Page 4 of The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons 1)

“Iknow who Carstairs is, but what has he got to do with anything?”

Footsteps sounded on the terrace.Winthrop.

“I beg your discretion, my lord.” Margaret placed a hand on his forearm as she peeked through the wisteria at Winthrop.

“Why, Miss Lainscott, are you being hunted?” Welles shot a pointed look at her fingers, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “And I stand corrected. You are incredibly timid.”

Margaret snatched her hand back and lowered her voice. “I have a strong desire to renew my acquaintance with Lord Carstairs.”

Welles hovered over her, so close she could feel the heat coming off his larger form.

“For what purpose?”

“Marriage. To me.”

“I see.” Welles sounded more amused than outraged by her admission. His smile stayed in place as he nodded. “Do go on. I confess I’m speechless.”

“I know this isn’t exactly the type of thing to discuss at the present time,” she waved her hands about, “while hiding from Lord Winthrop in the wisteria.”

“Youare hiding. I was merely enjoying a cheroot.”

“I would ask your assistance in reintroducing me to Lord Carstairs—”

“For the purpose of marrying him, due to husbandly qualities which I can only assume at this point?”

“Miss Lainscott?” Winthrop called from the terrace. “Are you in the garden?”

“Damn and blast,” Margaret swore under her breath as she glanced at Winthrop and then back to Welles. “Yes, my lord. Please pay attention. I haven’t much time to make my point.” She stamped one slipper-clad foot.

Welles chuckled softly. “There she is.”

“There who is?” She had only precious moments to spare before Winthrop’s velvet-clad form pounced upon her with lemonade clutched in one moist hand.

“A most interesting young lady.”

“I’m not at all interesting, my lord.”

“I beg to differ.”

“My aunt has decided I must marry, and I fear her choice for me is Winthrop.”

“I can see why you would be less than enthusiastic about such a match. And your aunt’s desire to marry you off is common knowledge.” His voice lowered, humming deliciously in the small hollow of the wisteria. “I’m not sure what your requirements are, but I’ll assume Winthrop doesn’t meet any of them?”

Margaret was rapidly becoming horrified at the turn in conversation and slid further into the blooms and vines. This was the last thing she’d ever thought to discuss with Lord Welles. “He only meets one of my criteria.”

“Lack of intelligence? Poor choices in footwear?”

A sound of surprise escaped Margaret at his correct assessment of the situation. Lord Welles was not only handsome but astute as well. “And Winthrop is…oddlyshaped,” she added, casting him a look to see if he took offense from her description.

“Don’t forget his overuse of talc; certainly that detracts from his suitability.” Welles brought a tapered finger to his lips as if deep in thought. “I wish to make absolutely certain I understand. You find Lord Carstairs attractive, and not the least bit shaped like a pear; you are relieved he prefers boots and most importantly,” he leaned down, close enough Margaret could smell the light scent of his shaving soap, “he’s not nearly as intelligent as you are.”

With his face in shadow, Margaret could only see the outline of Welles’s patrician nose and the curve of his chin. If he neglected to move for a few moments, he could easily be mistaken for one of her aunt’s Grecian statues. Possibly Zeus or Apollo.

Hades would be a better comparison.

“Am I correct, Miss Lainscott?”

His breath tickled the fine hairs dangling above the curve of her ear as the low timbre of his voice slid down the length of her neck. The fluttering inside her stomach increased.

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