Page 31 of Entertaining the Earl (Vows in Vauxhall Gardens #2)

C olin knew it was not a polite hour of the day to be paying social calls, but he could not wait. He had ridden here in such haste, and there was no way he could wait until an acceptable hour for calling the following morning to see her—to tell her what was in his heart.

Mr. Lyttleton had been surprised to see him, that much had been clear from his expression.

When he had asked to see Susannah, her father had said she was entertaining guests for dinner.

Colin had strained to hear the voices in the dining room, and when he had heard at least two different male voices, jealousy filled his chest.

“I need to see her,” he’d said to Mr. Lyttleton. “Please, it will not take long.”

And thankfully Mr. Lyttleton had not argued any further, and had gone to fetch her—leaving Colin in the library, of all places, pacing, his body full of nervous energy, the story he had written in his pocket.

It felt stupid now. He was a grown man, an earl; why had he written some silly story to tell her how he felt? He should just tell her he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since he had left London…

He only hoped Mr. Lyttleton trusted his integrity enough—however misplaced that trust might be—to leave them alone for a few moments. He could not tell her this in front of her father, or her mother. Perhaps he might manage in front of her maid, if that was the only choice .

If she said yes, then he wouldn’t have to worry about being chaperoned with her again. They could be together, just like they had been in this very library—but without having to worry about being caught.

*

When she recalled the moment in years to come, Susannah would swear that her heart had stopped when she entered the library and saw him there.

It was almost as if he were a vision she had conjured simply by thinking about him too much.

And for him to be here, now, in this place where so much had happened…

and when she had been trying to decide which of the men in the dining room could possibly inspire a similar feeling within her… well, it did not seem real.

And yet it was. She had thought she would never see him again, though here he was, not even a fortnight after he had left.

Her mouth went dry, her eyes met his, and she very belatedly curtsied.

“Lord Bourne,” she managed to say, even though her heart was screaming, Colin .

“Miss Lyttleton,” he said, with a bow of his head. “I apologize for interrupting your evening. I just wish to speak to you for a moment…”

He glanced at her father, and she wondered if Papa knew what this was about. Surely he was not going to leave them alone?

For Susannah knew they could not be trusted unchaperoned.

“I must not leave our guests,” Papa said, his eyes darting toward the door. “But I trust you won’t be long. And the footman is only on the other side of the door, understood?”

Susannah felt her cheeks flush red, but Colin merely nodded and calmly said, “Thank you, Mr. Lyttleton. I assure you this won’t take long.”

And then they were alone. The doors were open, and the footman was only yards away…but they were alone.

Susannah did not know what to say. She couldn’t tell him that she’d missed him.

And it felt rude to ask why he was there—though she was desperate to know.

She had been the one who had told him to leave, and he had left without a fight.

Surely he could not be here out of guilt over what had almost happened between them?

“I—” Lord Bourne began to speak, and then stopped just as suddenly, seemingly as awkward in this situation as she was. He rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a creased piece of parchment, which, on closer inspection, seemed to be multiple pieces of parchment, all filled with writing.

He handed them to her, and she could not help but notice that his hands were shaking as he did so.

“What is this?” she asked, taking it from him, more curious than she had ever been in her life.

“Please, just read it,” he said, and she did not think she could deny him anything—not when he looked at her like that, his beautiful eyes wide and pleading, his usual confidence absent.

And so she began to read. It became clear fairly quickly that this was a story, but who had written it and why was not obvious. She read as quickly as she could, very aware of him watching her as she did so. Had he written this? And if so, why was he giving it to her?

She quickly became absorbed in the tale. It was a simple story of a man not realizing he loved the woman right in front of him, and it culminated in him asking her to marry him.

“Did you write this?” she asked, looking up and meeting his sparkling blue eyes.

He nodded.

“I don’t…” She bit her bottom lip. She did not understand the meaning of this, of him coming all this way with a story he had written. Was it simply to make a joke of the fact that she wished to be a writer, or that she clearly had feelings with him, when he was not at tracted to her?

“Are you mocking me?” she asked, holding her head as high as she could.

His eyes widened. “Never.”

“You made it perfectly clear you are not attracted to me,” she said, even though it physically hurt to say the words. “So I do not comprehend why you would give me this, why—”

He took a step towards her and took both her hands in his, crumpling the parchment between their fingers. “That is not true,” he said in an urgent whisper. “I am attracted to you. I have been…for quite some time.”

“But that night, in this very room, you—” She kept her voice low, for fear that the footman on the other side of the door would hear and know what they were discussing. “You said you could not…”