Page 16 of Of Lies and Earls (Inglorious Scoundrels #2)

Dear Lydia,

I had hoped you might send a missive or call on me before leaving London for good. Since I’ve received no word, I find myself growing worried.

Please know that I am safe and at peace with my decision to stay. There’s no need to worry on my account—but do keep me updated on your journey.

Love,

Honor

H onoria spent the entire day on pins and needles, thinking about Caldwell, worrying about what she was about to say—but the damned earl had been gone since early morning. Each hour that passed wound her nerves tighter, her carefully practiced speeches becoming more jumbled with every tick of the clock. She started at every small noise, anticipating his return, only to be disappointed time and again.

She hadn’t told the children she was staying yet, either. She thought she needed to tell Caldwell about her feelings first—gauge his reaction. If he was favorable to her advances, they could decide together what to say to the children. The prospect of his rejection made her stomach clench every time she allowed herself to consider it.

When the clock struck five, she heard him arrive, ascend the stairs… and disappear into his bedchamber.

Oh, no. She would not let him hide from her the entire day. If she had to wait one minute longer, Honoria felt she might burst.

She rushed toward his bedchamber and paused outside the wide-open door.

It’s now or never.

She crossed the threshold, her hand hovering over the door jamb to alert him of her presence, but paused mid-air.

He sat in front of the looking glass, applying something to his face, an alcohol bottle open at his side. He hissed under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” she called, concern overriding her frustration in an instant.

He turned, revealing a bruised face and a split lip, the skin around his left eye already darkening to a mottled purple.

She rushed to him and took his face in her hands, tilting it toward the light streaming through the window. Her fingers were gentle against his skin. He tried to pull away—his fingers warm against her wrist—but she caught sight of the knuckles on his right hand. They were bleeding, raw, and angry.

“What the devil happened?” she asked, her voice rising in horror. Her heart raced with the worst possible imaginings. Had he been attacked? Robbed?

“Nothing really. I went to Johnson’s Boxing Academy. Just a friendly sparring match,” he said dismissively, but winced as he spoke, his lip reopening.

“ Friendly? I shudder to think what an unfriendly one would do.” She stepped back, folding her arms across her chest to hide their trembling. Seeing him injured stirred something fierce and protective within her.

“I just hadn’t practiced in a long time. To be honest, I’m a much better shooter than a boxer…” He paused, gaze dropping. “Or I used to be, before my eyesight turned for the worse.”

“Why in the world did you go boxing?” she demanded, unable to comprehend what would drive him to such an activity. The Caldwell she knew preferred quiet pastimes—reading, studying beetles, tending flowers, and the occasional swim. She took his wounded hand into hers and clucked her tongue. The skin was angry, red, and swollen.

“To get some exercise,” he replied with a shrug, his tone casual.

“If your inability to swim as often in London bothers you, I’m certain there are less violent sports that might suit your interests. Like riding.” She sounded like a governess scolding a disobedient boy, but she couldn’t help herself—she was worried and more than a little bewildered. “Wait here. I’ll get some salve. This wound could get infected.”

She turned to leave, already mentally cataloging the medicines in the household stores, everything she had meant to say to him forgotten. Now is not the time.

“Don’t worry, I poured some alcohol on the wound,” he called after her, a hint of stubbornness in his voice.

She turned back, an exasperated sigh leaving her chest. “That is not enough. It needs to be kept clean and bandaged properly. I can’t believe you’d risk damage to your hand, knowing how much you need it for all your hobbies and interests.”

“That’s why I have you.” A slow, mischievous smile crept across his face. “You’re my right-hand man— ahem —woman. If I lose a hand, you’ll have to do all the handy work for me.”

She met his eyes, startled by the playfulness in his tone. Was he flirting with her?

A warm flush crept up her neck.

His smile faded as quickly as it came. “Except you’ll be leaving soon.” He grimaced. “Never mind.”

“Actually—” This was the perfect opening to confess that she wasn’t leaving after all, that she’d decided to stay, and that he was the reason. But the words refused to leave her lips. Her thoughts jumbled again, her courage vanishing. “Let me get the bandages.”

She fled the room, grateful for the excuse to compose herself.

Her heart hammered as she gathered the necessary supplies from the stillroom. What is wrong with me? She had faced far more daunting challenges in her life than confessing her feelings to a man. Yet here she was, trembling like a green girl at her first assembly. Perhaps because never before had so much been at stake—her heart, her future, her happiness—all hanging in the balance of his response.

She returned to his room, supplies clutched in her hands like a shield.

“Turn this way.” She leaned her hips against the desk and bent toward him, applying salve to his cheek and his lip, the smell of herbs filling the space.

She swallowed, acutely aware of the scant distance between them.

Taking his hand, she applied salve to his knuckles, then wrapped his hand carefully with strips of clean linen.

She was so close to him that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, smell the faint scent of bergamot that clung to him, hear the steady rhythm of his breathing.

She looked up once she was done, only to realize that he’d been staring at her with a dark intensity in his eyes. She licked her lips nervously, and his gaze dropped to her mouth, his eyes darkening.

“I—” I’m done, she was about to say. But the words died on her tongue as he leaned in and kissed her.

Her stomach flipped, all her senses rioting within her as she leaned into his soft, tender kiss. The world narrowed to the gentle pressure of his lips against hers, the slight roughness of his unshaven cheek against her palm, the thundering of her heart in her ears. This was no dream, no fantasy she’d conjured in the secret hours of night. This was real.

She couldn’t believe it.

He broke the kiss, their lips still inches away, their breaths mingling. Something tugged at Honoria’s lips, her chest, her body, as if an invisible thread bound her to him demanding for her to close the distance between them.

She obeyed.

Leaning in, she pressed her lips against his. But before he could reciprocate, the unmistakable sound of children’s feet pounding like a stampede echoed through the hallway outside.

They pulled apart hastily, creating a distance between their bodies.

“No, this is not how it was—I’ll show you!” came the children’s voices, growing louder as they approached.

Robbie unceremoniously burst into the room, hair tousled, Elise close behind, her face flushed, Rosie clutching her hand.

Caldwell turned to them, his expression instantly transforming into that of the proper guardian. Honoria straightened her spine and started collecting all the bandages with hands that were not quite steady, hyper aware of the children’s curious gazes.

“What is wrong with your face?” Elise asked, taking in the bruises, then her gaze dropping to his bandaged hand.

“I went boxing,” Caldwell replied simply.

“Truly?” Robbie’s eyes shone with boyish enthusiasm. “Can I go with you next time?”

“No,” Caldwell said firmly, “You’re too young. Maybe later.”

“Maybe it’s better if I go while I am young, so when I grow up, I don’t get as badly pummeled as you did.”

An unexpected chuckle escaped Honoria, and she slapped a hand over her mouth. The children, seeing her reaction, dissolved into laughter.

Even the earl’s lips twitched faintly. “Did you want something?” he asked.

“Yes. I was showing Robbie the waltz, and he insists I’m doing it wrong,” Elise said, lifting her chin. “As if he knows how to dance.”

“I said you’re leading wrong,” Robbie insisted, his face twisted with a stubborn scowl.

“Would you mind showing us?” Elise asked.

All eyes turned to Lord Caldwell, and he had no choice but to relent. Honoria wanted to excuse herself, saying she needed to clean up the desk from the medicine, but Rosie insisted on dragging her to the ballroom with them.

On the way there, Honoria couldn’t help but feel that everything was falling into place.

She walked among the children she loved, beside the man who had just kissed her. Her!

Not as a masked damsel at the masquerade. Not as a harlot or a mysterious stranger. But as a simple housekeeper.

Honoria touched her lips, her heart fluttering like a bird in her chest. Perhaps that kiss had changed everything between them. It meant he felt something for her— right?

Maybe she didn’t need to say anything more.

No need for dramatic confessions or grand declarations.

Just a kiss.

And maybe—just maybe—that was enough.

Maybe this thing between them would work itself out…

Once in the ballroom, Caldwell led Elise to the center of the room and guided her in a waltz. But after the first few moves, Elise collided with his chest, almost falling on her backside. Only her uncle’s strong hands managed to keep her upright.

“See?” Robbie said with that particular note of sibling satisfaction at being proven correct. “You can’t even do your part right.”

“How about you show us how it’s done?” Elise retorted.

“I can’t. I never said I could. You said you could, but you can’t either.”

With a huff, Elise disengaged from her uncle and went to sit at the piano. “Perhaps you should show us with Miss Hartwell,” she said, her tone stiffly formal. “I shall accompany you.”

It was clear Elise was still angry at Honoria—she hadn’t spoken directly to her since the night Honoria told her she planned to leave.

“Do you know how to waltz, Nory?” Robbie asked.

“Yes, show us,” Rosie chimed in, swaying as if she were waltzing herself.

“I haven’t danced in a while,” Honoria hesitated, but seeing the children’s eager faces, she couldn’t say no. “Very well, let’s attempt to dance.”

She felt Caldwell’s eyes on her as she approached, the weight of his gaze almost tangible in the quiet room.

Elise pressed the first keys, and Honoria walked into the circle of Caldwell’s arms. As they began to dance, his hand warm at her waist, hers trembling slightly on his shoulder, Honoria felt like she was floating.

It felt so right to be in his arms, dancing, feeling his touch. His eyes bored into hers with a startling intensity, and she was ready to drown in those dark, devilish depths.

The tension between them crackled like lightning before a storm, charged and dangerous and thrilling.

Whether she was dancing in his arms, standing by his side, or kissing his lips, it felt like this was what she had been meant to do since forever.

This was where she belonged.

She was in love with this man. And just like all the previous thoughts, this one also felt right.

He stopped abruptly, causing her to stumble against his chest, his arms instinctively tightening around her to prevent her from falling. She looked up at him, their faces inches apart, and for a moment, she thought he might kiss her again, right there in front of the children.

Instead, he turned to the children who had gone strangely quiet, their gazes glued to their guardian and the housekeeper. Something in their expressions—curiosity, confusion, perhaps even understanding—made Honoria step back, smoothing her hands down her skirts unnecessarily.

“Is that sufficient?” Caldwell asked, his voice slightly higher than usual. “Good,” he said at the children’s nods and turned to walk away.

“Wait.” Honoria stopped him, her hand reaching out to touch his arm briefly before falling away.

He turned, a question in his eyes.

“Actually, since you’re all here… I’d like to say that my departure has been postponed.” She paused, drawing a breath, then remembering that Rosie was behind her, turned to face her, so she could see her lips as she spoke. “Indefinitely. I will not be leaving this household anytime soon.”

Rosie frowned, concentrating on her words, then asked. “You’re staying?”

Honoria nodded. “Yes.”

The words hung in the air. Then, after a beat, Robbie and Rosie erupted into cheers. “Hip, hip, hooray!” They danced and hopped in celebration.

Elise, however, had a blank expression. Her eyes flicked between Honoria and Caldwell, her thoughtful frown deepening. Then she turned and walked away without a word.

“Right. Fabulous,” the earl said, although his tone didn’t match the sentiment. A crease formed between his brows. “Glad to have you back.”

He followed Elise’s exit without another word or glance.

Honoria stood frozen, surrounded by the two celebrating children, a confused heaviness settling in her chest. The joy of her decision to stay was now shadowed by doubt.

What had she seen in his eyes?

Was it regret over their kiss?

Relief that she was staying?

Or something else entirely?

* * *

Caldwell strode into his study and settled behind his desk.

He had made a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake. What devil had possessed him to kiss his housekeeper?

She had seemed to respond—but again, she was not a free woman, as he had assumed at the time. She had already decided to stay on as his housekeeper. Which meant her response could have simply been to preserve her position, to avoid angering the master of the house.

He grimaced.

Of course, she didn’t feel the same way about him. Just earlier today, she had stood before this very desk, looking for all the world like the picture of serenity, while he was unraveling from the inside out—while his cock had been throbbing at the sound of her voice alone.

And when she’d tended to his wounds, her face so close to his, her breath warm on his cheek—he had wanted to pull her into his lap, impale her on his cock, and drive into her with all the force of his need.

The intensity of his desire for her terrified him.

He leaned back in the chair and let his head fall against the cushion, imagining just that. Imagining her.

Honoria.

Riding his cock, every inch of her bare before his eyes. Every breath, every moan, echoing sweetly through the room.

He undid his breeches and took himself in hand, closing his eyes.

It didn’t take much—just the memory of her voice, the flash of her skin, the fantasy of her beneath him, on top of him, skirt bunched around her waist, mouth parted, whispering his name.

His strokes quickened. His breathing turned ragged.

And when he came, it was with her name burning on his lips.

Honoria.