Intentions of the Earl

This is entirely a work of fiction. All
names, characters, events, are works of the author's overactive
imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events,
places, or people is pure coincidence.

INTENTIONS OF THE EARL

Smashwords Edition

Published by TALC Publishing

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2010 Rose Gordon

Cover © 2011 Rose Gordon

Excerpt from Liberty for Paul © 2010 Rose
Gordon

No part of this book may be reproduced in any
form without permission. Thank you for respecting the author’s time
and ideas enough not to reproduce this book.

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Coming Spring 2011!

LIBERTY FOR PAUL

TO WIN HIS WAYWARD WIFE

Dedicated to my maternal grandmother who
possessed the worst decorating skills I've ever witnessed.

And, to my loving husband who has always
supported me, even if it meant reading a copy of my first
manuscript by the fire on our annual camping trip.

I love you!

Chapter 1

London, England

May, 1812

Smack!

“Ouch!”

“You deserved it, you lecher,” Brooke Banks
exclaimed, scrambling to get off the secluded bench where she
had
been kissing Benjamin Collins, the Duke of Gateway.

“What was that for?” Gateway demanded,
rubbing his smarting cheek.

“You have to ask?” Brooke asked
sarcastically, crossing her arms. “I came out here to see the
gardens, not have you maul me in the shrubbery.” Why did he, like
all men, assume that her agreement to go into the gardens
translated into agreement to touch her person—specifically her
chest?

“I wasn’t mauling you,” he spat. His face
looked like it had been carved from marble. His mouth was clamped
into a line, causing white lines to form around the ridges. His
eyes had transformed from warm blue candle flames into hard, cold
chips of ice.

“You’re correct; you didn’t maul me. Yet. I
felt your hand drifting from my shoulder, and don’t think for one
second I didn’t know its intended destination.”

Gateway snorted. “And are you trying to tell
me you didn’t want me to touch you?”

“You know I didn’t,” Brooke snapped, rage
building in her chest. She grabbed a handful of her skirt with each
hand and twisted it into a fist to refrain from striking him
again.

“So you say, but your actions suggest
differently,” he responded slyly.

“What are you talking about?” she demanded.
How could her actions have possibly been so misconstrued they would
suggest she wanted him to grope her?

Still sitting on the bench, Gateway leaned
his shoulders back up against a tree and folded his arms. “Well,
Miss Banks,” he drawled. “I recall us sharing an unusually close
dance, immediately followed by you calling me ‘Benny’, which not
only shows familiarity by calling me by my Christian name, but goes
one step further because someone could think you have a special
nickname for me.” He shrugged and cocked his head. “That’s what
gave me the impression you enjoyed my company and would further
enjoy it in the gardens, where it’s dark,” he said, leering at
her.

“It was a
waltz
,” she cried, “you’re
supposed to dance close. I’m sorry if you took that as
encouragement to make further advances, but they were not welcome.”
She wisely chose to leave off the bit about calling him “Benny”,
there was no way to defend herself on that score.

“You didn’t protest my kisses,” he said
smoothly.

Brooke flushed. He was right, she hadn’t
protested his kisses. Not to say she enjoyed them, because she
didn’t. But she hadn’t stopped him, either, which he probably took
as encouragement. “Once again, I’m sorry you mistook that as
encouragement for your amorous urges.”

“I didn’t mistake anything. You, miss, are
nothing but a tease,” he hissed.

“And you, sir, are no gentleman,” she
exclaimed, heedless to the sneer he had on his face.

“I never claimed to be,” he said fiercely,
his eyes flashing fire.

“Well, do try to be one just now and escort
me back inside,” Brooke said with feigned sweetness.

Gateway pushed up off the bench and offered
her his arm.

When they were safely back inside the
ballroom, she flashed the duke a winning smile and said cordially,
“Thank you, sir, the gardens were beautiful.”

Instead of responding, or even acknowledging
she’d spoken, the duke dropped her arm as if he’d been burned and
mumbled something about a careless American chit teasing the wrong
man as he huffed off toward the other side of the ballroom.

Brooke gave his comment, or what she heard of
it anyway, about two seconds thought before shrugging it off and
greeting her frowning sister. “What is that frown about, Liberty?”
she asked innocently.

“You know what the frown is about. If you
don’t, then you’re a lost cause,” was her sister’s low, razor sharp
reply.

Her sister Liberty might be four years
younger, but she had a way of acting as the older sister. That was
especially true when it came to things like social proprieties. She
freely gave lectures, thinly veiled as “discussions”, when she felt
circumstances dictated such.

Knowing this was one of those circumstances,
and there was no chance of escaping Liberty’s lecture, Brooke
decided to get it over with. At least if they had the “discussion”
here, in the ballroom surrounded by a couple hundred people, there
was a chance it would be brief. The other option would include
being railed against for hours on end once they got home. Turning
to Liberty, she flashed another innocent smile, and asked,
“Whatever do you mean?”

Liberty was no fool; no one could live with
Brooke for nineteen years without knowing her tactics. Brooke may
think Liberty wouldn’t make a scene, which was true, but Liberty
wasn’t one to forget, or change, her purpose just because people
were present. Looking at Brooke with all confidence of a queen, she
declared, “You break every rule there is, and you don’t give a fig
about it.”

This wasn’t a new concept, and despite their
many conversations, nothing had changed. Brooke felt like pointing
that fact out, but knew it would just make this drag on longer,
instead, she simply said, “I know, I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not,” Liberty snapped, slapping
her fan on her palm for emphasis. “You’re never sorry. You say you
are, but you’re not.” Her plain face took on a look of distress.
“You must have broken at least ten rules just with the Duke of
Gateway alone.” She paused and let out a deep breath. “And that’s
just what I saw while you were in here. Who knows how many others
you broke while out in the gardens!”

Brooke was ready for this conversation to be
over, so she did what she knew she’d regret, but did it knowing it
would be the only way to end this, here and now. Taking a deep
breath and schooling her features to look completely interested,
she asked, “What did I do wrong, dear sister; and how should I have
done it differently?”

Liberty frowned at her sister’s sarcasm; then
for the first time in the past half-hour, Liberty smiled a bright
smile. “First, you keep calling His Grace, ‘sir’, you should be
calling him ‘Your Grace’.” Not allowing a break in this
conversation for Brooke to protest, she continued, “Second,” she
said, ticking off Brooke’s second offense on her second finger.
“You danced far too close. I know it was a waltz, but even in the
waltz there is to be
some
space between partners. You were
all over him. You might as well have declared for the whole room to
know that you would like to have him ravish you.”

Brooke thought about what Liberty just said,
and the similar statement that the duke had made in the shrubs.
Either she really did lead him on, or these two were too inept to
pick up on the difference between friendly flirting and blatant
teasing. In Brooke’s mind, the second option made more sense.

“Seventh, you should never ask a man to claim
a dance on your dance card.” Liberty’s raised, angry voice brought
Brooke back to reality, and she realized they were already on
number seven. Which was good, it meant she had missed four of these
crucial life improving points; and if she were lucky, this speech
was almost over. How many things wrong did she say? Eight? Ten?
Brooke tried hard to remember before giving up and mentally
shrugging. It was of no account really, she decided, it would be
over soon enough. Then she could just apologize with false
sincerity, as usual, and go about the evening.

Once again, Liberty’s angry voice broke into
Brooke’s thoughts. “Also, you should laugh a little more
delicately. Just a little titter or giggle while in public, not a
full blown cackle. For goodness’ sake, you embarrass yourself, your
family and you drive the men away all at the same time when you
laugh that way.”

That was the last straw. Was Liberty really
going to make a big deal about her laugh right here in the middle
of Lady Lampson’s ball? No matter how much Brooke wanted to appease
her sister by listening to this drivel, from her sister who was
four years her junior, mind you, she was done. Interrupting her
sister’s tirade, she went on one of her own.

Placing her hands on her hips and adopting
not the gentlest tone she had, she burst out, “You know, Liberty,
if I embarrass you so much then why are you allowing yourself to be
seen with me now? Why is it you want to be accepted so badly,
anyway? This isn’t our home, we’re from New York. We’ll be going
back after this visit.” She stopped for a second to enjoy the look
of shock that had taken hold of Liberty’s face. “As much as Mama
would like to think we’re going to marry into wealthy titled
families, we’re not. The sooner you accept that, the better your
life will be.” Unable to keep her irritation for Liberty and her
rules under control any longer, her voice rose to a loud bellow and
turned hard as steel. “We’re only here for a little fun, and it
seems to me that you’re not having any. And because you’re not
having any, you’re begrudging me
mine
!” she exclaimed,
punctuating the last word with a stomp of her foot. Brooke looked
smugly at her sister, reveling in the fruits of her labor.

The look of hurt on Liberty’s face was proof
she’d made her point. The stares from several ladies close by
served as proof that she’d been too loud, and once again drawn
unwanted attention to herself.

No more than ten seconds later, Mama walked
up. The look on Mama’s face made it clear it would be a long,
uncomfortable ride home. Her voice, however, came out sugary sweet
twinged with a thick Southern United States accent when she
exclaimed, “Oh girls, stop being so silly with your little act. I
know you girls like to pretend to argue, but this is not the time.”
It was a lame attempt to stop the spread of rumors that might
result due to someone overhearing what really was being said. But
it was an attempt all the same, and with how marriage-minded Mama
had become, it was the only thing she could attempt.

Taking their cue from their mother’s face,
both girls murmured their apologies.