Stranded With The Scottish Earl Read online

  A beat of silence, while she stared appalled at him. Another.

  “You know who I am.” She sounded like she accused him of murder.

  Chapter Four

  * * *

  The smug brute had the gall to laugh. “Of course I know, you daft lassie. You make a very unlikely Cinderella.”

  “I suppose you think I’d make a great ugly stepsister,” Charlotte said sourly, jerking free of his undemanding hold. A vile mixture of anger and humiliation curdled her stomach.

  He laughed again. She was so close to snatching up the poker and clouting him. See how amusing he found that.

  “I’d never say so,” he said, blue eyes alight. Even through blazing resentment, she couldn’t suppress a thrill at his male beauty.

  She folded her arms over her bosom, trying to forget how only moments ago, his hands had been all over her. “Then the joke’s on you, for kissing such a fright.”

  His humor faded to a smile of such sweetness that even wanting to smack him, she suffered a pang of painful longing. “Nobody would ever cast you as anything but a beauty, my dear Miss Warren. It was lack of humility, not lack of loveliness, that spoiled your performance.”

  The compliment didn’t mollify, not when all afternoon, he’d led her on. Well, she knew how to wipe that grin off his handsome face. She adopted a saccharine tone. “And of course, you would know just how noble ladies behave, wouldn’t you, Mr. Smith?”

  Wariness glinted in his eyes and he stepped back. “In the course of my employment, I’ve been to my share of society gatherings,” he said carefully.

  Lying scoundrel. He wasn’t the only one who could see through an unconvincing disguise. Triumph surged. “Yes, I’m sure being the Earl of Lyle can be quite hard work, my lord.”

  His astonishment went some way toward soothing her pique. “You wee besom, how did you find me out?”

  “These might be the wilds of deepest Hampshire, but we do get the London papers. I’ve seen plenty of sketches of London’s darling.” She paused. “Even if I hadn’t, no daughter of John Warren would mistake Saraband for anything but a nobleman’s horse. I knew who you were the moment you knocked on my door.”

  Charlotte waited for temper, but to her surprise, he burst into delighted laughter. “Caught red-handed. I should have guessed that the child of such a famous horseman would penetrate my disguise.”

  “So you’re in no position to feel superior,” she said, striving desperately to maintain her resentment.

  “No harm done,” he said, taking her hand and drawing her closer. Like a ninnyhammer, she obeyed his prompting as unthinkingly as a well-trained horse accepted the halter. “We’ve just been playing a wee game.”

  He’d called this strange attraction magic. It must be. Five minutes ago, she’d wanted to do him physical harm. Yet his merest touch warmed her skin with pleasure.

  “It seems so,” she said, still unable to summon the will to pull away. Magic indeed.

  His lips quirked with that irresistible humor. “Of course, I cheated.”

  “What do you mean?” Behind him, Bill shot them a disgusted look and flopped down again near the door. The dog could tell this discussion wasn’t over yet.

  “There was no hiding your identity, my pretty Cinderella. Your father showed me your portrait when he suggested our marriage.”

  “My portrait?” Lawrence had painted her when she was sixteen and the picture—unfortunately rather simpering—hung in the dining room, but Lyle hadn’t yet been into that room. Then Charlotte released a soft huff of understanding. “The miniature.”

  Her father, who hid a sentimental streak as wide as the Atlantic beneath his bluff exterior, never went anywhere without the tiny paintings of his late wife and his daughter. That sentimental streak meant she’d been caught unprepared when he’d suddenly decided to promote a loveless union for his cosseted child.

  “It doesn’t do you justice.” Lyle raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. Heat sizzled through her, and for a dazzled moment, she blinked up at him.

  “Oh, this is bad, so bad,” she said, more to herself than to him.

  His lips twitched again. “What’s made you fly up into the boughs now?”

  She snatched her hand back, skin tingling after that brief salute. “I’ll have you know I’m considered the cleverest girl in the parish.” On unsteady legs, she backed away to slump despairing onto the bed. She struggled not to recall the wicked and delightful things Lord Lyle had done to her, but the wrinkled counterpane provided an inevitable reminder. “How is it you turn me into such a henwit?”

  He laughed softly. From the first, she’d noticed that Lord Lyle was a man who found rich entertainment in the world. Attractive creases around his eyes and mouth indicated he smiled a lot. Those creases deepened as he joined her on the bed. “Cheer up. You have the same detrimental effect on my wits.”

  “Really?” she asked, knowing he sat too close, but too bewildered to retreat to a safe distance. Then he took her hand once more, and the lunatic who had possessed her mind wouldn’t have shifted for a thousand guineas.

  “Really. If I reacted to every pretty face like this, I’d be barred from Almack’s.”

  She tried and failed to stifle her pleasure at his confession. Hearing that he was similarly afflicted shouldn’t be any consolation, but it was. “Perhaps it’s because forbidden fruit is within reach.”

  He cast her a skeptical glance. “You know it’s more than that.”

  Her free hand began to pleat her blue skirt. Her voice lowered to a mutter. “This last hour, I’ve discovered that I don’t know much about much at all. Least of all myself.”

  “Miss Warren…”

  “Yes?”

  When she glanced up, his face was surprisingly serious. “I know I’ve teased and annoyed you, but I hate to think that you might be frightened.”

  She shot him a quelling look. “I’m not easy to scare.”

  “No, I can see you’re not. But I’m sure you’d feel easier if I went away.”

  That, undoubtedly, was true. So why did the prospect of his exile make her want to howl like a banshee? “You can’t.”

  “I could try to cross the bridge.”

  “It’s too dangerous. Last winter, a wagoner tried to ford the flooding river, and he was washed away and drowned.”

  “The stables, then.”

  Her hand tightened on his. “No.”

  “If I’m discovered here, there will be a scandal,” he said quietly. “The court of public opinion will decide our future.”

  “Whether you sleep in the house or the stables, nothing will save us from gossip if the world finds out we’re here alone.” Then she spoke words she’d never imagined saying to the blackguard who had somehow convinced her gullible father that he’d make the ideal son-in-law. “I trust your honor.”

  She’d been so close to yielding to him, yet when she’d asked him to stop, he had. His self-denial was powerful persuasion that she was safe with him.

  Lyle looked shocked, before he granted her another glimpse of that singularly sweet smile. Her silly heart expanded. He made her feel like the sun shone just for her. If she got to see that smile every day, marrying Ewan Macrae might even be worth it.

  “Thank you.” He lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles again. “I appreciate that. But I’m not sure I’m worthy.”

  The kiss had the same unsettling effect as the last one. She struggled to remind herself of all her reasons for resisting this charming man.

  Except that after what she’d read in the papers, she’d expected charm. What she hadn’t expected was this strange affinity, as though Lyle understood her better than anyone else in the entire world.

  His kisses were lethal to common sense.

  “I don’t understand why you entered into his nonsensical matchmaking,” she said helplessly. “Is it because I’m an heiress?”

  He dropped her hand and regarded her with displeasure. In a flash, he became the powerful Earl
of Lyle, instead of her lighthearted co-conspirator in pleasure. “That’s flattering to neither of us, Miss Warren. I hardly think Sir John would fling you at a fortune hunter.”

  Under that disapproving stare, she squirmed. Never would she have imagined that the amused, nonchalant creature who had teased her about playing an ugly stepsister could transform into this haughty man. She angled her chin up and strove to match his dismissive tone.

  “Then for heaven’s sake, tell me why he’s flinging me at you.” Her voice chilled. “Not that I consider myself yet flung.”

  He shrugged. “Who can say?”

  She frowned. “Is that the best you can do?”

  Lyle gave a brief laugh and turned back into the man she found so unacceptably appealing. “I suppose you deserve more than that. Although I’m not sure you’ll feel any more informed once I tell you the story. I met your father at Tattersall’s a fortnight ago. We both went after a gray hunter from Camden Rothermere’s stables. Your father came out the victor.”

  “That would put him in charity with you.”

  “It did. He insisted on taking me to dinner to celebrate.”

  “Clearly he was so deep in his cups and so happy about his new horse, he decided to give you his daughter along with dinner. Perhaps to compensate for missing out at the auction.”

  To her chagrin, her sarcasm didn’t fool Lord Lyle. “Even to a stranger, it’s apparent that he loves you very much. I know you’re hurt that he’s been so highhanded in seeking to arrange a marriage, but never doubt that he wants what’s best for you.”

  Charlotte regarded Lyle without favor. She didn’t want him to understand her feelings. It made her feel even more vulnerable. “And he thinks that’s you.”

  He placed one hand on the mattress behind him and leaned back, the picture of complacency. “We got along well. He seemed to feel you and I might, too.”

  Charlotte’s cheeks heated, although his tone wasn’t suggestive. Good heavens, nobody walking in on them a few minutes ago could doubt how well she and Lyle got on. “It’s a huge step from hoping we might be compatible to writing to me with news of a husband.”

  Lyle looked a little abashed. The expression was disarming. He really was an attractive man. If she’d met him in the normal course of events, she might have even liked him.

  Oh, who was she trying to fool? She liked him now, despite her determination to loathe him on sight. When he kissed her, she more than liked him. Excellent reason to stop him from kissing her again.

  That sensible resolution settled like misery in her stomach, and to counteract her glum reaction, she continued. “Even if my father had a fit of madness, that doesn’t explain your cooperation.”

  He smiled. “Sir John described you in such glowing terms, I found myself a wee bit curious.”

  “So you decided on a jaunt to Hampshire?”

  “I wanted to see you—without your father doing his best to throw us together.”

  “You assumed I’d let you stay?”

  He shrugged again. “I thought I’d see how the land lay and take my cue from that. I could find an inn in the neighborhood and call on you, if necessary.”

  “Only if you were interested,” she said snidely, at last shifting a few inches away for the sake of her pride. “The weather’s played into your hands. You have ended up staying.”

  “Lucky me. Given how I’ve fallen under Cinderella’s spell.”

  She gave a dismissive sniff. “The Fairy Godmother is the one with the magic power.”

  “Not from where I’m sitting.”

  Charlotte told herself that he was only trying to get around her, and she shouldn’t succumb to his flattery. But that was difficult when she met his glittering cobalt gaze. “You’re too kind, my lord.”

  This conversation verged too close to flirting for the good of her defenses. Sparring with a handsome man who regarded her with such blatant admiration was dangerously enjoyable. She told her unruly heart his sincerity was a seducer’s trick. But her unruly heart refused to believe Lord Lyle anything but genuine.

  Those expressive black eyebrows rose. “Very polite, Miss Warren.”

  Charlotte couldn’t blame him for deriding her formality. After all, not too long ago, she’d stuck her tongue into his mouth. She struggled to bring this discussion back to earth. “I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey. But I decided long ago that marriage and I won’t suit.”

  He looked interested rather than offended. “I wouldn’t say it’s been wasted. So far it’s been grand entertainment. I’ve a mind to stay on to watch the Easter play. After this intriguing prologue, the performance promises to raise the roof.”

  Stung, she rose from where she sat on the bed and regarded him with reviving temper. Temper rooted in shame. “You’re no gentleman to mock my poor behavior.”

  “I’m not mocking you, Charlotte.” His smile was wry. “If you’re susceptible to me, I’m equally susceptible to you.”

  “Oh,” she said, deflated. “Then that’s a problem.”

  “Not if we’re contemplating marriage.” He leaned back on his hands with a casual air that pricked at her.

  “We’re not,” she said, even as her stomach lurched into a sickening slide.

  All laughter drained from the eyes leveled unwaveringly upon her. His languor hardened into alarming purpose. “I am.”

  Chapter Five

  * * *

  Thank God Lyle wasn’t a vain man, or Charlotte’s horrified expression might have crushed his hopes.

  “You’re not,” she snapped. She stood as straight as a ruler and folded her arms beneath those bonny breasts.

  He rose from the bed and stepped close enough to tower over her. “Indeed I am, Miss Warren. I think you’d make a bonny wife.”

  She regarded him doubtfully. “You don’t look insane. “

  “Thank you,” he said and burst out laughing at her disgusted reaction. “I thought I should place my cards on the table.”

  “Well, it’s a losing hand,” she retorted. She spread her hands in bewilderment. “You don’t know me.”

  He studied her. Her luxuriant hair caught the firelight, glinting gold. Her slender body promised strength and sensuality. Her eyes glittered with temper and intelligence—and wariness. The wariness bolstered his optimism. “Don’t I?”

  She frowned, although the color in her cheeks told him she, too, remembered their kisses. “No, and I can’t imagine that what little you do know justifies this mad conclusion.”

  She sucked in a breath, and he struggled manfully not to notice how her bosom swelled. Even so, his hands curled at his sides as he recalled shaping his fingers to her flesh. The taste of her still fizzed in his blood.

  “I lied to you,” she said with a belligerent edge.

  He hid a smile. “I lied to you.”

  “I’m domineering and used to getting my own way.”

  “I like a woman who knows her own mind.”

  “I’m stubborn and opinionated.”

  “If I’m contemplating a lifetime with a lassie, I want her to show a bit of spirit.”

  “I have no society polish. A countess should be sophisticated, whereas I’ve never had a season. I’ve never even been to London.”

  “Aye, you’ll settle into the Highlands well, then. My home is a long journey from the bright lights of Edinburgh—a wee wife who pines for city life would never be happy with me.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I kissed you like there’s no tomorrow.”

  “Are you trying to convince me for or against?”

  Her lips twisted in self-denigration. “I’m clearly a woman of wayward morals.”

  He couldn’t contain his laughter. “Is that right?”

  Her cheeks were fiery now. “You don’t want to marry a flirt.”

  “If I’m the only laddie my wife flirts with, I have no objection.”

  Her expression was a mixture of defiance and shame. “How do you know I don’t kiss every gentleman the way
I…I kissed you?”

  He smiled gently. “Have you ever kissed anyone else like that?”

  “No.” Her long eyelashes, darker honey than her hair, flickered down. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t.”

  She was bewitching. He’d admitted to being besotted. Every moment in her company only deepened his enchantment. “I’ll take my chances.”

  “Surely you want a wife you can trust.”

  “Apart from your…waywardness and propensity for impersonating fairytale characters, I believe you’re an admirable creature.”

  “Hardly.” The compliment didn’t please her. “I let you take liberties.”

  “As your future husband, I’d like to place it on record that I intend to take liberties at every opportunity.” He paused. “Scotland’s a gey chilly place, especially in the winter. I don’t want a cold marriage bed.”

  She stiffened. “There remains one insurmountable obstacle.”

  “What’s that?”

  Her delicate jaw set in an obstinate line. “I don’t want to marry you.”

  With a thoughtful expression, he turned away and stoked the fire to release more warmth into the room. The rain flung itself against the windows as if it would never end. Near the closed door, Bill raised his head, then laid it down on his paws again with a whine of doggy disappointment.

  “Have you nothing to say to that?” she asked in a challenging tone.

  Carefully Lyle placed the poker against the hearth and turned to face her. “Your father said I might need to persuade you.”

  “Did he indeed?” she asked in a dangerous voice.

  “Aye, but he seemed sure I would prevail in the end.”

  “Oh?”

  “Aye. He told me you just hadn’t met the right laddie to tempt you from your independence.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I suppose you’ve decided you’re the right laddie?”

  She made a fair attempt at imitating his accent. “Modesty forbids me from answering that.”