Engaging the Earl. Mandy Goff

his cousin, Mr. Wainwright—the one in the blue jacket. Handsome, don’t you think?”

      While she nodded, Emma remained uncomfortable. Mr. Wainwright was likely considered handsome, by most women. It was hardly his fault that he did not quite match her idea of a truly handsome man—tall, tanned, dark hair and eyes along with an irritatingly engaging smile …

      She was relieved when the minister began welcoming the congregation, signaling that the service was about to begin. But her relief shifted to shocked dismay when the Earl of Westin slid into the empty space to Emma’s left. “Sorry I’m late,” he muttered to the rest of them.

      Both Nick and Olivia whispered back words of greeting. Emma, however, wasn’t able to do much more than force herself to continue breathing. Why did Lord Westin’s presence seem to take the air out of the room? It was disconcerting. And even more disconcerting was the fact that none of the other gentlemen Olivia had pointed out had affected her nearly so strongly.

      As she tried to ignore the fact that the lack of room on the pew meant that Lord Westin was practically pressed against her, Emma shot furtive looks at the other gentlemen in the congregation. Oh, they were all pleasant-looking enough. Some even could be called quite handsome.

      Emma slid her gaze to the left. Her attempt at catching a discreet peek at the earl was thwarted when she caught his gaze. A corner of Lord Westin’s lips quirked in a smirk, and he raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

      Instead of responding to the wordless query as to why she was casting furtive glances his way, Emma stared at her hands, clasped in her lap. Hopefully, he’d turn his attention back to the minister so he wouldn’t notice that her face was an undoubtedly unbecoming shade of crimson.

      What was it about the earl that simultaneously bothered and intrigued her? Emma pondered that question seriously for a few minutes, but came to no conclusion. While not having a wealth of expertise on the subject of men, she’d known her share of charmers and rogues. In all fairness to the earl, however, Emma could hardly deem him a rake—but a charmer, most certainly.

      That assessment of him made Emma feel a bit better about the fact that she was quite unable to stop thinking about him. After all, it could hardly be her fault when the man was an accomplished flirt. She would simply do her best to avoid him … well, as much as their close connection would allow.

      The minister’s impassioned plea for the congregation to show Christ’s love to others—which was really a yelled statement—roused Emma out of her thoughts. And she immediately felt ashamed for them. Here she was, in God’s house, too distracted by the man sitting next to her to focus on anything else.

      To add another sin at her feet, Emma had missed most of the sermon while rambling about in her mind. Whatever it was must have been fairly rousing because an elderly woman a few pews away brushed at gathered tears with a square of linen. A quick look to her right showed Olivia staring at the front, obviously as engrossed in the reverend’s closing as she’d been in the entire message.

      Good job, Emma. Your first time back at church and you don’t even pay attention.

      Saying a quick, silent prayer of repentance, Emma folded her hands demurely in her lap, ready to listen to the rest even if her mind became so full of other thoughts that it burst. And as was her luck, Emma was in time to hear the closing thoughts and the calls for the congregation to heed the words—whatever they had been—of the message.

      The reverend concluded his closing with a plea for the congregation to remember the Earl of Westin in prayer.

      Emma’s eyes immediately swung to meet the man’s beside her—she couldn’t help the reflex. Was something wrong with Lord Westin? Was he sick? In trouble?

      Naturally she was concerned. Who wouldn’t be? It didn’t mean that she felt anything other than supreme irritation at his presence. Emma was simply concerned, wondering what could be so dire that the earl sat stiff and unyielding beside her.

      And why did he look so panicked?

      Marcus tried to shutter the emotions running through him before Miss Mercer noticed something amiss. His hands clenched. Every muscle in his body clenched in anticipation. What did Reverend Beresford know? How much did he know, and who had told him? Most important, what was the minister thinking, bringing up his financial difficulties in front of the whole congregation?

      It wasn’t as though his new “circumstances” wouldn’t surface eventually. There were too many wagging tongues in the ton to ever believe he’d be able to keep something as intriguing as a shipwreck and lost fortune quiet. Marcus wanted more time before it came out, however. He wanted certainty, not merely grim speculation or even near certainty.

      But Reverend Beresford seemed oblivious to Marcus’s discomfort.

      â€œHis lordship might not appreciate me taking the liberty to discuss this with everyone …”

      His lordship certainly wouldn’t.

      â€œâ€¦ but prayer is powerful. And I think we should ask God to give him courage …”

      And restraint.

      â€œâ€¦ to accomplish his task.”

       What?

      â€œBeing a voice for society’s abused and neglected is never easy. Lord Westin needs our prayers that he remain a tireless champion of God’s work.”

      Marcus could have whooped with relief. But embarrassment quickly followed. The eyes of those in the congregation honed in on him. He’d always tried to avoid any kind of attention for the work he was trying to do in Parliament. Seeking rights for the underprivileged and ignored wasn’t a platform for him to build a political career. The earl wasn’t fighting for any reason other than to right a wrong.

      The stares had almost a tangible weight. Though he noticed the person closest to him was studiously avoiding his gaze. Interesting.

      Marcus could honestly say he’d never been so glad to have a preacher begin to pray. At least then everyone should have their eyes closed instead of training them on him. When the congregation was dismissed, Marcus didn’t stand right away. He wanted to give the curious folks time to make it out the door.

      As though the rest of the family sitting on the pew wished to show their solidarity, neither Olivia, Nick nor even Miss Mercer moved. The four of them watched as others strolled along, chatting with their friends and acquaintances.

      â€œAre you all right?” Miss Mercer leaned over to whisper.

      The lovely lady couldn’t have surprised Marcus more if she’d kissed him on the cheek.

      Instead of answering, he turned to smile politely at her. “Am I that obvious?” he asked.

      â€œNo,” Miss Mercer rushed to assure him. “I was just watching closely.”

      His strained smile shifted into an honest grin. When she realized what she’d said, Miss Mercer’s face flushed. “That’s not exactly what I meant,” she said.

      â€œI’m fine, thank you,” Marcus said quietly instead of pressing her on her statement.

      â€œGood,” Miss Mercer said on a sigh. Marcus wasn’t sure if that was necessarily a statement about his well-being.

      â€œEmma, look,” Olivia hissed, gesturing in a manner that Marcus supposed his sister considered subtle. “There’s Baron Chivers—and he’s looking right at you.”

      Marcus had heard of the baron. Actually, the man was supposed to be a decent sort—if a bit young still. And Chivers’s mother was actually one of the most giving, generous women Marcus had ever met. Baroness