Yankee Earl Read Online Free PDF

it—is to announce our betrothal just prior to the midnight supper.”
           Jason stood rooted to the floor, mutely staring at her.
           “My, my, and they did not inform you,” she tsked. “Tis customary for the groom to be apprised of the matter long before the bride.”
           The viper-tongued wench was enjoying this altogether too much. Jason felt a sudden urge to wipe the superior smirk from her face by kissing those pouty pink lips and then turning her over his knee and paddling that shapely little rump. The idea might have merits, but not before they straightened out this absurd talk of marriage. Instead, he offered her his arm, bowing gallantly as he said, “We had best continue this discussion elsewhere, do you not agree?”
           The orchestra chose that moment to cease playing. Feeling everyone's eyes fixed avidly on the two of them, Rachel nodded, although she did not accept his arm. Instead, she charged toward the opened double doors leading to the interior courtyard gardens, assured that the odious American would follow, hoping dearly that no one else would dare.
           Jason watched her forge ahead like Moses parting the Red Sea. There was no recourse but to let her lead the way. When she reached the seclusion of a boxwood hedge, she whirled about, ready to continue her patronizing diatribe, but he cut her off without preamble, saying, “My dear Miss Fairchild, we have only met twice; and to the best of my knowledge, I have not made you a marriage proposal. You have made it abundantly clear at both encounters that you detest me. It would certainly seem that a mistake of catastrophic proportions has been made.”
           “I could not agree more, but our wishes do not signify.” Rachel could not keep the bitterness from her voice. She hated the weakness it betrayed to this arrogant stranger who had such an unsettling effect upon her. Her voice was brittle as she continued, “I do not know how such matters are handled in your country—er, pardon, I mean your former country—since there is no peerage.”
           “You mean that my grandfather and your father wanted to merge their estates, so they concocted this insane scheme and thought I would agree without protest, like a lamb at slaughter?” His expression was as dark as the clouds scudding across the moon.
           “Precisely so. The price of being an earl has just gone up, has it not?” she retorted, feeling a totally irrational surge of hurt when he likened marriage to her with being led to slaughter. After all, this was exactly what she had hoped to achieve. He wanted the match no more than she did, so he would be her ally. She moistened her lips, working up her courage to outline her plan. “The marquess and the viscount have arranged everything, but—”
           Jason interrupted her angrily. “We will see about that! Since you seem so well apprised of things, would you happen to know where I might find the old bas—my grandfather?”
           He was livid. Good! "The old bas—your grandfather is most probably in the library with the old bas—my father, drinking a toast to our betrothal. Shall we go see?"
           Jason spun on his heel and headed toward the house without another word.
           “My, my, I do believe we shall,” she murmured to herself, hastening to catch up with him.
     
    * * * *
     
           George William Beaumont, ninth Marquess of Cargrave, was feeling just the least bit apprehensive as the evening wore on, not that anyone observing him could tell it as he puffed on a fine cigar, blowing out a cloud of pale gray smoke. Although smoking was not in fashion, nothing tasted better to him than a cigar. He let the pleasure of tobacco soothe his nerves.
           With less than three hours to midnight, he had just sent a servant to summon Jason to meet with them. His grandson must be informed of the betrothal announcement and made