Free The Spinster and the Earl by Beverly Adam Page B

heels a bit. The gossipmongers have it that you came directly here upon learning of your uncle’s passing. By now, a young buck like yourself must be after wishing to be back in London with the ton.”
    The earl shook his head in negation. “Far from it, sir. ’Tis doubtful I shall ever return to my former home or life. No doubt the moneylenders have long ago confiscated what few possessions I owned,” he openly admitted.
    “When I bought my stripes, I’d been running neck-high for some time in dun territory from gambling debts and living beyond my meager means. I behaved like a complete make-bait.” As way of explanation he added, “I am the youngest of three sons. ’Twas very decent of his majesty’s service to see to it I did not scorch myself any further into Newgate Prison. When I joined up, those money lending sharks no longer could pursue me. I was under his majesty’s protection. While in the army, I reformed, learning how to handle responsibility, becoming the wiser man you see today.”
    “But what of your family? Surely they’d welcome you with open arms now that you’re an earl?”
    “Miracles have been known to occur,” said James with an unemotional shrug.
    “Mayhap you’re thinking of returning to that fine regiment of yours? I hear from your man Davis that ye were a Jim-dandy fighter.” The old lord winked, taking a puff from his clay pipe.
    The younger lord smiled at the compliment, his eyes falling upon Beatrice’s dark, shiny head. She pretended to be absorbed in her book, feeling his eyes observing her, carefully hiding her own interest. She knew so little about him. She listened intently to their conversation.
    “My decision depends on a sundry of variables, Lord O’Brien. None of which exclude my choosing to make my permanent residence the family’s ancestral castle here in Urlingford. Living there does, I must admit, have certain advantages. One, of course, having such charming neighbors such as yourselves nearby.”
    She looked up, startled. Charming? No one had ever used that term in connection with them before. She’d heard gentlemen say several flowery and exaggerated compliments to her. This, however, was the first she’d heard anyone consider using more personal terms than one would use with, say, a well-trained pet.
    Her eyes met his. Unbidden, her cheeks flamed. It’d been two days since she’d felt his arms around her waist when she’d asked him to kiss her. The embrace was not one she could forget. It burned in her thoughts, reminding her how she had completely forgotten herself in that moment. If she was not careful, she’d soon find herself doing more than just looking at this appealing gentleman . . . she would find herself back in his bed. No, that would not do at all, not unless she wished to give up her independence and wealth to a man.
    Observing his daughter’s flushed expression, Lord Patrick helped himself to the port decanter. He turned to Beatrice and said, “Daughter, would ye be so kind, darlin’, as to fetch m’wrap? I feel a chill creeping up my back.”
    “Aye, Da,” she answered, forcing herself to move towards the door, reluctant to miss the conversation between the two. She sensed her sly fox of a father was up to something. He usually never played the part of a feeble old man afraid of catching a sudden chill. There’d been many a day when she’d seen him wander about on horseback with nothing on but a thin, frilled shirt. Now what the devil was he about?
    Lord Patrick called out after her as she prepared to reluctantly leave the room. “And be a good lass and close the doors behind you. There’s a fierce draft coming from the main hall.”
    She nodded, but sensing something was afoot left it open a crack. She fully intended to listen at the door.
    The old lord set aside his drink. “Now, you were saying that you might stay on. May I ask what it would take to entice ye to stay, Your Grace?’’
    James, the Earl of Drennan, ex-captain