Hot Earl Summer, page 21
“Well…” She considered him. “I suppose I could allow you to lustfully rub my sore leg. Just for a minute.”
He brightened and made an expansive gesture. “Sit back down, my sweet.”
She eased back onto the stone step, her legs askew before her.
“This one.” She indicated the left side.
He knelt between her knees and lifted the hem of her skirts. “Do you know what else I could do for you in this position?”
“Rub,” she commanded. “My leg.”
Stephen gently lifted her left foot onto his lap and tossed her slipper aside. He started there, with the arch of her foot, kneading slowly, firmly. Long straight lines exactly where she needed it. He hadn’t even touched her leg yet, and already the muscles were relaxing.
Eventually, he moved up to her ankle. Then made his way up her calf. Lazily, leisurely. As if there was nothing else he would rather do than sit on a stone floor and massage her tight muscles into pudding.
To her surprise, it seemed to be working. Her entire body was now a limp lump of treacle. The soreness was gone. She was back up to seventy percent. Maybe seventy-five. If he kept working magic like this—
Dun dun-dun. A loud bugle blared outside the thin arrow-slit windows.
“What in the devil?” Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder.
“I’ll look.” Stephen lowered her leg and pushed to his feet. He hurried down to the closest embrasure window, then grimaced. “It’s Reddington, in full uniform, atop a white stallion. He appears to have brought a dozen foot soldiers, a bugler, and some sort of page boy carrying a large sword.”
Elizabeth slid her foot back into her slipper. “This I have to see.”
“Densmooore,” came Reddington’s grating cry through a speaking trumpet.
Elizabeth peered down through the embrasure window. The spectacle was exactly as Stephen had described. Elizabeth was surprised Reddington didn’t have a portraitist on hand to capture him in his full, faux-Wellington glory.
“Are you here to negotiate peacefully as promised?” she called down. “As a man of honor? The sort who keeps his word?”
Reddington looked offended. “Densmore is the one who has failed to keep his word. He and I are nothing alike. Now let me in.”
“He does have a fair point about your cousin,” Elizabeth whispered to Stephen. “None of us would be in this mess if Densmore hadn’t gambled away property that didn’t belong to him.”
“You have my permission to lock the earl in the dungeon as soon as your brother finds him.”
She made a face. “Ugh, we’ve been so busy, I didn’t have a chance to tell you.”
Stephen tensed. “Tell me what?”
“Densmore isn’t in France.”
“He’s back already? Isn’t that good news?”
She shook her head. “He was never on the boat to begin with. He bought the ticket, then missed the sailing. We do believe he fled somewhere by boat. If your cousin were still in England, Graham’s spies would have found him by now. They still will. This is only a temporary setback.”
“What do we do in the meantime?”
“We certainly can’t admit Reddington into the castle. He might have come here to negotiate, but the moment we let him through the door, he’ll never leave. We have to meet him outside.”
“No dueling this time,” Stephen said quickly.
“You don’t get to determine whom and when I do or don’t duel,” she snapped, then winced. She was trying to be less volatile. At least with Stephen. “You’re right. No dueling today.”
Together, they headed down the stairs, through the murder room, and out the front door, where Reddington and his men waited.
On cue, a page boy ran up and showered Reddington with pink rose petals, while another lad launched into God Save the King on his bugle.
“This suffocating saffron,” Elizabeth muttered.
Stephen sent her a sharp look. “This what?”
“Something Kuni says.” She waved her hand. “Not important.”
Reddington slid down from his comically large white stallion with surprising grace, and accepted his sword from a page boy whilst another dusted him with more rose petals. “Now then. At what time today will you be handing over the deed to the castle?”
“Peaceful negotiation,” Elizabeth reminded him. “Put down your sword.”
Reddington hesitated, then handed his sword back to his page boy. “I don’t need a weapon to handle the likes of you.”
“Spoken like a man who’s never attempted to ‘handle’ Beth the Berserker,” Stephen murmured.
Elizabeth could have kissed him.
She forced herself to concentrate on Reddington instead. “We’ve run into difficulty procuring the will and testament we mentioned at our last encounter. If you could please grant us a few more weeks—”
“Denied,” Reddington said flatly. “This castle belongs to me, with or without your little papers. I have the signed proof in my hand.” He brandished the IOU.
“As I told you, this land wasn’t the earl’s to gamble—”
“As I told you, Castle Harbrook becomes mine on the first of June. I recommend you be gone by that date if you don’t wish to die for your cause.”
“No dying,” Stephen interjected. “No one is to do any murdering.”
“You said I could if he deserved it,” Elizabeth whispered.
“Peaceful negotiation,” Stephen murmured back.
“What’s that?” asked Reddington. “I couldn’t quite hear you surrender.”
“We will not be relinquishing this castle,” Elizabeth informed him firmly.
“Then there is nothing to discuss. Prepare to be besieged in four days hence.” He turned his back on her and stalked toward his horse.
“Wait.” She hurried forward. “We need to determine the rules of battle.”
Reddington spun around, stray pink petals falling from his shoulders. “Here is what shall happen: We fight. I win. You lose.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath. “As the Earl of Densmore’s interim battle general, I must inform you—”
He snorted. “If you’re Densmore’s general, Castle Harbrook is already lost. You couldn’t cut down a dandelion with a pair of shears.” Reddington frowned and took a few steps closer to squint at her. “Wait a minute. You do look familiar. My suspicions were correct. Aren’t you…”
“No,” Elizabeth said.
“You are! You’re that woman who wanted to be part of His Grace’s army,” he exclaimed in recognition. “You were so upset when I wouldn’t let you join us.”
“Guess what.” She swung her sword in a circle. “I’m not playing now. This fight is real, and I’m going to take you down.”
“Spare me the hysterics.” Reddington scoffed. “You might have bested Crump, but you won’t best His Grace. The castle is as good as mine. You may think yourself clever against one man, but let’s see you defend this castle against hundreds.”
Elizabeth curled her hands into fists. “If you’re so superior to me, then certainly you cannot object to a fair fight. To start with, we have no guns. Therefore, you cannot unfairly use bullets, either.”
“Not just ‘unfairly,’” Stephen said hastily. “You cannot arm your muskets with bullets or projectiles of any type.”
Good catch. Elizabeth sent him a nod of appreciation.
Reddington’s men watched on with avid interest, forcing him to respond audibly to the new demands.
“Fine,” he bit out with obvious ill will. “No bullets. Are we done here?”
“We’re ensuring the battle royal is a fair fight,” Elizabeth reminded him. “Which means both sides should have the same number of representatives. Agreed?”
Reddington’s men watched him carefully.
His face grew florid. “The same number of active fighters on both sides. Very well. You’ll still lose.”
“And no further skirmishes before or after June first,” Elizabeth added, ensuring her voice projected. “No matter who surrenders during the battle, at the end of that day, the matter is to be considered resolved by all sides. Most importantly, if we can produce legal proof that the castle is not yours, you will respect the law, as decreed by the king your soldiers fight for.”
Reddington’s jaw worked with anger at her less-than-subtle appeal to his men’s patriotism over any loyalty to their leader. “Prepare to fail.”
Elizabeth’s mind whirred. Had she missed anything? “The battle royal shall take place at ten o’clock in the morning, before an impartial witness, who is to be informed of the entirety of the agreed-upon conditions as stated here today.”
“Is that all, princess?” Reddington asked sarcastically.
Everyone was watching her.
She tried to think. “One last thing. Regardless of any given soldier’s statements or actions, if either general yields to his opponent at any time, that is to be considered a forfeit. The battle is over then and there.”
“The battle is already over,” snarled Reddington. “You’ve lost. Pack your valises.”
“Does that mean you agree to these terms, as stated, and witnessed by your men?”
Reddington glared at her, clearly thinking over her demands as he remounted his steed. A sudden wolflike smile took over his face. “Agreed.”
A sinking sensation roiled in Elizabeth’s stomach. She must not have worded her position as carefully as she’d thought she had. Was it too late to add—
Reddington raised his fist and shouted, “Until the first of June!”
The bugle sounded and he rode off into the forest, rose petals flying. His soldiers raced behind him on foot. Any chance to continue the discussion was lost.
The moment the invaders were out of sight, Stephen swung Elizabeth in an elated circle. “You did it! You negotiated terms!”
Elizabeth chose not to mention her misgivings. It was probably nothing. Nerves, which wasn’t something she was used to having. In fact, she’d already all but forgotten Reddington, in the giddy rush of Stephen swinging her in circles as though she were light as a feather.
“Mother of God.” She squeezed Stephen’s arm muscles in fascination, her feet dangling several inches from the ground. “You really could carry me up five flights of stairs.”
He grinned at her and held her tighter. “Want to find out?”
She kissed his lips, then wiggled back to the ground. Yes, she wanted to find out, damn him. She wanted to see and kiss and explore every glorious inch of him, and have him do the same to her.
But an affaire with him would not be as meaningless and easy as others in the past. Elizabeth liked Stephen more than she cared to admit. And it turned out that baring herself to someone who knew her this well took more bravery than she was ready for.
Fighting to the death was easier than lowering her defenses. The wisest thing to do would be to maintain firm borders and stay safely on her side of the battlement for the rest of her stay.
Then again, Elizabeth had never backed down from a challenge.
Even one guaranteed to end in tears.
29
Late afternoon sun streamed through the square stone windows of the earl’s study. Stephen’s knee bobbed beneath his cousin’s desk as he tried to concentrate on the documents before him.
Difficult, when they were three days away from the forewarned battle royal.
Stephen’s mind kept replaying Elizabeth’s negotiation with Reddington, and the duel she’d fought with Crump. She absolutely had the upper hand on the self-proclaimed warlord and every soldier in his army, but there was always risk in battle. The only way to ensure no harm befell Elizabeth was to find that will.
Stephen also wanted to protect Miss Oak. He researched alternate locales for an orphanage in the vicinity as a contingency plan, and found several that looked promising. He would not purchase any land without her consent—Stephen had learned his lesson about assuming he knew best what someone else wanted or needed. Nonetheless, creating a trust for the earl’s aunt was the least he and Densmore could do for all the hassle and heartache the earl’s careless wager had caused her. The funds would empower Miss Oak to make decisions for herself.
Besides, the reason there was excess money in the earl’s accounts was because Stephen had managed the earldom’s finances these past sixteen weeks. Setting a bit aside to staff a school and provide housing for children was certainly as worthy an investment as any of the others Stephen had made in Densmore’s name. It wasn’t charity, but an apology for Densmore wagering what wasn’t his to begin with.
The clock on the mantel showed a quarter past five in the afternoon. This morning Elizabeth had mysteriously announced it was her turn to plan a romantic evening. She hadn’t given a time, but Stephen hoped it would start soon.
Quickly, he signed and franked the required papers for the formation of the trust, then rang for a footman to send the documents to Stephen’s lawyer.
Forester appeared at the door. “Yes, my lord?”
“Post these, if you would, please.”
“At once.” The footman hurried off, documents in hand.
Miss Oak and her orphanage thus sorted, Stephen returned to his cousin’s accounts and correspondence. Little was urgent, but Stephen had discovered he was extraordinarily efficient with the promise of a rendezvous with a beautiful woman pending. He made quick work of the matters that remained.
The next time he lifted his head, it was six of the clock. The sun would not fully set for another two and a half hours, but already a chill breeze had rolled in over the chalk downs and limestone ridges.
Or perhaps Stephen was especially sensitive because his chest and arms were naked beneath his waistcoat.
He rose from the desk to go and close the windows. When Stephen turned around, he was no longer alone in the study.
Elizabeth stood in the doorway, a sword stick in hand and a mischievous expression on her face.
“Our rendezvous begins now?” he asked.
She inclined her head. “This very moment. Unless you are too busy?”
“I would walk away from being crowned King of England to spend one more minute with you.”
The corner of her mouth quirked. “We’ll see if you say the same thing after you’ve seen your surprise.”
Intrigued, he joined her in the corridor. “Should I put on more clothes?”
The look she sent him was withering.
“Should I… remove all my clothes?”
“We’ll see,” she replied loftily.
His cock twitched in anticipation. But it grew three sizes the moment Stephen realized where Elizabeth was leading him.
“Your bedchamber?” he asked hoarsely.
She arched an eyebrow outside the door. “This time, I’m inviting you. Don’t make me regret it.”
He shook his head earnestly. “Never.”
She opened the door and pulled him inside, then waggled her brows. “Tonight, I’m at seventy-five percent.”
A low fire burned behind the grate. Several cushions and pillows were strewn artistically before it. The bed was made, the entire chamber impeccably clean and orderly… Except for a horrifically lopsided tower of miscellaneous rubbish nailed together in listing, slapdash fashion in the center of the room.
“And what,” Stephen asked as politely as he could, “is that wooden abomination?”
She dug an elbow into his ribs. “Behave, or you don’t get your surprise.”
“It’s beautiful,” he said at once. “Excellent craftsmanship. You should design all my devices.” He considered the monstrosity from all angles. “Just one small question.”
She rested her sword stick against the wall. “Ask.”
“Um.” He would have loosened his cravat if he were wearing one. “What is it?”
“A custom contraption,” she said brightly. “It’s your gift. I made it for you.”
“You shouldn’t have.” He stared at it even more dubiously. “Thank you?”
She curtsied. “It was my pleasure.”
“Er… What does it do?”
She pointed with a finger. “Press that lever and find out.”
“That’s a lever? It looks more like…” He cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. Here I go. Pressing the lever now.”
It was a lever, in the sense that, when Stephen pressed it, it moved.
Every other piece of the—machine?—also moved with it. Not in any identifiable pattern, but in absolute chaos. The entire haphazard structure disintegrated before his eyes, clattering to the stone floor in an inelegant heap of broken wood and bent nails.
He didn’t move.
Neither did she.
And neither did the broken machine.
“What was it… supposed to do?” he inquired in a low voice.
She grinned at him. “It delivers a kiss.”
Before he could respond, she wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him.
Stephen kissed her back for several minutes until the absurdity of her creation overtook him. He burst out laughing despite himself.
She placed a hand to her bosom in faux offense. “You wouldn’t be laughing at my first tinkering attempt, would you?”
“I loved your first tinkering attempt.” He returned his mouth to hers without delay.
They were thus engaged when a knock sounded outside the chamber door.
“Ah.” She broke away with obvious reluctance. “That will be Martha with our evening repast.”
It was indeed Martha, and three other maids besides. They carried in several trays laden with covered dishes and silver pots, as well as little tables, which they placed on either side of the sea of pillows and cushions.
“This came, too, ma’am.” Martha handed Elizabeth a missive.
“Thank you. That’ll be all. We’re not to be disturbed unless I ring for you.”
“Understood.” The maids bobbed, then hurried from the room with wide grins. They shut the door behind them.
Elizabeth kicked a path through the detritus of the obliterated machine, and led Stephen to join her in relaxing before the fire.
