The Earl Falls in Love - Chapter 16
Spicy BL/MM/GAY Omegaverse Historical Romance
Ian
Lord Edward led me to his private sitting room, a masculine space adjacent to his bedroom. The room was furnished with leather and dark wood, the walls lined with bookshelves, and a fireplace casting a warm glow over everything. Lord Edward settled onto a chaise lounge while I perched on the edge of a nearby sofa.
“Ah, this is nice,” he sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “A moment of peace in what has been an exceedingly trying day.”
“You must have had a really tough evening, my lord,” I said, noting the lines of tension around his eyes. “Was it the business matter Kevin mentioned?”
“Indeed,” he confirmed. “Damn, my head is pounding. Nothing like a roomful of panicking investors to induce a migraine of biblical proportions.”
“A headache?” I asked, concerned. “Not due to that incident back in Cheswick, I hope? I remember Dr. Webb mentioned that you might get headaches from the injury now and again.”
A dark frown crossed his features, making me regret bringing up the attack. “It’s not from that,” he assured me. “It’s a tension headache. Probably just exhaustion from work and the particular joy of dealing with my cousin’s more questionable business decisions.”
“Lady Samara mentioned you tend to work yourself too hard,” I said carefully. “I know I’m not one to preach since I tend to overwork myself too when it comes to family matters, but perhaps taking time to rest would help? Or are earls genetically incapable of relaxation? Some sort of aristocratic curse passed down through the generations?”
Lord Edward snorted. “You sound like Mother, though with considerably more sarcasm. She’s convinced I’ll work myself into an early grave like my father did.”
“Sorry,” I murmured. “I tend to mask concern with poor attempts at humor. It’s a character flaw I’m working on, along with my inability to fold clothes properly and my tendency to befriend feral animals.”
He opened one eye to regard me. “Since you’re so concerned about my well-being, why don’t you be a good boy and help ease this tension headache of mine? Unless your therapeutic skills are limited to livestock and woodland creatures.”
“I’m actually quite proficient at human ailments too,” I replied, moving to sit on the edge of the chaise beside him. The furniture was clearly designed for one person, forcing me to balance precariously on the narrow space available. “My talents extend beyond coaxing sick lambs back to health, though I draw the line at birthing calves, which I’ve done exactly once and promptly vowed never to repeat.”
Lord Edward stared at me, his surprise evident. “You’re actually going to help? I was half-expecting a witty refusal followed by a lecture on proper boundaries.”
I chuckled at his expression. “I’ve learned this technique from a book I read on Eastern medicine. I’ve already applied the method to Grandma Eliza, and she had nothing but praise for it. She often gets tension headaches too, though hers typically follow extended arguments with the village council about proper road maintenance.” I leaned closer, my voice dropping naturally. “It helps ease the tension if you gently massage the temples and the back of the neck and shoulders. Though I should warn you, my bedside manner has been described as ‘alarmingly direct’ and ‘lacking appropriate reverence for social status.’”
“Really, now?” he asked, one eyebrow arching elegantly. “How fortunate that I prefer directness to sycophantic fawning. Proceed with your country healing, Dr. Harrison.”
“Hardly a doctor,” I corrected, positioning my fingers at his temples and beginning to apply gentle pressure in circular motions. “Just someone who’s read too many texts when I should have been studying more practical subjects, like how to smile convincingly at tedious social gatherings.”
Being this close to Lord Edward was both thrilling and terrifying—I could smell his distinctive alpha scent, stronger now that we were alone, and feel the warmth radiating from his skin. The texture of his hair against my fingers was finer than I’d imagined, like silk threads woven through my fingers.
Lord Edward’s eyes remained open, his gaze fixed on my face with an intensity that made my heart race. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth, transforming his features from tired to devastatingly handsome.
“Does it feel any better, my lord?” I asked after a moment, suddenly self-conscious under his scrutiny. “Or am I just rearranging your headache into more interesting patterns?”
“Mm...” he replied softly, lifting a hand to brush a strand of hair from my face. “You’re such a good boy, Ian. So attentive, so... unexpected.”
The simple touch sent a current of warmth through me that had nothing to do with the fire crackling in the hearth. I swallowed hard, trying to maintain my composure. “Were you not a good boy when you were around my age? I find that difficult to believe. I imagine you emerged from the womb already perfectly composed and issuing directives to the staff.”
He snorted, the sound unexpectedly inelegant from someone usually so refined. “Far from it. I’ll admit I was wild and wicked. My mother despaired of me ever developing a sense of responsibility, and my father threatened to disown me at least twice a month.”
“Oh my,” I teased, continuing the gentle massage along his temples. “What could you have possibly been up to back then? Improper table manners? Unauthorized novel reading? The occasional scandalous ankle display?”
A dark grin spread across his face, transforming him from distinguished nobleman to something far more dangerous and enticing. “Many wicked things, Ian, things you can’t possibly imagine with that delightfully innocent mind of yours.”
“Try me,” I challenged, surprising myself with my boldness. “I grew up on a farm, remember? Nature isn’t exactly subtle about certain aspects of life.”
“Have you ever heard of The Wild Wicked Gentlemen?”
I shook my head, wondering if this was some sort of club or society. “Sounds like the title of one of your sisters’ novels. ‘Lord Wicked and the Gentleman’s Scandalous Proposition,’ perhaps?”
“Thought so,” he said, his expression softening. “You are a fairy from a faraway land, after all.”
“Is that... supposed to be a compliment?” I asked, unsure how to take the strange description. “No, it’s not. I will not take that as a compliment. You’re saying I’m naive and gullible, aren’t you? As if I wandered out of an enchanted forest with flowers in my hair and woodland creatures following in my wake.”
He burst out laughing, the sound rich and genuine. “No, my dear Ian. I certainly am not implying that you are any of those things. I’m implying just how pure you are, and it marvels me. You’ve managed to maintain a certain... untainted quality despite life’s hardships. It’s rare and rather beautiful.”
“Oh...” I blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected praise. “Well, that’s... thank you, I suppose. Though I’m not sure ‘pure’ is the right word. ‘Slightly less corrupted than the average person’ might be more accurate.”
His fingers moved to trace the outline of my lips, the touch so light it was almost imperceptible yet somehow sent shockwaves through my entire body. “So pure and innocent and angelic,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a register that made my insides quiver, “uncontaminated by the evil of men and their greed.”
Our eyes locked, and I felt myself drawn toward him as if by some invisible force. The space between us seemed charged with electricity, making it difficult to breathe. I wanted—needed—to be closer to him, to feel his lips against mine again. We were mere inches apart, his breath warm against my skin, when a sharp knock at the door shattered the moment.
I jerked back, my heart hammering in my chest as a maid’s voice called from the hallway, “My lord, I’ve got your snack for you, sir.”
Lord Edward made a sound that might have been a curse before calling, “Come in.”
The maid entered with a silver tray, set it on the tea table, and departed with a curtsy, oblivious to the moment she’d interrupted. I wondered if she noticed my flushed cheeks or Lord Edward’s darkened eyes, but if she did, she gave no indication.
“Be a dear and pour me some tea, will you, Ian?” Lord Edward requested, his voice carrying a hint of resignation. “Since the opportunity for more interesting activities has been so thoroughly ruined by the punctuality of the kitchen staff.”
“Of course,” I replied, grateful for something to do with my trembling hands. There was a full tea service along with a plate of club sandwiches that looked appetizing despite the late hour. I poured two cups, handed one to Lord Edward, and was about to return to the sofa when I felt his arm snake around my waist.
“Don’t sit so far away,” he said, gently pulling me onto his lap. “It’ll make me too damn lonely. Besides, you’re far more effective at headache relief when you’re close enough that I can actually smell that intriguing herbal concoction you use.”
I froze, teacup in hand, suddenly very aware that I was sitting on an earl’s lap like a child—or something far less innocent. “You can smell my scent-masking herbs?” I asked, horrified at the thought that my attempts at concealing my omega nature might be failing.
“Of course,” he replied casually, as if discussing the weather. “Lavender, rosemary, and something else I can’t quite identify. It’s pleasant, though I suspect what’s beneath it is even more so.”
This was... highly improper. And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to move. The warmth of his body against mine, the security of his arm around my waist—it felt right in a way I couldn’t explain. As if I belonged exactly where I was, perched on the lap of the most powerful alpha I’d ever encountered.
“Would you like a club sandwich, my lord?” I asked, desperate to maintain some semblance of normalcy despite our decidedly abnormal seating arrangement.
“Mm-hmm,” he nodded, his eyes never leaving my face.
I reached for one and was about to hand it to him when he said, “My hands are full and occupied. Feed me.”
I glanced at his hands—one holding the teacup, the other still wrapped firmly around my waist. They were indeed occupied, though I suspected he could easily free one if he truly wanted to.
Turning slightly, I held the sandwich to his mouth, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach as he took a bite. His eyes never left mine as he chewed, a glint of amusement—or was it something else?—in their depths.
“Mm. Nice,” he pronounced before leaning forward to take another bite. This time, his lips and tongue brushed against my fingertips, sending a jolt of heat through my body that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature. The contact felt deliberate, a silent acknowledgment of the tension building between us.
Another knock at the door interrupted what was becoming an increasingly intimate moment. Lord Edward’s expression darkened with unmistakable annoyance as the door opened to reveal Marcus lounging against the frame.
“Am I disturbing your little me time with Ian there, Edward?” he asked, his smirk suggesting he knew exactly what he was interrupting. “How charmingly domestic. I had no idea you’d developed such paternal instincts.”
“Yes, you are,” Lord Edward replied bluntly. “So scoot, you annoying cousin. This is precisely why people celebrate when you leave and mourn when you arrive.”
Instead of leaving, Marcus sauntered into the room and made himself comfortable on the sofa. “I know you’re comfortable there sitting on Edward’s hard and uncomfortable lap,” he said to me, “but would you be a darling and pour me a cup of tea, Ian? I find myself in desperate need of refreshment after an evening of watching Edward terrorize innocent businessmen.”
The casual reference to my position made me suddenly aware of how inappropriate it must look—a nineteen-year-old omega perched on an alpha’s lap like a child or a... I couldn’t even complete the thought.
“Uh, of course, my lord,” I stammered, attempting to rise. Lord Edward’s arm tightened around my waist, preventing my escape.
“There’s no need for you to pour him tea, Ian,” he said firmly. “Marcus can do it himself. You sit right here on my warm and comfortable lap where you belong. Besides, I’m not finished with my sandwich, and you’re the only one qualified to feed me.”
Where I belonged? The possessive statement sent a thrill through me that I tried desperately to ignore. This was dangerous territory we were entering, a place where the lines between ward and guardian, omega and alpha, became dangerously blurred.
Marcus rolled his eyes dramatically. “Fine, I’ll do it myself since I have no little darling to serve me tea. How terribly unfair that you’ve monopolized the only omega in the house, Edward. Some might call it selfish.”
“Some might call your interruption intrusive,” Edward countered smoothly. “Yet here we are.”
Marcus leaned forward to pour himself a cup before settling back with a contented sigh. “Ah, that’s nice. Though I admit I prefer whiskey for my nightcap. Tea is so... civilized.”
“Too much alcohol is bad for your liver, my lord,” I found myself saying, then immediately regretted the presumption. “Or so I’ve read in several journals. Though I suppose earls have superior organs that can withstand such abuse. Some sort of aristocratic evolutionary advantage.”
“You a doctor, Ian?” Marcus asked, his tone more curious than offended. “You certainly have the bedside manner for it—equal parts concern and impertinence.”
“No,” I admitted. “Though I’m always interested in science and the human body.”
Emboldened by his receptive response, I decided to satisfy my curiosity about something that had been mentioned earlier. “Do you know anything about The Wild Wicked Gentlemen, my lord? Lord Edward mentioned it but refused to elaborate, which naturally makes me suspect it’s something scandalous and therefore worth knowing.”
Lord Edward burst into laughter while Marcus’s eyes widened in surprise. “Did Edward tell you about that?” he asked. “I’m shocked. He typically guards those stories like a dragon hoarding gold.”
“He mentioned it,” I confirmed. “That he was quite wild and wicked during his younger days. I find it difficult to imagine, given his current state of perpetual propriety.”
Marcus nodded, his expression turning nostalgic. “Indeed, Ian, Edward was one of the wildest and most wicked. He ran amok with his wickedness to such an extent that half of St. Louis society locked up their daughters—and quite a few of their sons—whenever he appeared.” He winked conspiratorially.
“Do elaborate,” I encouraged, fascinated by this glimpse into Lord Edward’s past. “I need details for future blackmail purposes, of course.”
“The Wild Wicked Gentlemen,” Marcus announced with theatrical gravitas, “was Edward’s most brilliant creation. Not a mere club, my dear Ian, but a secret society of aristocratic vigilantes who solved the mysteries Scotland Yard couldn’t touch—or wouldn’t, due to the inconvenient social status of the perpetrators.”
“A vigilante society?” I echoed, leaning forward despite myself. “With actual cases and investigations? Or was it just an elaborate excuse to drink expensive brandy and make trouble?”
“Both, naturally,” Marcus replied with a rakish grin. “The brandy fueled our genius, and the trouble was merely an unfortunate byproduct of our methods. We had code names, disguises, and a network of informants that would make the royal intelligence service weep with envy.”
“Our headquarters was the back room of Madame Laveau’s,” Edward added unexpectedly, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “A questionable establishment where no respectable gentleman would admit to frequenting, which made it perfect for our purposes.”
“Tell me about your cases,” I prompted, fascinated by this glimpse into Lord Edward’s hidden past. “Were there actual mysteries, or did you just terrorize the local constabulary for sport?”
“Oh, we solved genuine crimes,” Marcus assured me, warming to his subject like an actor finding his spotlight. “There was the notorious Professor Blackwood affair—a distinguished academic who was drugging the sons of nobility with opium-laced tea during ‘special tutoring sessions,’ then blackmailing their families. The man had half the aristocracy paying him to keep their precious heirs’ newly acquired habits secret.”
“How did you catch him?” I asked, imagining Edward and his friends in deerstalker hats, sneaking around campus with magnifying glasses.
“Edward went undercover as a student with a particular taste for rebellion,” Marcus revealed with obvious relish. “He attended these ‘sessions’ for weeks, building evidence while pretending to succumb to addiction. When we finally exposed Blackwood in the St. Louis Chronicle, the scandal rocked the university to its foundations. The professor now enjoys far less prestigious accommodations in the royal prison.”
“Then there was the Midnight Sapphire case,” Marcus continued, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he glanced at Edward. “One of Queen Josephine’s most valuable crown jewels, stolen during a royal ball. The investigation led us from the palace to the bedchamber of one Lady Cunningham—a countess with expensive tastes and flexible morality.”
Edward’s body tensed beneath me. “Marcus—” he warned, his voice dropping to a dangerous register.
“Edward had to... shall we say... get close to the lady to determine if she was involved,” Marcus continued, ignoring the warning. “Unfortunately, the countess’s husband returned unexpectedly from a diplomatic mission just as Edward was conducting a thorough search of her private quarters. The ensuing confrontation involved a toppled oil lamp, a half-burned manor house, and Edward fleeing across the Scottish border with the sapphire and a bullet graze on his shoulder.”
“Lord Edward got shot?” I gasped, instinctively tightening my grip on his shoulder as if I could retroactively protect him. “And set fire to a countess’s bedroom? While in a compromising position with her? Good Lord, and here I thought your rebellious phase involved nothing more scandalous than drinking too much champagne at society balls.”
“The fire was an accident,” Edward muttered, though his lips twitched with suppressed amusement. “And the compromising position was purely investigative.”
“Of course it was,” Marcus agreed with exaggerated solemnity. “Just as your investigation of the ambassador’s three daughters was purely diplomatic. And the incident with the Duke of Harrington’s prize thoroughbred and the fountain in Queen’s Square was an equestrian research project.”
“Would you please shut your infernal trap, Marcus?” Edward growled, though there was more exasperation than genuine anger in his tone. “Or shall I enlighten Ian about your own colorful exploits? Perhaps the ambassador’s daughter incident? Or the time you were discovered in the university fountain at dawn, naked as the day you were born, with three—”
“Point taken!” Marcus interrupted hastily, raising his hands in surrender. “Some adventures are best left shrouded in merciful obscurity. Particularly those involving Hungarian diplomats and their extraordinarily vengeful fathers.”
I tried to process this information, feeling an unexpected pang of... something. Jealousy? But that was absurd. Lord Edward’s past escapades had nothing to do with me, and besides, it sounded like his intimate encounter with Lady Cunningham was merely part of his investigation. Wasn’t it?
“Let me get this straight,” I said, narrowing my eyes at Marcus. “You expect me to believe that the Earl of Eastwood—the most proper, controlled, business-minded nobleman in Northland—was once a reckless vigilante who seduced countesses, stole royal jewels, exposed criminal conspiracies, and fled across international borders with bullets flying past his head?”
“When you put it that way, it does sound rather far-fetched,” Marcus admitted with a grin that suggested it was anything but. “Though you’ve forgotten the part where he also challenged three marquesses to duels in a single season and won them all, despite being spectacularly drunk during the third.”
I turned to Edward, searching his face for confirmation. His expression remained carefully neutral, but there was a gleam in his eyes that told me there was at least some truth to these outlandish tales.
“You should write a novel series,” I suggested to Marcus, shaking my head in disbelief. “I’d buy every volume, especially if you include the part where Lord Edward transforms from international jewel thief to respectable businessman without anyone noticing. The character development alone would be worth the price.”
Marcus’s laughter filled the room. “I should, shouldn’t I? Though I fear the actual truth would strain credibility even for fiction. Reality, dear Ian, has a delicious way of being far more outrageous than anything we mere mortals could invent. Isn’t that right, Edward?”
Lord Edward ignored the question, turning to me instead. “It’s getting late, Ian. Why don’t you retire for the night? Before Marcus decides to share any more stories from our misspent youth—most of which have been heavily embellished, I assure you.”
The dismissal stung slightly, but I recognized it as his way of ending conversations he no longer wished to have. “Yes, it is rather late,” I agreed, rising from his lap with as much dignity as I could muster. “And I should check on Waffle. He gets terribly anxious when I’m out after dark, convinced I’ve abandoned him for a more obedient, less flatulent companion.”
“Nighty night, Ian,” Marcus called, his tone dripping with suggestive amusement. “Sweet dreams of dashing earls, stolen jewels, and compromising positions with countesses. Or perhaps something closer to home?”
I had reached the door when a sudden surge of courage—or perhaps foolishness—overcame me. I turned back to Marcus, my hand still on the doorknob.
“One more thing, Lord Marcus,” I said, meeting his surprised gaze directly. “I realize I’m overstepping every possible boundary of propriety here, but I feel compelled to point out that whatever game you’re playing with Alec is causing him genuine distress.”
The room went suddenly, dangerously quiet. Marcus’s expression shifted from amusement to something far more guarded. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me perfectly well,” I continued, my heart hammering against my ribs but my voice remarkably steady. “Every time you enter a room, Alec looks like he’s been simultaneously stabbed and offered the world’s most tempting dessert. It’s painful to witness, and I suspect it’s not particularly pleasant to experience either.”
Lord Edward made a strange choking sound that might have been suppressed laughter or shock at my audacity.
“You have quite the way with metaphors, don’t you?” Marcus said, his voice deceptively casual. “And an even more impressive talent for inserting yourself into matters that don’t concern you.”
“Perhaps not,” I acknowledged, “but I’ve grown rather fond of Alec, and watching him transform from charming, witty companion to silent, wounded shadow whenever you appear is, frankly, exhausting. Whatever history exists between you—and I neither need nor want the details—perhaps consider that five years is long enough to punish someone for whatever transgression you believe they committed.”
Marcus’s expression was unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes—something that looked suspiciously like pain before it was quickly masked. “You presume a great deal for someone who’s known Alec for all of what, two weeks?”
“Sometimes an outsider sees more clearly precisely because they lack the history,” I replied. “And what I see is someone who matters to you causing you enough distress that you avoided your family for five years, and someone who matters to me suffering every time you’re in the same room. It seems unnecessarily dramatic for two grown men, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“You tell him how it should be, Ian,” Edward encouraged, not bothering to hide his amusement now. “The ongoing melodrama between these two has been the family’s most tedious entertainment for half a decade. Like watching a particularly depressing play where the actors refuse to read the final act and resolve the plot.”
Marcus turned to Edward, his expression darkening. “Is that so? How fascinating that you’ve appointed yourself theater critic of my personal affairs when your own romantic life has been a desert of disinterest punctuated by strategic retreats from any omega who shows genuine interest. At least until recently.”
The implication hung in the air between us, charged and dangerous.
“And on that illuminating note,” I said hastily, recognizing I’d ventured into territory far more complicated than I’d anticipated, “I’ll bid you both good night. Enjoy your tea and unresolved tensions—they seem to pair quite nicely.”
I slipped out the door before either man could respond, my heart pounding with the audacity of what I’d just done. Had I really just lectured an earl about his personal relationships? After sitting on another earl’s lap and nearly kissing him? Twice?
Clearly, life in St. Louis was having a detrimental effect on my sense of self-preservation.