Page 14 of How to Tempt an Earl

She did, but for some reason she didn’t think he would honor it so quickly. For a brief moment, she wondered if her father would come to his senses after learning his favorite table was closed and return home. Her heart lightened.

“He’ll go elsewhere,” Ian said.

His statement, simple and direct, served to effectively destroy her wishful thoughts. “How can you be certain? Maybe Father will lose his interest in gaming, at least for tonight, knowing he can’t frequent his favorite place.”

“Do you believe that?”

No. She didn’t. It was heart-wrenching to admit it.

The carriage came to a stop. She glanced outside the window to see the back of a large home.

“Even though it’s dark out, we’ll go in the servants’ entrance to ensure no one will see you.” Ian opened the door and hopped down. Not waiting for the driver, he lowered the step himself and held out his hand.

In her nervousness to leave her home, she’d forgotten her gloves. Nor was Ian wearing any. He grasped her hand, and the touch of skin upon skin momentarily shocked her. Strong fingers curled around hers. His hand was calloused, and a jagged scar ran the length of his thumb to his wrist. He certainly didn’t have a lord’s hands, but a fighter’s, and she wondered how he’d sustained the injury.

Was it from prizefighting or had he gotten it some other way?

She stole a glance at him as he helped her down the step and guided her to the servants’ entrance. His profile was rugged and boldly masculine. Her heart pounded an erratic rhythm.

The door opened and a butler stood in the back entrance. “My lord.” The servant’s gaze traveled to her face. He noted her hooded cloak, and she stiffened. No doubt, the man thought she was Ian Swift’s ladybird for the night. A shiver of dread traveled down her spine. She wasn’t expecting the butler to answer the back door.

Heavens, had all her discreet preparations been for naught? What if the servant whispered word of her presence here tonight? She had no chaperone, no possible reason to be alone with the master of the house at such a late hour. Was all lost before it began?

She stood frozen, her eyes wide, as icy fear filled her veins.

Ian Swift must have finally noticed her demeanor.

“That will be all, Jenkins,” Ian said.

The butler nodded and departed, and Ian guided her inside. She vaguely realized they were in the kitchens. Large pots and utensils hung from hooks above a rough-hewn work table, and the dark shape of a stove filled a corner. The scent of lamb lingered in the space.

Ian touched her sleeve. “What’s wrong?”

She frowned up at him. “Your butler. Why in heaven’s name did you bother to escort me to the servant’s entrance if you knew he would answer the door?”

“What does it matter?”

He couldn’t be serious. “Servants talk. What if he whispers of my presence here tonight?”

“Jenkins won’t say a word. No one in my employ gossips.”

He spoke with such forceful confidence that Grace almost believed him.

“Trust me in this,” he said.

Trust him? He was far from trustworthy, but she didn’t have much choice.

“Shall we continue?” he asked.

A part of her wanted to flee back to her home and hide in her bedchamber until the sun rose. But she was no longer a child. She was a grown woman who knew her problems wouldn’t cease to exist in the morning, and she must face them head on. Teaching Ian Swift manners was the best solution to both of their dilemmas.

She nodded once.

He led her through the hallway and past a drawing room. She stopped at the doorway to glimpse a well-appointed room with flocked papered walls, an Oriental carpet, and quality furnishings.

She hadn’t known what to expect.

An unkempt home? A boxing ring in the middle of the parlor? But it appeared to be a proper bachelor’s residence complete with a butler.