Engaging the Earl

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Emma felt her back go rigid. Coerce into calling on her? By physical force? As if a man would have to be tricked or strong-armed before he’d consider courting her?

“I’m teasing, Miss Mercer,” he said, sitting back slightly when he must have felt her stiffen.

“I know that,” she snapped.

“Well, I wasn’t teasing about Olivia’s plan, but I am certain no coercion will be required once the gentlemen of London learn you are here,” he amended. “That’s truly my role in this arrangement—to arrange introductions.”

“I suppose I should be flattered by your optimism,” she said briskly. Rising quickly from her seat, Emma was almost surprised that the earl didn’t topple over to the floor. She hadn’t realized until then how much he’d been leaning against her.

“Were you aware of my sister’s plan to have me bring you a husband?” Lord Westin asked.

“No! That is, yes,” she stammered, turning her head to hide the blush. “That is, I was aware of the plan, but I didn’t know that you were to be a part of it. How could I have? I had no idea that you were her brother until moments ago! She said that she knew the man to help put the plan into action—I assumed she meant her husband. I hadn’t the slightest notion that she meant …”

“Me?” Lord Westin also rose to his feet, the motion fluid and graceful.

She decided then that no man should be able to move with the kind of lethal grace he did. It wasn’t decent. Nor, Emma continued—since she was already in a making-pronouncements mood—should any man be quite as handsome as the earl.

Handsome men didn’t bother her in general. And she’d known quite a few individuals who she would say had been given more than their fair portion of beauty. Olivia’s husband, for instance. The Marquess of Huntsford was attractive. In a completely nonthreatening, pleasant way.

Not so with the earl.

It wasn’t merely the handsomeness … although there certainly was that. It was the shrewdness, the playfulness and the intensity in his eyes, which all seemed to coexist in some strange commingling.

But Lord Westin was the last man for whom she should let herself feel an attraction. Olivia had recruited him to help her find a husband, which clearly meant that she did not consider him to be a good prospect—and who would know better than the man’s sister? Besides that, Emma couldn’t help but remember the condemnation in his eyes in the carriage on the way to the Roths’, when he scolded her for being in Cheapside. What would he think if he knew that her parents lived so nearby? Surely an earl would disdain anyone with such low connections.

Why should that thought bring her pain? What did she care for his good opinion? He was overbearing and teasing and … and he smirked too much.

“Maybe I should go find Olivia. Maybe she needs help with … whatever it is she’s doing.” Emma at least had the presence of mind to be embarrassed by her pathetic excuse. That didn’t, however, stop her from moving toward the door as she spoke.

“I doubt my sister needs your help eavesdropping,” he returned. With only a few, long strides, Lord Westin was by her side.

“I’m sorry if my teasing you has upset you,” he said seriously.

Deciding to take his proffered olive branch, Emma assured him she was fine—just worried about Olivia.

When Emma had turned her back to him and was preparing to continue her path toward the door, Lord Westin said suddenly, “You never did tell me what you were doing in Cheapside.”

“That was intentional,” she returned.

There was a little too much fervency in his tone for the question to be only polite curiosity. But she still had no intention of answering.

Olivia’s brother was probably a perfectly decent and caring man. Clearly he had been concerned that his joking had upset her. Maybe he wouldn’t treat her with disdain if he knew the truth. But Emma still didn’t want to tell him.

Nick and Olivia were the only people she’d told all about her family’s circumstances. Not that there were many people she could have told. Lady Roth had been entirely uninterested in the details of why she’d sought a position, and there was no one else to whom Emma was close. But even telling her friend had made Emma feel exposed and ready to be judged. She never forgot that she was associating with the nobility.

The Mercers were a respectable family, but even when her father was at his wealthiest, he’d never been a member of elevated society. The second son of a landed gentleman, her father was a scholar … a scholar who was unfortunately an abysmal custodian of the money he’d received as his inheritance in lieu of the estate that had passed to his older brother.

And now even that money was nearly gone. Emma didn’t want Lord Westin’s pity once he discovered how desperate circumstances were for her family. She didn’t want to think about how differently the earl might treat her if he knew the truth.

She’d seen similar situations far too many times during her employment with the Roths. If Emma happened to be visible during one of the family’s parties, the young men would flirt with her and act as though they valued her presence and conversation above all else.

The moment Lady Roth let it be known—in a voice that was much louder and shriller than necessary, in Emma’s opinion—that she was nothing more than the governess, most of the gentlemen would scurry to far corners of the room. The ones who stayed weren’t doing so for any noble purposes.

Emma knew how these kinds of things worked. With the exception of her friends Olivia and Nick, nobles didn’t waste their time with those outside their social spheres. And wrong though it might be, Emma was enjoying the ease of this moment with Lord Westin too much to spoil it.

So she clamped her lips together. Let the earl think whatever he wanted. Because as far as she was concerned, nothing he came up with could be quite as bad as the truth.

Chapter Four

Emma really shouldn’t have climbed up in the tree. It didn’t matter that Olivia’s rather extensive garden showed no signs of other inhabitants. With a bit of a self-deprecating smile, she thought that if Lady Roth could see her now, the viscountess would feel vindicated in terminating Emma’s employment. Who wanted a tree-climbing hoyden watching over her children?

Olivia and Nick were both gone, visiting Nick’s aunt, the Duchess of Leith. Emma had been invited but wasn’t quite ready to face anyone else in the ton. Especially since there was one particular member of high society that she couldn’t seem to get out of her head.

Stop thinking about him.

Really. It will do you no good.

You’re being a fool.

Ever since the day before, when she’d realized who Mr. Fairfax truly was, Emma had alternated between being irritated that he hadn’t immediately told her who he was, and being irritated with herself for caring at all. Climbing the tree had been a desperate attempt to find something to occupy her mind, which had been much too busy with thoughts of the Earl of Westin. She hadn’t even attempted climbing trees since she was a child, and in her aggravated state, it had seemed the perfect challenge for the moment. Frankly, even now she was rather impressed that she hadn’t broken her neck. But now that she was treed for the time being, she was left with nothing to do but think.

Her first priority had to be finding another job.

She’d agreed to go along with Olivia’s plan, but surely the husband hunt her friend envisioned would never succeed. It was ridiculous to think that rich, eligible men would form a line to catch her attention. And besides, any man who did fall all over himself to earn the favor of a former governess of no particular distinction could hardly be sensible. How could she depend on a man like that to shelter and protect her and her family? No, she’d have to do as she had always done—rely on only herself.

It had been three days since Lady Roth had dismissed her without a letter of reference. Three days since she should have gone straight home and confessed everything to her parents. Emma hadn’t been able to do it yet, though. She hadn’t been able to fortify herself enough to see her mother’s and father’s hearts break.

Waiting, in the hopes of having some good news of a new position to alleviate the bad tidings of her lost job, was perhaps the most asinine plan Emma had ever concocted. But staying with Nick and Olivia made it so easy for her to not go home yet, to keep the problems to herself for a little while longer. To hope that some wonderful new opportunity would come to light soon.

Emma had already written to the different agencies in London, praying that they might have families in need of a governess. And while her personal contacts weren’t extensive, Emma had sent missives to anyone she could think of, asking if they, or anyone they knew, needed a governess or even a lady’s companion. Too little time had passed for her to receive any replies.

Father, let me find a job, had become a constant prayer. And let me forget about that irksome earl, had become a constant follow-up.

And while Emma was an avid believer in the power of prayer, she never felt any kind of confidence afterward that her entreaty would take care of the matter where Lord Westin was concerned.

Her life had spiraled so far out of her control that Emma wasn’t certain she’d ever be able to rein it back in. Like a leaf tossed about by the gusting wind, she had little say over what happened to her anymore. And it scared her. Giving up control didn’t come easily to her. Surrendering her concerns to God sounded fine in theory, but it was one of Emma’s biggest struggles.

“Why am I not surprised?”

Emma started from her position on the branch, shaking the stout limb until she feared she might fall.

“Careful,” the voice cautioned her.

She looked down toward the ground, wishing she could disappear farther up into the tree when she saw that it was Lord Westin standing below her.

Where had he come from?

“You’re not about to drop out and knock me down, are you?” His mouth curved in a smile, and Emma felt her own lips upturn in response.

Emma said, smirking, “Not unless you provoke me.” Which, considering their short, volatile history, was a distinct possibility.

Lord Westin, once assured that she wasn’t going to be taking a nasty tumble, stepped back a few feet. He leaned almost negligently against a gatepost opposite her tree. “I’ll try to be mindful of that, then.”

Emma tried to look as stern as possible—something a bit difficult considering the undoubtedly ludicrous picture she presented. “You would do well to do so.”

“So, are you in the tree for any particular reason or are you indulging a long-held desire to be a bird?” The gleam in his eyes teased her.

“I thought it might be a peaceful place to contemplate,” she hedged.

For a moment, Emma was afraid he’d mock her, but Lord Westin nodded solemnly. “Understandable.”

The two of them stared at each other for a few moments … it couldn’t have been too long, just enough time to make Emma look away uncomfortably. She hated the fact that her wit and social graces seemed to fail her when he was around.

“Did you wish to be alone?” she asked finally.

“Not really,” he replied.

Emma waited for him to say more, but Lord Westin didn’t offer any explanations.

“Are you sure?” she persisted, “Because I could leave if you wish me to.”

“Not at all. You were here first.” As he shook his head, Emma noticed how delightfully mussed his hair looked.

Emma couldn’t think of anything else to say. She decided that whatever the rest of the conversation held, it would be preferable if her part took place on the ground rather than in the air. Emma thought about asking him to help her down, or at least asking him to turn around so she could descend with a shred of her dignity intact. But without knowing how she would possibly phrase either question, Emma stared at the distance from her feet to the ground. And she jumped.

Lord Westin was at her side in an instant, steadying her by wrapping his arm around her waist.

“Are you all right?” he asked, looking her over as though she’d fallen headfirst.

“I’m fine, Lord Westin,” Emma said, trying to step back and regain the distance between them.

“Don’t do that again.” His voice was harsh, commanding. His jaw was set, and his hands were a vise around her.

Her chin raised, and her eyes glinted in defiance. “How do you think I usually get down?”

Grudgingly convinced that besides being perhaps addled in the head, there was nothing wrong with her, Lord Westin released his hold and stepped away.

As soon as he let go of her, she felt the most disconcerting stab of emptiness.

“I stand in amazement that you made it to adulthood,” the earl drawled.

Emma could tell he was trying to calm his own panic by the way he was breathing slowly, exhaling audibly. It was oddly pleasant to have someone so concerned about her welfare even if “show concern” for the earl seemed to translate to “be bossy and insufferable.”

“You and my parents,” she quipped.

His expression sharpened with interest. “Your parents? I haven’t heard much about them.”

There’s a very good reason for that.

For a moment, she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. “It’s not like you’re brimming with stories about yours,” she countered. If she’d been thinking more clearly, Emma would certainly never have brought up the undoubtedly painful subject. She knew from previous conversations with Olivia that their mother had committed suicide after her husband’s death.

The Earl of Westin’s face shuttered, becoming a blank mask.

“I’m sorry,” Emma said, her voice earnest. She even took a few steps forward, thinking she might grab his hand … some physical touch to try and imbue her regret into him.

“Don’t apologize.” His voice was gruff, although not angry.

But she couldn’t leave it there. Emma already felt like a brat for firing back at him. So in an effort to offer an olive branch, she said, “I shouldn’t have brought up such a painful subject. Olivia has told me about your mother’s …” Emma’s words trailed off as her brain caught up to what she’d nearly said. In her rush to apologize she’d forgotten that the circumstances of the former Lady Westin’s death were a secret.

Society would shun Olivia and Marcus if it were known that their mother had taken her own life. “Th-that is to say,” she stammered, “she has told me what a struggle it has been for you both to come to terms with your losses.”

He gave her a considering look. “I see that Olivia has told you a great deal, indeed. The two of you must be quite close.”

Emma nodded. “I don’t know what I would have done without her these past few days.”

The considering look sharpened. “And just how many days have you been here? Since about the night that we met?”

Emma shrugged. “Lady Roth didn’t appreciate my tardiness.” She tried to sound unconcerned. Lord Westin didn’t need to know how devastating and upending her termination was. Or how confused and adrift she felt over what to do next … join Olivia in a husband hunt or confess to her parents and beg for their forgiveness?

He frowned. “She’s not exactly a sympathetic figure, is she?”

“I see you’ve met her, then …” she joked.

His chuckle was low and warm. “So, what are your plans now? I know my sister’s plans for you—but you’ve already shown that you’re entirely unwilling to fall in line with others’ expectations.” He cast a significant glance up at the tree she’d so recently conquered. “Do you agree with her intentions to find you a husband?”

Emma averted her eyes, suddenly embarrassed. “I’m still trying to figure that out,” she said quietly.

Despite her attempts to look away, brown eyes bored into hers. The inspection was so steady that Emma had to force herself not to be the first to break the connection. “What do you want?” he asked.

Why did she feel like the question was something more than it seemed?

“To be happy.”

Her words hung in the air, almost taking on a life of their own. No matter how awkward she felt or how much she might have wished that she hadn’t been quite as frank, it was too late to change the moment.

And when Lord Westin whispered, “Me, too,” she was fine with that.

When Marcus saw the wistfulness in Miss Mercer’s eyes, he couldn’t help but be moved. He’d come into the garden with his mind full of all of his own problems. Another round of endless hours spent analyzing his accounts had brought him no good news. But Miss Mercer, in a situation far more pitiable than his, still seemed to cling to hope for the future. He admired her for that.

What would bring her the happiness she sought? Was it a husband, as Olivia seemed to think? She would hardly be the first woman in London to seek happiness in a wealthy match. Yet Marcus didn’t really think that she was a single-minded husband-hunter. While he couldn’t claim to understand the feminine mind, something about the fiery young woman being so materialistic didn’t quite ring true to him.

But could he really deny his help in trying to make Miss Mercer’s life better? Since she’d lost her job, maybe finding a spouse was her only hope.

He chose not to examine the way that thought rankled.

Marcus had come to call on Olivia today with the sole purpose of telling her that he couldn’t participate in her matchmaking scheme. Getting his affairs in order to enable him to live on his new and much-reduced income would be an enormous undertaking. He’d have little time to devote to arranging routs and luncheons to find Miss Mercer a husband. But now, in light of her wistfulness, Marcus found himself reconsidering.

As he stood there looking at her, Marcus resolved that he wouldn’t tell his sister “no” just yet. Admittedly, he wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of what he was going to have to do, but if it would bring a smile to Miss Mercer’s face … well, that might make the ordeal worth it.