How Not To Marry An Earl. Christine Merrill
‘A hawk. Or perhaps an eagle.’
He sighed. ‘Next you will be telling me England has daylight owls.’ He held out a hand. ‘Give him to me.’
She scooped the dog up and offered him.
Potts took him by the scruff of the neck, nimbly dodging the snapping jaws and dropped him into the leather bag at the side of his saddle. The dog disappeared for a moment, like a swimmer beneath a wave. Then his head poked out from under the flap, offering something that looked rather like a canine grin.
‘There.’ Potts held out a hand. ‘And now, you.’
Gingerly, she offered her own hand and he pulled her up. He seemed to exert no strength at all, settling her on to the saddle in front of him, to sit on one hip. Then his arms took the reins on either side of her waist, holding her in place as they set off.
Though he showed no signs of noticing it, it was a surprisingly intimate arrangement. Perhaps such behaviour was common in America. Or perhaps she was not pretty enough to move him. He handled the horse as easily as if he was riding alone.
But for her, it was strangely disquieting. Though she did not normally dwell on the appearances of the men around her, it was hard not to notice this one. The arms that wrapped around her were long, as were the legs that brushed against her skirts. He must be well over six feet. He was not precisely gaunt, but there was an angular quality about his frame that seemed to carry to his face. The planes of his cheeks were sharp, as was the line of his jaw. His pale skin might have given another man an aristocratic air, but on him it seemed more scholarly than aloof, as if his studies kept him from the sun.
This attracted her more than his fine features or the shock of dark hair shading his brow. He looked like someone who might be content to hole up in a library. Though the muscles she could feel in the limbs surrounding her did not come from inactivity, he looked like a kindred spirit.
But it did not really matter what he looked like, or how he had come to be so. Men, especially ones that looked the way this one did, never gave such scrutiny to her. She turned her head and looked resolutely forward at the house they were approaching.
‘Comstock Manor,’ he said, stating the obvious. But there was a tone beneath the words that sounded not so much impressed as stunned.
‘You did not think it would be so large,’ she said.
‘I was told. But I could not believe it was true.’
‘It represents everything that is wrong with the family,’ she said. ‘Something that started as a good idea but grew out of hand until it was no longer possible to manage or afford.’
‘No wonder there has been trouble finding someone to record the contents. Who would want to take on such a job?’
‘We have lost more valuables than most people own,’ she said, speaking quite close to the truth. ‘Though most of them are not actually gone. They are just sitting in one of the forty rooms, waiting to be rediscovered.’
She felt something quicken in him at the mention of this surplus of material wealth, a faint, covetous quivering of his nerves. Then he relaxed again, as if afraid that she might have noticed his interest. ‘As a member of the family, I would think that you would be in a position to know where some of those things are.’
‘I might be,’ she said, turning back to blink at him in what she hoped was an innocent way. ‘The Earl will never be able to have an accurate accounting of them if I do not help. And I doubt you will be able to learn the lay of the place in whatever time he has allotted for the job.’
The horse pulled up short.
‘How would I…? I mean, you are right that there is no way for me to do this job without help. But the Earl would not know one way or the other, if I got it wrong, would he?’
He had not even crossed the threshold and he was already giving up. Or did he mean to collect full pay for a slapdash job? His reasons did not matter. Carelessness, laziness or moral flexibility would all suit equally well as a reason for his departure.
‘He will not know if the inventory is not complete unless we tell him,’ she said, choosing her words carefully. ‘But I have no intention of spreading tales to a man I never met, just because other men I have never met decided he is the heir.’
‘I see,’ he said, in an equally careful tone.
‘I am sure he is depending on your friendship for an accurate accounting,’ she added.
‘My friendship.’ Mr Potts laughed. ‘I can tell you in all truth that six months ago, I knew nothing of Comstock, his title or his property.’
This was even more interesting. If the Earl had hired a stranger to see to his interests abroad, he was likely to get the results he deserved. ‘The property is not technically his,’ she reminded him. ‘It belongs to the Crown.’ She smiled again. ‘But, as an American, you have no real loyalty there, do you?’ She had opened the door to conspiracy. Now they would see if Mr Potts walked through it.
‘Loyalty?’ He laughed again. ‘The whole point of my country was to escape this one. And yet, here I am, surrounded by riches that do not belong to the Earl and debts that do.’
‘That is a pity,’ she said with a shake of her head. ‘In my opinion, the task set for you is a hopeless one. If you chose to resign from it, you could be long gone from here before anyone noticed your absence.’
Behind her, he started in surprise. ‘Miss Strickland, I was thinking just such a thing when you arrived.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘But then, I would not be paid, would I? And an urgent need for funds was the only reason I even considered the job.’
Then she made the most daring move at all. ‘The house is not lacking for ornaments. If you chose to take something to compensate for your lost time, who would know?’
There was a long pause as he considered her words. But just as she was sure he would succumb, he baulked. ‘Stealing from the Earl would be wrong. Both a breach of the Commandments and the law.’
‘Of course,’ she added hurriedly, annoyed. If morality was seriously a concern, she might never get rid of the man. The next temptation would have to be far more subtle. ‘But there is no need for us to be discussing such things in the middle of the drive. As you said before, a storm is approaching. Come into the house and we will get you settled.’
And then she could go to work on him. Once he had seen the house and his place in it, he might be gone by morning.
* * *
When his ancestral home had been described to him, Miles had got a vague impression of a large but dilapidated manor in the country. But there was no way he could have imagined the thing that stood before him now. It appeared to be two or three large houses built cheek by jowl, as if the owners could not quite decide what they’d wanted and simply kept building on to it until the money had run out.
Having seen the accounts, that seemed to be exactly what had happened. When he’d set out from America, he’d assumed that all English lords had to be rich. But his family had run through their money generations ago. The rents from the tenants barely kept pace with the cost of maintaining the property. All that was left beyond them was the house and its contents. And the most valuable items were things he was not supposed to sell. He was expected to hold them in trust for future generations that might never be born if he could not manage to settle his business now.
But the caution to respect the entail had not impressed his ancestors. After greeting him on his arrival, the widow of his predecessor had barely taken a breath before announcing that the diamonds in the Comstock family jewels had been replaced with paste long before she became Countess. The Earls and Countesses of Comstock had been telling lies about their value for so long that it might as well be declared a family tradition.
On hearing this, he had assumed that there was nothing left of value. But though the collection of silver-framed miniatures on the hall