The Seduction of an Earl Page 6

  “Offensive?” Hannah offered, not quite sure if it was the correct adjective.

  Henry glanced over at his passenger, finding the word perfect. “Yes. I’m a farmer. I don’t own sheep. Nor will I ever. Nor are there any on my lands.” His words were delivered with a firmness that suggested he despised the sources of wool that were so important to the economy of Great Britain.

  “Should there be?” Hannah countered, her expression one of puzzlement.

  Henry laughed. “Not if you ask me.” He reached over to where her hand was resting on his arm, his gloved hand patting hers. “But they are a fixture of the Cotswolds,” he added with a shrug. “And, in answer to your earlier question, when I left the Wainwright estate yesterday, Lady Charlotte was busy with her decorating project for the duke’s house. I expect Wainwright has asked for her hand by now. He planned to do so after I left them to return to London.”

  Hannah sighed, her face brightening at the news of her best friend. “I am very relieved to hear it,” she said with a grin. “There was gossip suggesting her cousin tried to have her killed, and other gossip that had her father on his deathbed at St. Bart’s.”

  Henry cocked his head. “And he is ... not?” he wondered, his brows furrowing. He had heard the very same gossip shortly after he’d met with the Earl of Ellsworth. Although he never went to White’s, he did visit Boodles during his occasional visits to London.

  Dipping her head, Hannah shook it before returning her gaze to meet his. “He has a bump on his head, but apparently wanted everyone to believe he was going to die. He wanted to learn if his nephew was truly as awful as he turned out to be.”

  Henry gave her a sideways glance. “And?” he urged her to continue.

  “He is. He’s been arrested for theft and attempted murder,” she answered, her voice kept low as if she was afraid of being overheard. “I tell you only because ...”

  She paused suddenly, not wanting to admit she knew of his betrothal to Charlotte.

  “Because it is important to me,” Henry stated, glancing again in her direction. He wondered if what Hannah knew of Bingham’s condition was really the case. Was the man truly recovered? Or was he on his deathbed? And would the authorities truly arrest a man who was due to inherit the Ellsworth earldom? It seemed rather unlikely to him. Members of the ton seemed impervious to matters of the law. “But Lady Charlotte is under Wainwright’s protection now, so I can rest easy knowing she is safe from her own cousin.”

  Hannah nodded, feeling a sense of relief at learning of her friend’s current situation. Charlotte would be married soon. With Elizabeth already married and with child, and Charlotte about to be wed, it just left Hannah without a betrothal in place. “So, what brings you to London, my lord?”

  Henry had to resist the urge to say, “You do.”

  And then he couldn’t help himself.

  “You do, my lady,” he said aloud, holding his breath as he tried to guess how she would react. “And you’re supposed to call me ‘Gisborn’,” he added.

  He was not surprised by the sight of her slightly parted lips, of her face as her expression changed from delight to puzzlement. He directed the horse to pull into a parkway along the side of the path where a tree provided shade. After he jumped down from the phaeton, he tied the reins around the trunk of the tree and stepped to the side of the phaeton where Hannah sat. Holding his hands up as if he intended to bodily capture Hannah, he noticed her widened eyes at how far down she would have to step to make it to the ground. “Place your hands on my shoulders, and I’ll do the rest.”

  Hannah did as she was told, and suddenly she was floating to the ground, Henry’s hands planted firmly on either side of her waist. Once her feet were under her, she expected he would let go. But he stood before her, his heavy lidded eyes letting her know he wasn’t about to let go. Instead, his lips came down onto hers in a very light, feathery kiss that tickled as well as tantalized. It was over too soon, she thought, and she was disappointed when he straightened slightly.

  “I meant what I said earlier,” he said in a quiet voice. “Lady Charlotte recommended I call on you. She thought ... that is,” he closed his eyes for a moment, as if seeing her before him was too much of a distraction. “I believe she was right in thinking we might suit one another for marriage. So, I would ask if I might be allowed to court you,” he got out finally. “Your father has already given his permission,” he added, not sure if that would help his case or not.

  Hannah stared up at Henry, her lips still parted slightly as she considered his words. He was talking seriously of courting and marriage. Not like he had back at the house, where she had been left to think his comments were made in jest. And Lady Charlotte had recommended he call on her. Surely Charlotte had been his first choice for a wife, though.

  Had he wanted Charlotte because he felt affection for her? Or was it because of a dowry? No, he was an earl with somewhat of a fortune, so a dowry couldn’t explain why Charlotte was his first choice. But why had Charlotte recommended her? “Tell me, Gisborn. Do you have just one mistress? Or several?” Hannah asked then, her manner quite matter-of-fact. The question had worked in Elizabeth’s favor at one point.

  Henry stared at her for several seconds, stunned by the question. Gently bred ladies didn’t speak of mistresses. Or ask gentlemen about their arrangements with their mistresses. “I don’t employ a mistress,” he finally answered with a shake of his head. Then he realized he needed to tell her about his son. And about Sarah. “I have a son with a woman I have known since we were children.” When Hannah did not seem to take offense at the comment, he continued, “Although I love her and have asked her to be my wife on several occasions, she has steadfastly refused. She is not of the ton and thought I required a wife who was.” When Hannah continued to regard him, her expression not changing in the least, Henry swallowed. “As a... an illegitimate child, my son cannot inherit, so I seek a wife with whom to have legitimate children. Heirs,” he stated with a shrug, thinking that at any moment, Hannah would ask him to drive her home, and tell him she never wanted to see him again.

  So he was surprised when Hannah placed her hand on his arm and turned, as if she intended them to walk on the crushed granite path leading away from the carriageway. They began to stroll, neither saying anything right away.

  Hannah remembered Elizabeth’s description of her first foray into Hyde Park with George. They, too, had stopped and walked along such a path, although it wasn’t to discuss such serious subjects as bastard children and mistresses.

  Hannah was quite sure it was so they could engage in stolen kisses behind a hedgerow.

  “What is your son’s name?” Hannah wondered, her face not indicating how she felt about hearing of Henry’s son and the woman he claimed to love.

  Henry could not have been more surprised at Hannah’s simple question. “Nathaniel. Nathan,” he amended quickly, keeping his attention on where they were going as much as on her.

  When he didn’t offer more information, Hannah asked, “And how old is Nathan?”

  Henry increased the speed of their walk, still a bit surprised at how calm Hannah seemed. Wouldn’t any other woman of the ton give him the cut direct for having mentioned something as crass as a bastard child? But then, Hannah had mentioned mistresses. “He is ten. A tutor is seeing to his education this year, but he will go off to Abingdon School in the fall,” he said, wondering if that information might help his cause a bit. After all, what potential wife would want an illegitimate child underfoot whilst trying to raise legitimate heirs? The thought made him bristle, but at the same time, he could understand why a wife would not wish there to be daily reminders of a man’s past indiscretions.

  Nathan is not an indiscretion. I loved Sarah. Love Sarah, he amended to himself.

  “So soon?” Hannah countered, her brows furrowed as if she were truly concerned about a boy being sent off to boarding school.

  Henry lifted one shoulder. “I was eleven when I went off to Abingd
on,” he countered. “And thirteen when I went to Eton, and seventeen when I went to Oxford.”

  Hannah regarded him with a bit of surprise. From his earlier comments about being a farmer, she wouldn’t have expected him to attend the same schools where so many of the gentlemen of the ton had been educated. “So, you knew you would be an earl someday?”

  A chuckle erupted from Henry, a sound that was rather pleasant to hear from a man that had seemed so serious only a moment ago. “Someone did, I suppose.” He considered asking her why she did not request he take her home immediately. He still half-expected her to do so. And she still hadn’t answered his question about whether he could court her, although she hadn’t dodged the question, either.

  “I only ever had a governess until I went to finishing school in Town,” Hannah said wistfully. “I was rather jealous of my brother. He had a tutor, of course.”

  Henry grinned. “Ah, yes. The older brother,” he said as he remembered the marquess mentioning an heir. “Is he in Town now?”

  Shaking her head, Hannah sighed. “He’s a naval officer. I’ve no idea where he is, nor have I seen him since ...” Her voice trailed off as she considered just when it was she last saw her older brother. “Our mother’s funeral,” she finally realized. “Goodness, it’s been over two years since he was in Town!”

  Secretly glad she hadn’t turned into a watering pot at the mention of her mother’s funeral, Henry found her revelation about her brother’s absence amusing. “Do you miss him now that he’s in the Navy?” he wondered, realizing that conversation came easy with the chit. He could imagine speaking with her like this on a regular basis; over breakfast, should she rise early enough to join him, of course, at luncheon, although he wasn’t always good about coming in from the fields to eat (however, knowing she would be there might be the impetus he needed to do so), and during dinner, for propriety’s sake they would dine together every night. He might have imagined them conversing in bed, perhaps after having made love, when sleep was just about to claim them as they held one another. But he found she was gazing up at him rather expectantly, and he had to put the thought from his head. “I apologize ...”

  “You were woolgathering again, weren’t you?” Hannah accused with a teasing grin.

  Damn! So the chit had a sense of humor, too. “Guilty as charged, my lady. So...” And then he realized he’d forgotten the question he had just asked her only a moment ago.

  “I do miss my brother, although not because Will was particularly loving or a joy to be around,” she answered in a tone that suggested she had just said the very same words only a moment ago. But she was smiling as she said them, making Henry realize she had forgiven him.

  He frowned, wondering what kind of brother William Slater was to his sister. “It sounds as if there’s a story or two there,” he hinted. The path on which they walked suddenly split into two; Henry led them along the path to the right, thinking perhaps it circled around and would bring them back to the same place.

  Hannah dipped her head, the pink flush appearing where her bonnet didn’t hide her neck from view. “I will have to know you much better before I will tell those tales,” she countered lightly. She raised her head back up to find him looking down at her with a much more serious expression than she was expecting to see. “What is it?” she asked, wondering if she had spoken out of turn.

  “I was serious. About what I said back at the phaeton. About ... courting you,” he stammered, chastising himself for making such a cake of his declaration.

  “I know,” Hannah said with a nod, her slight smile not indicating how she felt about the topic.

  “So, may I?” he countered, taking the hand that rested on his arm and bringing it to his mouth. He placed a kiss on the back of her gloved hand, tempted to peel back the fabric until he could expose her knuckles and kiss them directly.

  “I thought you already were,” Hannah whispered, an eyebrow cocked into a teasing arch.

  Henry’s face split into a huge grin. “You minx!” Glancing about to be sure no one could see them, he cupped her face with one hand while he placed his other at the small of her back.

  Henry nearly chastised himself. He hadn’t intended to kiss the chit. At least, not like this. Their earlier peck next to the phaeton could hardly be considered a kiss. But she had looked at him as if she expected him to kiss her, a gaze that clearly invited him to at least press his lips to hers. So he had done it, and, out of a sense of propriety, ended it as quickly as he could. They were in the park, for God’s sake. Anyone might have spotted them.

  But now they were hidden behind a series of hedgerows and trees that already displayed their early spring greenery. He had asked if he could court her, for what? The third time? And she stood there with an expression that gave away nothing, and then informed him that she thought he had already begun. The minx, indeed. Of course, he had to kiss her at that point. What else could he do? And should her lips remain parted, as they clearly were as his lips settled onto them, well, it was her own damn fault that his tongue was going to want to participate.

  He hadn’t expected hers to get involved, too!

  For a girl who had only been out for one Season, Henry was astonished at her behavior. How many men had she kissed like this? And did she leave them all feeling as if their kiss was the most important act of courting in the world of courtship?

  Perhaps a kiss was, he considered suddenly. This one certainly ranked at the top of his list as the most satisfying, most all-consuming, intimate, powerful kiss he had ever bestowed on a woman. Which probably wasn’t saying much since he had only ever kissed Sarah. And she didn’t like to be kissed.

  At some point, he would have to end it. At some point, his cock was going to make itself readily apparent behind the fall of his doeskin breeches. And given her close proximity to that particular location – she was practically plastered against the front of his body – she was about to find out just how aroused this kiss was making him. In her defense, though, he had been the one to pull her that close, his one arm lashed about her waist while the other had moved from her jaw to her neck to the back of her head, just under the damned bonnet that he wished he could remove so he could undo the pins in her hair and run his fingers through the silken strands.

  He had to end this. Now.

  Hannah gently pulled her lips away from Henry’s, her eyes still a bit unfocused and her lips feeling every bit as swollen as her breasts and that space between her thighs. Even knowing he would kiss her, properly this time, she was sure, Hannah was still unprepared for the sensations his lips and tongue created as their mouths met. This was the kind of kiss Elizabeth had spoken of, the kind of kiss where lips were parted and tongues tasted and explored and debutantes were ruined. What have I done? she wondered as she tasted him on her tongue, the sensation of his teeth and tongue still lingering there. She had allowed him to pull her against his body, so that there was very little, if any, space between them. His lips on hers had been ... perfect. A perfect fit. And he was gazing down at her with just a hint of surprise on his face, as if he, too, couldn’t believe what they had done.

  She placed a hand along the side of his jaw and lifted her lips back to his, giving him a quick kiss before removing her hand to rest on his shoulder and settling her feet back onto solid ground. No wonder she’d been pressed against the front of his body – she’d been standing on tip-toes and would have fallen over otherwise! Well, except that his hand was still firmly at her back.

  Henry blinked. And then, because he didn’t know what else to do, he lowered his lips onto hers in a quick counter-kiss to hers. As he raised his face from hers, he watched as her lips curled up into a mysterious little smile. “You’ve done this before,” he accused, his voice kept light despite the fact that he was suddenly feeling ... possessive? Jealous?

  Hannah’s eyes widened. “I assure you, Gisborn, I have never been kissed like that. Nor have I ever ...” She allowed the sentence to trail off as she shook her head, as
much in denial as in wonderment.

  Henry’s eyebrow arched so that it nearly touched the errant curl that rested on his forehead. “Never?” he countered. There wasn’t any malice in his question, but Hannah clearly heard the disbelief in his voice.

  Hannah dipped her head. “When I was twelve, my brother dared my elder cousin to kiss me, but, I assure you, it was more like the peck you gave me back at the phaeton,” she explained with another shake of her head. She didn’t notice Henry’s sudden look of offense; he’d replaced it with an impassive expression before Hannah lifted her head so that she could regard him directly. “And I do not believe Harold’s kisses count, but if you insist on including them, well, I assure you, I have never kissed him back,” she stated rather firmly, suddenly feeling a great deal of shame at her wanton behavior. Her face had to be bright pink. She’d never done anything so impulsive in her life! She had behaved like Elizabeth! But at least Elizabeth had been kissing a man who had already declared his affection for her, if not his intention to marry her.

  Henry had only asked if he could court her.

  The sound of Henry’s chuckle brought her eyes back up to his. He was shaking his own head back and forth as he noticed the soft pink blush that colored her face. She was rather fetching when she was embarrassed. “Well, should you ever wish to bestow such kisses on me again, I think I shall not mind,” he murmured, his face a study in controlled mirth. And then, as quickly as his humor had shown itself, it disappeared. “If your father hasn’t already sent out a rescue squad for you, he will do so momentarily. I should get you back home.”

  Surprised at his remark – did he really mean she was invited to kiss him should she wish to again? – Hannah took a deep breath and nodded. Given how eager her father had been to have her join Gisborn on the ride in the park, she rather doubted he would send a search party so quickly.

  Perhaps after a fortnight or so.