Page 25 of Unmasking the Earl

“That can’t be right,” countered Baxter. “I definitely heard him say he was following the master with something he had forgotten to take.”

Matthews backed out of the room and closed the door. Cassie could hear the two servants arguing on the other side, sotto voce, about the whereabouts of Ganstridge. It seemed he’d told a different story to each of them and gone off on some nefarious business of his own.

With a sigh, she got up and wandered across to peruse the bookcase, choosing a book of Byron’s verses. Smiling at a romantic inscription on the flyleaf that revealed the small volume was a gift from—unsurprisingly—one of the captain’s many lovers, she returned to her seat and settled down to enjoy tea, overly sweet fruitcake, and overly dramatic poetry.

Not long afterward she heard the opening and closing of the front door. Eyeing the clock, she realized it couldn’t be Ella—it was too soon. Maybe it was Wycherley returning. She stood, the book open in her hands, ready to greet him.

There were muffled male voices in the corridor, but when the drawing room door opened, it was to admit not the captain, but a rather damp Ganstridge, stamping his feet and pushing his dripping hair out of his eyes.

Her stomach flipped over at the sight of his tall figure, the multi-caped coat he wore accentuating the breadth of his shoulders, blocking the doorway so there was no means of escape.

For a moment his face lit up, but she had barely registered this expression before it was replaced by his more customary one of total disapproval.

“Mr. Ganstridge,” she said coolly. “We’ve all been debating your whereabouts. I understand you have a note for me which should have been delivered two days ago.”

The door closed behind him, and again she was trapped with this stranger who affected her right to the very core. From the grimness of his face, she half expected him to lock the door and remove the key.

“You took no heed of my warnings then,” he said stiffly.

Honestly, did the man have no manners, at all? She snapped, “Why should I care for the opinions of a servant?”

That made him wince, but he moved forward until he was towering over her. “Aren’t you ashamed that a servant has more concern for propriety than you?” he ground out.

Why did he always fail to keep at a respectable distance? She was struggling to catch her breath, and the memories of being closeted in close proximity to him returned in force.

As did the troubling pull of attraction. She was drawn to him like a compass needle to the pole. Yet, he’d not even touched her.

It seemed it was not just Julian she could have vivid imaginings about…

“You’re dripping on me,” she complained, mortified that her body was reacting so uncontrollably to his nearness.

He took a deep breath. “My apologies,” he said. He shrugged off his coat and flung it across the back of the chaise longue, followed by his broad-brimmed hat. Indicating a chair, he waited until she’d seated herself and then joined her at the tea table.

“Damned awful weather. These clouds have been following me since Westbury. I’m soaked right through my hat.” He reached for a slice of cake. “Is there any tea left in the pot? Baxter and Matthews are idiots. They should have made up a fire in here. You must be freezing.”

Struck dumb by the man’s cavalier use of his master’s furniture and tea things, Cassie just stared at him. Water trickled slowly from the damp curls of his hair into the white folds of his surprisingly neat neck-cloth, and small droplets clung to the lashes of his dark, sensual eyes. His handsome face was ruddy with the cold, his breathing deep from the exertions of his errand, whatever it had been.

What had he been up to that forced him to lie to the other servants?

Wait a moment. Westbury? Wasn’t that in Wiltshire? Before she could ask what reason he had to travel so far, he said, “So, you couldn’t resist returning for another taste of the deplorable Captain Wycherley’s lovemaking skills.”

Did she detect a hint of bitterness in his tone?

She found her voice at last. “You make it sound so sordid! I have the best of reasons for my actions.”

“Hah! It would take a great deal to convince me of that. I know he has a gift for bringing women under his spell.”

“Why are we even having this conversation? I don’t wish to speak to you, Mr. Ganstridge. Haven’t you duties to attend to?”

His brown eyes met and held her gaze for a long moment, and there was something indefinable in them that stole her breath. But all he said was, “This is excellent cake—though a little on the sweet side. What’s that you’re reading?”

“Nothing.” She balanced the book on the arm of her chair then stood up, needing the advantage of height. “Please explain to me what you were doing in Westbury, and why you are sitting here now, doing your best to ruin my day?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I meant, once my other business was concluded, to get you alone and make one last effort to deter you from your purpose.”

“You mean, you deliberately concealed Wycherley’s note so I would come here, only so you might ring a peal over me?”

“I don’t give up easily,” he said. “As it seems I’ve failed—at least temporarily—in one venture, I am doubly determined to succeed in the other.”