The Bluestocking and the Rake (The Regency Gentlemen Series) Read Free Page A

love.”
    “Oh, don’t listen to me then. Marry this girl if you wish, but don’t blame me when it blows up in your face.”
    “You are only saying this because you wish to see me wrapped tightly around someone’s finger so that you can then laugh at my misfortune. And you will wait in vain for that. You found love; you were happy in your marriage and no-one was happier to see it than me, but don’t lecture me. I am old enough to make my own decisions.”
    Caroline stiffened. “And how can you be so certain you will not live to regret them? You may meet with someone anywhere and you will have thrown yourself away on Lady Emily Holt.”
    “Then where is she?” he asked, spreading his hands wide. “Where is this paragon? I have waited for her long enough. No, it is time I married. I need an heir. Emily is my choice and I would ask you and Mama and Sarah to respect my wishes… especially Sarah, as she is of all of you sisters the busiest in my affairs.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Have you heard her news, by the way?”
    “Yes. Wonderful news.”
    “If she has a son do you think she will name him after me?”
    “What sort of a name is Lucifer for a baby?” Caroline asked with an innocent look.
    The Earl of Marcham snorted in amusement, made his goodbyes and sauntered down the steps of his mother’s home in restless mood. By no means certain that he was about to make an offer for Lady Emily, his mother’s outrage at his choice had provoked the devil in him and he had found himself declaring an interest in the girl when he had not entirely made up his own mind on the subject.
    Yes, he found her attractive. Yes, she was a kind and generous woman and he had no doubt would make him a splendid countess. And yet…
    And yet something about the thought of it sent a chill down his back. He had always hoped for a love match, but as the years went by, the chances of such a union seemed increasingly unlikely. He was well off and personable and he had little difficulty attracting women. What bothered him was that he might have been sixty-five with a bald head and a liking for raw onions and corsets and they still would have pursued him. He was rich and he was painfully aware that most women of his acquaintance (well the respectable ones, anyway) were as much in love with his purse as they were his person. The love match that his sister had found was what he wanted and he had all but given up on ever finding such a match for himself.
    So let it be Lady Emily Holt. Or Amelia Connaught. Or any of the other respectable women of Worcestershire. He cared not.
     
    * * *
     
    The woman’s mother irritated him, the earl decided as he sipped his tea.
    The over-attentive, almost fawning desire to please, rubbed him on the raw. She was like a spider, spreading her web out wide to catch him.
    He was given the best chair, or so she told him, and the best tea served in the best china. He watched Lady Holt, a plump vacuous woman, titter on the edge of her chair, praising the accomplishments of her eldest daughter and he felt an overwhelming desire to run in the opposite direction.
    Lady Emily sat opposite him, looking demure and shy and hardly raised her eyes to his face. He found himself wondering idly if she would be the image of her mother in thirty years’ time.
    The earl had travelled from his mother’s estate to the Holt’s residence, expressly to decide once and for all whether he was to make an offer. Emily was pretty; petite and voluptuous with blonde artificially curled hair and a small mouth that simpered rather than smiled. He wondered if she had put on her best dress for him. He wondered if her mother made her life a misery in private. He wondered if Lady Emily would rather marry the devil himself than him. He looked at her closely, trying to detect any warmth in her expression as her eyes rested upon him. Was she being forced into this match by her mother? And if he married her, would he find her a dutiful but