An Earl's Flaming Journal: A Historical Regency Romance Book Read online

  “Life isn’t all about getting a husband, Elizabeth.” Jemima pulled her arm away. “Enjoy being unmarried while you can. There’s only so much freedom you’ll have as a wife.”

  “Any more than we have now?” Elizabeth snorted. She turned away and walked after their mother, who was striding off down the road. “You’re going to grow old and alone if you keep thinking like that.”

  Jemima sighed and followed her. She wasn’t going to argue it any further, and Elizabeth liked to provoke her into a retort that had Jemima being scolded for being unkind to her sister. Elizabeth was approaching adulthood, and she still acted like a child.

  As she walked down the road towards their cottage, Jemima slid a hand into her bag and closed her fingers around the journal, feeling the smooth leather against her fingertips. It was a very nice book and clearly owned by someone in the nobility. Jemima found herself thinking about the young man who had dropped it. He didn’t look much older than her, tall with dark hair. Strong, firm stride and a purposeful air. When he wasn’t being walked into by a middle-aged woman determined to get home so she didn’t look tardy for her guests.

  Would she see him again to give the journal back? Jemima didn’t know. She knew practically everyone in Hemingford Grey, but she didn’t recognize him. He was probably from St Ives, or he lived in one of the wealthy houses just outside the village. Jemima loved to go for walks, but she kept to herself a lot of the time. Besides, she was not the type a man of high social status would interact with.

  She would find a way to get the journal back. Once she had changed and sat through afternoon tea. Then the time would be her own.

  #

  Nicholas Templeton, Earl of St Ives, headed into the library and grinned when he saw the dark-haired beauty sitting on the window seat. She gave him a coquettish smile and rose to her feet, giving him a curtsy.

  “My Lord St Ives.”

  “Miss Jennings.” St Ives glanced into the hallway and saw there was no one hanging around. The other guests were in the drawing room, and the servants were busy clearing up after dinner. He closed the door and crossed the room. “I trust you’re having a pleasant evening tonight.”

  “Very pleasant, thank you.” Catherine bit her lip, her eyes sparkling. “You do know how to be a gracious guest, Lord St Ives.”

  “Very gracious, I hope.”

  Catherine’s gaze was appreciative as she looked him up and down. She was not shy in displaying what she thought. St Ives liked her fire, her witty retorts, and her sweet voice. She would be perfect as the next woman in his bed. He had made up his mind about that within minutes of meeting her earlier in the year while in London. St Ives prided himself in choosing a woman who would be pliable but responsive. The young ladies he chose didn’t disappoint.

  Catherine Jennings was looking to be one who would please him immensely. They enjoyed each other’s company, and Catherine had been making hints that she found him very attractive. St Ives had noticed it during dinner when Catherine kept giving him looks across the table.

  St Ives knew there was going to be a lot of sneaking around this week while he was Mr William Jennings’ guest, but he would happily do it if it meant spending precious time in bed with the host’s beautiful daughter.

  “Mother and Father are still talking about you.” Catherine crossed the room towards him. She brushed her fingers over his coat, fingering the pin in his cravat. “I know Father’s impressed with you. After hearing of your reputation, he was concerned about having you in the house.”

  “I’m surprised he agreed to let me stay here for the week.”

  “I am his youngest daughter, and he lets me have what I want.” Catherine walked her fingers slowly up his cravat. “And I wanted to have you here this week. As my guest.”

  “Then I hope I don’t disappoint.”

  Catherine’s smirk said everything. She was good at making people aware of what she wanted with just a look. St Ives had been getting a lot of looks since they first met, and he didn’t need to guess. She wanted him. How her parents hadn’t noticed this, St Ives had no idea, but Catherine was the type of young lady who always got what she wanted.

  Who was St Ives to deny that?

  Catherine was stepping closer now, her skirts brushing against his legs. She curled her hand around the back of St Ives’ neck and started to tug him down. Suddenly, she sprang away from him so quickly that St Ives swayed. Whoa, what had just happened there? Then he heard a familiar voice behind him.

  “Forgive me, Miss Jennings, Lord St Ives. I didn’t realize you were here.”

  St Ives turned and glared at the intruder. Theodore Ramsbury, Earl of Ely, was standing in the doorway with a slightly bemused expression. Then the bemusement disappeared, and his smile widened. He knew exactly what he had interrupted. Catherine, looking rather flushed, cleared her throat and brushed her hands down her skirts.

  “I’d better get back to the guests. Mother will be asking questions if I’m away for too long.” She glanced at St Ives, her eyes glinting. “Maybe we’ll carry on this ... conversation at a later time, My Lord.”

  “I look forward to it, Miss Jennings.”

  St Ives already knew where Catherine’s room was. He just needed to wait for everyone to fall asleep.

  Catherine left the room, giving Ely a brisk nod before she left, shutting the door a little too hard behind her. St Ives turned to his friend and glared.

  “Did you have to do that, Ely?”

  “It was an accident.” Ely held up his hands. “I really didn’t know you were in here. I was just trying to find somewhere to hide.”

  “Hide from what?” St Ives went to the couch by the fire. He sat down and stretched his legs out. “Are the conversations not up to your high standards?”

  “You know Mr Jennings speaks in such a monotonous tone and only about his business prospects.” Ely slumped onto the couch across from his friend with a heavy sigh. “I would like to talk about something that isn’t about his shipping business.”

  “I thought you wanted to get into a business venture.”

  “Not with that old crout.”

  St Ives chuckled.

  “Old crout? He’s barely sixty.”

  “That’s still old.”

  That was coming from a man who had just passed his thirtieth birthday. Ely called anyone over forty old. St Ives shifted his legs towards the fire. It was a cool evening, and the fire was nicely tickling the heat up his body.

  “You won’t think it’s old when we end up sixty. I hope we’ll still be spritely then.”

  “I think we will.” Ely made a face. “I don’t think I could cope being stuck in one room or unable to go more than a few feet.”

  “Don’t be daft. People at that age aren’t like that. And Mr Jennings has more spirit and stamina than a lot of people in middle age. He’s just boring.”

  “Do you want to say that a little louder? I’m sure that will get back to Miss Catherine.”

  “Catherine understands.”

  She was the youngest of five children, and William Jennings had been in his late thirties when she was born. Catherine herself had complained about her father on multiple occasions. St Ives simply nodded and let her talk. He knew when it was time for a woman to take his attention. If they knew he was good at listening, then it endeared him to them.

  It certainly worked with Catherine. She had been about to kiss him before Ely had come stumbling in with his big feet. The handsome blond Earl of Ely could certainly draw a woman’s eye, but he wasn’t good with social cues and graces. Somehow, that made him endearing, and women would flock around him if they didn’t flock around St Ives.

  If St Ives were lucky, more than kissing would happen later.

  “You’re really going to make Catherine Jennings your next lover, aren’t you?” Ely asked.

  “Well, I’d certainly like to explore what’s going on more between us.” St Ives shrugged. “What better way to do it than being a guest in her home for the week? Her parents are often busy with their own activities, so Catherine is left to her own devices.”

  “All the easier for you to explore things.” Ely arched an eyebrow. “And I’m guessing this is going into the journal as well?”

  “Of course. Like everything else.”

  This would certainly be going in his journal. St Ives was sure there would be some very noteworthy activity. People would call it shallow that he wrote down his escapades in the bedroom into a journal, but St Ives liked to have a memory of good times. Ely thought it was crass and that he didn’t have any respect for women. St Ives had a lot of respect for women. He just expressed it differently.

  His friend had asked if he was ever going to stop because when he finally married, it wasn’t exactly something to be carrying around. To which St Ives had shrugged and said if it happened, he would throw it away. And he didn’t think he was going to be getting married anytime soon. He was having too much fun.

  And he hadn’t been able to find the one woman who would make him stop and pay attention. That would be a very good way of getting him to settle down and focus on his future.

  “Just be careful with this one, Nicholas.” Ely jerked a thumb at the door. “From the look of it, she wants more than just an affair. She’s after marriage.”

  “I’m sure someone else can give that to her, but it won’t be coming from me. She knows that.”

  “You might want to tell her a bit more forcefully if she starts talking about marriage,” Ely pointed out. “It’s going to be one of those things that will happen once you’ve got her into bed. I know when a woman is going to start thinking about a wedding.”

  St Ives laughed.

  “You worry too much. Catherine knows that I’m not looking for marriage. We’re going into this knowing what’s going to happen.”

  “A woman does change her mind. You know that.” Ely frowned. “You’re going to get into serious trouble one day, Nicholas. You’ll break the heart of a girl who loves you dearly, and you won’t be able to get her back. Or you’ll get your heart broken.”

  “My heart broken?” St Ives tapped his chest. “I don’t think so. I’m made of stronger stuff.”

  Besides, in St Ives’ mind, the idea of a perfect woman for him didn’t exist. He would be turning thirty on his next birthday, and while he had been drawn in by beautiful women, none of them had reached deeper inside him. It was all just superficial to him. If there was a special woman who would capture his attention and never let go, someone to make him fall in love for the first time in his life, then St Ives had yet to find them.

  Catherine would be a perfect wife for someone, especially someone who could handle her fire. But for St Ives, it was only in passing. She understood that. She might want more, but St Ives wasn’t going to give her anything further than some fun between the sheets. If there were any indication Catherine was pushing for a ring on her finger, he would be gone.

  It had happened before, and St Ives could do it again. Hopefully.

  He was still thinking about it as he got himself ready for bed a short while later. Instead of going back to the drawing room, where he would see Catherine and bid her parents goodnight, St Ives went straight up to his room. Catherine would follow a short while later, and then he would make his way across the house. Her parents slept at the other end of the wing the family used, and they were known to sleep very deeply. His body stirred at the thought of getting that supple body naked and pressed against him.

  Oh, he was going to have a good night, certainly.

  St Ives had stripped down to just his trousers and stockings, his valet picking up his clothes and putting them to one side as he left out his master’s nightclothes when he remembered his journal. It had been in his jacket pocket earlier in the day, St Ives only just remembering to grab it as he was leaving home. He had been running late, so it had been a bit of a rush to get his things together. And St Ives had remembered that he needed to bring gifts; he couldn’t turn up at a house he was staying in for a week without gifts. It sweetened the hosts and softened them towards him. St Ives liked to try and stay on everyone’s good side, wherever possible; it made things easier to sneak around when he needed to.

  If your parents could see you now, they would be turning in their graves. They didn’t raise you to be like this.

  They’re not here now. But I am. And I’m going to enjoy myself while I can.

  The coat he had been wearing that afternoon was lying across his trunk at the foot of his bed. St Ives checked the pockets, but there was nothing there. He checked the inside ones as well as the outside. Again, nothing.

  St Ives began to panic. He couldn’t have lost the journal, could he?

  “Simmons?”

  “Yes, My Lord?”

  His valet appeared beside him so silently St Ives wasn’t aware that he had moved. The middle-aged man was very soft-footed.

  “I ... have you seen my journal around? I can’t find it.”

  “No, My Lord, I haven’t seen it.” Simmons raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you normally have it on your person?”

  “I thought it was in my coat. But it’s not.” St Ives tossed the coat onto the bed and opened the trunk. “It’s not there.”

  He began to rummage through the trunk. Now he was really panicking. The journal was meant to be something private, a little memento for himself. It wasn’t for anyone else to read. If anyone got their hands on the journal and made the contents public, there would be a lot of embarrassment. The only saving grace was that his name wasn’t mentioned in any part of the journal, but it wouldn’t take much to know who he had been writing about.

  St Ives didn’t want to think about the repercussions right now. Being friendly with everyone around him wouldn’t help him if they knew what he had really been up to.

  “I’ll have a look around the house, My Lord.” Simmons put aside the clothes he had been holding. “Maybe it fell out, and one of the servants has it.”

  “Don’t go and ask the staff!”

  “I’m not going to say what’s in the journal, just to see if they’ve seen it. It could have fallen out when you arrived.” Simmons shrugged. “If it hasn’t, there’s not a lot I can do, I’m afraid.”

  St Ives sighed.

  “All right, fine. Just do what you can. I must have my journal.”

  “Yes, My Lord.”

  Simmons bowed and left the room. St Ives slammed the trunk shut with a growl. It wasn’t there, either. He definitely left the house with it, and he remembered having it when he passed through Hemingford Grey. But then he stopped outside the tobacconist’s shop and bought a few things for Mr and Mrs Jennings. Catherine had said her father liked snuff, and St Ives wanted to bring a good gift.

  Had it fallen out of his pocket in the street? St Ives could only hope that this wasn’t the case. Because that meant anyone could have come upon it. Or maybe it had fallen out in the carriage. But surely he would have noticed?

  St Ives slumped on the trunk. He needed to get it back. It may not have been marked with his name, but if the wrong person read it, they would be able to figure out who was whom. And then the women he was on good terms with wouldn’t want to be on good terms.

  Where on earth had it gone?

  Chapter 2

  “Jemima?” Jemima felt a sharp nudge in her side, causing her to miss a step. “Jemima!”