Loving the Earl: A Loveswept Historical Romance (16 page)

So very true. Life dictated she marry Richard. A capital match, people had said. They’d been touted as the perfect couple, but Claire had known what that meant. Not that they were suited to each other, but that their families gained from the match, making it very much acceptable. Necessity for survival dictated that she become the meek woman her husband demanded lest he hurt her more.

“What about you, Claire?”

“What about me?”

“Have you always acted in such a way to gain the approval of others?”

The question startled her into uneasy thoughts and for a long moment she didn’t answer. His gaze remained on her, steady, without reproach and expectant. “Not always.”

“Your answer leads me to believe that there have been times when you did.”

“In order to function in any society one must conform, don’t you think, my lord?”

“In what ways did you conform?”

She looked away, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. Lord Blythe was surprisingly astute when he put his mind to it.

He stretched his legs out until his calf brushed against her skirts. He didn’t touch her, but her skin still burned where he might have touched her.

“Crossing the channel into France alone is not conforming,” he said. “Fighting off a highwayman alone is not conforming. Pardon my ignorance, but the entire time I’ve known you, you have been decidedly nonconforming.”

There had been times she’d done what others wanted. Times she regretted. Times that humiliated her just to think about them. Times she did what others expected because they didn’t really want to know the truth.

He tapped the hem of her skirts with the toe of his boot. “My lady?”

Shaken, caught off guard at the unexpected seriousness of what started out as a subtle fencing of words, Claire looked at him, lost in memories that she wanted to forget but would never leave her. “I, um.” She cleared her throat.

Blythe’s smile faded. “Are you not feeling well?”

She shook her head but the action didn’t dislodge the worst of the memories. Of the times she’d cowered in her bedchamber, praying that her husband would forget she was there. Of the balls she attended and didn’t want to leave because Richard was in a foul mood for one reason or another and would take it out on her once they returned to the privacy of their home.

“Claire?” Blythe sat forward and reached a hand toward her.

Instinctively she shied from it. He pulled back immediately with a frown. “What is wrong?”

“Can we stop? Please? I need some fresh air.”

“Certainly.” He rapped on the ceiling and the coach immediately slowed. As soon as it stopped she reached for the door handle, her shaking hands fumbling with the catch. Blythe’s
large hand descended on hers and she pulled away, biting her lip before she made a sound that might prove to be embarrassing.

He opened the door for her, jumped down and held his hand out to help her. She hesitated, reluctant to put her trembling hand in his. This was Blythe, however. Whatever ills he’d done to her, he’d never struck her.

She placed her hand in his. He closed his fingers around hers and she looked down at him. Those chocolate-colored eyes were filled with concern, the teasing glint gone, his mouth a thin line.

Quickly she climbed down and disengaged their hands as soon as possible. They’d stopped on the side of the road with nothing around them but pastures and lowing cows. Claire breathed deep, hoping to vanquish the memories, and wrapped her arms around her middle. She walked a few steps and Blythe followed.

“Can you, um, give me a few minutes?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

She moved away, keeping to the side of the road and holding herself together with her arms clasped about her waist. Behind her the horses pawed the ground and she heard Blythe say something to the coachman. Other than that there was nothing but the buzzing of a few early season bees and the rustling of a few cattle.

Claire continued to walk, her mind a whirling mass of memories. So many regrets, so many decisions made with the thought of others instead of herself. What if she’d told Sebastian about Richard’s propensity toward anger?

She stopped and closed her eyes, allowing the sun’s rays to penetrate the chill that had descended on her. Anger? It was more than anger and she finally allowed herself to admit it, even though it’d been a year after her husband’s death.

Merely admitting it to herself eased the tightness in her shoulders. She opened her eyes and took in the beauty of the French countryside. The sun slanted down on the vibrant green hills, highlighting the pastel beauty of the early spring flowers. She soaked the scene in, committing it to memory.

She was in the middle of France with a virtual stranger, yet she felt less encumbered now than she ever had before.

For all his faults, Blythe had never hit her, never berated her, never knocked her down
with words or fists.

He was a drunkard, a thief, a gambler and arrogant to boot, but he wasn’t Richard, and for that she was thankful. Whatever happened, wherever she happened to find herself after this escapade, she had no doubt she’d land on her feet because to do otherwise was simply unacceptable.

She had a good friend in Venice who would assist her and that was all she needed at this point.

Satisfied for the first time in a long while, Claire turned back to the coach.

Blythe was leaning against the side of it, watching her warily, his concern evident. Even his presence didn’t bother her much. She’d told Sebastian she wanted an adventure and by God she had an adventure. She was traveling through France toward Venice with London’s most notorious rake. If that wasn’t an adventure, she didn’t know what was.

He looked down at her, his brows drawn together, and she was struck anew by how large he truly was.

“My lady.”

“My lord.”

His glance moved behind her, taking in the path she’d just walked. “Do you feel better?”

She drew in a large breath, held it for a moment, then let it out slowly, surprised to discover that, yes, she did feel better. Under what others would consider bad circumstances, she’d never felt better.

“I do.”

He hesitated as if he wanted to ask more, then pushed away from the coach and offered his arm. Minutes ago, Claire would have snubbed his offer, but not anymore. She was on an adventure, after all.

She allowed him to hand her back into the carriage. Before turning away to make sure the driver was ready, he looked at her again in that befuddled way that had her biting back a smile.

“Are you certain you’re feeling well?” he asked.

“Positive.”

His eyes narrowed and she smiled when really she wanted to laugh. She’d confused him to the point that he was at a loss for words. That alone would lift her spirits.

Nathan instructed the coachman to move on, then hopped into the carriage with her,
settling on the opposite seat. He watched her for the longest time while Claire looked out the window at the French countryside. Such a beautiful country. She made a vow to return as often as possible after this adventure concluded. She had so many more adventures to see to, after all.

Nathan watched Claire sleep. Her head rested against the wall of the coach. Each bump in the road jostled her and she kept shifting to get a better position.

With a muttered curse he moved to sit next to her, gently lifted her head and pressed it against his shoulder. Immediately she nestled against him with a few incoherent murmurs. Her breathing evened out and her body relaxed.

For the longest time he hardly dared to breathe for fear he would awaken her. But after a while, when he realized she was deeply asleep, he too relaxed, stretching his booted feet out and loosening his cravat with a contented sigh. He hadn’t held a woman in a while and the act of doing so was … nice.

Her scent drifted to him, enveloping the entire carriage with the fresh, floral aroma until he was certain it had seeped into his bones. Whatever she smelled like it put him in mind of the gardens on his estate.

He tilted his head to look down at her but all he saw was the fiery red of her hair and the tip of her nose. She made small noises while she slept. Not precisely a snore but more a deep breathing with a touch of sound. The same sounds that she had made the night before, when she slept in his arms.

The memory of that had his body stirring, as if it wasn’t already on the edge of arousal. Good Lord, the woman was proving to be his undoing.

He let his head fall back and closed his eyes, listening to the steady beat of the carriage wheels punctuated by her even breaths.

She’d trumped him earlier that day and soundly won the game he’d been playing. He’d had every intention of returning her to England and he had no problem admitting that part of his plan had been selfish. Holding her last night had been heaven and hell wrapped together. He’d wanted more and he knew the wanting would eventually lead to the doing and that was unacceptable. Depositing her on a ship bound for England had been a capital idea.

But apparently not to Claire. Her stubbornness exceeded even his and that need to hold her turned in on itself. Leaving her in Calais with her money and passage to England was the
smarter thing to do, but he found the idea of traveling to Venice with her more appealing.

Besides, there was still someone out there following him. Nathan had no idea who the man was or what he wanted, and he couldn’t ensure that the man was alone or would not send someone to follow Claire. Maybe he would use her to get to Nathan. That, of course, he would not allow to happen.

He’d had no choice, really. He’d had to accept her offer or worry that she would somehow escape the ship and find her way back to Paris. Or at least that’s what he told himself. Unfortunately he didn’t believe that lie.

He’d been sullen and angry for most of the carriage ride that day—at himself, at the circumstances, at the mysterious letters he couldn’t decipher. And he’d taken it out on her. Pushing her and obviously upsetting her.

She’d frightened him when she walked away. He was certain she was going to fall apart or, at the very least, faint. But if he knew anything about Claire Hartford, he should have known that she wouldn’t allow herself to fall apart, or ever to faint.

Whatever demons had plagued her, when she returned, they’d been vanquished, or at the very least controlled. There’d been a lightness to her step, and the horror in her eyes hadn’t necessarily disappeared but was disguised by a teasing glint he’d never seen before.

Something squeezed his heart. An unknown sensation took over and he was damned if he could name it. Something about Claire Hartford intrigued him and pushed him to want to know more about her.

He hadn’t felt this way for a very long time. Not since he was sixteen and tupping the gardener’s daughter. Soon after, his father had died and the title reverted to Nathan, bringing with it the harshness of reality. A reality that didn’t involve gardener’s daughters or anyone’s daughter for that matter. He simply didn’t have time for such luxuries when the weight of the title was on his shoulders, not to mention refilling the coffers that his father left empty.

He shook the thought away, not willing to travel down that dark path at the moment.

What intrigued him the most was Claire’s past. He knew all about the death of Sebastian’s parents and what that had done to his friend, but he never considered what it would have done to Claire, the only female in the Addison clan.

He vaguely recalled Sebastian talking about a scandal barely avoided. Soon after, Claire had married Richard Hartford. Richard had been a promising politician, a star on the rise in
parliament and a man trusted by King George himself.

Nathan didn’t recall ever meeting Hartford but he’d heard great things about him.

He hardly believed that Richard would have put the horror in Claire’s eyes. The man was about as perfect as perfect could get, from everything Nathan heard.

Which left him with the same question he’d had from the beginning. What happened to her?

She stirred and mumbled. Nathan looked down at her, lightly tugging her closer to him, loath to let her go. She was all womanly curves, slim waist, nicely rounded hips and nearly perfect breasts.

His cock stirred again, never far from a full-on erection when Claire was near.

He pressed his face to the top of her head and cursed when he realized that even her hair smelled like a garden.

Had he made a grave mistake in bringing her with him?

He was nearly positive that the man following him was only after him, but what if he wasn’t? What if Nathan had left her in Paris and some harm came to her because of him?

And what if harm comes to her because you foolishly brought her with you?
The thought turned his stomach. At least this way she was with him and if harm did come knocking, he’d be there to answer the door.

Protect her? What was this all about? He wasn’t one to protect anyone but himself. At the ripe old age of sixteen he’d shed any compassion he had had in him. A necessity in order to save his family from the poorhouse.

Except when it came to Claire, he couldn’t seem to help himself.

Her hand moved to his thigh and he froze, his gaze riveted to the fingers innocently resting there. His cock stirred then rose to attention, straining at the bit. Valiantly he tried to control his wayward lust but nothing seemed to work. His entire body yearned for the woman in his arms, more than it ever had for any other woman before.

For Nathan, women came and went, and he was fine with that as long as they didn’t interfere with his business. No woman stuck in his memory over another. Young misses, widowed ladies, experienced ladies of the night, long-standing mistresses, he’d had them all. Using and discarding them as he saw fit. Being used and discarded himself too many times to count.

Yet this naïve beauty with the haunted past had somehow wormed her way beneath his defenses and set up residence inside him. He wanted not only to tup her, but something that lasted longer, that meant more and that scared the hell out of him.