Page 11 of The Earl's Hired Bride
His breath caught.
She was . . . unexpected. The noise from the street, the hustle of pedestrians on the pavement, they all faded away. There was only a pair of large grey eyes in a sweet, heart-shaped face. Porcelain skin and a generous pink mouth. Pursed in mid-word, that wide mouth caught his attention and held him fast.
“You’re it?” she rasped. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “You’re him, I mean?”
“Please sit, my dear.” Hestia Wright sounded amused. “So that I may answer your question and address more than the back of your skirt.”
Color rose over those intriguing cheekbones. She looked chagrined as she entered the rest of the way into the carriage and took the opposite seat. Another glance at him and she sent Hestia a disbelieving look. “That’s him? The peer that needs a pretend fiancé?”
“It is he, indeed. My lord, may I present Miss Emily Spencer? Emily, the Earl of Hartford.”
“An earl. Anearlwants me to masquerade as his betrothed?”
“I gave her only the barest details,” Hestia said to him. “The rest will better come from you.” She looked back and motioned the coachman back up into his perch. “Watkins, take them to . . .” She paused and looked at the girl. “It was Cheapside, was it not?”
At her nod, she continued her orders to the driver. “Off to Cheapside with you, and leave Miss Spencer wherever she likes. Then drop his lordship at home before you return.”
“Wait.” The girl looked suddenly panicked. “Are you not coming along?”
“Is that wise?” Hart asked.
“This is best hammered out privately, between the two of you.” She met Hart’s gaze directly. “I believe that Emily is just the girl to accomplish your task beautifully.” She turned to the girl. “Miss Spencer, Lord Hartford is a gentleman in every sense of the word. I put you into his hands knowing he will treat you like the gentlewoman you are.”
She closed the door and smiled at them through the open window. “Now, I believe I will call on a friend. I will expect to hear from you this afternoon, my lord. You will let me know whether the pair of you can come to an agreement or not.”
Hart agreed. Hestia signaled the driver, and they were off. He found himself sitting across from a stranger—and staring again.
She stared right back, her face ablaze with nerves, curiosity—and skepticism. Oddly enough, it was that wariness that struck a chord of empathy in him. He knew how it felt to wonder if you could trust the company you found yourself in.
Perhaps she was the right girl for the job.
She sucked in a breath and held it for a moment. Slowly, she exhaled. “Well then. Let’s have the worst of it out first, shall we?” Meeting his gaze directly she asked, “What exactly, is wrong with you, my lord?”
Then again, she might not be the one he was looking for.
“What?” He recoiled slightly. “There is nothing wrong with me.”
“Come now. A title, the money to go with it, I presume, and that face?” She gestured. “And still you need to hire a fiancée? Either there is something wrong with you or something has gone collectively wrong with the young ladies of theton.”
Indignation faded. “Ah. You’ve hit it on the head—but struck the wrong nail. I am fine. The young ladies of the ton, however, are a brassy lot. They are notreluctantto consider me, instead they are far too eager, too bold and too numerous.”
“Oh,” she sat back. “I’m to shield you from them, then?”
She had a quick mind, at least. “Yes,” he said with relief.
“You are under siege, so to speak.”
“Exactly.”
She gave a little laugh and shook her head.
“It’s far from amusing, I assure you.”
“I’m not laughing at you, I promise.” She shook her head. “I am only imagining what my Scottish grandmother would say at this.” Her grin stretched wide and he was caught, unused to a girl who showed real emotion instead of polite tittering and ennui. “She was full of those delightful old witticisms, like ‘a nod’s as good as a wink tae a blind horse!’”
“My grandmother never said as much to me,” he said lightly, “but I suppose it’s true enough.”
“She’d have plenty to say about this. She’d accuse you of trying to pass a sow’s ear off as a silk purse.”
