Her Errant Earl Read Online Free PDF

trapped away as she’d been in the country. Even before her marriage,
however, she’d always considered herself plain. There were many women with far
greater beauty than she possessed, women who commanded the interest of men like
Pembroke. In their shadow, she was a mere mouse.
    Despite herself, he was winning her over, maybe because she
wanted to believe in him so very much. Or perhaps it was because she was still
the same romantic fool he’d wed. She didn’t know. He seated her and lingered at
her elbow, his spicy scent toying with her senses. He hadn’t come to her
chamber since the night he’d returned, and the knot of longing in her belly was
growing.
    It was dangerous ground she treaded now. Victoria focused
her gaze on the lovely spray of English daisies and roses upon the table as she
thanked Pembroke for his escort.
    “You are most welcome,” he said, his voice a low, velvety
timbre in her ear.
    Unless she was mistaken, he hesitated just long enough to
deliver a quick nibble to her earlobe before straightening and rounding the
table. His expression remained impassive as he seated himself. Had she imagined
the delicious tug of his teeth upon her? The peculiar sensation of restlessness
skittering through her suggested that she had not.
    Awkward silence descended as the first course, a lovely
smelling turtle soup, was laid before them. Pembroke abruptly directed the
servants to leave them alone, startling Victoria. Ordinarily, their dinners
were a very staid affair, always attended by servants.
    She looked at him askance, trying not to notice how rakishly
handsome he appeared with his too-long mahogany locks brushing the collar of
his coat, his lively eyes sparkling in that too-handsome face, his mobile mouth
always quirked with a hint of naughtiness.
    “Everywhere I look, it seems I find another change wrought
by the fair hand of my wife. I see you’ve done away with the powdered wigs,” he
noted when the door had closed, leaving them completely alone.
    When she’d arrived at Carrington House, everything had been
outmoded. She knew from experience that these days, country houses rarely
required footmen to wear the wigs so preferred by previous generations unless
it was the most formal of occasions. She was once again at a loss. He had
always seemed far too busy being a devil-may-care to pay attention to the dress
of his servants.
    “Almost no one requires it any longer,” she offered.
“Scratchy, dreadfully uncomfortable things, I’m told, though still preferable
to powder.”
    “Indeed?” He raised a brow. “Do you make it a habit of
inquiring after the welfare of all my footmen?”
    “Most certainly not.” She flushed, having difficulty
concentrating with his gaze pinned upon her. “I asked my lady’s maid when I
contemplated the change. It seemed so silly to continue the practice unless we
actually had guests in residence. Do you object, my lord?”
    “Pray call me William when we are alone, my dear. We are
husband and wife, are we not? As it happens, I do not mind the absence of the
wigs. Always looked as if they were about to slide off anyhow.” He tasted his
soup. “Delightful. I shall have to pass my compliments to Mrs. Rufton.”
    She hadn’t known much of Pembroke as the master of his
estate. But from what she’d gleaned from belowstairs gossip related to her by
her lady’s maid, he hadn’t been the sort to notice anything in his household
unless it affected his own pleasures. Yet it appeared he had gone to great
length over the course of the last week to take note of even the tiniest
changes she’d made.
    She wasn’t certain if it was because he’d taken an interest
in her, or if it was because he disliked her taking up the reins. “I waited
quite some time to begin making my mark here at Carrington House,” she offered,
feeling as if she ought to explain. “You never answered my correspondence, and
so I suppose I took your silence as acceptance.”
    “Of course you