Page 29 of The Earl's Hired Bride
“Oh. Ah,Ivanhoe, I guess.”
“A good choice.”
“Young James reminded me of how much I enjoyedLady of the Lake. . .” her words trailed away and her chin lifted. “I had to sell my books when my father’s business failed.” She bit the words out. “The strain of it killed him and my mother and I have had no money for such things since. The few books I’ve read in the last years have only come by the kindness of Mr. Finch, a fence who gives me first crack at the volumes pawned in his shop.”
She was trying to emphasize the differences between them. Hart shook his head. He only admired her more. “I don’t have a copy ofIvanhoein Town. Only stodgy history and agriculture here. All of my novels are in the library at home.”
“Oh.” She turned away. “Goodnight, then.”
He grasped her arm to keep her from going. Pulling her back, he took the candle from her, set it on the table and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Her head tipped back—and there was no resisting her. He let his fingers drift up to caress her jaw, then he brushed her mouth with his, and lingered.
With a small sound of surrender, she kissed him back. His hands drifted, caressing her neck and shoulders before traveling down the curve of her back and pulling her closer.
The kiss deepened. Desire built steadily, stirring up a flaring sense of want. Need.
Her hands slipped under his coat, burrowed further beneath his waistcoat. The feather-soft touch, so brave and shy at once, made him wild. He buried his face in her neck and breathed her in.
“Hartsworth is an estate,” he said thickly.
“What?” Her back had arched and she made a lovely offering, just waiting for the guidance of his touch—and his lips and his teeth.
No. Not yet. But she would be his.
He lifted his head and gazed into her eyes. “It’s my estate. Not a jeweled crown. A castle, really—given to one of my ancestors—a knight who defeated a dastardly villain and won a beautiful bride.”
“Oh.” She sounded dazed. And like she didn’t much care.
“Every age has seen a famous love story at Hartsworth. Before this is over, I’m going to take you there,” he vowed. “I’ll tell you all the stories. I’ll show you everything. All the things that I love. All the eccentricities and the extravagances that drive me mad. I think you’ll love it as much as I do.”
He kissed her again—hard, demanding and quick. Then he smiled down into her wondering face, brushed her cheek, whirled on his heel and left.
Chapter 7
He was not livingin her pocket, still, but Hart had begun to show her a good deal of consideration. He sent her a huge bouquet of glorious pink roses and a note saying no other flower could do justice to her hair and eyes. He took her driving twice more. He still did not partake of many of the Season’s entertainments, but he visited her box at the theatre during intermission and he showed up to walk through the Egyptian Gallery of the British Museum during her visit there with the Carmichaels.
“Is Hartsworth really so lovely an estate?” she asked the Countess at breakfast one morning. “I can’t see that it could be so impressive as to make the young ladies act so foolishly—not when Hart himself is about.”
“Ah, someone told you about Hartsworth, then?” Lady Hartford said, watching her over the rim of her cup.
“Hart told me that it is an estate, and it made me remember some whispers that I’d heard—but I thought they were talking about some sort of tiara.”
“Hart told you?” his mother repeated. Why did she sound incredulous?
“Yes.” Hart had told her—and clearly it meant something to them, although she couldn’t figure it out. He was being everything kind and solicitous and Emily began to wonder if he was trying to convince thetonof his regard—or her.
It was useless to know which she hoped it would turn out to be.
She doubted he would turn up at tonight’s entertainment. It was a literary salon hosted by Lord and Lady Ellesworth. She hadn’t thought anything of the invitation when it came, save for being pleased to be one of the ladies asked to read, but she’d paused at her first glimpse of the baroness.
She knew her. Miss Glenna Bolton, she had once been. They shared blood.
Lady Ellesworth was thelegitimategranddaughter of the Duke of Danby’s sister Georgina. Emily was her illegitimate counterpart.
A baroness now, Glenna had once been a shopkeeper, just like Emily’s parents. She’d kept a bookshop. Emily had stopped in once, giving in to curiosity. Glenna had run the shop and looked after her grandfather, who had slept in a chaise by the window during her visit.
Emily relaxed now, remembering. The girl had not known her then, of a certainty she would not, now.
She couldn’t help but be tense, though, when Lady Ellesworth approached to thank her for taking part in the readings, but the baroness was everything welcoming.
