Page 9 of Loving an Earl (Widows of Mayfair #1)

A fter leaving the opera, Edmund, feeling the worst mood descend on him, hired a hack and headed into St. Giles. It was a clear night, the perfect weather for looking for Annabelle. Well, not Annabelle per se. Rather her husband who frequented taverns. From what Edmund and the baron had learned about him since Annabelle had left with him all those years ago, the man had a propensity to tavern life. It made Edmund wonder what Annabelle was doing when he was gone.

The closer the hack got to St. Giles, the tighter his stomach became. He didn’t know how much good he could do, but he felt he owed it to Baron Winslow to look for his daughter. The baron had also had professionals looking for Annabelle for the past ten years, but it was to no avail. Every lead seemed to turn up empty. Edmund couldn’t imagine how the baron went on day after day alone. His wife had passed and his daughter had disappeared. The man was heartbroken and Edmund, now that he was back in London to stay, couldn’t stand by and do nothing. He would comb through the slums until he either found her or died trying. But tonight, as with other nights, turned up nothing helpful which only added to Edmund’s bad mood.

He walked several blocks over before he was able to wave down another hired hack that took him to Brooks’s. He liked White’s but Brooks’s even better, especially when he was in a dismal mood, such as tonight. He made his way toward the back, beelining to a chair in front of the hearth, when he noticed Blackstone sitting alone with a half-empty drink in his hand. “Rough night?”

“Perhaps... perhaps not,” Blackstone said with a grin. “What about you? You left the opera abruptly.”

He sat and signaled the waiter. “Brandy.” He tugged on his cravat trying to loosen it, then gave up and untied the bloody thing along with unbuttoning the top button on his linen shirt. It was choking the hell out of him. “I went looking for Annabelle’s husband.”

“Any luck?”

“No. I wish I could find her to give Baron Winslow peace. But I’m beginning to believe it will never happen.”

“I know it seems hopeless, but don’t give up just yet.”

Edmund ran his hands through his hair. “On a different topic, I don’t think I can stand the idea of Hollingsworth with Lilly.”

His friend chuckled. “You’re just figuring this out now?”

“No.” He sighed deeply and took a sip of his drink the attendant had just set down next to him, enjoying the slow burn down his throat and then continuing on to heat his belly. “She hates me.”

“You could compel her to marry you.”

“How?” He groaned. “Never mind. I’d never subject her to that. I want her. I don’t want her to hate me.”

Blackstone signaled for a refill. “I spent four years watching one of my closest friends being married to the woman I wanted. And honestly, did I not secretly, during some dark times, wish him dead so I could have Emmeline for myself? Then, when he died, I struggled with guilt for years because I felt responsible for his death. And because I’m a bloody arse, I blamed her for his death. And now she is free, and so am I, and I’m still conflicted. You know what rabbit hole I’ve fallen down.” He drained his glass and placed it on the table beside his chair. “I don’t wish for you to fall down that same hole. It’s too crowded since I’m still clawing my way out. So take it from me, the last thing you want to do is step aside and watch the woman you care for marry another, whether it ends up being Hollingsworth or someone else.”

Edmund pondered this advice, then offered a bit of his own. “Perhaps you should call on Emmeline tomorrow. But keep your frustrations to yourself. Whenever you’re around her you practically snarl at her. She undoubtedly thinks you hate her.”

Blackstone looked at him and winced. “Of course she thinks I hate her. Several years ago, when I was drinking heavily, I provoked her to hate me. I thought it’d be easier to have her loathe me than to admit the truth.”

“Which is?”

“That I’m in love with her.”

“We are both making morning calls tomorrow.” Edmund’s thoughts got lost as he stared into his empty glass. As he was leaving, he noticed Hollingsworth deep in conversation with his younger brother. Edmund hid behind a chair, giving anyone the evil eye if they seemed inclined to say anything, and eavesdropped, learning some important facts. His melancholy of moments ago was taken over with seething anger.

*

Flowers arrived from the same three gentlemen that morning as the day before. “The flowers are lovely,” Aunt Vivian remarked as she entered the morning room with a lightness in her step. Obviously, she’d slept well the night before. Lilly hadn’t, and she imagined Emmeline hadn’t either, if the circles beneath her eyes were any indication. She would request cucumber slices after breakfast. As not to hurt Emmeline’s feelings, she would say they were for her and then share.

“Do flowers always mean the sender will make a call?” Lilly asked.

“Not always,” Aunt Vivian replied. “But in this case, I believe so.”

“Hollingsworth is taking me for a carriage ride in the park this afternoon. Will he still come for afternoon tea?” Why was she not excited to see him? Why was her heart so fickle? If Lilly had known how difficult navigating the social circles of London would be, she might have stayed at Langford Manor. But then, he had been there. Life had been so simple when her papa lived and then when Henry lived. At nineteen and alone, how was she to know her heart’s desire?

“Perhaps, but not necessarily.” Aunt Vivian sipped her tea. “You are quiet and look tired, Emmeline. Is all well?”

Well, there went pretending the cucumber slices were for her. Emmeline ignored her mother’s question.

*

The social hour arrived in the blink of an eye, and Lilly, Emmeline, and Aunt Vivian found themselves in the same spots as yesterday, awaiting their callers. Lilly wore her new green day dress, which had arrived from the modiste that morning. It matched her mother’s pendant and brought out the color of her eyes. Emmeline wore a lovely pale blue, which made her eyes positively glow. Aunt Vivian wore navy blue with her usual turban. Truthfully, Lilly didn’t know what color her hair was or if she even had hair, as she’d never seen her without a turban.

Harrison entered and announced Blackstone and Langford. Lilly had trouble meeting Langford’s eyes. Was it because she’d kissed Nicholas? It was certainly none of his business that she had. When he bowed in greeting, he took her hand in his and brushed his lips across her fingers. His intense brown eyes were flecked with amber and they never left her. Her insides vibrated, and her breath caught in her throat. His look unsettled her, and she didn’t know what to make of it. Would he be pleasant like he was during yesterday’s call or rude as he was at the opera?

“How was the rest of your evening last night? I hope Hollingsworth was a gentleman and escorted you ladies home at a reasonable hour.” It was odd that nothing he said or in his looks gave her any inclination he was not happy with Hollingsworth wanting to court her. Yet, she knew he had rescinded his so-called permission.

Her face broke into a wide smile. “It was wonderful. The opera was sad, sensual, and utterly beautiful. You should have stayed.”

She looked directly into his eyes and tried to look like a woman in love, like Emmeline when she thought about Blackstone. And if she was showing false love for the marquess, that was her choice. “Hollingsworth was a perfect... gentleman during our time alone in the drawing room.” The pause between her words had the desired effect on Langford. He narrowed his eyes and studied her intently. She would love to know what he was thinking.

“Is it possible to have a word with you in private, Lady Langford?” he said with a clipped, do-not-refuse-me tone.

Standing, trying to hide her annoyance with him, Lilly said, “Please excuse us. Langford would like a word.” As if they had not heard his request. No. Not a request. More of an order.

He stood when she did and followed her out of the drawing room and up the stairs to the family’s private drawing room. Her hand quivered as she moved it along the banister. The heat from his eyes bore into her. No doubt the rakehell was staring at her backside, planning his seduction of her. She hadn’t forgotten his actions at the Westport ball.

After they entered, she left the door ajar. She still didn’t trust him. “Please sit.”

“I prefer to stand.” He moved to the front of a large window looking onto the street below.

Lilly sat because her knees threatened to buckle.

Langford pivoted, looking at her, studying her with softened eyes, and her heart twitched. She preferred him when angry or frustrated instead of appearing as though he really had feelings for her. She feared she would fall for him quickly if he showed kindness, compassion, and warmth toward her. Sometimes, she wanted to think he cared for her, and his abruptness toward her was only him acting out his frustration at having feelings for his uncle’s widow—his aunt, technically—which could be deemed scandalous.

“I would prefer it if you did not see Hollingsworth again.”

His words had her shaking her head. Not that she was surprised by them after Nicholas had told her he had rescinded his approval. But the way he spoke now, this was not a demand like he usually used with her. He wasn’t ordering her not to see Hollingsworth. How unlike him. He was an enigma—stern and bossy one moment and almost thoughtful the next. Did the man not know his own mind? She was suffering from emotional strain trying to keep up with him.

“I’m riding with him in the park this afternoon.”

“Please cancel. Please tell him you have a migraine.”

“I will do no such thing.” She didn’t like this softer side of him. She preferred his indifferent side. That way, she could be angry at him in peace and ignore the way her pulse raced when he spoke to her gently.

At her refusal, his eyes now turned a dark brown void of amber flecks as he glared at her, his thoughtfulness spent.

She closed her eyes briefly, then stood ready to do battle. Her spine was straight, her shoulders back, and her eyes pierced his. “I may not be twenty yet, but I am far from innocent and na?ve. I was married for a year and mourned for one. When I lived with my papa, I was in charge of his household. I am much older and wiser than my years. Therefore, I am perfectly capable of making decisions for myself.” Her hand flew up as he opened his mouth. “Do not interrupt me. I appreciate your stated desire to look out for my well-being and reputation; nevertheless, it’s unnecessary.” She flashed him a teeth-clenched grin, watching the expression on his face change from annoyance to anger to amusement and back to anger.

His eyes seared her with their intensity as he walked toward her until he stood very close to her. A nerve twitched in the corner of one of his eyes, and his woodsy scent tickled her nose, sending her heart thumping wildly inside her chest. No doubt he heard it.

“Perhaps you are not na?ve for someone living in the country, but London and the ton are forces to be reckoned with. No one is above scandal or reproach.” He placed a finger beneath her chin and tipped her head up, his eyes alight with something resembling humor. “Not even young, beautiful widows such as yourself.” He removed his finger. Her head stayed put. Her eyes sought his, her lips parted in an effort to breathe. Her heart paused mid-beat as he continued to speak. “My uncle asked me to look after you and find you a suitable husband, and, by God, I will honor his wishes.”

“But—”

He cocked a brow. “You had your turn. Now it’s mine. Despite his charm, good manners, and seemingly affable personality, Hollingsworth isn’t who you think he is. Even at his age, he fears his mother. When his father lived, he stayed away from them, living in single gentlemen’s quarters. Now that he is the marquess and under the same roof as his mother, she is trying to control him. She wants him to marry Lady Priscilla Amesbury, the daughter of her best friend, whom he dislikes with a passion. He will do anything not to make that happen. Even marry someone he just met... a total stranger... such as yourself.”

His large, warm hand cupped her cheek, his thumb sliding across her jaw, causing goosebumps to break out on her skin. “I predict he will ask you to marry him by week’s end.”

She gasped.

“Otherwise, he knows his mother will orchestrate Lady Priscilla and him into a compromising situation and force their marriage.”

“How do you know this?”

He leaned close to her ear, his warm breath tickling her. “I overheard him talking to his brother at Brooks’s last night after he brought you home. Do you think it’s a coincidence that he sent you flowers, invited you to the opera, and to ride in the park? I think not. He chose you because you are new to town and haven’t heard the gossip about him.”

Lilly’s shoulders sagged as she exhaled. Even though she didn’t feel a deep sense of longing or connection to the marquess, Langford’s words stung. Hollingsworth didn’t like her—he was only using her. Against her will, tears pooled in her eyes, and she felt foolish. She swatted Langford’s hand from her face and stepped back, putting distance between them. She didn’t need his pity or his gloating. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll bring it up with Hollingsworth. Now, if you’ll excuse me...”

Before she could turn around and walk out, Langford’s hands gently cupped her face, the amber visible again in his eyes. Right before he lowered his head, she knew what he was about to do, had a second to decide if she wanted him to.

Even though he could be demanding and ill-tempered and inclined to think the worst of her, something about him still called to her in a way she didn’t entirely understand. By the friends he kept, she knew he was loyal and honest, and he probably did have her best interests in mind, even if it didn’t always appear that way. If she were being honest with herself, she wanted nothing more than to be kissed by him. In this room. At this time. So she leaned forward just a tad, giving him her silent consent.

His mouth was gentle and soft. She made a mewing sound that came from the back of her throat as he enveloped her in his arms, pulled her close to his body, and deepened the kiss. Leaning into him as his tongue entered her mouth, swirling around and around and tasting her. A moan escaped his lips into her mouth.

She skimmed her hands up and down his back, wishing to her own surprise that he had nothing on so she could feel the warm smoothness of his skin, the tightness of his muscles. As she continued caressing him, his mouth devoured her, sipped from her. His tongue pushed in and out, causing heat to flare inside her body and settle between her thighs. Her body trembled. He broke contact, trailing barely there kisses down her neck.

“My God, you taste so sweet,” he breathed into her neck. “I want to taste every inch of you.” And at that very moment it was something she wanted as well.

The sound of a masculine voice clearing his throat had them pulling back. “Sorry to interrupt,” Blackstone said as he grinned at them, one brow raised. “The Marquess of Hollingsworth is downstairs wondering where the countess is.” He chuckled. “Shall I say she is indisposed at the moment?”