Good Earl Hunting Page 3

  And then there was Theodora Meacham. Yes, her parents had pushed her into his path, but that had clearly been done with the idea that she would mention her more charming sister, and he would be caught. Certainly he'd never met a chit less accomplished at flirting or seduction. And yet... And yet.

  She was definitely pretty, with her coal black hair and slender, petite figure, even if those direct green eyes were more striking than seductive. And she gave at least as good as she got. For damned certain she kept him on his toes both on and off the dance floor, which in and of itself made her the most interesting young lady he'd met all Season. It was only a shame he hadn't been looking for her at the time they'd met. If he'd been nicer, if he hadn't dismissed her as simply another of the herd before he'd spoken a word to her, any pursuit would undoubtedly have been much simpler.

  As he turned the corner of the stable, he straightened and slowed his undignified scuttle. She stood leaning against the wall, her arms crossed and her chin up. A wave of warmth passed beneath his skin. There was something to be said for the pursuit. And she was no fox, outnumbered and running for her life. She'd clearly come to fight. Geoffrey felt his mouth curve in a slow smile he couldn’t have stopped if his life depended on it.

  "You accepted my challenge," he said aloud, resuming his approach.

  Theodora started. "I admit to a certain curiosity," she conceded with clear reluctance as she straightened, "as to your motives and intentions. Please know, however, that I am not some silly little lamb you can tease until someone more interesting catches your eye. I am twenty years old, my lord, and men do not walk up and announce that they find me interesting. Not when they’ve been invited to court my sister. And not after I call them names and step on their toes.”

  "No, you’re not a silly lamb,” he returned, ignoring the rest of her protest. “From what I’ve seen, you’re a lioness."

  She liked that; he could see the swift upturn of her lips, swiftly flattened back into a firm line. "And which animal are you then, sir?"

  If he said he was a lion she would only comment that at least he had quite a roar. Geoffrey tilted his head. "I'm a man."

  Her pretty green eyes briefly widened, in appreciation he hoped. "You began the game, and now you refuse to play?" she countered.

  "No. I named the animal you play, so you must name me." There. Let her decide where the game would begin.

  For a long moment she contemplated him. "A wolf, perhaps," she finally mused, "away from his pack and on the lookout for easy prey."

  "If that were so, a lioness would have little trouble trouncing me."

  "True enough. You do seem a bit more formidable than that."

  Ah, was that a compliment? He didn't dare say that aloud, or she might kick him. Instead he remained where he was, close enough to touch without doing so. He wanted to kiss her, he realized, his gaze on her thoughtfully-pursed mouth. Slowly he took a half step closer. He risked a swift glance at the yard beyond her. A lone groom exercised a horse in the paddock, but aside from that they seemed to be quite alone. Good. That had become a rare thing for him. Even with his additional efforts at privacy he had no idea how long it would be before one of the hounds discovered the fox – or wolf, according to her – out of his den.

  "Then we're in agreement that I'm a man?" he pursued, just resisting the urge to brush a finger along her cheek. He generally wasn't so sentimental, but he knew his interest had nothing to do with her father sponsoring a fox hunt on behalf of her reputedly irresistible older sister. Those things had merely given him the excuse to come visiting. For a fleeting moment he wondered what he would have done if there had been no fox hunt and no sister to supposedly lure him into Devonshire.

  "I will agree with that,” she finally said. “And even though you haven't yet convinced me whether you are a good man or a bad man, I will concede that you might perhaps be less...disagreeable than I first thought."

  "You damn me with faint praise, my dear," he returned, offering her a grin.

  She blinked. "You quote Alexander Pope, my lord?"

  "When the phrase fits. I've also been known to take a tilt or two at Shakespeare after a glass of whiskey." Geoffrey edged closer still, under the guise of examining the stable wall for...nails or something. "At the Carmichael soiree I had chits being catapulted at me, and I responded badly. I hope it hasn't cost me the chance to make the acquaintance and friendship of the one interesting woman in attendance. And no, I’m not talking about your sister.”

  For a long moment Theodora Meacham gazed at him, her green eyes direct and serious. "I still can’t decide if you’re playing with me.”

  "I am not playing with you, Miss Meacham. I give you my word.”

  She took a step forward, wrapping her hand around his arm. Her fingers shook a little where they rested on his brown sleeve. "Then I think we should go for a walk, my lord."

  Chapter Four

  THEODORA DIDN’T KNOW whether to call it irony or simply an amusing happenstance that a lone fox trotted across the walking path the moment she and Lord Vashton passed the end of the hedgerow. Or she supposed it might even have been a warning; evidently the earl was hunting more than foxes in Devonshire this autumn.

  She studied his profile all over again, reassessing what she’d thought were her definitive opinions of the man. Arrogant or not, he was indeed handsome, with dark hair that brushed his collar, midday blue eyes, and a mouth that when relaxed was pleasant, and when it curved was...breathtaking. Her argument, however, had never been with his appearance, with his tall frame or broad shoulders or long, elegant fingers.

  “Why are you staring at my ear?” he asked, his gaze following the fox into the woods at the edge of the pathway.

  “I was wondering if you meant to charge after the poor fox,” she improvised. However...unbelievable his interest in her seemed to be, she would never discover anything if she couldn’t move beyond his statement. Yes, she could be suspicious, but this conversation was indeed happening.

  “Not on foot.” He cleared his throat. “And might I suggest that we speak the truth? We’ve evidently already suffered through several misunderstandings.”

  Well. She couldn’t precisely argue with that. Of all the things she’d thought about him, about his arrogance or his handsome looks, the idea that he might actually be interesting had never occurred to her. Had she been too annoyed, or too embarrassed at being sent out as the Meacham family ambassador, to notice? “Then I’m studying you, I suppose,” Theodora admitted.

  “For what purpose?” This time dark blue eyes briefly met hers before he looked away again.

  To comprehend why you claim to prefer me to Belle, she thought to herself, but she’d already played that tune and hadn’t received a satisfactory answer. “How many women have been catapulted in your direction over the past year?” she asked instead. Clearly she needed to decipher him before anything else could make sense.

  “I lost count. A great many, and everywhere between the ages of fourteen and sixty.”

  Theodora wrinkled her nose. “Sixty?”

  He nodded. “I won’t give you the lady’s name, but she assured me that she had learned all the secrets of the bed chamber and that while she could not give me an heir, she could give me endless nights of passion.”

  Theodora snorted. “It was Lady Eloisa Hinstead, wasn’t it?”

  His lips twitched. “And how did you come to that conclusion?”

  “She is quite adamant about wearing the most scandalous gowns, and I’ve heard her say several times that she has remained unmarried because she has never met a man wealthy enough to tempt her. And you are quite wealthy.”

  “So I am. And while I certainly have nothing against endless nights of passion, I do require a wife who can bear me an heir, and I would prefer a lady with whom I share both a similar number of decades and an interesting conversation.”

  “Then you’ve come here looking for interesting conversation and child-bearing hips.”

  Lord
Vashton laughed, then stopped to face her. “I’ve come here to see if the spark I noticed in your eyes two months ago was simple anger, or something more.”

  “What if it was only reflected candleligh–“

  He cupped her right cheek with his left hand, leaned down, and touched his mouth to hers. Theodora stopped breathing at the slow, gentle brush, at the warmth of his breath against her cheek. As he slowly pulled away she found herself leaning forward, and just barely caught herself before she could topple over. Oh, my.

  “And so I would like us to have a genuine conversation,” he continued, his gaze still on her mouth, “without either of us digging for chinks in the other’s armor or questioning the rules of attraction.”

  “But I have to question them, because–“

  ”If someone told you that you must prefer a chicken because it came before the egg – or vice versa – would you? For that reason only?”

  “That still makes you the fox in this equation, you realize,” she said dryly, then squared her shoulders. “It’s a stupid argument.”

  “My point exactly.” A smile touched his mouth, and for a moment she couldn’t even remember what they were talking about.

  “But the chicken’s feelings will be hurt,” she finally managed, determined not to be carried off somewhere with her head in the clouds. “And the chicken is important to me.”

  “I refuse to stay away from poultry simply because the egg won’t accept that it is at least as significant to this fox as any chicken might be.” The earl made a face. “Perhaps we should stop with the analogies.”

  Theodora nodded. “Definitely, my lord. I’m not terribly excited by the notion of being either chicken or egg.”

  “In the analogy,” he pressed, looking at her intently. “Not in actuality.”

  And there it was, that unsettling, breath-speeding expression deep in his blue eyes that made her feel...naughty and pretty and desirable all at the same time. Was that look truly just for her? “Not in actuality,” she repeated.

  “Good. And call me Geoffrey.” Visibly shaking himself, the earl took her hand and placed it back over his arm as they continued along the path once more. “Now. About me. Until two years ago I had no prospects of being anything more a marquis’s son and an earl’s younger brother.”

  For a moment she considered. If she continued with her suspicions and criticisms he might admire her wit, but they would never be friends – much less this other thing that made her nerves shiver and her heart pound. She thought she’d utterly failed at turning this man’s attention to Belle, and yet evidently she’d done a great deal more than that.

  Was it hope or stupidity if she decided to accept that he was sincere? Would she be setting herself up for embarrassment or heartbreak if she let her guard down? Or was it more that she was affirming her own cowardice if she turned her back and returned to the house? After all, she’d just experienced her first kiss, and mostly what she wanted was to have another. From Geoffrey Kerick, Lord Vashton.

  And Annabel... No one had guaranteed that her older sister would marry anyone. No one had shaken hands or written their names on a piece of paper. For heaven’s sake, the only supposed connection between Belle and Geoffrey was that they’d danced a few times and that Geoffrey had come to Devonshire for a fox hunt. She blew out her breath.

  “Did I come out well in that mental argument?” the earl asked, his fingers warm and firm around hers.

  “This is nothing I expected,” Theodora returned. “I’m...I’m beyond surprised. And I’ve never been in this situation before, so I have no idea what I’m supposed to say or do.”

  “Say you at least accept that I am after you, Theodora. And say that hearing that excites you.”

  Oh, it did that. “Of course it’s exciting to have a handsome man express interest,” she retorted. “But all I know about you is that you’re an earl due to inherit a marquisdom, that you never expected to be in these circumstances, and that you enjoy fox hunting. And I daresay you don’t know anything about me, either.”

  “I know you don’t like nonsense, but you have a sense of humor,” he returned. “I know you’ll converse with people you feel nervous around for the sake of your family. I know you’ve likely been...not ignored, but set aside, I suppose, until your parents see Annabel married. I know you’ve been called a bluestocking, which I assume means that you’re intelligent and well read.”

  She looked up at him. This was all beginning to seem very, very real. And even more exciting because of it. “You have been looking into things, haven’t you?”

  “Once I realized that no young lady I’ve met gave me a sleepless night until you, I had to know who you are, Theodora.” he gazed at her from beneath dark lashes. “Theodora. That does suit you, you know. Exotic and unusual.”

  She liked the way he said her name. “I wonder sometimes if we’re named to suit our character, or if we alter our character to suit our name.”

  “Either way, then, I should fear a fellow named Brutus.”

  Theodora laughed again, belatedly remembering that she was to remain at least a little suspicious of him, however remarkable this day was turning out to be. She’d never lost her head over a man, and now that one was actually looking at her, she wasn’t about to do so. Still, he made a good point. “Definitely,” she agreed aloud.

  For a long moment he gazed at her, then faced down the path again. “So tell me, Theodora, when your parents decided to...nudge Annabel in my direction, what did you think? That I was a poor choice?”

  Oh, he didn’t want to hear that. “When did you decide you needed to marry?” she countered.

  “I asked you a question first. And we’re being honest and forthright, if you’ll recall.” He took a slow breath. “I do know the tradition, that as my father’s heir I’m supposed to marry for prestige and money. But until two years ago I had thought to be able to marry...whomever I wished. Someone whose conversation I enjoyed, someone who cared for me more than for becoming the future Marchioness of Haithe.”

  She’d never considered that. And she knew that Belle had spent part of the last week introducing her reflection as Annabel, the Marchioness of Haithe. Oh, dear. “And did you have someone in mind two years ago?”

  Geoffrey shook his head, a handsome, rueful smile touching his mouth. “That was the other thing; I had no pressing need to settle down. It was my brother’s children who would be his heirs. My offspring would only be nephews and nieces to the future marquis, if I chose to wed at all.”

  For a moment Theodora walked beside him in silence. “I’m sorry you lost your brother,” she finally said.

  “Thank you. So am I; he was a good man and my dearest friend.” Grimacing, he sent her a sideways glance. “Clever chit. I ask you a question, and suddenly I’m regaling you with my tale of woe. I know you weren’t pleased to be dancing with me at the Carmichael soiree, no matter what your intentions in doing so. Why?”

  “Haven’t you conversed with me?” she retorted. “I’ve been through three governesses and two finishing schools, learning all about the ways to flutter my eyelashes and chat fetchingly about the dullest topics imaginable. None of it made any difference. I simply don’t show well with people I don’t know. I never know what to say and so I’ll mention something about a book or some debate in Parliament, and the next thing I know I’ve been called a bluestocking or a suffragist.”

  A muscle in his jaw jumped. “I had no idea you were such a nonconformist. Next you’ll tell me you like Americans.”

  The most surprising thing about this conversation, Theodora decided, was the frequency with which Geoffrey Kerick made her grin. “I like their coffee. Does that count?”

  “If that’s the criteria, I suppose I like the Yankees, as well.” He turned to look at her again. “You see, something else we have in common.”

  Theodora nearly asked what all the other somethings might be, but the birds were singing, the nip of autumn afternoons touched the air, and a very handsome m
an seemed to be working quite hard to endear himself to her. And while gentlemen had gone out of their way to be nice to her before, they had all needed something – either her family’s money or a closer association with a respected title, or more likely, an avenue of introduction to Belle. Just what it was that Geoffrey Kerick wanted seemed a much more...complex puzzle.

  “They say you served under Wellington,” she offered, because she felt more easy discussing him than herself.

  “I did. My father attempted to insure that his two daft offspring stayed far from battle, so mainly I galloped about seeing to it that the duke’s orders went where they were supposed to.”

  From the abruptly somber expression that crossed his lean face he’d done more than he claimed, but she liked that he didn’t boast about it. If some tales she’d heard from returning soldiers were to be believed, Bonaparte would have surrendered and never attempted an escape from Elba, if he’d even dared a revolution in the first place. “But your brother was killed in Spain, was he not?”

  With a nod he stooped to pick up a stone and skip is across the narrow stream. “French hussars ambushed the supply wagons he was leading. Tim was killed protecting flour and pigs.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she returned, though she’d said it before. “I daresay he knew the supplies’ importance to both sides, whether the duty sounded glamorous or not.”

  For a long moment he walked beside her in silence, and she worried that she’d once again said the wrong thing. Should she have stated that the former earl had no doubt fought gallantly? Or that the late Timothy Kerick deserved a more heroic death? But of course she’d spoken before she’d considered the most politic response. Theodora opened her mouth to interject a...wiser comment, but it seemed far too late for that. And the oddest thing of all was that she felt disappointed that her own stupid mouth had ruined something just when it was becoming interesting.