Читать книгу Engaging the Earl - Mandy Goff - Страница 10

“Maybe I should leave the two of you to your meeting,” Emma said, rising from her seat and preparing to make her escape from the room.

“Not at all,” Mr. Fairfax answered before Olivia had a chance to. His smirk widened.

A red-hot blush stole through Emma’s cheeks, making her feel like the temperature in the room had risen dramatically. “No, truly,” she argued, “I can talk to Olivia later. Right, Olivia?” she asked, looking to her friend for assistance.

Either Olivia was oblivious to Emma’s distress, or she found the situation humorous, because the marchioness didn’t seem willing for her to go.

“Of course you won’t leave. I have to introduce you,” her friend said.

“You really don’t,” Emma muttered. She was sure no one had heard her until she noticed that Mr. Fairfax’s smile had widened impossibly further, and his eyes glinted mischievously.

“Marcus, allow me to introduce my friend, Emma Mercer.” She smiled at Emma, as though to reassure her that Mr. Fairfax wouldn’t bite. “And Emma, this is my brother, Marcus Fairfax, the Earl of Westin.”

Her brother?

An earl?

Emma thought she might throw up.

She had punched an earl in the face … albeit accidentally. Was there any way to slink out of the room and pretend she’d never knocked on the door?

Sadly, it appeared too late for that option.

“There was no need for the introductions, Olivia,” the man said, drawing Emma’s gaze.

Emma hated the fact that he was more handsome than any man had a right to be. And she hated the fact that she’d noticed.

“There isn’t?” Olivia asked. Her look of surprise was almost comical. If Emma had been inclined to find anything about the situation remotely humorous, that was.

Mr. Fairfax—the Earl of Westin, she amended—looked to be enjoying himself far too much. He nodded. “Who do you think gave me the black eye?”

Marcus barely contained his laughter. He wasn’t sure whose expression amused him most. Olivia looked like she might fall out of her seat … either that or injure her neck because she kept whipping it back and forth between Marcus and Miss Mercer.

As for the other lady … Well, Marcus quickly decided that anger only made Miss Emma look even more appealing. Which was fortuitous, he supposed, because she looked mad enough to blacken his other eye. Purposely this time.

“Who … she … you …?” Olivia couldn’t seem to form a complete thought. With each half-uttered word, his sister looked at him and then back at her friend. The gaze leveled at him was slightly accusatory.

Miss Mercer had her hands folded together in her lap, a beatific look on her face as though to suggest she would be the last person capable of doing anyone bodily harm.

Marcus could have made it easy on her. Could have explained to Olivia that the injury was accidental. But he wasn’t in the least inclined to do so and ruin the fun of the moment. Heaven knows, he could use some amusement after the fear and uncertainty that had swamped him for the past few days.

Finally, Olivia settled on a reponse. She turned to look at her friend. “You hit Marcus?” Olivia’s tone was surprised … not censuring.

The young woman looked like she was about to answer, even though Marcus thought it seemed pretty clear that the only thing she wanted to do was pick up her skirts and run from the room. “Well … we … it’s really …”

He was going to be a chivalrous gentleman and rescue her. “Don’t look so surprised, Olivia. I recall you having a violent streak of your own.”

The comparison was enough to rile the previously tongue-tied Miss Mercer. “I hardly have a violent streak!” she defended. “It was an accident.”

Marcus made a “hmming” noise deep in his throat. Mostly just to irritate his sister’s friend. He found that he quite liked the high flush on her cheeks and the fire in her gray eyes.

“And even if it weren’t accidental—which it was,” she added as an impassioned aside to Olivia, “you would have deserved it for accosting me.”

If Miss Mercer had noticed how wide Olivia’s eyes grew with speculation at that statement, she probably would have stopped her passionate defense. As it was, with the two women sitting side by side, Marcus was the only one with the benefit of reading both expressions.

Olivia’s was the height of amused curiosity.

Miss Mercer’s bordered on horrified.

Smothering a laugh, Marcus interrupted her. “I was rescuing, not accosting. Which you wouldn’t have needed had you not been on such an unsavory street at such a late hour.”

Miss Mercer’s eyes narrowed. And Marcus had the distinct impression that she might now like to punch him in the mouth instead.

“I was perfectly safe.” She turned to Olivia as though she was about to try and convince her friend of the truth of that statement.

Marcus could tell by Olivia’s expression that his sister was too busy trying to smother her own smirk than trying to tamp down her interest in the saga unfolding before her. “Don’t worry about me, Emma,” she said, her voice almost choked with laughter. “I’m just listening quietly.”

Emma whirled back on him. “And you should tell her it was an accident!” she nearly yelled. “It’s not as though I would have hit you on purpose.”

“You wouldn’t have?” he asked, keeping his face as impassive as he could manage.

“That might not be true right now,” she nearly growled at him.

Olivia rose suddenly from her seat. “Did someone call for me?” she asked no one in particular, as though the room were populated with at least a hundred people.

“No!” Emma said at the exact moment Marcus said …

“Maybe.”

Olivia smiled approvingly at him. With a nod, she brushed out her skirts and began walking toward the door.

“I think I’ll just go check,” Olivia said. She spared a look for Emma that was probably supposed to be apologetic. But her expression was too speculative to be sincere. “It’s a big house. People are always needing something. You just never know.” Then the marchioness shrugged.

“No, you never know,” Marcus agreed, relaxing back against his seat, enjoying the rapid-fire emotions that flitted across Miss Mercer’s face.

While he would never be so ungentlemanly as to accuse a gently bred woman of doing so, he couldn’t help but notice to himself that his sister ran from the room.

Leaving a murderous-looking Miss Mercer in her wake.

“No one was calling her,” the lady said unnecessarily.

“No, they weren’t,” he agreed with a small smile.

“You’re an awful person,” she said then.

Marcus tensed a little, wondering if he’d taken his teasing too far and now she was truly put out with him. “Why’s that?” he drawled slowly.

“For letting your sister think I hit you. She might be upstairs packing my bags for me.” While the words had a forced lightness to them, Marcus could hear the genuine fear underneath.

All the humor drained from the situation. And Marcus felt like a cad.

It was impulsive—and probably foolish—but he rose from his seat and crossed the few steps to be at her side. He covered her hands with one of his, stopping her from wringing them together.

“Olivia’s doing nothing of the sort. Honestly, if she thought you’d hit me on purpose, she’d probably be out buying you a gift. I can only estimate how many times she’s wanted to do the same.” Marcus hoped his smile put her at ease.

That brought out what looked to be a genuine smile … although a small one. Marcus felt a flash of elation and pride at having wrested that expression out of her anxiety. And when he noticed that she hadn’t tried to pull her hands away from his, he felt something else … something warmer, more indefinable.

“Olivia shut the door behind her,” Miss Mercer said then, surprising him with the sudden change in conversation.

But Marcus followed her gaze and laughed. His sister was nothing if not enterprising.

“So why do you think she ran out of the room?” Miss Mercer asked after a few seconds.

Marcus grinned. “She was giving us some time alone.”

The complete innocence in Miss Mercer’s expression was refreshing. “Why?” she asked.

“To see what we would do.”

“What we’d do?” she echoed.

Marcus nodded. “She probably thought you might like the chance to punch me again.”

Miss Mercer laughed. It was the first time he’d heard her do so, and Marcus decided that she was exceptionally beautiful when she laughed. Her gray eyes twinkled. And as she tossed her head back, some of her shiny black hair slipped out of her fancy arrangement, tumbling to her shoulders. Her full lips quirked in a smile.

“So what did Olivia think you might want to do?” the lady asked. A guileless question.

Why, then, did Marcus want to answer her with a kiss?

Not that he would, of course. No, it was a completely inappropriate urge, and … and a ridiculous idea, besides. His lack of sleep was playing tricks with his head. After years of ducking and dodging every predatory female on the marriage mart, surely he wasn’t succumbing to tender feelings just because a pretty woman—this particular pretty woman—smiled at him. The very idea was absurd.

Yet, for all that, he was still careful to take a step away from temptation before he answered.

“Olivia likely thought I’d want to talk about the particulars of finding you a husband.”

Emma choked.

On air.

“You will be helping me find a husband?”

His teasing smile gave way to a sheepish expression. “My sister has decided that I will, so it seems highly likely. She’s accustomed to getting her way. I’d like to lay the blame on her indulgent husband, but I’m afraid her indulgent brother was the first to set the trend in place.”

“So you will … that is … you—I don’t understand.” Mentally, she scolded herself for sounding like such a ninny, but really, how was she supposed to respond? Olivia had truly asked the man she’d assaulted to find her a husband? What if he married her off to a boxing master in revenge?

“I’m here today by Olivia’s summons,” the earl explained. “When I arrived, she presented me with the following list.” He waved a piece of paper in the air. “It’s the names of all the gentlemen I’m supposed to coerce into calling on you—by means of physical force, if necessary.”

Emma felt her back go rigid. Coerce into calling on her? By physical force? As if a man would have to be tricked or strong-armed before he’d consider courting her?

“I’m teasing, Miss Mercer,” he said, sitting back slightly when he must have felt her stiffen.

“I know that,” she snapped.

“Well, I wasn’t teasing about Olivia’s plan, but I am certain no coercion will be required once the gentlemen of London learn you are here,” he amended. “That’s truly my role in this arrangement—to arrange introductions.”

“I suppose I should be flattered by your optimism,” she said briskly. Rising quickly from her seat, Emma was almost surprised that the earl didn’t topple over to the floor. She hadn’t realized until then how much he’d been leaning against her.

“Were you aware of my sister’s plan to have me bring you a husband?” Lord Westin asked.

“No! That is, yes,” she stammered, turning her head to hide the blush. “That is, I was aware of the plan, but I didn’t know that you were to be a part of it. How could I have? I had no idea that you were her brother until moments ago! She said that she knew the man to help put the plan into action—I assumed she meant her husband. I hadn’t the slightest notion that she meant …”

“Me?” Lord Westin also rose to his feet, the motion fluid and graceful.

She decided then that no man should be able to move with the kind of lethal grace he did. It wasn’t decent. Nor, Emma continued—since she was already in a making-pronouncements mood—should any man be quite as handsome as the earl.

Handsome men didn’t bother her in general. And she’d known quite a few individuals who she would say had been given more than their fair portion of beauty. Olivia’s husband, for instance. The Marquess of Huntsford was attractive. In a completely nonthreatening, pleasant way.

Not so with the earl.

It wasn’t merely the handsomeness … although there certainly was that. It was the shrewdness, the playfulness and the intensity in his eyes, which all seemed to coexist in some strange commingling.

But Lord Westin was the last man for whom she should let herself feel an attraction. Olivia had recruited him to help her find a husband, which clearly meant that she did not consider him to be a good prospect—and who would know better than the man’s sister? Besides that, Emma couldn’t help but remember the condemnation in his eyes in the carriage on the way to the Roths’, when he scolded her for being in Cheapside. What would he think if he knew that her parents lived so nearby? Surely an earl would disdain anyone with such low connections.

Why should that thought bring her pain? What did she care for his good opinion? He was overbearing and teasing and … and he smirked too much.

“Maybe I should go find Olivia. Maybe she needs help with … whatever it is she’s doing.” Emma at least had the presence of mind to be embarrassed by her pathetic excuse. That didn’t, however, stop her from moving toward the door as she spoke.

“I doubt my sister needs your help eavesdropping,” he returned. With only a few, long strides, Lord Westin was by her side.

“I’m sorry if my teasing you has upset you,” he said seriously.

Deciding to take his proffered olive branch, Emma assured him she was fine—just worried about Olivia.

When Emma had turned her back to him and was preparing to continue her path toward the door, Lord Westin said suddenly, “You never did tell me what you were doing in Cheapside.”

“That was intentional,” she returned.

There was a little too much fervency in his tone for the question to be only polite curiosity. But she still had no intention of answering.

Olivia’s brother was probably a perfectly decent and caring man. Clearly he had been concerned that his joking had upset her. Maybe he wouldn’t treat her with disdain if he knew the truth. But Emma still didn’t want to tell him.

Nick and Olivia were the only people she’d told all about her family’s circumstances. Not that there were many people she could have told. Lady Roth had been entirely uninterested in the details of why she’d sought a position, and there was no one else to whom Emma was close. But even telling her friend had made Emma feel exposed and ready to be judged. She never forgot that she was associating with the nobility.

The Mercers were a respectable family, but even when her father was at his wealthiest, he’d never been a member of elevated society. The second son of a landed gentleman, her father was a scholar … a scholar who was unfortunately an abysmal custodian of the money he’d received as his inheritance in lieu of the estate that had passed to his older brother.

And now even that money was nearly gone. Emma didn’t want Lord Westin’s pity once he discovered how desperate circumstances were for her family. She didn’t want to think about how differently the earl might treat her if he knew the truth.

She’d seen similar situations far too many times during her employment with the Roths. If Emma happened to be visible during one of the family’s parties, the young men would flirt with her and act as though they valued her presence and conversation above all else.

The moment Lady Roth let it be known—in a voice that was much louder and shriller than necessary, in Emma’s opinion—that she was nothing more than the governess, most of the gentlemen would scurry to far corners of the room. The ones who stayed weren’t doing so for any noble purposes.

Emma knew how these kinds of things worked. With the exception of her friends Olivia and Nick, nobles didn’t waste their time with those outside their social spheres. And wrong though it might be, Emma was enjoying the ease of this moment with Lord Westin too much to spoil it.

So she clamped her lips together. Let the earl think whatever he wanted. Because as far as she was concerned, nothing he came up with could be quite as bad as the truth.