Kiss the Earl (26 page)

Ella stared out the darkened window as she chewed the last bite of her potatoes. Despite the creepiness of the hog's head staring up from the plate, the rest of the dinner had been pretty tasty. Probably would have been even better if she hadn't been eating it with a total douchebag.

Setting her plate on the floor outside the door, she sighed. As mad as she was at Patrick for his callous comments, she couldn't really call him a douchebag. He was hurting and had lashed out, a feeling she'd been courting for the last few days herself.

The wooden floor was cold beneath her bare feet, and she shivered, hustling to the edge of the rug. Not bothering to hide behind the changing screen, she pulled her dress over her head and climbed into bed wearing nothing but her shift. Why didn't they have another room? Eventually he'd want to come in here to go to sleep, and the last thing she wanted was to be forced to lie beside the man she loved when she wanted to throttle him for being such a pigheaded ass.

Snuggling against the pillow, Ella sniffed and shoved a stray hair back. As much as she hated to admit it, that whole children dig had really hurt. She hadn't expected something like that from him. He seemed to genuinely care about her, but with comments like that, what was she supposed to believe?

Blinking hard, Ella stared at the wall in front of her. Odd shadows flickered as the candlelight danced.

“Get over it, Briley,” she whispered as a hot tear sank into her pillow. “You're only his temporary wife anyway.”

She turned her face into the pillow and let the tears fall for a minute. She was so mixed up; there wasn't anyone for her back in her own time, and the man that was perfect for her had no intention of keeping her.

Life sucked.

Letting go felt good for a minute, but she stifled the tears eventually. Sitting up, she wrapped her arms around her middle and forced herself to calm down.

It didn't matter. None of this mattered. Soon she'd be able to get back to her real life, her real friends, and her family. Patrick would descend into her memories, and eventually she'd be able to look back on this like a really interesting dream.

God, that couldn't come soon enough.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Ella's courage flagged and she flopped down into the pillows, yanking the covers up to her neck. She really didn't want to talk to him again tonight. Before the doorknob turned, she huffed out the candles and then slammed her eyes shut, feigning sleep.

The dim light of Patrick's candle registered through her closed eyelids.

“Ella?” His voice was pitched low. “Are you awake?”

She didn't respond, concentrating on keeping her breaths even and slow.

The soft click of the candle being set on the bedside table indicated he'd given up for the moment. The bed sagged under his weight as he sat on the edge to pull off his boots. Ella slitted her lids and watched him.

His motions were slow, leaden almost, as if he were tired down to the bone. She knew the feeling. This whole sorry mess was dragging her down too. Once he'd finished with his boots, he stood and began removing his jacket, then waistcoat, cravat, shirt, breeches…

She lost her nerve and closed her eyes tight. His nonseductive striptease was already making her warm. The last thing she needed was to glimpse his naked, tight ass. Her palms already itched to rub their way along his body without the visual there to push her over the edge.

The floor creaked softly as he walked through the room, presumably putting his clothing away. Ella didn't know; she couldn't risk opening her eyes again. Her anger and disappointment hadn't gone anywhere. He still had to stay here, and she couldn't give up her career. No matter how much she wanted him now, it wouldn't do either of them any good. It would only confuse her heart more.

A puff of air hissed, as if he'd blown out his candle, before the bed dipped again under his weight. The covers shifted as he lifted them over his body. God, was he naked? There was no denying the deliciousness of his heat as the blanket settled down over them both, and she had to fight to keep from scooting backward and enjoying his warmth.

Chancing a movement, Ella rolled to her side, keeping her back to Patrick. Hopefully he'd believe she was just stirring in her sleep, not actually waking up.

“Ella?” His whisper was quiet in the dark. “Please, are you awake?”

She bit her lip to keep from answering him.

His hand settled gently on her shoulder. “I am sorry for what I said earlier. I know that it must have sounded awful, and you have my sincerest apologies.”

He'd begun drawing lazy circles over her upper arm, drawing the covers down slightly. Ella's legs shifted together involuntarily, Patrick's nearness stirring the longing deep in her belly. He scooted closer, and she bit her tongue to prevent a moan from escaping.

“I hope that you are awake enough to hear me, dearest,” he whispered. “I never meant to hurt you. I've never wanted anyone like… But that does not matter. For the remainder of your time here, please know that I will do my best to make you happy.”

And then he pulled away, his absence leaving a cold sensation along her back.

Her hurt flared straight into anger, and she shoved her elbow backward right into his solar plexus. He grunted in pain as she sat bolt upright and glared down at him.

“Are you kidding me?” She wanted to kick his shin, but she refrained, because he was still coughing and struggling to regain his breath. “You want to make me happy? And how do you plan to do that, knowing in just a few days you're never going to see me again? You're choosing to have me declared dead, Patrick. Dead. I can't… No. Sleep somewhere else tonight, please. I can't look at you right now.”

She shoved him, hard, but unfortunately he grabbed the headboard before she could dump him on the floor.

“Ella, please, listen to me. I did not mean—”

“You're doing an awful job of saying what you actually mean, Patrick. So listen to this, because this is what I mean right now.” She grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to look into her eyes. “Stop playing games with me. I can't give you any more of me. Don't you see that?” She hated how her voice got all choked, but she had to finish. “I'm leaving here alone, and I'd rather do it with at least a tiny piece of my heart left intact. So back off. We may be married for the moment, but we're nothing else. We can't be anything else to each other.”

His brows lowered, as if he didn't like her words, but he couldn't deny them, so he nodded.

“I will leave you to your rest, Miss Briley.”

He left the bed, and Ella buried her face in her pillow so he couldn't hear her sobs. That wasn't even her name anymore. He'd taken that too.

Taken it and left her with nothing but ashes.

* * *

The early dawn light glinted off the golden lid of Patrick's pocket watch. He flicked it closed, then open, closed, then open, the rhythmic motions mere habit with no purpose behind them.

He was slumped on a bench outside the inn's painted front door, where he'd spent most of the night. Now, with the sun peeking above the horizon, he realized that the baron would be rising and they'd be on their way to find Amelia once more.

Patrick smirked as he let his head fall back against the inn's weathered wooden wall. What would his father say if he could see him now? It wasn't all that difficult to guess.

You
are
a
fool, my boy, a cotton-headed lout. Your bride lies in your bed, and you intend to cast her aside? Society will laugh at you, as well they should. She's as unsuitable a woman as ever walked this earth, but she is yours now and you should claim her. You are a man and an earl, and you must act as a credit to the Meadowfair name.

Snapping the watch shut one last time, Patrick shoved the timepiece into his waistcoat pocket. His father might have been a heartless old bastard, but he knew his duty and he did it. Patrick's only goal had been to make the man proud.

But what if he'd held the wrong goals? What if, for all this time, he'd been living his life for the wrong reasons?

“Begging your pardon, my lord,” a maid said as she approached him. “His lordship the baron wished to know if you could be ready to leave in an hour.”

“Of course,” Patrick said, standing. Gads, he hadn't realized how long he'd been sitting atop that bench. His legs were as stable as water. “Please tell his lordship we will be ready and waiting.”

“Shall I tell her ladyship?”

Patrick shook his head. “No, I shall undertake that mission myself. Please have a tray brought up to our room, and also prepare a basket of luncheon for us to take.”

“Of course, my lord.” The little maid gave a curtsy and bustled away.

His legs regaining feeling with every step, Patrick made his way through the taproom and up the stairs to the room he'd been unceremoniously kicked out of the night before. Sadly, he was no wiser for his night of sleepless contemplation. He knew he could not leave his responsibilities.

“Ella?” he said as he knocked. He waited in the hallway like a common servant would. “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice muffled as it came through the door. “You can come in.”

The hinges squeaked as he pushed the door open and poked his head inside. “Sorry to trouble you, but the baron wishes to leave within the hour. Can you be ready?”

Ella poked her head out from behind the changing screen, and Patrick's mouth went suddenly bone-dry. Her shoulder was bare, and he thought he could see the faintest hint of her breast by the carved edge of the screen.

“That sounds fine to me. I'll be dressed in about ten minutes. Do you mind waiting outside? Then I'll switch places with you so you can get changed.”

Voices came from the end of the hall, and Patrick slipped inside and shut the door behind him. “I would prefer to wait in here, since there are other occupants of the inn. It might look odd if I am lurking in the corridor outside my own room.”

A beleaguered sigh came from the other side of the screen. “Okay, you can wait in here if you have to. But you're going to have to close your eyes until I'm dressed.”

“I swear that my eyelids will remain closed as long as you wish.”

He thought he might have heard a muffled curse, but he didn't remark upon it.

He closed his eyes and faced the wall as she finished her dressing. Then, at his insistence, she remained in the room while he washed himself quickly with the cool water in the basin and dressed himself in clean clothes.

“I don't mind waiting in the hall,” Ella said, both hands plastered over her eyes. “Really.”

“People would talk,” Patrick said mildly. “And for the moment, it behooves us to keep a low profile. The fewer people to hear of our marriage, the less talk once it's done.”

“Right. My falsified death certificate.” She bit the words out and dropped her hands. “No worries here. I'm definitely ready to be deceased.”

“You do not have to make it sound like I intend a violent act.”

“And you don't have to act like this marriage is the biggest inconvenience you've ever had to face. We both agreed to this, so get over it.”

She glared at him then. Patrick said nothing, just glanced downward. He only had one leg of his trousers on, so he was almost naked, standing there in front of her.

“Oh good Lord,” she said with a blush as she realized. Clapping her hands over her eyes again, she said, “Would you mind hurrying up?”

“My apologies,” Patrick said, grinning to himself. He'd not intended on showing his bride his naked self again without her express permission, but he could not be disappointed by her obvious interest.

He finished dressing quickly, with a smile on his face. But as he escorted a still-blushing Ella down to meet the baron, his smile quickly disappeared.

“My lord, a messenger has come for you,” the maid said, her mobcap sliding to one side as she hurried through the crowded taproom. “He says he's from Sir Iain Cameron, and the message is quite urgent.”

“Please escort Miss, er, Lady Fairhaven to Lord Brownstone, and tell him I shall attend them both directly. Where is the messenger?”

After getting the information from the maid and sending a disgruntled Ella with her, Patrick went into the small office off the taproom where a leathery-skinned old Scotsman was twisting his cap in his hands.

“Dougie,” Patrick greeted the man, smiling. Dougie had been in Iain's employ for as many years as Patrick could remember. “What brings you to see me?”

“Sir Iain bade me find ye, and waste no time doin' so, milord. He's managed to find that Miss Brownstone ye've been scouring the country for.”

Relief surged through Patrick's veins, and he sagged against the wall. “Thank the good Lord for that, Dougie.”

But the man's countenance didn't lighten. “There is more, milord, and not all of it good.”

Patrick tamped down all emotion and straightened to his full height to look down at Dougie.

“Tell me the lot of it, and quickly.”

As Dougie ran through his tale, Patrick's face grew grimmer and grimmer. By the time he was done, Patrick's hand was wrapped so hard around his pocket watch, he feared the glass face would shatter.

“This is grave news indeed. Tell no one else what you've told me, Dougie. The girl's father is with me and is bound to kill the man who's responsible for his daughter's abduction.”

Dougie's lined face went white. “Oh milord, nay.”

Patrick nodded grimly. “Leave it with me. We'll leave for London posthaste, and I shall pray that Amelia and George can be married before her tale reaches her father's ears. He forgave me once, but I bear no hope that he should do the same again.”

Patrick turned on his heel and left the room, hoping he could salvage what was left of his good name. Amelia had been true to her word, and now all of London thought him the most heartless rake.