Passions of a Wicked Earl (11 page)

“In what did you invest?”

She saw his hesitation, and she realized that he was not accustomed to sharing much of himself. Did he fear her hurting him again? Did he fear another betrayal? How lonely it must be always to guard one’s words, to constantly shelter one’s heart. Was Claire exclusively to blame? Or was there more? Was there a reason beyond his age difference that he’d always seemed at the edge of his family? He came to Lyons Place at Christmas. Why did he not go to Grantwood Manor?

“Railways,” he finally muttered, and she’d almost forgotten the question. “And shipping.”

“I’ve never traveled on the railway. Have you?”

“Yes, it’s quite remarkable.”

“Where did you go?”

“To the seaside. To Brighton.”

“You are such a man of the world. Perhaps I shall give it a go someday.”

He gave a barely perceptible nod as though he couldn’t imagine that she would carry through on the notion. He had such little faith in her. Perhaps she and Beth would go next week, just to show him that she had grown bolder. She craved his attention. Such a silly thing really.

“Will you be available for dinner tomorrow? It would make Beth feel most welcome.”

“I shall strive to be here.”

“Lovely. I’ll have Cook prepare your favorites.”

Abruptly, Westcliffe jerked his attention to Leo. Claire did the same and saw the young artist was leaning casually against the bedpost.

“If you’re finished for the day, you could have alerted us,” Westcliffe snapped.

“I did not wish to interrupt.”

“You’re meddling, painter. It’s not your place.”

“I’m aware of my place, my lord. It’s at your mother’s side.”

“She’ll not marry you, no matter how much you may wish it.”

“Then I shall be content with whatever she grants me.”

Again, Claire could feel the tension between the two men. She rose. “Leo, may we postpone these sessions until the Season is under way. I have so much left to accomplish and to help prepare Beth.”

He bowed. “Of course, my lady. I shall take the canvas with me and work on what I can. Send word when you’re again ready to pose.”

“As I’m no longer needed, I have matters to which to attend,” Westcliffe stated succinctly before striding from the room.

Claire knew she should leave as well. It was not appropriate for her to be alone in the bedchamber with another man. She almost laughed with the absurd thought. She should have realized that on her wedding night.

But the door was open. And Leo obviously had no interest in her other than as a subject for his art.

“Perhaps you would do a portrait of Beth,” she said, to fill the quiet of the room.

He stopped in the midst of gathering his supplies and smiled at her. “I’d be delighted.” Then he glanced at the doorway. “So what happened between you and his lordship after the duchess and I left last night and before I arrived this afternoon?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I notice the subtleties in people. Yesterday, I believe he wanted to wring your neck. Today, it appeared he desperately wished to lay his lips against it.”

She felt the heat of embarrassment shoot through her, as well as a thrilling spark. Had the kiss meant more to him than simply a demonstration? She rubbed the nape of her neck where he had continually stroked her. “I’m certain you’re mistaken.”

His expression was kind, encouraging, and she comprehended why the duchess wanted him in her life.

“This Season is an opportunity for your sister to secure a husband. Perhaps it will serve the same purpose for you.”

Tessa lay sprawled against Leo’s side. She’d had numerous lovers in her life, but only one had meant more to her than he did. She knew what Leo wanted of her, but she couldn’t grant it. She was forty-five, and he was all of thirty. Her first husband had been twenty years older than she, but no one had considered it scandalous. Yet when a woman was much older than the man, Society frowned. And while she might thumb her nose at them in public, in private she worried that they’d eventually wear down Leo’s affections for her.

“How were matters between my son and his wife today?” she asked, circling her finger over his chest while he casually stroked her arm.

“I think something happened between them.”

“Of course it did. She betrayed—”

“No, I mean last night. I sensed a sensual tension in the air. He tried to ignore it by bantering with me.”

“Do you think he’s forgiven her?”

“No, but he might.”

She sighed. “He won’t forgive Stephen until he’s forgiven her.”

“Is that what this is about, Tessa? Are you trying to reconcile your sons?”

“It breaks my heart that they are at odds. They are brothers. They share the same blood.”

“Only their mother’s.”

She stiffened, her lungs refusing to draw in air. Raising herself up slightly, she stared down on him. “Why ever would you say that?”

Reaching up, he threaded his fingers through her hair. “I know that the previous Earl of Westcliffe did not sire Stephen. Do your sons know?”

Wrapping the sheet around herself, she moved away from him as though separating herself from him would distance the truth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Pushing pillows behind him, he sat up. “I’m an artist. I notice the smallest of details. I have painted Lynnford. I’ve also painted Stephen. Did you think I’d not notice the similarities? Does Lynnford know?”

Tears burned her eyes. “You can’t tell him.” Her voice was hoarse, rough. “He’d never forgive me.”

“Tessa, I would never betray your trust.”

She shook her head. “I could scarce believe when Ainsley named Lynnford to serve as guardian over the boys in the event of his death. I fell in love with Lynnford when I was married to Westcliffe. We had a brief affair. Westcliffe did not care. I’d given him his heir, and he had his own paramour. I had only just discovered I was with child when Lynnford informed me that he would no longer be involved with me. He was getting married, and he would not betray his wife. I think he always believed that Stephen was Westcliffe’s. I never corrected him.” She released a strangled laugh. “They were always at odds—father and son. I think because they are so much alike, but neither of them could see it. Oh, God.” She buried her face in her hands. “I have carried that secret for so long.”

He wrapped a hand around her foot. “Tell me,” he urged.

She wanted so much to unburden herself, to someone, and he was so dear. “I have never stopped loving Lynnford. And I have loved Stephen all the more because he is his son. And my other sons have suffered because of it. Especially Morgan. As much as I tried, I could never feel close to him. He was so distant—like his father. Stephen was such a joy, always wanting to snuggle.”

Leo moved up and folded her within his embrace. “You were a child when you had Morgan.”

“It is no excuse. Morgan paid the price. I do not even know if he is capable of love.”

“He is. He is simply cautious.”

She tilted her head back and peered at him through her tears. “Do you think Claire could love him?”

“All things are possible.”

“I do not want him to be unhappy. I’ve been happy only twice in my life. When Lynnford was my lover—and now … with you.”

“Marry me, Claire.”

Her heart nearly broke with his hushed plea. She cradled his cheek. “No. I am not for you, my sweet.”

“I shall prove you wrong.”

As he brought her beneath him, she hoped he would. But she suspected her heart would not listen.

T
he carriage traveled through the London streets with all due haste. The meeting had gone longer than Westcliffe had anticipated it would. It was only because he wanted to ensure that his sister by marriage felt welcomed that he’d urged the driver not to dally. It had nothing to do with the fact that his wife had seemed to want him there. He couldn’t have cared less what she wanted. But still he was determined to be a good host.

Usually he enjoyed the meetings with the other investors. Today he’d found it tedious. He’d been anxious to leave. It was strange to find himself arranging his time around someone else. He had made one stop following the meeting: to purchase the bracelet that matched the necklace he’d given Anne earlier in the week. He’d not seen her since.

Last night, he’d had dinner with Claire, then retired to his library to read. It had begun to rain just before evening, and he found little more comforting than losing himself in a good book while the rain pattered against the windows. So he’d indulged. Although mostly he’d heard the moving about of furniture in the rooms above his head. What was it with Claire and this constant rearranging of things?

And why did it amuse rather than irritate him?

This morning, when he’d emerged from his bedchamber, the fragrance of flowers in the hallway had nearly knocked him off his feet. He’d never seen so many vases filled with assorted blossoms, sprinkled throughout the residence as though his wife wished to bring the gardens indoors. He supposed she was doing what she could to offset the dreary earth colors that he preferred. In retrospect, perhaps he was doing the same as she, only he was striving to mimic the country. At times, he missed Lyons Place. It wasn’t enough to visit only once or twice a year. But the women were not as abundant. So he’d chosen London and left Claire at the estate.

From a practical standpoint it worked well because it made it convenient when Parliament was in session. Being in London also gave him leave to take a more active interest in his investments. The meeting this morning involved a small company of a dozen investors, their railway line only one of many that crisscrossed over the countryside. Years ago, it was the small companies that had provided the means to establish railways through Britain, but now the larger companies were buying them up. They’d had an offer and were divided regarding whether or not to take it. He suspected they would discuss, argue, and contemplate for months. But in the end, they would sell. And then he would look for something else in which to invest. He enjoyed the challenge of determining the perfect investment.

But still, just like his encounters with women, something was lacking.

He glanced out the window as his carriage turned into the circular drive in front of his residence and he nearly choked. Three coaches were lined up, each bearing trunks. He could see his footmen struggling to remove one from the first vehicle. Was Claire’s sister traveling with an entourage? He was accustomed to peace and quiet in his household. Claire had disrupted it enough. And now this.

Reminding himself it was only temporary, he shored up his resolve to bring a hasty end to Beth’s search for a suitable husband.

He caught a glimpse of Claire standing off to one side, her arm around a young woman he didn’t recognize. Beth, no doubt. He’d not seen her in years. She’d not attended their wedding.

His carriage rolled to a stop. As he disembarked, he saw Claire draw her sister protectively against her side. Dear God, did she think him a monster? He shortened his stride to give himself more time to approach and observe the newest addition to his household. She greatly resembled Claire. Her hair was slightly lighter in shade, but as he neared, he could see that her eyes were just as blue. She had Claire’s small dollop of a nose, but her lips were neither as full nor as generous. Still, there could be no denying they were sisters—whereas he and his brothers hardly favored each other at all.

“My lord,” Claire began, “you remember my sister—Lady Beth.”

So damned formal. Because they were not family. They were not intimate. They were not even friends.

“Naturally. Lady Beth, welcome.” He bowed slightly, took the young lady’s hand, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, which caused her to roll her shoulders almost to her chin and giggle.

“My lord, thank you so much for allowing me to stay in your residence. Claire informs me that I’m not to disturb you at all, and I swear to you that I shan’t. I shall be as quiet as a mouse.”

“I’ve never known a mouse to be quiet.”

Her eyes widened, and she giggled again. “I suppose they aren’t, are they?”

“As quiet as a pillow perhaps,” Claire said, coming to her sister’s rescue, and he realized there was a protectiveness about her. He didn’t know why he didn’t comprehend the extent of it sooner. It was the reason she was here—to save her sister from Hester.

“Oh, yes, a pillow,” Beth repeated with more exuberance than he thought the comment deserved. “A much nicer image, really, as opposed to a mouse.”

“Or a grave,” he said solemnly, and she blinked with incomprehension. “I’ve heard ‘quiet as a grave,’ ” he explained.

“That’s rather macabre.”

“Then quiet as a pillow shall suffice.”

She smiled, an innocent smile, the smile of a child. How old was she? Older than Claire on the day they married? Had she been that young? “Then quiet as a pillow I shall be. But you must alert me if I disturb you in the least. I am simply so excited to be here that I can barely contain my joy.”

He was on the verge of telling her to try when Claire said, “Come, dear, let’s see to getting your trunks inside.”

“Are all of these hers?” he asked.

“There are only three,” Beth said. “And a few smaller bags. I need a proper wardrobe for the Season.”

“Obviously, I know nothing at all regarding what a lady needs for the Season.”

“Not to worry. I have it all well in hand.”

“Come along, Beth.” Claire took her sister’s arm as though words were not sufficient.

Beth had taken two steps before spinning around so quickly he was surprised she didn’t get dizzy and swoon. “We will see you at dinner, won’t we?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Splendid.”

He had no reason not to follow, but he waited until both ladies had disappeared inside. God help him, he thought it would be an improvement if she
were
only as quiet as a mouse.

“I can’t believe I’m here! You should have seen my eyes on the journey. I’m certain they were as round as saucers. I was so young when I visited London with Father that I barely remember it. I want to see everything while I’m here.”