Captivating the Earl Read online

  “Yes, of course. Please see that Nurse presents the children as usual before bed.”

  “Yes, my lady.” She hurried her charges from the room and made her way to the nursery on the top floor. Usually the climb did not trouble her in any way, but today she found herself out of breath and flushed.

  She refused to believe her conversation with Lord Hawkins was the cause of her discomfort. She was a former debutante. Although she had not garnered a great deal of attention during her Season, she had enjoyed the flirting and bantering that took place at ton events.

  However, this was not a ton event, and she was no longer a debutante. She had chosen her path, and for the most part, was satisfied with her current life. It was certainly better than what she would have been forced to endure had she remained in London.

  Glancing at her timepiece, she estimated they would have about two hours to go over a few lessons, leaving time for play, before the children returned to the drawing room for their nightly engagement with their parents. Hopefully, Lord Hawkins would be otherwise occupied.

  She sucked in a breath when she realized she would face him over the dinner table. Tonight, and every night of his visit. Some employers allowed their governesses to dine with them, since their position in the house was nebulous. Lord and Lady Wycliff were such employers, and Lizzie had always enjoyed the privilege.

  Not so much, now. If she continued along the vein of her recent encounter with Lord Hawkins, it would not take her employers long to raise questions about their children’s governess and how she had introduced herself when she’d first been hired.

  She needed to avoid that dilemma if she wished to keep her secure life.

  The children had been presented for their parents’ inspection, bathed and read to by Nurse, and were settled into their beds when Lizzie took a final glance in the mirror in her room situated next to the nursery.

  She’d decided a subdued gown was in order, reminding Lord Hawkins—and herself—that she was an employee, and he a guest. And an Earl.

  The blue gown she’d chosen had been one of her plainer garments. The neckline was more than modest, and the soft muslin fell in soft folds around her body but did not cling to her curves. She left off the sapphire necklace that she’d worn with it at various ton events and opted instead for a sedate strand of pearls.

  She sighed, remembering how she’d sold another beautiful piece to provide food for her table after her father had disappeared and she had become persona non gratis.

  When she’d worn this gown to a soiree, her maid had swept her hair into a cluster of curls and left them to cascade down her back. Now she wore a simple chignon at the back of her neck with no earbobs. She’d been forced to sell those lovely pieces, as well.

  Firmly pushing self-pity to the back of her mind, she drew on her gloves and left the room. She had promised herself when she’d secured this job that she would not wallow in regrets. She was a strong woman, and this position was the best she could do for herself. Her employers were generous and kind, the children were lively but sweet, and she was far enough away from the life she’d left that she felt safe.

  Lord and Lady Wycliff stood chatting with Lord Hawkins as she entered the drawing room. “Ah, there she is.” Lord Wycliff smiled in her direction. “Would you care for a sherry, Miss Moore?”

  “No, thank you, my lord.” The last thing she needed was to have a loose tongue around their guest.

  Although she tried hard not to glance in his direction, she was forced to when Lord Hawkins said, “You look lovely this evening, Miss Moore.”

  Oh, lord. Was that a blush starting to rise above her neckline? She was behaving like a simpleton, a young miss fresh out of the schoolroom at her very first social event. Why did the man affect her so?

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  Lord Wycliff began an amusing tale of his meeting with one of his tenants, who tried to excuse his poaching with a rather convoluted story. Being a generous landlord, Wycliff allowed his tenants to hunt on his land, but only if they received permission beforehand.

  The entire time Lizzie was aware of Lord Hawkins standing next to her. She cursed her eyes that kept sliding in his direction almost of their own accord. Her heart sped up when she met his gaze.

  Thankfully, the butler announced dinner. Lord Hawkins extended his elbow. “May I escort you, Miss Moore?”

  What choice did she have? “Of course, my lord.”

  “You know, since I will be here for a while as a guest, I would prefer if you address me as ‘Hawk,’ which is what my friends call me. I always think of Lord Hawkins as my father.”

  She flushed. “Oh, I don’t think that is proper, my lord.” She shook her head. “No, not proper at all. You forget I am an employee.”

  Four places had been set at the end of the lengthy table. Lord Wycliff sat at the head, with Lady Wycliff to his right and Lord Hawkins to his left. Lizzie was next to him, across from Lady Wycliff. This was one night when she would have preferred a tray in her room. Perhaps for the rest of his visit, she would do just that.

  No. She would not allow herself to hide. She had been happily employed here for almost two years and enjoyed the repartee that took place at the dinner table. Lord and Lady Wycliff were both intelligent people, and they oftentimes got into lively discussions about art, books, music, and the doings of Parliament. She would not cower in her room and pass up this enjoyable part of her day because of him.

  Sitting up straighter, she cast Lord Hawkins a bright smile. His raised eyebrows again brought a flush to her face. Well, perhaps she would not seek a tray in her room, but she would certainly not do anything to bring attention to herself.

  “Miss Moore plays the pianoforte quite well.” Lady Wycliff glanced in her direction. “Perhaps you will entertain us with a bit of music after dinner?”

  Although it was a question, there was no doubt her employer had requested her to perform, and perform she would. At least when she played, she found it easy to lose herself in the music. With any luck, she would be able to forget the man who sat alongside her long enough to bring her thumping heart and fluttering stomach under control. “Of course, my lady.”

  “Tell me, Miss Moore, since children, and their care, are foreign to me, what encompasses your typical day?” Lord Hawkins asked.

  Lizzie shifted in her seat. The Wycliffs had had several guests for dinner during her tenure, and she had joined in the conversation, but never had anyone paid particular attention to her. She’d always enjoyed the discussions, and her meal, then usually played for the company afterward.

  The few other social events they had invited her to, she’d demurred, stating chores needed to be done, correspondence to be caught up. They’d never questioned her, for which she was grateful, since she still feared being recognized in a large group.

  However, they had very few, if any, overnight guests from London. Lord Hawkins had been a surprise. With the reputation he’d had when she was a debutante in London, he was the very last person she would have guessed to grace her employers with his presence. But then she was unaware of his relationship to the Wycliffs before his visit.

  “My schedule is very similar to all governesses’, I am sure. I doubt you would find it of interest.”

  “Not so. After all, I will one day have children of my own—at least that is what my mother reminds me of on a regular basis—and I will need to hire someone to tend to the urchins. Oh, sorry.” He flashed a grin at Lady Wycliff. “I meant the little darlings.”

  Lady Wycliff laughed merrily. “Oh, my dear Hawk, I am sure whomever you take to wife will have every intention, and ability, to engage the perfect governess when the time comes.”

  “I daresay, I have been waiting for the day you succumb to the vicar’s noose and begin to fill your nursery. ’Tis a well-known fact that rakes make the best husbands.” Lord Wycliff turned to Lizzie. “Don’t you agree, Miss Moore?”

  Lizzie was shocked and nearly choked on her wine. Why would Lord Wycliff assume Lizzie would know anything about rakes, London, and the lives they led? Was he testing her? Had Lord Hawkins’s attention to her made her employer suspicious?

  Her heart thudding, she smiled warmly. “I assure you I have no knowledge on that subject, my lord.” She quickly returned her attention to her food.

  Lizzie was relieved when Lord Wycliff changed the subject and asked about the latest news from London. Until he asked Lord Hawkins, “What happened with that Loverly situation? Hadn’t he absconded to America?”

  All the blood drained from Lizzie’s head, leaving her lightheaded, fighting black dots in front of her eyes. She fought the desire to run from the table and hide in her bedchamber.

  “Yes, the situation has been resolved. While still in His Majesty’s service, the new Duke of Bedford had been sent to America to find the man. Bedford returned with Loverly in hand to discover the prior Duke of Bedford had died, and he was now the new duke.”

  “Yes. Yes. I believe I remember that part. But didn’t Loverly later escape his prison hold?”

  “Indeed, he did. But Bedford, Lord Campbell, Mr. Templeton, and I surrounded him one night. Bedford had to kill him.”

  “Well, that’s one treasonous devil gone to his reward.” Lord Wycliff took a sip of his wine and shook his head. “Good riddance, I say.”

  Lizzie closed her eyes, her entire body trembling. She took deep breaths to fight off the encroaching darkness.

  Father is dead.

  Chapter Three

  Miss Moore’s eyes snapped open when Hawk asked, “I say, Miss Moore, are you well? You’ve turned quite pale.”

  It looked like the girl was suffering from some sort of a shock. She’d gone completely ashen, and her hand shook as she raised her wineglass to her lips. She took a sip of wine and shook her head. “No, I am fine. Thank you for asking.” The whispered words barely made it out of her mouth.

  He continued to study her throughout the rest of the meal. She appeared distracted, jumpy. Sad, almost. He fought the urge to probe deeper but realized how out of place that would be. He found her fascinating, though she was an employee in his cousin’s home, and therefore, strictly off-limits.

  What bothered him most was how he’d reacted with considerable skepticism and jocularity toward his close friend, Giles Templeton, when he’d claimed to have fallen in love with Miss Blake, now his wife, almost instantly. Hawk, Bedford, and Cam had spent a great deal of time poking fun at him.

  Perhaps he shouldn’t have dismissed claims of love at first sight. Not that he felt anywhere near that for Miss Moore. He merely found her intriguing—nothing like he expected a governess to be.

  That was all.

  “Shall we retire to the drawing room? We shall have tea served there and then enjoy Miss Moore’s entertainment.” Leah rose, and Wycliff pulled out her chair. Hawk did the same for Miss Moore. He had not been mistaken. When she placed her hand on his arm, she was quivering, and when he covered her hand with his, it was ice cold. Something had upset the girl.

  He tried to remember what they’d been discussing at the time, but it eluded him. Against his better judgment, he leaned in close to her, absorbing a whiff of something sweet and flowery. “Are you sure you are well, Miss Moore?”

  “Yes, I am. Truly.” She smiled at him. “A cup of tea is just what I need.”

  “Yes, perhaps. The answer to every Englishwoman’s disquiet.”

  Hawk tried his best to ignore Miss Moore and concentrate on the story Leah was regaling them with, about one of the twins presenting her with some lovely little piece of artwork.

  His mind drifted, hearing the love and pride in the mother’s voice. That was just what he needed, something to focus on other than his life, and what it had become.

  The guilt he carried every day at his part in his sister’s death had only been relieved by the frantic pace he’d set for himself.

  Two years ago, as a dutiful brother, he had encouraged his sister, Monica, to marry Baron Sheffield. The man had shown considerable interest in her during her fourth Season. She had sworn for years that no one appealed to her, and his mother, frantic at Monica not marrying at all, had prevailed upon Hawk to secure the match.

  His investigation into the baron’s background had revealed some gambling debts that her dowry cleared up, but after speaking with the man about it, the baron had assured Hawk that sort of behavior was behind him. Sheffield had also been identified as having a fondness for drink, but that was another issue he assured Hawk he’d dealt with.

  At both her mother’s and brother’s urging, Monica had agreed to the marriage and had gone to her husband’s home outside of London. Until she’d returned to Hawk’s London townhouse late one night in a severe thunderstorm, crying and shaking. The baron had been drinking a great deal and gambling, and she wanted to return home.

  Aghast at such a request, he and Lady Hawkins spent several hours talking to her about her duties and the role of a wife. He had encouraged her to return to her husband, spouting some nonsense about all brides having a difficult time adjusting to marriage. If only he had listened to her. After all, as a bachelor, what did he know of marriage and bridal adjustments?

  Two nights later at the Pomeroy ball, a drunken, angry Sheffield forced Monica into their carriage, dismissed the driver, and on the way home, crashed the vehicle into a tree, causing the carriage to roll down an embankment, killing them both.

  Bringing back her broken, mud-covered body had been the worst experience of his life, despite having fought Napoleon and seen appalling sights on the battlefield. Hawk had returned to London after Monica’s funeral and had proceeded to drink to excess, gamble a small fortune, and take numerous beautiful women to bed.

  But he remained numb and was tired of it.

  “Miss Moore, since you have finished your tea, may we enjoy some of your delightful playing?”

  Leah turned to Hawk, who had been lost in deep thought. “Miss Moore plays like an angel. I can’t imagine where she could have received such wonderful instruction.”

  He glanced at the lady in question to find her again flustered. Surely, she was not anxious about playing for them? Leah had indicated this was something the governess did on a regular basis when they had guests. Perhaps he was making her nervous.

  He hated the twinge of satisfaction that idea brought.

  “I will be happy to turn the pages for you, Miss Moore.” He stood to accompany her to the pianoforte.

  “Oh, Hawk, Miss Moore plays everything from memory. She doesn’t use music sheets.”

  “Indeed?” He viewed her with surprise. When she nodded, he added, “It appears Lady Wycliff is correct. You have had spectacular training. Where did you learn to play?”

  “My father enjoyed music in the evenings, so he hired a master to teach me.” She started toward the instrument, obviously not wishing to elaborate.

  If Miss Moore had been nervous, once she began to play, her entire being was lost in the music. He studied her hands as her fingers glided over the keys, like they were two parts of one soul, joining together after a long separation.

  Overcome by the music, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The notes drifted over him, the passion in the woman’s playing a living thing. The number went on and on, and he slowly lost himself, feeling things deep inside he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. Peace. Serenity. Hope.

  When had he lost hope? Somewhere along the line, it had vanished, along with self-respect and contentment. Slowly, he opened his eyes and was treated to the sight of Miss Moore bent over the pianoforte, her own eyes closed, a Mona Lisa smile on her face as she poured her heart and soul into the melody.

  The notes slowed, then stopped. The silence was deafening as Miss Moore placed her hands in her lap and took a deep breath. She slowly raised her head and looked directly at him. He sucked in a breath.

  His world tilted.

  No, he was not in love, but something magical at an elemental level had just happened. His cold, withered heart experienced a frisson of warmth. This woman, her music, and her presence in his life at this point could prove momentous. Yes, perhaps he was being the romantic he’d always mocked, but he had never felt this way before.

  Leah clapped and stood. “Excellent, Miss Moore. Just excellent. That is by far the best piece you have played for us.” She smirked in Hawk’s direction. “Maybe it is our guest who has inspired you so.”

  Miss Moore flushed and rose from the pianoforte seat, glancing briefly in his direction. “If I may be excused, my lady, I feel a need to find my bed.”

  “Of course, Miss Moore. Thank you again for your wonderful entertainment.”

  Miss Moore offered a slight dip and hurried from the room. Hawk’s eyes followed her until she passed through the doorway. He turned back to see Wycliff regarding him with raised eyebrows.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I just feel the need to remind you that Miss Moore is in our employ.”

  Hawk stiffened. “I am fully aware of the woman’s place in your home. Despite my rakish reputation, I have never dishonored a woman under the protection of my host.”

  Wycliff grinned. “Calm down, Cousin. I am sure you have no ill intentions toward Miss Moore.”

  He settled back in. “You must agree she is an exceptional woman, however. Certainly not of the usual governess ilk.”

  Leah glanced at the doorway where Miss Moore had just made her escape. “Yes. I have been flummoxed by her since her arrival.”

  “How so?”

  “She is an excellent governess, and the children love her. She claims to have been schooled by her father, but her education is miles beyond what one would expect from that sort of learning.”

  “Who is her father?”

  “He is deceased. When I did the initial interview, she told me he had been a vicar at a small church in Lincolnshire.”

  Hawk shook his head. “I would not take her for a daughter of a vicar.”

  “Well, in any event, we are quite pleased with her.” Leah stood and shook out her skirts. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I will also seek my bed.”