Page 93 of One Night with an Earl

Warm water lapped at Ana’s skin as she leaned back against Oliver in an oversize tub. When she’d arrived at his home that night, the bath had been waiting. Two of his trusted footmen had filled the bath with buckets of hot water before departing. It was a luxury she couldn’t resist.

Steam curled from the water, and his strong arms were wrapped around her. Oliver’s fingers stroked her arm. “I sense something is on your mind,” he said.

She sighed and tilted her head to the side. He took advantage and pressed his lips to her nape. How had he come to know her so well? She’d discovered much more than passion in his arms. He was a considerate lover who always ensured her pleasure. She’d already decided to ask his advice, and with him pressed against her, she felt confident of her decision.

“I’m worried about Penelope,” she said.

His response was immediate. “I shall end all pretense of courting her if it makes it easier for you.”

“It’s not that. She fancies herself in love with a young soldier who has returned from Spain.”

“A soldier?”

“Lieutenant Smithfield is the sixth and youngest son of a baron, and he was injured during a training accident and recently returned to London. I’ve accompanied Penelope on her visits to his home where he’s been recuperating, but during the last visit, he broke Penelope’s heart. His family’s estate is in need of repair, and the oldest brother is in search of an heiress. The lieutenant claims Penelope deserves better than an injured former soldier dependent upon his family’s meager allowance or any limited employment.”

“I tend to agree with the fellow.”

“I said the same thing, but I fear I handled it badly. I should have been more supportive of her. Now, Penelope believes me uncaring and refuses to speak with me. To make matters worse, she caught me sneaking home at night.”

He cupped water in his hand and poured it on her chest. His gaze was riveted as beads of water dripped down her breast. “Ah, I see. Based on our affair, she believes she deserves commensurate happiness with her young love.”

“Yes. After all, she was the one who wanted us together.”

“Perhaps we are to blame. Secrets never end well.”

The water had cooled several degrees, and even wrapped in Oliver’s arms, she felt a slight chill. For the first time, she had regrets about keeping her own secrets. Even though her steadfast rule for secrecy had kept her safe for a decade, she knew it could just as easily harm her relationship with Oliver.

How could she confess her past? How could she tell him she was the daughter of the baron his father had ruined?

Worse, could she admit that she blamed his father for everything she’d lost, including her dowry, her family name, and her very identity? His brother had been no better and a blackguard.

She no longer held Oliver accountable for his family’s sins. Confessing her troubles concerning Penelope was one thing. Sharing her secret past was something entirely different.

Yet for the first time, she didn’t feel a sense of panic at the thought. She didn’t feel the overwhelming need to take flight to protect herself, to protect her very existence.

And that was the most frightening thing of all.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Lady Longston’s birthday ball arrived days later.

Lord Longston stood by his wife as a line of guests waited to congratulate their hostess. Lady Longston, cheeks rouged, wore a brightly colored pink gown, and her wig towered in an elaborate updo complete with a dyed peacock feather. Her husband was not to be outdone with a matching striped, pink waistcoat and buckled shoes. His large paunch betrayed an indulgence in too much rich food from their French chef.

Soon it was Lord and Lady Malvern’s turn to give their well wishes.

“Happy birthday, Leticia.” Lady Malvern kissed the air alongside both of the hostess’s cheeks. On the carriage ride to the ball, her ladyship had gushed about how she’d befriended Lady Longston at the girls’ school they’d both attended.

Lady Longston took Penelope’s hand. “Is this your lovely daughter?”

“This is Lady Penelope.”

Penelope curtsied. “Happy birthday, my lady. It is a pleasure to meet my mother’s childhood friend.”

“Did your mother tell you all about our youthful escapades at school?”

“No.” Penelope eyed her mother. “Were you trouble?”

“Ha! We were admonished by the headmistress on more than one occasion. But those stories are for another day.”