Page 43 of Gambling with the Earl
He raised his goblet in a toast. “Exactly that.” He drank deeply. “My uncle chose to spend his days in the gloom, but now I see different options before me.”
He had never referenced his uncle’s reputation before. A reputation which had tarnished her view of the current earl before she had even spoken to him. “Many tales were told about the old Earl of Rossfarne,” she almost whispered.
Guy leaned his head back against his chair. “I know the unsavoury dealings he had with the folk of the town ofRossfarne, yet I had not realised his infamy stretched as far as Belford.”
She bit down on her lip at her stupidity. Had he caught her out in her deception?
“Shall I sing for you?” She walked in readiness over to the empty fireplace, eager to change the subject.
He looked across at her, not as an earl to his servant but as a man to a woman. The sincerity in his face made her pulse pound.
“I believe I would prefer to talk,” he said, surprising her. “Pray, come and sit beside me.” He patted the chair which was pulled alongside his own.
Kitty swallowed down her fears and did as she was bid, resettling her skirts around her ankles.
“Would you care for some wine?”
“No thank you, my lord.” She shook her head quickly.
He tutted. “Guy, my name is Guy. I do not hear it often enough, these days. Please, do me the favour of using it.”
Her heart was beating like a hollow drum on a battlefield. “Very well.”
“Say it,” he insisted, pouring himself another goblet of wine.
“Guy,” she said. The word brought a new flush to her hot cheeks.
“Thank you.” His finely carved lips curled upwards into a contagious smile and Kitty felt some of her anxieties lifting away from her.
“It is a fine name,” she ventured.
His expression grew colder. “My mother chose it.” He gazed into the empty grate for a moment and then turned towards her again. “I try not to think of my family. Not my parents, nor my uncle. Indeed, I had not seen my cousin Otto for many years before his last visit here.
She would rather not remember the lecherous old man, Otto’s father, who’d had such clear designs on her virtue. But her curiosity was piqued. “Do you have no other relatives?”
“Very little,” he declared, running his right hand through his thick, dark hair. “I had a brother,” he allowed, “but he is dead.”
For a moment the pain this caused him showed in his face, and Kitty looked away out of respect. “My mother is dead,” she found herself admitting.
“And was she a kind woman?”
“The kindest.”
“Then you know something of loss.”
They sat in silence for a moment. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about her sister, but Kitty stayed quiet. It was best if he knew nothing more about her real life.
“Tell me,” he said, visibly rousing himself. “What tales have you heard about my uncle?”
The question startled her. “It is difficult to say.” Her tongue wetted her dry lips.
“Come now, don’t be shy. I know what kind of a man he was.” He looked at her consideringly. “Did word spread about the tower room?”
Her toes wriggled with discomfort. “Yes.”
“Ah.” He took another long drink of wine. “And what was said about that cursed place?”
She couldn’t bring herself to say what she knew. “I did not understand the stories, sir.”
