Page 14 of Captured by the Earl (The Secret Crusaders #2)

CHAPTER 14

L ondon Society News:

House parties are an excellent source of diversion, entertainment and business. Anything can happen when a group of lords, ladies and all their accompaniments come together. Deals are made over card games, love is declared during picnics and, late at night, anything goes. They provide opportunities, but beware.

Without care, danger lurks.

Emma didn’t move.

Barely breathed.

Yet nothing illuminated the never-ending darkness that hid untold danger.

How had this happened? She’d been so careful. Yet the dust from outside had tickled her nose, and she hadn’t been able to stop the sneezes, or the unladylike oath that followed. Still, no one should have noticed.

Someone had.

The carriage wobbled as the intruder took a step. Then another, and another, shifting her cocoon like a rocking cradle. By his impact, the newcomer was larger than Catherine or the thin coachman who was driving them. The door closed…

With him inside.

Did he know she was here? He couldn’t possibly see her, hidden so deeply underneath the pile of clothing she could barely breathe. That he could hear her thundering heart seemed possible, as his presence loomed closer… closer… closer.

It happened in an instant. One moment, her world was cloying darkness; the next second, blinding light assailed her. He stood above her like a victorious warrior, a powerful force like no other.

Peyton.

Only not the Peyton the world knew. The man who towered above her bore scant resemblance to the mild earl. His eyes blazed in challenge, his muscles poised and ready. Awareness raced through her, flashes of what he could do, what he had done. It became extraordinarily clear:

This man was not as he seemed.

“Once again you have put yourself in danger.” His voice was low, commanding. “I told you there would be consequences if you risked yourself again.”

Danger? Consequences? She raised her chin, fought for strength. “I was with Catherine. I wasn’t in any danger.”

“Yet just now you were alone.” He bent his knees and leaned down. His heavily muscled legs were just inches from her. “Anyone could have walked in here, and taken whatever they pleased. Including you .” He edged closer. “How many times have I kidnapped you?”

Her throat dried.

“If this is another ploy to convince me to break the betrothal, it has failed,” he continued in blazing words. “I will not be persuaded by such devious measures. You may as well surrender.”

She tightened. “I have no intention of surrendering anything.” At White’s he had been unaffected to see her, amused even, yet now he was clearly displeased. Was this trip more than he portrayed? The need to investigate took on new importance, and urgency. “Of course I wish to end the betrothal. Why else would I be here?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” He leaned forward, casting his heat and power over her. He didn’t wait for a response before murmuring, “What am I going to do with you?”

“I will dictate my own future.” She grasped the power he would steal, even as her mind flashed with images, many of them deliciously inappropriate. Yet she was no longer the frightened debutante who couldn’t say a word in the exalted earl’s presence. She was powerful all on her own. “I accept the invitation to join you.”

That stopped him. “I’m sorry?”

“I accept your apology.” She sat up and dusted herself off, as if it was perfectly normal to have been crouched in a ball under a heap of clothing. “I must say, the accommodations were dreadful.” She straightened her sleeves. “Next time, I am most certainly not accepting the under-the-luggage seat.”

He looked at her as if she’d forgotten her mind back in London. She lifted the clothing, pushing against the mix of Peyton’s coarse fabrics with Catherine’s softer ones. She took a deep breath, allowing herself a moment to enjoy the simple act of breathing.

His sharp gaze took in everything. “Are you well?”

“Of course.” She lifted herself higher, wincing as her calf cramped in protest. Tiny stars danced in front of her eyes.

His frown deepened, as he moved forward with lightning quick reflexes. Then he was holding her, steadying her at the same time he upended her senses. He lifted her effortlessly, and sat, with her cradled in his arms.

It was entirely inappropriate.

Wholly scandalous.

And absolutely delicious.

“I don’t need you to hold me.” Every shift brought her closer to the solid body she knew so well. His biceps flexed, over a chest so hard, it was like solid rock. Senses flared to life as memories flooded back, the joining that ended only hours ago.

“Are you all right?” His voice was genuine now. “You are unsteady.”

“I’m fine,” she protested. “I was just a little unbalanced after hiding under the blankets for the last six hours.” She tried to pull away, but he held her fast.

“You were under the blankets all that time? Even while the carriage was in motion?” He frowned deeply. “You will take better care of yourself in the future.”

She opened her mouth to respond when he shifted, bringing interesting parts of his body into contact with interesting parts of her body.

Her interesting parts noticed.

Heat crept up her neck. “Yes, well, it’s not like I got a better invitation.”

His eyes hardened. “There’s a reason you didn’t get an invitation.”

And that reason, she suspected, would explain a lot.

“It bothered you that I didn’t invite you,” he murmured. His eyes flickered back and forth. “Perhaps you did miss me.”

“Miss you? That’s ridiculous. I barely even noticed you were gone.”

He gave her an incredulous look.

Ah yes, she had stowed away under twenty pounds of clothing to accompany him.

She cringed. As evidence, it was fairly incriminatory, yet what could she say? None of her explanations, actual or otherwise, would be well tolerated by the intelligent earl.

Peyton stared directly into her eyes. Danger infused her, as he demanded submission without words. Yet even as he compelled her to reveal all, an altogether different type of heat surfaced.

“What are you thinking about?”

Whether anyone would notice if we spent the next six hours under the clothing. Alone.

“About your trip, of course.” She pointed her nose up.

“Are you certain?” He moved, yet instead of letting her go, he readjusted her on his lap, sitting her mere inches away from the chest that went on forever. His hot breath tickled her neck, sending tingles throughout her body and scorching heat through her blood. He smelled of the fresh outdoors and heady spice. “What else would I be thinking about?”

Kissing.

Kissing.

And more kissing.

He leaned in. “If you don’t want this, say it now.”

She parted her lips and said…

Nothing.

He descended.

There were a million reasons not to kiss him, yet every single one disappeared the moment he caressed her tender lips. He tasted as delicious as he looked, a veritable feast for a starving woman. He wrapped his arms around her, bringing her flush against his hardness. He was solid muscle under fine clothing, fiery passion in a gentleman’s disguise. His fingers walked down her back, beyond her hips, lower to–

Loud voices sounded from outside.

She pulled back, or at least as far as she could, still captured in his arms. Thankfully the voices faded, but their stark reminder remained. “What are you doing? What am I doing? This wasn’t supposed to happen again.”

His expression was indistinguishable, his control absolute. He did something to her, and no matter how she tried, she couldn’t stop coming back for more. “Release me,” she demanded.

“Never.”

Her breath hitched.

“Yet we shouldn’t be so close now.”

She blinked. The double meaning was obvious as he lifted her, placing her next to him with a hand firmly on her knee. Not letting go. She fingered the plush cushion, glanced around the carriage. Only inches away, the door provided little escape from the powerful lord. “Why do I keep letting you do that?” she whispered.

She didn’t expect an answer, yet he softly palmed her cheek. “You feel as I do.”

She parted her lips. Did he mean–

“We are eminently compatible.”

Compatible?

Compatible?

“And now I recall why this match is impossible.” She scooted back, ignoring the loss when they no longer touched. “I came to prove I will not be controlled. To show I will do as I please. Until you release me from this betrothal, I will continue such behavior. Sooner or later, you will end it.”

“Or I will convince you to behave.”

Fury thundered through her veins. “How dare you! You will not dictate my future.” She glared. “You know what I wish for.”

“Ah yes, Stanton. The man saving London, one rescue at a time.” He flexed his muscles. Every move showcased power, every shrouded gaze protected secrets. “Your schemes are not working. You should accept the inevitable.”

She seized on her anger. It was far more comfortable, and safer, than the other emotions he inspired. “Do not mock him for saving lives.”

“I would never mock a man for heroics.” He pulled up his sleeves, revealing muscular forearms. “Yet are you so certain it is him? What if he isn’t the rescuer?”

The answer was immediate. “It doesn’t matter. I like him for who he is. I can see the possibilities for a love match.”

“The possibilities for a love match?” He made no effort to hide his incredulity. “How long do you expect it to take? A week, a month, a year? Are you concerned you do not already feel some grand emotion?”

No, there was no grand emotion for Stanton – yet. Peyton inspired many emotions, but they usually involved anger, frustration, and the general urge to buy him a ticket to America.

Seat: log class.

“These things take time.”

“Really? How long have you known Stanton?”

“Clearly not long enough,” she bit out. “And if we do not end this farce of a betrothal, I will never have the chance. I do not want a marriage from afar, nor do I wish for mere compatibility.” She pinned him with her gaze. “Or secrets.”

“You keep secrets.”

She hesitated. The accusation was fair, and true. Yet the secrets he hid were far more substantial.

More voices sounded from outside. Her breathing quickened. “They can’t know we’re in here! They’ll assume we did… things. ”

He raised an eyebrow “We did do things. ”

“Well, yes, that’s your fault.”

“How is it my fault?”

“You make things entirely too tempting.”

He smiled.

She glared.

“The point is, if they catch us, it will be impossible to end the betrothal.”

The voices increased in volume, and he hesitated. Was he considering looping the parson’s noose around them both? If he exposed them, she would have no choice but to accept the suit. They both knew she would never sacrifice her family’s reputation, no matter her reservations.

The voices came again, and he glanced between her and the window. His jaw set. “I will allow you to stay. It’s safer to pretend you were always meant to come than to try to return you now.” He moved forward until he was right next to the door. “I shall leave the carriage quickly, and hopefully no one will notice. My groom has the utmost discretion, and I assume my sister knows you are here.”

Success. She nodded confirmation.

“Of course.” He grimaced. “I am also upgrading you from the under-the-luggage seat.”

“Thank you.” This time the relief was genuine. “I have become quite fond of breathing.”

He looked upward. “It is fortunate the rest of the carriages travelled separately, or else we would be in a different situation. When we get there, act as if it is all planned.” He put his hand against the door, halted. “Your parents?”

“Believe I am with Priscilla.”

“With her blessing, no doubt.” Peyton shook his head. “I shall talk to Bradenton about you and Priscilla’s mischievous behavior. Again.”

“And I shall talk to Priscilla about your overbearing ways.”

“Overbearing it may be, but it is our right.”

“No, it isn’t.” She clutched the soft seat. Priscilla may be bound by her husband, but she was free, at least to the extent of any unmarried woman.

He bent down, placing a hand on either side of her. “It is vital you heed me while we are at Westwind. Do not do any sort of investigating.”

She narrowed her eyes “What would I investigate, Lord Peyton? Surely, you do not keep secrets.”

“Of course not.” He straightened. “Yet I am serious. There will be consequences if you do not adhere to my warning.”

A shudder raced through her. What was he hiding that warranted such a warning?

“One last thing.”

She looked up.

“About the betrothal – making it official is just a formality.” His eyes burned golden fire. “You already belong to me.”

The crisp line of servants was everything one would expect in a high-class, well-run estate. The staff wore flawless uniforms with not a thread out of place, and a formation that would have made any housekeeper beam with pride. With perfect decorum and respectful countenances, they were typical if not exceptional. Or were they? In an unusual and telling sign, they showed genuine warmth as they welcomed their master and his party. In return, Peyton greeted them by name, inquiring about personal matters with unpretentious concern. Emma’s mother always said one could learn a lot about a lord by how he treated his servants.

This was indeed the perfect place to learn about Peyton.

The manor itself was magnificent, despite the fact that it was one of his smaller estates. Five stories tall, and extending far on each side, it boasted red brick sides, set amongst white trim. Violet flowers bloomed in meandering vines, punctuated by blossoms of all hues. A large pond sparkled amongst the gentle rolling hills, with a small, yet clearly new, boat tied at the side.

Peyton noticed the aim of her gaze. “Do not even contemplate it.”

She fought the smile . “Tell me, does it connect to the sea? Is there a way to reach America?”

His eyes shined. “Not currently. Can I trust you not to dig a canal?”

“You may not.”

“I shall thwart every attempt to flee.”

She sobered immediately.

Slowly they ascended the steps. Peyton held out his arm, giving her no choice but to take his well-muscled offering. Despite her misgivings, a small thrill heightened her senses, as she edged closer to his towering form. They stepped through a pair of tall double doors.

As a daughter of the ton, she was accustomed to glittering excess, yet nothing could compare to this masterpiece of art and architecture. The foyer was huge, rising several stories, with a glittering chandelier crafted of hundreds of cut crystals. Dual velvet-covered staircases curved upwards, bound by wrought iron bannisters and marble tops. Intricately embroidered brocade settees and tables with inlaid gold dotted the room, providing function and beauty. It was exquisite without ostentatiousness, magnificent without gaudiness. Enchanting.

“Do you like it?”

“It would be impossible not to,” she admitted. “It’s beautiful.”

“Since everyone is arriving at different hours, no events are planned for tonight. Dinner will be served in bedrooms, with a light buffet for those who wish to partake in the dining room.”

She shouldn’t ask where he would be, shouldn’t even care. Unfortunately, her mouth was far cheekier than her brain. “And where will you be spending the evening?”

“Unfortunately, I will be busy tonight. I have several work matters I must address.”

She attempted to keep the disappointment from her expression, poorly it seemed, as satisfaction flashed in his. Despite what she claimed, she enjoyed his company, just as he did hers.

“Yet tomorrow I would like to spend time together.” He turned to his sister. “With both of you.”

Catherine’s eyebrows knit together, doubt lurking in her eyes. “What have you planned?”

“Actually,” he said, “I was thinking you could make the plans.”

His sister started. “Me?”

He gestured into the house. “Arrange whatever you like, and the others can join if they wish. We have a fairly full schedule, but of course it does not start until the afternoon.”

She paused a moment more, confusion marring her features. She nodded cautiously. “All right.”

“Is there anything else you require?”

Emma and Catherine looked at each other. Catherine shook her head.

Emma peered into the hallway, which was as grand as the foyer. “Your sister offered to give me a tour, if you do not mind.”

“Not at all.” He bowed. “I shall take my leave. I bid you a good evening.”

Emma stayed still as he departed, tracking every step as he strode purposefully and confidentially through his domain. How had she never realized he moved like a cat, not like the kitten she proclaimed during charades, but like the tiger he personified? “His actions aren’t always logical, are they?”

The question had been rhetorical, yet Catherine answered, “Actually, he always has good reasons for his behavior. He just keeps them close, especially when he is pursuing something… or someone.”

That was exactly what she was afraid of.

Frustration. Anger. Annoyance.

Those were the emotions Philip expected.

They were not what came.

Instead, satisfaction, happiness and excitement rose at Emma’s arrival, amidst the stark inability to remain unaffected as the woman who would be his countess stood up to him, defiance and challenge in those beautiful amber eyes. She was glorious. She was magnificent.

And she was his.

Only she was denying her feelings and defying him. They could work through their disputes, but Stanton complicated everything. She’d romanticized him as the only man capable of conquering her heart. He had to convince her Stanton was an ordinary man.

He’d concocted his plan during the ride, when he’d felt her presence on every mile of the remaining journey. It was simple, and yet so perfect, to disabuse her of the perceived connection between Stanton and the rescuer. If the rescuer just happened to show up here, where Stanton wasn’t, then she would know it couldn’t be him.

Of course, it was vital she didn’t suspect him instead. The tunnels would make it impossible, or at least seem that way to Emma, that he was the rescuer.

Now he strode soundlessly through the empty hallways, past tall doors and silver-framed windows, under intricate candelabras with blazing candles. The walls were covered with life size paintings of his ancestors, punctuated by tall pillars holding priceless antiques. Most of their guests had settled in for the evening, choosing to take their meals in their rooms.

He walked until he reached a pair of rich mahogany double doors, inscribed with carvings of tulips. The room he chose for her was one of the best in the estate, and more importantly, near his. He knocked thrice in rapid succession.

The quick response proved she was not yet abed. With a gentle creak, the door swung open.

She was loveliness itself. Her freshly-brushed locks hung loose around her shoulders, cascades of chestnut gold. She wore a light blue dress, gauzy and soft, outlining generous curves. Her eyes were alight, her cheeks tinged pink, as she gazed at him.

“I didn’t expect to see you,” she said softly. “Is all well?”

“Of course.” He cleared his throat. “I simply wanted to see how you were settling in. Do you require anything?”

Something flashed in her gaze, as her pupils dilated. The pinkness tinting her cheeks deepened.

In that moment he knew exactly what she was thinking.

It was enticing and oh-so-tempting, repeating their joining of the night before. Yet instead of accepting their relationship, she was now resisting him even more. Moving forward meant leaving Stanton behind.

“I’m fine,” she rushed out, biting her bottom lip.

No, she was not. And neither was he.

But they would be. “I’m glad to hear it, madam.” He bowed. “If you require anything, do not hesitate to ask. My room is just down the hall, the large double doors with the crest.”

She peered down the hallway, nodded.

With a final bow, he turned sharply, striding down the path. The weight of her stare bore into his back as he unlocked and opened his door, and strode in.

He swiftly donned the disguise he had prepared. He whipped off his old coat and replaced it with a darker one, before tying a cloth over his face. With a quick glance in the mirror, he strode to the wall that hid the secret panel. Pressing softly on a barely visible square, he pushed the door open.

It was dark and dank in the tunnels, and smelled of moisture and musk. When he visited the estate as a child, he used to think it haunted, and even now the wind sliding through the rafters resembled the moans of the departed. Tiny windows built into the walls provided slivers of light and air.

The path was narrow and winding, with various panels, which led to rooms, and tunnels branching out to the other areas of the home. He quickly passed several rooms, including the one belonging to Emma. He entered the chamber beyond it, a female guest room decorated entirely in rose patterned papers and fabrics. He treaded softly but swiftly over the plush carpeting and walked to the balcony. He flung open the two thick doors.

He had already considered the ways to alert her to his presence, yet it was unnecessary.

She was already there.

No words could describe his lady in the moonlight. She looked like an ethereal fairy, an enchantress of the earth and sky. She gazed up into the stars, her eyes reflecting their warmth and power, brimming with intelligence, strength and kindness.

Something churned inside of him, powerful, intense, all-consuming. Emotions he couldn’t face swirled, sabotaging his control. He stood tall.

She turned and gasped, her breath a whisper on the wind. “You’re here.”

“Good evening, Lady Emma.” He stepped forward. “It is time we talked.”