Page 12 of One Night with an Earl

If Lady Malvern caught wind of Ana’s knowledge or effort to aid her young daughter’s infatuation, Ana would be sacked without a reference. Still, she cared for the girl. Penelope’s heart would be crushed when her mother’s machinations prevailed and she was married off to a titled gentleman of the beau monde, not a sixth son dependent on his family for a meager allowance after his return, but until then, Ana would continue to do her best to guide Penelope and never tell her mother.

Life was harsh enough for young women. It didn’t get any better for spinsters.

Penelope stood, folded the letter, then hid it in the bottom of her wardrobe. She turned to face Ana. “What do I do when this earl comes calling?”

Ana pursed her lips. “We’ll handle him.”

…

Oliver sat at his desk in his library and tried to focus on the small column of numbers. His ledgers were always meticulously maintained and all his correspondence kept up to date.

Inheriting the earldom had been a smooth transition when it came to the management of the estate. Oliver had already been keeping the books long before his father and brother had died. They’d never cared for the tasks, had called them tedious and boring. Both had preferred drinking, gambling, and spending evenings at their usual haunts.

In contrast, Oliver always felt a sense of obligation for the multitude of servants and tenants who depended on the earldom for their livelihoods. Each column, each carefully written figure, represented a mantle of responsibility. He never resented the work, nor did he have trouble focusing. Until one night at the Silver Chalice.

Lady Scarlet.

He hadn’t wanted to attend the brothel, had no intention of spending the evening with one of the women. But she’d surprised him. In more ways than one.

Good God, she’d been a virgin.

Even now he could imagine her lavender scent, tangling his fingers in her mahogany curls, kissing her sensual lips. The bare, silken skin between her thighs and the intense pleasure as he’d slid inside her slick tightness had made him lose control. The night had been as unexpected as the woman in red.

Who was she?

A sudden thought occurred to him, and his gut clenched. Had he defiled a duke’s daughter?

A low knock on the door disturbed his thoughts. “Enter.”

“My lord, the Dowager requests a visit from you this afternoon.” Burk had been the butler for the old Earl of Drake, and Oliver had known him since he was in leading strings. He was loyal to Oliver, had been for years, even when Oliver’s father and brother had been alive.

His grandmother, the Dowager, didn’t need to send a note. She was always welcome to come to his home, but she insisted on residing in her own townhome as well as strictly following formalities.

He loved her, but he didn’t wish to see her. Not today. Not when his thoughts were occupied elsewhere. He was also aware of why she wanted him to visit. As the newly minted Earl of Drake, it was his obligation to marry and produce an heir and spare.

Another reason to damn his brother for dying in his mistress’s bed. He’d been too young to have his heart give out.

At least he’d died the way he’d lived. Indulging in pleasure, not caring for anyone else.

Oliver scrubbed a hand down his face.

“My lord?” Burk persisted.

Oliver’s gaze snapped back to his butler. He tossed down his pen and pushed back his chair. “I shall send a note to the dowager that I shall visit her later today. Meanwhile, summon my carriage. I have an errand that requires my attention.”

Fifteen minutes later, Oliver found himself outside the Silver Chalice. Only this time, it was midafternoon, and he wasn’t with his brother’s friends. Hell, they were most likely still abed sleeping off their drunken stupors.

He rapped the brass knocker.

A young girl in a black dress and white mobcap opened the door. Her eyes darted from his face to his clothing before addressing him. “My lord?”

“I need to speak with Madame Crescent.”

“She’s in bed, my lord.”

“Wake her.”

The girl gaped. “She doesn’t wake until the afternoon.”