Read Online How I Met My Countess by Elizabeth Boyle - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Boyle
Ads: Link
looked.
How could she have been so wrong about the Earl of Clifton?
Against her better judgment, she stole a glance at him and found the man watching her with that unnerving gaze of his.
For the life of her, she had no idea what he was thinking, or worse, what he thought of her.
Not that I care. Not in the least.
Sammy groaned a bit, and she shook her head as she shook the steak at him. “I’ve never heard a man fuss so over having his eye blackened.”
“Ain’t had it happen in quite some time,” Sammy admitted, gingerly putting the slab up against his shuttered eye.
Rusty snorted. “Hey there, guv’ner, where did you learn to fight like such a bruiser?”
Lucy stilled, for it was a question she’d been dying to ask since the earl had landed his first blow. Nor did she dare look again over her shoulder to where he sat at the table, a pint of ale before him. He’d insisted she see to Rusty and Sammy first, claiming they’d had the worst of it.
Which they had. And at his more-than-capable hands.
Gracious heavens, never in her life had she actually feared for the French.
“Oh, aye,” Sammy chimed in. “Where did a bang-up bloke like you learn to fight?”
Clifton chuckled. “You could say I had a rare education at the hands of a regular brawler,” he told them. “The cooper’s son in the village near where I grew up was quite the goer. Used to corner me and my brother all the time. We finally had to learn how to best him or spend all our days with one of our eyes shuttered. And worse, explain to our father why we kept losing.”
Rusty snorted. “Spoiling it with the local lad? Thought you were some fancy fellow. Ratter told us you were nothing more than a gentleman.”
Lucy flinched, for she knew what was going to come next.
“Ratter?” The earl’s brow arched.
Oh, yes, he would have to ask that question.
“My father’s nickname,” she supplied, hoping that would be the end of it.
But not so for Rusty and Sammy.
“Aye, Ratter,” Rusty said, raising his glass in a mock toast. “No finer fellow ever made good for himself out of the Dials. Not one to forget his friends, he don’t. Still, not like him to steer us wrong. Never met one of you London toffs, especially no earl, I couldn’t finish.”
“So now you have,” Lucy told them, as she was back to carving at the big roast. “Might I remind you this ‘London toff’ is the Earl of Clifton and most likely a magistrate—”
To which the earl nodded in concession.
“—so I would mind your tongues, both of you.”
“Still, you don’t fight like no earl,” Rusty said, taking a drink from the mug of ale before him.
“I suppose I don’t,” Clifton admitted. “But I’ve found life is full of surprises.”
Lucy would have wagered her pink silk gown— the finest one she owned—that he was looking at her, his gaze boring into her back, full of questions and accusations.
Ones she had no intention of answering. Instead, she drove her knife back into the roast before her and carved a thick steak from it, ignoring the way her hand shook.
“And what was a fancy fellow like you doing hanging around the village lads and not up in your fine house?” Sammy asked.
“We—my brother and I—liked to go to the village to visit his mother. He’s my half brother, you see, and his mother ran the local alehouse. I spent a good deal of my youth loitering about the village, much to my tutor’s dismay.”
“No owl-eyed fellow taught you to hit like that,” Rusty said, tipping his glass toward the earl to make his point.
“No, he didn’t.” Clifton poured them both another serving of ale and finished by topping off his own cup. “He considered me his greatest failing.”
“Ah there, don’t you worry about that,” Sammy told him. “No man who can topple the pair of us is a failure. If you ever want, we can always use a third. We do a bit of business, by the by.”
“I might remind you, you’re talking to a man who
How could she have been so wrong about the Earl of Clifton?
Against her better judgment, she stole a glance at him and found the man watching her with that unnerving gaze of his.
For the life of her, she had no idea what he was thinking, or worse, what he thought of her.
Not that I care. Not in the least.
Sammy groaned a bit, and she shook her head as she shook the steak at him. “I’ve never heard a man fuss so over having his eye blackened.”
“Ain’t had it happen in quite some time,” Sammy admitted, gingerly putting the slab up against his shuttered eye.
Rusty snorted. “Hey there, guv’ner, where did you learn to fight like such a bruiser?”
Lucy stilled, for it was a question she’d been dying to ask since the earl had landed his first blow. Nor did she dare look again over her shoulder to where he sat at the table, a pint of ale before him. He’d insisted she see to Rusty and Sammy first, claiming they’d had the worst of it.
Which they had. And at his more-than-capable hands.
Gracious heavens, never in her life had she actually feared for the French.
“Oh, aye,” Sammy chimed in. “Where did a bang-up bloke like you learn to fight?”
Clifton chuckled. “You could say I had a rare education at the hands of a regular brawler,” he told them. “The cooper’s son in the village near where I grew up was quite the goer. Used to corner me and my brother all the time. We finally had to learn how to best him or spend all our days with one of our eyes shuttered. And worse, explain to our father why we kept losing.”
Rusty snorted. “Spoiling it with the local lad? Thought you were some fancy fellow. Ratter told us you were nothing more than a gentleman.”
Lucy flinched, for she knew what was going to come next.
“Ratter?” The earl’s brow arched.
Oh, yes, he would have to ask that question.
“My father’s nickname,” she supplied, hoping that would be the end of it.
But not so for Rusty and Sammy.
“Aye, Ratter,” Rusty said, raising his glass in a mock toast. “No finer fellow ever made good for himself out of the Dials. Not one to forget his friends, he don’t. Still, not like him to steer us wrong. Never met one of you London toffs, especially no earl, I couldn’t finish.”
“So now you have,” Lucy told them, as she was back to carving at the big roast. “Might I remind you this ‘London toff’ is the Earl of Clifton and most likely a magistrate—”
To which the earl nodded in concession.
“—so I would mind your tongues, both of you.”
“Still, you don’t fight like no earl,” Rusty said, taking a drink from the mug of ale before him.
“I suppose I don’t,” Clifton admitted. “But I’ve found life is full of surprises.”
Lucy would have wagered her pink silk gown— the finest one she owned—that he was looking at her, his gaze boring into her back, full of questions and accusations.
Ones she had no intention of answering. Instead, she drove her knife back into the roast before her and carved a thick steak from it, ignoring the way her hand shook.
“And what was a fancy fellow like you doing hanging around the village lads and not up in your fine house?” Sammy asked.
“We—my brother and I—liked to go to the village to visit his mother. He’s my half brother, you see, and his mother ran the local alehouse. I spent a good deal of my youth loitering about the village, much to my tutor’s dismay.”
“No owl-eyed fellow taught you to hit like that,” Rusty said, tipping his glass toward the earl to make his point.
“No, he didn’t.” Clifton poured them both another serving of ale and finished by topping off his own cup. “He considered me his greatest failing.”
“Ah there, don’t you worry about that,” Sammy told him. “No man who can topple the pair of us is a failure. If you ever want, we can always use a third. We do a bit of business, by the by.”
“I might remind you, you’re talking to a man who
Similar Books
