Page 46 of Tempting the Earl

“But we agreed—”

“No,” he interrupted sharply, lifting his gaze back to hers, “we didn’t. I can’t.”

Feeling an irrational rise of temper at his insistence since his actions a moment ago had certainly made it seem as though he’d agreed wholeheartedly, Ainsworth gave him a pointed look. “You’re lying.”

The flashing scowl that crossed his features was hard to read.

And then it was gone. Replaced by a firm, dispassionate expression that upset her more than anything else could have. As her heart began to ache for reasons she didn’t want to decipher, she watched him pick up his shirt and draw it over his head. He kept his focus averted as he retrieved his waistcoat as well.

Still determined to be contrary, Ainsworth made no move to lower her skirts over her bare legs and was rewarded for the decision when his attention landed on the curves of her thighs and didn’t leave for a long moment. But then, just as her body warmed from his intense regard, he cleared his throat and shifted his gaze to the wall behind her.

With his spine straight and his tone frustratingly even, he said, “I know you’ll likely curse me for my actions here tonight and you’ve every right to do so. I’m deeply sorry, Miss Morgan, for any...distress I may have caused.”

He didn’t wait for her reply as he turned and strode swiftly from the room. Not that she would have given a response. For several minutes afterward, she continued to stare at the darkened threshold.

He was right. She was distressed, but she didn’t curse him for it. Mostly, she just tried to figure out if he was sorry for bringing such an abrupt end to the heady interlude or for starting it in the first place. Though, of course, in all honesty, she had been the one to start it.

By the time she left the kitchen, after cleaning up the mess she’d made and putting everything back in its place to avoid giving any reason for the chef to ban her from such activities in the future, she was no closer to understanding the earl’s behavior than she was to understanding the rules of scoring in a game of piquet.

Which was to say she didn’t understand it at all.

UNFORTUNATELY, THOUGH the earl’s sudden departure that night in the kitchen was frustrating enough, his obvious avoidance of her over the next couple days was even more so.

Each morning, he was gone from the house before Ainsworth and Caillie came down for breakfast. By the time they finished their lessons for the day, he was holed up in his study. He even cried off on accompanying them to the park with Bramble, sending Randall in his stead once again.

When it came to dinner, the first night after their kitchen interlude—as Ainsworth had taken to calling it in her mind—he sent notice through Mrs. Athens that he had an engagement at his club. On the second night, he noted that he had some work that required his uninterrupted focus and he intended to have his supper brought to his study.

Ainsworth tried to brush it all off as coincidence. But when she discovered he’d continued to make a point of spending at least a couple hours each day with Caillie, she couldn’t ignore the truth.

He was avoiding her.

And she was getting bluidy tired of it.

She and Caillie had endured far too many years of the same behavior from Davina’s arsehole of a father. Gratefully, he wasn’t transferring his evasiveness to Caillie, but that didn’t mean Ainsworth had to put up with it. And she had every intention of telling him so.

If she could manage to track the man down.

It was just her luck that as soon as she decided to confront him, he was nowhere to be found. Not in his study or the library or the garden or any of the other common rooms of the house. Not even the kitchen.

Finally, she asked Mrs. Athens if the housekeeper would please inform the earl that she’d like to talk with him at his earliest convenience. The housekeeper nodded but then immediately reminded Ainsworth it was time for her to start getting ready for Lily Chadwick’s engagement party that night.

In her annoyance with the earl, she’d completely forgotten about it.

Within an hour, she was bathed and perfumed and Caillie was sitting on a stool beside her as Gracie styled and dressed Ainsworth’s hair. The lass was far more excited about the evening than Ainsworth.

“I cannae believe you’re going to a real London party!” The lass’s eyes sparkled with the kind of light seen only in those who still believed in magic.

“An informal party of family and friends,” Ainsworth reminded the lass and herself. Then she frowned at her reflection and added under her breath, “I’m still not sure why the lady invited me.”

Caillie sighed—a rather long-suffering sound—as she plopped her fists on her hips. “Because you are family, Worthy. I wish you’d just accept that.”

Ainsworth repeated the phrase she’d been forced to say more and more often lately. To herself as well as the child. “You’re their family, luv, not I.”

“You’re right, of course,” Caillie agreed in a swift about-face. “So, obviously, I should go in your stead.”

She leapt up from the stool and rushed over to where Ainsworth’s new gown was carefully laid out on the bed. Madame Bellerose had brought it over herself just that morning in order to complete any final adjustments. Ainsworth had been stunned by what the modiste had been able to accomplish in such a short time.

Caillie ran a gentle hand over the rich purple silk. “Do you think it might fit me?”

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