The Irresistible Earl. Regina Scott

the Bell Inn would not be too much attention for the woman who had saved his sister’s life.

      He had just started out from the house he had rented for the summer when he spotted Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam coming up the drive. He hadn’t stopped to think when he’d invited his friend to join him and Phoebe in Scarborough. He and Trev had both had reasons for wanting to avoid London for a time. Now it struck him as singularly good luck that he had someone as savvy as Trevor in train.

      “Out for a ride?” Trev asked, back straight as a soldier’s in his navy coat. He patted his horse, Icarus, on the neck.

      “I’m on an errand,” Chase replied. “But you’re welcome to join me. In fact, I’d appreciate your insights.”

      Trevor’s green eyes lit, and he pulled the black gelding in alongside Chase’s bay mare. “What’s the to do? A new tract of land? A faster horse? A better coat?”

      “My estate is larger than needed, my horse is fast enough and there’s nothing wrong with my coat,” Chase countered.

      Trevor adjusted his top hat on his dark head and avoided looking at Chase’s bottle-green coat. “As you say.”

      “Much more of that, and you can whistle for your supper.”

      “Don’t I usually?” Trev replied, with an edge of itterness Chase could not like. Trevor’s desires frequently outstripped his pockets. Chase was more than happy to house and feed the friend he’d known since his school days, but he suspected that Trevor chafed at the kindness. That was one of the reasons the baronet had begun taking on inquiries for society, to avoid living on his friends’ largesse.

      As they rode through the cobbled streets among elegant town houses and square stone inns, Chase filled him in on the afternoon’s adventure.

      “And I take it the lady piqued your interest,” Trevor said as they rounded the corner and sighted the Bell Inn just ahead.

      Chase shrugged. “There’s more to the woman than strength and vitality.”

      Trev’s dark brows shot up. “Strength? Vitality? Do you speak of a woman or a horse you’re considering purchasing?”

      “A lady to be sure,” Chase answered with a smile. “But something about her doesn’t set right.”

      “Of what do you suspect her?”

      Chase scowled at him. “Am I that much of a tyrant that I must suspect everyone I see of dark motives?”

      Trevor merely eyed him.

      Chase sighed. “Very well, I admit that I wondered why she of all the people acted. At least a dozen women were bathing this afternoon along the shore, with a similar number of women assisting them. Why did she alone rush to Phoebe’s aid?”

      “Perhaps she sought to bring herself to your notice, ingratiate herself to the Dearborn family.”

      “And what a coxcomb I am to suspect it, I know.”

      “You have cause,” Trevor said quietly.

      Chase shifted his weight on the saddle. He didn’t need the reminder of how one man had nearly destroyed his sister. He would not let anyone hurt Phoebe. You honored me with intelligence, strength, and resources, Lord. Give me the wisdom to use them.

      They rode into the coaching yard of the Bell Inn, a respectable two-story stone building with flower boxes under the multipaned windows. The common room inside was neat and clean. The polished oak tables and ladder-backed chairs welcomed visitors to chat before the rough-stone hearth taking up much of the left wall. A word to the landlord was enough to see their horses stabled and tankards placed before them in a quiet private parlor while they waited for a boy to take word up to Miss Price and her stepmother. Miss Price returned alone, in a remarkably short time, hurrying through the door as if keeping Chase waiting was the worst sin imaginable.

      She still wore the blue dress, though she’d had time to wind her hair up into a braided coronet that suited her. She dipped a quick curtsey. “Lord Allyndale. We didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow.”

      Chase bowed over her hand and found it trembling. Was he such a fearsome thing then? He glanced at Trevor, but his friend was frowning. He took a step back and bumped Trev’s leg on purpose. “May I present my good friend, Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam, baronet?”

      She curtsied again, and Trev wiped the frown from his face and bowed. “Forgive the interruption, Miss Price,” he said as he straightened, “but I had to thank you personally for saving Lady Phoebe’s life. The Dearborns have been good friends for years, and I take your assistance as a personal favor.”

      Putting it on a little thick, Chase thought. But Miss Price merely lowered her gaze to the shine of Trev’s black high-topped boots.

      “You are too kind,” she murmured. “I’m sure Lady Phoebe must have realized by now how little I did to help her.”

      “On the contrary,” Chase assured her, “she is effusive in her praise. You have made a conquest, Miss Price.”

      She looked up then, meeting his gaze, and once more he felt put firmly in his place. “I didn’t intend to conquer anyone, my lord. It was very kind of you to visit, but I fear I cannot stay. This afternoon’s events overtired my stepmother. I must return to her side immediately. Good day.”

      She dipped one last graceful curtsey and slipped from the room while Chase and Trev were still in midbow.

      Trev met Chase’s puzzled gaze. “For a woman out to trap you, she doesn’t have a great deal of use for your company,” his friend pointed out. “In fact, I’ve never seen a woman more intent on resisting your least charm.”

      Chase shook his head and motioned Trev out of the room ahead of him. “Then perhaps I will have to become irresistible, for I intend to learn everything I can about the formidable Miss Price.”

      Chapter Three

      Meredee didn’t know whether to be pleased or perplexed. What did it mean that Lord Allyndale had brought his close friend to meet her only hours after being introduced? She could not credit that she’d made such an impression on the earl. They’d only spoken a few sentences!

      And then there was Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam, easily one of the handsomest men in Scarborough, with his raven hair and square jaw. She was no student of fashion, but even she could tell that his navy coat had been cut by a London tailor. Still, she could not be sure of his character. His lips might smile, but calculation crouched in his cool, green eyes. She’d have been tempted to stay safely in her little room, but Algernon was certain that she and Mrs.

      Price should not alter their habits to avoid any possibility of suspicion. So, while her stepbrother cooled his heels at the inn, she accompanied Mrs. Price to the spa house the next morning.

      The town of Scarborough ran along a hillside and sloped gently down in the center toward the shore like the neckline of a frock. The headland that held Scarborough’s castle (and several regiments) separated the more rustic North Bay from the South and sheltered the harbor and fishing fleet.

      Scarborough’s spa house sat to the south. The long, low building lay close to the shore and could be reached by driving along the sands. Mrs. Price insisted on puffing down the tree-shadowed path that wound down the cliff. Meredee enjoyed the views of the sea on the way down, but some days she’d have far preferred to lounge in a sedan chair like many of the fashionable ladies and let someone else’s legs carry her back up.

      The spa house was its usual hub of activity that morning as they entered the receiving room. Already ladies in bright flowered bonnets sat on the harp-backed chairs that lined the pale green walls and chatted. Their voices rose and fell like the sound of the waves on the shore just outside. Couples promenaded around the polished wood floor or paused to gaze out the row of clear glass windows at the sea. Many people were already making for a door at the far end of the room, which led to a flight of dark stone stairs and a terrace that held the two wells