When a Girl Loves an Earl (Rescued from Ruin Book 5) by Elisa Braden
Authors: Elisa Braden
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reading his eyes. “Mmm. This explains why you attend so many ton events when you obviously would prefer to be elsewhere. Perhaps having a tooth extracted or a bone reset.”
“Indeed.”
She nodded to her coachman as the vehicle pulled up. “Do not despair, James,” she said softly, her hand discreetly stroking his forearm. “Let Lady Wallingham tend to her task. Meet her demands as you must.” Her lips curled up at one corner. “Remember to breathe. Trust that all will come right in the end.”
Inexplicably, he felt tension draining from his neck and shoulders, the sweetness of twilight blue washing away the day’s frustrations. The sensation reminded him of falling backward into the river’s cool rush after a week of hauling stone. It made him dizzy. Made him want more.
“I must go,” she said, giving his arm one last caress.
Automatically, he assisted her into the carriage, holding her gloved hand a bit longer than necessary. Feeling the difference in their sizes, the delicacy of her bones before reluctantly releasing her, he swallowed. “How is your head?”
Her glazed, narrowed eyes and subtle wince answered him.
“Where is your footman?”
“He is driving.”
Glowering first at her then at the young servant manning the reins, he ordered, “Hold them steady whilst I raise the hood.”
The coachman-cum-footman blinked up at cloudless skies in confusion but obeyed his command.
James swiftly unfolded the hood at the back of the open carriage and locked it into place, giving Viola a refuge from the glare of the sun. “Take her directly home. Do not tarry.”
“Aye, m’lord.”
Moments before the reins snapped and the barouche pulled away, he heard her sigh his name. Just that. “James.”
As he watched the carriage recede down Park Lane, the most peculiar ache stole into his chest. Right in the center, where his heart lived. It was almost as though he … missed her. His thighs burned to move. His gut ached to follow her and ensure she was laid upon a bed of downy feathers in a darkened room. To be there when she awakened, her smile glowing up at him, free of pain.
What was this strange urge?
Foolishness, he answered himself. Guilt, perhaps, for rejecting her affections. Everyone suffers pain from time to time. Hers is none of your concern.
He must tend those matters that were his concern—finding his heir, introducing the man to the responsibilities that would pass to the next Earl of Tannenbrook. And seeing to the continued prosperity of those who relied upon him.
These were his tasks. These would be his focus.
No room for a lass so bluidy beautiful she makes you ache, Jamie Kilbrenner. No room whatever. Turn your mind to better things, and soon enough she will forget you.
As a liveried groom arrived leading his horse, he watched the barouche turn off Park Lane and disappear from view. Then he wondered if, in truth, a better thing existed on earth than Miss Viola Darling.
*~*~*
CHAPTER SIX
“I prefer to be the wielder of coercion, Humphrey. Not the recipient.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to her boon companion, Humphrey, upon discovering the avidity of said companion’s fondness for squirrels.
June 15, 1818
Northumberland
Viola’s first glimpse of Grimsgate Castle coincided—not unexpectedly—with the drawing of blood. “Ouch!” she gasped as her embroidery needle pierced the pad of her thumb. Plopping the bloody thing in her mouth, she lowered her hoop to her lap and resumed peering out the window of their travel coach.
The castle was an enormous presence, perched on a hill above a flat, coastal landscape. Square turrets anchored the four corners of a massive central keep while high stone walls encircled the entire hilltop, running lengthwise to encompass acres to either side. Altogether, the keep and turrets and walls and gatehouse, along with numerous stone outbuildings, resembled a dragon sprawled victoriously upon its throne,
“Indeed.”
She nodded to her coachman as the vehicle pulled up. “Do not despair, James,” she said softly, her hand discreetly stroking his forearm. “Let Lady Wallingham tend to her task. Meet her demands as you must.” Her lips curled up at one corner. “Remember to breathe. Trust that all will come right in the end.”
Inexplicably, he felt tension draining from his neck and shoulders, the sweetness of twilight blue washing away the day’s frustrations. The sensation reminded him of falling backward into the river’s cool rush after a week of hauling stone. It made him dizzy. Made him want more.
“I must go,” she said, giving his arm one last caress.
Automatically, he assisted her into the carriage, holding her gloved hand a bit longer than necessary. Feeling the difference in their sizes, the delicacy of her bones before reluctantly releasing her, he swallowed. “How is your head?”
Her glazed, narrowed eyes and subtle wince answered him.
“Where is your footman?”
“He is driving.”
Glowering first at her then at the young servant manning the reins, he ordered, “Hold them steady whilst I raise the hood.”
The coachman-cum-footman blinked up at cloudless skies in confusion but obeyed his command.
James swiftly unfolded the hood at the back of the open carriage and locked it into place, giving Viola a refuge from the glare of the sun. “Take her directly home. Do not tarry.”
“Aye, m’lord.”
Moments before the reins snapped and the barouche pulled away, he heard her sigh his name. Just that. “James.”
As he watched the carriage recede down Park Lane, the most peculiar ache stole into his chest. Right in the center, where his heart lived. It was almost as though he … missed her. His thighs burned to move. His gut ached to follow her and ensure she was laid upon a bed of downy feathers in a darkened room. To be there when she awakened, her smile glowing up at him, free of pain.
What was this strange urge?
Foolishness, he answered himself. Guilt, perhaps, for rejecting her affections. Everyone suffers pain from time to time. Hers is none of your concern.
He must tend those matters that were his concern—finding his heir, introducing the man to the responsibilities that would pass to the next Earl of Tannenbrook. And seeing to the continued prosperity of those who relied upon him.
These were his tasks. These would be his focus.
No room for a lass so bluidy beautiful she makes you ache, Jamie Kilbrenner. No room whatever. Turn your mind to better things, and soon enough she will forget you.
As a liveried groom arrived leading his horse, he watched the barouche turn off Park Lane and disappear from view. Then he wondered if, in truth, a better thing existed on earth than Miss Viola Darling.
*~*~*
CHAPTER SIX
“I prefer to be the wielder of coercion, Humphrey. Not the recipient.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to her boon companion, Humphrey, upon discovering the avidity of said companion’s fondness for squirrels.
June 15, 1818
Northumberland
Viola’s first glimpse of Grimsgate Castle coincided—not unexpectedly—with the drawing of blood. “Ouch!” she gasped as her embroidery needle pierced the pad of her thumb. Plopping the bloody thing in her mouth, she lowered her hoop to her lap and resumed peering out the window of their travel coach.
The castle was an enormous presence, perched on a hill above a flat, coastal landscape. Square turrets anchored the four corners of a massive central keep while high stone walls encircled the entire hilltop, running lengthwise to encompass acres to either side. Altogether, the keep and turrets and walls and gatehouse, along with numerous stone outbuildings, resembled a dragon sprawled victoriously upon its throne,
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