Read Online My Brown-Eyed Earl by Anna Bennett - Free Book Online Page B

today.” There was no mocking or triumph in his voice, but rather a gravity that stunned her into silence. “I can’t be with you all the time, but I can see that someone else is.” His brown eyes darkened as he looked at her, willing her to understand. His whole body tensed as he waited for her response.
    It was, perhaps, the most vulnerable and honest she’d ever seen him. Beneath the usual masks of Overbearing Earl and Dissolute Rake , there was a man who might genuinely care for her. Not in a romantic way, but enough to be concerned for her safety.
    Her skin tingled in the wake of his stare, and she swallowed. This side of Lord Castleton was rather difficult to resist.
    Which was all the more reason she should resign. She and her sisters could not afford gowns, but they could afford a scandal even less. Any hint of impropriety could dash her sisters’ chances of marrying well. Their very futures were at stake. “I understand the reasons for your decision, but I’m afraid we’re debating a moot point.”
    â€œAnd why is that?”
    Now that it was time to speak, Meg’s throat tightened and her mouth went dry. She licked her lips and forced herself to say the words. “The incident in the park this afternoon made me realize that I am not qualified to be a governess after all. I think you should find someone with more experience than I. Someone who understands children and—”
    â€œWhat utter nonsense.”
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œYou were shaken by today’s events—as anyone would be. But you reacted quickly. You saved Diana. No harm was done.”
    â€œBut what if—”
    â€œDon’t torture yourself with what if s, Miss Lacey. It’s tedious and, worse, useless.” He pushed himself off the mantle, strolled to the sideboard behind his desk, and raised a decanter. “Brandy?”
    Meg wrinkled her nose. “No, thank you.”
    â€œVery well, then—port.”
    â€œI don’t care for a drink, my lord.”
    He proceeded to pour one for each of them. “Then you may simply hold yours and humor me.”
    He handed her a glass of port, sat in the chair opposite her, and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. He swirled the brandy in his snifter, gazing into it thoughtfully.
    Meg took the opportunity to study his chiseled cheekbones, straight nose, and large hands. Those strong hands had grasped her shoulders, those long fingers had brushed over her skin. And for a moment—as she had lain atop him, earlier—an awareness had sparked between them.
    She felt an echo of it even now.
    â€œTo expanding your experience,” he said, raising his snifter.
    Dear Jesus. “What?” Meg fumbled her glass and the velvety red port sloshed close to the rim.
    The earl reached out, quickly steadying her hand. “I was making a toast,” he said, as though it were some exotic custom that required explaining.
    â€œSo I’d gathered,” Meg said with a coolness that belied her burning cheeks.
    His thumb grazed her inner wrist, lingering briefly on her wildly racing pulse before he released her, sat back, and raised his glass again. “To expanding your experience as a governess ,” he clarified.
    A smile played about his mouth while he drank, and since she feared that any reply she made would only give him more ammunition to embarrass her, she raised her glass in a mock salute.
    And drank.
    A nice long draw, to numb her improbable and highly inconvenient attraction toward the earl. Sweet and potent, the port settled in her belly and warmed her insides.
    At the sight of her drinking, he raised his brows and nodded his approval.
    However, Meg was not about to bend to his will. “I thought that the desire to be a good governess, paired with hard work, would be enough,” she said. “But I fear that it is not. The truth is that I am not qualified for this