Page 41 of Entrancing the Earl
“Of course. I asked around first. The pearls are precious to me, and I do not part with them easily.” Iona settled back on the cushions, adjusting the uncomfortable trousers over the pillow padding as the horse trotted down the street.
The earl rubbed a tic in his jaw. “I suppose you are selling family heirlooms everywhere you go. And you don’t think Mortimer will recognize them?”
“If he knew we had them, he would have sold them himself. Besides, he doesn’t even recognizeme. Didn’t I just prove that? He’s a blind drunkard who spends so much time thinking of himself that he has no time for anyone else. If I walked in wearing a gown and in accompaniment with you or another Malcolm, he might look twice, if only to see what advantage he could take. Therein lies the danger of being seen with any of you.” She sat back against the cushion and fiddled with the string on her package.
She could scarcely breathe with his lordship filling up all the space with his sprawling, masculine presence. She had not realized hansoms were so very small. Or perhaps she had thought herself small when she’d last been in one and had learned a better sense of herself since.
“Give me a list of places where you sold your pearls,” he said wearily. “When I have the reward, I’ll buy them back for you.”
“When I have the settlement, I can buy them back myself,” she said stiffly, although her heart melted just a teeny tiny little at his offer. She glanced out as the horse pulled them across an enormous bridge, taking them from the fancy establishments on one side of the train tracks to towering ancient tenements and shadowy, narrow streets on the other. “Where is this George Square?”
“Near the university. Don’t worry, the area isn’t as old as these slums. Have you ever been to Edinburgh?” He took the paper-wrapped packages she was holding and squeezed them on the seat between them, providing a buffer.
A few packages didn’t erase his presence, but Iona appreciated that he might be having the same difficulty as she. They should never have exchanged kisses. Apparently, they were addictive.
“When my mother was still alive, we’d come here occasionally. We stayed in a small hotel accessible to the shops and didn’t explore much. She’d do her banking and buy us school gowns and new clothes. Nothing fancy, mind you, because that would look like we were lording it over our neighbors. And we needed boots and beekeeping equipment more than gowns.” She watched the narrow street until it turned onto a broader thoroughfare.
“It’s an interesting city. Phoebe’s husband is replacing some of the medieval tenements down by Holyrood Palace. I’d like to explore the grounds once he’s removed the debris. Can you imagine the generations of people who have lived here over the centuries?” the earl said unexpectedly.
She cast him a sideways look. “You are interested in archaeology? Is that why you wished to find a Roman fort in Wystan?” She feared if she knew too much about this man, she’d learned to like him too well, but he fascinated her.
“It’s a hobby.” He shrugged his indifference.
“You’re lying,” she decided. “Or being less than honest. Your scent changed.”
He crossed his arms and stoically faced ahead. “Archaeology requires study. I haven’t the time for it.”
She bobbed her head. “Now you’re being honest. If you only spend a few days a year in Wystan, what on earth else do you do with your time?”
“I’m my father’s legs and eyes. He’s getting on in years, and I need to know what he knows so I’m prepared to take the reins when needed. Even though I cannot perform my father’s duties, being an heir is a full time chore just the same as an understudy in the theater. I should be running for office. I’ve put that off for too long and will have to consider it in the next election.”
She pondered this for all of half a second. “You might make a very good bureaucrat, pushing papers about and shutting the door on annoying people. But politician? I don’t think so.”
He cast her a narrowed eye look. “I would be perfectly capable.”
“I didn’t say you wouldn’t becapable.” She gestured impatiently. “But unless your father bought the office, you would never win an election.”
Surprisingly, he barked in laughter. “Which is why I haven’t attempted it. To lose would be humiliating.”
“We can’t all successfully sell ourselves to a broad range of people. With your pretty face, you’d do better if they’d let women vote. Until then, push papers.”
“You think I have a pretty face?” He raised an eyebrow at her.
“You know perfectly well that ladies swoon over you. You don’t need me to feed your monstrous pride. Is this the house we’ll be staying at?” Resisting his disturbing presence, she glanced out at the impressive Georgian townhouse across from a very nice park.
He was still chuckling as he climbed down. She scowled at him when he offered his hand and indicated her gentleman’s attire. He immediately scowled back and grabbed the parcels.
Another hansom cab pulled up directly behind them, and Lowell hurried down to add the stack of parcels to the ones he already carried.
Verifying that no one seemed to be watching, Iona clambered down. She’d never practiced wearing men’s attire but tried to stomp up the stairs as a portly man might do.
The earl snickered behind her.
Gerard knewhow to dangle his aperitif glass and listen with an air of boredom as his host and hostess prosed on about their latest charity or favorite opera. He knew how to slouch and hold himself aloof when forced to accompany an uninteresting lady into the dinner table. He had polite, stiff conversation polished to perfection and could swivel from one companion to the other without ever really listening.
He could not take his eyes off Lady Iona Ross in her secondhand gown.
He didn’t care if the petticoat was last decade’s fullness or the sleeves were the wrong degree of tightness for evening. He supposed the rose-and-white stripe was inappropriate for dinner as well. All he could see were her creamy shoulders and firm breasts rising above the frills and furbelows—and imagine unfastening the cunning loops holding it all together.
