The Earl of Davenport: Wicked Regency Romance (Wicked Earls' Club #7)(3)

He took one step back as some of the intensity eased from his demeanor and a smile hovered over his lips. “I gathered that from your missive.” He turned his back on her to walk over to the settee once more and she found herself once again able to breathe.

“So tell me, Miss Cleveland. What can I do for you today?”

She took two long, deep breaths to steady her nerves before responding. “You see, my lord, you are in need of a wife.”

His eyes widened with surprise before his head fell back with a short, harsh laugh. He lifted his head to face her. “I see. And that is why you are here.” He leaned forward on the seat so his elbows were resting on his knees. “And tell me, are you offering yourself up for the role of countess?”

Her cheeks burned with humiliation. She’d gone about this all wrong. She’d rehearsed her speech for hours in the mirror yet she’d been too flustered to get it out in the proper order. Shaking her head, she whispered quickly, “Of course not, don’t be silly.”

Everyone knew she was not wife material—not for a gentleman, at least, and certainly not for an earl. She had been raised as one of the Cleveland children, but it was widely known, though never confirmed, that the Clevelands fell into two categories—the legitimate and the illegitimate. Their father had been kind enough to give them all his name and his wife had raised them as though they were her own, but none of that mattered to the ton. Aside from the eldest three, whose lineage had never been in question, the rest were the subject of gossip and scorn. There were questions about Roger and Delia, the middle two—no one knew for certain whether they were legitimate. She and her brother Caleb, however, were in a category all their own thanks to their blazing red hair. Everyone knew who their mother was. Apparently Kitty Furlong had been quite a star on the London stage at the time their father took up with her. Kitty was known for three things: her extravagant tastes, her notorious affairs, and her bright red hair.

The red hair left no doubt in anyone’s minds about who her real mother was. So, despite the Cleveland name and the fact that no one could disprove her parents’ claim that she was legitimate, she would never truly be considered a lady.

Which was fine by her. She’d become accustomed to her lot many years ago when her eldest sister Claire—one of the legitimate siblings—had explained to her kindly and gently why Anne was so often slighted by their peers. Since then, she’d come to embrace her life away from the watchful eyes of society. Though hardly enviable, her disreputable position came with a certain amount of freedom. Claire, on the other hand, had all the benefits of a good reputation as well as the name and the breeding.

Claire was the reason she was here, and that thought kept her going despite the nearly overwhelming flood of embarrassment. “As I see it, you are in need of a wife.”

She winced slightly as her second attempt came out just as ineloquent as the first. Judging by his narrowed eyes and the mocking glint in his eyes, she’d do best to return home and start all over again on another day. Preferably many years from now when he’d long forgotten this bungled mess of a meeting.

Clearing her throat, she tried to put her thoughts in order, firmly ignoring his all-seeing gaze and those dark eyes that had always fascinated her. This was absolutely not the time to be admiring his finer qualities, not if she were to make it through this interview with any sort of success.

“What I mean to say,” she said slowly, taking her time to find the right words on this next attempt, “is that it is no secret that you are looking for a wife.”

He didn’t argue and she hurried on before he could. She had no way of truly knowing about his matrimonial intentions, of course, but she heard enough gossip to know that he was in need of a countess. And an heir. Preferably one before the other, she’d imagine.

His estate did not require the money from a dowry and he was powerful enough that he did not need another title, which was one more reason why this could be just the match Claire needed. No, by all accounts, what Davenport required was a wife. A proper wife who could give him an heir and help to restore his reputation.

She clasped her hands together as she made her proposition. “You see, my lord, I believe that my eldest sister, Claire Cleveland, would be the ideal candidate.”

His eyes widened slightly but that was the only reaction. She assumed that was her cue to continue.

“I know it is very forward of me to come here like this, but—”

“But what, Miss Cleveland?”

She stilled. Oh sweet mercy, his voice was a menacing growl, at odds with his casual demeanor as he leaned back in his chair.

Terror struck, making her shiver. Perhaps she’d overstepped her bounds. Maybe Betsy had been right and she was making a fool of herself in front of an earl, of all people.

But as quickly as terror came, it abated. Reason stepped in as soon as she drew her next breath. This wasn’t just some member of the gentry. Davenport was far from the typical earl, and that was precisely why she was here.

She knew what no one else did. Much as he pretended to be a devil, he’d always been her savior. Her personal champion. The boy she’d adored from afar growing up, and now the man who she was certain would help her and her family.

Still, even knowing that didn’t help to dispel the nerves that had her clasping her hands together for courage. “I know that despite the rakish persona you’ve adopted, you are a good man.”