As an Earl Desires (6 page)

“May we both never regret the bargain
we've made,” she said.

But her voice was low, raspy, and reminded him of
whisperings that should be made beneath sheets during the late
hours of the night, leaving him with the realization that his touch
had affected her as hers had him.

He gave a brisk nod, fearing that the hoarseness of
his own voice would reveal that he already regretted many of the
promises he'd made this day.

W
omen
adored him.

They
absolutely
adored
him. Young and old. Beautiful and plain. Married and unmarried.
Mothers and daughters. Wives and sisters.

Standing within the National Portrait Gallery,
Camilla watched in amazement as lady after lady stopped to speak
with Archie.

They seemed to be drawn to him as humming-birds to
nectar. Not that she had ever seen a hummingbird, but last night
he'd taken her to a lecture on the tiny American creatures,
and she'd seen illustrations of them sipping from blossoms.
She'd been intrigued with the notion of their existence, and
she thought surely the little birds darting in
and out among the flowers were like these women vying
for a bit of his attention.

She wasn't surprised by their behavior, only
baffled by the fact that she'd failed to notice it before
now. Although she supposed she shouldn't have been.
They'd both been rather occupied throughout the Season with
the Duke and Duchess of Harrington—but then that was another
story entirely, a situation she preferred not to reflect upon.

She knew the ladies weren't blind to
Archie's handsome features. Still, she thought it was
probably his quick smile that initially drew them in, his warm eyes
that held them spellbound. Whenever he looked at her, she often
forgot that anyone else existed. It was his way to give a person
his complete, undivided attention, as though for that single moment
in time no one was more important to him.

He was tall, slender, usually in need of someone
putting him back to rights: straightening his collar, adjusting his
jacket, combing his thick brown hair back off his brow. He always
gave the appearance whenever he arrived anywhere that he'd
rushed to get there.

No doubt because he would stop to study something
along the way to wherever he was going and lose track of the
time—then have to hurry to catch up. He looked at all things
as though if he scruti
nized them diligently and
long enough, he could come to understand every aspect of their
being. Part of the reason that he was so dangerous to her.

She needed to find him a wife and find one quickly.
She was striving to make certain that Archie was seen about London
in these final days of the Season. She was gathering impressions of
the ladies, looking at them a bit differently than she had before,
trying to determine who might be best suited for him.

He would no doubt look upon his wife with the same
intensity that he looked at all things. Therefore, it stood to
reason that Camilla should focus her attentions on the most comely
of women. Flawless complexion. Unblemished.

She thought perhaps a woman with blond hair would
do well for Sachse. Because he was so dark, they would complement
each other, like twilight and dawn. Unlike her own brown hair,
which would offer no contrast. Yes, blond would do. The lighter the
better.

A woman who came no higher than his shoulder would
also do well by him. She liked the way he angled his head downward
just a little when he spoke to someone who wasn't as tall as
he. And then he would smile, such a warm, inviting smile—

“Lord Sachse is most charming, isn't
he?” This from the Duchess of Kimburton.

“Yes, Your Grace, he most certainly
is,” Camilla conceded.

“I daresay that he is in need of a wife. A
pity I don't have a daughter.”

“Indeed it is, Your Grace.”

The duchess studied her for a moment before saying,
“And you are need of a husband.”

“One who is not in need of an heir,”
Camilla reminded her, although she was fairly certain the woman
needed no reminding that Camilla had committed the unpardonable sin
of being unable to give her husband an heir. Not once had his seed
taken root, and as that had not been the case with his first wife,
no doubt existed as to who was responsible for the failure with his
second.

“Quite so. A pity that. It reduces your
choices.”

“How is your son, Your Grace?” Camilla
asked, in order to change the subject to one the duchess generally
got long-winded about.

“Still sniffing around American ladies. I
don't understand this fascination our lords have with them.
Nothing wrong with a good English girl, I say.”

Except, like Camilla, most were without money,
while American ladies were surrounded by it. Primogeniture
certainly provided for irrevocable superiority for England's
firstborn aristocratic sons, but at what price to its
daughters?

The duchess patted Camilla's hand.
“Never
fear. You are not so old as to be
completely without hope.”

Camilla hardly knew how to respond to so glowing an
assessment, but as the duchess was already walking away, she could
only assume that a response had not been expected. Just as well.
She might have released her sarcasm on the duchess, and that would
never do.

She turned her attention back to Archie. The ladies
had scattered, and the Duke of Harrington had joined him. They were
talking quietly, apparently about the portrait since their gazes
were transfixed upon it. Two more different men she'd never
known. Still, the earl and the duke had become friends.

“Lord Sachse seems to be rather fond of that
painting.”

Camilla cast a sideways glance at the woman
who'd approached. Lydia, the Duchess of Harrington. One of
the little Americans the Duchess of Kimburton wasn't happy
about. Knowing the woman's husband as she did, Camilla was
surprised to see them here. Since they'd been married less
than a week, she'd fully expected Rhys to keep his wife
beneath the covers—not parading her about London.

“Indeed, he does, Your Grace,” she
responded. “I can't understand why. This is our third
trip to the Gallery. Lord Sachse claims that each time he
looks at a painting, he sees something different. I
find that notion preposterous. A piece of artwork cannot change;
therefore, it looks precisely the same each time you view
it.”

“Perhaps the difference comes not from the
painting itself but from the perception of the person doing the
viewing.”

“You speak in riddles, and I grow frightfully
bored by riddles.”

The duchess laughed, as though nothing Camilla ever
said would truly bother her. The one thing she'd never been
was intimidated by Camilla's coolness toward her, which in
the end had earned her Camilla's respect. She rather liked
the girl, although she certainly had no plans to admit it.

“The person changed, not the art,” the
duchess explained. “In this case, Lord Sachse has changed. I
imagine he notices subtle differences in himself every day. He was
not born expecting to inherit a title, so the schoolteacher he once
was must give way to the man who is now responsible for the titles
and all the estates that holding them entails.”

She wasn't quite certain what to make of this
explanation, but Camilla felt a need to defend Archie. “Lord
Sachse is perfectly capable of handling the responsibilities and
duties of his titles.”

“I don't doubt that, Countess, but
still his life is very different from what he expected it to be
only a few months ago. Like me, you married into the aristocracy.
No matter how prepared you are for the elevation in status, it is
still rather frightening. I find it is not as comfortable a fit as
I thought it would be when I dreamed of marrying an English
lord.”

Camilla wondered if ever in her life she'd
been as youthful or filled with as much innocence as this young
blond woman. “One would not know you were insecure by looking
at you. That is the mark of a true lady.”

She turned her attention back to Archie. He
certainly didn't give the appearance of being uncomfortable
with his titles. Indeed, she thought he wore them rather well, much
better than his predecessor. He had an innate ability to appear
noble. It was there in the way he tilted his head when he spoke,
the manner in which he gave deference to those of higher rank but
never lorded himself over those beneath him.

As though suddenly aware that he'd become the
object of her musings, he looked over his shoulder, his dark eyes
homing in on her with unwavering precision. The intensity of his
gaze heated her to the core. At moments such as this, his innocence
became lost to her. She couldn't
pretend
that he was harmless. She couldn't overlook the fact that he
was a man, with a man's desires and a man's passions
and a man's hungers.

She turned to the duchess. “This facility
does not allow for a proper breeze. I'm going to step outside
for some cooler air.”

 

“What caused her to run off like that?”
the Duke of Harrington asked. “I've never known Camilla
to retreat.”

“I don't understand it either,”
Arch admitted. He gave his attention back to the masterful
painting. “She will look everyone in the eye except me. Do my
eyes remind her of her husband's, do you suppose? Our being
related and all.”

“I suppose that might be it, but I suspect
his eyes contained cruelty. I never met the fellow, but he and my
brother Quentin were quite close, and as Quentin was the
devil's spawn, I suspect Sachse might have been as
well.”

“Why would she marry a man such as
that?” he asked.

“You might as well ask me why my mother
adored Quentin.” He shook his head. “I think what makes
the evil truly evil is that they possess the ability not to appear
evil.”

Arch grinned, even though the subject wasn't
humorous. “A lot of evil there.”

“Indeed.”

“If you will excuse me, Your Grace, I should
go find the countess. I could spend all day here, but she grows
bored rather quickly, and as she is presently striving to find me a
wife, I should probably stay in sight of her.”

“I daresay she'll serve you well in
that regard. She is well thought of among the Marlborough House
Set. She knows a good deal about most of these people.”

“So I'm discovering.” He wondered
how much they knew about her, though. Surely it was not only with
him that she hid herself. Arch and the duke walked over to the
duchess.

She smiled warmly, her violet eyes sparkling.
“The countess excused herself to get a bit of cooler air.
Seems she was growing warm in here.”

“I should have no trouble finding her,”
Arch said, as he took her gloved hand and pressed a kiss against
her knuckles. “We shall be leaving for the country soon. If I
do not see you for a while, I want you to know that I've
enjoyed immensely every moment spent in your company.”

“Thank you, my lord. I enjoyed it as
well.”

After bidding them farewell, he walked through the
museum, his footsteps echoing around him. He did so enjoy all the
new sights that London allowed him to experience: modern marvels
and preserved history in many cases side
by
side. He could see how far civilization had come and imagine how
much further it had to go.

But of all the sights that London held, he thought
none delighted him more than Camilla. She snagged his attention the
moment he stepped into the sunshine. She sat on a nearby bench.
Beside her stood a scruffy boy who appeared to be no more than
eight, holding her parasol and giving Camilla the appearance of
being a queen awaiting her coronation.

Arch hurried down the steps to join her. She
glanced over and smiled, a completely unaffected smile, unlike the
practiced ones she usually gave him. Caught off guard by the rarity
of the moment, he nearly lost his footing.

When he reached her, she came to her feet, the
all-too-familiar smile that didn't quite touch her eyes back
in place.

“Lord Sachse, have you a sovereign for the
lad?” she asked, as she took her parasol from the boy and
snapped it closed.

He removed the gold coin from his pocket and handed
it to her. She, in turn, gave it to the boy.

“Bless you, m'lady.” The lad
darted off into the crowds.

“Camilla, why did you hire him to hold your
parasol?” Archie asked.

Studying the filthy handle of her white parasol,
she said, “Because I grew weary holding it
myself.”

He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket, took
her parasol, and proceeded to wipe the smudges left by the lad from
the handle. When he was finished, she took it from him and smiled.
“You are most kind, my lord.”

“Not as kind as you.”

Obviously startled by his words, she looked up at
him and released a tiny laugh. “I am hardly kind.”

“Generous then.”

She opened her mouth—

“Protest all you want,” he said,
cutting her off before she began. “But you are generous to a
fault, and don't think that I don't see it, because I
do. A sovereign for holding a parasol? Had it been me, I would have
given him a ha'penny.”

“What a ludicrous notion. An earl with a
parasol. You'd have tongues wagging that you were eccentric
and make my task of finding you a suitable wife much more
difficult.”

He grinned. “You're turning the
conversation away from my point.”

“Only because I find it tedious. It's a
lovely day. Shall we walk for a bit?”

“If you like.”

She reopened her parasol and positioned it just
so before slipping her arm around his. Had he
complimented her on any aspect of her person that could be noted by
a stranger, she would have welcomed his words. The pleasing lines
of her face. The way the pink of her dress complemented her pale
skin.

But whenever he spoke of anything that could only
be detected by astute observation, she shied away from his words.
Shallow compliments she could accept. Anything more she brushed
aside like so much rubbish.