Free The Earl's Mistress by Liz Carlyle Page B

can indulge my less civilized habits away from public scrutiny.”
    “Like dressing fieldstone whilst half-naked?”
    His mouth twitched again. “Amongst other things.”
    “It seems an odd occupation for a gentleman,” she said.
    He looked at her very directly and did not smile. “Tomorrow, my dear, perhaps you might like to watch me split firewood?” he suggested. “I assure you, I have near-inexhaustable stamina.”
    Isabella felt that curious, swamping sensation in the pit of her stomach again. She looked away, refusing to hold his gaze.
    But the house’s seclusion was, in fact, perfect for Isabella’s purpose. She let her eyes roam about the room, which, like the other two rooms she’d passed through, was elegantly and comfortably furnished.
    Had she not wished for exactly this? To be kept in a pretty, private house away from London? So why, then, did the isolation leave her uneasy?
    Because there was not enough brandy in all England, she feared, to make her entirely comfortable with the Earl of Hepplewood. And yet she had the oddest feeling he did not mind her unease; that he took an almost perverse satisfaction from it.
    “This is the perfect sort of place a man might hide his mistress,” she said, almost to herself.
    “I have done, yes.”
    At last, she looked at him. “Mrs. Litner says you are very hard to please.”
    “Without question.” Again, Hepplewood’s voice dropped to a darker tone. “But I’m quite confident, my dear, that you can be taught to please me.”
    “Taught?” Isabella blinked. “I am not witless, Lord Hepplewood. I understand what sex is.”
    “Oh, I very much doubt, my dear, that you do.” Calmly, he picked up his brandy and sipped. “Tell me, Isabella, how many lovers have you had?”
    She felt her face warm. “I—I was married, ” she said a little defensively.
    He laughed. “Dear God!” he said. “ One ? And then you took to the nunnery, did you?”
    “I became a governess, yes, if that’s what you mean.”
    “And planned to live forevermore without sensual pleasure?” He was studying her across his glass. “Then it was a poor excuse for a marriage, my dear.”
    Isabella felt faintly awkward. “I don’t know what you’re suggesting.”
    He smiled without humor again. “I’m quite sure that you don’t,” he said. “Tell me, Isabella: Are you going to remain here with me and uphold your end of this devil’s bargain? Or do you mean to turn tail and run back to London like the sexual coward you’ve thus far been?”
    “I’ve never heard virtue called cowardice before,” she retorted.
    He shrugged, sipped again, then set the brandy aside. “I asked Mrs. Litner for an introduction to a particular sort of female,” he said, “a service she has provided me for some years, with sadly declining success. But with you, Isabella—oh, with you, the good lady may have just redeemed herself for all time. Or she may have just suffered her last failure.”
    “And you suffer from a vast deal of presumption,” said Isabella.
    “No doubt,” he said, “but tell me, my dear: If I ordered you right now to kneel between my legs, unbutton my trousers, and fellate me, would you?”
    She did blush then, heat rushing to her face.
    Hepplewood set his head to one side, eyes glittering wickedly in the firelight. “Is that a no , Isabella?” he softly pressed, “—or do you simply not know what I’m asking?”
    She clasped her hands in her lap. “I do not know,” she confessed.
    Hepplewood scrubbed a hand around the dark stubble of his beard. “I’m not surprised,” he said, “but perhaps naiveté will prove diverting. Yes, my dear, I think you’ll suit. But you must decide if you wish to stay—and before you refuse, explain, if you will, why you approached Mrs. Litner in the first place?”
    She felt her body stiffen. “Because I decided you were right,” she said bitterly. “There, does that please you? You were right. No one is willing to hire me for