Enticing the Earl by Nicole Byrd Page A

fatigued,” he noted, not waiting for her to agree. “I will have a maid show you up to your room, where you can rest until dinner is served.”
    And thoughtful, she added to her list of his virtues, even if a bit peremptory in manner. But then, he was an earl; he must be accustomed to ordering people—as well as horses—about.
    At any rate, she nodded and walked in at his side while the servants hurried about, following his commands.
    Was that what she would be expected to do? Lauryn had a moment of doubt about her role here, but she pushed it back, not ready to examine the thought just yet. She wanted a few moments to admire the great hall.
    A pair of marble columns inside the tall outer doors echoed the columns on the outside, and the high ceilings were gilded and crisscrossed with plaster moldings. Niches in the walls held classical statuary, and the floors were of hardwood and shone from years of polishing. It was like entering a museum or great cathedral. How did one live in such a building?
    Feeling completely unworthy, Lauryn held on to the earl’s arm and was glad that he didn’t seem to expect her to comment on his home—her mouth seemed as dry as the Fens were damp—and they passed through the wide entrance hall and on to the staircase.
    They climbed the wide staircase side by side, but she became aware of an unusual amount of sound spilling over from the next level, and the fact that the earl had tensed and a deep frown now masked his handsome face.
    They reached the top of the stairs and turned toward the double doors of what must be the drawing room; music could be heard, and the sounds of quite a number of people talking and laughing. The earl’s frown grew even deeper, and Lauryn braced herself, thinking he was about to shout.
    But just as he seemed ready to explode, one of the doors opened, and a young man, with a superficial resemblance to the earl, but more slightly built and with lighter hair and eyes, came out into the hall.
    â€œOh, there you are, Marcus,” the younger man said, his tone blithe. “About time you arrived.”
    â€œSo it would seem,” the earl said. “What in bloody hell are you doing, Carter, having a damn house party without consulting me first?” He did not raise his voice at all, but the coldness of his tone would have frozen a braver man than the calfling who stood before them.
    However, to Lauryn’s private surprise, the young man did not quail as she’d expected. He might have blinked a time or two, but on the whole, he seemed to hold his ground.
    â€œOh, come now, Brother,” he said, trying to smile as heartily as he had on first seeing them. “You’ll make this lovely young lady think you’re a grumpy old bear.”
    â€œI’m Carter Sutton, the earl’s half brother, don’t you know,” he added for her benefit.
    â€œHow do you do?” Lauryn’s lips were suddenly dry; she tried to lick them, and could barely swallow. How did one greet a member of the family when one was a not quite respectable—but she had no time to even finish the thought.
    â€œI am,” the earl snapped. “And that’s neither here nor there. But I had no plans for a houseful of guests, Carter—”
    â€œYes, but—”
    â€œSo you can give whatever friends you have conjured up their marching orders,” Sutton told him, his tone curt. “At once! I’m in no mood to play nursemaid to a bunch of squalling tulips of fashion.”
    â€œHere now, no need to insult a fellow,” Carter said. “Anyhow, most of these are your friends, don’t you know? Viscount Tweed is on his way, should be here any time, he’s most certainly not in my crowd, and the Contessa d’Ellaye is—ah”—he glanced at Lauryn, who felt a tremor of unease—“ah, anyhow, they’re not all my friends, by any means.”
    â€œTweed is hardly a close