One Night with an Earl by Jennifer Haymore

Author:Jennifer Haymore
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2014-04-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Beatrice went stiff, every muscle in her body, so languid and relaxed just a second ago suddenly tense and wary.

“What did you say?” she asked. Hoping she’d misheard him but knowing she hadn’t. Her arms, which had encircled him tightly, fell away from his body.

He stiffened against her.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered.

“You…What…?”

“I didn’t mean to tell you like that. Damn it.”

It was true, then. He’d called her Beatrice. He knew her.

Oh God, he knew her!

Panic surged through her body in a horrid rush, and she scrambled backward on the bed, away from him, drawing the blanket over her chest and searching frantically for her dress. She had to get away…he knew her…good God, he’d called her by name.

“Stop.” His voice was firm, as were the fingers that clamped over her hand.

“Let me go!” she cried out.

“No.”

She tried to wrench away, but he tackled her. Next thing she knew, he was on top of her as he’d been when they’d…Oh God, he’d had sexual relations with her knowing who she was. Why? Most men would run far away if they knew her identity.

He pushed her arms up over her head and held her wrists together in one of his own. She twisted and turned, trying to get away, but it was no use. She was trapped.

“Beatrice. Listen to me.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. She didn’t want to face this. Didn’t know how to face it.

“I knew who you were the second I saw you at the masquerade,” he said quietly. “I approached you knowing who you were.”

“W-why?” she stammered. “Why would you do that?”

He blew out a breath, his body relaxing slightly. But he didn’t release his grip on her wrists.

“I’d recognize you anywhere.”

“Who are you?” she cried.

With his free hand, he ripped off his mask and tossed it away. She blinked up at him.

She knew him.

She’d thought he was a stranger all night, someone who had entered society when she was still isolated in her marriage. But that wasn’t the case at all. His body had grown stronger, his shoulders wider, his voice deeper. But she knew him…He was the Earl of Weston now, but before her marriage she’d known him as Mr. Andrew Sinclair.

She’d had a rampant, girlish crush on him. He was as young as she was, but he had a devastatingly handsome face, and he’d spoken to her like she was the only girl in the world.

He’d been the heir to an earldom, but his uncle the earl was young and expected to produce heirs. She’d still dreamed that one day Mr. Sinclair would be an earl, and she’d be his countess. One night, she’d stolen a pen and a piece of vellum from her father’s desk and had practiced signing her name, should they one day marry:

Beatrice Sinclair

Mrs. Andrew Sinclair

Lady Weston

Her ladyship, the Countess of Weston

Beatrice and Andrew Sinclair, the Earl and Countess of Weston

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