Loving the Earl: A Loveswept Historical Romance (38 page)

“Lord David?” The voice startled him. He turned to see one of the directors, Lord Bradford, from the Home Secretary’s office at his elbow. An older man, he was sharp and precise with his assignments, and David had thus far enjoyed working with him.

“My lord, a pleasure. I didn’t realize you would be here. I had scheduled an appointment with you tomorrow.”

“I hadn’t planned on it, but then my sister insisted. You were just speaking to her—the Countess of Jepstow?” He waited for David’s nod of assent before continuing. “But since I am here, we can discuss what I had planned to talk about tomorrow—your next assignment.”

David was very pleasantly surprised. Had he just been lamenting that he was bored? A new assignment would make his time in England that much more interesting.

“Excellent.” David took a glass of something light and sparkling from a passing servant. “What is it?”

He took a sip as Lord Bradford spoke. “I wish you to court my niece.”

David choked as the words penetrated his brain. “Your—what?”

Lord Bradford clapped him on the back. “Breathe, my lord. Went down the wrong way, hm?”

You could say that.
“You want me to marry your
niece
?”

Now it was Lord Bradford’s turn to choke. “No, not at all. Marry Charlotte? And make her return to India when you do? Her mother would kill me.”

Now David was just confused. “So what is it you wish me to do if not court her?”

Lord Bradford nodded in enthusiastic agreement. “Yes, that’s it.”

Could his beverage have given him a headache this quickly? Because he felt entirely fuzzy. “What is it?”

“Court her!” Lord Bradford replied, as though it were entirely obvious.

“Court her,” David repeated. No, it didn’t make any more sense when he said it himself than when Lord Bradford said it.

“Yes, she is a lovely girl, but not very popular.” Lord Bradford leaned in to whisper into David’s ear. “She’s on her third Season, and hasn’t taken. Some unpleasant people have dubbed her the Abomination, in fact.”

It wasn’t hard to see why. If David weren’t so diplomatic, he might suggest to the lady’s uncle that perhaps his niece should try wearing clothing that didn’t threaten to permanently damage a person’s eyeballs. “And you wish me to court her—but not marry her.”

Lord Bradford positively beamed. “Precisely! If you—forgive me for speaking plainly, but you are an attractive fellow—are seen to be paying attention to her, perhaps some of the other gentlemen will also.”

This was not the kind of assignment David was accustomed to. Nor wanted.

In fact, paying marked attention to the Countess of Jepstow’s daughter made him feel as though he were being valued for his looks, not his brain. Something he’d fought ever since that growth spurt over ten years ago.

It had been a source of personal satisfaction, in fact, that he had applied for—and gotten—his current position without an in-person interview. He had been judged entirely on his merits, not on his visage.

“I don’t wish to be rude, my lord, but—”

Lord Bradford held his hand up. “This is an order. You returned here with your reputation barely intact, is that not so? And while your work has been unexceptional, your behavior when not working has been a topic of some conversation.”

David snapped his mouth shut. Damn. He was going to have to do this, wasn’t he? Or be in danger of staying in England permanently.

Lord Bradford continued. “If you can keep yourself out of trouble for the remainder of the Season while paying attention to my niece—not too much attention, mind you,” he said, narrowing his eyes in a pointed stare at David, “we will be much more amenable to returning you to your post. But only if your assignment is successfully completed. Is that clear?”

He didn’t have a choice, did he? He swallowed all the words he wished to say. “Crystal clear, sir. Thank you. I will endeavor to perform the task to the best of my abilities.”

Even if he was bored and blinded in the process.

“It is time for our dance, is it not, Lady Charlotte?” He felt the coiled ball of tension in his chest swell as he spoke. He’d originally asked her for a dance just because he was a gentleman, and that is what a gentleman did when introduced to a young lady, no matter how unprepossessing.

But now that it was his job to do this, it was the last thing he wanted. But if it got him home—to his real home, in India, in the countryside—that much sooner …

For a moment, he let his mind wander back: breezy, open rooms leading to wide verandas; the chatter of the birds at night outside his window; the smell of the spiced tea he drank every afternoon. He would do whatever it took to return.

Even if it meant paying attention to the Abomination, who might as well have been called the Atrocity.

He drew her into his arms as the music began, keeping her as far away from his body as possible.

He was angry. Not that it was her fault—he didn’t think she knew what her uncle had done, much less had a hand in putting him up to courting her but not marrying her.

That kind of assignment came purely from a man used to scheming, not a young lady on her third Season. Who, judging by her pairing of colors, was the least diplomatic person he’d ever met.

They danced in silence for a few minutes, David’s mind racing as he tried to find something to converse about.

At last, she spoke. “Do you plan on staying in London long, my lord?”

This close, what she was wearing was even more appalling. Who chose to put on a gown like that? Was it possible the woman was blind?

“Why do you wear these colors together?” Had he just said that? He shook his head. He had been out of Society for far too long. “That is, I apologize, my lady, I just—”

“I know, aren’t they dreadful?” She laughed, a genuinely amused laugh, not the polite giggle young ladies usually served up. “I actually do like them, but then there is the added fun of watching how my mother reacts.” She tilted her head and regarded him as though he were a scientific curiosity. “Now when my mother saw you, well, she reacted quite differently. And who could blame her?” She fanned her fingers on his shoulder. “You really are stupendous-looking.”

David had been told before he was good-looking, but never quite so soon after meeting someone, and never quite so bluntly. “I am not certain what to say to that except thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me! I just feel terrible I have you to look at while all you have to look at is me.”

This conversation was unlike any he had ever had with a woman before. Perhaps the assignment would be less boring than he thought. At the very least, he wouldn’t be in danger of nodding off—her gowns would guarantee that.

“You are not ugly.” In fact, when he wasn’t distracted by her clothing, she was interesting looking—her sensual lips tilted up at the corners, as though she were constantly amused. Her eyes, a soft, warm brown, sparkled with that same amusement. Her skin was creamy white, with a few scattered moles decorating her décolletage.

He did always enjoy connecting the dots.

“Thank you,” she said, her lips curving into a smirk. “ ‘You are not ugly’ is probably the most sincere compliment I have ever been given. Don’t be shy if you want to tell me ‘you are not stupid’ and ‘you are not the worst dancer ever.’ ”

He was a diplomat, wasn’t he, renowned for his ability to talk anyone into anything? Because at the moment, he felt like a gauche-mat or whatever the opposite of a diplomat would be. He was so addled, he couldn’t even remember basic etiquette or language skills.

“Let us start again,” he said after a moment. “You are a divine dancer, my lady.”

“I am not,” she shot right back at him, still with that smile on her face. “In fact, I can be said to be average in most things, the exceptions being my taste in clothing and my unfortunate habit of saying anything that crosses my mind.”

Before he could protest, she continued. “And you are a tremendous dancer. I wasn’t certain you would be, what with your height and the size of your feet.”

He had to ask. “What does height and foot size have to do with dancing skill?”
Does your uncle know you make conversation like this?

She considered that, wrinkling her eyebrows together in thought. Everything about her was expressive, including her eyebrows; thick, dark wings that arched up as though she were always asking a question. Which, thus far in their acquaintance, seemed as though it might be the case.

She would be terrible at cards, he imagined.

“Tall men can be quite awkward. My brother is quite tall, like you. They stoop, and bend, and generally make a shorter female seem somehow lacking, as though it was the woman’s fault they have to be so inconvenienced. When dancing, of course.”

“Dancing, of course. There are other things tall men and shorter ladies can do together that are less … 
inconvenient.
” Good god, was he actually flirting with her?

“My lord, I believe you are flirting with me.”

Apparently he was. Well, it was part of his assignment, was it not?

“My lady, I have to compliment your imagination as well as your not being ugly. I was speaking, of course, of horseback riding. It does not matter then how tall one is, as long as one enjoys the riding.”

“I love riding. It is one of the things I miss about being in London. Neither of my parents ride.” Thank goodness she did not catch the double entendre.

“Perhaps we could go riding together sometime? That is, if your riding habit will not make my horse start.”

She uttered a low, throaty laugh that went straight to his … well, in this instance the pertinent measurement was length rather than height.

This assignment might prove to be a fascinating one. If he didn’t go blind or say the wrong thing.

The Fashionable Foible

Love stories you’ll never forget
by authors you’ll always remember

eOriginal Romance from Random House

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