When an Earl Meets a Girl (Chase Family, #1)

by Lauren Royal

Leaning down to touch one of the dark splotches, he rubbed the substance between his fingers, then sniffed and turned back to them slowly. “It’s blood.” “Blood?” Kendra squeaked. “Don’t get overwrought.” Jason grinned. “I’d wager it’s just one of Colin’s pranks.” Kendra took another step back. “Real blood used for a prank?”

They paused at the entrance to the kitchen. “Benchley?” Ford ran a shaky hand through his wavy brown hair. “Benchley, are you here, man?” “It appears not,” Jason said unnecessarily. Kendra pointed to one of the two sunken wells. “Oh, my God.” Ford glared at her. “What now?” “Do you not hear the dripping?” “Dripping?” Jason started toward the well, then suddenly flung out an arm. “Stay back!” “What?” Kendra breathed. “What is it?” “This is no prank. Ford, fetch Colin now!”

Squished between her brothers, Kendra turned her head and cracked an eye open, just to make sure. Bent at the waist over the crossbar that spanned the well, Colin’s manservant dangled, his clothes streaked with red. More blood dripped from the sopping mass of his prematurely gray hair, echoing as it plopped into the water far below. At the grisly sight she let out a whimper and promptly reburied her face. Until, with an unnerving suddenness, mad laughter burst out behind them.

Kendra blinked. The color rushed back to her cheeks. “You lout! That was mean.” “But a good one,” Ford admitted with a sheepish chuckle. “You did yourself proud, Colin.” “A devil of a mess, but worth it,” Colin agreed cheerfully. He reached down to hoist Benchley up. “If you could only have seen your faces.”

Her eyes sparkling with mischief, Kendra turned to Colin. “Have you and Lady Priscilla Snobs set the date?” “Lady Priscilla Hobbs and I have yet to decide.” Colin scanned the shelves, looking for something he could use to clean up. “She won’t move to Greystone in its present condition.”

Kendra nodded absently and turned back to Colin. “Priscilla could live at Cainewood with us.” “Not likely. This family is a bit too, uh, high-spirited for Priscilla.” He dropped a wad of rags on the biggest puddle of pig blood, poking at it with one booted foot. “She’s an only child, you know—used to peace and quiet—” “She’s a snob, you mean. Otherwise—” “Kendra!” Jason’s leaf-green eyes glared into his sister’s lighter ones. “Lady Priscilla is a perfectly nice woman. More important to Colin, though, she’s pretty, titled, and the only heir to an enormous fortune. If it takes her a while to get used to us, we’ll just have to put up with it.”

Raising a hand to his narrow black mustache, Jason stroked one side then the other. “I imagine Priscilla requires a small army of servants, as well as a proper suite and a couple of receiving rooms, at the very least.” He shot Kendra a warning glance. “On the other hand, she’s not going to wait for the entire castle to be remodeled, is she?” Colin shook his head vehemently. “God’s blood, no.” An incredible amount of work lay ahead; the castle had stood vacant since ’43 when the Roundheads laid the great hall in ruins. “I’ll warrant we’ll see another quarter century before it’s fully restored.”

Standing up slowly, Colin twisted the new gold ring on his finger, considering the enormity of the task ahead of him. “Priscilla wishes to wed and start a family soon. Just a few more rooms…” He sighed. “Everything’s so damned expensive, and I’m spending more on farm equipment and livestock than renovations. Until the estate is in shape, it cannot generate a decent income.”

“I’m not a half-wit.” She often claimed that, due to her three brothers’ exasperating diligence, she must be the only virgin at court. “I was trying to put it delicately, but what I meant was, why not just get her with child?” Colin had held his tongue during Ford’s tirade—facts were facts, after all—but this went beyond his gentlemanly sensibilities. “I cannot believe you’d suggest such a thing.” “I cannot believe you haven’t thought of it. I’m sure you all have, in fact, and you just won’t admit it!” Kendra’s lips thinned with irritation. “You and your honor. If Priscilla Snobs had half the honor of any one of you, she’d swallow her pride, marry the man she supposedly loves, and help him rebuild his home. She can afford to live simply for a few months; it wouldn’t kill her. Or she could move in with us, or live in the town house.”

“Kendra’s right enough,” Ford put in. “It sounds like Priscilla’s main attraction, other than the aforementioned enormous fortune, is her talent for putting one to sleep—” “Enough!” The word burst out of Colin like thunder. His gaze flashed around the table, resting on each sibling in turn. “Perhaps I’ve yet to set a date, but I am marrying Priscilla Hobbs, and I won’t have you discussing her this way any longer. I like her. I like her appearance, I like her demeanor, I like her background, and yes, I like her title and her fortune. She’s exactly what I’ve been looking for, and I’m not going to let any of you ruin it for me!”

“Colin?” “Yes, Kendra?” “Do you love her?” He sighed impatiently and set to uncorking the wine. “Our parents were in love, and what did it do for all of us? They were very passionate people, weren’t they? Passionate about each other, the monarchy…we were born of their passion, not because they wanted children.” He looked straight at Kendra, his eyes burning into hers. “No, Kendra, I don’t love Priscilla, but I do like her. And I think it’s better that way.”

“See what?” Colin asked, but the words were directed to Benchley’s retreating back. They followed him at a run, through the darkened castle and outside the crenellated walls. A hush seemed to fall over the countryside as the five of them gazed toward London. At the edge of the jet-black night sky, a dazzling red glow hovered at the horizon. Kendra’s whisper shattered the silence. “What is it?” “A fire,” Jason stated grimly. “And it looks big.” “London, on fire?” Kendra’s voice was tense with fear. “It looks closer.”

Hands white-knuckled on the reins, Colin could only stare at the terrible splendor of St. Paul’s Cathedral all ablaze. “God’s blood,” he murmured.

“No, Papa!” The voice cut through the roar of the crowd; an oddly familiar voice, though Colin was sure he’d never heard it raised before. His fingers went instinctively to his ring. “Papa, you cannot!” His head whipped around. There it was, Goldsmith & Sons. And the girl, Amethyst. He jerked on the reins as her father shoved her stumbling into the street, flames thundering in the shop behind. A small trunk came out after her, then the man gestured wildly and ducked back inside. Colin saw him start up the stairs—stairs already engulfed in fire—before a blast of heat slammed the door shut. “Papa!” The girl’s wail was a knife to Colin’s heart.

“Are you hurt?” He forced the words past his raw throat. “Amethyst?” What had her father called her? “Amy?” At the sound of her name, she looked up, her glazed eyes registering first confusion, then disbelief. “Lord Greystone?” Before he could respond, she threw her arms around his neck and burst into tears. Colin placed one arm around her, gingerly and then tighter. The sobs wracked her slight body. Hot tears soaked through his shirt, wetting his shoulder.

“Where can I take you?” Sniffling, she gave a vehement shake of her head. “Nowhere,” she said in a trembling whisper. Her eyes filled again and threatened to brim over. “I have no one.” Discomfited, he turned back to the road. No one? It couldn’t be so; surely she knew someone who would take her in. Her father had perished, true—he’d seen that with his own eyes—but what of a mother? A relative? A neighbor?

Something vaguely disturbing fluttered and settled in his stomach as he turned onto Lothbury and headed west.

He had to find somewhere to stay before major warfare broke out. For the past hour, he’d stopped at every inn along the way and sent Davis to inquire about available lodging. Colin was beginning to believe every room in the kingdom was taken.

Nine children and Amy Goldsmith. He glanced down at her grimy face. Amethyst Goldsmith—whoever would have thought? He’d left her shop two weeks ago with no intention of ever going back, ever purchasing another piece of jewelry, ever seeing her again. And now here she was, dropped—literally—right in his lap. God’s blood, it was incredible! What had he done to deserve this?

She was so different from the women in his circle, and it was more than a lack of sophistication. It was a freshness, an optimism in those clear, innocent eyes—untouched by the Civil War, the years of the Commonwealth, the Restoration—all the calamities that had such a large part in the shaping of Colin and all of his acquaintances.

Colin tore his gaze away and stared straight ahead at the congested road. Why did an innocent touch leave him so…disturbed? His betrothed, Priscilla, was the perfect woman for him, yet when he touched her—or made love to her, for that matter—he never felt like this. He was more familiar with Priscilla, he decided, more comfortable. He wasn’t supposed to touch Amy this way—indeed, he wouldn’t dare if she were awake. It was the excitement of the forbidden, that was all. Besides, he wasn’t looking for passion in his marriage. He’d told his sister as much just last night.

Lord Greystone hesitated, then shrugged. “I know how those children feel. When I was young, my parents left me quite often. Most of the time, in fact. And I was lonely and scared all the time. I wasn’t a very brave lad,” he admitted ruefully. “They left you?” Amy could barely conceive of such a childhood; her parents had never left her for so much as a day. Until today, she realized suddenly.

He cocked his head. “They were passionate Royalists. Cavaliers. King and country came first. We, my brothers and sister and I, were such a distant second we barely even counted.” “But…where did they leave you?” “Oh, with other Royalist families. They weren’t cruel—they didn’t actually abandon us. But to a child…well, it felt as though they did. To me, anyway.” He paused, twisting his ring again. “My brother Jason—he’s two years older than I—feels differently. But he was older when the war began.” “How about your sister?” “Kendra and her twin, Ford, were so young that I don’t think they remember any other kind of life. They’re twenty-two—about your age, I think?” Amy nodded. “And now?” she asked. “How do they feel about it now? Your parents, I mean. Are they sorry?” “They died. At the Battle of Worcester, fifteen years ago.”

“No need to feel sorry. It was Charles’s last stand against Cromwell, and my folks wouldn’t have missed it for the world. I was a strapping thirteen by then, safely ensconced with other Royalist exiles in Holland. I didn’t miss them much, since they were hardly ever around anyway.”

“Was your family Royalist, Amy? During the war, I mean?” “No,” she said slowly, pausing as she thought how to explain it. “I mean…we weren’t not Royalist, either. We were—nothing, I guess. Papa just tried to keep doing business no matter what happened.”

“Amy?” Lord Greystone probed. “Where is your mother?” She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. “She died,” she answered in a quavery voice. “Of the plague. Last year. She fell ill and we had to leave. We went to France, and I never saw her again.” “I’m sorry,” he said softly. He moved over on the wall and placed an arm around her shoulders. “I’m truly sorry.”

He jumped down and stood before her, taking her face between his hands. “You’re not alone, Amy.” “Yes—yes, I am. My parents are gone…my home is gone…” Well, there was Robert, a little voice in the back of her head reminded her. But there was no one to make her marry him now.

“I wish I had died in the blaze, too,” she whispered, dropping her head to escape his penetrating gaze. He lifted her face and wiped her wet cheeks with his thumbs. “Never say that,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion. “It’s good to be alive. Never ever say that.”

In his arms she felt safe, removed from her hostile reality, and she wished she could stay there forever. She breathed deeply of his scent, smoke and healthy male sweat, mixed with a faint underscore of fragrant soap. Slowly her arms came up and stole around his neck, her fingers entwined in his hair. Dimly realizing that his attempts at comfort were edging too far toward impropriety, Colin tried to pull back. But Amy came off the wall with him, sliding down his body until her feet came to rest on the grass, her head beneath his chin, her face pressed into his chest, her tears soaking his thin linen shirt. Blast it. Despite her gut-wrenching misery, he couldn’t help but think she felt too damn good in his arms. Then he stopped thinking altogether.

The caress deepened and his lips parted hers, sending a thrill through her entire body. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she marveled at the new feelings, for his kiss was nothing like the ones she’d tolerated from Robert. She was overwhelmed by the way Lord Greystone’s mouth claimed hers. His kiss was like a potion—it made her body melt and her consciousness dim. Suddenly she couldn’t remember who she was or whether she had any problems.

A low sound of pleasure escaped her throat. It brought him back to reality. He dropped his hands and broke away from her mouth. What was he doing? Seducing an innocent girl, taking advantage of her grief and loneliness, her vulnerability, her overwhelming need to feel alive and connected? He wasn’t that kind of man—he’d always prided himself on being cool and logical, not ruled by his emotions. And certainly a gentleman. He knew there were different rules for the women in Amy’s class than for the promiscuous ladies in his own. He was thoroughly disgusted with himself.

“You’re sorry?” she repeated. “Well, not sorry exactly,” he said in that unfamiliar rough voice, fumbling for the words. “It’s just…I shouldn’t have done that…taken advantage of you like that. Not that I didn’t want to—oh, bloody hell!” He took a step toward her and put his hands on her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length, clearly exasperated. “You’re a proper young woman, and I’ve a responsibility to send you to your aunt in the same condition I found you.”

“My lord—” she began. “Colin,” he interrupted, irony in his voice. “Once you’ve had a man’s tongue in your mouth, you’re allowed to call him by his Christian name.”

Her hand tingled where it nestled in his. She’d held hands with Robert and never felt anything at all. Even with her limited experience, she knew this couldn’t be normal.

Colin had a vast record of experience and knew this wasn’t one jot normal. But it was absurd. He was betrothed, and Amy was a commoner, a woman who, as of this morning, had nothing whatsoever to her name. He was tired; that must be it. He was very, very tired. If his body felt like it were vibrating, that was only because he was tired. After a good night’s sleep, he’d feel differently. He’d be more himself, back in control. They’d go on to Cainewood, wait a couple of days until the roads were clear, then he’d take her to Dover and buy her passage across the Channel. They’d never see each other again. His pride would remain intact, not to mention her virginity.

But she had no time to dwell on herself, not with Cainewood Castle before her in all its ancient glory. The living quarters formed a U around the quadrangle’s groomed lawn. She looked up, and up. Four stories. “Ninety-eight rooms,” Colin said beside her, as though he’d read her mind. “Most of them closed up. Jason has years of restoration ahead.” He pointed out the marks of cannonballs in the high, crenelated wall. “Cromwell sacked the place twice.” Beyond the smooth green grass of the quadrangle, a tall, timeworn tower rose majestically. “The original keep,” he explained. “I believe it dates from 1138. Cainewood’s been in our family, save during the Commonwealth, since 1243.”

Amy looked up to the balcony that spanned the width of the hall. “I’ve never seen the likes of it,” she admitted. “It’s magnificent. The workmanship…” “My home, Greystone, is nothing like this; take my word for it.”

Colin glared at her. “As I was about to say, I know you dislike Priscilla, but I am marrying her. And dangling a penniless commoner in my face, no matter how attractive, isn’t going to change that fact.” “But why? I’ve seen you with Priscilla—you don’t love her, I can tell.” “I don’t want to love her; I’ve told you that. She’s wealthy, she’s pretty, she’s—” “Cold.” Colin ignored that. “—she’s titled—” “As though we care about such things. We’re titled, and what did it get us? Nothing! We were paupers on the Continent, dragged from Paris, to Cologne, to Brussels, Bruges, Antwerp—wherever King Charles wandered. We had no home, no one who really cared about us. People are what matters. Titles are worthless.” “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. That title kept us fed, allowed us to tag along with the court, obligated them to take us in. It was all we had, the only thing of value our parents gave us. My children will have no less—and a lot more.” “You’re an earl, for God’s sake. Without the war, the Restoration, I’d understand your mindset. As a second son, if you failed to marry wealth you’d have to live off Jason’s largesse, or take a commission in the military, or a religious vocation.”

Kendra conceded with a grin. “All right. But Charles owed a debt to our parents, and he gave you the earldom. Your children will inherit. You’ve no need to marry a title.” Colin’s jaw was set, his voice firm. “They’ll have titles from both sides. They’ll never know a day of insecurity.” “What a bunch of blatherskite! You’re using this as an excuse to avoid caring about someone—someone like that lovely girl asleep in the guest chamber. It’s what’s inside that counts—the Chases don’t care about titles.” “This Chase does.”

Kendra squinted her eyes, searching for something of note. “What? I see nothing.” “Exactly. It’s London. Not burning.” Sure enough, although a dark cloud of smoke still hung over London in the distance, it seemed to be lifting, and there were no visible flames underneath. “Oh!” Kendra’s voice went up an octave in her glee. “Ford and Jason are on their way home already, I’ll wager.” “And I’ll take the children back to London first thing in the morning. We can only pray it won’t prove too difficult to locate their families.” “And Amy? Will you return her to London as well?” “Of course,” he snapped.

What was it about this woman that made him focus on her to the neglect of everyone else? Why did he always think about touching her? Thank God he was leaving for Greystone in the morning. Before he turned into a complete animal.

Was this family on intimate terms with His Majesty? She sneaked Colin an incredulous sidelong glance, then chided herself. Why should she be surprised? They lived in a castle, after all. Jason was a marquess, Colin an earl, Ford a something-or-other…a viscount, that was it. Titles all granted by Charles, Kendra had told her, explaining the unusual situation.

She would miss this family, but she knew her life was destined along another path. You cannot have everything, she heard her father say.

But deep in her heart, she knew there was really nothing to think about. This was it. Her time was up. Colin wanted her gone, and this time he would see it done. She had no excuses left.

Colin didn’t spare Kendra a glance when she walked into the drawing room. “She’s still here? I cannot believe it!” “It hasn’t been that long,” Jason stated calmly. “Nine weeks! Don’t tell me she hasn’t recovered enough in nine weeks.” “I haven’t asked her,” Jason admitted. “She does seem to be getting on fine, though.” Colin stormed over to where his older brother lounged against the carved stone mantel. “You never asked her?” “I just said so, did I not? We’ve been quite busy these past weeks.”

“We’ve been discussing Amy’s fine education,” Ford put in helpfully. “She’s interested in science”—Ford was forever complaining that no one in the family shared his fascination with science—“although she prefers history. She spends hours and hours in the library.” “She does, does she?” Colin crossed his arms and leveled a stare at Jason. “When are you taking her to Dover? You are taking her to Dover?” “Of course, Colin. Whyever would you think not?” “She should stay here,” Kendra protested. “She’s clever and sweet and helpful and a good friend and she has no one—just one aunt—and she fits right in with the family.” Kendra paused for a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “You should marry her, Colin. We all think she’s wonderful.”

He whirled around. “You wait,” he returned fiercely. “I’m marrying Lady Priscilla Hobbs, or did that slip your mind somehow?” He turned to Ford. “You want Amy in the family? You marry her.” Ford’s blue eyes widened at the mere suggestion. “I’m not ready to get married!” Undaunted, Colin turned on Jason. “You marry her, then. You seem to enjoy having her around.” “I’m—I’m not attracted to her,” sputtered the unflappable Jason. “She’s—she’s a bookkeeper!” “Exactly.” Colin turned on his heel and headed up to his bedchamber, shaking his head. Sometimes his family was more trouble than they were worth. Kendra, especially. You should marry her, Colin. Hmmph! He’d get Kendra for that one. Tonight. He’d get her good.

He took his seat, and supper was served. Conversation swirled as usual, but tonight he was the one not participating. He was so aware of Amy, he could swear he felt heat emanating from her body. It had taken all his willpower not to touch her in the keep. She seemed different tonight. She wore a different gown, a hunter green he remembered Kendra wearing at a house party last year. Her hair was in curls again… It was her eyes, he decided suddenly. The amethyst sparkle had returned. No one would think of describing this self-assured woman as “a wreck” now. She laughed and joked with his sister and brothers, kept up with their repartee as though born to a large, noisy family. This large, noisy family, in fact. Colin was stunned. Amy was everything he’d imagined her to be: beautiful, animated, talented, intelligent, witty…and entirely too comfortable with his siblings.

She was enough to drive a man to the asylum. Or, even worse, to a life of debauchery. And he wasn’t that kind of man. He would deliver her to a ship bound for France—tomorrow. It was clear that Jason and Ford had no intention of doing so in any reasonable timeframe, and it must be done—the sooner, the better.

When three more notes proved off key in less than a minute, Kendra stopped abruptly and shook her head as though to clear it. “What’s wrong?” Ford teased. “Too much Rhenish tonight?” “I never drink too much, Ford, and you know it.” “Oh, yes, I forgot. That’s Amy’s problem. Half a glass and she’s on the floor.” Amy giggled. Colin looked at her sharply, then back to his younger brother. God’s blood, his family knew more about her than he ever would have guessed. She’d really been worming her way in, the little witch. He hardened his resolve to remove her tomorrow, before she insinuated herself even deeper.