Cocky Earl - Annabelle Anders Page 0,13
face could be mistaken for nothing other than outright dismay.
Her father, it seemed, had not yet informed her of her good fortune.
Vague unease crawled over Jules. He’d thought he could avoid this entire wooing business by presuming it to be a done deal. What chit didn’t want to marry an earl? One who had all his teeth, no less, and if he did say so himself, one who wasn’t terrible to look at?
Was it possible her father had known what he was talking about when he’d insisted upon an actual courtship?
Perhaps he’d made a slight miscalculation.
She wasn’t nearly as tedious as he’d expected. And upon closer inspection, her looks were… striking—vibrant if one were to put a positive spin on them. Brash and ostentatious if viewed pessimistically. The disturbing sensations she provoked in him were likely due to the promise he’d made to her father. Without a doubt, it was the thought of matrimony itself that soured the contents of his stomach.
He fisted his hands at his sides as he recalled the game of cards he should have won the night before. A game that had changed his life, and soon, his future.
“As your what?” Her words echoed between them and were emphasized by two spots of red that appeared on her pale cheeks.
“You needn’t pretend it isn’t why you are in England. Why, I’d wager any lady worth her salt would change places with you in the blink of an eye. It’s quite the coup, you realize, for any young woman, let alone an American, to land a titled husband.”
She closed her mouth. Opened it again. Closed it and then opened and closed it a third time. The pink hue on her cheeks had spread to nearly all of her face and down her neck. Jules checked himself to keep from wondering if all of her skin flushed such a delicate color…
“Where would you get such a pigheaded idea as that?” The question sounded half astonished and half disgusted.
He peered closer. Tiny freckles that he hadn’t noticed before dotted the bridge of her nose. He’d embarrassed her. American ladies perhaps weren’t as sophisticated regarding such arrangements.
Several strands of fiery red hair slipped free when she turned her head from side to side. The wind immediately caught the wayward locks and she brushed at them, then smoothed them behind her ears.
“My father.”
Oh, bollocks. Jules winced.
“What did my father do?” The tenor of her voice had dropped an octave and she blinked rapidly, then swiped her arm across them to hide her imminent tears.
Jules rubbed his fingers together and rolled his shoulders, uncertain as to what to expect from her next. Would she cry, or worse, unleash her temper on him? Perhaps the sheen of brightness in her eyes were tears of joy.
A stiff breeze raced up the valley, pressing her coat against her figure. She folded her arms across her breasts and hugged herself. When he moved to step toward her, she turned away. “I’m not a fool. Please tell me why you are under the assumption that I would… that you and I…” She stumbled over the words.
Jules didn’t always behave as a proper gentleman ought, but his honor mattered a great deal to him. Honesty was an essential element of honor. So he decided to come clean with her. He owed her that much.
“Your father and I,” he began warily, “have an agreement.”
“Is he paying you?” She glanced over her shoulder. “Because I have no intention of honoring any sort of agreement the two of you have concocted.”
“I,” Jules winced as he searched for an apt description of what had taken place the night before, an apt description that might be flattering to her. “Won you.”
He wished he could read her expression, but she remained standing with her back to him. This morning wasn’t going at all as he’d anticipated.
“In a game of cards,” he added.
In a flash, she whirled around to face him, her eyes flared in accusation. “You… won me?”
Jules nodded. “In a manner of speaking.”
“Then my father.” She swallowed hard. “Lost me?”
The pain in her voice pierced his conscience. Her trembling lower lip turned the knife.
Oh, hell. He wasn’t going to be able to put a shine on this either way. Furthermore, he couldn’t in all good conscience allow her to believe her father lost her in a game of cards.
“Technically, I was the loser…” He met her gaze and wished he could take the words back the instant he spoke them. “But let’s not