My Reckless Earl (The Wayward Woodvilles, Book 7) (Ebook)

London Season, 1811

Harlow York took a fortifying breath and entered Lord and Lady Craig's conservatory. She prayed she was not about to walk in on Lord Kemsley in the throes of passion with some other random debutante or widow of the ton.
She closed her eyes a moment, pausing on the threshold of the room, and sent up a silent prayer that her worst nightmare would not come to pass. The scent of the hot house seemed more potent when one took a moment to close one’s eyes to the room's physical beauty.
The scents of wisteria, roses, and citrus trees filled her senses, and she breathed deep, stepping into the room.
"I would ask you what you're doing at the doors to this conservatory looking as if you're about to faint, but I will not. Instead, I will merely ask you why do you have your eyes closed and why are you following me, Miss York?" The deep baritone of Lord Kemsley drifted from the shadows of the vast, glass room.
Harlow swallowed her nerves, ignored his strange commentary on her closed eyes, and started in the direction she believed he stood.
"I came to speak to you, Lord Kemsley. I hope I have not interrupted you."
He stepped out of the shadow of a large orange tree, and so too did the widow Randall. The blush on the dowager's cheeks told Harlow without words how they had occupied themselves in their few minutes alone.
"I apologize. I did not know you were not alone."
"And nor should you ever know that," Lady Randall cooed, running her hand along Lord Kemsley's chest before sauntering past Harlow. "But do not worry, Miss York. Your secret is safe with me so long as mine is safe with you."
Harlow nodded and fought not to cast up her accounts. He had a lover? A woman who was not Harlow. Pain shot through her chest, and she fisted her hands at her sides to stop herself from stomping her foot at the unfairness of it all.
"What can I help you with, Miss York?" he drawled, lighting a cheroot and walking to her, towering over her like the god she had always believed him to be.
She stopped herself from sighing at how lovely he was, even knowing he had lovers. Of course, a man like Lord Kemsley shared his bed with society women who did not need husbands. Such as the lucky widow Lady Randall.
He was a man, and he could do as he wished.
But would he do as Harlow wished?
"I need your assistance, my lord," she managed, glad her voice came out determined and not shaky with undecidedness. "I've come here tonight to ask for it."
He breathed deep into his cheroot, his eyes narrowing as the smoke wafted past his eyes. "My help? Really?" He paused, chewing his bottom lip. "What does the Season's diamond require with my help? I would not think you were in need of any."
"I'm no longer the diamond. Miss Marshall has been named this year's incomparable, and I'm very happy for her. And more than happy to relinquish my title, for it would only get in the way of what I want this year."
He raised his brow, staring down at her over his straight, aristocratic nose. "Do explain."
Harlow nodded. This was it, the time she would say her piece and hope for the best. What was the worst that could happen?
He could say no and laugh you out of this room.
She pushed the horrible thought aside and promised herself it would all be well. He was not a mean man. He may be one of London's most debauched rogues, but he was never so bedeviled as not to dance with and say pretty words to the young ladies who crossed his path each Season.
Although she did not know his age, he could not be so much older than her elder sister Lila.
"You see, my lord, I'm in love with a man who does not love me in return. In fact, there are times when I do not think he even knows that I exist, but I want to change that truth."
"Really?" he said, his lips twitching and showing the first sign of amusement, and not annoyance, at her interrupting him. "And how is seeking me out going to help you with this love interest of yours?"
"Well …" She gulped. "I want you to show me how I, as a young woman who has so much to learn, may understand what I need to do to make the gentleman I admire see me."
"You want my tutelage on the art of courtship?" He frowned, shaking his head. "You want me to help you speak to his lordship? I'm not certain I understand."
"Well, a conversation is certainly a factor that I shall need to get better at, but there are other things too. Other things that a man may like a woman to be well-versed in that would help his lordship see me as something other than another debutante looking for a good match."
Harlow stared at him, hoping he would not make her say what she feared he understood but still played ignorant of.
"Such as?" he asked again, the grin on his lips now a full, wicked smile.
"Such as," she started, clearing her throat. Heat kissed her cheeks, and she licked her lips, looking anywhere but at Lord Kemsley's smug visage. "Such as in the ways of seduction. How I may saunter near my intended. Coy looks or touches when we speak. Maybe even a kiss or two," she suggested.
His deep, guttural chuckle made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and not in a terrifying way. "You want me to teach you how to seduce the man of your heart?"
Harlow nodded, unable to voice a reply.
"Well, that is bold of you, Miss York. I did not think a little mouse from Grafton would have such plans for a lord of the realm, but how mistaken I am."
"I understand if you do not wish to proceed, my lord. And if you do not, I ask that you not share my plans with my family or friends. They would not understand or approve."
He studied her a moment, and she wondered what he saw when he looked at her. A woman of sun-kissed hair. A woman with a mole above her lip and freckles on her nose after spending too much time outdoors these past weeks after the cold winter. She was not usually one to spend time in the garden, but being back in Grafton during the winter, the few warm weeks before they returned to London, she longed to be outdoors. Freckles, unfortunately, were an occupational hazard when one sits and plots how to win a rogue's heart.
Lord Kemsley's heart, to be exact ...

Wes was a little foxed. In fact, for a moment, he thought the delectable Miss York was an apparition sprung from his inebriation that had formed before him, asking him to do all kinds of mischief.
But how wrong he was.
She was not a figment of his imagination. She was very real and very much asking him to teach her how to seduce some unknown gentleman in London this Season.
He thought her antics with his good friend Viscount Billington last Season had been outrageous, but how wrong he was. The woman had no end to her plots and plans.
"How far will this teaching of mine go, Miss York? You know I'm a rake, which I'm certain is why you've singled me out, but how far do you wish to take your lessons?" he asked, calling the chit’s bluff. She would not go too far. She was a maid, after all. Pure and untouchable, as all of them were. She would not allow him to kiss her, so her teachings would be dull indeed.
But then he inwardly shrugged. That may still secure her a match. There were certainly enough boring, staid gentlemen in town who did not mind a frigid wife.
She swallowed, biting her bottom lip, and he took a deep breath. The younger Miss York had always caught his attention. There was something mischievous about her that he had always marveled at. Her escapades with his good friend last Season confirmed those suspicions.
"As I said, my lord, I will require teachings on what I should speak about when we dance, what touches or looks work on you that may work on my mystery gentleman. I cannot fail at winning the man I want, so I shall need to know if there is any time that a woman, an unmarried woman such as myself, should offer more than light flirtation." She paused, biting that delectable lip again and his vision of her swam. "I would like to know if there is any time I ought to offer my lips to the gentleman."
Wes swallowed. Hard. This was not the sort of conversation he ought to be having as foxed as he was. "You want me to kiss you?"
"What!" she gasped, her eyes growing wide. "No, well …" she hedged. "Not yet, at least, but maybe a little into our lessons."
Wes closed his eyes, his cock twitching at the thought of taking Miss York's lips, even if solely due to lessons in seduction she was asking for. He wasn't sure he could stop at one kiss if Harlow York was in his arms.
"I do not think it is a good idea," he said, glad that the little bit of gentlemanly caution had stepped forward and forced those words out of his mouth. "I'm a rake, and if you're caught anywhere alone with me, such as you are now, marriage will be to me, and no one else, and I do not think that is what you want. Correct me if I'm wrong," he demanded of her.
She opened her mouth as if to say something but snapped it closed. "You could teach me in secret. No one needs to know. I trust you because you are my brother-in-law's friend, and my sister holds you in great esteem. I know you will not hurt me or overstep your bounds. I will be safe with you, my lord."
Wes stared at Miss York, unsure if he wanted to laugh hysterically at her words and prove her wrong or spend a few enjoyable weeks teaching her before walking away once she secured the man she desired.
He debated the pros and cons of her plan and blinked when she wobbled before him again. He really ought to make a decision with a clear head, not right now when he was foxed.
"Please, my lord," she said beseechingly, coming up to him and taking his hands, squeezing them in appeal. "Please do not turn me away."
"It is a dangerous game you play, Miss York. Are you certain you're up for my teachings?" he asked, wanting to give her one last out should she want it.
Her eyes brightened to a vibrant green, and the pit of his stomach clenched. "I want you and no one else, my lord."
He pulled his hands free and nodded. "Very well then. Let the teachings begin." And God help them both they survived them.