Page 2 of Tempting the Earl

In front of him stood a modest two-story country house built of gray brick with a brief stone stoop and a front door painted a crisp shade of green. Quaint, he supposed.

Spring wildflowers and evergreen hedges grew in no particular plan or pattern around the perimeter of the house and followed the casual line of the drive.

Turning back to the house, he approached the front stoop, where his groom had already knocked a couple times to no answer.

Colin had prepared himself for a cold welcome. Propriety demanded he stand there and await reception. But the long carriage ride and the even longer wait for some response to his multiple letters had successfully worn away his usually polished manners.

Feeling a need to stretch his legs, Colin left the groom to his likely futile knocking while he continued along the narrow drive as it swept around the house. After following a footpath through a jungle of a flower garden desperately in need of weeding, pruning, and shaping, he found himself in the middle of a hen yard where nearly a dozen of the clucking creatures rushed to frantically circle his feet.

Slightly fearful of stepping on one of the clearly agitated hens, he paused to cast his gaze about, looking for some sign of the house’s residents. Another garden stood in the near distance. It was very large and had been dug in well-ordered lines with a proper fence around it to keep out the hens and pillaging wildlife. He suspected it was reserved for vegetables and herbs and though he knew next to nothing about such things, it appeared an ambitious endeavor.

Beyond the kitchen garden was a hen house and beyond that stood a small stable building nestled against the tree line of a rather dense forest. In the opposite direction rose a slow sloping hill with a lazy creek tumbling down and winding out of sight.

To a man who spent most of his life in London, it was a shockingly bucolic scene. At any moment, Colin expected to hear the distant low of a cow or the bleat of sheep.

Instead, he heard the slow clip-clop of an approaching horse. Taking his wrist in hand behind his back, he ignored the sudden lurch in his chest, straightened his shoulders, and turned to see a large black workhorse stepping free of the tree line. Mounted on the beast was a woman dressed in a dark green frock that almost perfectly matched the trees behind her and gave her dark hair a rich reddish hue.

Without noticing his presence across the yard, she rode up to a mounting block beside the stable. After dismounting, she led the horse to a small paddock where she murmured a few words then left him to graze.

The woman appeared to be in her mid or late twenties, which suggested she was quite possibly the elusive Miss Ainsworth Morgan, originally of Rosmuir Hall, now mistress of Faeglen Cottage and self-appointed guardian to Colin’s sister. Though Miss Morgan had been born the daughter of a nobleman, if this was in fact that same lady, Colin wouldn’t have assumed such pedigree by looking at her now.

Her dress was simple in style. Her boots were muddy and her hair fell in a long, unruly plait over her shoulder. Her stride was purposeful and contained an unhindered sort of energy that was inelegant but, he had to admit, graceful in its own way. As she crossed the yard, she kept her gaze focused straight ahead so he couldn’t tell what color her eyes were, but her skin was slightly golden from the sun and he’d have wagered anything that a brief smattering of freckles dusted her nose and cheeks.

She was a creature made for fresh air, brisk winds, and tromping hikes over rolling hills and glens. And it appeared she was going to stride right past him without even noticing his presence.

He’d written to Miss Morgan with the sole purpose of introducing himself and his connection to the young Miss Claybourne so his sudden appearance in the child’s life wouldn’t be an upsetting shock. Since he couldn’t be sure any of his letters had been read, he had no idea if his young half sister or her current guardian knew anything at all about the prior Earl of Wright. And now that he stood here, he was intensely uncertain on how to proceed.

If he wanted to speak with Miss Morgan before encountering his young sister, he couldn’t hold silent any longer. In truth, he should have called out at the earliest opportunity. Before he could say anything, however, the woman finally glanced his way. He heard her swiftly drawn breath as she came to an abrupt halt.

Stepping forward, he cleared his throat. “Pardon me. I did not mean to startle you.” Glancing over his shoulder, he added, “My man has been knocking at the door to no reply, so I thought I’d step round to see if anyone was about.”

As soon as the first few words left his mouth, the woman’s expression shifted from one of wary surprise to one of harsh dismissal. Resuming her long stride toward the house, she blatantly and quite rudely ignored him.

Shocked, Colin stopped his cautious advance. Then he started forward once again. He had not come all this way to be ignored.

“Miss Morgan?” She did not acknowledge him in any way. “Miss Morgan,” he said again, more sternly this time.

With a sound of clear frustration, she stopped and turned to face him. Crossing her arms over her chest, she pinned him with a combative stare. “You shouldnae’ve come,” she said plainly and strongly, the words carrying just the hint of a Scottish burr.

Utterly unaccustomed to such brazen disrespect, Colin did his best to be understanding. And patient. “I wrote several letters.”

“And if I’d been wantin’ anything to do with you,” she noted firmly, “I’d surely have replied.”

Though he tried to keep a neutral expression, he could feel the weight of a scowl lowering his brows. “You know who I am?”

Her answer was a brief snort as something that might have passed for reluctant amusement turned up the corner of her mouth. “D’you think we get many visitors with such an elegant appearance and sophisticated manner here at Faeglen?” When Colin could only return her pointed look with one of his own, she sighed and turned back toward the house. “Come on then. I’d rather not have this conversation in front of Roy and the girls.”

Colin glanced around, but there was no one else in sight. Surely, she wasn’t referencing the horse and hens.

Chapter Two

Ainsworth resisted the urge to slam the door closed behind her as she stepped into the large, airy kitchen of the Tudor built cottage. Even so, the effort it required to calmly allow the tall, fair-haired lord to follow her into her home made her hands shake.

At least Mr. and Mrs. Norris were away for a few days visiting their oldest daughter and their newest grandchild. That meant she had the house to herself for the time being and a few hours at least to get the fine English gentleman as far from Faeglen as possible before Caillie returned from the village.

Plenty of time to convince her unwanted visitor he should be on his way with no plans to ever return.

Though she’d only read the very first of his letters, stubbornly tossing the others into the blazing hearth unopened, she’d known who he was the second she saw him. There was enough in his appearance that resembled the descriptions she’d heard of his scoundrel of a father to make a confident assumption.

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