How Not to Marry an Earl Read online

  Since this distant cousin didn’t know who he was, she was currently treating him with the same indifference as women had before his sudden elevation. But since Charity was also the last unmarried girl in the family, the condition was likely temporary. Once she guessed his identity, she would chase him like a hound after a coon.

  ‘Thank you for the offer of aid,’ he replied. ‘And I assume this help will be in exchange for everything I can tell you about the new Earl?’

  ‘I think I know all I need to on that front,’ she said, with a frown that surprised him. It looked almost like a grimace of distaste.

  ‘Has he done something to put you off?’ Miles said.

  ‘He has done nothing so far,’ she said. ‘That suits me well, but I doubt it will continue. And the last thing I need is for him to arrive on my doorstep with a proposal.’

  ‘Your doorstep?’ He glanced around him.

  ‘Metaphorically speaking,’ she replied. ‘It is technically his house. I plan to be out of it before he arrives. But I am not quite ready to go yet, hence my hope that he will stay in London until Parliament ends its session.’

  ‘And you do not want to marry him,’ Miles said, strangely annoyed.

  She shrugged. ‘It is not logical to expect instant compatibility, based on the convenience of a family connection. It is not as if I believe in something so foolish as the need for romantic love when marrying. But I do not want to rope myself to him or any other man for a lifetime without bothering to learn if we are temperamentally similar.’ She glanced down her nose at him, in frank and unladylike appraisal. ‘So far, I have not found many available men to my taste. I have exceptionally high standards, Mr Potts.’

  He stared back at her, just as rudely, ready to say that plain girls were not usually so particular. Then he remembered her fine ankles and bit his tongue. ‘And so you should, Miss Strickland. If you meet him, you will find that the new Earl is not a bad fellow.’ Not totally bad, at least. ‘But you are right not to expect a marriage from him, sight unseen.’

  She smiled at him in earnest now. The brightness of it transformed her face into something that was not beautiful, but held a certain allure that her frowns did not. ‘You are the first person to say that to me, Mr Potts. It is quite a novelty to hear such frankness.’

  ‘There is no reason for me to be anything else,’ he said, ignoring a stab of guilt. He had not been in any way frank. Worse yet, he had been talking about himself in the third person.

  He cleared his throat. ‘And now, where would you recommend I begin my search—that is, my inventory?’

  ‘I suggest you begin by settling into your room and washing for dinner,’ she said with another shrug and an innocent blink. ‘If the accounting of Comstock’s possessions has waited for years, there is no reason to begin them this minute. You will find the job less daunting after a good night’s sleep and a decent meal.’ She walked up the stairs in front of him, casting a look over her shoulder to see if he followed. ‘Well?’

  He paused. In any other woman, he might have thought it flirtatious, should she lead him straight to his bedchamber. But even on such a brief acquaintance, it was clear that Miss Charity did not flirt.

  She likely did not know any better. He started up the stairs after her. ‘Surely it is not necessary for you to show me to my room.’

  ‘I shall be showing you a lot more than that before we are done with each other,’ she said.

  He started in surprise.

  Now her look was faintly exasperated. ‘You want to know the house, don’t you?’

  ‘Well...’ He did, of course. But was she really so unaware of him that her words held no hidden meanings at all?

  ‘Then you might as well enjoy the best of it.’ At the top of the stairs she marched briskly to the far end of one hall, waving at the corridor behind her. ‘The family stays in that wing. Grandmama is at the end, as is the Earl’s suite. The corridor to our right leads to the old part of the house. This side is for guests.’ She had reached a door at the very end. ‘And this is the Tudor room.’ She threw open the door and stood in front of it, gesturing inside. ‘It is said that Henry Tudor himself stayed here.’

  He racked his brain for a moment, to attach significance to the name. ‘The King with all the wives.’

  ‘Six,’ she said with a deadpan look that announced her opinion of his limited knowledge of local history.

  He held up his hands in surrender. ‘I can tell you everything you might wish to know about George Washington, if that makes a difference.’

  ‘I can tell you about him, as well,’ she said, arching an eyebrow. ‘There are books in England, you see.’

  ‘In America, as well.’ Damn few of them in his past, of course. But that was no fault of his. He looked ahead at the room in front of him. ‘So a king stayed here.’

  ‘And now, you shall.’

  He supposed he should be honoured. He rarely cared about the previous occupants of the room, as long as the bed was soft and the sheets were clean. This would be luxurious, though not quite as good as the master suite he was entitled to. But he could hardly ask for that. Then he stopped to wonder. ‘Why would you give an auditor the best room in the house?’

  By the time he’d turned to hear her response, her face was pleasant, passive and hospitable. But before that, had he seen a flash of something else? Alarm, perhaps?

  If so, it was gone and she appeared to be the perfect hostess. ‘I want you to be happy. You are the Earl’s friend, after all. I can hardly treat you like staff.’

  He glanced into the room, filled with any number of items worth taking when he went on his way. ‘How very kind of you, Miss Strickland.’

  She gave a concluding nod. ‘Now, I will leave you to refresh yourself. Dinner is in the dining room at eight, Mr Potts. Do not be late.’

  He hesitated for a moment, at the sound of the unfamiliar name, before getting his story straight and responding with an equally polite nod. ‘As you wish, Miss Strickland.’

  Then she was gone down the hall, leaving him alone in the bedchamber of a dead king. He shut the door quietly behind her and turned to the matter at hand, his private appraisal of the room’s worth. What was there in this room that was worth selling? The furniture was valuable, the canopied bed hung with slightly dusty velvet on brass rings as thick as his thumb. Interesting, but not worth the effort of dragging down the drapery. The crossed swords over the mantelpiece gave the room a distinctly masculine air. If they were a relic of the room’s namesake they might be priceless. But to get them away he’d have to march through the entire house with a sword on his shoulder. The bedchamber he occupied was as far from the front door as it was possible to get.

  His train of thought ground to a halt, then circled back, trying to think why that statement seemed so important. She’d said she’d put him in this room because of his supposed friendship to the Earl. But he had just told her that he had no real acquaintance with Comstock. Had she forgotten?

  There was something about Miss Strickland that made him think she did not often lose track of the details. Which meant she’d simply told the first lie that had come to mind to explain her choice. There was something strange going on and he meant to find out what it was.

  Chapter Three

  Once she had put Mr Potts in his room and Pepper in her own, Charity headed back down the main stairs and out the front door, hurrying down the drive towards the dower house. He had been right. It was about to rain. The clouds had darkened considerably since their departure from the house, an hour ago. As she ran the last steps down the drive towards the front door, she felt the first drops striking the hood of her cloak.

  She ignored them. She was so close to the truth that she could not let a little weather prevent her from finishing what she’d begun when he’d interrupted her. Of course, she needed an umbrella more than a ladder. She had been abl
e to feel the edge of the niche when she had stood on the grate, but had not been able to reach the depth of it.

  But with the arrival of an auditor, the day of reckoning had come and there was not a minute to spare for further preparation. She would find a stool in the kitchen of the other house and make do. Either the box was there, or it was not. She had to know.

  She pushed through the dower-house door and slammed it behind her, allowing herself a moment of unfeminine pique now that there was no one around to hear. Then, she hurried to the sitting room, where the chimney was.

  ‘I was beginning to wonder if you were coming.’

  Charity gasped and clutched the door frame, startled out of her breath at the words. Mr Potts had removed the holland covers from one of the chairs by the hearth and was sitting comfortably, his long legs stretched out before him.

  It took a moment to think of an appropriate response. The cold, rational part of her brain, the part that she could not seem to keep silent, commented that it was rare to be at a loss for words. Or at a loss for breath. It was rare that she was surprised at all. She was accustomed to outthinking the people around her with ease. Yet this stranger had bested her on her home turf.

  ‘You seem to be winded.’ He leaned forward and pulled the cover off the chair opposite him with a flick of his wrist. ‘Why don’t you sit, as well.’ Then, he smiled. ‘Perhaps I should light a fire for us to chase away the damp of the room.’

  He was expecting her to cry out No! and confirm his suspicions that there was something up the chimney. She had no intention of obliging him. ‘How did you know I would come here? And how did you arrive before I did?’

  ‘What other reason would you have for putting me in a room that faced the back of the house and not the drive?’ He held up a hand. ‘Do not tell me it is because I am an honoured guest. I got the distinct impression before that you wished I would go to perdition.’

  ‘Not to hell. Just back to America. Or London, at least. Even after much preparation, the house is in a frightful state and not ready to be inventoried.’ She smiled and fiddled with her glasses, doing her best to appear young and out of her depth. ‘My sisters are both just married and Grandmama is travelling on the Continent. It is only just me now.’

  ‘But none of that explains why you would put me in the best room in the house,’ he said. ‘I assumed you wanted to finish what you were doing without my noticing your departure from the house. You did not come all the way here to close a flue. You were searching for something.’

  She touched her hand to her chest, feigning outrage. ‘What reason would I have to lie about such a thing?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ he replied. ‘But I wanted to find out. It would have been impolite to ask you. It is one thing to accuse a woman you’ve just met of lying and quite another to catch her in said lie.’ He stretched his arms, lacing his fingers and cracking his knuckles. ‘So I shimmied down the drainpipe running beside the window of my room and came back here to see if you would return.’

  ‘If I hadn’t?’

  ‘Then I’d have said nothing more of my suspicions.’

  Her heart was still beating faster than normal, probably from the shock he had given her when she’d come into the room. And once again, the rational voice spoke in her mind. Or rather, it laughed derisively. Now she was unsure what she should say next. It was a new feeling to be unsure of herself. She did not think she liked it.

  But he seemed to be enjoying it immensely. ‘It will save us both some time if you simply admit that I am right. Then I will help you look for whatever it is you are hunting for and we can return to the main house.’

  ‘I might not be searching for anything,’ she said. ‘I might have been hiding something.’

  ‘I interrupted you before you could complete what you were doing. You had nothing in your hand when you came out of the chimney and I felt no bulges in your skirt that might indicate you’d concealed an item in your pocket. And the minute you could get rid of me, you came back to finish your search. It is far more likely you were looking for something than leaving something.’

  His logic was not perfect, but it was better than she usually encountered. And he had let slip something far more important than a demonstration of deductive reasoning. He had all but announced that, while they had been riding, he had not just been supporting her to keep her from falling. He had held her tight enough to discern the contents of her pockets. Her heart was thumping in her chest, both from the memory of his hands on her and the subtlety of his reason for it.

  He had searched her. And she had let him to it, behaving like a foolish school girl, excited to be in the arms of a handsome man. If she was not careful, he would run her like a greyhound after a hare, destroying her plans for an independent future. She must be much more careful.

  ‘Suppose you are correct in your assumptions,’ she said. ‘Why would you offer to help me?’ She watched for a slight change in expression that might tell her what he was really thinking.

  ‘I assume that what you are seeking is a part of the estate. We both want it to be found and returned. Don’t we?’ He steepled his fingers and stared at her as though daring her to deny it.

  She should lie and tell him that, of course, that was what she’d been doing. To tell the truth was to surrender before he had a chance to attack. If he had the slightest inkling of what was in the chimney, he’d have the whole works under lock and key before she could save even the smallest portion for herself.

  ‘If there is something missing from the entail, it is only right that it should be returned,’ she said, choosing the hypothetical middle ground, watching for his reaction.

  ‘Or, I could help you find the thing you are looking for and look the other way,’ he added, his expression pleasant but opaque. ‘I could decide that it was none of my business.’ Now he was the one waiting for her response.

  She gave the one that most suited the situation and pretended to be shocked. ‘Why would you do such a thing?’

  ‘For compensation, of course. It is time for us to lay our cards on the table, Miss Strickland. Whatever you are doing here, I suspect it is something you shouldn’t. I will keep your secret, if you pay me to do so.’

  ‘You will keep my secret for now,’ she corrected. ‘Until you decide I have not paid you enough and come back for more. That is how blackmail works, is it not?’

  He laughed. ‘Very true.’ Then he said, in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘I am new at it and have not had the time to think through all the ramifications.’

  ‘Then how about this one,’ she said. ‘I run back to the house and announce that the auditor is threatening me and I do not think he is an honest man. The servants believe me and contact the Earl. Since he barely knows you, he takes the word of family over anything you might say and fires you immediately.’

  Mr Potts gave a brief start of surprise, then clapped his hands. ‘Bravo, Miss Charity. Bravo.’

  He should be calling her Miss Strickland. Though as he had been patting her hips before, he probably thought he was entitled to some familiarity. ‘I did not give you permission to use my Christian name, Potts,’ she said, dropping the honorific from his to remind him he was little better than a servant.

  He gave an apologetic incline of his head. ‘My apologies, Miss Strickland. But my rudeness aside, we seem to have arrived at an impasse. What are we to do?’ Then he looked at her for the answer.

  She considered. It did not really matter if he was a paragon of virtue, or a total villain. The typical masculine response to a situation like this was usually much the same: to go to the chimney and take what was in it. She was smaller and weaker, and she could not stop him. But Potts was confusing her. He was tailoring his actions to hers and at least pretending that she could decide what would happen next.

  To flatter your pride, announced the voice in her head. This one is a charmer. Be on your guard
.

  She touched her finger to her chin, pretending indecision, and scuffed the floor with the toe of her boot. Then she stared at him and spoke without irony. ‘We are going to allow me to get on with what I was doing, Potts. It may still amount to nothing. But if I do not do what I came here for, you will do it yourself as soon as my back is turned and abscond with anything you find.’

  He nodded. ‘You have a surprisingly bleak view of my character, Miss Strickland. Not inaccurate, mind you. Simply bleak. But if the thing you are searching for can be split easily between us, I will be out of your hair and your life before cock’s crow.’

  She clutched at her heart, feigning ecstasy at the thought of his absence. ‘Will you really, Potts?’

  ‘My plan on coming here was exactly what you suggested when we first met. I have urgent business back in America and no money for a return passage. I should not have to count every last part of the Comstock entail to get it. If I can find something of value that won’t be missed, I will take it, sell it and get a ticket on the first ship bound for Philadelphia.’ He pointed to the fireplace. ‘If there is such a thing hidden up that chimney, then go to, Miss Strickland. Go to.’

  ‘Very well, Potts,’ she said, with another insincere smile. If they found what she was looking for, there was no way he could take half of it, any more than she could. But he had planned to take something that would not be missed. She must hope that he could be steered towards discretion and not greed. Then she remembered that there were other issues to be dealt with. ‘I have but one problem. I was too short to reach it on the last visit.’

  ‘I am taller,’ he said, standing up, ready to take her place.

  ‘And wider,’ she reminded him. ‘It was a snug fit, even for me.’

  ‘There is nothing for it then,’ he said, went to the fireplace, hauled the grate out of its place and went down on one knee, patting the level plain of his opposite thigh. ‘Up you go.’