As an Earl Desires (14 page)

S
he
was a widow who'd never slept with a man through the night.
Her husband's visits had been brief, to the point. Except on
those occasions when he'd been drunk and in the mood to
torture her, then it had seemed his time with her was
never-ending.

Because her feet were sore from the scratches and
bruises she'd acquired the night before, Camilla leaned on
Archie's arm and gingerly walked around the rubble that had
once housed the students. She imagined her feet would have been
much worse if he hadn't applied salve to them before putting
her in bed, although she thought her heart might be less
bruised.

She'd never known such comfort or trust, for
surely it was trust that allowed her to fall
asleep so easily. She couldn't get over how marvelous it had
felt to awaken and find him still beside her, his arm around her,
his cheek pressed to the top of her head.

She'd never meant to tell him or anyone that
she'd actually cried when Lucien had died. But, snuggled
within the bed, he had seduced the secret from her. She'd
almost told him everything, except that she'd not wanted to
ruin the tranquillity of the moment with the truth. How could she
explain to a man who gave no thought to scrawling letters over a
blackboard, a man who placed such value on education, that she
wasn't educated?

She glanced over at Nancy and Owen, who were also
inspecting the damage. She wondered if Nancy cuddled against her
unattractive husband and shared secrets with him. In the dark, his
homeliness wouldn't be visible, and perhaps whatever comforts
or reassurances he gave her more than made up for having to look at
his unsightly countenance.

Owen said something to his wife. She peered up at
him and smiled. Tucking her against his side, he grinned at her,
and it was as though some magical transformation had taken place.
He appeared the same, and yet looked so different, as though all
the good and charitable aspects to his character were shining
through for the entire
world to see. Was that
the power of love? That it could make even the unsightly
beautiful?

And what of those carved from ice? Could it make
them warm?

“They're interesting to watch,
aren't they?”

She snapped her attention to Archie.
“Pardon?”

He tipped his head slightly in the direction of the
other couple. “My sister and her unattractive
husband.”

“I wouldn't expect you to be so unkind
in describing the man who married your sister.”

“But you agree, do you not, that he
isn't a handsome fellow?”

“I can't help but agree when the truth
is so apparent.”

“But if you watch them long enough, you begin
to see in him what she sees.”

She nodded. “I was only just noticing.
It's rather amazing. I thought perhaps it was a trick of the
sunlight.”

“No, it is love. She is his queen, and he her
prince.”

“Why not her king?”

“Because a king would have to place his
importance above that of the queen, and Owen loves Nancy far more
than he does himself.”

“She is a fortunate lady, your
sister.”

“She is indeed. Will you find a wife for me
who looks upon me as Nancy does Owen?”

“I will certainly strive to do just that. You
deserve to be regarded with such lofty affection.” And she
found herself desperately wishing she could be that woman. Before
melancholy could take hold, she turned her attention back to the
ruined building. “I think you should provide the school with
the funds to rebuild this structure—but of brick this time,
so it is less likely to burn.”

“Mr. Spellman would consider that a frivolous
use of my funds.”

“Who cares what he thinks? The whole point in
being wealthy is so you can do with your money as you
wish.”

“I thought the whole point in having money
was so that you never did without.”

“Well, certainly that is one advantage.
Another is to use it to make yourself happy.”

“And providing the school with funds to
rebuild would make you happy?”

She scowled at him. “No, it would make you
happy. It is, after all, your school.”

His laughter echoed around them. She did so love
his laughter.

“Making me happy makes you happy, so you
won't object to my allocation of funds.”

“It is not my place to object to how you
spend your funds, my lord. You may spend it all, and it will make
no difference to me, for I shan't marry an impoverished
duke.”

Nor did she suspect that she would marry one whom
she loved, because she feared that her heart had already begun to
inch toward the man walking beside her.

 

Arch stood in the front yard, staring at the
village in the distance. The servants were loading the last of his
and Camilla's belongings onto the coaches.

“I've packed you a lovely lunch. You
and Lady Sachse should stop somewhere along the way and have a
picnic.”

He glanced down at his mother. “Perhaps we
will. I'd like for you, for all the family, to come to Sachse
Hall for Christmas.”

Wrapping an arm around one of his, she sidled up
against him. He didn't remember her seeming so frail.

“We might do just that,” she said
softly.

He swallowed hard. “I won't be coming
back, Mum.”

“I know.”

“I was hoping to find what I had before, but
it's gone.”

“You've changed, lad. You've
experienced things most of these folks never will. It's made
you different.”

“It's more than that.” But he
didn't know ex
actly how to explain it.
“What do you think of Lady Sachse?”

“That you care for her more than she cares
for you. But then you always did have a soft spot for wounded
creatures.”

Surprised by her astute observation, he glanced
down to find her studying him as much as he wished to scrutinize
her. “So you agree that she's been wounded?”

“I can see it in her eyes, but even if I
couldn't, I'd met her husband—when your father
and I went to London. He wanted to spend a little time with his
distant cousin. A little was about all I could stand. His wife at
the time was sweet enough, but Lord Sachse caused my skin to crawl.
If I'd been married to him, I think I would have given my son
to Gypsies before I'd have let the boy grow up under his
father's influence.”

“Bit harsh, isn't it?”

“I didn't like him, Arch. Didn't
like him at all. Your countess would have done well to stay away
from him.”

“She was sixteen, Mum. Too young not to be
lured by the potential of his power. She's looking for a duke
now.”

“Well, I've always believed it was good
for a woman to have goals.”

Hearing Win's laughter, he turned and saw his
brother standing near Camilla. “They must
be comparing
afflictions
,” he
mumbled dryly.

“I did think she was very clever to respond
to his teasing as she did.”

“Yes, she's a very clever lady.”
He hugged his mother closely. “We need to be going, but I
look forward to seeing you at Christmas.”

“Take care with her heart, Arch, and with
yours.”

It was difficult to take care with something he
didn't have the power to possess.

 

With Archie beside her, Camilla walked along the
edge of the babbling brook. They'd only driven for a short
time before he'd ordered the driver to stop so they might
have a picnic. She'd feared he'd use the opportunity to
woo her, but he seemed to have other matters on his mind.

They'd not spoken at all while they ate the
simple meal. She'd found comfort in the silence.

“How are your feet?” he asked.
He'd shortened his stride to accommodate her.

“Healing.” She glanced over at him.
“I used your mother's salve again last
night.”

“You should have called me. I would have
gladly applied it.”

She'd almost done exactly that.

“I like your family,” she admitted,
changing the subject.

“They like you.”

“I shall have to keep them in mind as
I'm helping you to find a wife. She should be pleasing to
them as well, because I think you'd find fault with any woman
who wasn't.”

“They mean a great deal to me.”

“You're very fortunate to have them.
Although I must confess that I'm most surprised that they
don't live with you.”

“My father is buried in Heatherton. My mother
won't leave him. Besides, she's settled in her ways and
rather enjoys the life she has there.”

“But your brother is next in line.”

“Yes, he is. We spoke of the possibility of
him coming to live with me next year. These first few months I
expected to stumble quite a bit, and I wanted some time to grow
accustomed to my new position. I could hardly educate Win when I
had so much to learn.”

“I could have taught you both at the same
time.”

He slid his gaze over to her. “Another reason
not to have him around just yet. I prefer not to share
you.”

She considered mentioning that he'd not known
her when he made his decision to come to London alone, but
something in his serious expression told her that he'd
adeptly moved on to another subject and that suddenly they were no
longer
discussing the reasons his family
wasn't living with him.

He stopped walking, faced the water, planted his
feet apart, and put his hands on his hips. He looked very much the
way she imagined a sea captain might, standing tall on the deck of
a ship, before issuing orders to his crew.

“You said you had secrets.”

Her heart leapt into her throat, and she felt as
though she couldn't find any air to breathe. He didn't
look at her, just stood there as though lost in the journey of the
stream.

“Secrets that would keep you from coming to
my bed.”

Her heart slowly slid back into place, and air
somehow managed to find its way into her lungs. “That's
correct.”

“How many?”

“How many what?”

“How many secrets?”

“This is ludicrous—”

He spun around, and she stepped quickly back,
almost tripping over the hem of her dress.

His mouth was open and whatever he'd been
about to say must have slipped from his mind, because he did
nothing except shake his head. She'd never seen him look so
beaten, not even after battling a fire that had destroyed a
building.

“Two,” she blurted. “Two
secrets.”

“And the consequences of my uncovering
them?”

“Shame, mortification…” She shook
her head. “You'd never again look at me as you
sometimes do, as though I were special to you.”

“You are special, Camilla. I don't know
why you fail to see that.”

“Because I know myself better than
anyone.”

“I want you, I can't deny that. But I
want all of you or none of you.”

“Then you shall have none of me.”

“We shall see, Countess, we shall
see.”

He walked away from her, the challenge she'd
seen in his eyes as unsettling as his words. He was a man who knew
how to fight fire, but what did he know of battling ice?

Apparently a good deal. She didn't know which
terrified her more: that he might discover her secrets or that
he'd unleash the desire she'd seen smoldering in his
gaze.

S
achse
Hall was a large, cold, cavernous structure. And so terribly
quiet.

Arch couldn't say that he didn't like
it, but when he walked through it—as he was presently
doing—he felt as though he wore a cloak that didn't
quite fit. The servants moved about like silent wraiths, ever
conscious not to disturb the master of the house.

And he'd always enjoyed the clanging of pots
and the pounding of bread dough, the smell of flour and cinnamon,
and the cook's joyful voice lifted in song. None of that
activity was apparent here, although he was certain that it was
taking place because delicious meals were spread before him on the
large dining room table each evening.

Gilded framed portraits adorned the walls. Marble
statuettes, many of them questionable in taste, sat in alcoves.
Armor had been fitted together so that it seemed knights stood
guard at several portals. He fully expected one to give him a
salute at any moment.

And the place contained far too many rooms for one
man to walk through. He could hardly see the point. He supposed if
he'd grown up with all this, he might have had a better
appreciation for it. As it was, he thought it a waste of materials
and objects. Seventy-four rooms. Why would any man need
seventy-four rooms?

He found the whole place ostentatious. Camilla, on
the other hand, seemed quite at home here. As always, she was a
fountain of knowledge, knowing the history behind each artifact.
He'd suggested she compile it all so it could be passed on to
those who came after him. Enthusiastic with his suggestion,
she'd indicated that she would begin dictating to her
secretary as soon as possible. After all, that much information
would surely leave her fingers black with ink.

He'd only smiled. The things she worried
over.

He, himself, found satisfaction in applying ink to
paper, and his hands remained unmarked. When he'd commented
on that fact, she'd given him one of her indulgent smiles and
assured him that her caution was necessary in order to impress a
duke.

She still had her sights set on a man of high rank,
and that knowledge rankled. He'd thought they'd shared
something special while in Heatherton.

She reminded him of the moon, growing larger, more
visible, only gradually to disappear again.

He turned down the hallway that led to his study.
The footman acknowledged him and opened the door.

“Thank you,” Arch said quietly.

The footman blushed. Apparently, Arch wasn't
supposed to be thanking these people for doing their jobs. He
thought that over time his muscles would become weak, and he would
go to fat, because he was allowed to do nothing for himself. He
didn't haul the water for his bath, couldn't help with
the care of the livestock, and had a man who helped him dress. He
was surprised that he didn't have a servant who sat beside
him during dinner to deliver the food to his mouth.

As he walked into the room, Camilla smiled.
“Good afternoon, Lord Sachse. I was writing a letter to your
family to thank them for their hospitality.”

He angled his head toward Lillian. “I suspect
your secretary was actually doing the writing.”

Camilla's smile withered. “Well, of
course. But the words are mine.”

“My apologies. It seems I'm in a foul
mood. It's too quiet around here.”

“I was thinking the same thing. I thought
perhaps I would begin extending invitations to a few select
people.”

“Who exactly?”

“I was thinking the Duke of
Kingsbridge.”

“And his daughter, I suppose.”

“Of course.” Camilla turned to Lillian.
“We'll finish later.”

“Yes, my lady.”

After Lillian left, Camilla rose and faced him.
“It seems to be more than the quiet that has you in a foul
mood.”

“I've asked you to go with me on a
picnic, and you've refused. I've asked you to accompany
me on walks about the garden, and you've been occupied with
all your silly letters.”

“They're not silly. They're an
important part of being a countess.”

“I know that they're important,
Camilla, but not more so than I. Last night, I dined alone. Since
we've arrived here, I feel as though you're avoiding
me.”

“It's for the best, Archie. You
shouldn't have expectations where I'm
concerned.”

Ah, but he did. He had great expectations of
getting her into his bed, of turning the ice countess to fire, of
melting her through and through, until she remained the warm woman
he knew she could be.

“And this Kingsburrow—”

“Kingsbridge.”

“Do you have expectations where he's
concerned?”

Her gaze darted around the room as though she was
seeking the answer or perhaps the courage to admit why this
particular gentleman was to be issued an invitation. She cleared
her throat before settling her gaze back on his, defiance in those
brown eyes of hers.

“You met him at the last ball of the Season.
I told you then that he's been a widower for some time. He
has three grown sons. He's far from impoverished, so he has
no need to look across the Atlantic for a wife. He has five estates
valued at—”

“Camilla, I don't care about his
worth.”

“I do.” She angled her head haughtily.
“I must. There is very little of worth that I can bring to a
marriage—”

“You bring yourself,” he interrupted
hotly, despising the fact that she constantly failed to give the
proper value to people. “I don't understand why you
continually fail to acknowledge your value. Strip me bare of all
this”—he flung his arm around in a circle—”
and I'm still valuable, a person of worth.”

“Well, jolly good for you. I don't feel
as though I am, and I wish you'd stop judging me by your
standards!”

“I'm not judging you.”

“Yes, you are. Constantly. I've
repeatedly told you that I can't be what you want, and yet
you persist in trying to shape me. You know things about me that
I've shared with no one. You know me better—”

“I feel as though I know you not at
all!” Releasing a heavy sigh, he shook his head. “I
didn't seek you out to quarrel. This
Queensbridge—”

“Kingsbridge.”

The fire in her eyes excited him. He knew he
shouldn't allow it to, but it did. And he could bring the
fire to the surface so easily simply by teasing her and mucking up
the man's name. Then it occurred to him that she might not be
so quick to anger if she didn't care about the man. It seemed
the joke was on him.

“Kingsbridge then. You'll invite his
entire family?”

“Only him and his daughter. His sons are
gadding about the world somewhere. Is there anyone else you'd
like to invite?”

“The Duke and Duchess of Harrington, if
they're back from their travels.”

“They should be. Anyone else?”

“I hardly know anyone else.”

“I'll give it some thought. I
don't want too large an affair.”

“In other words, you don't want anyone
distracting Kingsburn—”

“Kingsbridge!”

“—from his pursuit of you.”

“I do hope you will address him properly when
he is here.”

Quickly, so she had no chance to object, he tucked
her beneath the chin and winked. “Of course, when he is
within earshot. When he isn't, I believe I shall continue to
take delight in tormenting you by bumbling his name.”

He walked away from her and went to his desk.
Several stacks of letters awaited him. “Don't suppose
you'd help me by reading through some of my
correspondence?”

“Reading strains my eyes and gives me a
headache. I could call Lillian in—”

“No.” He sat behind his desk and
studied her. “Have you ever had a doctor examine your eyes?
Perhaps you need spectacles.”

“There is nothing wrong with my eyes. Now if
you'll excuse me—”

“Stay.”

She was two steps into her hasty retreat before his
word stopped her. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I
thought you were about to become busy handling the affairs of the
estate.”

“I am, but I don't wish to be alone
while doing it. I would suggest that you sit by the window and read
a book, but as that would put a strain on your eyes as well,
perhaps you could simply watch the
garden, be
available should any questions arise. After all, you had promised
to help me learn my duties.”

Her gaze darted toward the door. He could see a
subtle straightening of her shoulders as though she was shoring up
her resolve, and he wondered what it was she feared his discovering
while in his presence.

“Of course, I'm more than pleased to be
of service.” She moved to the chair by the window and sat
facing him, rather than the garden. “Do get on with your
business.”

He looked over the stacks of papers and letters and
hardly knew where he wanted to begin. At the beginning, he
supposed.

He went through a dozen inconsequential letters
from ladies letting him know that they'd been pleased to make
his acquaintance during the Season and hoped he'd call on
them when he returned to London for the next Season. While he
appreciated their sentiments and attention, the letters truly held
no interest for him.

Finally, he came upon a letter that did,
“It's from Spellman,” he told Camilla. “He
thinks out donation to the school is foolhardy, but he's seen
to it.”

“So typical of Spellman. As tightfisted as he
is with your funds, you'd think he thought they belonged to
him.”

He set the letter on top of all the others
he'd
read. The next missive came from the
school, and immediately he felt the loneliness that had been
surrounding him since he'd arrived here lift. “Ah,
Camilla, listen to this.

Arch shook his head. “They make it sound as
though I'd done something special when I'd done the
same thing countless times before while I lived there. Not at the
school, of course, but at other buildings.”

“What else do they say about my
courage?” Camilla asked. She was sitting on the edge of the
chair, delight mirrored in her eyes, no doubt because of the praise
afforded her.

With a sigh, he continued on.

He tossed the letter toward the pile of read
missives. “What rubbish.”

Camilla rose and crossed over to the desk.
“On the contrary, Archie, it's a great honor. A bit
confusing for them to give it the same name as this estate, but
still…” She picked up a letter and smiling brightly,
read aloud, “‘The courage and assistance that you and
Lady Sachse exhibited during the dreadful fire has earned you our
undying gratitude. In your honor, we wish to name the new dormitory
Sachse Hall.' I find it marvelous.”

She lifted her joyful gaze from the letter and
looked at him. “Whatever is wrong?”

“Apparently a great deal.” He reached
across his desk and picked up the letter from the school.
“You took the wrong letter.”

She looked momentarily flummoxed, but quickly
regained her composure. “I am well aware of that fact. I was
playing a prank on you.
You really must advise
them that they should select another name.”

Slowly he came to his feet. So much was beginning
to make sense. The impression he'd had that she'd not
read his letter when she'd said that she had. The French
book. Her never reading to him. Her keeping her secretary near to
spare her fingers being coated in ink and her eyes from the strain
of reading. Her confession that she had a secret that would keep
him from her bed, and he'd wondered what she could possibly
have done that she'd thought he'd find fault with. He
was a teacher, and she…

“You can't read,” he said
quietly.

“Of course I can.” She tossed the
letter onto the desk, held out her hand, and snapped her fingers.
“Hand me the proper letter and I shall read the entire thing
to you.”

“Even if I didn't read the entire
missive to you?”

He felt cruel for lying to her, but he wanted,
needed to know the truth. Was this the secret that held her
distant? Her fear that he, as a teacher, would more easily discover
what she undoubtedly considered a flaw?

“You read me the entire letter.”

“Did I, Camilla?” He extended the
letter. “You tell me.”

“I will not play these ridiculous games. I am
a
countess. I have no need to prove anything
about myself to you. You are a small and petty man, and I
don't like you. May you rot in hell.”

She spun on her heel and rushed out of the room,
leaving him to stare in her wake. How in the world had she managed
to convince people that she could read? How had she managed to
survive without reading? She was intelligent, had incredible
recall, yes. But lacked the ability to read? Her secret. Her damned
secret. He'd unwittingly uncovered it at last, but at what
cost?