To Tame a Highland Earl Read online

  Before last night Eve would have agreed. Grace’s raven black hair and emerald green eyes alone separated them by miles. “He did,” Eve said. “All because he never laid eyes on you before today. My God, even a rakehell such as Lord Rushton doesn’t deserve to be trapped so deceitfully.”

  “He will do well with me,” Grace replied. “I’ll give him an heir, then he will go about his business as any man in his position would.”

  Eve eyed her sister critically “The perfect Society wife?”

  “Of course.”

  “And if his father won’t let him marry you?”

  “Why wouldn’t he?” Grace asked.

  “Don’t pretend ignorance,” Eve said. “You know full well we do not run in their circles. A man of his station will not marry a baron’s daughter.”

  “That is ridiculous,” their mother said. “Grace is as good as any other girl—better, in fact.”

  “That makes no difference, as you know well, Mother,” Eve said.

  Grace waved a dismissive hand. “Just because that’s what happened to you, doesn’t mean it will happen to me.”

  Eve should have felt pain at the reminder that the man she eloped with allowed himself to be paid off not to marry her—along with anger that Grace was so unfeeling as to point it out. But Eve had long ago come to terms with the nature of the man she had made the mistake of falling in love with.

  “It is because it happened to me that I can speak with certainty,” Eve said. “I would not wish the same fate for you.”

  “News already reached Manchester that we are to wed,” Grace said. “That means his father must have commanded him to marry me. Just as I planned.”

  Despite her cavalier tone, Eve detected what she felt certain was a hint of doubt. Grace, even with her exceptional beauty, had no better chance of marrying into the circle in which Lord Rushton moved than did Eve. Had Grace captured the eye of an earl, their parents would have been ecstatic. But a very rich earl next in line as a marquess wasn’t something to have dared hope for. Grace, however, had obviously harbored hopes that such a family would overlook her lower birth.

  “Grace,” Eve said more gently, “even if the marquess allowed it, you failed to take into account Lord Rushton’s nature. He told me that if he is forced to marry you, he will abandon you in Scotland while he goes about his pleasures as he always has.”

  “Rubbish.”

  Eve shook her head. “Lord Rushton isn’t English. He will exile you to Scotland and no one could stop him. He isn’t the sort of man you are accustomed to.”

  Grace laughed. “His mother is English, if you recall. I daresay, he is more English than Scottish. What do you know of men, anyway, Eve?”

  “Enough to know this one will not give into your whims like other men.”

  “Of course he will. I will make certain of it by giving him everything he wants.”

  “Men want more than an heir from a wife.”

  “For a time,” Grace agreed. “And he shall have it to his heart’s content.”

  Eve gave a disgusted snort. “You’re a fool. He will take what he wants, then discard you as he has all the others—wife or not.”

  “Girls,” their mother reprimanded, “you shouldn’t speak of such things. Your father will deal with the earl. Really, sneaking into a lady’s room in the middle of the night. What is this world coming to?”

  Eve agreed, but couldn’t half blame him. She could only imagine her own desperation should she find herself trapped into marriage by a man she’d never met.

  The door opened and their father entered with Lord Rushton behind. Eve noted that the earl favored his injured leg. His wrinkled coat and cravat bore testament to the hurried ride from the inn to Manchester. Guilt washed over her. The long ride couldn’t have helped his wound. She glimpsed the shadow of a bruise on her father’s jaw and the guilt vanished.

  “Father,” Grace began.

  “Not a word,” he cut her off.

  “But—”

  “I warn you, Grace, be silent.”

  “My lord,” their mother said in a horrified voice as Grace’s eyes widened.

  Eve, too, was surprised. She couldn’t recall the last time her father had censured Grace for anything.

  He halted a few feet from the couch and clasped his hands behind his back. Lord Rushton stopped beside him. The drawn look in the earl’s dark eyes startled Eve.

  “Your actions—both your actions—leave me in a quandary,” her father said.

  Eve snapped her gaze onto him. “I suppose I should allow a man who breaks into my room to have his way with me?”

  He gave her a thin-lipped scowl. “What you should do is not sleep with a pistol under your pillow. But you have no more need of a gun. Lord Rushton will obtain a special license and the wedding will take place three days hence.”

  The earl’s startled gaze jerked onto her father—then his glare turned onto her.

  She flashed a sweet smile. “You should have left well enough alone, my lord. Grace’s deception would have come to light. As it is, you sealed your fate.” If his father agreed, of which she had her doubts.

  “Indeed, he has,” her father said. “As have you. Eve, you will marry Lord Rushton.”

  Shock rolled across her.

  Lord Rushton lifted a brow. “Not so smug now, are we, madam?”

  “This is wrong,” Grace cried. “He is to marry me!”

  Her father turned his narrow-eyed stare onto her. “Madam, your actions in this matter are reprehensible. I have yet to decide how to deal with you, but I warn you, commit any further mischief, and I will send you to a convent.” Eve gasped along with Grace and their mother, but he ignored them and said to the earl. “Three witnesses saw you lying on top of my eldest daughter—in her bed.” The deadly chill in her father’s voice sent a shiver of apprehension down her spine. “By now, they have alerted all of England that you compromised another Crenshaw woman in the worst way possible.”

  “I have no doubt you are correct,” the earl said.

  “But Lord Rushton didn’t compromise either of us.” Eve’s head spun. It never occurred to her that she was in danger of a forced marriage.

  “He compromised you by entering your bedchambers,” her father said. “The fact he obtained the key from the innkeeper is enough to ruin you beyond redemption.”

  “Lord Rushton’s father is unlikely to take that into consideration,” she blurted. “The marquess must have his sights set on a daughter-in-law of a more elevated position than mine.”

  Her father shifted his attention to Lord Rushton. “As to that, thwart me and I will have my father contact your father. He may be a mere viscount, but he holds some sway as a member of the House of Lords.”

  Tension cut like a knife. Eve had never heard her father threaten to use her grandfather’s influence. The viscount had surprised everyone by continuing to live despite his advanced age of eighty-four years. So her father, at age fifty-five, had yet to inherit the title.

  “If these inducements are not enough,” he went on, “I shall dismember you.”

  Lord Rushton kept his gaze locked with his. “I was under the impression you didn’t hold me responsible for last night’s…unfortunate events, and thought your daughter and I could perhaps spend time together in the country before the marriage.”

  A hard glint shone in her father’s eyes. “Only a fool would tell himself he wasn’t responsible.”

  “I am no fool.”

  Her father gave a nod. “I did not think so.”

  And I will not marry him, Eve privately added. Even if it means shooting higher than his leg.

  Chapter Two

  “Eve,” her father said to her back, “in less than a day, the news that you shot Lord Rushton has spread across England like wildfire.” Eve paused in leaning over the conservatory’s roses she was watering and released a sigh before moving to the next rosebush, as he added, “The story has set Society on its ear. A fact evidenced by these.”
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  She twisted and looked across the camellias at him. He held up a silver tray piled with cards and invitations.

  Eve shrugged. “My mother and sister have always enjoyed an active social life.”

  “Indeed?” He picked up an invitation. “Lady Hamilton.” He dropped it and picked up another. “Lady Roxeburgh.” He tossed the card beside the others and pulled another from the pile. “Lady Morton—she was, last I heard, in London.”

  “Manchester is a favorite of London Society,” Eve replied. “Especially this time of year, before the height of the London Season.”

  He dropped the card onto the mound and set the tray on the small worktable to his right. “These invitations, one and all, include your name.”

  Eve grimaced and once again faced the roses. “The gossipmongers are looking for fodder. The fact I shot the earl will silence any gossip that I was fraternizing with him.”

  “You are damned fortunate the magistrate has not demanded your arrest,” he snapped. “I cannot hush things up as I did last time.”

  “You will never forgive me, will you?”

  “You ran away with the one man I forbade you to marry, and will not marry the one I command you to wed.”

  She inhaled the roses’ scent. “Lord Rushton has no wish to marry me and I have no wish to marry him. Why should we do something we both hate?”

  “Because you have no choice.”

  “Rubbish,” she said. “My choice is to not marry him.”

  “That is not a choice, Eve. Unless…”

  She knew that unless. “The answer is no, just as it was last month.”

  “His calling card is among the others,” her father said. “He will forgive you, even believing you compromised yourself with Lord Rushton.”

  Eve had no idea why her father thought Lord Somerset held her in such affection, but kept silent.

  “You have not told me why you will not consider his suit.”

  “I do not love him,” she replied.

  “You are too old to be choosy.”

  She turned. “Thank you, Father.”

  “It will be one or the other. Your involvement with Lord Blane pales in comparison to this escapade.”

  Of that, Eve wasn’t so sure.

  In the five years since her connection with him ended, Lord Blane had proven himself to be a gambler—and a bad one at that. His father had paid his debts in the sum of eight thousand pounds, and yet Lord Blane continued to gamble. All those years ago, when he’d presented himself to her father as her lover and the father of the child he swore she carried, her father wrote him a bank draft with the agreement that he disappear into Scotland or France for at least a year. Eve fully expected to one day read in the paper that his body had been pulled from the Thames. The dull ache that had once been sorrow at a love lost was now sorrow for a life wasted. Despite his deceit, Blane wasn’t a bad man. The compulsion, the disease, was consuming him. He would eventually succumb completely and make a wager even his father couldn’t, or wouldn’t, cover.

  “Do you not want children?”

  Her father’s tone and the question jarred her. “What am I teaching my children if their father doesn’t love their mother?”

  “Respect.”

  “That is not enough of a reason to marry, even for the sake of bearing children.”

  A knowing light entered his eyes. “You forget to whom you are speaking. You are a strong woman, but you are a natural woman.”

  “Some would disagree.”

  He nodded. “And with good reason.”

  “My point exactly.”

  “They do not know you as I do. I remember you with your nieces.”

  She warmed despite her effort to remember the two little girls.

  “You begged me to raise them when their father died.”

  Eve set the watering can on the floor. “No child should be without a father, which only serves to make my point. Lord Rushton will make a terrible father.”

  “You could not be more wrong. He will be a very good father—as good as his father was to him.” She snorted, but her father cut her off. “Do not pretend to be one of those females who insists a man must coddle a boy as a mother would. A man’s world is hard. A boy must learn that early on.”

  “Perhaps you are right, and Lord Rushton will make an exemplary father,” she said. “But he will make an abominable husband. He told me so himself. I do not intend to marry a man who will not only live his life as if I do not exist, but who will most certainly grow to hate me.”

  “If he comes to hate you that will be your doing.”

  Eve held her father’s gaze. “Just as you hating my mother is her doing?”

  “Hate is too strong a word. That aside, you know nothing of your mother when I met her.”

  “Did you?”

  “No,” he said, startling her. “I was young and reckless. But that is beside the point. You will marry the earl.”

  “Lord Rushton is the paradigm of recklessness. He broke into my room for pity’s sake.”

  “But he is not blind to a woman’s nature.”

  Eve stiffened. “And, therefore, could not possibly fall in love with me.”

  “His feelings for you will be honest. That is more than most women get.”

  “He has, indeed, made his intentions abundantly clear.”

  “He will not lie to you and he will provide for you and your children.”

  “A fine picture you paint.”

  “Which way will you have it, Eve? You don’t want a man who sees you for the woman you are, and you do not want a man who adores you.”

  “Adoration is overrated, sir.”

  “Indeed, it is,” he said, and she knew he was thinking of her mother. “But you feel you can reject both. What of your sister?”

  Anger welled up. “This is her doing. Yet she has not suffered one wit.”

  “She will. Should you flout convention, the scandal will place her outside of polite society.”

  “Then let her marry him. She wants him.”

  “Eve—”

  “No one knows Grace lied about his seduction,” Eve cut in. “They can still marry, as you first commanded. Surely, you must be pleased for her marry a man of stature. Mother is thrilled.”

  “She has no common sense in such matters,” he muttered.

  “What?”

  “Never mind,” he said so abruptly it startled her. “I will not be gainsaid in this, Eve. You have refused Somerset’s offer. Therefore, your marriage to Rushton is a mere technicality.”

  “Even the worst scandal does not mean I am obligated to marry him.”

  “In fact, it means just that. I have an appointment with Philips after lunch.”

  “Your solicitor?” Fury swept through her. “Cast me off into the wilds of Northumberland, for I will not be coerced into signing a marriage contract.”

  “Northumberland?” He gave her a deprecating look. “You fail to grasp the situation. Even in Northumberland, a respectable man will not marry a woman with the reputation you will have if you don’t marry. No, I will not leave you to marry a country bumpkin who sires ten children on you while he whittles away your money—or worse, an out and out fortune hunter. You are to appear at a dozen parties tonight.”

  “A dozen parties?” she blurted. “I will be out until the sun rises.”

  “Not quite,” he said. “This is not London.”

  “No one can make that many appearances in one night.”

  “And you will dance at each soiree where there is an orchestra.”

  She stared. “I will be incapacitated tomorrow. Even Mother and Grace could not keep up.”

  “Do not concern yourself with them. You will make it plain that the future Countess of Rushton is not to be toyed with.”

  “I am not the—” Her gaze caught on the mound of invitations and she realized her father was right. The future Countess of Rushton must put an end to this miserable business. Eve acquiesced with a cant of her head. �
��I will make every appearance.”

  *****

  Erroll’s hotel room door opened in the small salon beyond the bedroom, but he didn’t bother to lift his head from the edge of the tub to call out. He was in no mood to be civil to anyone, not even the maid delivering his dinner. He did shift to ease the ache in his back and the angle of his wounded leg, which hung over the edge of the tub. It had been years since he’d ridden as hard as he had yesterday—or gotten into a damned fist fight as he had with Miss Crenshaw’s father—and he was paying the price. Today, he was paying the price for many a sin.

  He picked up a glass of whisky from the table beside the tub and drank the contents in one long swallow. The liquid burned a velvety path down his throat and landed in the pit of his stomach where lay the other two glasses he’d already downed with just as much gusto. Erroll poured another glass from the decanter sitting on the table, then cradled the tumbler on his belly and closed his eyes.

  What a grand joke that he should be snared by a woman who didn’t want marriage any more than he did. They would make quite a pair—threesome, he remembered with a groan. The younger Miss Crenshaw was not about to give up the chase without a blood-letting battle.

  Erroll had replayed last night’s events over and over in his mind. He had thanked fortune that his accuser stopped before reaching her father’s estate, and he thought himself clever for cornering her alone in her room. But had the wheel on their wagon not broken, he wouldn’t have caught them, and her lie would have been exposed under the scrutiny of evidence that might damn his soul, but not his body. Instead—he downed the whisky, then poured another glass, sloshing half the liquid over the side of the glass before slamming the decanter back onto the table. He wrapped his fingers around the glass as the rest of his body began to loosen.

  Too bad he hadn’t actually compromised the elder sister. Even an unrelenting hunter like Miss Grace Crenshaw would relinquish her prey if it mated with her kin. Sliding between Eve Crenshaw’s thighs would be all too easy. Her nipples had pressed against his chest just hard enough to give away her desire. Desire? He chuckled. Her only desire had been to put a bullet in him. And she had, the vixen.

  His cock throbbed and began to rise in response to the memory of her body silhouetted by candlelight and the dark patch he’d glimpsed between her legs. Erroll drank the whisky in a flourish, intended to pour another, but the glass slipped from his fingers onto the floor as his eyes closed. His cock would fit snuggly inside her tight warmth. But what how to induce her to wrap her fingers around him beforehand?