Good Earl Hunting (4 page)

She studied his profile all over again, reassessing what she’d thought were her definitive opinions of the man. Arrogant or not, he was indeed handsome, with dark hair that brushed his collar, midday blue eyes, and a mouth that when relaxed was pleasant, and when it curved was...breathtaking. Her argument, however, had never been with his appearance, with his tall frame or broad shoulders or long, elegant fingers.

“Why are you staring at my ear?” he asked, his gaze following the fox into the woods at the edge of the pathway.

“I was wondering if you meant to charge after the poor fox,” she improvised. However...unbelievable his interest in her seemed to be, she would never discover anything if she couldn’t move beyond his statement. Yes, she could be suspicious, but this conversation was indeed happening.

“Not on foot.” He cleared his throat. “And might I suggest that we speak the truth? We’ve evidently already suffered through several misunderstandings.”

Well. She couldn’t precisely argue with that. Of all the things she’d thought about him, about his arrogance or his handsome looks, the idea that he might actually be interesting had never occurred to her. Had she been too annoyed, or too embarrassed at being sent out as the Meacham family ambassador, to notice? “Then I’m studying you, I suppose,” Theodora admitted.

“For what purpose?” This time dark blue eyes briefly met hers before he looked away again.

To comprehend why you claim to prefer me to Belle, she thought to herself, but she’d already played that tune and hadn’t received a satisfactory answer. “How many women have been catapulted in your direction over the past year?” she asked instead. Clearly she needed to decipher him before anything else could make sense.

“I lost count. A great many, and everywhere between the ages of fourteen and sixty.”

Theodora wrinkled her nose. “Sixty?”

He nodded. “I won’t give you the lady’s name, but she assured me that she had learned all the secrets of the bed chamber and that while she could not give me an heir, she could give me endless nights of passion.”

Theodora snorted. “It was Lady Eloisa Hinstead, wasn’t it?”

His lips twitched. “And how did you come to that conclusion?”

“She is quite adamant about wearing the most scandalous gowns, and I’ve heard her say several times that she has remained unmarried because she has never met a man wealthy enough to tempt her. And you are quite wealthy.”

“So I am. And while I certainly have nothing against endless nights of passion, I do require a wife who can bear me an heir, and I would prefer a lady with whom I share both a similar number of decades and an interesting conversation.”

“Then you’ve come here looking for interesting conversation and child-bearing hips.”

Lord Vashton laughed, then stopped to face her. “I’ve come here to see if the spark I noticed in your eyes two months ago was simple anger, or something more.”

“What if it was only reflected candleligh–“

He cupped her right cheek with his left hand, leaned down, and touched his mouth to hers. Theodora stopped breathing at the slow, gentle brush, at the warmth of his breath against her cheek. As he slowly pulled away she found herself leaning forward, and just barely caught herself before she could topple over. Oh, my.

“And so I would like us to have a genuine conversation,” he continued, his gaze still on her mouth, “without either of us digging for chinks in the other’s armor or questioning the rules of attraction.”

“But I have to question them, because–“

”If someone told you that you must prefer a chicken because it came before the egg – or vice versa – would you? For that reason only?”

“That still makes you the fox in this equation, you realize,” she said dryly, then squared her shoulders. “It’s a stupid argument.”

“My point exactly.” A smile touched his mouth, and for a moment she couldn’t even remember what they were talking about.

“But the chicken’s feelings will be hurt,” she finally managed, determined not to be carried off somewhere with her head in the clouds. “And the chicken is important to me.”

“I refuse to stay away from poultry simply because the egg won’t accept that it is at least as significant to this fox as any chicken might be.” The earl made a face. “Perhaps we should stop with the analogies.”

Theodora nodded. “Definitely, my lord. I’m not terribly excited by the notion of being either chicken or egg.”

“In the analogy,” he pressed, looking at her intently. “Not in actuality.”

And there it was, that unsettling, breath-speeding expression deep in his blue eyes that made her feel...naughty and pretty and desirable all at the same time. Was that look truly just for her? “Not in actuality,” she repeated.

“Good. And call me Geoffrey.” Visibly shaking himself, the earl took her hand and placed it back over his arm as they continued along the path once more. “Now. About me. Until two years ago I had no prospects of being anything more a marquis’s son and an earl’s younger brother.”

For a moment she considered. If she continued with her suspicions and criticisms he might admire her wit, but they would never be friends – much less this other thing that made her nerves shiver and her heart pound. She thought she’d utterly failed at turning this man’s attention to Belle, and yet evidently she’d done a great deal more than that.

Was it hope or stupidity if she decided to accept that he was sincere? Would she be setting herself up for embarrassment or heartbreak if she let her guard down? Or was it more that she was affirming her own cowardice if she turned her back and returned to the house? After all, she’d just experienced her first kiss, and mostly what she wanted was to have another. From Geoffrey Kerick, Lord Vashton.

And Annabel... No one had guaranteed that her older sister would marry anyone. No one had shaken hands or written their names on a piece of paper. For heaven’s sake, the only supposed connection between Belle and Geoffrey was that they’d danced a few times and that Geoffrey had come to Devonshire for a fox hunt. She blew out her breath.

“Did I come out well in that mental argument?” the earl asked, his fingers warm and firm around hers.

“This is nothing I expected,” Theodora returned. “I’m...I’m beyond surprised. And I’ve never been in this situation before, so I have no idea what I’m supposed to say or do.”

“Say you at least accept that I am after you, Theodora. And say that hearing that excites you.”

Oh, it did that. “Of course it’s exciting to have a handsome man express interest,” she retorted. “But all I know about you is that you’re an earl due to inherit a marquisdom, that you never expected to be in these circumstances, and that you enjoy fox hunting. And I daresay you don’t know anything about me, either.”

“I know you don’t like nonsense, but you have a sense of humor,” he returned. “I know you’ll converse with people you feel nervous around for the sake of your family. I know you’ve likely been...not ignored, but set aside, I suppose, until your parents see Annabel married. I know you’ve been called a bluestocking, which I assume means that you’re intelligent and well read.”

She looked up at him. This was all beginning to seem very, very real. And even more exciting because of it. “You have been looking into things, haven’t you?”

“Once I realized that no young lady I’ve met gave me a sleepless night until you, I had to know who you are, Theodora.” he gazed at her from beneath dark lashes. “Theodora. That does suit you, you know. Exotic and unusual.”

She liked the way he said her name. “I wonder sometimes if we’re named to suit our character, or if we alter our character to suit our name.”

“Either way, then, I should fear a fellow named Brutus.”

Theodora laughed again, belatedly remembering that she was to remain at least a little suspicious of him, however remarkable this day was turning out to be. She’d never lost her head over a man, and now that one was actually looking at her, she wasn’t about to do so. Still, he made a good point. “Definitely,” she agreed aloud.

For a long moment he gazed at her, then faced down the path again. “So tell me, Theodora, when your parents decided to...nudge Annabel in my direction, what did you think? That I was a poor choice?”

Oh, he didn’t want to hear that. “When did you decide you needed to marry?” she countered.

“I asked you a question first. And we’re being honest and forthright, if you’ll recall.” He took a slow breath. “I do know the tradition, that as my father’s heir I’m supposed to marry for prestige and money. But until two years ago I had thought to be able to marry...whomever I wished. Someone whose conversation I enjoyed, someone who cared for me more than for becoming the future Marchioness of Haithe.”

She’d never considered that. And she knew that Belle had spent part of the last week introducing her reflection as Annabel, the Marchioness of Haithe. Oh, dear. “And did you have someone in mind two years ago?”

Geoffrey shook his head, a handsome, rueful smile touching his mouth. “That was the other thing; I had no pressing need to settle down. It was my brother’s children who would be his heirs. My offspring would only be nephews and nieces to the future marquis, if I chose to wed at all.”

For a moment Theodora walked beside him in silence. “I’m sorry you lost your brother,” she finally said.

“Thank you. So am I; he was a good man and my dearest friend.” Grimacing, he sent her a sideways glance. “Clever chit. I ask you a question, and suddenly I’m regaling you with my tale of woe. I know you weren’t pleased to be dancing with me at the Carmichael soiree, no matter what your intentions in doing so. Why?”

“Haven’t you conversed with me?” she retorted. “I’ve been through three governesses and two finishing schools, learning all about the ways to flutter my eyelashes and chat fetchingly about the dullest topics imaginable. None of it made any difference. I simply don’t show well with people I don’t know. I never know what to say and so I’ll mention something about a book or some debate in Parliament, and the next thing I know I’ve been called a bluestocking or a suffragist.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped. “I had no idea you were such a nonconformist. Next you’ll tell me you like Americans.”

The most surprising thing about this conversation, Theodora decided, was the frequency with which Geoffrey Kerick made her grin. “I like their coffee. Does that count?”

“If that’s the criteria, I suppose I like the Yankees, as well.” He turned to look at her again. “You see, something else we have in common.”

Theodora nearly asked what all the other somethings might be, but the birds were singing, the nip of autumn afternoons touched the air, and a very handsome man seemed to be working quite hard to endear himself to her. And while gentlemen had gone out of their way to be nice to her before, they had all needed something – either her family’s money or a closer association with a respected title, or more likely, an avenue of introduction to Belle. Just what it was that Geoffrey Kerick wanted seemed a much more...complex puzzle.

“They say you served under Wellington,” she offered, because she felt more easy discussing him than herself.

“I did. My father attempted to insure that his two daft offspring stayed far from battle, so mainly I galloped about seeing to it that the duke’s orders went where they were supposed to.”

From the abruptly somber expression that crossed his lean face he’d done more than he claimed, but she liked that he didn’t boast about it. If some tales she’d heard from returning soldiers were to be believed, Bonaparte would have surrendered and never attempted an escape from Elba, if he’d even dared a revolution in the first place. “But your brother was killed in Spain, was he not?”

With a nod he stooped to pick up a stone and skip is across the narrow stream. “French hussars ambushed the supply wagons he was leading. Tim was killed protecting flour and pigs.”

“I’m so sorry,” she returned, though she’d said it before. “I daresay he knew the supplies’ importance to both sides, whether the duty sounded glamorous or not.”

For a long moment he walked beside her in silence, and she worried that she’d once again said the wrong thing. Should she have stated that the former earl had no doubt fought gallantly? Or that the late Timothy Kerick deserved a more heroic death? But of course she’d spoken before she’d considered the most politic response. Theodora opened her mouth to interject a...wiser comment, but it seemed far too late for that. And the oddest thing of all was that she felt disappointed that her own stupid mouth had ruined something just when it was becoming interesting.

Finally he blew out his breath. “I know Tim thought it was important,” he said quietly. “Thank you for being one of the few people with whom I’ve spoken since to also think so. Most sympathize and say he deserved a better death, as if there was such a thing.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” she burst out, relieved, then clapped her free hand over her mouth. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “I mean, I was afraid I’d offended you,” she muttered through her fingers.

Thankfully he smiled as he plucked her fingers away from her face. “I’m not offended. I am somewhat curious as to why you’re suddenly concerned over offending me. A few minutes ago you couldn’t wait to foist me off on your sister.”

“It was more than a few minutes ago. And my acquaintance with you previous to today consisted of you asking me to dance because it was expected, and then ignoring me. And admittedly I wasn’t terribly happy to be one of the chits catapulted at you. I know you must have thought I was after you.”

He laughed. “You made it quite clear from the onset that you weren’t dancing with me to please yourself. Don’t worry on that count.”

“Oh. Well good, then. I suppose.”

Geoffrey studied her serious, thoughtful expression for a long, hard beat of his heart. Clearly she saw her tendency to be...forthright as a flaw. In previous conversations with men more expecting of flattery, it had likely caused her trouble.

“I’m glad you speak your mind, Theodora,” he commented, selecting the longer trail that rounded the lake when it curved away from the shorter one leading back to the garden. The more time he had alone with her, the better. Of course this way she could also push him into the water if she decided this was some elaborate jest, but it was a risk he was willing to take. The more he spoke with her, the more she fascinated him. “And I’m glad that other men find that off-putting. Otherwise neither of us would be standing here at this moment.”