Loving the Earl: A Loveswept Historical Romance (15 page)

“I am a widow now, Lord Blythe. Sebastian has no control over me, regardless of what he likes to think.”

“A lady, no matter how independent, still needs protection from the evils of society.”

She contemplated him with that recent shrewdness, allowing the silence to stretch to an uncomfortable length of time. Nathan was well aware what tactic she was using. If she thought she was intimidating, she was wrong. He refused to shatter the loudest silence he’d ever heard.

“I’m not going to Calais, Lord Blythe. And I’m not returning to England.”

“I have your money, Lady Chesterman. You have no choice.”

She smiled but it wasn’t merely a stretching of lips over perfect white teeth. Oh, no. She made a production of it. The full lower lip twitched while the corners lifted ever so slightly, then spread until he found himself holding his breath against the beauty of it. Eventually the smile reached her twinkling eyes. “Ah, but I do have a choice.”

He had to force his gaze from her lips, but his thoughts didn’t follow as quickly. “Pardon?”

“I’m going to Venice with you.”

Nathan blinked, his thoughts snapping back into place. “No. You’re not.”

“Yes. I am.”

“To quote you, it’s improper to travel with an unmarried man, unchaperoned.”

She shrugged. “What do I care about propriety? It’s not like I’m to marry again.”

What the devil did that mean? She was young, vibrant, her life still ahead of her. Of course she would marry again. Any eligible bachelor with half a brain would scoop her up as soon as he laid eyes on her.

He steadfastly ignored the voice that said
he
was an eligible bachelor and had more than half a brain.

Except he was beginning to wonder about that. His brain wasn’t working to its full
potential at the moment. No decent lady—and Lady Claire was a decent lady despite this mad dash across France—would marry him. He’d carefully cultivated his reputation so he wouldn’t be caught in the deadly web of marriage. His mother had been a far-reaching debutante intent on securing the best catch of the season. She accomplished all she set out to do, uncaring that her husband, Nathan’s father, was miserable. Nathan refused to fall to such machinations and figured the best way to avoid all of that was to be completely undesirable to the matchmaking mamas who thought to ensnare him.

“I can’t take you to Venice with me.” He infused as much authority into that statement as he possessed.

Her brows rose and her look told him she wasn’t impressed with the authority. “I had planned to go anyway to stay with a dear friend. I’ll merely change my plans. Venice first, Paris later.”

She drilled him with a fierce look that had his insides quaking and him thinking that after all these years he just may have met someone more stubborn than him.

“I left England for an adventure and I’m not returning until I’ve had it,” she said. “Now, you either take me to Venice with you, or I will try to escape at every chance I get and make your life hell.” She picked up her cup of chocolate and drank it. Not in the pretty, delicate way society demanded either. She chugged it, then sighed as she put the empty cup down and licked her lips.

He couldn’t help that his gaze followed the movement of her tongue or that his body tightened, or that his cock sprang to life so suddenly it nearly made him dizzy.

He yanked his gaze away and narrowed his eyes at her. “You wouldn’t.” And yet, in his heart, he knew that she would. This wasn’t a woman who made empty threats.

Her gaze flew to his and there was fiery purpose in it. “You said yourself that a woman alone in Paris wasn’t safe.” She spread her arms wide. “And what am I but a woman alone in Paris with no money.” She lowered her arms and pierced him with a hard look that, if she were a man, would have had her opponent quivering in fear. Hell, she just might have
him
quivering in fear.

Nathan breathed deep, his anger surging through him with such potency that he could barely control it. She’d effectively cornered him. He had no doubt she would follow through with her threats and he had no time to thwart her every escape attempt, nor could he be vigilant
every minute of every day. Sebastian would be furious if he knew that Nathan had left Claire alone in Paris like that. And despite Nathan’s outward ennui concerning his reputation, damn it, he
did
care what Sebastian thought of him.

She scooted her chair back, stood and looked down at him. “Shall we leave now, my lord? ’Tis a long journey to the Swiss border.”

Claire had to bite back her smile and turn her head away from Blythe when she intercepted another of his bemused glances.

Ever since she explained her plan and took charge of getting them ready for the journey to Switzerland, he’d been cautious and nervous.

They’d spoken very little in the past several hours. With regret she’d watched Paris disappear behind her. She
would
return and she would remain here for as long as she pleased. This trip to Venice was merely a detour. Well, not really a detour. She’d planned all along to go to Venice. Lord Blythe simply rearranged her plans and now that she was resigned to going, she found she was also excited.

She hadn’t seen Gabrielle in years although they corresponded almost weekly. Even though Claire hadn’t told her friend she’d be visiting, she had no doubt Gabrielle would be pleased to see her. Claire feared writing to Gabrielle to alert her friend of her impending visit in case her letter fell into the wrong hands—or was intercepted by Blythe. For so many years she’d kept her socially unacceptable friendship with the Italian
contessa
a secret that even now she hesitated to reveal it.

Her gaze slid to his angry expression, the hooded eyes, the brackets around his mouth that spoke of true irritation. Very well. She was just as angry at him, which would make it an interesting adventure.

Blythe shifted, drew some papers from his waistcoat and opened them, his slight frown turning into a formidable scowl.

This was the second time today he’d looked at those papers, always with the same scowl and a fierceness to his expression that bordered on frightening. She’d been tempted to ask him what they were about but she didn’t want to seem nosy. She’d pushed him far enough for one day.

He turned his head to look out the window as he settled his chin in his hand. The pose was worthy of an artist’s rendering, so thoughtful he appeared. But it was more than that. He was classically handsome. The sun picked out the red in his auburn hair that fell carelessly about.
He’d yet to wear the wigs that the aristocracy was so enamored with, and Claire was glad of their absence. It would be a shame to cover such beautiful hair.

His eyes, now turned away from her, were such a deep chocolate brown that at times they appeared black.

Yes, he was definitely handsome, but he was also arrogant and self-centered and controlling—traits that Claire despised. She tipped her head to read what was on the papers but they were turned in such a way that she couldn’t see anything.

Whatever they were about, it bothered him greatly and also pained him. He tried to hide it, but there were moments when he thought she wasn’t looking that she witnessed a flash of pain in his expression and sometimes even a good dose of anger. Were those papers the reason he was traveling to Venice?

Seemingly without thought he reached inside his waistcoat and pulled out his flask. Goodness, his waistcoat certainly held a large assortment of things. Including her money, which she hadn’t forgotten about for one moment.

He unscrewed the top and took a quick swallow, turning his head at the same moment. Their gazes clashed. She didn’t bother looking away. Why dissemble at this point?

“Would you like a sip?” He tipped the flask toward her.

“No. Thank you.”

He screwed the cap on and slipped it back inside the hidden pocket so deftly that it was like he’d done it a thousand times before. Which he probably had.

“You don’t like it when I drink,” he said.

“It’s not my place to like it or not.”

“Your pretty little nose always turns up when I take a swallow.”

He thought her nose pretty?
Really, Claire, that is not the point.

“Do you think I’m weak because I drink?”

“Lord Blythe, what does it matter what I think of your habits? You’ll do it whether I say I like it or not.”

“True. And call me Nathan. So then tell me, since you feel it doesn’t matter, why do you turn your nose up when I drink?”

She contemplated him for the longest moment, unwilling to discuss this yet sensing that for some reason it was important to him. “I don’t see the need for it.”

“I like it. That’s reason enough.”

She waved her hand toward him. “Then by all means, partake of it. Don’t let me stop you.”

“I haven’t yet, have I?”

She considered him for another long moment. “Why are you acting this way?”

He leaned back, like a predatory cat giving the appearance of being lazy but actually tracking its prey. “What way would that be?”

“Defensive.”

“I have nothing to be defensive of.”

“Exactly. So why suddenly attack me?”

“Because you don’t like my drinking.”

“And my opinion matters to you so much?”

He blinked, then looked away while mumbling something.

Claire sat forward. “Pardon? I didn’t hear what you said.”

He turned back to her. “I said, maybe it does.”

That had her pulling back, her thoughts scattering. Damn the man, he somehow knew when to put her off guard. “If my opinion is so important to you, then no, I don’t like your drinking. What does it gain you other than a muddled brain?”

“Maybe I like my brain being muddled.”

She sighed. This circular conversation was getting them nowhere, and she had a feeling that whatever he read over and over in those papers put him in a foul mood. If he were Richard, she would have bitten her tongue, stayed silent and tried to shift into the shadows until he forgot she was there. But Blythe wasn’t Richard and she wasn’t the same Claire she’d been a year ago.

“What are you reading?”

He looked down at them as if he’d forgotten they were there. “Letters.”

“They must mean a lot to you.”

He looked at her sharply. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I’ve seen you read them. Actually you look at them but your eyes don’t move across the page, which leads me to believe you have them memorized.”

“You seem to be watching me closely if you gathered all that information.”

“One should always study one’s enemy.”

“I’m wounded, my lady, that you consider me your enemy.”

“A friend certainly doesn’t steal another friend’s money.”

“But what if it were for her own good?”

Her shoulders stiffened. “Only I determine what’s for my own good. No one else.”

“Ah.” A smile lifted the corners of his lips.

She turned her head away and clamped her mouth shut. Anger seethed and she knew it was best to refrain from saying anything for fear that she’d reveal too much.

“Pray, don’t stop now, my lady. We’ve only just begun this tedious journey. Since you insisted on accompanying me, I wouldn’t want to spend the next several days in silence. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“It’s been my experience, my lord, that when a man says he wants to know what I’m thinking, he doesn’t truly care what I’m thinking.”

“But I do.”

“Don’t toy with me,” she said bitterly.

“What makes you think I’m toying?”

She faced him, turning so fast that her head spun and any hold she had over her temper frayed. “You’ve been toying with me for days. Dragging me to brothels, forcing me to sleep with you, stealing my money.”

“Marchant’s is not a brothel, although I can see where one would get that impression. And I did not force you to sleep with me. You forced my hand by sneaking into my room to steal from me.”

Her back snapped taut in outrage. “
Steal
from you? I was merely trying to recover what
you
stole from
me
.” Her voice was rising and she couldn’t seem to stop it. Never in her life had she been this angry, no,
furious.
This man was impossible. There was no arguing with him. Like every other man she knew, he thought he was right and a mere woman was nothing against his intelligence.

He held up his hand, a contrite look upon his face. “Please, let’s stop. I apologize. You are right. I did steal from you, although I would term it borrowed. You will get your money back.”

“When?”

“When I see that you are safely back in England.”

“Of course.”

“You have my word.”

“The word of a gambler, a thief and a drunkard means nothing to me.”

He winced. “I suppose I deserved that.”

Suddenly her anger deserted her, leaving her feeling hollowed out and strangely fatigued. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Did you mean it?”

She opened her mouth to say no, but then closed it. She’d had about enough of lying to placate the men in her life. “Yes.”

“Then don’t apologize. I’ve been called worse.”

“Yet what I said hurt you.”

His face fell into an unreadable mask. “Nothing hurts me anymore, my lady. Long ago I learned that it doesn’t matter what people think of me.”

Yet it did matter. She saw his reaction and knew that what she’d said had hurt even though he claimed it didn’t. And she knew that he cared what Sebastian thought of him, else he would have let her walk out of that hotel and gone on his merry way. “Why?” she asked.

“Why what?”

“Why do you do what you do? Why lead a life like you’ve been leading to the point where you have to tell yourself that others’ opinions don’t matter?”

“Sometimes you have no choice in your actions.”

“You always have choices.” Yet hadn’t she thought the same thing? She’d felt she had no choice when Richard bullied her and hit her, and she’d definitely had no choice when she’d been told she had to marry Richard.

“Not always, my lady. Sometimes life and necessity dictate your actions.”