Excerpt of Meet the Earl at Midnight by Gina Conkle

Lord Greenwich’s smooth, hypnotic voice broke the silence.

“Come. Step into the light.”

Lydia opened her eyes. Beside her George licked his lips as
his glittering, avaricious gaze bounced between her and Lord
Greenwich. That calculating gleam of his…the irksome man saw
an opening to bilk the situation.

George raised his index finger. “Perhaps milord, we can
renegotiate---”

She groaned.

“Jonas,” the Earl called behind him.

Mr. Bacon nodded his shiny pate and grasped the unspoken
request. The velvet clad brute moved off the wall with
surprising grace for one his size. Then, some shuffling of
feet, a firm redirection or two, and his lordship’s man of
business gripped the back of George’s cloak with one hand,
removing him like a broom sweeping out refuse. The big man
finished the job by shutting the slanted door neatly behind
him.

“Perhaps I spoke to the wrong Montgomery.” The Earl tipped
his head in invitation. “Please. Come closer. This evening’s
been an unexpected trial.”

No harm in that. The bewildering night might end well, if
she could just have a sensible conversation with his
lordship. After all, a peer of the realm ought not to marry
a woman of little consequence, especially when one
considered the dynasty in question. Matters could be
negotiated, if only the Earl would be reasonable.

But, Lord Greenwich studied her with a different potency in
his dark eyes. Lydia lowered her lashes, aware of how men’s
minds worked. She needed to regroup and gather her wits, but
he must have sensed her wariness, or so she guessed when he
extended a gloved hand.

“Please. This need not be unpleasant.” His voice lulled her.
“I promise I won’t bite."

“Meaning sometimes you do,” she snipped.

A muffle of low, masculine laughter floated from his collar.
“Only on a full moon.”

His quip surprised her much like a clue revealed. Still,
this midnight meeting defied reason, best she use caution.
When she didn’t move, his hand dropped to his side. His
lordship’s presence grew bigger in the tiny room, though he
stood a safe, respectable distance.

“Very well then. Why not take off your cloak?” he coaxed.

“How like a man,” she said, eyeing him from the safety of
her hood. “Get a woman naked, first. Solve a problem,
second.”

That earned her another low masculine chuckle.

“Now, now,” he chided. “I’m not asking you to undress, only
that you remove your cloak. As you informed all, you are wet
and soggy.” Lord Greenwich motioned to the blazing hearth.
“You could stand here and warm yourself…dry your damp
skirts.”

How did he manage to be commanding and reasonable at the
same time? Lydia pushed back her faded red hood and stepped
closer. The welcome fire did warm her ankles nicely.

“I am, if anything, ever accommodating,” she said tart-
tongued.

Her sharpness missed its mark. Instead, her target tipped
his head with great interest, almost fascination, when her
face came to view. Topaz brown eyes inspected every exposed
inch of her visage, searching her with blunt curiosity. A
spark as hot and fast as flint striking stone shot through
her. Flummoxed, Lydia squared her shoulders and tried for
business-like composure.

“I’m sure something can be done to rectify this debt.”

“Your cloak.”

“My cloak?” she repeated, running her palms over damp wool.

“Remove it.”

Something in his firm tone brooked no disagreement. Her
leaden hands obeyed, loosening the frogs and loops under her
chin with graceless plucking. Her well-worn red half-cloak,
a sign of her modest station, parted and swayed, all while
his gaze roamed over her head to hem, waiting. A stag, tense
and alert, scenting a doe came to mind. This is one way a
woman could find herself flat on her back, as well she knew
from times past.

Wind and rain squalled outside as the last closure came
undone. Damp wool slipped from her shoulders; though fully
clothed, she couldn’t shake the sense of being stripped bare
under his lordship’s keen scrutiny. Lydia clutched her cloak
in both hands and made a rumpled shield. There really ought
to be more space between them.

Lightning slashed the room. Quick flashes split darkness
behind Lord Greenwich. His acute study drifted up her skirts
to pause just below her neckline --- lud, he stared at her
bosom and her traitorous, corset-less bosom pointed back.
Was it the cold air? Or him? Lydia inched her cloak higher,
and his lordship, undaunted in his perusal, returned to his
intense study of her face. Was he pleased? That she
entertained such a question shocked her.

The Earl clasped his hands behind his back. “Turn around.”

She gave an indignant huff and glared, not budging an inch.
“I will not.”

“If you please, Miss Montgomery.” He made the request sound
courtly. “I’m only asking you to take a turn.”

The cloak, rough scratchy wool, bunched tighter in her
hands. “Next, you’ll want to check my teeth.”

His lordship twirled his finger. “A single rotation will
suffice.”

Being at the mercy of his good grace reminded her to get
this done and over with…all the better to move onto a more
reasonable solution. Her mother’s welfare beat a constant
drum in her head, thus, she obliged him. The water stained
ceiling became the safest place to look as she crossed one
foot over the other, beginning a slow circle.

“You know, my lord, I have a small amount of my own funds.
Well, not much, really, but if we could discuss this
tomorrow. At luncheon perhaps? I might have a solution of my
own.”

“No. We do this my way.”

Fire crackled and floorboards creaked from her slow circling
movement. A tickling sensation flowed over her, touching
everywhere. Her lack of corset set her cheeks aflame. Yet,
his scrutiny was fascinating. She bemoaned her wrinkled,
outdated dress. Did he notice? Or did he notice her smooth
skin and glossy waves of sleep-mussed sable hair of which
her great aunt raved? The Earl’s impertinent gaze ranged
everywhere.

“If you’re quite through, my lord,” she said with some
starch.

Lydia pressed the cloak closer. Lud, but he needed a set
down. She’d dealt with overzealous farmers and country
squires in the past and knew how to put men in their place.
Men are all the same, no matter their status; the quality of
their clothes differed, but all were flesh and blood
underneath. A biting remark formed on her lips when she
froze.
He reached for her.

Lord Greenwich’s gloved hand hovered near her face in the
gentlest fashion as if he wanted to touch her but held
himself in check. They stood that way for a few, eternal
seconds. Only his warmth touched her cheek. So close, she
smelled oiled leather and saw the stitching on his glove.
Why the hesitation?

Long moments stretched, measured by the sound of rainfall.
His brown eyes studied her lips, her hair, even the outline
of her ear, as odd as the notion was. His lordship examined
her as if he would memorize shape and texture without
contact. He angled his head, the black tri-corn casting
shadows, and something passed between them: something
elusive and slight when his gaze met hers…a current of
curiosity that must have beckoned him to test her.

A lone, leather-clad finger trailed over her cheek, so
light. Lord Greenwich’s subtle connection caused tantalizing
shivers, shivers that followed his whisper soft caress on
Lydia’s skin. His exploring finger slipped under her chin
and angled her face toward firelight.

“You’re a thorough one,” she said breathy and low. “No
doctor’s ever examined me thus.”

His dark gaze flicked to hers. “Even phantoms have their
standards.”