Good Earl Hunting (2 page)

Why in the world would he confess such a thing to her? “Perhaps you should be having this conversation with my father. Or at the least, with my sister, Annabel. She–“

“When you and I waltzed at Lord and Lady Carmichael’s soiree you told me I had an overlarge sense of importance and an oversmall brain,” he interupted.

So he remembered that. Theodora yanked her hand from around his arm and pushed at him. “You’ve apparently come a long way to give me an uncomfortable set of days, my lord,” she snapped, trudging along with path for the house and hoping that wasn’t the hounds she heard in the distance again. “And evidently to toy with my sister’s heart. That is indeed very small of you.”

Was that truly what she thought? Geoffrey Kerick slowed, and Titan bumped into his back. “Devon isn’t that far from West Sussex,” he commented, pacing after the petite, black-haired chit once again. “And perhaps I enjoy having people speak their minds to me.”

From the rear he had a splendid view of her swaying backside – and of her shoulders stiffening. Squaring his own in preparation for another verbal thrashing, he eyed her warily. No sense getting close enough for her to punch him in the nose. Not yet, anyway.

Light green eyes flashed as she face him again, though from the color of her cheeks she was either embarrassed or flattered. He hoped it was the latter. She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut again. Instead she stomped back up to him, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. “Are you implying that you’re here because of me?” Theodora Meacham tilted her head. “Or more likely, did you think that because I’m covered in mud and I was nearly trampled that I’m easy prey for a jest or two?”

He grinned. “You are not easy prey, Miss Meacham. Of that, I am certain.”

She continued to eye him suspiciously, but he only smiled back at her. For the moment, he had no intention of saying anything further if he could at all avoid doing so. After all, he’d attended seven damned fox hunts in six weeks. Whether they’d all left him thinking more favorably about a certain sharp-tongued, black-haired chit who hadn’t bothered to simper and flirt with him or not, at this moment he refused to do more than acknowledge that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her and that he wanted another opportunity to chat with her. He certainly couldn’t admit even that much to her today. Not when she clearly would rather see him drowned than even say a polite good morning to him. Not when everyone at Beldath Hall clearly thought he was there because of the older sister.

All he could do this morning was take her verbal jabs until she decided they were even. Once they playing field was leveled, however...well, he’d never played a game to lose. Because in all his twenty-nine years, no one had ever attempted to stand toe-to-toe with him. Until Theodora Meacham.

Chapter Two

L
ORD
H
ELSEY LED
the parade of riders to the lake, the fox’s tail lifted above his head as if he’d won the battle of Agincourt and the scruffy tuft of orange and white fur was the victory banner. The reception of young ladies likely wasn’t entirely what he’d expected, though, because most of them were already gathered beneath the white cloth canopy – and attempting to chat with the Earl of Vashton. They barely noticed the arrival of the mighty hunters or their prize.

It must be nice to be so charming, Theodora decided, watching the earl hold court. An easy smile, a bit of witty conversation about the weather, the ability to make even the most desperate and self-conscious of the ladies present feel...flattered. She shook out her hands as her father dismounted from his gray hunter, Friday. This could have been another pleasant holiday. Instead, she was expected to spend her time helping Annabel to make a match with the most handsome, self-absorbed, arrogant man in England.

She blinked. Handsome? Well, that was merely a factual observation, an acknowledgment of the symmetry of his features. It didn’t mean anything.

“We lost Vashton halfway through the ride,” her father said in a low voice, leaning down to kiss her on one cheek. “Glad to see he didn’t fall and break his neck. That would not have sat well with anyone.”

“No, I don’t imagine it would,” she returned dryly.

The viscount looked past her. “I see Belle’s in the thick of things. Good. No one can resist that smile of hers. Including me.” His own smile faded, though, as he returned his attention to Theodora. “Is that mud on your ear?”

Stifling a curse, she brushed at her earlobe. “I was out walking, and some mud spattered me,” she noted, deciding that he didn’t need to know that he’d nearly trampled her. He had enough to keep him occupied with nearly four dozen guests in residence and a match with an evidently reluctant groom to arrange.

“Where were you that you were spattered with mud? All the other young ladies were here to watch for the end of the hunt. You know we want–“

”–for Belle to make a match with a man every other female in England is after,” she finished. “I told you to leave me out of it. I’m terrible at polite conversation; you know that. And Vashton called me a cold fish at the Carmichael ball, if you’ll recall. I hardly think mud on my ear will ruin Belle’s prospects.”

“You were being rude to him, as I recall.”

She hadn’t been. Not truly. It was only that Vashton had clearly asked her to dance as an afterthought, that during their waltz he kept smiling at every other girl on the floor, that he looked so...perfect, when she felt so awkward. And silly thing that she was, for a moment as she’d stepped onto the dance floor with him, she’d felt excited. Aroused at the heat of him. That, however, had evidently rendered her incapable of making polite conversation on her own behalf – much less that of her sister.

The most confusing bit was that he’d been nice to her today. After all, no one else had so much as noticed her pressed up against the oak tree, and he’d actually missed the remainder of the hunt and come back to make certain she wasn’t hurt. And he’d walked her back to the house when he hadn’t needed to do any such thing. Was he interested in Belle, after all, and trying to make a good impression with her sister? He didn’t quite seem the sort to care what anyone else thought, or to spend his time not talking to the lady everyone – well, everyone here – thought he should marry, but she supposed it was possible.

“Your past conversations don’t signify, I suppose,” the viscount muttered, looking past her again at the circle of females around the earl, “since he did accept my invitation to come to Beldath. But please make an attempt to be pleasant to him. I did go through a great deal to arrange all this, you know.”

Again she merely nodded, rather than informing him about what she’d learned earlier, that at least six other papas had had the same idea and had arranged the very same sort of house party in order to lure the Earl of Vashton to join their family. And that Vashton had left all six parties an unmarried man and a half dozen foxes short.

She hated the idea of telling her father he’d erred; he would much rather have been reading or fishing, and yet there he was galloping through fields after a fox, just so Belle could make not merely a good match, but the best match possible. And then he would still have the much more difficult task of finding someone for his younger daughter. She glanced over her shoulder at the flock of females, each one prettier than the last, all clustered around Geoffrey Kerick. Perhaps they should have flushed two foxes for the chase.

“I know you did,” she said aloud. “Just think how much more charming Belle will look when compared to me.”

The viscount shook his head, which he kept close-cropped now that his hair had begun to thin. “I know you can be charming. And this is important to your sister. So try, for Belle’s sake.”

“I shall be charming.” Or as charming as she could manage, anyway. Why was it that no one else flustered her, but in Vashton’s presence she felt like a one-legged chicken?

Her father kissed her on the other cheek. “When Annabel is settled with the future Marquis of Haithe, we’ll find a man for you. So yes, please practice being pleasant, and try to avoid insulting everyone who isn’t as bookish as you.”

She didn’t do that. Well, perhaps she did, but only if someone went about spouting facts she knew to be blatantly untrue. But this was for Belle’s sake, so she would be good. Even if she found Vashton...unsettling. Even if she wasn’t quite relieved to know there were other, less troubling men who would likely make perfectly acceptable – and simpler – husbands for her when her turn came.

Her mother had begun fluttering on the far side of the pavilion, gesturing everyone to take their seats at the quartet of banquet tables. If they were going to bother with an al fresco luncheon they should all likely be sitting on blankets on the ground, but there was no way that Lady Bresch or her sister Miss Mary would ever be able to rise again if they attempted such a thing. One or both of them might well roll into the pond. And of course if only the Jameson sisters were allowed a table, Lady Harriet Ithing would refuse to dine at all, and from there the entire house of cards would collapse.

“Please, take seats where you will,” Lady Beldath called, smiling. “You know we don’t stand on formality out of doors.”

Theodora squared her shoulders and walked forward. She would rather have been chatting with Belle and her friends, but a member of the Meacham family at each of the tables would ensure that no one felt slighted. Theoretically, at least.

As she started to pull out a chair, a hand closed over hers and did it for her. “Thank y...” she started, then looked up to see deep blue eyes, one of them beneath a lifted eyebrow, gazing down at her.

“You’re welcome,” Vashton returned, standing patiently while she decided she’d best take the seat he offered or risk a riot as other young ladies rushed to fill the vacancy.

The moment she seated herself, he sat directly beside her. Several of her friends – and those who called themselves her friends but seemed to have come visiting mostly in hopes of netting the earl – were glaring at her, but she ignored them. At the same time she could almost feel the disbelieving stare from Belle behind her and her parents on either side, and that was worse. Heaven knew she was near enough to having an apoplexy all on her own without adding anyone else’s ire. “What the devil are you doing?” she whispered.

“Chatting with you,” he replied, handing her the salt.

She didn’t need salt, but it took her a moment to realize that and pass it on to Mr. Francis Henning on her other side. “You already chatted with me, and rescued me from...well, from walking back to the house alone, I suppose. I have an older and more pleasant sister. Talk to her.”

“Pleasantness if overrated,” he returned. “And I’m occupied with talking to you.”

That stopped her. Theodora looked at him all over again, from his mud-spattered riding boots he hadn’t bothered to change to his crisp crimson jacket to his dark, unruly hair and those...compelling eyes that were still gazing at her. “I don’t understand,” she finally admitted, her voice not quite steady. “I’m not the one to whom you need to pay attention. Aside from that, we didn’t manage a single civil conversation in London, out of the two I attempted.”

He laughed, the sound low and musical. It began something fluttery low in her stomach that didn’t leave her feeling the least bit calmer. “If those were your best attempts at civil conversation,” he returned, “I shall wear armor when you’re annoyed.”

Theodora scowled. “You made me nervous.”

Slowly the smile faded from his expression. “Why?”

“‘Why?’” she repeated, keeping her voice quiet. “Have you looked at you? You’re handsome, witty, fabulously wealthy, and the heir to the Marquis of Haithe. Every father wants to claim you as his son-in-law, and every mother wants you to marry her daughter.” Theodora frowned. “Her eldest daughter,” she amended.

For a moment he fiddled with his utensils. “So I’m too good for you,” he finally said.

Oh, the arrogance. She opened her mouth to correct his misapprehension then saw a muscle in his lean jaw twitch. He was teasing. Him. With her. “You’re bamming me!” she stated.

“Of course I’m bamming you.”

“But why?” she asked, less annoyed than she likely should have been.

“Go for a walk with me this afternoon, and I’ll enlighten you.”

“A group of us generally go for a stroll before dinner,” she said desperately, beginning to feel as if the earth was shifting beneath her feet. Was she misunderstanding his suggestion? It made no sense. And worse, even this little public chat could be hurting Belle’s feelings.

“Not ‘we’,” he countered. “You. And me. A walk. At three o’clock. We’ll meet behind the stable.”

Theodora cleared her throat, lifting her napkin and setting it back in her lap as her stomach fluttered nervously. “No. You need to go walking with Annabel. I won’t be seen as competing with my sister – which would be a ridiculous failure even if I wasn’t supremely aware of how I present myself.”

“Y–“

Luckily on her other side sat Francis Henning, a friend of her cousin Robert and a tireless – if unintentionally amusing – conversationalist. She seized his hand. "I heard that you are an acquaintance of Lord Dare, Mr. Henning. You must share some gossip about him."

Surprise crossed Henning’s round face, but as he seemed to be at least a passing acquaintance with nearly everyone in Mayfair, he did have several amusing stories. Behind her she heard Rachel Henry attempting to regale Vashton with the state of the weather, and that was fine with her. Rachel was nowhere near as charming as Belle.

"Why the fascination with Dare?" Vashton cut into her conversation. "The man's a fortune hunter."

Theodora caught her breath, something she couldn’t put a name to making her pulse speed. Annoyance. It had to be annoyance. "And I have a fortune," she returned, though the money was of course her father's. "Why the fascination with my conversation?”

He met her gaze levelly. "You are not the means to a prize, Theodora Meacham. You are the prize."

Oh, dear. He couldn’t be serious. Not when her lovely, well-spoken sister sat one table away. "I was under the distinct impression that previous to today you didn't like me, Lord Vashton, so I don't understand your sudden...concern over the topic of my conversation. Two months ago you couldn't be bothered to look me in the eye while we danced."