The Earl's Intimate Error (6 page)

“If you don’t come back and join me in the dance right this very minute, I shall find a new partner.”

He’d already lost interest and was trying to look over his shoulder to see just what stage of undress Archer might have Miss Canton in by now.

“What? Oh, by all means. Excellent idea,” he mumbled.

“Well! Some fiancé you’re going to make. Very well, Woodleigh. But it is your loss.”

“Yes, yes. I regret it already. I’ll be weeping tomorrow.”

Clearly she had just enough cleverness to recognize sarcasm. She huffed and stuck up her chin, made a nice, tidy spin, then headed back to the dance floor. Mr. Fish-Finglet was right there waiting for her.

At last Woodleigh was free to move out into the garden. But there was another couple nearby, strolling leisurely. If he ran straight up to his quarry, he’d alert anyone around to the matter. So he hung back, waiting until he could be unseen. It seemed to take forever, but finally the other couple was gone, and he could head around the hedge toward the last place he’d seen Archer and Miss Canton.

He didn’t quite get there, though. Archer suddenly appeared, rounding the hedge and smacking soundly into him. He was conspicuously alone. Damnation! The deed had been done. Woodleigh grabbed his foul friend by the throat.

“Where the hell did you leave her?”

Archer choked and pointed the opposite direction. “She went that way,” he said, or did the best that he could, considering he couldn’t breathe.

Woodleigh released him. “I ought to murder you right here.”

“You ought to not be such a lobcock and go find Miss Canton.”

Yes, he ought to. If she’d been ill used…by God, he needed to get her away from here, keep her safe from prying eyes or rumors that would no doubt flash through the crowd the moment Archer started bragging.

“I swear to you, Archer, tomorrow morning I’ll—”

“Be putting a notice in the paper, I suppose. At least if you’re not completely an ass, you will. Now go, find her, you clod pole.”

He thought about it a moment and decided he could spare just enough time to plant Archer a facer. The damn jackanapes ducked at the last moment, so Woodleigh barely bloodied his lip. He’d rather hoped to kill him.

But Archer was in a good mood—damn his hide—and he simply laughed it all off.

“Go on, Woodleigh,” Archer said, nodding again in the direction he’d indicated Miss Canton had gone. “But I’m giving fair warning. If you don’t have a brain in your cockloft, I do. And I know how to use mine.”

Woodleigh sneered. Archer was making bold talk for someone a hair’s breadth away from having his cockloft disconnected from his shoulders. Except that would take time away from getting to Miss Canton, and Woodleigh realized that was his first goal.

He’d have to just let his friend go tend to his wound. Woodleigh had Miss Canton to think about now. He turned the corner of the hedgerow to go find her. What he’d do then, he hadn’t quite decided.

It was a very large garden by Town standards. Mrs. Fitzmonger’s home was clearly built when this area was still somewhat remote—whatever era that must have been. Pru was woefully uneducated on the history of London. She did recognize a secluded spot for a good cry, though. And this appeared to be one.

She sat down on a bench, but her moment of self-pity was almost immediately interrupted. Boots crunched on the ground, and she glanced up, expecting to find Lord Archer returning to retract his offer. It wasn’t Archer, though.

It was Woodleigh, and his eyes were storming.

“Are you well?” he asked, his voice tight and his teeth clenched.

“I am, thank you,” she replied, wiping at tears and hoping he would pretend not to notice them.

“You’re
not
well. You’re crying.”

Drat the man. “I’m missing my home. Nothing more.”

There was a tense beat before he spoke again. “Archer was here. Did he harm you?”

“What? No. Of course not.”

“I saw you with him. Together.”

Oh, good heavens. Did that mean he
saw
them?
Kissing?
How uncomfortable this conversation was going to be. Woodleigh would no doubt be very upset when he discovered she’d rejected the one perfectly good offer of marriage she would likely ever get in her life.

“Um, yes…about that…”

“Did he hurt you?” he repeated.

“I already told you, of course not!”

“Then why are you crying?”

“I told you that, too. I’m not.”

He sat down beside her and tipped her face up toward him.

“You are. These are tears.”

“If you were any sort of a gentleman, you’d allow that I must simply have something in my eye.”

“If I were any sort of a gentleman I’d have left Archer in a lifeless heap on the walkway, not merely bloodied his lip.”

“You did
what
?”

“The bounder deserved it, bringing you out here to be ruined at a public event.”

“You think
that’s
what was happening?”

“I know my friend and, to be honest, I know you, Miss Canton. I’ve seen how you’ve behaved; I know your ways. It was not very difficult to put the two together and recognize what was going on right under my nose.”

Well, this was beyond the pale. What a terrible, hurtful thing for him to say to her. She huffed and jumped to her feet.

“I think you’ve impugned my character enough for one night, sir. Perhaps we should be going?”

He rose to stand next to her. To loom over her, actually. Maybe she should have remained seated. His flashing eyes and hulking stature were less intimidating sitting down.

“Go? Why, did you make arrangements to meet Archer elsewhere?”

“Apparently you have not insulted me enough. Very well, then. Tell me just what other scandalous things you believe I’ve been up to these last two weeks, since you know me and
my ways
so very well.”

He took a step back and let his gaze rake over her. It was positively indecent, the way he was looking at her. Of course she felt the color rise in her cheeks, and she took an involuntary deep breath to make sure that her bodice was filled out properly—but truly she was very offended. At least she was trying to be. Drat the way this man made her heart pound.

“For one thing, you’ve been wearing intentionally provocative clothing,” he said, his eyes fixing at her bosom.

She took another deep breath especially for him.

“Your own mother helped me arrange my clothing, sir. If I’ve been provocative, then it’s been your mother’s doing. Not mine.”

“Well, you don’t need to be so chatty with every shifty-eyed lecher in London.”

“That would be every last man in London. You would have me avoid all of them? I thought the whole point was for me to attract them?”

“Not all of them, damn it! You’re supposed to be finding a husband, not building a ruddy man-harem for yourself.”

“Honestly, what would I do with a man-harem?”

“You certainly seemed to know exactly what to do with Archer,” he shot back. “How do I know how many others you’ve dragged into the garden for an interlude? Or two?”

“It was one little kiss!”

“I know what your kisses lead to,” he replied, far too loudly for propriety’s sake. “Or have you forgotten that?”

Forgotten? No, she’d not forgotten. Nor would she ever forget. Woodleigh’s kisses were forever seared in her mind, marked on her body. They had lit a flame deep inside her and ruined her taste for other men. Indeed, after a thousand years she was not likely to forget about that.

“Of course I’ve not forgotten.”

He watched her, his face displaying a dubious distrust. She would have liked to look away from him, to be less reminded of what his kisses had done to her, but she just could not force herself.

“Perhaps you need a reminder,” he said at last.

She hadn’t the time to make sense of his words before he quickly moved toward her and pulled her tight into his arms. It was as if a warm wind had just blown over her, enveloping her in its stifling heat and knocking the air out of her lungs. She had to wrap her arms around him or risk being blown completely away.

Then his lips were on hers, and she was right back in her father’s paddock, her senses taken over by this conceited gentleman who seemed to be the only one on the planet who could make her feel quite this way. It was infuriating and heavenly all at the same time. She pressed herself closer to him, drinking in his kisses and imagining that everything else could just disappear.

“You taste like strawberry tarts,” he said quietly when his lips left hers and began to kiss her eyes and her neck and whatever other part of her he could locate easily enough.

“I’ve been rather a pig, I’m afraid,” she mumbled, not quite coherently. “I ate two of them tonight.”

“I love strawberry tarts,” he said, his lips finding their way back to hers.

His tongue toyed with her, teaching her a game they could play that left both of them breathless and eager. But she wanted so much more than his kisses. Her knees were beyond weak, and she hung on him, afraid that at any moment she might beg him to toss her into the hedgerow and finish what they had started in Beldington.

He seemed to feel the same way, as he moved her off the walk and into the shadow of the garden wall. The stone was still warm from the day in the sun, and she was glad for the support it gave her. She could focus all of her energy on exploring Lord Woodleigh. She wanted to touch him, to taste every part of him. Until someone came along to discover them, she was going to give it her full effort.

“I want you, Prudence,” he whispered.

Her given name sounded good on his lips. The fact that he wanted her sounded very good, too. They were racing to satisfy that want before people or reality might step in to stop them.

She was slightly surprised when he pushed away from her. She glanced around, half expecting to find his mother or some other patron glaring disapproval at them, yet they were alone. The moonlight still filtered through the garden around them, and she was still panting, desperate for more of his touch, more of whatever he’d been giving her.

“Promise me,” he said, “that you won’t kiss Archer ever again.”

“What?”

“Promise me, Prudence. I would hate to murder my best friend.”

“But…don’t you think he’ll expect me to kiss him at least sometimes, once we’re married, I mean?”

“Once you’re…You mean you and Archer? Married?”

“That’s why he brought me into the garden,” she explained, still not fully in control of her breathing. “He asked me to marry him.”

“He asked you to
marry
him?”

“Don’t be so surprised. It’s not that unreasonable, is it? I am a gentleman’s daughter. I’m not unsuitable for him.”

“You are unsuitable for him! You are
completely
unsuitable! Good God, you didn’t say yes, did you?”

“I said I’d consider. Why should you be so adamantly against it? Am I too rustic, too uncultured for your friend? I’ll not be a credit to him, is that it?”

“No! But…but this…what we’re doing here…”

“Oh, so now you feel guilty. You’re just upset because you can’t have a little dally with me while I consider your friend.”

“Hell no, I can’t do that.”

“Well, then perhaps I should consider someone else. Mr. Oxland, perhaps? He seems rather keen. Would you feel less guilty if I were promised to him while you made love to me?”

“You’re not promised to any of them! I won’t have it. Not now that…not after…”

“After what? After I’ve let you put your hands all over me? Does this make me unworthy of decent men now?”

“No, it’s not that at all.”

“Well, what is it, then? What have I done that’s so horrible I’m not fit for society?”

“You’ve made me…”

He stopped. His eyes were an odd circular shape, and his lips moved with no sound coming out. At first she thought he was choking, but he gasped in a breath. She waited for him to finish his words, but instead all he seemed capable of was swallowing.

“I’ve made you what?” she asked when it was clear he’d lost track of the thread.

He took another deep breath. “You’ve made me love you.”

Now she was the one choking. What had he said? She blinked furiously, trying to grasp what he meant but feeling her knees buckle beneath her.

Fortunately he caught her before she fell down.

“I love you, Prudence,” he said. “I don’t care what you told Archer, or Oxland, or any other damn gentleman. I want you to marry
me
.”

“But…I can’t marry you. You’re engaged to Miss Holycroft.”

“Not yet, I’m not,” he said, pulling her tighter. “It’s not official. There’s been no announcement, no papers are signed…I want you, Prudence, and nobody else.”

“But I…”

“But you muck out stalls and you run around in boys’ clothing? Well, I suppose I can live with a wife who does that.”

She laughed at him. “No, I was going to say that I already told Lord Archer I’d consider him if things became desperate.”

“Doesn’t matter. He’s a dead man the next time I see him, so you won’t need to worry about that.”

“You will not kill Lord Archer!”

“Well, you’ll stop considering his marriage proposal!”