The Earl's Perfect Match Page 6

  “Oh, I didn’t mean it that way and you know it.” The coverlet shifted as Claudia dropped down beside her. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Lena. You shouldn’t settle at all.”

  “No, but that’s little comfort when everyone around me is happy and paired off and here I am, by myself in a sea of twos.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Claudia hugged her arm and leaned her head against Elena’s shoulder. “Your time will come and I think you’ll realize why you refused to settle all along.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Do you suppose the cake is big enough?”

  Elena fought to keep down her exasperated sigh. She loved Gabby Santa Cruz like a second mother, but there were times when she drove Elena mad. This was one of those times. Elena had never seen Gabby get so worked up over the silliest things—such as taking that poor maid to such task because the flower arrangements had too much purple in them. Elena had spent the better part of an hour trying to calm the girl down and get her to finish working on the arrangements with Garland, the gardener, whose name made Elena want to laugh.

  “I think it’s more than enough. It’s almost as big as Claudia herself. There’s going to be too much food and it’s going to go to waste.”

  “I keep having this feeling I’m forgetting something,” Gabby muttered, tapping her fingers against her lips. “Please, please tell me your gown fits?”

  “It does, Tia. You needn’t worry. It fits fine.” The lavender color didn’t particularly suit her, but the gown fit and Claudia had almost cried when she saw it, so Elena would grit her teeth, wear it, and smile as she stood up as her friend’s maid of honor.

  “Oh, good. I tried to ask Galen, but he and Diego were arguing about something and you know what it’s like when men bicker. They’ll then throw punches and by tonight they’ll be as drunk as lords at supper—oh, Cousin Bennett, I didn’t see… What the devil happened to you?”

  Elena turned to see the mud-spattered earl striding across the carpet, leaving a dirty trail in his wake. She could only stare. Dirt clods clung to his hair, his face, his clothes.

  He was a mess.

  She hadn’t seen him since the night before, and she was certain this was the last way she thought she’d ever see the usually fastidious earl.

  “Lord Dunning!” Mrs. Hawes came running after him, her voice hot with anger. “You are leaving a trail of filth from one end of the runner to the other!”

  “Beg pardon, Mrs. Hawes, but there was no way to avoid it.” He sounded so lighthearted as he turned to Elena and Gabby and inclined his head. “Good afternoon, ladies. More wedding plans?”

  “Yes, we were just…” Elena shook her head and couldn’t stop herself from asking. “What happened to you?”

  He smiled. “Had a bit of a run over at Ascot Heath. Loki’s entered to race after the wedding and I’ve been acclimating him to the course.”

  “A race?” Gabby asked, but before Lord Dunning could answer, Claudia came rushing down the grand staircase, almost in tears as she cried, “Mama! Please, I think they’re going to kill each other!”

  “Excuse me.” Gabby darted up the stairs after her daughter, leaving Elena alone to ponder the earl as if he were some sort of oddity. Which he was now, considering how meticulous he always seemed to be.

  “You were running a race?” she asked.

  “It’s become something of a tradition. Started by the Queen.”

  Elena fell into step beside him. “Queen?”

  “Queen Anne. She thought the heath looked like an ideal place for letting horses run their hearts out. It’s only been held a few times, but I’ve been looking forward to entering Loki since day one.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  He turned left down a shadowy corridor and she promptly followed, hurrying to keep up with his long-legged strides. It left her short of breath, and he grinned down at her as he replied, “Because Loki wasn’t old enough. To enter, the horse must be older than six years.”

  “Interesting. What else is involved?”

  He paused at a narrow rear staircase and sank onto the bottom step to yank off one boot. “It’s quite simple. We run three heats, each four miles in length. About four laps ’round the course. And today, they were four very messy laps.”

  The boot slid off with some fuss and he banged against the step, muttering, “Bloody hell,” as he rubbed the small of his back. Just as quickly, he offered up a sheepish smile. “I beg your pardon, Miss Sebastiano.”

  “Don’t. I’ve heard worse from the men in my house and my ears are not so sensitive. Here, let me help you.”

  “No, please, Miss Sebastiano. You’ll get covered in mud.”

  “I don’t mind. It’ll give me a reason to hide in my chambers and take a bath before Tia Gabby hounds me to death about cakes and hysterical maids.” She crouched and gripped his other boot. She winced as sticky mud oozed up between her fingers and stained her simple pale blue muslin gown, but didn’t ease her hold. The boot resisted and she tugged harder, landing with a loud thunk on her backside when it decided to pop free.

  Bennett reached for her hand at once. “Let me help you.”

  But her rough landing loosened her giggles and she burst out laughing at the look of surprised amusement on his lordship’s mud-spattered face. “We’re both a sight. It looks like we were rolling around with pigs somewhere.”

  He smiled, and when his eyes met hers, she was half convinced she heard the crackle of electricity between them. She wondered if he felt it, too, because his back stiffened ever so slightly and he cleared his throat. “I’ll have water heated and sent up for your bath, Miss Sebastiano, and I’m certain the laundress will be able to get those stains out.”

  “I’m not worried about that. It’s not one of my newer gowns, so I won’t cry if they don’t come out. Besides…” She smiled at him. “It will always remind me of the absurdity of this moment.”

  He stood, leaving the muddied boots where they were. “What did Cousin Claudia mean she thinks they’re going to kill each other?”

  “Galen and Tio Diego. They’re fighting about something. And like most Spaniards, they get passionate and it isn’t over until someone is bleeding.” She glanced over her shoulder, in the general direction Gabby and Claudia had gone. “I wouldn’t worry. They’ll be laughing about it tomorrow. Although”—she frowned—“I don’t know how funny it will seem when Claudia is furious at Galen for sporting a bruised eye at their wedding.”

  “What does that word mean?”

  She squinted up at him. “What word?”

  “Tio. I’ve noticed you use it whenever you speak of Captain Santa Cruz. And tia when you speak of Cousin Gabby. What does it mean?”

  “Oh, that? It means uncle and aunt.” She smiled, tilting her head to one side. “Is English your only language?”

  “No. I speak French and Latin, and a smattering of Greek.”

  “Oooh, I’ll wager Latin and a smattering of Greek come in handy these days.” Although she teased him, she was still impressed. Four languages compared to her two was very impressive indeed. He was a man of surprises, the Earl of Dunning.

  “I don’t use it often, no. But then, I don’t often get to speak French, either.”

  “Well, don’t look to me for conversation. I speak only English and Spanish. And even my Spanish doesn’t get used all that often. When Papi lapses into it, it usually means someone is in serious trouble or he’s had too much to drink.”

  He chuckled and his laugh caught her by surprise. It was low and velvety, as soothing as his voice. It was a laugh people would notice and join in with simply because it sounded so wonderful.

  She could only hope Lady Rosamund would make him laugh and that she would do so whenever possible. He deserved to laugh, and she didn’t think he indulged all that often.

  “Is something the matter?” he asked.

  “I like your laugh,” she told him. “It’s very nice. I imagine a lady could swoon hearing it.”

>   “Miss Sebastiano, you are too kind. And refreshingly blunt.” He caught her by the hand and brought it to his lips. “I look forward to stealing you for a dance at the wedding—if, of course, you will have me. And of course, I do hope you’ll be in the crowd, cheering me on when Loki and I win Ascot.”

  As he kissed her hand, she imagined what it would feel like to have his lips against hers. They were soft and warm against her skin, and so very gentle. Where they touched the back of her hand, her skin warmed at the touch.

  His gaze lingered on hers and her breath caught. They were alone. The servants were busy with wedding preparations, the other guests were readying for supper, and Claudia and Gabby were trying to keep Galen and Diego from killing each other. There was no one to interrupt.

  Her heart thudded against her ribs as she imagined him leaning in and curving his hand against her cheek. He’d leave behind a muddy streak, but would chuckle in that beautiful way and tell her he found it adorable.

  Then he’d tilt her face to his.

  His lips would meet hers.

  “Miss Sebastiano?”

  “What?” She blinked out of her daydream to find him still gazing at her with soft blue eyes. “Oh, I beg your pardon. Doing a bit of woolgathering, I suppose. Yes, I think I’ll go above and take that bath.” She stepped around him, onto the first riser, and without thinking, blurted, “And you should, too. I mean, we should take a bath.” Her face grew hot enough to melt, and she wished she could grab hold of her tongue to stop it from making a total fool of her. Unfortunately, her tongue wasn’t quite finished humiliating her. “Uh, not together, of course, but you in your chambers and me in mine. I’d—that is, I’ll see you at supper, my lord.”

  “Of course, Miss Sebastiano.”

  A slow grin spread over his face, and she sprinted the rest of the way up the stairs, found herself at the wrong end of the house, and practically ran the entire length of Dunning Court until something looked familiar. Then she locked herself in her room to come up with some reason why she could not make it to supper. How on earth was she supposed to face him now, after lobbing such an invitation at him?

  She sank against the door, and slid down onto the floor. Her head made a hollow thud as it came into contact with the wood. “You idiot. What is the matter with you? You must stop thinking of him that way. He is going to marry Lady Rosamund or one of her friends, and it’s almost final. You need to step away and let that happen.”

  But even as she scolded herself, Elena knew that if the opportunity arose again, she’d fling herself at the earl and kiss him breathless.

  Chapter Eight

  The dinner gong rang far too soon for Elena’s liking. She dreaded having to go below and facing the earl after her immense blunder. But, since she had no choice, she reluctantly pulled open her door, only to be very nearly pummeled in the face by Conn.

  He caught himself in time and with a startled smile. “Beg your pardon, Lena. I was going to knock, that’s all.”

  “Well, of course you were,” she told him. “Why would I think you were going to punch me?”

  “Right.” He leaned back, as if peering down the corridor. “Galen, come here.”

  “No. I don’t want to.”

  “Galen.” Conn yanked their younger brother into the doorway, and Elena gasped at the sight of him, as Conn demanded, “Can you hide this?”

  This was a swollen, gashed lip and an ugly greenish-blue bruise beneath Galen’s left eye. Elena stared in horror, mingled with some disbelief. “What on earth…? Did Diego do this?” She reached up to poke the bruise.

  Conn sucked in a sharp breath in unison with his brother, and Galen spluttered, “Damn it, Lena, don’t touch!”

  “I apologize, but what happened? Oh, for goodness sake, Conn, bring him in and close the door.”

  Conn shoved Galen into the room, then slammed the door shut while Galen slumped into the wingback chair near the hearth with a low groan. Like the rest of the Sebastiano men, he was large, broad and black haired. His eye color was his own, however, as he was the only one with eyes the color of roasted cocoa beans. Since falling in love with Claudia, he’d tamed his devilish streak, but now he looked ready to tear into someone with his bare hands.

  “What happened?” When neither man replied, she scowled, hands on her hips and said, “Don’t make me ask again, especially if you want my help.”

  “The wedding is off,” Galen muttered, eyes glittering dangerously.

  “What?” Elena spun about to Conn. “Is he serious?”

  Conn nodded. “It sounds it to me. Go ahead, Gale. Tell her what happened.”

  “I let it slip that Claudia wouldn’t exactly be a virgin on our wedding night.”

  “You did what?” Elena couldn’t keep the horror out of her voice. “Have you completely lost your mind, Galen Sebastiano? Why on earth would you do such a thing?”

  “That’s what I asked. Go on, Gale. Tell her.” Conn dragged over the chair from the escritoire and dropped into it. He propped his legs on the arm of Galen’s chair, crossed them at the ankles, and brought his hands up above his head as if enjoying every bit of his brother’s predicament, which he probably was.

  Galen made a face at his older brother and rubbed his eyes with both hands, muttering, “Damn it,” before drawing in a deep breath. “It slipped out. He said something to the effect of being patient on our wedding night and there being no need to rush and I—being the ass I apparently am—blurted out that it wasn’t going to be a problem.”

  “Diego popped him on the spot,” Conn broke in, his grin widening. “And Gale, you went down like a bag of sand, my brother.”

  “Hush. You aren’t helping, you know,” Elena scolded Conn, crouching before Galen to put her hand on his knee. “Oh, that looks awful, Galen.”

  He jerked away as she reached toward his face. “Don’t touch me. It hurts far worse than it looks and the worst part is that I damn well deserve this. Why…why didn’t I stop and think?”

  “Tell me you didn’t hit him back. Please tell me you didn’t hit him back.”

  She glanced sideways up at Conn, who smirked and shook his head as Galen said, “I hit him back.”

  “And let me guess, that’s when the fight broke out.” She lifted her hand from Galen’s knee and brought it to her forehead. “Galen, why…” She sighed. “And of course, Claudia didn’t exactly appreciate you beating up her father and letting them know she’s…well…that the two of you… Oh, stop laughing, Conn. You know what I mean.”

  Conn didn’t trouble to hide his laughter. “I do, and if your face grows any redder, sister dear, it will melt right off your skull.”

  She rolled her eyes. Would he ever take anything seriously? “This is serious. I’ll talk to Claudia, but you”—she pointed at Conn—“and you”—she pointed at Galen—“need to talk it out with Diego. You’re all hotheads, the lot of you. Have a drink, have ten, I don’t care, but make peace while I convince Claudia with all the fuss her mother put up about the dress, the flowers, the cake, and what have you, I will kill her if she doesn’t take pity on you and marry you in four days.”

  With that, she rose and marched to the door. “I mean it, both of you. Fix this or else.”

  As she rounded the corner, she heard Conn remark, “The earl had best watch himself. If Lena’s got her eye on him, he’s doomed.”

  She fought the urge to go after him and give him yet another piece of her mind. Finding Claudia and getting her to forgive Galen for his temper was the most pressing thing now.

  Unfortunately, Claudia didn’t seem to think so, for as soon as she opened her door and saw Elena, she shook her head and made to close it. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Claude, please.” Elena thrust her foot between the door and jamb. “Just let me—oh, that hurts!”

  “I said, I don’t want to talk about it, Elena. Not with you and most definitely not with him. He shamed me before my parents and there’s no forgiving that. Now, I’m
sorry, but please leave me alone.”

  Elena couldn’t tolerate the painful pressure on her slippered foot, so she yanked it free. The door slammed shut and she heard the grind of the key in the lock. Her spirits sank at the sounds of Claudia throwing herself across the bed and sobbing.

  She stood there, dumbfounded, staring at the polished wood. How could she fix this? Where did she even begin? What Galen had done was the height of foolishness and he had shamed his love, even if he hadn’t meant to. It would take much more than an “I’m sorry” and a pint of ale to right his relationship with Diego.

  “Miss Sebastiano?” Elena swore beneath her breath as Lady Rosamund and the other ladies swept toward her. “Is something the matter?”

  “No, of course not. Miss Santa Cruz is…feeling ill and won’t be down for dinner, I’m afraid.” Elena pushed herself away from the door and fell into step with them. “And I wouldn’t expect the rest of them, either. Or my brothers.” As they all stared at her, she shrugged. “It’s really best if you don’t ask.”

  “Very well. We won’t.” Christina’s smile did little to hide the hint of malice in her voice.

  Cordelia came around the back of the group to walk alongside Elena. “Is everything a-a-all right with M-m-miss Santa Cruz and Captain Seb-seb-sebastiano?” she asked in a low voice.

  Elena shook her head. “I’d rather not talk about it. If you don’t mind.”

  “Of course I don’t. B-b-but if you need to talk, I’m a captive l-l-listener.”

  “Thank you, Miss Chandler. I appreciate that.”

  Eleanor cleared her throat. “I’ve heard more guests arrived this evening. Lord Huxley and his brother, Mr. Angsley, and several others. By tomorrow eve, this manor will be overrun with eligible bachelors and sought-after misses. It should be quite fun to watch.”

  Elena glanced over at Lady Rosamund, who seemed unconcerned by the onslaught of eligible men due to arrive at Dunning Court as she said, “Perhaps. But there is already one very eligible bachelor under this roof. Two, actually.”

  “Are you interested in Lord Shelton?” Christina asked with a sly smile.