Wanted: An Earl for Hire: Calling all Rakes Read online

He opened him mouth to tell her he could not accept such a lavish gift when she took it from his hand and raising up on tiptoe, slipped the garment about his neck.

  As she did so, her fingers brushed his nape, then the lobe of an ear, sliding over his jaw. Her light touch sent him to flame. It would be so easy to grasp her waist and pull her close, then brush his lips on that tempting mouth.

  “There. Perfect,” she said as she stepped back, turning just as Grace came back into the room.

  Charlotte crossed the room and took the fine crystal from the other woman’s hand, thanking her as she came back to the desk, pretending to arrange flowers.

  His brows shot up as he shook his head. Life was never dull with Charlotte nearby.

  He dropped his voice. “How can she see to go to the other room but doesn’t know that you’re pretending to arrange flowers?”

  Her mouth twitched with amusement as she leaned closer again. “Truth be told, I’m not certain what she can or can’t see. I think she sees shadows. I don’t want to take chances.”

  He nearly laughed again. Something he did rather often in her company. “I wish I could stay longer and watch you create such art…” He gestured toward the empty vase. “But unfortunately, I have another appointment.”

  She sniffed. “I thought you were at my complete disposal.”

  His jaw worked. Not in irritation. He’d like to be even more at her disposal. Damn it all to hell, he had to get his attraction under control.

  “Is there something else you need? I won’t investigate at night and it’ll be dark soon enough. As you pointed out, I can’t save my earldom if I’m not alive.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “I suppose not. You don’t want to stare at these pieces with me for the next hour trying to determine how they fit together, do you?”

  He couldn’t help it. Reaching up his hand, Tate slid the back of his fingers across his jaw. He was tempted to stand there watching her all night. “I’ll keep thinking on it. In the meantime, I’ve got an appointment with the Baron of Brightmore. He’s one of my cousin’s former friends.”

  Her nose wrinkled, another habit he’d noted. “Him? His reputation is dreadful.”

  “True. And he doesn’t rub elbows with many respectable ladies but I’m assuming he knows some of them.”

  She cocked her head. “You’ve got two investigations happening at once.”

  “I suppose I do.” He slid his hand along the scarf again. “Thank you.” Then with an incline of his head, he turned and left. As he made his way to Brightmore’s club, he found himself touching the gift all the way there.

  But as he removed his overcoat and scarf, he pushed Charlotte forcibly from his thoughts. He had another mystery to solve, as she’d put it. Who would be the next Countess of Westmoreland?

  He found Brightmore lounging at a table, his dark hair carelessly swept back from his handsome features, well they would be handsome, if not for the slightly sunken look to his eyes and hollows in his cheeks.

  The life of a rake did not suit him.

  “Thank you for seeing me,” Tate said as he took the seat opposite of Brightmore.

  The other man waved his hand in dismissal. “Happy to do it. I miss your cousin. Life isn’t the same without him.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Tate returned.

  Brightmore gave him a long look. “Still. Being an earl has some perks.”

  Tate shrugged. “Not many. Besides, I’d much rather have Alfred back. He was better suited to the role and he’s left me with a fine—” He’d been about to say mess. But he stopped. What was the point in denigrating Alfred now?

  Brightmore cleared his throat. “Trouble in paradise?”

  Tate didn’t directly answer. He was fairly certain being a lord was pretty far from the Garden of Eden, but he left that one alone too. “What I need are the names of some possible ladies who’d like to become the Countess of Westmoreland.”

  Brightmore chuckled. “You can come to a ball with me next week. It’s my sister’s coming out. I must attend. I’m sure when I hint that you’re available and looking…”

  Tate nodded. “I appreciate that. But I need a well-heeled lady. She needs to have an ample…”

  “Bosom?”

  “Dowry,” he finished, ignoring the vision of Charlotte that seemed ready to surface at the slightest mention. Especially if that mention involved breasts.

  “Ah.” Brightmore nodded. “I understand completely. I’ll tell you what. I’ll ask my sister. She knows everyone who is anyone, naturally. But even I know that the Duke of Wiltshire recently passed. The old bugger left everything that wasn’t attached to his title to his spinster, bluestocking niece and made her one of the richest women in all of England. Next to our soon-to-be queen, of course.”

  There it was again. The heiress everyone was talking about.

  “Who is she?”

  “Penny, Penelope, Priscilla…” Blackwater looked up at the ceiling. “I need another drink and then perhaps I’ll be able to remember.”

  Tate seriously doubted that alcohol would aid the baron.

  “How do I go about finding out who this woman is?”

  “There’s some book. All the good houses have it. Lists all the families and their descendants. I’ve quite forgotten the name.”

  Tate rubbed a hand along his jaw, wondering if all of Alfred’s friends were doing this poorly. “You’ve been most informative.”

  “Alfred always said you were unfailingly kind. I see he was right. But you’re also a liar. I’ve been damned bad with the details.” He looked down into his glass of brandy. “I ought to give it up.”

  Tate felt a muscle twitch in his cheek. “Couldn’t hurt.”

  “Oh, it might.”

  That was likely true. “Will you remember to speak with your sister? I don’t mean to press, but it’s rather urgent. Debts, prison, that sort of thing.”

  Brightmore snapped his fingers and requested paper and ink. When it came, he wrote a shaky note to himself and then ordered them dinner.

  Tate tried not to sigh in frustration. He could likely track down the book at least. Even if Blackwater didn’t know, he knew one person he could ask. Charlotte.

  Chapter Eight

  Charlotte stood in front of the mirror, grimacing at her candlelit reflection. Three days had passed since Tate had delivered the third slip. She’d not heard from him, though apparently, her father had.

  And somehow, or other, he was going with them to the theater.

  Never mind that she loved the theater.

  Though she wasn’t an accomplished musician, she could appreciate artistry in others. But that wasn’t the point, was it? Tate was accompanying her family socially. As though he were courting her. Or considering courting her.

  Her suspicions bristled, her fingers flexing as she looked at her silk evening gown with a plunging neckline. Her mother’s choice.

  While their relationship had changed since the inheritance, Lady Pennington was still a strong woman herself, and if she wished for her daughter to dress for an earl, she got her way.

  Charlotte sighed.

  The pale pink gown was stunning, and the diamonds and pearls threaded through her hair caught the light even with the careless upsweep of her thick locks.

  But why had Tate requested this evening? Did he have another agenda beyond receiving the two thousand pounds? He hadn’t exactly been subtle about needing a rich wife.

  The question remained. Was he specifically seeking her out? Should she ask?

  She sighed again.

  What would she say if he said yes, he’d always had the intention of courting her?

  Was Mona right? Was this her chance at having a happily married life?

  But that didn’t sit well either.

  Because would she be happily married if she got chills every time he walked into a room while he only wanted her money? And how would he be different from all the men who’d rejected her before?

  She had her pride to
o.

  She wanted a man who actually wanted her. Was that so wrong?

  Her mother strolled into the room. “Oh, darling, you look stunning.”

  Charlotte turned. “Tell me again how this evening came about.”

  Her mother shifted, avoiding Charlotte’s gaze. Her answers had been evasive at best. “I told your father about Lord Westmoreland calling…twice.”

  Which was not really an answer. Which had caused Charlotte to have several suspicions. “Did his lordship request this evening or did Papa?”

  Now her mother’s gaze was fixed on a spot on the ceiling. “I’m not entirely certain.”

  “Yes, you are, mother. And the answer matters as I try and discern the earl’s interest.”

  That made her mother’s gaze snap to Charlotte. “So you do hold some interest in him then?”

  Gads. They were talking in circles.

  Then again, that seemed to be nearly every conversation Charlotte had these days. “Possibly. Now, would you please answer my question?”

  “Your father asked him.”

  Charlotte’s shoulders slumped. Because that made it less likely that Tate was plotting to marry her.

  Which was a relief. Mostly.

  “Thank you.” With a last look in the mirror, she turned to her mother. “I’m ready.”

  “Good. Because he’s already waiting downstairs with your father.”

  Her insides jumped but she pushed down her feelings, as they made their way down to the entry.

  Charlotte paused at the top of the grand stair, catching sight of Tate standing next to her father. Dressed in evening attire, he near stole her breath, he looked so handsome.

  Her eyes fluttered closed as she attempted to pull herself together.

  The sensation in her stomach felt a bit like falling with nothing to hold onto.

  Would someone catch her?

  Would Tate?

  He cast his gaze up the stairs and heat prickled along her skin as the dark depths of his eyes met hers.

  Slowly she started down the steps, her hand skimming the banister to make certain she didn’t miss a step. When she’d made it to the bottom, he reached out his hand, taking hers and bringing it to his lips.

  “Shall we?” her father asked as he tweaked his grey mustache.

  They made their way out to the carriage, Charlotte’s thoughts full of questions she couldn’t ask. Not in front of her parents, at least. It wasn’t until they started into the theater, entering the crush of the crowd that they had some measure of privacy. “What are you doing here?” she asked, leaning close so that only he could hear.

  He brushed a hand down her back. “Why wouldn’t I have come? Did you see yourself in that dress?”

  A ripple of pleasure stole through her at his words.

  His fingers brushed down her back again, settling at her waist. Which made her brows raise as she looked up at him. It was a clear mark of possession and was sure to cause rumors. At her questioning glance, however, he only pulled her closer. “And I’m not the only one to notice how beautiful you are.”

  At that, Charlotte glanced around, noting that several other men were giving them long glances. She waved her hand in dismissal. They didn’t give a whit about her dreams and aspirations. She cleared her throat. “Since you are here, we might as well use this moment to talk. What have you found? Anything?”

  He leaned over, whispering in her ear. “Unfortunately, no. But I did note some oddities at the first murder scene.”

  “Such as?”

  He grimaced. “The blood stains. They’re not on the ground but on the wall and—”

  “I want to see it.”

  He jerked back and then gave a quick shake of his head. “No.”

  She huffed a breath. “Yes.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Charlotte.”

  “Tate,” she fired back, ignoring the little thrill of her given name on his tongue. Somehow, her attraction to him only fueled her need to solve this case. If she could do it, then perhaps…perhaps she was accomplished at something other than inheriting someone else’s money.

  “It’s a dangerous neighborhood.”

  “I know. They published the first address in the paper. If you don’t take me, I’ll go myself.”

  He made a noise deep in his throat, almost like a growl, even as he pressed her to his side. “You’re not leaving me much choice.”

  She gave him an angelic grin. “That was my intent.”

  Minx.

  Tate spread out his fingers on Charlotte’s back, admiring the gentle curve of her spine, the press of her breasts to his side, the determined tilt to her chin.

  He hadn’t been lying when he’d said that she was the object of several men’s attention.

  Even now, at a quick glance, he counted three or four gentlemen who stared at her intently.

  It sparked a jealous need to hold her close. Possibly hit a few men and then…

  He groaned. These fantasies had to stop but because this time he was picturing pressing her against the wall and lifting her skirts as he kissed her…everywhere.

  Would she cry his name when she came undone?

  His hand tightened further, fisting his fingers in the silk of her dress.

  “We can go early in the morning, if that makes you feel better.”

  “What?” He’d completely lost the thread of their conversation.

  She looked up at him, her gaze questioning. “The first murder scene. You. Me. Going there. Together.”

  He eased his fingers back, knowing that taking her there was an awful idea. As was bending to her will. Close to the docks, no respectable woman should visit that neighborhood…ever.

  But if she went alone…

  “Charlotte,” he ground out, his jaw clenched. “I have to draw a line. Going to the crime scene is too dangerous.”

  She lifted her chin, her eyes taking on that defiant look that made him want to grind rocks into powder. Stubborn woman.

  “Fine.”

  “Is that fine you won’t go or fine you’re going without me?”

  “You already know.”

  He had his own cards to play and as much as he admired Charlotte’s strength, he was not going to allow her to run roughshod over him. “If you go there without me then I’ll be forced to…”

  “What?”

  He leaned closer. “Don’t make me threaten you.”

  She bristled underneath him. “Threaten me with what?”

  “I could show more interest in front of your parents. Make them think I intend—”

  Charlotte gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

  “I need a bride. Attending functions with you would help me learn society and its players.”

  She blinked a few times before she thumped him with her fist. “Well played.”

  He took some pride in that, considering how often she had outmaneuvered him.

  They made their way up the stairs and settled into their box. As the players took the stage, the audience all focused on the opening scenes and Charlotte and Tate were once again granted some measure of privacy.

  Charlotte leaned close to him, her breast once again brushing his sleeve. How was a man to think when she did that?

  “I’ve got a proposition for you,” she said.

  The woman was going to be the death of him. “What?”

  “I want to go to that murder site. You want to know the prominent families. We make a trade.”

  He closed his eyes. Both to revel in the feel of her and to note that he was once again being outplayed. “What specifically are you proposing to give me?”

  “A book,” she murmured.

  How had she known that he was searching for a book? “Which one?”

  “It’s by Burke. It’s a history of all the prominent families in England.”

  His fingers flexed in his lap. It was the one that Brightmore had mentioned. “What is the title?”

  “Genealogical and Heraldic Dictionary of the Peerage.”
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  He could use that book to determine which woman was the duke’s niece. The heiress that had been mentioned twice now. Somehow, using Charlotte to gain that information made him slightly sick, but he pushed the feeling down. “Where can I find a copy?”

  Though how he’d actually pay for the title was a mystery. He’d spent his last farthing on the coat he now wore. He wasn’t even certain how he’d eat the rest of the week.

  “Any bookstore will have it, but if you take me to that site, then you may borrow mine.”

  Minx.

  He knew he was being redundant now, but her ability to play him was extremely unprecedented. He was a reasonably clever man, at least he’d always thought so. But if he were going to take her to the docks, he was getting more from it than a single borrowed book. “I’ve another request.”

  Her hand slid up his arm before she grasped the underside of his elbow. “What is it?”

  “Next week, I’m to attend a ball.” He let his nose brush the shell of her ear as he whispered into it. “I want you to come with me.”

  He heard her faint gasp, the sound making every muscle tighten.

  “I’ve told you. I’ll not marry, which means I don’t participate in society.”

  He didn’t understand her statement at all. Charlotte was a beautiful, sensual young woman. Why wouldn’t she wed? But he reminded himself that her opinion on marriage was not his business. “Surely you can make one exception. And you’d be getting what you want from it.”

  He heard her sigh of resignation. He’d celebrate his small victory, but he had a feeling while he’d won that particular battle, he’d just lost the war.

  Because he was also agreeing to take her to the docks.

  “Fine, my lord. You have a deal.”

  My lord? If she was referring to him by his formal address, Charlotte wasn’t happy with him either.

  Chapter Nine

  Charlotte kept her hands firmly clasped in her lap. Late morning sunlight filtered in through the window but Charlotte closed her eyes, attempting to calm her fluttering pulse.

  She’d like to reach out and hold Tate’s fingers in hers as their carriage rumbled down the cobblestoned street, but she’d not give him the satisfaction of showing her nerves.