Free Teaching the Earl by Amelia Hart Page B

close, though marred by being bloodshot and so exhausted. She reached out and laid an impulsive hand on his cheek, and for a moment felt the rasp of stubble and hot skin drawn tight over a hard jaw. Then he recaptured her hand and put it back in her lap, and stood to return to his chair. He moved well, long-limbed and fluid. In truth she could not imagine him as a younger, poorer cousin. He seemed everything an earl should be.
    Settled, and once more distant, he shrugged. "Everything has its price. This estate need only be earned. It will take time, and labor, and the portion you have bestowed, but it will flourish."
    When he said it in such a way, she could not doubt him. "I wish you'd let me play some part. I am not as useless as you suppose. I have not been raised to run an estate, but I am capable of learning. I'm not stupid."
    He raised a hand to rub the bridge of his nose. Was he tired of her nagging already? "No. No, of course you are not stupid. I never meant to say you are. Only under-educated for what must be done here. As is to be expected of a city-bred girl from a prosperous family. But if you are not satisfied to be idle then make friends among the local gentry. I don't know them well, but I think they will welcome you and - finding you to be genteel and well-spoken - be delighted to occupy your time with local entertainments."
    "You think I am well-spoken?" A flush of heat ran up under her skin at such praise. He said she was genteel too, though she should not remark upon that as if surprised that Mama and Mrs Gardiner's teachings had fulfilled their promise. Well-spoken and genteel. She squirmed with pleasure.
    "Of course," he said, as if surprised.
    "I think you are very kind, and charming also." She smiled at him, and looked at him from under her lashes.
    He shifted in his seat. "I don't wish to keep you from your bed. I'm sure this has been a very tiring day for you."
    Was this the moment? In an instant she stiffened as fear clutched bony talons around her ribs and squeezed. "Do you-Shall I-that is, shall I take off my-" She stood and tugged the cord of her sash free, determined to face her fright and find out the worst of it.
    His eyes widened, and she was sure that was consternation on his face. She froze. What had she done wrong?
    He was already at her side, turning her, his hands firm on her waist. Even as she looked up at him, trying to understand, he shuffled her to the door she had come in by. "You must sleep," he commanded. "This is not the appropriate time. There is too much-" She was in her own room, cold and poorly lit, her fingers tangled in the front of her nightgown. "Good night," he said, and the door closed with a sharp bang.
    Seconds later the doorknob was released and snapped back into place, as if he had stood and held it from the other side to be sure she would not burst through on him.
    Dangerous, feral, wanton creature he must think her.
    Her breath came in quick huffs, and her eyes watered. What had she done? Had she been too forward? Had she given him a disgust of her? Mama had said they would go to bed together. She must have misunderstood. But surely it was all supposed to take place on a 'wedding night,' or else why the significance of the term?
    He said it was inappropriate. He was not pleased with her.
    A tear ran down her cheek, and her nose started to drip. Where had Mary put her handkerchiefs? In the top drawer of the dressing table? No. Nor in her portmanteau. She went to the wardrobe to search there and as she opened the door she was engulfed by familiar fragrance.
    She sank down before the ranks of hanging dresses, their gauzy shimmer lost in the dimness but the scent of them alive all around her. The smell of home, of love, of warmth and welcome and delight. Of rooms full of laughter and squabbles, where she ruled as eldest sister, where she knew exactly how to be, and what to do. Her hand clutched a wad of muslin and - careful not to mar it with her wet cheek, she drew in