As an Earl Desires (20 page)

“I almost didn't,” he
admitted.

She laughed, and the muscles holding him inside her
tightened and pulsed around him. When
her
laughter quieted, he asked, “What possessed you to do what
you did earlier?”

She shook her head slightly. “I don't
know. I wanted you to know how special you are to me. I'll
never have with anyone else what I have with you.”

He kissed her forehead, her nose, her chin.
“I am not so selfish as to wish that you don't have
this with someone else.”

But even as he spoke, he knew that, for himself,
he'd never have with another woman what he had with her.

A
s she
walked through the gardens, her cloak wrapped around her, Camilla
thought it had been rather silly of her and Archie to think that
everything could return to the way it had been before they'd
fallen in love. They'd not slept together since their last
glorious night, but it haunted her that she might never again
experience something as wonderful, as breathtaking. Although in
truth, she thought few among the aristocracy with their arranged
marriages probably did. So she couldn't have been more
grateful that she had indeed experienced it.

She tried to find comfort in what had happened when
Kingsbridge had left. He'd kissed her hand
and assured her, “We shall be happy together,
you and I.”

And she'd smiled.

While inside her heart had cracked. He was a kind
and gentle man. But she would never love him greatly, and
therefore, the passion between them would be lukewarm at best. Damn
Archie for showing her the wonder of fire when she'd been
content with ice.

She looked around the gardens where she'd
always found solace before. Now none existed. Winter was coming
upon them, and it somehow seemed significant, as though all of
Sachse Hall would be saddened by her departure. How vain could she
be to think that even the plants would miss her?

But she would miss all of this, when she'd
never expected to. Under Archie's care, everything was
different: warm, vibrant, alive…and in the spring, it would
be the same.

She would return to Sachse Hall for visits perhaps,
and as the years progressed her visits would become fewer until
they ceased altogether. Such was the price one paid for
imperfection.

She was accomplishing nothing with this melancholy
walk through the gardens. She had much she needed to do in order to
see to it that everything was left in readiness for Archie. She
doubted that she'd have time to be of
much assistance once she married. Although surely the duke would
understand that she couldn't leave the earl completely
alone.

She needed to find him a wife and find him one
quickly. If only he didn't have such high standards and
insist upon love. Just as she'd always suspected, love did
little more than sticky up the situation.

Still, she was glad that she'd had it if only
for a short while.

She returned to her bedchamber. She would meet
Archie in the library soon for an afternoon reading session. They
seldom met in the children's wing anymore. She was
progressing quite nicely, although the larger words and those that
didn't sound as they were written still gave her a bit of
trouble. She wondered how she would continue to learn after she was
married.

Perhaps she'd hire a tutor—secretly, of
course, as she dared not reveal to the duke that her reading skills
were sorely lacking. Even as she had the thought, she dismissed it.
She didn't want to begin her marriage by trying to do things
without her husband's knowledge. No, she'd lived that
way once before. Never again. She wanted her next marriage to be
very different from her first.

She glanced at her jewelry box. She'd never
read Archie's letter, and she wondered if it was
best simply to leave well enough alone. What if
he'd said something unkind? No, she couldn't imagine
that of Archie. Still her curiosity was piqued. If she was ever
going to read it, she should read it before she left Sachse Hall,
so if she had any trouble with the words, Archie could help her
with it.

She remembered now that he'd said something
when the duke was there, something about his letter. That she would
know how he'd planned to find a wife if she'd read it.
Whatever had it said? And if she read it now, would it help her to
find him a wife quickly?

She placed the jewelry box on her bed and went
through the ritual of removing the trays, the jewelry, and finally
the false bottom. There was Archie's letter, safe and sound
where she'd tucked it away a lifetime ago. She removed it and
pulled the letter from the envelope.

She'd loved the way his writing had looked
then, she loved it now. But now she was able to appreciate it so
much more. She couldn't read it as easily as she'd
hoped, but she could make out a good deal of it…especially
the part about a quiet recognition.

That was how her love for him had come upon her.
Not like the boom of a bass drum or the clang of cymbals from an
orchestra. It had slipped upon her during low conversations, and
patient lessons, and tender gazes, and gentle touches.

She loved him. She loved him so much that it hurt.
But it would hurt more not to.

She blinked back the tears that wanted to pour
forth. They'd had one last, glorious night, and it would have
to suffice for a lifetime. Although she thought that she might hold
out hope that perhaps when they were old, and their hair had turned
to silver, and their eyes were not as sharp, when he had his heirs,
and his wife was gone, as was her husband, perhaps then she and
Archie could come back together. Perhaps they could share their
winter years. It was something to look forward to, something to
give her hope, a reason to believe that all was not lost.

The entire notion saddened her. To realize that
true happiness would have to be postponed until children were born
and spouses died. Until great joy had been experienced, and great
loss endured.

Oh, she would be content with the duke, but Archie
had taught her that joy was so much better.

His children would be a joy to her. She would send
gifts to them and watch them grow up into the fine young men and
women that she knew they would be. His children could do no less,
because they would have him as an example and a teacher.

Carefully she folded his letter. She would keep it
and take it out on lonely nights to read again.
Another notion that saddened her. To think that she
might indeed have lonely nights.

She was about to slip his letter into place when
her gaze fell on the other letter: the one that the countess had
written to her as she lay dying. She removed it. She could at last
see to the countess's wishes,
should
see to them before she married, while Archie
was there to help her. There might be words in the letter that she
couldn't decipher, but he would assist her if she needed
help, and together they could do whatever it was the duchess had
requested.

She closed her eyes. Was she only prolonging the
inevitable? Looking for an excuse to keep Archie in her
life…would she forever find reasons for him to help her?
Read to me, assist me with this word, do you
think I've learned enough to read this book
?

She certainly couldn't ask any of these
questions of her duke…how would she explain that some words
were still beyond her grasp without revealing that she'd only
recently learned to read?

No, best to see to this matter now, before she
became a duchess.

Carefully, she opened the envelope, which had been
sealed these many years. Nearly fifteen. She removed the letter,
unfolded it, and with a contented sigh at the possibility of
finally doing as she'd promised, she began to read.

The first words were simple, small, but they made
no sense. They'd been written with a hand that was obviously
struggling because it belonged to a woman who'd been so ill.
She couldn't have been much older than Camilla was now, but
she'd unexpectedly taken ill…and never recovered. The
lines she'd scrawled were wiggly, unclear, which made the
words more difficult to read.

Camilla stared at them more closely. She
couldn't have read them right. She had to be missing
something. The words seemed clear enough, but she had to have
misread them. They couldn't possibly say what she thought
they did.

My son is alive
.

“W
hat does it mean?” Camilla
asked.

Arch stood before the fireplace in the library,
holding the letter Camilla had brought to him in a near panic, the
firelight dancing over the words in a seemingly macabre fashion. He
shook his head, as stunned as she'd been when she'd
first come to him.

“Apparently she took her son with her when
she went to America to visit a friend who had immigrated some years
earlier. She then left him rather than have him raised under the
influence of his father.”

Camilla began pacing with agitation. “How
could she do something so unheard of? He would have gone off to
school—”

“But been home during holidays. She mentions
that the child was becoming as hateful as his father, and that she
was in danger of losing him anyway. And she'd come to despise
her husband. Leaving the boy with a family she knew and trusted,
then declaring that he'd taken ill and died served two
purposes: it put him beyond the earl's reach while causing
the earl immense anguish. It seems she wasn't quite as sweet
and kind as you envisioned.”

“You have no right to judge her. You never
lived in the same house as he. He could cause a saint to become a
devil.”

Or to become an ice countess. Arch couldn't
deny that he'd seen evidence of the man's legacy. He
didn't think he could blame the mother for wanting to spare
her son or prevent his following in his father's
footsteps.

Again he looked at the letter. “She mentions
that she spirited away some funds, so that the lad could be well
provided for. How she managed that, I haven't a
clue.”

“There are ways that a desperate wife can put
aside money without her husband knowing.”

Arch remembered Lillian explaining how Camilla had
hoarded money her husband gave her. He supposed it was possible
that with planning a woman could accumulate a tidy sum.

Shaking her head, tears welling in her eyes, she
sank onto a chair and lifted her gaze to his. “Whatever are
we to do?”

She thought he had the answers? All he had at the
moment was frustration and anger. “How could you have not
shown this to someone?”

“She asked me not to. She forbade me to read
it until the earl was dead. She didn't want him to see the
truth revealed in my eyes. I remember now. She said something like,
‘I'll not have undone all that I've done.'
Or something like that. I can't remember exactly, and I never
have any trouble remembering anything.

“I never once entertained the possibility
that her son was alive. She was always mourning, keeping his rooms
untouched as though she expected him to return any day. Telling me
how much she missed him. She behaved as I'd expect any
bereaved mother to act. I can't tell you how many days she
wept, and I could do little more than hold her, but she was never
comforted.”

“But when the earl died—”

“I couldn't read, Arch! I had no idea
her letter would contain something of this magnitude. Why would she
trust something this important to
me
?”

“For exactly that reason. She trusted
you.”

He stared into the fire, hardly able to believe
this unexpected and unbelievable turn of events.

“He might still be dead,” she
whispered. “Her son. From things Lydia has told me, America
is not completely civilized. There are dangers.”

“According to the countess's letter,
she left him with a family in New York. She's provided their
name and address.” He looked at the letter, sighed, and gazed
back at the flames. “We'll have to speak with Mr.
Spellman. Perhaps he knows someone we can hire who can go to New
York and investigate the possibility that the rightful heir is
still alive.”

“If he's found, you'll lose your
title.”

He glared, brandishing the letter at her.
“Are you suggesting we ignore this?”

Slowly she shook her head, looking terribly
defeated. “No.”

He crossed over and knelt before her.
“They're going to want to know why you didn't
bring this forward sooner.”

Nodding, she licked her lips. “I
know.”

“We could tell them it was misplaced or
forgotten about—”

She placed her fingers against his lips. “She
trusted me, Arch. She trusted me to bring her son back here. If I
hadn't been so proud, if I'd only said,
‘Countess, I can't read,' she'd have given
the task to another.”

Tenderly he cradled her cheek. “But then I
would have never met you, and regardless of how
this turns out, I'll always be thankful that at
least I had that: moments spent with you.”

 

Spellman stared at the letter.

Arch and Camilla sat before him in his office.
They'd come to London specifically to meet with him, the
journey made in silence, with neither having much to say on the
matter.

“Well,” Spellman said, as he leaned
back in the chair and tapped the letter lying on his desk.
“Isn't this interesting? Why didn't you bring it
to me sooner?”

“Because I couldn't read until
recently, and so I had no idea what it said,” Camilla
announced.

Arch reached over and squeezed her hand to offer
strength and assurance. Her voice reflected no shame. Once she
couldn't read, now she could, and whatever doubts she'd
had about herself had disappeared with the knowledge gained.

“You couldn't read,” Spellman
reiterated.

“That is not the important issue here, but if
you must belabor the point, I could
not
read until Lord Sachse recently taught me.”

Spellman shifted his gaze to Arch. “I suppose
that might be debatable: whether it truly was the
Earl
of Sachse or simply Mr. Warner who taught you
to read.”

“Don't be annoying, Spellman,”
Arch said.
“We've come here because
it's important to both of us that we make certain that the
right man is carrying the title. If Thomas Warner is still alive,
he must be found and he must return to England to claim what is
rightfully his.”

“This is most unusual,” Spellman said,
rubbing his brow. “I hardly know where to begin.”

“I would think the best course of action
would be to hire someone to go to New York and visit the people
mentioned in the letter. Find out if the boy”—he shook
his head—“he is no doubt a man now if he is indeed
alive. If he is alive, we need to find him and make certain that he
understands what awaits him here.”

“You're quite right. We need to
determine what has become of this boy…or man…or heir, I
suppose. I know a gentleman who used to work for Scotland Yard. He
investigates private matters now. John Buehler. I'll contact
him. He won't come cheap.”

“We'll pay whatever we must. Now is not
the time to quibble over expenditures.”

“I quite agree.”

“I suspect this search might turn into a
lengthy process. The countess and I will return to Sachse Hall. I
would like reports assessing the progress made in finding Thomas
Warner as often as possible.”

“For what it is worth,
my lord
,” Spellman began, “I thought
you made an exemplary earl.”

“Thank you, Mr. Spellman. I'll not give
up the notion that I'll remain earl, but the countess made
incredible sacrifices to protect her son. I hope he is
found.”

“I must admit that I could hardly blame her
for placing him in another's keeping. She was a kind woman,
but not strong. I had occasion to see the earl with his son. I
believe he would have grown into a callous, bitter man, possibly
cruel as well. Let us hope he has had a kinder
influence.”

“I must disagree with you on one matter, Mr.
Spellman,” Camilla said quietly. “The countess was
stronger than you realized if she was able to leave her son in
another country where she couldn't easily see him, to face
the old Sachse and announce that the child had taken ill and died.
I was more than familiar with his wrath when he was displeased, and
he would have been most displeased with the news. I think she was
incredibly strong to do what she did knowing she would face his
fury. I'm not sure I would have had that courage.”

Arch squeezed her hand again. “You would
have.”

She shook her head. “He didn't ask me
to marry him. He
told
me I would marry
him. I was a young girl who thought I had no choice. I greeted
each month with a mixture of sadness and relief
that I wasn't carrying his child.”

“He was a powerful man who abused his
power,” Arch said.

Nodding, she looked at Mr. Spellman. “Find
Thomas Warner, Mr. Spellman, as I would like very much to have the
opportunity to tell him how very much his mother loved
him.”

 

Arch and Camilla returned to Sachse Hall, cocooning
themselves in against a harsh winter, sitting before a fire and
reading together aloud from the same book, cuddling beneath the
covers and making love through the long nights.

Arch had planned to distance himself from her after
her betrothal to Kingsbridge; but she was in need of comfort with
what she considered a failing, and for reasons he couldn't
understand, he sought comfort as well.

It wasn't as though he had grown attached to
the earldom. Still, he'd begun to think of it is as his.
He'd added books to the library, removed some of the more
offensive sculptures and replaced them with ones he considered
pleasing to the eye. He'd grown accustomed to the servants
moving quietly about.

He realized with wonder that he'd accepted
that he was the Earl of Sachse and that he would miss it if Thomas
Warner were found. Reports
from Spellman
indicated that Buehler was having sporadic luck in locating the
heir. The family with whom the boy had been left had died during an
influenza epidemic almost twelve years earlier. The orphaned child
had been placed on a train and sent west. Buehler was continuing
his search.

It was near the end of January that he received a
missive from Spellman that for some reason filled him with a sense
of foreboding as he carried it to his study. Usually he and Camilla
read the letters together, but he had a desire to be alone when he
read this one. Perhaps because he knew Buehler was close to an
answer. If the young man were dead, having died recently, Camilla
might feel she was responsible for not getting the heir to England
sooner. If he'd died long ago, it would make no difference.
And if he were found alive…Arch wasn't quite certain
how he would handle that yet.

He sat behind his desk and opened the letter. As
always, Spellman got right to the heart of the matter.

Thomas Warner has been found.
He'll arrive at the main London residence in ten
days
.

Arch sat back in the chair. That was it then. All
he'd come to know would be lost to him. He'd not
expected to miss it.

That evening during dinner, he told Camilla,
“I have to go to London tomorrow.”

“Did you hear something from
Spellman?”

“No, I just need to take care of some
matters.”

“I'll go with you.”

“I'd rather you stay here…to look
after things.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Everything is going to be just
fine.”

That night he made bittersweet love to her, knowing
that in truth, he was probably saying good-bye.