The Irresistible Earl. Regina Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ as if she had brought spring with her. The earl himself looked more somber, dressed in a navy coat and buff-colored breeches above gleaming boots.

      “You don’t seem to have thrown off yesterday’s events as easily,” he said. “If I may, Miss Price, you look tired.”

      Was that concern in his voice? Why should he care? “And do you flatter all the young ladies this way, my lord?” Meredee countered.

      He chuckled, a warm rumble that was hard to resist. “I’m afraid I’m not good at doing the pretty. Some other fellow would quote you poetry or the Bard. ‘She walks in beauty like the night,’ or some such.”

      “I’ve never been all that much for poetry,” Meredee admitted. No, it’s more likely quiet concern that will be my undoing.

      “That we have in common, then. What do you prefer to read?”

      Meredee eyed him. His head was cocked, and the light through the windows touched his sandy hair with gold and highlighted the planes on his face. Nothing in his look or his attention said he was teasing her. How extraordinary! But she doubted he’d look so attentive if he knew the truth. Most men would be aghast at her reading material. Even her stepmother turned up her nose. Only one other man had ever listened to her prose on, and she’d done her best to forget him. She would be safer admitting to the occasional gothic novel, which she did enjoy.

      “Ah,” he said just as she realized she had probably been silent too long. “Perhaps you prefer not to read.”

      She refused to leave him with that impression. “Most likely I read too much, my lord. I love history, and the latest scientific discoveries. I recently found a copy of Mr. Humboldt’s treatise on his travels to the equatorial regions of the South American continent. It was most inspiring.”

      She waited for his eyes to glaze over, to hear him murmur polite excuses and hurry away as generally happened when she shared her pastimes. But he merely leaned closer, his eyes lighting. “And do you adhere to his theory that the earth’s magnetic field varies between the poles and the equator?”

      “He was most persuasive, though I should like to see his observations duplicated on the African continent. Flora and fauna would be more of a challenge there, I think.”

      He straightened and beamed at her, suddenly looking as young and carefree as Algernon. “My thoughts exactly. And what of more practical matters? Are you a staunch supporter of Hannah More or do your tastes run to Mary Wollstonecraft?”

      “Must it be one or the other? Mrs. More instructs us to read the Bible and think on how we can best serve the Lord. Mrs. Wollstonecraft insists that only a woman who uses her intelligence can truly find her purpose. I do not see that the two contradict each other.”

      He laughed. “I’d like to see you explain that to them.”

      She couldn’t help but smile. “I suppose they would find a great deal to argue about. What of you, my lord? Which do you find more useful?”

      His gaze traveled to where his sister was even now blushing as a tall, angular young man bowed over her hand. “The Bible guides us in our lives, but every woman should use her intellect to ensure her future. Excuse me, Miss Price.”

      She curtsied, but he was already striding across the room to his sister’s side. As Meredee watched, the gawky youth paled, stammered and then stumbled way from Lady Phoebe, who turned to her brother, mouth drawn in a tight little bow.

      “What did he want?” Mrs. Price begged, hurrying up to Meredee, breaths coming in little pants. “Does he suspect?”

      Meredee shook her head. “No. He talked only of science and philosophy.”

      “Science?” Her stepmother drew a breath that swelled her lacy bodice. “I would not have thought him capable of it.”

      Across the room, the earl took his sister’s arm and drew her toward the door that led to the wells. “Just because he’s taken a dislike to Algernon,” Meredee said, “doesn’t make him a monster, madam.”

      “Well, I like that!” Mrs. Price huffed. “And why was I dragged from my home if not to escape a monster?”

      Meredee sighed and took her arm. “I begin to wonder. Have you drunk from the wells, then?”

      “No,” her stepmother said with a pout. “I didn’t dare leave the room once I saw you conversing with that wretch.”

      “Then let’s get you a cup.” She led her stepmother through the long room and out the door.

      Once outside, the sound of the waves came louder. At high tide, she knew, they could pound against the rounded stones of the terrace and dampen the path with spray. Now a few leaves dotted the dark steps as they made their way down to the stone-lined recess that housed the two wells. Mrs. Price was convinced the Chalybeate Well was the finer of the two, so Meredee steered her toward the line of people waiting for a drink dipped from the stone-edged hole of the south well by a gentle widow.

      One of the wonders of Scarborough was the variety of people who were welcomed at the wells. Everyone from Mrs. Price’s new friend, the countess, to the tiny son of the local coalmonger stood waiting their turns, sure that a sip from the mineral springs would make them stronger, or at least more fashionable. But Meredee and Mrs. Price had only taken a few steps when she saw Lord Allyndale and Lady Phoebe near the north well.

      Mrs. Price must have sighted him at nearly the same time, for she nudged Meredee. “Smile,” she hissed. “You do not want him to think anything’s amiss.”

      Meredee forced a smile, but neither of the Dearborns seemed to be looking in her direction. They had reached the front of their line and stood beside the low well. Mrs. Dennings, one of the elderly widows who served the water, lifted a tin cup. Meredee thought that surely Lady Phoebe would take it, but she refused the spa water with a shake of her honey-colored curls and a scrunch of her pert nose. To Meredee’s surprise, it was the earl who drank of the healing waters, head up, gaze out over the sea, in one great gulp as if taking particularly foul medicine.

      Her father had drunk it like that, when he was afraid of dying.

      Meredee blinked. Chase Dearborn could not be ill. Her father had been thin and growing thinner every day, his skin gray, his eyes shadowed. Lord Allyndale looked the picture of health—tall, solid, imposing. He turned and saw her staring at him then, and her cheeks heated in a blush.

      For a moment, their gazes locked, held. Why did he look at her so intently? Did he find her as intriguing to watch? Had he found their conversation as interesting as she had? Did he admire her?

      The stone floor seemed to shift under her. She caught her breath and clutched her stepmother’s arm to hold herself steady. Lord Allyndale merely inclined his head in acknowledgement, then walked swiftly to the stairs, his sister hurrying behind.

      “Well, I like that!” Mrs. Price grumbled, her gaze following them. “Not even a fare thee well!” She paled suddenly and grabbed Meredee’s hand where it still rested on her arm. “Did you say something to make him take us in dislike?”

      Meredee took a deep breath and pulled away. What was wrong with her? Had she expected some kind of public display? She wasn’t the type to inspire sonnets; by his own admission he wasn’t the type to compose them. If she hadn’t saved his sister’s life, they would probably СКАЧАТЬ