Yankee Earl by Shirl Henke

the seas.”
           “So much the better for piracy when hostilities broke out.” Her tone was deceptively sweet. “Let us see how soon we can arrange for your return to the high seas. But in the meanwhile, we must play out this charade. Come, let me introduce you to your cousin Roger. If all goes as planned, he shall soon be the next Earl of Falconridge.”
           “Roger Dalbert? I met him several times when I visited my grandfather.”
           She led him toward a paunchy balding man with a round ruddy face who stood beside a plump woman dressed rather unflatteringly in puce satin. As Rachel made the introductions, Dalbert shook Jason's hand heartily, slapping him on the back.
           “I say, dash it all, but it is good to see you again, Jason.” Roger beamed as he drew the lady at his side forward. “May I present m'wife, Garnet. Never thought I'd be so happy leg-shackled, but I am.”
           Garnet Dalbert made her curtsy, smiling up at Jason. She had a plain face with a weak double chin and a little shapeless nose, but her eyes shone with keen intelligence when she spoke. “I'm given to understand that you were a shipbuilder in America, m'lord.”
           “Yes, in Baltimore.”
           “Those sharp-built ships can maneuver circles about our lumbering scows,” she replied.
           “You are familiar with Baltimore clippers, then?” he asked with surprise. In spite of her execrable taste in clothing, she seemed quite knowledgeable.
           “Garnet owns a shipping line in Gravesend. Runs it herself, right well. She'll talk all night of tall masts and topsails,” Roger interjected with an indulgent chuckle.
           “Really, that is splendid. There is nothing so enjoyable as discussing one's occupation with another who has the wit and the will to work,” Jason replied, casting a swift glance Rachel's way. He was pleased to see the barb strike home.
           Without waiting for her rejoinder, he asked Mistress Dalbert to dance as the orchestra played a country reel, leaving Rachel with his cousin Roger. Good chap, Roger, but a bit of a bore, he thought as he and Garnet discussed the fine points of ship construction and the deplorable effects the war was having on trade between England and the Continent as well as with her former colonies.
           As he and the plump little matron talked, he could feel Rachel's eyes following him from across the room. For some damnable reason, he could not rid himself of the thought of peeling that sheer peach silk from her lush body. Forcing the distracting image aside, he decided that a visit to one of the city's better bawdy houses was in order at the end of this disastrous evening. Surely a good bit-o’-muslin could make him forget about bedding a hellion like Rachel Fairchild.
           In spite of his resolve, when he returned Garnet to her adoring husband, he could not help watching from the corner of his eye as his nearly betrothed danced with a young baron. Roger droned on about the stag he had taken the previous winter and what a splendid trophy it made on his study wall while Jason made appropriate nods of agreement, even though his mind was focused utterly on Rachel.
           As soon as the quadrille was over, she returned to his side. When she approached, her cheeks were flushed and her hazel-green eyes glowed with pleasure. From the dance?...or was she anticipating what was to come at the stroke of twelve? The little witch. He'd bet anything it was the latter.
           “Let's keep the gossips off balance, Countess.” Without giving her a chance to say anything, Jason reached out and swept her into the waltz as the orchestra began playing again.
           “Are all Americans such impulsively ill-mannered louts, or is it just you?” Although her tone dripped disdain, she found herself matching her steps to his with increasing pleasure as they spun about the