Taking the Earl (Heiress Games Book 3) Read online

  The shadows in her eyes deepened. But her hand was steady, hanging in the air between them. “We’re not going to let you lose. And anyway, my secrets are mine to keep or give away. Walk with me?”

  He couldn’t say no without telling her why. And he couldn’t say no without admitting, to himself and to her, that there was no future for them.

  So he gave her his arm. They walked, mostly silent, through the grand formal gardens behind Maidenstone. When they reached the farthest corner ten minutes later, she opened a gate in an ivy-covered wall. A field stretched out before them. A small, well-worn footpath led toward a cluster of cottages in the distance.

  It was all too bucolic, too perfect. Bees hummed in the field. Birds sang from their perches on the wall. Lucy carefully shut the gate. “It’s not too much farther,” she said.

  They headed away from the woods, away from Salcombe. He and Titus had ridden in this vicinity before. There were no ancient monuments here — only cottages and fields, where the bulk of Maidenstone’s agricultural activity took place.

  “I take it you’re not showing me more jewels?” he asked, attempting a joke to lighten the mood.

  She laughed. “No. Something more precious than that.”

  He couldn’t see her eyes since her bonnet obscured the side of her face, but under her levity, he could tell how serious she was. He tried to guess what she wanted to show him. Some hidden Briarley treasure? Some evidence that she wasn’t what she said she was? She’d finally acknowledged that she had a secret — but what could it be?

  They walked for another five minutes, single file down the narrow footpath, with Lucy leading the way. She didn’t sway her hips the way she did when she was trying to distract him — whatever she was about to show him had commanded all her attention.

  When the footpath finally emerged from the field, Lucy stopped abruptly. She turned to face him. He realized that she was under more strain than he had guessed. “Promise me that if you have questions, you won’t ask until we walk back to Maidenstone.”

  “I promise,” he said. “Why are you worried?”

  She took a deep breath, looking so pale that he wondered if she was going to cast up her accounts on his boots. “I’ve never told anyone before. Other than Grandfather and Emma and the servants, of course.”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” he said quickly.

  “I do,” she said, her intentions firm despite her thready voice. “I can’t expect you to tell me the truth if I won’t give you the same courtesy.”

  She turned away before he could stop her. She strode the final fifteen yards to the first cottage — a small, trim house with cheerful curtains in the windows. There was real glass, a well-kept yard, and fresh paint. Whoever lived there was more prosperous than the average farmer.

  She opened the door without knocking. Max was still several yards behind her, but he heard the squeal of a child’s voice. Lucy was popular with her tenants. She probably had candy in her pocket for the children….

  She stooped, picking the child up — the child who had run to the doorway to greet her. The girl wasn’t shy with Lucy — she laughed as Lucy kissed the side of her neck. “I think I’ll eat you up,” Lucy said, kissing the girl again.

  “Don’t eat me!” the child shrieked, in a voice that said this was a game they’d played before. She shook her head violently, her hair flying — hair the color of caramel, with the same curls that Lucy currently hid beneath her bonnet.

  The same curls….

  Lucy brushed the hair out of the girl’s eyes. The tenderness in the gesture, the simple pleasure she took in the moment, told Max everything.

  It hit him like a punch to the jaw. Lucy turned, still holding the girl — a girl who looked like her. A girl who looked like the children who would visit his dreams someday — the children Lucy and Max might have had, in a different life.

  “New footman, Mama?” the girl asked.

  Lucy laughed, but it sounded strained. “No, Julia. This is Mr. Vale. Will you show him how pretty your curtsey is?”

  She set the girl down. The child dipped, wobbling a little as she tried to manage both her feet and her pinafore. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vale,” she said gravely, holding out her hand.

  He couldn’t breathe.

  The little girl wiggled her fingers. “Mama says you kiss my hand,” she said imperiously.

  He knelt down in front of her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Miss Julia.”

  He kissed her hand, but Julia suddenly turned shy. She snatched it back, then grabbed her mother’s skirts.

  Her mother. Lucy.

  Max looked up. Lucy watched him carefully. But when Julia pressed her face against Lucy’s leg, Lucy dropped down to their level. “Shh, my darling girl,” she said, brushing Julia’s hair back again. “Mr. Vale is Mama’s friend.”

  Julia nodded. But she watched Max with wide, wary eyes.

  The same wide, wary eyes Lucy had trained on him.

  He had so many questions. And so many emotions. He had no idea what predominated — was it surprise? Anger that Lucy had kept this from him? Curiosity?

  He certainly wanted to know everything. Primarily, he wanted to know who the father was. But he’d promised Lucy he wouldn’t ask questions until they were walking back to Maidenstone.

  He wouldn’t break that promise — especially not in front of a child who might not be ready for answers. But he couldn’t help being annoyed that Lucy had introduced him to Julia in such a way that he couldn’t ask anything.

  He tried to remind himself that it didn’t matter. By this time tomorrow, he’d be on a ship, on his way to a new life. Lucy’s past was as little of a concern to him as her future was.

  But it was hard to remember that he didn’t need to care. The girl looked to be around the same age Cressida had been when their father had died. She wouldn’t remember anything about this morning meeting with “Mama’s friend.”

  Lucy would, though. Would she later think that he’d left because of this?

  Everything finally clicked into place. Whoever had gotten Lucy with child had not been honorable, or else she would have married him long ago. That explained why she didn’t trust men.

  And it explained why she’d been willing to give herself to a man of Max’s background.

  He shouldn’t have resented her for it. But once the suspicion was planted, it bloomed immediately, a poisonous flower taking root in his brain. She’d probably asked him to marry her because a man of his class would be more likely to accept a bastard. She’d probably thought he’d be so grateful for an earldom that he couldn’t possibly complain about Julia.

  That wasn’t the action of someone who saw him as an equal.

  He shook his head, trying in vain to dislodge the poison. This wasn’t the place for accusations. Not with Julia still holding her mother’s skirts, smiling shyly at him.

  He couldn’t help but smile back. Her grin widened, but she hid her face in Lucy’s skirts again, peeking out occasionally to see if he was still there.

  “How long has she lived in this house?” he asked Lucy, still kneeling beside them.

  “Since the week before the guests started to arrive,” she responded. “She belongs in the nursery at Maidenstone, but she’s staying here with her nursemaid until the party is over. Are you being good for Mrs. Pearce?” she asked Julia.

  Julia shook her head, giving them an entirely Briarley grin. “Why’d you come back today? Want to play again?”

  “I can’t, darling. I wanted Mr. Vale to meet you. But I’ll be here tomorrow morning, like I always am.”

  Julia heaved a huge, dramatic sigh. They argued a little bit about when Lucy would come back. All Max could do was watch. It was obvious that Julia adored her mother — but it wasn’t the awed, speechless adoration of an aristocratic child who rarely saw her parent. Julia expected Lucy’s love and Lucy poured all of it out for her.

  Lucy held Julia like she wasn’t ashamed of her. There was no
hint that Julia was a secret, or that her existence would ruin Lucy forever if anyone knew of her.

  Durrant would love to know this secret.

  The thought of Durrant shook him out of the moment. Max stood and looked around. Durrant couldn’t be anywhere nearby. But his note had referenced what Lucy had said at the mausoleum the night before. How closely was Durrant watching them?

  This was the kind of information that Durrant would pay dearly to learn — and would then use to keep Max in line.

  He told himself that he should leave immediately, for Lucy’s sake more than his own. But that was a convenient excuse. He knew he shouldn’t abandon her moments after she had voluntarily shared her deepest secret. Lucy would think the worst if he ran away from her now.

  But he couldn’t keep looking at Julia and thinking of what it would be like if she was his daughter. He couldn’t think about whether Lucy had offered to marry him because she liked him or because he was a convenient rube who would be too dumb and grateful to care.

  More, though, he couldn’t stand the fact that Lucy had clearly been used and betrayed before — and that he would be the one to do it to her again.

  That knowledge — more than her lies, more than the dreams of the life they could have had — broke him.

  But it was nowhere near as bad as how he would break her when he left.

  Chapter Twenty

  Lucy had finally divulged her biggest secret. Max eyed her pensively — she knew they weren’t done with this conversation. But the sun was still shining. Julia was chattering away, happily oblivious. The world was unaffected.

  She couldn’t believe how relieved she felt. She was almost dizzy with it. Her body felt like she’d been carrying a basket on her head for miles longer than she’d intended to — and when the weight was removed, everything felt a bit like jelly.

  Julia started to squirm next to her. “Mama, can I show ’Sephone to Mr. Vale?”

  Lucy nodded. “Be quick — we have to leave soon.”

  Julia ran into the house. She charged forward like nothing could stop her, completely fearless. Lucy watched her go. Always there was a moment when it looked like she might trip on her pinafore or crash into the doorpost. But Julia avoided disaster and disappeared into the house, looking for her doll.

  “She’s mostly certainly a Briarley,” Max said drily.

  Lucy smiled. “I’ll need to make her into a lady someday. But she’s not quite four. There’s time for those lessons later.”

  “Did you run around like that when you were her age?”

  There was no judgment in his voice — at least, nothing she could hear. “Probably worse, since I had Octavia to get into scrapes with. We used to pretend to fight dragons in Maidenstone Wood. It was far more fun than standing for dress fittings and learning how to pour tea.”

  They were still crouched down, waiting for Julia to return. Max’s gaze traveled over Lucy’s face and down to her breasts, which showed to advantage in one of her favorite muslin walking dresses. “I happen to like the way you dress,” he said, his voice dropping. “But you’ve had more adventures than I guessed.”

  His eyes came back to her face. She looked away, suddenly feeling shy. The weight of her secret had been lifted, at least temporarily — but there were still questions he would expect answers to.

  She would have to tell him about Chapman. But she didn’t want to think of Chapman. She hadn’t realized how much his ghost had followed her around until this week, when her heart demanded permission to love Max instead.

  But she wasn’t the only one with secrets. There were questions she should expect answers to as well. Ferguson, Claxton, and all the rest had given her plenty of reasons to doubt him. She owed it to Maidenstone — and to herself — to ask Max why he was there and what his background really was.

  Julia ran out of the house, cradling Persephone in her arms. She flung the doll into Max’s midsection, barely missing his manhood, and Lucy couldn’t help but laugh.

  It was all so painfully bittersweet. Right now, in the sun and fresh air, with Julia’s giggles in her ears, all Lucy wanted was this. If she could have a simple country life, with Max, Julia, and the possibility of more children in the future, it wouldn’t matter if she never had an adventure again.

  That life didn’t require Maidenstone Abbey. It only required Max to say yes. Her dowry was big enough to buy a cottage with. There wouldn’t be enough for anything luxurious, but Max wasn’t used to luxury anyway….

  But she was spinning a dream out of spiderwebs and fairy dust.

  Julia wouldn’t be accepted by society if she was the bastard daughter of a poor noblewoman and a lying shopkeeper. Lucy could make tea and grow flowers, but she’d never cooked anything in her life — her idea of a cottage was something with six bedrooms, a cook, two maids, and at least one footman. She might be able to adjust, but would she resent Max someday?

  And she knew nothing about Max except for how she felt when she looked at him. Would he still want her if Maidenstone didn’t come with her?

  Their reckoning was coming, more quickly than she wanted it to. She delayed the inevitable for a few more minutes by telling Julia a story about one of Persephone’s adventures — the doll had the most shocking experiences with pirates and wizards and dragons when Julia was napping.

  She couldn’t delay forever, though.

  When she finished her story, she kissed Julia goodbye. Her daughter, ever a Briarley, demanded that Max kiss her hand again. She wasn’t shy anymore. Her curtsey was positively coquettish.

  “Your mama taught you well, Miss Julia,” he said gravely, as Julia giggled. “Thank you for introducing me to Persephone.”

  “You’re welcome. Au ’voir,” Julia said brightly. She gave Lucy a hug and a kiss, extracted a promise for another visit in the morning, and ran back into the house to tell Mrs. Pearce the latest story about her doll’s adventures.

  “You’re teaching her French?” Max asked as he stood up and offered her his hand.

  She let him pull her up. “Only a few phrases so far. But if this war ever ends, she might have better luck in Paris someday than she will in London.”

  They stood together, face to face and only inches apart. He looked every bit the country gentleman — still dressed for his ride, with gleaming Hessian boots and a perfect top hat.

  She knew he wasn’t a gentleman, though. How had he learned to play one so well?

  Now that her doubts had been planted in fertile soil, fed and watered by her family’s accusations, she couldn’t help but notice the other details she’d willfully ignored. Like how indistinct his accent was. Or the small scars on his face.

  Or how easily he’d picked the lock on Callie’s chest the night before.

  “How did you…?” she started to ask.

  He cut her off. “Finish your story about Julia, if you please. And then I’ll answer any questions you have for me.”

  She glanced at the door. Mrs. Pearce had shut it, but there was no guarantee Julia would stay inside. As the day advanced, it grew more likely that one of Lucy’s houseguests would ride in this direction. “Let’s walk back to the gardens. We can find a secluded place to talk there.”

  Max nodded. They walked back the way they’d come. Maidenstone sat in the distance, waiting for them. She’d made this walk at least once a day for the past three weeks, and yet she always held her breath when she finally walked through the gate and into the gardens.

  They were particularly lush in late August, except for the patch of roses that had been harvested for the mausoleum ceremony. But it was the lushness of the end, in those last weeks before autumn, when blossoms were overblown and some plants had turned leggy. She and her gardeners tried to contain it, pruning and cutting to maintain order. Under it all, though, was the sense of time moving on and the knowledge that this summer’s garden would soon be gone.

  She led Max to a small, hidden grotto — one of several follies installed by her ancestors. Max shook hi
s head as he entered. “You have no idea how insane this all looks to someone else, do you?”

  Lucy looked around. She’d brought him here because it was the closest, but it wasn’t particularly impressive. Others had expensive Italian tiles or replicas of ancient statues. This one merely held a wide, elaborately carved stone daybed. The back half was a curved wall of stone, perfectly concealing one end of a secret escape route that the first earl had built from the abbey to the gardens centuries before. The front half was supported by pillars. Hanging vines created a curtain that protected them from view. A stream ran nearby, bubbling over carefully placed rocks. This section of the garden wasn’t as formal as some of the geometric arrangements closer to the house — here, the impression was supposed to be of natural wonder, even though the stream was artificial and the vines were as carefully cultivated as any shrub or plant.

  “Other gardens have grottoes,” she said. “But Maidenstone’s are the best.”

  Max laughed. “A Briarley would think that.”

  “And you don’t agree?”

  He looked around the grotto, running a hand down one of the vines near the entrance. “No, I agree. It’s all perfect. I haven’t seen a place so perfect in all the world.”

  His voice was even, but when she glanced at his face, something gave her pause. Something that looked like memory, or regret.

  He met her gaze. “It’s perfect for you, Lucy. You belong here, don’t you? I’ve never known anyone so rooted to a place. You’re like a princess from a fairy tale, kept in a castle waiting for a suitor. You can’t possibly go anywhere else.”

  She found it odd that he wasn’t asking questions. The most obvious one, like who had given her a child, would have been the first thing out of most men’s mouths. But Max was looking at her like the most important question was whether she would ever leave Maidenstone.

  Maybe she should have flirted. Prevaricated. Done the passive, willing thing that was expected of a woman of her class.