The American Earl

“I’m Not Going To Make Love

To You Here. Not Now.”

“Why not?” Abby asked.

“You need more time to consider what you’re giving away,” Matt responded.

“I’m more concerned about what I might lose,” she murmured. “And I don’t mean my virginity.”

“What about that husband in the future? He’ll know.”

“Maybe he’ll have to accept me as I am.”

As she was. Beautiful. Abby was pure joy to look upon, to be with. She dragged him out of his world of business deals, competition with himself and with others, even out of the pain of the past. He could see need in her eyes, desire, and he wanted more than anything to give her the pleasure she so longed for.

Yet, did he dare take from her the one treasure she’d safeguarded all her life? Abby claimed she was ready. But could he believe her?

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Silhouette Desire, the ultimate treat for Valentine’s Day—we promise you will find six passionate, powerful and provocative romances every month! And here’s what you can indulge yourself with this February….

The fabulous Peggy Moreland brings you February’s MAN OF THE MONTH, The Way to a Rancher’s Heart. You’ll be enticed by this gruff widowed rancher who must let down his guard for the sake of a younger woman.

The exciting Desire miniseries TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: LONE STAR JEWELS continues with World’s Most Eligible Texan by Sara Orwig. A world-weary diplomat finds love—and fatherhood—after making a Plain Jane schoolteacher pregnant with his child.

Kathryn Jensen’s The American Earl is an office romance featuring the son of a British earl who falls for his American employee. In Overnight Cinderella by Katherine Garbera, an ugly-duckling heroine transforms herself into a swan to win the love of an alpha male. Kate Little tells the story of a wealthy bachelor captivated by the woman he was trying to protect his younger brother from in The Millionaire Takes a Bride. And Kristi Gold offers His Sheltering Arms, in which a macho ex-cop finds love with the woman he protects.

Make this Valentine’s Day extra-special by spoiling yourself with all six of these alluring Desire titles!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

The American Earl

Kathryn Jensen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KATHRYN JENSEN

has written many novels for young readers as well as for adults. She speed walks, works out with weights and enjoys ballroom dancing for exercise, stress reduction and pleasure. Her children are now grown. She lives in Maryland with her writing companion—Sunny, a lovable terrier-mix adopted from a shelter.

Having worked as a hospital switchboard operator, department-store sales associate, bank clerk and elementary school teacher, she now splits her days between writing her own books and teaching fiction writing at two local colleges and through a correspondence course. She enjoys helping new writers get a start, and speaks “at the drop of a hat” at writers’ conferences, libraries and schools across the country.

To Linda Hayes, of Columbia Literary Associates,

a superlative agent and even more valued friend.

May your retirement bring you exciting new adventures

and rich satisfaction. Thank you for everything…KJ

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

One

Matthew Smythe marched into the empty room, his executive assistant trailing in his irate wake like a tiny skiff bobbing helplessly behind a battleship. “Why isn’t this room ready?” he snapped. “Where is Belinda?”

Paula Shapiro gave a weary sigh. “Sir, she quit this morning. Remember?” Like most men, including her own nearly grown sons, the young president of Smythe International only listened to what he wanted to hear.

“That’s ridiculous! The woman only took the job two months ago.”

“I suppose, like the others, she found the work—” Paula searched for a safe word “—demanding. It isn’t easy arranging these things on the spur-of-the-moment.” Or coping with your temperament, she added silently.

“A tasteful reception for a few clients. How difficult can that be?” he grumbled. Matt’s sharp eyes quickly scanned the bare room. A bar should have been set up, along with a table of imported delicacies in front of the expanse of bronzed glass overlooking a breathtaking Chicago skyline. Comfortable seating ought to have replaced the metal folding chairs.

Vaguely, he recalled that his latest in a long line of social secretaries had sounded upset about something earlier that day. But her feminine hysterics had barely made a dent in his busy mind. Perhaps he should have paid better attention. Paula had been out of the office on an errand for him or she would have been aware of the pending emergency. But it was too late now.

He glared at his watch. Less than two hours and his guests would arrive. He raked fingers through thick, dark hair. “What do you suggest we do?”

“I could call your caterer,” Paula suggested doubtfully. “But that won’t sell your products for you.”

Matt shook his head. “And tomorrow around noon, Franco would show up with a smashing spread. No, do it yourself. We have everything you’ll need.”

“Lord Smythe!” Paula’s chin dropped a full two inches, eyes narrowing to slits, fists settling on matronly hips.

Not a good sign, Matt thought. An intelligent, middle-aged woman, Paula sported a froth of blond, permed hair and spectacles with glittering thingies at the pointed corners. She also efficiently managed his office and accepted long hours of work without complaint, for which he paid her generously. But when she used his aristocratic title and that chin fell, he knew he’d gone too far.

“I reminded you just five minutes ago.” Her glare intensified. “I have to take my youngest to a dental appointment today.”

“Oh…well, of course. Sorry. Do you have any other ideas for this reception?” He could set out the food himself, but he wasn’t sure that he’d do a very good job of it. And it still left him in the lurch for a hostess, which had been the other part of Belinda’s job.

“If you’re really in a jam,” a mellow female voice spoke up from the doorway, “I could bring in a few gourmet items I think you’d be pleased with.”

Matt swung around to see a petite young woman standing at the entrance to the conference room. The first thing he noticed was her tumble of red hair. It must have been windy outside, because tendrils had been whisked every which way, yet still gleamed and managed to look terribly becoming as a frame around her elfin features. Her second remarkable feature were her long legs. If she’d been wearing anything less conservative than the navy blue suit, its skirt cut demurely below the knee, she would have been inviting trouble just by stepping outside her home. He studied her further. With the flaming hair, he expected her eyes to be green. They were not. They suggested rich mocha tones and glittered at him enthusiastically. He felt an immediate hot tug from within his body.

“Who are you?” he grumbled.

She produced a business card as swiftly as Annie Oakley drawing her six-shooter. Stepping forward, she thrust the little pink rectangle into his fingers.

“Abigail Benton,” she announced in a crisp voice.

“I represent the Cup and Saucer, a coffee-and-pastry shop here in Chicago. Perhaps you’ve heard of us?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Words bubbled from her pretty lips etched in a luscious berry-rich shade of gloss. “I’m in the building for a meeting, but I’m running early. If you like, I could collect the necessary supplies and set up the room for you. How many are you entertaining tonight?”

He viewed her speculatively. The raised color in her cheeks and the way she pushed herself halfway up onto her toes as she spoke made him suspect she wasn’t as confident as she was pretending to be. Nevertheless, the woman was putting on a damned fine show. And, admittedly, he was in a sticky situation. Anything she could do for him would be better than nothing.

“Three couples and myself,” he said, turning to leave the room. “Paula, show her where everything is then get that young man’s teeth fixed.”

Back in his private office, Matt pulled his guests’ files in front of him, covering the family crest embossed in gold on the black leather of his desk blotter. He began to review the personal as well as professional profiles in each folder. After only a few minutes, he pushed them away in frustration, unable to concentrate. All he could see was that damned explosion of crimson hair…and her eyes. Abigail Benton’s eyes had been remarkable.

Ruthlessly, he forced his thoughts back to the matter at hand.

Although immediate disaster had been averted, he wondered what the devil he was going to do about the rest of this week’s meetings. And next week’s? His schedule was packed. He needed a full-time hostess and social secretary. Smythe International was known for entertaining its business associates in style. Glamorously intimate dinner parties for his foreign exporters. Cozy receptions for American retailers whose upscale shops he supplied. Lavish entertainment had paid off for Matthew Smythe, seventh earl of Brighton. His catalog carried hundreds of delicious items from all over the world—famed Valrona chocolates made in France, Neapolitan coffees, Turkish spices and dainty British biscuits to nibble with a cup of bergamot-scented Earl Grey tea on a lazy afternoon.

But he needed a reliable staff to pull it all off. Tomorrow he would begin interviewing for Belinda’s replacement. But until then…

He glanced down at the business card tossed absently on his desk. Abigail, an old-fashioned name despite her wild beauty. She was young and, if he had accurately read her body language, inexperienced in her trade. Perhaps inexperienced on many levels. There had been that telltale layer of nervousness beneath her bright-eyed enthusiasm. He was probably a fool for trusting a stranger to such an important task. But it was either let her do whatever she could, or ship his entire party off to a restaurant. That would do neither his sales pitch nor his reputation any good. And so, he’d just have to take the risk.

Abby stood in the center of an immense temperature-controlled vault, looking around with all the prickly excitement of a child left unattended in a candy shop. She had been working for the Cup and Saucer for nine months. It beat selling perfume at a department store or waiting on tables at Burger Delite, both of which she’d done while in college and grad school at Northwestern.

Hopefully, those days were behind her. She was a salaried employee now. Minimum wage, true, but with a commission! And she loved her job.

Two days before her twenty-fifth birthday, she had finished graduate work for her master’s degree in retail marketing. The trick then had been to find a job, and she figured she might as well choose one she enjoyed. While still a student, she had loved treating herself to a cappuccino or herb tea at the Cup and Saucer—when she could afford the luxury. But even when cash was hard to come by, she had adored browsing through the rainbow of exotic teas and coffees, the imported sweets, delicate pastries, homemade cranberry-orange muffins and Chunk o’ Chocolate cookies. This was a world in which she’d be content to give up her last breath.

The last time she’d gone home to the little farm south of Alton, Illinois, she had confided her dreams to her mother. “I’ll work for a few years, saving my money, learning everything I need to know about the gourmet food industry,” she explained. “When the time is right, I’ll finance the rest and open my own little shop. Down on the Navy Pier between the arcade and that cute little jewelry store—that would be perfect.” She tingled with excitement.

“How nice, dear,” her mother had said with a patient smile and a pat on her daughter’s arm. She might as well have added, It’s good for a girl to have a hobby until she starts her family. Clearly, confiding in her mother was a wasted effort.

Actually, a family was only part of Abby’s dream. She wanted a husband and babies, of course, but first she wanted to prove to herself that she could be really good at doing something other than making babies.

With a sigh, Abby began selecting jars of imported calamara and Spanish black olives, fresh fruits, wax-sealed wedges of Stilton and Brie cheese, colorfully wrapped packets of crackers and tins of cookies from the shelves around her. She would aim for a balance of sweet and salty, pungently spiced and delightfully mild foods—since she didn’t know the tastes of the guests. Setting her loot aside on a long shelf, she opened the massive door of a walk-in freezer. Inside was a wheeled cart and, along the walls, packaged rolls, pastries, breads and meats.

Abby loaded up the cart, feeling intoxicated with shopping power. Where had the man bought all of this yummy stuff? She took mental notes of brands and country origins. Whoever the guy was, he had great taste and a genius for a supplier. Maybe he too bought from Smythe Imports, since they were in the same building. Actually on the same floor. She couldn’t find a name plaque anywhere to identify the owner of the conference room.

Glancing at her watch, she gasped. She’d been thirty minutes early for her appointment. If she hurried she could still make it without being too late.

By the time forty minutes had flown by, Abby finally finished setting up. The conference room looked inviting and cozy, the way she’d want a room to feel if she’d been traveling and longed for soothing surroundings. The bar included both chilled spring water and hot water for herb teas, along with a variety of wines and ingredients for cocktails. A round buffet table displayed a combination of imported and domestic delicacies.

She was sorely tempted to nibble, as hungry as she was. But there wasn’t even time to hunt down anyone and tell them she was done. Abby dashed breathlessly down the hall, reading off numbers on office doors as she flew past. She was ten minutes late for her meeting but, with any luck, the sales rep would be running late, too. Ordinarily the reps came to the Cup and Saucer, but she had wanted an excuse to see the offices of the prestigious importer.

She found the suite of rooms marked Smythe International and threw her body through the door—only to run into a wall of muscle and suit that let out a deep, “Ooomph.”

“Oh, sorry, I just…” But her apology was cut short as she ricocheted off the barrier and into the doorframe. Two strong hands viced her shoulders, bringing her back onto her feet and holding her upright until she stabilized.

Slowly Abby looked up at the strikingly handsome man she’d met earlier. She frowned, puzzled. “I’m so sorry,” she managed between gasps. “I guess I was in…in too much of a hurry.”

He glared darkly at her. “What’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem at all. I’ve finished setting up your room.”

He scowled critically at her hair, then his eyes slid down over her department-store suit in a way that made her feel self-conscious. “You’ll need to change.”

“Pardon me?”

“That sort of conservative getup hardly does justice to epicurean foods and fine wines.”

She stared up at him, for the first time aware of just how tall he was in comparison to her petite five-foot-three-inch figure. A good four inches over the six-foot mark, she’d guess. Built like Gibraltar. And there was something strangely familiar about him, although she doubted she’d ever met him before. “I think there’s been a slight misunderstanding here.” She tried out a diplomatic smile on him, but it seemed to have no effect. “You see, I have an important meeting. I’m late as it is. I only offered to help because you seemed to be in a bind.”

“Out of the goodness of your heart, right?” His tone was flat with sarcasm.

Abby stiffened, her smile gone. “That’s right. Some people are just plain nice. Now I’m overdue for my appointment with the sales rep for Smythe International. So if you’ll excuse me.” She tried to slip past him, but he stepped smoothly into her path.

“I sent Brian home for the day.”

She frowned. The words didn’t make sense to her. But the way he was looking at her made it impossible for her to untangle them. She could feel his gaze peeling away layers. Of clothing, certainly, but also reaching beneath, as if he were analyzing her for a particular purpose. Abby didn’t like the feeling. But she wasn’t going to let him rattle her anymore than he already had. There were more important matters at hand.

“He can’t have left!” she objected. “I set up the appointment two weeks ago.”

It was as if the man hadn’t heard a word. “Where do you live?”

He was incredible! First he mentally disrobed her. Then he expected her to divulge her home address. “I’m sorry, I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“Oh, bloody hell! I’m not some kind of masher.” The old-fashioned word sounded comical, following on his cursing. And had she imagined a faint foreign accent? British? “I just want to know if you have time to go home and change before the reception. If not, I think Belinda left a few dresses here.” His eyes did their disturbing trick again. “You look to be similar sizes.”

Abby glared at him. “The only place I’m going, since I’ve apparently missed my meeting, is back to work.”

“Ah, yes.” His eyes lifted and so did the corners of his lips. “That little coffee shop over on Oak. I’ve stopped by a few times.” He nodded, keeping his opinion to himself.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay and play hostess for you. But I’m sure you’ll make out fine.”

His expression conveyed that he knew she didn’t have a clue how he’d make out. But he wasn’t going to argue the point. “Call your boss and ask for the rest of the day off. I’ll pay you five bills to smile and make nice to my guests.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Five hundred dollars?” A heartbeat later, the implication of the rest of his sentence struck her. “That isn’t the kind of work I do, Mr.—”

“Matthew Smythe.” He held out a hand for her to shake and at the moment she remembered where she’d seen him before…or at least his photos. The last time had been on the cover of Fortune magazine. She immediately seized his hand as if she’d been ordered to. Then, gradually, the implication of all she’d said up to that moment sank in. She had probably sounded like a madwoman.

“You’re the president of Smythe International,” she murmured weakly. “The third largest import company of its kind in this country.” She had read about him in the Wall Street Journal and Fortune, as well as the society columns in the Tribune. He was always referred to as The American Earl—Lord Matthew Smythe—a member of the British aristocracy who had come to America and made himself a second fortune.

“We’ve done well,” he murmured dismissively. “Look, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, Miss Benton. You have to understand, I’m in a rare fix here. An hour from now, three buyers for prosperous, upscale retail companies, along with their wives and traveling companions, will arrive at this suite.” He shoved strong fingers through his neatly clipped hair. It fell immediately back into place, every hair in line. “Serving samples of the products I bring into this country doesn’t make a strong enough impact to guarantee a sale. I need a partner circling the room, listening for comments, keeping spouses entertained, putting on a gracious face. I need you.” The last three words were very nearly a growl.

“But I don’t—” She was about to protest that she knew nothing about entertaining elite company when the possible benefits of her situation slammed up against her innate shyness. Five hundred dollars and goodwill toward man aside, the experience and contacts gained from such an evening would be invaluable. She’d be a fool to say no! “I’ll change and be back in less than an hour.”

“That dress looks good, too. I don’t know why you’re fussing so much over one little cocktail party.” Abby’s roommate, Dee D’Angello, sat in the center of Abby’s bed, watching her try on the sixth dress in fifteen minutes.

“If you saw in person what he looks like, you’d understand,” Abby said dryly. “The man is gorgeous. And his suit! Better than an Armani. Had to be hand-tailored.” She tugged another dress down over her head and stood before the mirror on her closet door, smoothing out wrinkles. “Do you have any idea of the cost of a tailored suit these days? I’ll bet his tie alone cost more than my take-home pay for a week.”

“Sounds like someone is hung up on yon company prez,” Dee mused.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just trying to survive this night so I can pick up some pointers. Smythe is at the top of the heap I want to be in.”

“You think by spending one evening in the same room with the man, some of his brilliance will rub off on you?”

Abby laughed, shaking her head. “I’m not that naïve. This is a chance to peek inside the real world of the import-export business. Hanging out with Lord Smythe and his high-powered clients for a couple of hours is more valuable than a year of graduate seminars, better than five years standing behind the counter at a place like the Cup and Saucer. This is how the rich and famous do business!”

“All well and good,” Dee admitted, “but be careful. The wealthy live fast lives. People who have more money than they know what to do with use it to get into trouble.”

Abby wriggled her toes into a pair of beige sling-backs and studied the effect. “What are you saying?” she asked absently.

“Don’t commit yourself to more than you can afford to give.” Dee gave her a knowing look from beneath dark, lowered eyelashes.

Abby laughed. “You mean I shouldn’t jump into bed with one of Smythe’s clients just to cement a deal for him? Don’t worry, I won’t.”

“What about Smythe himself? The man sounds pretty yummy.”

Abby considered this new and admittedly interesting possibility then sighed. “He may be great to look at, but the earl has an ego the size of Mount Rushmore and a pompous attitude that would put the British monarchy to shame. No way would I ever consider getting involved with him.”

“Right,” Dee muttered, plucking a turquoise silk sheath from the bed. “Go with this one.”

“Are you sure?” More to the point, was she sure? Did she really want to step out of her safe, simple world to sip cocktails and swap market savvy with people whose incomes were ten…maybe a hundred times hers?

Then she remembered Smythe’s powerful presence, the way he’d physically blocked her retreat from the reception room until she’d agreed to return. He might as well have handcuffed her to the furniture! Oddly enough, his aggressiveness had excited her at the time. Now, she wondered if it was wise to let a few pleasant chills overwhelm good judgment.

There was still time to back out. She didn’t owe the man a thing, she told herself. She could simply retreat into the safe niche she’d carved for herself at the little neighborhood shop two blocks from the campus.

But something beckoned to her from the fifteenth-floor suite overlooking exclusive Lake Shore Drive and the steely waters of Lake Michigan. She knew in the space of one breath that she would go to him.

She wasn’t coming. Matthew could feel it in his bones. She had promised, but the nervous little mouse had succumbed to cold feet. He should have offered her more money, Matthew thought as he paced the carpeted hallway and, on every pass, glared at the polished brass elevator doors. He had already welcomed two of his guests and their companions, and ushered them into the reception room.