The Earl's Secret. Kathryn Jensen

drew her in. She tried to pull her hand away, but his fingers closed tightly around hers. Her pulse throbbed in her throat.

      “Let’s try this again, luv.” The last word, which sounded more Liverpuddlian-Beatles than upper-crust British, took her by surprise. Christopher leaned across the table and looked into her startled eyes. “No more beating around the bush. How about going out to dinner with me tonight?”

      “I’ve already eaten.” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she had a chance to consider whether or not she wanted to fib herself into a second meal.

      “We could go somewhere for dessert and coffee,” he suggested.

      Jennifer stared down at their clasped hands. She was beginning to be able to read him, which was a little scary after knowing him for so short a time. What she understood from his voice and body language was that Christopher Smythe wasn’t going to take no for an answer. And if he refused to listen to the word, where food was concerned, what did that tell her about his willingness to understand and honor her wishes when more was at stake than overeating? Her only countermeasure was to seek neutral ground, fast.

      She looked around at the dark wood paneling, bronze sconces casting their golden light, the beautifully aged leather banquets, the other guests conversing in hushed tones—a classically masculine setting, very British, very earlish. Ver-r-r-y Christopher. But all that mattered to her was that it seemed safe here.

      “I have an early morning tomorrow,” she said. “Why don’t we just stay here and talk.”

      He appeared neither pleased nor disappointed. “Fine. What will you have to drink?”

      “A white zinfandel, please.”

      His hand barely raised above the level of the table before the steward appeared beside him. Moments later a glass of pale pink wine was set before her. Jennifer took a few cautious sips, and mellow warmth enfolded her.

      Christopher settled back in his chair and observed her over the amber liquid in his own glass. “Why Baltimore? Why do you live there when you’ve obviously seen so many exciting cities?”

      “I live in Baltimore because it’s my home,” she said simply, then came back at him. “Why do you live in Scotland when you’re English?”

      He seemed startled by her question, and the muscles in his jaw visibly tightened. “I live in Scotland because I like it,” he responded brusquely.

      Not satisfied, she set her wineglass on the table between them. “That’s no answer. Everyone chooses to do things because, for one reason or another, they find them appealing.”

      “Not always. Sometimes we act in a certain way because we have no choice.”

      “Everyone has choices.”

      “Not always,” he snapped. Then, as if he thought he might have spoken too harshly, Christopher reached out for her hand again and rubbed his thumb soothingly over the back of it, creating a warm spot. “Life sometimes surprises you,” he said enigmatically.

      Jennifer decided the level of tension in the air dictated a change of subject. She asked the first question that came to mind. “What are your favorite London restaurants?”

      He seemed to welcome the new direction of their conversation. As he spoke, his voice grew less tense. She watched his thumb trace hot little circles over the back of her hand, entranced by the motion as much as by his touch.

      At one point she caught a glimpse of him in the mirror beside them, and she thought to herself—though it didn’t seem logical at the time—this is a tormented man. But how could that be when a man had so much money, so many friends, so many opportunities in life? She dismissed the thought as overly romantic, far too Jane Austen: the lord, the castle, the dark moods.

      When she turned back to face him, he was studying her and had stopped speaking.

      “What?” she asked.

      He shrugged. “You’re so pretty and so American.”

      She didn’t know how to react to the compliment, or was it a subtle dig? She sipped her wine and decided to address the second part of his statement. “What’s that mean—to be so American?”

      “You have an optimistic, nothing-ventured-nothing-gained attitude.” His eyes still seemed shadowed with sadness, regret or resentment…but they warmed as he looked at her. “You’d be fun to be around, Jennifer. You would make me laugh, and I would tease you until you blushed, everywhere.” His glance dropped suggestively to the front of her blouse.

      She was so shocked, she didn’t know how to answer. But his gaze created a lovely pool of heat in her center. She liked it. Liked all of the sensations, even though some of them might be risky. Nevertheless, when Christopher brought his eyes up along her throat to her face, she met and held them with her own.

      “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’d really like to get to know you, too. But I’m working for as long as I’m in England, and I’ll have to leave soon.”

      “Yes,” he said. It was the only time she remembered hearing a single word sound wistful. He lifted his glass to her. “Here’s to missed chances, luv.”

      Two

      Jennifer decided to take her breakfast alone the next morning. Room service was a small luxury she felt justified allowing herself. She needed time, a telephone and no interruptions to complete her plans for the remaining days of the trip. Just as the tray with her breakfast arrived, the telephone rang. She tipped the waiter and dashed across the room to answer.

      “Good morning! I was hoping I’d catch you before you left for the day.”

      “Christopher?” Her heart raced at the rich timbre of his voice. Her fingers threaded through the coils of the telephone cord, twisting them tighter. She’d lain awake all night wondering if she’d done the right thing by brushing him off.

      “Did you sleep well last night?”

      “Absolutely,” she lied energetically. “Was the drive back to Donan very bad in the rain?” It had started to pour at ten o’clock, just after he had left her.

      “I ended up staying in the city at a friend’s place.”

      She couldn’t help wondering about the gender of that friend, but immediately told herself it was none of her business. A man like the earl undoubtedly had social connections in most every city in Europe. Some were bound to be with attractive and wealthy women—a good match for him.

      “My business is going to keep me in Edinburgh longer than I’d expected,” he continued. “But I won’t be able to accomplish much of anything until the afternoon. I wondered if you’d mind my tagging along this morning. I’d make myself useful, help out with the driving if you like, give a running narration as we move around the city.”

      “That would be nice,” she admitted as calmly as possible, while her heart hammered out a wild tattoo in her chest.

      “That isn’t to say you didn’t do a beautiful job at Donan.” His voice slid lower, became subtly intimate. “You are a remarkably insightful woman, for one so young.”

      She looked down at her fingers, which were hopelessly snarled in the cord, and decided she must be imagining the change in tone. “You can only get so much out of books,” she said quietly. “A person has to live in a country to really understand it. You have that advantage over me.”

      For a moment neither of them spoke. Then he seemed to rouse himself at the other end of the line.

      “What time shall we meet?” he asked.

      “Nine o’clock in front of the hotel. If you like, you can arrange for the valet to bring the van around.”

      “That I’ll do, lass,” he said, in a fine imitation of a Scottish brogue that set her grinning.

      Jennifer hung