The Red Hot Earl Read online

  Lady Darlington smiled as she shook her head in bemusement. “How silly of me. It’s lovely to see you again, my lord.”

  “Ash?” Lady Bianca said, stepping toward him. “I didn’t recognize you at all! We were so sorry to hear about Lyndon’s passing. I’d heard you’d inherited and were now at Buck Manor.”

  She remembered him. And she called him Ash without reserve or remorse. It was right that she called him that, for in their youth, he’d been Ash and she’d been Bee.

  “Yes, I’m there now. It feels a bit…odd.” Perhaps he shouldn’t have admitted that out loud, but this was Bee, the girl who’d followed him around one summer collecting insects and climbing trees.

  “Odd?” Thornaby said with more volume than was necessary. “I should think it would be lovely. An improvement, to be sure.”

  “Perhaps not,” Bee said with a shrug. “Ash is entitled to feel as he ought.” She gave him a warm smile that lit her eyes. “I imagine it would be odd—Buck Manor, the earldom, all of it. You cut a fine figure of an earl,” she added, her gaze surveying him with approval.

  Bloody hell, but she was direct and absolutely without guile. Ash hadn’t been sure such people existed.

  Then she turned abruptly to their host and subjected Thornaby to the same perusal. “We’d like to take a rest before dinner. What time shall we come down?” It was as if she were in charge. Ash suppressed a smile.

  “Six,” Thornaby said, glancing between Bee and her sister.

  “Excellent. And may we expect dancing after?”

  “For those who are able.” Thornaby cast a disdainful stare toward Ash, whose shoulders twitched in response.

  Ash gritted his teeth, and every muscle in his body tensed.

  Bee’s vivid blue eyes narrowed as she slanted a glance at Ash and then fixed on their host. “I can’t imagine what you mean by that, but I shall presume there will be entertainment to amuse everyone. If not, I’ll see that there is.”

  Thornaby bowed slightly. “I would be honored, Lady Bianca. I am without a hostess, and if you would like to claim that role—”

  “You overstep,” Lady Darlington said crisply. “Come, Bianca.” She gave Thornaby a scolding glare before taking her sister’s arm and retreating from the room.

  “She’s a lively one!” Keldon said on a laugh.

  Thornaby smoothed the front of his coat. “I know for a fact that Hartwell wants to be rid of her as soon as possible, preferably before he has to provide her with a Season. This party is an excellent opportunity.”

  Moreley flashed a smile displaying his horrendously crooked teeth. “Indeed, the timing is perfect. Do let us know how we can assist you in your pursuit.”

  Ahem, you are aware that I am standing right here? Ash didn’t ask the question aloud, but it was a near thing. Instead, he took another deep breath, counted to three, and said, “You’ll need a very solid plan to win the Lady Bianca. She told me once, years ago when I lived near Hartwell, that she would never wed.” Never, ever, ever had been her precise pronouncement, followed by her making a nasty face that looked as if she’d eaten a slug.

  Had that been the day she’d licked a slug? He couldn’t quite recall.

  Keldon peered at Ash as if he were a…slug. “You can’t mean to reference something she said as a child. In any case, her guardian, and in this case, it’s her brother, will dictate what she does.”

  “That’s the right of it,” Thornaby said smugly. “And based on that, I would say this courtship will proceed exactly as I expect.”

  Unable to stand another moment of their arrogance and self-absorption, Ash excused himself and went to the entry, where other guests were arriving. He waited patiently for the butler, who asked if he was ready to be shown to his room.

  “Yes, please.” As he ascended the stairs, he questioned why he’d come.

  Because you’re the earl, and earls attend house parties.

  Ugh.

  Because they are your neighbors—sort of—and you ought to get to know them.

  Gah.

  Because you have something to prove.

  He tightened his hands into fists, a familiar reaction given how he’d spent the last ten years of his life in London. No, he had nothing to prove, especially to those “gentlemen” he’d left downstairs.

  The butler led him into a large sitting room with several doors leading from it. “Here you are, my lord,” the butler said, opening one of the doors. “Will there be anything else?”

  Ash glanced inside and caught a glimpse of Harris, his valet. “No, thank you.”

  With a nod, the butler left, and Ash went into the bedchamber, closing the door behind him.

  “All unpacked, my lord,” Harris said with his usual ebullient efficiency. Just twenty-one, he was likely a poor choice for a valet, but Lyndon’s had left after he’d died, necessitating the hiring of a new one. Since Ash had little experience with hiring valets, he’d simply promoted the most pleasant, eager footman he could find.

  Attitude could not be taught. Everything else could.

  “Thank you, Harris. We have some time until dinner. I suppose I shall read.” And devise a plan to rescue Bee from Thornaby’s pursuit. If she wanted to be rescued. Perhaps she’d changed her mind about marriage. Thornaby was right that she couldn’t be held to something she’d said as a child.

  Yet, the woman he’d seen downstairs seemed every bit the confident, outrageous young girl he remembered. The type of woman who listened to the rules and then promptly bent them to suit herself. The type of woman who could stir something deep inside him if he allowed himself to respond.

  Ash began to remove his coat, and Harris darted toward him to help. Once Harris draped the coat over his arm, Ash tugged at his cravat and handed it to the valet as well. “That will suffice,” Ash said, and Harris took himself into the small dressing chamber.

  Turning toward the hearth, Ash noted that Harris had placed his book of poetry on a table beside a chair. Ash sat and plucked up the book, opening it, but then didn’t read. Instead, he thought of Bee and how wonderful it was to see her again.

  If I allow myself to respond…

  He would not.

  Chapter 2

  Dinner dragged a course too long, but then Bianca often felt that was the case. She never wanted to eat as much as was offered or sit as long as was expected. By the time the ladies removed to the drawing room, she was more than ready for the entertainment to begin.

  More importantly, she was eager to discuss St. Stephen’s Day with Viscount Thornaby. She’d sat beside him at dinner, but every time she’d tried to broach the topic of the St. Stephen’s Day party, he’d waved it off and said they’d discuss it later, then asked her some inane question. Did she paint? Did she like to ride? Did she enjoy the theatre? Was she looking forward to going to London?

  No. Yes. She couldn’t say—because she’d only been to the theatre once. And definitely not.

  Poppy walked with her into the drawing room and went toward a settee.

  “I can’t sit just yet,” Bianca said.

  “Of course not. I forget you are typically wound full of energy after a long meal.” She shook her head, smiling. “How I could forget that is a mystery.”

  Bianca touched her arm gently. “You have a great deal on your mind.”

  Poppy didn’t respond, but her expression was grateful.

  Mrs. Chamberlain and her daughter, who was a couple of years younger than Bianca, approached them. “We’re sorry the duke didn’t come with you,” Mrs. Chamberlain said. “He must be terribly busy now that he’s inherited.”

  She had the terrible part right. “Yes,” Bianca responded. What else could she say? That he’d wanted to come but couldn’t get away? She supposed that would suffice, but he didn’t deserve excuses. Let people think what they wanted.

  “Well, I imagine we’ll see him at the assembly next month and on St. Stephen’s Day after that.” Mrs. Chamberlain looked proudly at her daughter. “I wonder i
f he’ll remember my Marianne.”

  Bianca opened her mouth to tell the poor woman to forget about any hope of snagging Calder, but Poppy spoke first. “I imagine he will. If you’ll excuse us?” She offered a benign smile, then roped her arm through Bianca’s and ushered her away.

  “You can’t think Calder will actually attend the assembly, not with the way he’s been acting.”

  “I don’t, but neither is it our place to say so.” Poppy frowned. “However, perhaps we should mention that the St. Stephen’s Day party will not be happening.”

  “No!” Bianca kept her voice low but urgent. “I said we mustn’t let anyone know.”

  Poppy took her hand. “And I told you that you aren’t going to change his mind. The sooner you accept that the party isn’t happening this year, the better off you will be. In fact, if Calder’s manner doesn’t improve, and honestly, I can’t see it doing so, you should come spend Christmas with us.”

  Oh, that was precisely what Bianca wanted to do—insert herself into her and Gabriel’s household when Poppy was suffocating in despair. “Thank you, but Hartwell is my home, and as such, I should have a say in what is done there, including whether there is a St. Stephen’s Day party or not.”

  Staring at Bianca in disbelief, Poppy said, “You can’t host it without Calder’s permission. How would you even pay for it? And that’s just the beginning. The staff won’t go against him.”

  “But they will want to have the party!” Bianca’s frustration grew even as she knew Poppy was right. She couldn’t hold the party without Calder’s support.

  Bianca wasn’t sure she was still in the mood for entertainment. Naturally, this was when the gentlemen entered the drawing room. Her gaze instantly found Ash, perhaps because of his magnificent red hair. She’d always found it fascinating. Her hair and that of her siblings was dark and still and boring. But Ash’s was light and fire and energy.

  “Lord Buckleigh appears quite different,” Poppy murmured.

  “Does he?” Bianca asked, her gaze still lingering on him.

  “Don’t you remember what he was like? He had trouble with words and he would…twitch.”

  Bianca tried to recall but couldn’t. She shook her head. “That doesn’t sound like the Ash I knew.”

  “It was later, just before he was sent off to school with his cousin,” Poppy said. “Perhaps I was more aware because I am closer to his age. He was also rather small. Looking at him now, you would never know.”

  Had he been? Bianca didn’t remember that either, but then she’d been small, so her perspective was likely different. Whether he’d been small or not, he certainly wasn’t now. He was taller than every other man in the room, with broad shoulders and long, athletic legs.

  He also didn’t have freckles anymore, just bare sculpted cheekbones and a slightly square jaw. His gaze swept the room until it settled on her, and the hint of a smile tugged at the side of his mouth.

  Thornaby moved to the pianoforte in the corner. “My sister will play for those who wish to dance.” He gestured to an open area near the instrument, from which all the furniture had been cleared. Then he walked directly to Bianca. “May I have the pleasure of the first dance?”

  She couldn’t say no, and her mood could use improvement. “Yes, thank you.” She gave him her hand, and they moved to the makeshift dance floor, where they formed a square with another couple.

  As the music started, he said, “About the St. Stephen’s Day party, how strange it will be not to have it this year.”

  Bianca fumbled her steps. “What?”

  “The St. Stephen’s party,” Thornaby repeated, looking at her in slight confusion. “The duke sent me a letter indicating it would not be happening. I presumed that’s what you kept trying to talk about at dinner.”

  So he had been changing the subject on purpose despite the fact that she’d clearly wanted to discuss it. She gritted her teeth. Her mood was not improved. There was also no hope for keeping Calder’s decision quiet until she could change his mind. “I’m surprised he wrote to you. We’ve still been discussing whether to hold it.”

  “Ah, well, I will need to know soon because we make arrangements well in advance.” His family provided food and ale for the celebration, as did a handful of other local families from the gentry.

  “Did you say the St. Stephen’s Day party isn’t happening?” the other young woman in their square asked. She was Miss Keldon, and her partner was Mr. Lamphrey.

  “That is correct,” Thornaby said.

  “It isn’t quite,” Bianca contradicted. “My brother is mulling whether to host it. He’s a trifle overwhelmed by the dukedom, and I just need to convince him we can handle the event.” She offered what she hoped was a serene smile, though her insides were a tumbling riot. Calder would not be pleased if he heard she’d said he was overwhelmed. He would say that once again her mouth had run faster than her brain.

  She met Thornaby in the center of the square, and he touched his hands to hers before they retreated. “He sounded rather firm in his letter,” Thornaby said. “It’s not the end of the world. It’s a massive event to undertake. My father always said he was glad he wasn’t the Duke of Hartwell so he didn’t have to do it!” He laughed, and Lamphrey joined in.

  “Well, my father enjoyed it,” Bianca said tersely. “As did I. And our retainers and tenants. And the entire town.”

  “I liked it too,” Miss Keldon said in solidarity.

  “Alas, all good things must come to an end.” Thornaby’s tone held a superior note. He looked toward Lamphrey. “Who said that?”

  “Shakespeare,” Lamphrey said with confidence.

  “Actually, it originated with Chaucer,” Bianca said with some disgust. She suffered the rest of the dance and quickly made her way back to her sister. Who was talking with Ash.

  He smiled warmly as Bianca approached, and some of her agitation washed away. Not all of it, though. She looked to Poppy. “Calder sent a note to everyone about not hosting the party.”

  Poppy exhaled softly and gave her a look of sympathy. “I suppose that’s that, then.”

  “You can’t think I’ll stop trying?”

  With a light chuckle, Poppy lifted her hands. “I should know better.”

  “What party?” Ash asked, appearing confused.

  “The annual St. Stephen’s Day party,” Poppy answered.

  Ash nodded. “I remember that. Huge affair out at Hartwood. Food, games, revelry regardless of the weather. I missed it when I moved to London. I take it this is the first year it’s not happening?”

  “Like you, our brother inherited his title this year, and he’s decided not to host it.” Bianca furrowed her brow. “I am trying to change his mind. Everyone looks forward to it, and it’s not as if we can’t afford it.”

  Poppy’s brows arched as she cast a look at Bianca that seemed to ask, Are you certain of that?

  Of course she was certain. Before their father had died, he’d told Bianca of her large settlement, which would be her dowry. Unless she didn’t wed. Then it would become hers on her twenty-fifth birthday. She doubted she would have such a substantial sum if the dukedom was not in excellent financial order.

  “If anyone can change his mind, I’m certain it’s you,” Ash said encouragingly. He glanced toward the dance floor. “We’ve missed this dance, but may I request the honor of partnering you in the next one?”

  Again, she couldn’t really say no without appearing rude, but she didn’t want to be trapped in a square with Thornaby or stand next to him in line. “Actually, would you mind taking a promenade instead? I don’t think I have the stomach for another dance.”

  His gaze flickered with surprise and seemed to hesitate before he answered. “Certainly.” He offered her his arm and looked toward Poppy who inclined her head.

  Bianca placed her hand on his arm, and they started to circuit the drawing room. “This won’t be a very long promenade. We’ll have to make two circuits.”

  “At
least.”

  She responded to the humor in his voice with a grin. “How lovely it is to have you back. Did you ever imagine you would be the earl?”

  He shook his head. “I suppose I should have after my uncle died a couple of years ago, but I assumed Lyndon would wed and have sons, and that would be that.”

  “He called on me early last spring.” Bianca recalled Lyndon’s attempts to charm her, but she’d been too wrapped up in caring for her father to pay close attention. In fact, she’d asked him not to call again. “I think he hoped to make a match.”

  “And failed miserably, apparently.”

  “It wasn’t his fault. My father was ill. It wasn’t a good time.” Oh dear, that sounded as if Lyndon’s suit might have been appreciated, and she was fairly certain she would have put him off regardless of what was going on in her life.

  He shot her a look of apology. “My condolences. I always liked your father.”

  “Thank you. Goodness, he and your cousin died within a month of each other.”

  “Did they?” Ash cocked his head to the side. “I think you’re right. It’s good you didn’t wed my cousin—a double tragedy would have been horrible.”

  “There was no danger of that, even if my father had been well. I don’t think your cousin and I would have suited. Actually, I’m not sure marriage is for me.”

  He laughed, surprising her. “You swore never to marry.”

  She laughed too. “You remember that?”

  His gaze met hers. “I remember many things.”

  An unfamiliar heat bloomed in her chest and spread. She turned her head from his. “That’s one circuit.”

  “It is indeed. I should warn you that Thornaby has his sights set on courting you. He means to make himself known at this party, if I’m not mistaken.”

  She didn’t stop herself before pulling a face. “I hope you’re wrong.”

  “I don’t think I am.”

  She thought of her dance with Thornaby and sighed with disgust. “No, I don’t think you are either.” She cast him a sidelong glance. “What did he say?”