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

earl’s strong arms.
    God in heaven.
    Her heart leaped at his touch, at the warm enclosure provided by his limbs. Her pulse thrummed, her blood roaring in her ears as she sought to right herself and reclaim a small measure of her dignity.
    “Lady Henrietta? Is there something…amiss?”
    She flushed and gripped the tea cup with increased ferocity. “Shall we start then?” She slid out of the earl’s grasp and lowered herself to lift the small candle at his feet. “This path leads us straight to the kitchen—or rather a door with access to the kitchens.”
He quirked a brow. “And you visit the kitchens often?”
    “Not so much the kitchens as the garden. The door simply provides me easy accessibility…when I-I-I wish to escape the notice of the other guests.” And her mother’s prodding. “Should you ever wish to find me, you will most likely find me here,” she continued.
    “Tending to the garden?”
    Yes. But she could not very well admit to dirtying her hands. She would appear even more undistinguished than her stuttering afforded.
“Reading. And enjoying the solitude.” Henrietta smiled. A partial truth, of course, but better than appearing too provincial and unworthy of filling the role of his countess.
    “Reading.”
    Henrietta winced. She had slipped up. Again.
    “Novels. You know, silly things, and only when I-I-I am b-b-bored.” Her tongue was heavy, not at all suitable for forming words.
    “Some of my favorite books are silly novels.”
    Henrietta blinked. “You read novels, my lord?”
    “And poetry, gossip columns, and anything else that strikes my fancy, though I must confess, the novels are my favorite. It is within their pages of fantasy, in their words of mayhem, that I am allowed, for however brief a moment, a reprieve.”
    “A reprieve from what?”
    “Life itself.” He was quiet for a moment and then added, “And the rumors.”
    Of course he knew of the rumors. She had been foolish to believe otherwise.
    She tilted her head, allowing a quick glance at his profile. His jaw was clenched and his eye, for a brief moment, closed.
    “Your discomfort…does it occur after a long bout of reading?”
    He peered down at her, his forehead furrowed. “On occasion. Why do you ask?”
    “I-I-I wonder if you are overtaxing your eye. An excessive amount of reading may be placing too much strain—”
    “My pain results from a sordid act of betrayal, crippling heartache, and an overwhelming fear that should I somehow be able to procure a wife, she will not bear me sons and my blackguard of a brother will inherit Plumburn. I can assure you that reading is the least taxing and the most rewarding of my pursuits.”
    Her breath caught. She could not open her mouth and speak even if she had wished it.
    “Forgive me,” he said, gruffly. “I did not mean to burden you with my personal woes.”
    “No, it is—”
    “Irrelevant. This tea you make, will you be partaking of its effects this evening?”
    “Well, I-I-I,” Henrietta floundered for words. “I, yes?”
    “Yes, you will?”
    “No, I mean, well, that I-I-I—” She paused, her skirt catching on a stone. She lifted the edge and noticed the stalks of lavender beside the path gently swaying in the slight breeze. Henrietta pinched off a stem and lifted the fragrant flowers to her nose.
    With a deep inhale, she focused on the muscles of her mouth, allowing the soothing scent to help center her thoughts and relax her nerves. “I make many different blends, my lord. Each one is unique, prepared to soothe a specific ailment or ease a particular discomfort. Yours is meant to hasten rest.”
    “And your blend? Does it do something different?” His gaze fell on her stem, his dark brow lifting in polite inquiry.
    “Yes.”
    “And what is that?” he asked.
    “Clarity of mind.”
    The earl offered her a small smile. “Then let us drink, Lady Henrietta. To each other’s health.”
    And to the tea’s effectiveness. Heaven knew she was