwise. One thing she knew for certain: if he thought her available for his amusement, she’d show him how dull an innocent could be. None of that wide-eyed wandering about his house. No, sir. And going on and on about how lovely Chelford was?
Absolutely not.
Nor would she
once
stare agog at—

“Good heavens! Is this your library?” Within moments of being shown into his house, she was awestruck again. She turned slowly as she took in six massive bookcases fixed at obtuse angles. “You must have thousands of books!”

He took two steps toward her. His pale waistcoat shined in the low light emitting from the lamps set about the room. “Several thousand. My uncle was a dogged collector of the written word. I am sorry to say I am nothing like him.”

Elinor pursed her lips at this disappointing revelation. What a waste of a handsome man, if he didn’t read.

Aunt Millie gave her a pointed look.
Say something encouraging.

Elinor did her best to look less aggrieved. She’d wanted to know him better, hadn’t she? The good and the bad. “We cannot all enjoy expanding our mind, I suppose.”

He puffed his chest a bit. “But I didn’t say that, did I? While I do find reading tedious, I happen to be an enthusiast of debate. There are several existentially minded salons in London that I attend regularly.”

“Why go there?” Elinor fired, smiling at her cleverness in luring him into a discussion of reason.

“Why be anywhere?” he quipped back. “Where are we at any moment?”

She grinned. “Not the drawing room, I see. And Aunt Millie did so desperately wish to see it, after all of my stories.”

He smiled back self-deprecatingly. “There is more to me than what you’ve decided, Miss Conley. Now, over there you’ll find sentimental novels, though nothing recent, I’m afraid. You may, of course, borrow anything you like.” A slight frown marred his brow, casting a pall on his previous banter.

She wanted to wipe his sadness away. If only she knew what had provoked it! “What if I prefer the classics? In Latin?”

The shadow ebbed, as if she’d succeeded in diverting him. “Then I shall consider you a very accomplished young woman.”

She laughed and skipped toward his bookcase of sentimental novels. “It’s my turn to disappoint you, my lord. I never was good at conjugating.”

“Nor was my sister.”

She froze.
This
was the source of his melancholy. She knew it as surely as if he’d said it. These dusty novels must have belonged to his sister. Elinor tried to search the gilt-lettered spines for titles she recognized, but all that swam before her was the ethereal specter of a pretty little girl. A cherished sister. Had Lady Hannah read them all? Which one was her favorite?

Very carefully, Elinor reached for the first volume in front of her. Aunt Millie had gone quiet almost from the start, but even her breathing seemed to have paused.

“Was,”
Elinor said to Lord Chelford, as he’d said to her about her late father. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

His footfalls dropped in a slow, wide circle around the room. “Thank you, but I’m quite glad you reminded me. It’s distressing to think that I’d almost forgotten how much she detested Latin.” He chuckled and shook his head. “I used to sneak the correct answers to her before the weekly exam was administered. Poor old George. It never occurred to our tutor that I still had my papers, seven years later. He never could discern how someone as dreadful at conjugation as my sister managed to earn firsts.”

“
My
sister would have given me the wrong answers,” Aunt Millie said. Her tone held no pity, a fact Lord Chelford acknowledged with a grateful smile.

Elinor followed her lead. “And my brother would have rapped my knuckles with a switch,
after
he gave me the wrong answers.”

Lord Chelford smiled and clasped his arms behind his back. “Did you choose a book? Unless you like card games, I’ve not much to offer you ladies in the way of after dinner entertainment.”

Elinor glanced at the leather-bound novel in her hand. One she’d read twice, but never mind that. It wasn’t as though she’d be able to concentrate while he sat in the same room, anyway.

Before she could speak, however, Aunt Millie cut in. “Cards? We can have none of that, my lord. When I play at cards, I crave a fine cheroot, and when I smoke cheroots, I gamble. You shan’t have a penny out of me, not tonight.” She twirled in a circle as if searching the bookcases for something in particular. “Where are your plays?”

He pointed at a crowded shelf to their right. “Will you perform for us, ma’am? I should like that a sight more than staring at Miss Conley while she reads her book.” He glanced at Elinor. “Not that I would mind doing so.”

A flush raced up her neck. Even her ears blazed hot. Particularly when he held her gaze behind her aunt’s back.

What did he
mean?

“Chelford.” All three turned in the direction of the doorway.

Lord de Winter didn’t quite smile; he never
quite
smiled. “I promised Smithers I’d call you to dinner. But before you make haste, tell me, who is this goddess who deigns to join us tonight?” He made a show of beholding her aunt.

Elinor rolled her eyes. But she was charmed when de Winter strode up to Aunt Millie and made a fuss over her hand. “It would appear I came just in time to make even numbers,” he said, folding Aunt Millie’s gloved fingers into the crook of his elbow. “Shall we?”

Elinor snatched her own gloved hand behind her, though Lord Chelford hadn’t tried to take it yet. Then she felt silly. She’d come to his
house
. Why, by dint of being here, she’d essentially promised him the pleasure of escorting her into the dining room.

His pleasure, she reminded herself. It shouldn’t send
her
into raptures.

She allowed him to see her in. Each step took her in a direction filled with more than the anticipation of a delicious meal. She recalled the lacy underthings Aunt Millie had helped her select and felt a stirring at her core. Did he feel the same? Stretched taut by an aching longing to have her, and a frantic desire to do so
now?

She was glad of her gloves. Without them, he would surely know how damp her palm was, nestled in the crook of his elbow. How could she feel this nervous around a man she didn’t even
approve
of?