Page 19 of One Night with an Earl

He studied her anew. Tendrils of dark, curly hair escaped the ugly lace cap from the humid air. She had yet to speak, and he had a sudden urge to hear her voice.

“How long have you served as Lady Penelope’s chaperone?”

“My lord?” Penelope asked, clearly confused by his probing question.

“Four years,” Miss Gardner said.

Her voice was firm, but respectfully low, and not as husky as Lady Scarlet’s after he’d rescued her from the unwanted attention of the drunken Lord Moore. An odd twinge of disappointment settled in his gut.

Ridiculous.

What was he thinking? His mind was preoccupied, and he’d allowed himself to believe, for an instant, that Lady Scarlet could be right before him.

Was he so bad off that he’d imagined seeing her? And, even more to the point, what would it take to get rid of this ridiculous fascination after one night with a dark-haired virago?

…

“Are you unwell Ana?” Penelope asked.

“No,” Ana said. “Why do you ask?”

After the Earl of Drake dropped them back home, they went straight to Penelope’s bedchamber. Ana knew the girl wanted to avoid her mother.

“The truth is that I was a bit taken aback when Lord Drake addressed you directly,” Penelope said.

So was Ana. She joined Penelope to sit beside her on the edge of her bed and chose her words carefully. “Nonsense. He was just being polite.”

Hardly.

Had her flushed face betrayed her? She worried Oliver had recognized her, but he was too arrogant to truly look at her for long.

She needed to remember that she was here for Penelope. No matter how uncomfortable and angry she was around Oliver—no, she must think of him as Lord Drake from now on—she would fulfill her duties as a proper chaperone.

She was still in disbelief that the man she’d spent the night with was the son of her enemy. Even worse, he’d come to court Penelope the very next day. Then Lord Drake had admitted to a preference for Rosedown.

Rosedown.

Ana’s mother adored the estate, and they’d shared many happy memories there. The estate’s stables produced thoroughbreds for Tattersall’s, but it was named after the wild rosebushes on the grounds. An iron-and-glass conservatory also produced hothouse roses and many other exotic blooms. The baron had been devoted to her mother and often worked alongside the gardeners in the hothouse to present her mother with lovely flowers. But the rosebushes were her mother’s favorite, and she’d taught Ana how to recognize each one.

Alba, Maiden’s Blush, Old Velvet, Moss, Banksia, and more.

The physician had claimed her mother had a weak heart. She’d fallen on the steps one winter and had never recovered. Thereafter, the baron started drinking, and nothing Ana did could pull him out of his melancholy. Her parents had tried for a second child for years, and her brother, Adam, was a blessing. But not even Adam, who’d only been a toddler at the time of her mother’s death, could make their father smile.

“What should I do if Lord Drake calls again?” Penelope bit her bottom lip. “He is attractive but intimidating with his rigidness.”

“You felt threatened?”

“No. Nothing like that. It’s just that conversing was difficult. He claims he is committed to his duties as the earl. He wants a chatelain but little else in a wife.” She pressed a hand to her heart. “I felt no passion. And he is far from my fair-haired Lieutenant Smithfield.”

Penelope was focused on her soldier. Ana’s heart squeezed at the young girl’s distress. The likelihood that Penelope would marry Lieutenant Smithfield was slim to none, not if her mother had a say, which she did. Life was heart-wrenchingly unfair.

No one knew this more than Ana.

“Lord Drake is old as well,” Penelope added.

Not so old. She was a few months shy of her thirtieth birthday, and after overhearing her ladyship speaking to her maid, she’d learned Lord Drake was only three years older.

There was a knock on the door. Without waiting for Penelope to answer, Lady Malvern stepped inside. Ana immediately stood.