Cocky Earl - Annabelle Anders Page 0,11

an opportunity to study him close up the evening before and expected his looks to diminish in the full light of day.

She was sorely mistaken.

Her father intruded on her thoughts. “It is indeed, my lord. Have you met my daughter yet?”

Charley averted her gaze away from the incredibly handsome gentleman and narrowed her eyes at her father. There was something unnatural in the manner in which he’d greeted the younger man. Her father seemed… shifty.

Lord Westerley slid pale blue eyes in her direction. Or perhaps they were gray? “I have not yet had the pleasure.”

He stood at least a foot taller than her father and although he was not nearly as brawny, he wasn’t without well-developed musculature either. He sent a welcoming smile in her direction, and for the briefest instant, reminded her of his sisters.

The resemblance ended with his smile, however. Everything else about the earl’s appearance, from his chiseled and arrogant features to the polished boots on his feet, positively screamed masculine nobility.

Cocksure confidence.

“Miss Charlotte Arabella Jackson.” Her father, of course, would introduce her by her full name. “Charley, this is our host, the Earl of Westerley.”

Handsome. A lord. Arrogant. She mentally checked off every assumption she’d made the night before as she went to shake the man’s hand.

A clearing of her father’s throat had her dropping into a curtsey instead.

“Lord Westerley,” she murmured, trying to remember if she was addressing him properly. Or was she supposed to address him simply as ‘my lord’?

It bothered her that he caused her to feel so… inadequate. She spent a good deal of her time convincing herself of the opposite.

He didn’t respond right away, but removing his hat with one hand, he took her hand with the other and bowed over it. She barely felt the brush of his lips through her woolen gloves before he stood upright again, studying her in a way that made her feel like squirming.

A shiver ran through her as she forced herself to meet his gaze straight on. It was bad enough being a woman in America, trying to affect business in a world run by men. England took patriarchy to an even higher level, referring to a select few of them as lords.

Why couldn’t a woman be a lord? The thought had her letting out a very indelicate and derisive snort.

“Magnificent mount, Westerley.” Her father said, moving away to examine the earl’s horse.

What are you up to, Father? She narrowed her eyes in his direction. Daniel Jackson was only ever interested in horses in so much as they could assist in shipping or production.

The earl dismissed her with a nod so that he could regale her father with some pedigree nonsense.

Not that Charley didn’t like horses, or riding for that matter. It was the rider to whom she was not partial. She was certain she’d feel the same for any of these lordly types.

“I’ll escort Miss Jackson back to the manor then.” Charley jerked her head in the direction of the two men just as her father mounted the earl’s horse.

“Where are you going?” Her heart skipped a beat at the idea of being alone with Lord Westerley. Not because she was afraid to be alone with him, she promptly assured herself, but because she had no wish to make meaningless conversation with someone with whom she had nothing in common.

She’d heard all about how English misses conversed about nothing more mentally taxing than the weather and the latest fashions when speaking with their male counterparts, and she wanted none of that.

“His lordship has invited me to ride this magnificent beast back to the stables.” Her father sent her a look that she knew was a warning. Do not insult our host. She read his meaning far too easily. Then he nodded toward Westerley before turning the horse and cantering in the direction of the manor.

Her father knew exactly how she would feel about being left alone with this man. Was it a punishment for her earlier outburst? Or something more sinister? Her father had not become known as the Whiskey King because of his straightforward business practices.

Feeling both betrayed and curious, she glowered after him until an unexpected sound had her shifting her attention back to the earl.

“Did you just crack your knuckle?” she asked. It did not seem at all like something one of England’s lordish types would do.

“Shall we?” Ignoring her question, he held out an arm, a glimmer shining in the back of his eyes. Ah, yes. Blue and silver.