As an Earl Desires (9 page)

“Where would you like to go?” he
asked.

“I'm not sure. Africa perhaps. Or
Egypt. Or America. But my father is old-fashioned and believes that
a woman shouldn't be interested in much beyond hearth and
home.”

“I suppose then that will be his attitude
toward his next wife.”

“If he does indeed take a wife. I certainly
shan't push him toward that resolution, although a companion
would be nice. And I rather like Lady Sachse.”

“It seems a good many people do.”

“She can be most discreet if a lady finds
herself in trouble. I value that sort of loyalty.”

Well, now, wasn't that interesting? “I
didn't realize ladies confided in her.”

“On all manner of things I'm
sure.”

He wanted to ask if she'd feel the same way
if Camilla became her stepmother. Out of the corner of his eye, he
caught sight of Camilla dancing with the duke. She looked
stunningly beautiful.

“She's very lovely.”

He jerked his gaze back to Lady Alice. “My
apologies. I'm a bit distracted this evening. I'm under
the impression that tonight is my last opportunity to assess the
available ladies.”

“A good many are already spoken
for.”

“So I've been told. If I may be so bold
as to say, I'm surprised that you're not.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I've not been
looking seriously. My father is quite put out with me.”

“He didn't give that
impression.”

“He hasn't much of a temper, but he is
threatening to cut back my allowance if I don't take the
husband hunt seriously next Season. But I'd rather hunt in
Africa.”

“For a husband?”

She laughed. “No, for a lion. Although I must
confess that I find a good many of these gentlemen to be most
stuffy. Perhaps I
should
look for a
husband in Africa.”

The music stopped, and for only the second time
this evening, he was sorry to see it happen.

“Thank you, my lord. I enjoyed the dance very
much.”

“I believe I'm to escort you back to
your father.”

Her smile seemed one of sorrow mixed with pity.
“To my aunt. While you weren't looking, my father and
his dance partner slipped out through the side doors.”

He felt as though a fist had been driven into his
gut. How in God's name did these people
always manage to give the impression that nothing mattered? He
feared his face revealed every emotion swarming through him.

“To your aunt then.”

And since he couldn't remember with whom he
was to dance next, he would have to go in search of Camilla.

 

The Duke of Kingsbridge had lived for half a
century, was considerably younger than her husband had been, in
attitude more than years.

“I miss the old girl,” he said, as they
walked through the garden, he with his hands behind his back,
Camilla with her hands folded in front of her.

“She wouldn't want you to mourn
forever, Your Grace,” she responded kindly.

As it had turned out the tune had been his
wife's favorite, and he'd become melancholy after a
bit. Camilla could hardly blame him. His wife had been an
exceedingly kind woman.

“I had no intention of falling in love with
her when I married her,” he said gruffly. “Give me an
heir and a spare, and we'll both go on our way.” He
chuckled low. “Best-laid plans and all that.”

Gas lighting throughout the garden cast a glow
around them and a few other couples who'd come out for some
air—and a bit more. She tried
to overlook
the stolen kisses that she caught sight of here and there. Most
were chaste, a quick brushing of the lips, nothing at all like the
kisses that Archie had bestowed upon her. The mere thought of them
still had the power to ignite a fire low in her belly.

“So what of you and this new Earl of
Sachse?” Kingsbridge asked.

Her stomach tightened, and she feared she'd
been unable to mask her thoughts. “What of us?”

“Come, come, girl, you've had an old
husband. You should have a young one.”

“Sachse needs an heir, Your Grace.”

“Bit of a nuisance that.”

“I thought he and Lady Alice made a very
nice-looking couple.”

“My Alice cares more for adventure than
marriage.”

“She is almost twenty, Your Grace. Time for
her to find a husband.”

“I'll not force her to marry.” He
came to a stop at the end of the path and faced her. “What is
it that you want, Lady Sachse?”

“I want him to be happy. I want him to have
in his marriage what you had in yours.”

“And you think Alice is the one?”

“I think it quite possible.”

“But here we are at the end of the Season.
I'll not rush her into a decision, nor will I seek to
influence
it. If the man wishes to take her
hand in marriage, he'll have to do all the convincing
himself. And I'll warn you now, she's not easily
convinced of anything. Takes after her mother in that
regard.”

“It seems the only solution is to allow the
earl and your daughter to have more time together. Perhaps
you'll consider joining us at Sachse Hall for a
while.”

He angled his head thoughtfully. “I will
consider it. But tell me true. Is he the only one you seek to make
a match for?”

She gave him her warmest smile. “Not
entirely, no.”

His deep laugher rumbled through the garden.
“It has been too long since I've played these
flirtatious games. I've nearly forgotten how.”

“Excuse me.”

Alarm fissured through her as she recognized
Archie's voice. She quickly turned, trying to mask her
impatience. He couldn't have timed his arrival any worse if
his watch were broken. And why in the world wasn't he
flirting with Lady Alice?

“Sachse,” Kingsbridge said, “come
to make sure I'm not taking advantage of the lovely
widow?”

“Actually, Camilla was helping me to keep
track of my dance partners. I can't remember who is
next.”

“Then I'll leave you two to figure it
out.” He took her hand, winked, and placed a kiss on her
gloved
fingertips. “I shall keep your
plans in mind.”

He walked away, and she waited until he was out of
earshot to hiss, “I was making great progress.”

“That was quite evident to
everyone.”

“Whatever do you mean by that?”

“You looked absolutely
besotted
while you were dancing.”

“I did not.”

“You did so.”

“I like him, Archie. I like him very much.
He's much kinder than Lucien was, and his wife adored
him.”

“I didn't think there was love among
the aristocracy.”

“There is some.” She released a deep
sigh at this absurd conversation. “Lady Sylvia Giles, Lady
Emily Cooper-Smythe, Lady Priscilla Norwood.”

“Pardon?”

“Your next three dance partners. You might
wish to memorize the names.”

“I've probably missed my opportunity to
dance with Lady Sylvia. I shall send her flowers and an apology
tomorrow.”

He sounded so beaten that her heart went out to
him. “It's not that important. It's only a
dance.”

“I thought everything at these functions was
important.”

“In a way they are, but it's your first
Season, you'll be forgiven. I'll see to it.”

“You have an amazing amount of
influence.”

“Not as much as I'd like.”
Reaching up, she straightened his cravat and patted his lapels.
“Now, we'd best get back before the duke thinks
we're up to no good and decides you wouldn't be a good
match for his daughter.”

“Is that what you were discussing? His
daughter and me?”

“I invited them to come to Sachse
Hall.” She lifted her gaze to his. “We'll discuss
it all later. You mustn't keep Lady Emily Cooper-Smythe
waiting.”

She tried to make light of it when the truth was
that she didn't care if he kept them all waiting. How could
she find him a suitable wife when her heart wasn't truly in
the task?

She began walking, and he fell into step beside
her.

“I've not noticed the Duke and Duchess
of Harrington here,” he said.

“Yesterday, they left on their wedding trip.
To Italy. I informed Rhys that I'd heard warmer climes aid
with fertility.”

“Where in the world did you hear that?”
he asked, clearly astounded.

“I made inquiries,” she admitted.
She'd asked midwives and doctors and anyone she could
think of if there was anything she could do to get
herself with child. “I was quite desperate. I spent time with
ladies who were with child because I'd been told that would
increase my chances of finding myself with child.” She
glanced over at him, wondering why she was willing to admit to him
what she'd never told another soul. “I even kept a
pearl beneath my pillow.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “An old wives' tale that
promised to increase fertility.”

“I don't understand how a
pearl—”

“You have to understand that I desperately
wanted a child. I was willing to do anything. I would have hanged
myself upside down if someone had told me it would make a
difference.”

“Yet nothing worked.”

“Not for me.” She glanced over at him.
“But others seemed to have success.”

“Perhaps you worried about getting with child
overly much.”

“I don't see that it would make any
difference how much I worried.”

“When I was a student, and I was preparing to
take an examination, it seemed that the more I worried over it, no
matter how much I studied, I did miserably on the examination. But
when I wasn't so keen on doing well, I somehow managed to do
exactly that. I did well. It was as though
when
I worried I fought against myself and caused the very thing I
feared would happen.”

“I fail to see that your situation was
anything like mine. The mind cannot control the body, for
goodness' sakes. If you have a cut on your hand and worry
over it healing, it doesn't
not
heal.”

“I suppose not.”

“I have reconciled myself to the fact that I
shan't have children.” She smiled over at him.
“But I may be on my way to having a duke.”

To her surprise, he reached over, took her hand,
and carried it to his lips. She wondered why she could feel the
heat of his mouth seeping through her glove to touch her skin when
she'd not been able to feel the duke's.

“I want you to be happy, Camilla.”

“I wish the same for you.”

“Then we are of a like mind.” He
grinned. “I believe Lady Emily Cooper-Smythe is next on my
list of dance partners.”

“Indeed she is. You remembered.”

His smile diminished, his gaze darkened. “I
also remember that my last dance is with you. I'll not give
it up, not tonight. So don't consider offering it to your
duke. I'll not step aside.”

He released her hand and walked into the ballroom,
and all she could think was that for tonight, she didn't want
him to give it up.

A
s a
general rule she loved the glitter and glamour of balls. She loved
dancing, she loved steering gossip away from those she liked, yet
never turned it toward those she didn't. Enemies were not
something that a woman in her position could afford to have.

But tonight she was having a devil of a time not
becoming melancholy. And she had no one other than herself to
blame. She'd danced only a few of the dances, preferring to
watch the revelers from a distance, to observe Archie with the
various ladies so she might determine who seemed to complement him
the best.

It had been pure torture. To watch various smiles
play across his face, and to realize that af
ter
a Season of escorting him about London she'd unwittingly come
to know the language of his smiles. Each one was true, not a single
one false, and yet each managed to convey something a little
different.

The smallest smile was kindly given, almost
tolerant, a bit of interest in his dance partner, but she
wasn't one who excited him. The smiles grew from there. Only
with her now, during the final dance, did he smile with everything
within him, as though at night's end, he found himself with
the one woman with whom he truly wished to dance.

For the space of a heartbeat, where dreams soared,
she considered the possibility that she might be the woman he
should marry—if she could give him a child. After all she was
dreaming, and in dreams all was possible…

And just as quickly she dismissed the entire
notion. Without rank she was nothing. A pauper's daughter who
couldn't even read. If those who surrounded her now ever
found out, she would be snubbed, issued a cut direct. She would
fall out of favor with the Marlborough House Set. She would be
worthless.

So she would follow her original plan. Find him a
wife.

Who made him smile. Who held his interest. Who
looked the best in his arms.

Then, of course, there were all the little
qualifi
cations that were of importance to him.
Her voice, her intelligence, her kindness. He'd set her an
impossible task.

Which made her all the more determined to prove
that she could indeed select a good and proper wife for him.
Because she did want him to be happy.

She cared about him and for all the characteristics
he sought in a mate, she had a list of her own, which he might not
agree with, but she would use as well. She had to take her station
in life seriously, had to know how to dress in a way that showed
her best features, had to be poised, had to know etiquette
thoroughly, have an understanding of
Debrett's
. So many factors she was certain
Arch wouldn't think to consider. He was extremely fortunate
that she was willing to take on the task of finding him a wife.

As they moved about the floor, he seemed to be
sagging as much as she was. It was close to two in the morning.
Many couples had already departed, but many had stayed. Some were
separating into smaller groups, where they would meet up at another
house for a meal.

“You look as tired as I feel,” she
said, welcoming the support of his arms around her.

“I believe I've worn away the soles of
my shoes.”

“You cut an incredibly dashing figure this
eve
ning. Many a lady kept her eye on you, and
I believe some who are already spoken for were wishing they'd
not been quite so hasty.”

“I've been here for a good part of the
Season. What made tonight so different?”

“Tonight I believe you gave the impression of
a man on the hunt.”

And he had. He had danced, he had charmed, while
she'd whispered about that he had indeed decided it was time
to take a wife.

“I don't want to discuss the
hunt
,” he said quietly, his gaze
holding hers captive. “This is our last dance of the evening,
of the Season, perhaps forever. I don't want anyone dancing
with us. Not Lady Alice, Anne, or Emily. And certainly no dukes.
For this dance, dance as though you were mine.”

Oh, he asked so much, too much. Yet she
couldn't ignore the plea in his eyes. They had no future, no
present. They couldn't risk losing sight of their goals, and
yet where was the harm in pretending for only a few moments that no
secrets separated them, that she didn't fear the intensity
with which he observed the world.

No one here would look at her the same way if they
discovered she couldn't read. Illiterate, ignorant, stupid.
She would lose their respect…but for a few moments…

She would risk it.

She tightened her hold on him and gave him a smile
such as she'd given to no other man that evening—not
even the Duke of Kingsbridge. Without a mirror to glance into, she
had no way of knowing if her expression truly conveyed what she was
feeling: that she was grateful to be with him, sharing this dance,
having him near.

His skin was darker than most, and she envisioned
him spending a lot of time walking through parks, riding horseback
along country roads, although while he'd been in London, he
seemed to prefer museums and bookshops. She knew so little about
him, but it was safer that way, not to look below the surface.

And it was easily accomplished when the surface was
so pleasing to look at. His features might have been hewn from
rock, but they'd been polished with a gentle hand that had
shaped to perfection the strength of his jaw, the bridge of his
nose. Even though she knew how supple his lips could be, there was
nothing soft about them as they offered the barest hint of a smile.
It was his eyes that she loved most, because they were more honest
than any she'd ever seen. Everything he felt swirled through
them: disappointment, enjoyment, sadness, anger, happiness,
joy.

His range of emotions always startled her, his
willingness to reveal them always took her by surprise. He played
no games. He hid behind no
walls. He was as he
appeared, and the fact that he offered no falseness made him an
incredibly appealing man.

She'd never truly been in love. Her reasons
for marrying the old earl had been apparent to them both: security,
rank, and power. She'd never taken a lover, had never sought
out the company of a man simply to be with him.

But being with this man offered her a glimpse of
what she might have missed. And she sometimes wondered if she might
save herself heartache by simply closing her eyes and pretending
not to see.

Yet tonight for this last dance, she kept her eyes
wide open, enjoying the company of a dangerous man who stirred to
life doubts that plagued her. A man who spoke passionately about
things she would never experience.

She'd become so lost in his eyes, that
she'd hardly noticed that he'd closed the distance
between them. They were dancing closer than was proper, but she
suddenly didn't care. His thighs brushed against hers, and
she felt the sparks ignite like the flame of a match held to
kindling. Her heart wanted to expand, her knees wanted to melt.

But he held her upright, just as he had in the park
when they'd both worn the silly skates. Something had
happened that morning, something that went far beyond wheels
carrying her over the ground.
He'd
challenged her to trust him—and she had.

She was almost as frightened now as she'd
been then. She could see from the heat in his eyes and the
gentleness of his smile that he wanted more than a dance.
He'd not given this look to any other lady tonight, had
apparently reserved it for her.

But this was how he should look at the woman he was
to marry, as though there were no one more important, as though he
were her prince, and she his queen.

Exactly as he'd told her it would be for
him.

She didn't know how she would survive it when
she finally did find a woman for him upon whom he would gaze as he
now looked at her. It would hurt—unbearably. And she thought
a piece of her might die.

She thought if she lived to be a thousand,
she'd never again have a moment with such promise—or
such regret—as this one.

 

Something had happened during their final
waltz.

As the coach rattled over the streets, Arch
wasn't certain what had happened, only that it remained,
shimmering between them like the stillness following thunder that
caused the ground to rumble.

It had been as though she'd lowered the
draw-bridge to the castle surrounding her and walked halfway,
fearful to continue to solid ground while the moat churned beneath
her. He'd been able to tell from staring into her eyes that
she'd been giving a lot of thought to some idea, measuring,
considering, dismissing…

Yet the entire time her attention had been totally
on him. He didn't think she'd been mentally listing the
attributes of each lady with whom he'd danced. That would
come later.

For now the silence eased between them as they sat
opposite each other in the coach. It was a comfortable silence,
relaxed, and yet something told him that it shouldn't have
been, that it should have been fraught with tension.

Something had shifted and changed during the dance,
a realization, a recognition had taken place…and they both
seemed equally ready to ignore it.

“I want to go home,” he finally said
into the quiet of the coach, of the night.

She turned her attention away from the window.
“Why, yes, of course, as soon as you've taken me to my
residence you're free to go on your way.”

“No, I mean I wish to go to
Heatherton.”

“Heatherton?”

“The village where I grew up. I want to let
my family see that I survived my first Season in London.”

“A letter would accomplish the same thing,
would it not?”

He detected a prick of panic in her voice, and he
thought if he were correct, his next statement might send her
through the roof of the coach.

“No, it wouldn't. My mother will want
to see for herself how I've fared. I'd like you to come
with me.”

“To Heatherton?”

“Yes.”

She looked back out the window, not that facing him
would have given him much hint as to what she was thinking. The
shadows inside offered her protection, and no doubt solace. He
couldn't penetrate them, couldn't discern what she was
feeling. He was about to tell her that he'd go alone, when
she spoke softly.

“I'd like to go with you. Very
much.”

He'd hoped for that answer, but he'd
never truly dared to expect it.

“I shall have to take my secretary,”
she said softly. “And my lady's maid.”

“Of course. Whomever you wish. Whatever you
wish.”

“We can discuss your choices for a wife while
we're there.”

“No.”

The word came out more forcefully than he intended.
She turned her head toward him, no doubt taken aback by his
succinctly delivered sentiment.

“All of this”—he moved his hand
in a circle that she probably couldn't see
clearly—“has no place there.”

“Your rank is not something that you can
simply take off like a coat come spring. It is a part of you
always. No matter where you are, no matter what you are
doing.”

“I realize that, but I want our time in
Heatherton to be as our last dance was—no mention of the wife
hunt
. I want to leave it behind for a
spell, while we're in Heatherton. We can pick it back up when
we get to Sachse Hall.”

“All right.”

Now it was he who looked out the window, a sense of
relief washing through him, even as he wondered if taking her would
be a mistake.