Free The Earl's New Bride (Entangled Scandalous) by Frances Fowlkes Page A

guide him around the estate now in his possession.
    As if he would seriously consider proposing to a stuttering, learned girl who clearly did not know her place.
    Simple men want simple women, Sarah had warned her. Only the earl wasn’t simple. He was the farthest thing from it, an enigma from beginning to end, continually disproving the accusations spouted from the pages of London’s most infamous rags. The Black Earl was long thought to be a heartless cad, a cruel, ill-tempered man—and the very opposite of the one she had left standing alone in the garden.
    Was it possible she had misjudged him?
    Or worse, had she misjudged her intentions toward him? Did she not intend to betray him for Plumburn and its possessions?
    Her head throbbed, the culmination of a long evening spent listening to whispered speculations over the earl’s past, along with her mother’s incessant reminders in etiquette. Henrietta wanted nothing more than to drink one of her blends and slip into bed.
    She took another step and sighed. In her humiliation, she had forgotten the blasted tea cup. Her favorite cup. The one her father had so often enjoyed using. She had to retrieve it. She spun around and hurried back down the path to where the earl still stood, his left hand pressed to his left temple.
    “Lady Henrietta?”
    Surprise and pain were evident on his weary face. She did not need the candle to see his anguish. He needed rest. Some assistance. And perhaps another cup of tea.
    Taking a deep breath, she bolstered what remained of her courage and asked in her most confident voice, “Our stroll. Why wait until tomorrow? Why not do it now, my lord? You can walk me to the kitchens on the other side of the garden, where we can retrieve another cup for your ache, and kill two birds with one stone.”
    “You wish to walk with me? Alone? At night?” he asked dubiously.
    His concern was valid. She was alone. Without a chaperone. With the Black Earl .
    She should be afraid—or at the very least, nervous, and cautious.
    But the only emotion thrumming through her veins was excitement at the sudden opportunity offered—time alone with the earl, without Miss Saxton and her perfect elocution, or Lord Satterfield staring at her with disturbing interest. This was an opportunity to compare the earl’s character against the gossip—and question why her blood raced at the mere mention of his name. Henrietta took the cup from his hand, her cool fingers brushing against his warm ones, the accidental and simple touch sending a tingle up her palm and into her arm. “I-I-I would like to walk with you. That is…if you would have me.”
    He blinked, seeming astonished. “Of course. I would be honored. My only concern is your lack of chaperone.”
    “My sisters know where I-I-I am and with whom I-I-I had intended to meet.”
    “Do they?” He stepped toward her, sending her heart into a near fit of palpitation. “And they have no compunction sending their sister into the dark gardens with the Black Earl ?”
    She shook her head. “No. Especially when he is ill.”
    “I am not ill.” He winced, and Henrietta rolled her eyes.
    “And I-I-I am not convinced. The kitchen is but a short stroll away. We can admire the quiet of the garden while denying blatant truths, or we can seek the relief waiting in the kitchens, whilst enjoying each other’s company. Your choice.”
    The corner of his mouth lifted, and he gave a small bow. “The kitchens await.”
    Warmth spread through her. She turned away, lest he see her rebellious lips and the smile that threatened to stretch them thin.
    He came beside her, smelling of sage and leather. She had sage in the garden and admittedly, not far from where they stood, but this scent was far stronger than any stirred by an errant breeze.
    Perhaps his soap was infused with the herb. She leaned toward him in as subtle fashion as she could contrive. Which, of course, was not subtle at all.
    She stumbled to the side…and into the