Page 2 of Tutoring the Charming Earl

No, not a girl. A woman. He became aware of chestnut-colored hair that tickled his nose and smelled of lilacs, and roses, and something fresh and invigorating, like the scent that filled the air after the rain. He was more acutely conscious of delicious curves and the slim waist beneath his hands. Her cheek felt like satin against his neck. Such soft skin. Her nose brushed against his neck as she shifted and another rush of lovely feminine scents overwhelmed his senses.

“Ah, the prodigal son returns at last,” Aunt Gertie called from the direction of the pianoforte.

Her nonsensical statement brought him back to his senses—he was hardly a prodigal son. He made quick work of removing the lovely-scented, soft-skinned strange female from his body. Having deposited her gently to his right, he scrambled up to his feet and then reached down with both hands, one to help his sister to her feet and the other to assist…her.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Polite? Perhaps not. But Alex never had learned how to use words the way others did. His command of the English language was basic—he knew how to use them to ask questions and make statements. Meanwhile, everyone else of his acquaintance seemed to wield words like weapons or they threw them about like frippery and finery—beautifying, covering, and mystifying.

“Really, Alex,” Tess said. Straightening her skirts, his sister tossed him a tolerant smile. “Must you be rude to our visitor?”

“Oh no,” the strange woman interjected. “He was not rude at all. I was the ill-mannered one here.” The brunette turned her smile on him and he felt it to his very core. “I almost always wait to be introduced before careening into gentlemen.”

“Yes, well…” He had no idea what to say to that. Her smile was sweet, but laughter danced in her eyes. For the life of him, he could not ascertain whether she was mocking the situation…or him.

He straightened to his full height. “Yes,” he repeated. “Well…”

Still no idea as to what he was expected to say.

The stranger’s smile grew, and he watched with some fascination as her pretty pink lips widened, dimples appearing like magic as her crystal-blue eyes flashed with amusement. Her face was pretty. Not striking or beautiful, but pretty. Her nose was small, her eyes big, and her chin just a tad too small, giving her an innocent look that belied the mischief in her eyes.

“Alex,” Aunt Gertie called out. “Meet my companion, Miss Clara Lovelace, daughter of the late Andrew Lovelace, The Marquess of Tarlow.”

Ah. It clicked into place, and the moment her name registered with him, she seemed to know it because she flinched—the tiny facial movement there and gone in an instant. He’d caught it, however, because he was watching her closely…oh all right, perhaps he was staring.

Fine. It was possible he was glaring.

His brother used to tease him about having such an unpleasant facial expression. Not in a mean way, it was just so at odds with his brother’s jovial demeanor. In his defense, Alex was hardly rude, he was rarely angry, and he was never cruel.

He was merely serious. Studious. He always had been more interested in books and analysis than conversation and pleasantries.

Smiling did not come easily to him, and laughter was a rarity in his life.

Clara dropped into a curtsy, before straightening to meet his gaze with that twinkle in her eyes, as if she were laughing at him. Or perhaps she was just acknowledging that she knew that he knew who she was.

Everyone knew, he supposed. If Alex had heard the rumors about her mother’s death and her father’s financial ruin, which had ended most tragically with his death by his own hand—then surely everyone knew. Everyone paid more attention to society’s scandals and gossip than he did.

He tore his gaze away from hers, embarrassed to be caught staring.

Fine, glaring.

“I’m so glad you’re home.” His sister interrupted what might have been an awkward silence by throwing herself into his arms. He held her close, his chest tight with emotion at seeing her again.

Tess was the youngest of the three. Only eighteen and already she’d witnessed far too much death in her life. Their mother to illness when Tess was only a small child, their father less than two years ago after a long, debilitating battle for his life, and then their brother Frederick. The eldest, the leader, and the one who really ought to be earl.

No one said it, of course, but they all knew it. Every day that knowledge weighed on Alex, and every day he struggled in vain to fill the void Frederick had left in his wake.

Tess held onto his arms as she pulled back with a grin. So like Frederick, with her brilliant smile and her easy chatter. She, like their brother, had inherited their father’s way with people. His talent for putting others at ease no matter what the circumstances.

A talent he most decidedly did not possess.

“We’ve missed you, brother,” she said, tugging on his arm to drag him over to Aunt Gertie, who still sat behind the pianoforte, her fingers skimming over the keys as if they were moving of their own accord.

“You are just in time for lessons, dear,” Aunt Gertie said.

“Lessons?” He looked from his great aunt to his sister, and risked a peek in Clara’s direction before looking away just as quickly when he caught her laughing at him.

Or perhaps she was just smiling.