The Earl in My Bed: A Forgotten Princesses Valentine Novella Read Free Page A

“You think it should be me rotting in the earth. Or on the battlefield. Whatever the case, I don’t belong or deserve to be here.”
    She sucked in a breath.
    He smiled mirthlessly, those well-carved lips curving upward. “Come. Don’t look so shocked.” He pressed a finger beneath her chin and closed her mouth for her.
    Heat and awareness spread from that single point of contact. She jerked back a step. “I’m certain that’s not t-true.”
    “I’ve never been anyone’s favorite.” He looked into her eyes meaningfully, and she knew he was implying that he had never been her favorite. And how could she deny the allegation? It was true.
    “Do you want to be?” she challenged, knowing the answer already. He did not.
    He had never behaved as one hoping to win the favor of others.
    The sudden gleam in his eyes told her he knew this, too.
    “My father will be missing me. It was lovely to see you again, Lord Winningham.” Oh, how the title still stuck in her throat. Turning, she moved away, not waiting for his response.
    She thought she heard his murmured farewell, and something else, other words lost on the wind. Her nape tingled and she brushed her hand there, certain that it was his gaze she felt.
    She quickened her pace.
    J amie watched the vicar’s daughter hasten away. His lips twisted wryly. He suspected she would run if she could. If it wouldn’t be a complete break in decorum, she’d lift her skirts and race from him as quickly as her feet would carry her.
    She was everything and more than he remembered. The defiance was still there. That stubborn angle to her chin. The sparkling light in her brown-black eyes. She was a tightly wound package, her feisty nature threatening to spill free. He studied her trim shape marching briskly away. She was still the girl who had thrown manure in his face.
    He winced at the memory. He’d deserved it. He’d been such an arrogant pup, full of jealousy. It was a bitter thing to feel like an outsider among your own family. But it had always been that way. His place had always been rather hazy in his mind. Brand was the heir, and Owen the beloved son from his father’s second marriage . . . a love union. Owen even possessed a title. He was Lord McDowell, having inherited a Scottish earldom through his mother.
    Jamie had always felt unnecessary. Easily overlooked. The fact that Brand and Owen preferred each other—and even the vicar’s daughter—only drove home his sense of isolation among his own family.
    And then there was Paget Ellsworth. Hoyden and all-around trouble. His brothers adored her. Followed her about like puppies. Not him. Even if they had made room for him in their cozy little trio, he had refused to be another to dote upon her.
    Blasted pride. He’d felt a resurgence of it today, prompting him to provoke her. He shook his head, and clasped his hands behind his back. He’d come far. Years had passed. He would not allow himself to feel the old disgruntlement. Brand was gone. And Owen . . .
    A sour taste coated his mouth. He was still over there. Fighting for his life. Jamie had been forced home. He’d tried to stay, unwilling to leave Owen, but the colonel had demanded it of him once they received word of Brand’s death. He closed his eyes in a long blink and shook his head, fighting off the memory of their final encounter. The dead look in Owen’s eyes as he turned from Jamie.
    “You’ll be home soon, Owen,” he had called, the promise feeble even to his ears.
    Owen did not look back, merely moved forward with hard strides, his rifle slung over his shoulder. He fell into step with four other soldiers from the regiment who had been singled out for their excellent marksmanship. They were leaving to hunt down rebel sepoys who had taken prisoner several merchants and their families. It was a kill mission. His brother had become quite skilled at those. He was used almost exclusively as an assassin.
    He doubted Miss Ellsworth would even know Owen