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

  She’d insisted on this outing after all.

  Grace sat in on the seat across from them, already having fallen sound asleep. Small gifts.

  “The murder scene is one street over from a more respectable part of London,” Tate said. “We’ll stop the carriage in a safe neighborhood and walk the two minutes over.”

  She nodded her agreement. Better to leave the sleeping Grace on a nice safe street as they slipped away.

  To distract her thoughts and her hands, she reached for the book on the seat next to her.

  Genealogical and Heraldic Dictionary of the Peerage stared back at her. Odds were once she handed it over, he’d learn who she was and what she had if he didn’t know already.

  The very idea that he might have known about her wealth this entire time and he wished to secure her fortune cut deeper each time she considered it.

  Because with every passing day, her heart was his a little bit more.

  And she wanted to believe their connection was growing…she twisted her hands.

  How was she going to explain she was an heiress after all this? She hadn’t been dishonest, but she hadn’t exactly been honest either.

  Or perhaps he did know and it was him who hadn’t been honest. That hurt a great deal, and her stomach twisted with the thought. Either way, they were walking amongst a tighter and tighter web.

  “I have the book.” She handed it to him, noting how much larger his hands were than hers as he took the book from her hands.

  “Any advice where to start?”

  “With A?”

  He gave a light chuckle. “That’s one way to do it.”

  She glanced out the window then, her mouth turning down. “If you’re asking me to help you find a bride, I’d really prefer not to.”

  He reached out and touched her hand then. “Charlotte.”

  She shook her head. She knew she’d just revealed her feelings. But events were happening so quickly, and they were about to speed up. Once he found out about all the money…

  She wanted to know how he felt before that came between them. Well, in theory it would bring them together but for all the wrong reasons. “Don’t say anything. I mean, you don’t have to say anything. I just…”

  “Charlotte.” He cupped her face in his hand, his thumb stroking over her cheek. “Do stop telling me what to do all the time.”

  A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. “I do make a habit of that, don’t I?”

  “You do.”

  For a breathless second, she wondered if he might kiss her. His thumb was at the corner of her mouth as he leaned close. The intimacy between them was palpable as the footman snapped open the door.

  He slipped his hand from her face as he stepped out, handing her out as well. They made like they were just taking a stroll but the moment they were out of sight of the carriage, Tate tugged her down an alley.

  They wove between buildings and out onto another main thoroughfare.

  “It’s just over there.” Tate pointed to another alley on the quiet street.

  With a nod, she linked her hand with his as they made their way across the street.

  She caught the slight scuffing sound, her feet stilling as she scanned the street. That’s when she noticed someone was there already.

  A man stood from a crouched position. “Is that…?”

  “Inspector Scully.”

  But he started down the alley.

  “He’s visiting the scenes again too? Do you think he’s found something? Learned something?” she asked as she tried to keep up with Tate’s long strides, their hands still locked.

  “There’s only one way to find out.” Tate pulled her down the alley just as they caught sight of the inspector’s back as he made a sharp turn.

  “Inspector?” Tate called, pulling her toward him.

  “Does he not hear you?” Charlotte asked attempting to catch her breath.

  “I’m not certain.” Tate turned again, making his way down another alley.

  But then he stopped short, Charlotte running into his back his move was so abrupt. She crashed into his hardness, squishing her nose and knocking her glasses askew. “Oh.”

  “Shh,” he said in response and suddenly, he turned, his hands wrapping about her. He lifted her and darted into a dark alcove. He pressed them back into the shadows as she heard the rough calling of several men.

  “We’re in their neighborhood,” he whispered in her ear. “Greeting them would bring nothing but trouble.”

  She nodded, dropping her face into the crook of his neck as the voices drew closer.

  They stayed there for several minutes, the men passing by as his body pressed to hers, shielding her, her arms threaded about his neck.

  Her body thrummed against his, aching everywhere as they pressed together. Once again, she found herself closer to this man than she’d ever been to another.

  And as the voices faded, he eased back a bit. “Are you all right?”

  Charlotte looked up at that. “We lost the inspector.”

  But he brought his hand back to her face, his fingers caressing over her cheek. “I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

  She shook her head, his hand sliding down her neck. “It was my idea.”

  “Yes, but…” He dropped his face closer. “I care about you too, Charlotte.”

  “Oh,” she started, but no more words left her lips as his mouth caressed hers.

  Nothing in her life had prepared for the way his lips lightly brushed hers. It was sweet, soft, and achingly gentle and yet, as he kissed her again, something wild and wanton unfurled in her belly.

  An ache settled between her legs, and pulsed with increasing intensity as he kissed her longer, harder, their mouths melding together. Her gloved fingers slid into his hair. She wished she could feel the strands of his hair. Her fingers curled into the locks as he tilted her mouth open, brushing his tongue along her bottom lip.

  Hot passion exploded inside.

  This.

  She needed more of it. More of him.

  But then he pulled back, taking the sweet heat of his mouth away. “We should…”

  “No. Not yet. We haven’t even looked at the blood stains.”

  “Charlotte,” he said, sliding his thumb along the wet crease of her lips where his mouth had just been. “I failed my cousin Alfred. I didn’t see trouble coming when I clearly should have. I will not allow the same thing to happen to you.”

  He failed Alfred?

  Her eyes scrunched. How could that be true? Did he force his cousin to gamble? Drink and womanize? There was clearly more to this but now did not seem the appropriate time to ask. “All right. But can we please return by way of the murder scene. I’ll be quick.”

  He gave a curt nod and then pulled her from the alcove. Quickly they wound through the streets.

  Returning to where they’d seen the inspector, Charlotte scanned the area. No note was to be found.

  And Tate had been correct. The blood was against the wall, rather than on the ground. It dripped down the brick in a way that wrenched at her insides. “That poor woman.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Come on. We don’t want Grace to wake before we’ve returned.”

  She gave a nod.

  “Did you find any answers?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Are you ready to give the inspector what you’ve discovered and tell him what you know?”

  She winced. Yes. No. Maybe. The desire to solve this case was waning, being replaced with her need for him. But if she didn’t solve the murders, what was she? Just a purse.

  And she wanted to be more than that. More for him.

  More for herself.

  That evening, Tate sat in his study, noting the settee’s faded fabric. He ran a hand across the shabby cloth and shook his head.

  What was he going to do about Charlotte Pennington?

  He cared about her.

  Hell. He was fairly certain it went far deeper than carin
g. If he was going to be honest, at least with himself, he was falling in love.

  For the first time, he’d found a woman with whom he could imagine spending his entire life.

  Rather than boring, life with Charlotte would be full of excitement, passion, and a bit of maddening obstinance that was sure to drive him wild with irritation and desire.

  But he wasn’t free to marry Charlotte. Not anymore.

  That same anger he’d been ignoring bubbled up inside his chest. If only Alfred hadn’t died. But then, he’d have never answered that ad.

  He knew Charlotte had some dowry.

  Perhaps it was enough.

  He should speak with her father. Glean the answers. He was a solicitor, after all. While he couldn’t make something from nothing, even a small sum might do the trick. If he could spin it into the right investments.

  They wouldn’t have much, but they might be happy.

  Would Charlotte be content with that?

  He relaxed at that.

  She didn’t give a whit about balls, parties, or society.

  He’d have a harder time keeping her away from crime scenes. That last thought made him chuckle.

  Though, the joy of it quickly evaporated. Because that was his second realization. He could not allow her to continue to endanger herself. That was also abundantly clear.

  He looked down at the book she’d given him earlier, his hand spreading out on the cover. He didn’t open it, he just looked.

  It reminded him of her words. I can’t help you find a bride.

  Leave it to Charlotte to express her feelings in such roundabout terms. No flowery declarations of love or affection. She’d let him know just the same, of course. Which made him smile.

  “Excellent choice in reading, my lord,” James said as he poured Tate another whisky.

  When had his butler entered? He’d been so lost in thought, he hadn’t noticed. “Thank you.”

  “Did you purchase the copy?” James cleared his throat as he straightened. “I only ask because you needn’t have bothered. I own it already.”

  Tate rubbed at the spot between his eyes. Of course his butler owned the book. And why hadn’t he thought to ask the man? He’d been in service of an earldom for more than thirty years. “You’ll be pleased to know I did not spend a shilling of our meager funds on the book. I borrowed it.”

  “Borrowed it? Who are you acquainted with that you were able to do so?”

  Tate frowned up at James. The man would have never asked such a question of his uncle or even his cousin. But then again, neither James nor Tate himself really saw him as the actual lord of the manor. And besides, perhaps James was a valuable asset that Tate had overlooked. “If you must know, I’ve recently met a woman from a good family. Daughter of a second son.”

  How had he not realized that he had no idea who her father was the second son of? He was unused to asking such questions, he’d guess. And as he looked down at the amber liquid in his glass, he noted there was a great deal he still didn’t know.

  “Daughter of a second son? Who?”

  He grimaced, hating to admit that he didn’t know. “Pennington. Lord Pennington.”

  James sucked in a quick breath. “Miss Charlotte Pennington lent you that book?”

  Tate looked up at the man he’d known and not liked his entire life. And yet, here they were, stuck together. “That’s right. How did you know?”

  James leaned forward. “Are you courting her?”

  “Courting her?” he asked, his brow drawing together. While he wanted James’s help, he’d not explain that he’d allowed a bluestocking to hire him and now he was considering offering for her and throwing the earldom to the wind. “That’s not your concern.”

  James shook his head. “You’re a smart man, my lord, and a complete ninny.” And then he spun on his heel and left.

  Well, that right there was why Tate never asked James for help. Had the butler deemed her not wealthy enough?

  Tate didn’t care. He’d find a way.

  He had to. Because he couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.

  Chapter Ten

  Charlotte sat with her family, a companionable silence filling the room as they allowed their dinner to digest.

  Or perhaps she was more companionable.

  Despite the danger today and her lack of progress on her investigation…it had been a good day.

  It wasn’t every day that she told a man she was fond of him, and he replied by kissing her. In fact, it wasn’t any day, except for today. That had been her very first kiss.

  And, if she were completely honest, she wished for more.

  It was like an entire world opened to her that she’d not even considered. And now that she’d begun to experience this new world, she didn’t want to close the door on it again.

  But how did she change her principles, her ideals, without losing herself? Especially if she couldn’t do any more to help this case. She’d not marry out of failure, and she’d not be a man’s purse.

  She shook her head, staring into the crackling fire. She was allowing her doubts to cloud what had been good about the day.

  She shook her head. “Sometimes, Charlotte, you are a fool.”

  “What’s that dear?” her father asked, smoothing his mustache as he read the paper.

  “She called herself a fool,” her mother replied.

  Charlotte rolled her eyes.

  “Why are you a fool?” her father asked. “Have you deduced the answer to some complicated problem that you can’t believe you didn’t solve earlier?”

  Charlotte smiled. Her father had been nothing but supportive her entire life. “Quite the opposite. I can’t seem to figure anything out these days.”

  “What are you struggling with?” her mother asked.

  She shook her head. “Well, you know I’ve been following those murders.” She thought best not to add that she’d been actively investigating them. “But I haven’t drawn any viable conclusions.”

  “That is perplexing.” Her father smiled under his mustache.

  “And.” She drew in a breath. “I can’t seem to figure out if Lord Westmoreland actually cares for me or if he’s a fortune-hunter.”

  Both her parents fell silent until her mother finally shrugged. “Perhaps it’s both.”

  “That does not make me feel better.”

  Her father chuckled at that. “Don’t worry, my dear. I saw the way he looked at you. Only a man who truly cares looks like that when he thinks no one is watching.”

  Her heart warmed and she reached out to pat her father’s hand. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze in return. “You’ll have to tell me what you want me to say when he requests to court you.”

  She raised her brows. She hoped she had a bit more time before that might happen because she still wasn’t sure what her father should say.

  She knew her feelings, but his motivations were far more grey. “I’m still considering all the options.”

  Her mother shook her head. “Money. It’s a blessing and a curse.”

  Charlotte was inclined to agree.

  Silence fell again as her own thoughts returned to Tate. His smile. The hard lines of his face and the soft waves of his hair. She let out the smallest sigh.

  Her father rustled the paper, yanking her from her thoughts. “Well, my dear. Perhaps I have some answers for you after all.”

  “I beg your pardon?” she asked, her heart seizing in her chest.

  Answers about what? Tate? What answers could there be in the paper? But her mind was already spinning through the possibilities. Was he engaged? Caught in a scandal?

  “Your killer.” Her father pointed at the page. “He’s struck again.”

  She sat up. “But…” She gripped the sides of her chair. “But that’s impossible. He kills every three weeks. Exactly.”

  “Does he?” Her father shrugged. “Perhaps it’s a different perpetrator then.”

  “Or he’s changing method of operation,”
her mother added.

  But Charlotte couldn’t answer as she reached for the paper in her father’s hand. He gave it to her, and she didn’t even bother to sit as she scanned the article on the murder.

  Her breath hitched. It sounded very much like the others but without visiting the scene…

  “I find I’ve got a terrible megrim.”

  “What?” her mother asked, rising too. “Should I help you upstairs?”

  Charlotte waved her mother away. “No. I’ll see myself up. Papa, do you mind if I take this?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Charlotte folded the paper and started, not upstairs but down. She’d need to find a hack. Quickly.

  Tate rose from his chair. He should go to bed. James hadn’t returned yet. Not that he wished for the man to do so.

  Well, perhaps he did, if for no other reason than to give his uppity butler the set down the man deserved.

  Or he should just go to bed.

  He grabbed Charlotte’s book, flipping open the binding, the book opening somewhere in the Ms.

  * * *

  Marcus

  Mayflower

  Munson

  * * *

  He found himself thumbing through the pages, not looking for families of note but for the letter P.

  Specifically for Pennington.

  He wasn’t even certain that he cared who her family was. He just wanted to see it in print. Run his finger over the name and be closer to Charlotte.

  * * *

  Parson

  Pelton

  * * *

  “My lord,” James called from the door.

  His head snapped up. “What?” Irritation laced his voice as he straightened. He neither appreciated the man’s interruption or his earlier comments. “Come to insult me more?”

  James gave a subtle frown. “You’ve a visitor.”

  That took him by surprise, and he took a half step back. “A visitor?”

  “A Miss Charlotte Pennington,” James said, leaning slightly forward, his hands clasping and unclasping in front of him as he rocked a bit. What had gotten into the man? “Shall I see her up?”