Page 16 of Ruined by the Wrong Earl

Candace stood. ‘Yes, but you are not married yet and still have to deal with Mother.’

Nora bit her lower lip. If marriage meant not having to deal with her mother, she was almost looking forward to it.

Candace sighed. ‘If Mother asks for you, I’ll do my best to distract her and tell her you are strolling the gardens.’

Nora kissed her sister’s cheek. ‘I knew I could depend on you.’

‘Just don’t be long searching for that poisonous shell or any others,’ Candace said, a note of warning in her voice.

Together the sisters made their way down the main staircase and headed to the music conservatory. Chairs were arranged in rows in the room and a pianoforte was in the center. Others had already arrived. The Duchess sat in the front row, along with Lady Worth, Lady Ardmore and Nora’s mother. No doubt her mother would be thrilled to be seated with the trio, and hopefully, she would not pay Nora much attention when she slipped out of the concert.

The men sat in the row behind the ladies—the Marquess and Viscount, along with Ralston and Adler. Other guests, including the wealthy Baroness, took places alongside Mr and Mrs Mercer and the widow, Mrs Charlston. Sir Simon selected a seat beside the young widow.

Nora strategically chose a chair in the back row closest to the door. Candace sat beside her. ‘You’re fortunate,’ Candace whispered. ‘Mother is already occupied.’

Nora shifted in her seat just as Ralston turned in his chair to look at her. One dark eyebrow rose in an inquiring arch. Her insides warmed, and for a brief moment, she wondered if he could read her thoughts and knew she planned a quick escape, then dismissed her concerns. Thankfully, the pianist began to play, and Ralston turned away. She sat still, not daring to move, looking at the back of his dark head.

He was too much of a distraction. The pianist’s music should be soothing—instead she was on edge. And the longer she sat, the more she felt the restless urge to leave for the seaside. Fresh air would do her good. She squeezed her sister’s hand, and Candace nodded in understanding. Nora pushed back her chair, careful not to make a sound on the hardwood floor, then slipped from the room.

Once she reached the marble vestibule, she looked both ways to ensure no servants were about, then retrieved a basket she’d stowed in a cupboard under the stairs and walked out the front door.

It was a lovely afternoon, and puffs of clouds floated in the sky. Sunshine warmed Nora’s cheeks. Birds chirped and the fragrant perfume of the Duchess’s prized rose bushes scented the air. The perfect weather contrasted with the churning emotions in her stomach.

The country sojourn should be a success–-the only wrinkle was her current fiancé, the Earl of Ralston. Would she ever get over the shock of her engagement? She had been nervous, but she’d been surprised at Ralston’s presence by her side last night. Anyone looking at him would never expect he did not wish to marry, or that they’d end up together in the most unusual way. Even more surprising was her own attraction for her soon-to-be husband. It started from the kiss in the library, which had left her breathless to his words and steady hand at the betrothal announcement, which she did appreciate.

She took deep breaths as she walked. She’d use this time alone to think things through, to accept her future and focus on what mattered most to her. Her science, her research of Cornwall shells and any future presentation to the Scientific Society. She’d read articles written by the Society and begun to dream of presenting to the leading scientists on the committee. It would be a personal acknowledgement that she was a true biologist and that her study of seashells was worthy.

And one other small issue nagged her thoughts: How to become a countess and share the Earl’s bed.

It was all so overwhelming.

She approached the top of the shell driveway that led to the coast. A brisk fifteen-minute walk later, the sound of ocean waves breaking on ragged rocks beckoned her. Tall grass danced in a sea breeze on dunes that shielded her view of the ocean. Tucking her basket under her arm, she stepped onto a path of worn wood boards that led through the dunes and to the beach.

At last, the ocean came into view—a magnificent blue spanning the horizon. She experienced a thrill of excitement at the sight of the ocean, which she rarely saw. The sun was a brilliant orange ball high in the sky. On one side, waves crashed against shiny jagged rocks, the air thick with sea spray. But the path she’d taken had led to a small isolated beach with briny sand and seashell fragments. The waves were gentler here and swimmers could enjoy a dip in the ocean. Gulls cried and soared above.

Removing a blanket from her basket, she spread it on the sand. She untied her bonnet and placed it on the blanket beside her. Then she slipped off her shoes and removed her stockings. Wisps of hair blew free from the bun at her nape. She breathed in the intoxicating scent of ocean air and tipped her face to the sun.

London could be stifling. Too much rain and smoke from the factories clogged the sky. But here, by the sea, she could breathe, her lungs could expand and whatever tension she’d felt in the warm conservatory eased away. The vastness of the ocean reminded her of how small her troubles truly were.

She could stay here all afternoon, but she knew her time was limited before others noticed her absence from the house. Removing a small canvas sack from the basket, she slipped it over her head and arm. Tucking her skirts in her waistband, she waded into the shallow surf. The water was cool, not frigid, and the refreshing waves lapped at her calves. Excitement trickled in her veins. The Cornwall coast had even more shells than reported in Reeve’s scientific book.

Scanning the surf, she searched for specific shells—an auger shell, common cockle, or whelk. Bending down, she plucked a colourful shell before the receding wave could carry it away. She kept searching, tucking shells in her bag as she went. Then she spotted it—an ordinary shell but not so ordinary. She slipped it into her pouch and planned to draw it and make notes in her journal.

The water grew cold as she walked in the surf, and eventually she waded from the ocean. She’d sunbathe for a few precious moments before returning to the manor and facing her future.

She froze as she turned towards her blanket. Someone was sitting there. Not just someone.

The Earl of Ralston.

Chapter Six

Ralston was riveted. He’d seen Nora sneak out of the manor and had followed her at a discreet distance to discover her wading in the surf. He’d settled on her blanket and observed her. Her skirts were hitched in her waistband, as she searched for something and his gaze was drawn to her slender ankles and shapely calves. The sight instantly brought back memories of her legs pressed against him in bed. He knew the smoothness of her skin. He’d had the privilege of touching it, of running his hands over her calves, then trailing his fingers along her soft inner thigh.

Her auburn hair shimmered beneath the sun as she approached, eyes wide. She wasn’t freckled like other women with her vibrant hair colour, but she had a lovely dusty complexion. Her eyes, a vivid green, reminded him of the ferns from his summer home in Hertfordshire. The combination was striking. He could sit and watch her for the entire afternoon.

She stopped in front of him, not bothering to let down her skirts. Placing a hand above her brow to shield her eyes from the sun, she asked, ‘What are you doing here, my lord?’

He stood. His manners had been ingrained since childhood. ‘I saw you depart from the manor. I was worried you were ill.’ It was the truth. He’d thought she’d slipped from the house to be sick in the gardens. Then he’d seen her walk down the shell driveway, away from the manor. Cornwall was safe, but there was always a chance of harm.