Romancing the Earl

For Rachel

A terrific author, a loyal and beautiful friend, and

the best chocolate martini-maker ever.

Chapter One

Wiltshire, July 1818

“M
y lord, you have a visitor.”

My lord.
Would he ever get used to that? Like as not, he supposed, particularly after being called by a military rank nearly all of his adult life.

Major Elijah Hollister—rather, Lord Bloody Norris—looked up from the ledger he was studying. The enormity of inheriting an earldom when he had never planned on doing so weighed on him, almost as heavily as the shocking death of his brother Matthew, the previous earl, last year.

“Who is calling, Garber?”

The butler, a rigid, somewhat austere man who appealed to Elijah’s desire for order, stood in the doorway, his dark blue costume plain but immaculate. “She did not present a card, my lord, but says she is Miss Catriona Bowen. She is accompanied by someone called ‘Grey.’”

Elijah arched a brow, but said nothing.

“Would you like me to inform her that you are busy?”

Elijah glanced down at the ledger and decided an unexpected visit would be more diverting than trying to make sense of these numbers. Besides, he’d yet to make the acquaintance of more than a handful of people since arriving in Wootton Bassett just a fortnight ago. “No, I’ll come. Where is she?” He stood up from the desk and walked around it.

“The Egypt Room, my lord.”

Elijah fought a grimace. That was his least favorite room. The entire house was overdecorated and stuffed to the brim with antiquities the former earl—that is, the cousin who’d held the title before Matthew had inherited it two and a half years ago—had collected. However, the Egypt Room was particularly offensive and, frankly, disturbing, with a pair of sarcophagi flanking the massive fireplace and an array of paraphernalia that had no doubt been stolen from someone’s tomb.

Elijah left the study, which he’d already begun to simplify by removing much of the former earl’s collection. The ballroom was quickly becoming a depository for the excess of artifacts, which Elijah planned to sell at the earliest opportunity.

A medium-sized saloon, the Egypt Room was located at the back of the house with a view of the gardens. The day was overcast and mild, a far cry from the burning Australian summers he’d become accustomed to over the past five years.

His guest, a young woman with striking dark, nearly black hair turned from the windows where she stood with the second woman, a much taller female wearing a wide-brimmed hat, which he couldn’t help but notice she’d failed to remove, and a stoic expression. Elijah had no trouble discerning who was Miss Bowen and who was “Grey.”

“Good afternoon,” he said, striding into the room.

Miss Bowen moved forward and smiled at him, her dark pink lips curving up and forming dimples in her cheeks. She was quite pretty, though in an unconventional way, with her dark hair and eyes and a complexion that could be described as the color of tea with a spoonful of milk. In a room of flaxen-haired, blue-eyed, pale-skinned debutantes, she would gleam like a vibrant jewel.

“Good afternoon, my lord. I must beg your forgiveness for our presumption in visiting. I hope you won’t mind. I am Miss Catriona Bowen and this”—she gestured to the other woman who angled her body toward Miss Bowen—“is Grey.”

Elijah glanced at the single-monikered woman and decided she’d make a good soldier. She was tall and stoic, with an air of self-discipline about her. Something about the way her gaze followed Miss Bowen yet seemed to still fix on him invoked a sense of fierce protectiveness. “Your visit is not presumptuous,” he said. “As I am new to the district, people have come to extend their greetings and I expect them to do so.”

Her smile faltered a bit and she blinked. “Yes, well, I am not from the district. My apologies. I
am
imposing. You are new to town—to England, from what I hear—and are likely trying to find your way as the new earl. Yes, I’m being quite presumptuous,” she said firmly, almost insistently, as if she would argue with him about her cheek. He fought the urge to smile at that. Miss Bowen not only didn’t look the part of the typical young miss, she didn’t act it either. And that made her . . . interesting.

“Then do tell me why you’ve come,” he said.

“Certainly.” She walked to a dark blue settee. “Shall we sit?” Grey moved to stand next to the piece of furniture.

“Of course.” His hosting duties required some refinement. But then, what about him didn’t? He’d spent the last five years on the other side of the world. Nothing was less refined than dwelling in a penal colony.

Her smile returned as she perched on the settee, and Elijah decided she wanted something. Why else would she behave so boldly—and be proud of doing so—and continue to smile at him as if he could make all of her dreams come true?

What a ridiculous notion.

“I’m visiting my friend, Lady Miranda Foxcroft. I think you’ve met her?”

He had, as well as her husband. “Yes, I’m surprised she didn’t accompany you.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t inform her of my intention to call on you. You see, my errand today is rather . . . secret.”

What sort of game was she playing? He didn’t have time for nonsense, not when he was drowning in estate business and overwhelmed with creditors demanding to be paid for the bills his brother had run up during his brief time as the earl. “Miss Bowen, how can I help you?”
 

Her face brightened. “Yes, that’s precisely it. You
can
help me. I’m an antiquary and I’m looking for a small tapestry that Lord Norris—the previous”—she shook her head—“that is, the previous-previous, maintained in his collection.”

Blimey, another antiquary. Perhaps she’d be interested in taking some of this lot off his hands—provided she could pay for it. He had creditors to satisfy and an entire estate to overhaul. He looked at her intently. “Have you any idea how many tapestries Norris—the ‘previous-previous’—kept in his collection?”

Her eyes were warm as she nodded. “I do. I’ve toured Lord Norris’s collection on multiple occasions. It’s exemplary.”

It was bloody obnoxious. “I couldn’t say.”

“No, of course not. You’re a soldier, not an antiquities expert. I can describe the tapestry for you. It’s a medieval battle scene, about three feet square.” She gestured the size with her hands. “I believe it’s the only tapestry of that dimension. It’s a bit of an oddity. Lord Norris used to display it in the upstairs gallery; however, he liked to move his treasures around from time to time, and of course who knows what’s happened in the years since he passed.”

“While my brother was the earl.”

“Right.” Her eyes filled with sympathy. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. However, I haven’t seen the tapestry you describe and I’m afraid I wouldn’t know where to look. I’ve only just arrived a fortnight ago and I’m still trying to find my footing.”

“Of course you are, and this is why my presumption is terrible.” Her forehead creased into attractive little pleats. Attractive? “I’m so sorry for bothering you. However, I’m afraid my need for the tapestry is quite urgent. I should like to buy it.”

“I wouldn’t know what to charge you for it. I will, in fact, be selling the entire collection, but I need to consult with an antiquary before I do so.” He’d received a letter from a Lord Septon, an antiquary who’d offered to assist him with cataloging and evaluating the collection, and he planned to respond to him with haste.

Her face split into a beatific smile. “That is where I can help you. I can tell you precisely what the tapestry is worth, and I can pay you for half of it now.”

Oh yes, this woman had cheek to spare. “That’s a bit dubious, isn’t it? You telling me the price for something you clearly desire most fervently.”

Her expression dimmed, but only slightly. “I’m a trustworthy sort.”

He leaned forward in his chair. “So you say, but I don’t know you at all. You’re here on a secret errand so that I can’t even verify your identity with Lady Foxcroft. In my situation, would
you
trust someone such as yourself?”
 

He chanced a quick look at Grey, who still lingered beside the settee, to gauge her reaction. Her gaze was steady, confident. If she took issue with his question, she didn’t reflect it. And why should he care? Was she Miss Bowen’s bodyguard? He realized that was precisely what she seemed.

Miss Bowen blinked at him. “Of course I would. I know myself to be quite honest and ethical.”

He couldn’t help it—he laughed, and she looked a bit startled by his reaction. “I’m still skeptical—perhaps it’s the soldier in me. However, it’s a moot point since I don’t know where the tapestry is and I don’t have time to find it. I will, however, contact you after I’ve located the piece and ascertained its value from an objective source.”

She scooted forward and squeezed her hands together on her lap. “I understand your hesitation, but perhaps I haven’t made my
need
for this antiquity plain. I require this tapestry immediately, my lord.”

Her insistence and passion—passion?—was most curious. He might not have time for her nonsense, but he was intrigued. He sat back and set his hands on the arm of the chair, then speared her with an intense stare. “Why?”

She glanced at her maidservant or chaperone or whatever-she-was, who seemed to slightly nod her head as if they’d silently communicated something. When Miss Bowen returned her attention to him, her gaze was frank. “Because I need the tapestry to find something.”

That made no sense whatsoever. “How?”

She stared at him and he could almost see her mind churning. “It contains a . . . map.”

Just like that, Elijah snapped to attention as if his commanding officer had just stalked into the room. He leaned forward once more and slitted his eyes at her. “Like a treasure map?”

Her eyes widened. “I didn’t say anything about treasure.”

No, but he could tell from her reaction that treasure was precisely what she was looking for. Suddenly, the note Matthew had penned just before his death took on a whole new meaning. Instead of the drunken ramblings of a man who’d always dreamed of a grander life, it now seemed like something far more disturbing.

“What do you know of this map?” Elijah asked.

“It’s a medieval battle scene and was likely stitched in the early to mid-fifteenth century.”

“How is it a battle scene
and
a map?”

For the first time, uncertainty crept into her gaze. “I don’t know. It only ever seemed to be a battle scene to me. And don’t ask how I know it’s a map. I’m afraid I can’t disclose more than I already have. As I said, this is a secret endeavor. I shouldn’t have even told you this much, but you must understand how important it is that I obtain this tapestry.”

“What I understand is that you are likely trying to fleece me of something that is already quite valuable and possibly represents even greater value.”

Grey shifted her position, moving a few steps toward Elijah’s chair and lessening the distance she’d have to cover should she decide to launch an attack. He shook his head, wondering why he’d assumed she was on the offensive. He’d likely thought that because though he’d left military life, he simply couldn’t ignore his military sensibility.

She shook her head. “I’m not trying to fleece you at all. The treasure it leads to is not monetarily valuable. It’s only important to the study of history. My brother is the curator of the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford and I plan to give it to him for display. The amount I would offer you for the tapestry is more than fair.”