Excerpt of Her Unconventional Earl by Amy Jarecki

Excerpt from HER UNCONVENTIONAL EARL:

“Ah, Mr. Mansfield, there you are.”

The gentle voice and sultry burr had come from none other than Lady Charity MacGalloway, sister to the Duke of Dunscaby, daughter of the former duke, and a woman who needed to be banished from attending boxing matches.

“My lady…” Harry said, before he actually looked in her direction, at which time she rendered him entirely speechless. For the love of Moses, the female had donned a pair of trousers. “What on earth are you wearing?” he croaked, somehow finding his voice, while the board slipped from his fingers, clanking atop the others.

She beamed, grinning as if a sunburst had shone expressly on her face, spreading her arms and turning in a full circle. Dear God, if he’d thought her shapely before, there was now no question. The woman had the most alluring bottom he’d ever seen. Round, shapely, a tad high-set like an elite thoroughbred. Harry swiped a hand over his eyes and looked to the hole in the roof.

“I was picking Albert’s hooves and brushing his coat. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to squat down and pick hooves in a day gown?”

Moaning at the image of Her Ladyship’s perfect bottom squatting, Harry managed to shake his head. “I haven’t, madam.”

“Madam?” she asked, sauntering forward, her hips lazily swaying. Did she know how tempting she was, or did her ability to addle his mind come naturally? “After everything, I thought we had dispensed with such formalities.”

“Believe me, you do not want a man like me to become too familiar.”

“Truly? A man like you? A man brave enough to rescue a lass from certain death on a sheer cliff? A man who takes on extra work in order to help his ailing mother?”

He scratched the stubble on his chin. “Putting it like that makes me sound like a saint, which I definitely am not.”

She twirled the hoof pick’s leather loop around her finger. “What makes you so unsaintly, Mr. Mansfield?”

Good Lord, why the devil was he having this conversation? His lack of sainthood was no concern of hers. He’d best redirect before he did something entirely foolish, like pulling the woman into his arms and kissing those pouty lips just to get them to stop moving. “Why are you in the barn, wearing trousers, and picking your sister’s pony’s hooves?”

The tool stopped twirling while Lady Charity’s cheeks turned a lovely shade of rose. She glanced downward. “Oh dear, I have offended you, have I not? Please forgive me, aside from being most practical, these are an old pair of Marty’s—I mean of Martin’s—I mean, my brother’s.”

Harry couldn’t help but steal one more admiring glance—her legs were far longer than he’d imagined. “Is the duke aware his sister is traipsing about the estate wearing his trousers?”

“Well, not exactly. Though I’m certain he wouldn’t mind if he knew I’d borrowed them for instances like this.”

Instances where she presented herself as tempting as Jezebel to a mere country butcher? Did she realize how much he wanted to wrap her in his arms and kiss her? “Please humor me,” Harry said, removing the pick from her fingers and hanging it over a nail on a nearby post. “Why were you picking Albert’s hooves?”

“Because Modesty asked me to care for her pony.”

“And why did you not assign such a task to the groom?”

“I promised I would do it myself.”

Oh yes, that made all the sense in the world. “Either you are exceptionally skilled at picking hooves or there is a girl of twelve who has her elder sister twisted around her little finger.”

Lady Charity quickly shrugged a single shoulder. “The poor dear is nothing short of miserable with her broken ankle. Of course I promised to pick the pony’s hooves. After all, Modesty would be out here doing it herself if she could.”

“Does she wear trousers as well?”

“Dunna be silly, of course she doesna.”

“Why you and not her?” Harry asked, kicking himself for not redirecting the conversation away from this woman and trousers.

“Because…well, I dunna exactly ken why. She doesna have a pair I suppose.” Her Ladyship thumbed the top of her belt. “Would you be more comfortable if I returned to the house and donned a day dress?”

Him? More comfortable? How in God’s name could he erase the memory of Her Ladyship’s shapely derriere? In truth, he didn’t want to fail to remember what he’d just seen. Presently, he was unable to move past the part where he’d considered pulling the woman into his arms and kissing her.

“No, no, no. Don’t mind me. How you dress when working in the stables is no concern of mine.” He gestured toward the pile of crossbeams. “I’d love to stand about and chat, but the beams have arrived and I’d best set to work.”

“Yes, of course. However, before you do start, I have a question.”

He slid his gaze to hers—blue eyes filled with an emotion at which he didn’t dare guess. “Which is?”

“Exactly what happens when you are in the ring? At the fight it was as if you were a different person.”

“You shouldn’t have been there.”

The woman crossed her saucy arms and stood akimbo. “Whyever not? Why is it that the men of this world seem to have all the fun whilst the women are expected to be cosseted at home, tending to their embroidery?”

“Do you not enjoy embroidery? I am in possession of a rather lovely monogrammed handkerchief.”

“That’s not the point.” She raised her fists. “You stepped into the ring, and suddenly the mild-mannered gentleman I have come to know turned into a…”

Harry waited, desperate to hear what she truly thought of him. When she pursed her lips and glanced away, he took a step toward her. “Tell me what you truly thought, my lady, and do not hold back. Did I become a barbaric blackguard? A lowlife with whom you never again wish to consort?”

“Not at all.” She threw a left, a right, then dropped her hands to her sides. “You were magnificent. Powerful. Never in all my days has my blood stirred as it did when you took command of the ring.”

“I—” he stood immobile, unable to think, let alone speak, while she faced him, her eyes wide and filled with the same desire twisting through his heart with the choking force of a mature wisteria vine.

He’d wanted to kiss her before, but now the desire gripped him so fervently, Harry was incapable of thought. Within his next blink, he gathered the woman into his arms and fused his mouth over hers, sweeping his tongue across her lips. For a heartbeat, she was tense as a board, but with the next, somewhat more gentle brush of his tongue, her lips parted.