As an Earl Desires (5 page)

“Lord Sachse?” Again, that irritating
squeak. She really needed to stop letting thoughts of him affect
her so.

“Yes, my lady. He indicated that you were
expecting him.”

“Of course I'm expecting him.”
Only she hadn't been. She'd forgotten that she'd
invited him to dine with her this evening. Or perhaps she'd
only hoped that he wouldn't come after the blistering kiss
he'd delivered that afternoon. Perhaps that's what his
letter had told her—that he would still come for dinner.

Damnation! He would expect that she'd read
his missive and was well aware of what he'd written. Oh, the
tangled web she'd woven was threatening to suffocate her.

“Assist me in changing for dinner.”

She selected a cream-colored satin dress with deep
purple vertical stripes. She'd discovered that vertical
stripes made her appear taller, and tonight she had a need to
appear not quite so small. The flounces were edged in purple and
fringed. The square neckline stopped just short of revealing the
barest hint of her bosom. She decided against wearing a false
hairpiece to give buoyancy to her hair. She felt false enough.
Around her throat she wore a length of purple velvet from
which dangled an intricately carved silver medallion.
On her wrist she placed a simple silver bracelet.

She considered but decided against more jewelry.
This evening called for casual elegance. While Frannie assisted
her, Camilla began mentally to prepare herself for the manipulation
that would soon take place. She had to give the appearance that she
knew exactly what was in the letter that she'd hidden
away.

An apology, of course. She was fairly certain the
gentleman in him would apologize for taking advantage that
afternoon. But what else? There had been very little remaining
space on the page, so he'd either apologized ridiculously
profusely or had gone on to another subject entirely. Discerning
the answer to that riddle would require that she remain vigilant
and alert during the evening.

She studied her reflection in the looking glass.
She hardly appeared to be a spy on the verge of uncovering
information, but then she supposed that was the whole point.
Someone ferreting out facts wasn't supposed to let on that
she was doing exactly that.

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves.
She'd carried out this ruse with far more sophisticated men.
But then she'd never cared about a single one of them, and
she did care about Archie. He'd somehow managed to create a
crevice
within the ice surrounding her heart,
then worked his way into it. She couldn't allow him to burrow
any further. Tonight she would shove him out and repair the
barriers.

But she would take no delight in doing so.

That, too, made the exercise much more daunting. As
a general rule, she always enjoyed fooling people, getting the
upper hand. She found no satisfaction where Archie was
concerned.

She inhaled another deep breath. “Well, I
suppose I am as ready as I shall ever be.”

“You look lovely, my lady,” Frannie
said. “As always. Lord Sachse will no doubt be
mesmerized.”

That was the plan. If he were mesmerized, he could
be manipulated more easily.

Ignoring the quivering of her nerves, she strolled
out of the room, along the hallways, and down the stairs.

She found him in the library. It was her favorite
room because she believed the smell and look of all the books
lining the floor-to-ceiling shelves gave the impression of wisdom
coupled with power. She'd always considered books
intoxicating. She found pleasure in simply opening one, inhaling
the musty scent, and looking at the letters printed on the page.
She took special delight in books that had illustrations. A picture
could often portray what words couldn't.

She watched as he turned back the cover on a book
that was set on a high table. He looked particularly handsome this
evening, in gray tailcoat and trousers, with a blue waistcoat, and
a red silk cravat. She wondered if he'd gone to greater
lengths than usual to impress her.

As though suddenly aware of her presence, he looked
up and met her gaze. “Is this a new book?”

“Yes.” She'd purchased it because
she'd liked the way it looked.

“I didn't know you read
French.”

She didn't. She didn't read at all. And
she certainly hadn't realized the blasted book was written in
French. She hated continually lying to him, but she'd carried
the deception too far and for too long to give up on it now. She
finally responded. “A bit.”

Taking a step toward her, he looked to be a man who
suddenly found himself standing on the edge of a precipice, unable
to decide whether or not he should jump. “I wasn't
certain I would be welcomed.”

“Of course, you would be welcomed. This is
your home after all. I am not one to forget that I am here only out
of the goodness of your heart.”

“And if that were not the case, if I
didn't technically own this residence, would you welcome me
then?”

Always
. Her throat
knotted, preventing any
words that might make
her vulnerable from being uttered. She merely nodded.

“You received my letter?”

Another nod. Where had her quick-thinking mind run
off to?

“And you read it?”

“That is the purpose of a letter is it not?
To be read?” Ah, at last, some semblance of wit.

“Indeed it is. So you found my apology
acceptable?”

So he had indeed written to ask for forgiveness.
He'd certainly used a lot of ink to do it.

“Our encounter this afternoon is already
forgotten,” she assured him.

He seemed utterly disappointed, until a corner of
his mouth curled up slightly, almost teasingly. “Not by
me.”

His gaze darkened and intensified as though he were
remembering every sweep of their tongues and the hard press of her
body against his. She would fight his heat with ice.

“As I assume you are here for dinner, I
suggest we get it over with.”

“Get it over with? That hardly sounds as
though you're looking forward to it. If you'd rather I
not be here—”

“No, of course, I welcome your presence. I
simply meant that I see no point in continuing to discuss this
afternoon or the letter.”

He took a step toward her, and she moved quickly
back.

The other corner of his mouth hiked up, so that he
was bestowing upon her a warm smile. “I thought only to
escort you into the dining room…as is my usual
practice.”

She gathered her courage around her, relaxed her
hands, which had fisted at her sides, and placed one on his offered
arm. “Of course.”

“As I said in my letter, I understand my
place in your life.”

Oh, he'd said that, too, had he? And where
exactly did he think his place was?

“You need never fear me,” he
continued.

Well, she did fear him. She couldn't help it.
He terrified her. Even as she wanted him to move to the far ends of
the earth, she wanted him to step closer to her.

“You don't frighten me.”

“Can you say the same of the attraction that
shimmers between us?”

“I wasn't aware of any
attraction.”

“And here, I'd always considered you to
be an astute woman.”

The challenge in his eyes infuriated her. Why
couldn't he be as easy to manipulate as every other man in
London?

“I believe you are delusional,” she
said, hoping to turn his observations away from her.

He chuckled, and she remembered that he favored
having a woman who would make him laugh. This encounter was
obviously not going in her favor.

“Am I delusional regarding your being astute
or there being an attraction between us?” he asked.

She gave him a haughty look. “Well, as I am
obviously astute, then it stands to reason—”

“That you would feel nothing if I kissed you
again?”

Feel nothing when her lips had already begun to
tingle in anticipation of his mouth against hers? “Please
don't test me.”

She thought she sounded pathetic and weak. She
detested both impressions. They left the hardiest woman
vulnerable.

He bowed his head slightly, lifted her hand to his
mouth, and kissed the tips of her fingers. “As you
wish.”

She stared at him, unable to believe the ease with
which he'd given up the pursuit—and a bit disappointed
as well.

“I promise you that what happened this
afternoon will never happen again,” he said.

Had
that
been in his
letter or was he just now adding it? How was she to respond? She
finally decided to settle for, “I'm quite
relieved.”

“Are you?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Why are you trembling?”

Because you are near. Because
it is foolish to want you when your occupation had once required
you to determine who had mastered a lesson and who
hadn't
.

“I'm feeling faint because I've
yet to dine,” she said, instead of offering the truth.

“Then we'd best see to
dinner.”

“Yes, we had.”

With a measure of relief, she allowed him to escort
her into the dining room. She'd managed to keep the truth
from him, but her success was bittersweet. She'd never
regretted more that she had secrets to keep.

S
he
was hiding something. Arch was certain of it. She'd seemed
uncomfortable, on edge when first meeting him in the library, and
she'd not relaxed since coming in to dinner.

If she hadn't told him that she'd read
his letter, he would have thought that she hadn't. He
believed he'd been forthright in his apology as well as his
explanation regarding what he expected future encounters between
them to entail, but she was acting as though she wasn't quite
certain of where she stood…or more precisely as though she
was unsure how to tell him exactly what she thought of him.

He sat at one end of the long table, while she sat
at the other, eating with precise, concise move
ments, never taking her eyes from her food as though
she feared if she so much as blinked, it would dash off her plate.
He was accustomed to her delighting him with silly gossip about one
person or another. She seemed to care little for England's
political affairs, but she knew a great deal about the personal
politics
and
affairs that affected the
aristocracy. Who was seen with whom. Who
should
be seen with whom. Which ladies had
unblemished reputations, which had demonstrated questionable
behavior and should be viewed with suspicion. Such as Lady Jane
Myerson and her scandalous absence of gloves.

“I did not realize that Lady Jane Myerson had
an interest in me,” he said quietly, trying to bridge the
river of silence separating them.

She set down her fork, signaled to the nearby
footman for her plate to be removed, and dabbed delicately at each
corner of her mouth. He truly wished she wouldn't draw
attention to her lips. He so wanted to kiss her again.

“All the ladies have an interest in
you,” she finally responded. She pierced him with a glare.
“That is one of the reasons that it is so very important for
you to be measured for hunting attire. I received word from the
tailor that you were not available to him once again.”

“Shortly after you rushed out I went for a
walk
to gather my thoughts. I saw you standing
on the knoll at a nearby park.”

“I didn't see you.”

“I was too far away. By the time I reached
the spot, you'd left. You seemed very lonely up
there.”

“I wasn't lonely. I was watching the
children.”

“I would think that would be a painful
undertaking.”

“Why?”

He was wishing now that he'd simply told her
that he'd gone for a walk. He'd not meant to traverse
this uncomfortable ground. “I would think it would be
difficult to look upon what you cannot have.”

“As we've gone to the art museum twice,
I assume you enjoy looking at paintings.”

“Indeed, I do.”

“But you cannot purchase them all.”

He fought back his grin. “No, I
cannot.”

“Does that dim your enthusiasm for
them?”

“No, rather it makes me appreciate them
more.”

“There you are.” She signaled for more
wine to be poured.

“You don't like pity, do
you?”

“Not particularly, no. Nor do I like
informing the tailor that you will be in your residence when you
will not.”

That again. The blasted clothing. “In the
morn
ing I shall go round to his shop to be
measured,” he assured her.

“I devoted a good many hours and went to
great lengths to select the fabrics that would complement your
coloring. Many people do not realize that the shade of fabric can
enhance one's appearance as much as the style of the
clothing. I do not appreciate feeling as though my efforts were
wasted.”

“I assure you, Camilla, I'm grateful
for everything you've done for me. I don't know how I
would have managed without you.” And then because he could no
longer stand the distance separating them, he shoved back his
chair, picked up his plate, utensils, and wineglass, and began
walking toward her end of the table.

She looked positively terrified. “What are
you doing?”

He set everything down at the place beside hers,
pulled out the chair, and sat. “
Joining
you for dinner.”

“It's improper.”

“What does it matter when it is only the two
of us? My father sat beside my mother every day of his life so when
they spoke neither had cause to raise their voices. When I'm
sitting at that end of the table, I feel as though you are upon a
stage, and I am in the audience. This nearness is preferable,
don't you think?”

“I think if you become lax, that you will
fall into bad habits.”

“It is a risk I think worth
taking.”

“If I am to educate you, I must educate you
on all matters.”

“Educate me on this then. Mr. Spellman left
his documents on my desk, and I looked them over very carefully.
They provided descriptions of the items purchased. I was surprised
to discover how plain much of the clothing was.”

She reached for her wineglass, her hand shaking.
She took a longer swallow than usual, before saying, “I have
occasion to wear plain clothing.”

“And how do you explain the dolls?”

“My hobby. I collect them.”

“I've never seen any here.”

“I keep them in a room for my private
enjoyment.”

He studied her, trying to determine why she seemed
so incredibly nervous, and what reason she could possibly have for
lying to him. “I thought the purpose of a collection was to
display it—”

“The purpose of a collection is simply
that—to collect.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“I'm not afraid of anything.”

“Everyone is afraid of something.”

“What of you then? What are you afraid
of?”

“I'm afraid of never finding love, of
living a
lonely life, and at its end finding
myself with nothing except discontentment.”

She looked at him as though she'd never seen
a sadder creature. “Do you not understand that you
shouldn't reveal so much of yourself?”

“If I don't, then how will anyone truly
come to know me? To trust me?”

“Why can you not be content to gaze upon the
surface?”

“Because it isn't the surface that
draws me to you.”

She came up out of the chair as though someone had
suddenly lit a fire beneath her. “I have no desire to discuss
so private a matter where servants can hear. You may join me in the
drawing room as soon as you've finished with your
dinner.”

She swept from the room as though she were a woman
scorned. He hardly knew what to think, how to react. He was not a
stranger to women. On the contrary, he'd enjoyed the company
of his fair share over the years, had been left with the impression
that they'd enjoyed being with him as well. But then none of
them had been married to the old earl, and from what he'd
been able to ascertain from those who knew him, few had liked the
man.

With a sigh, he shoved back his chair and stood.
Perhaps she thought all earls of Sachse were cut from the same
cloth.

He walked out of the room, down the hall, and into
the drawing room. Standing before a window, she was gazing out into
the night. The firelight from the nearby hearth played over her
golden brown hair, the delicate slope of her neck, her narrow
shoulders. At moments like this he found it difficult to envision
her as the haughty woman she so often came across as being.

“Would you prefer for me to leave your
home?” he asked.

“It is not my home.” She glanced over
her shoulder at him. “All of this is yours. Do not think for
a single moment that I forget that fact. I know it is only your
generosity and kindness that allows me to live in this house. You
may ask or demand of me what you will, and I have no choice except
to follow through on your wishes—until I have found another
husband to see after me.”

“You are not my slave, Camilla.”

“But you provide for me, do you not? The old
Sachse, may he rest in hell, made no provisions for me—as Mr.
Spellman was only too quick to remind you.”

And perhaps that was a good deal of the problem. He
couldn't imagine being in her situation when she never knew
from one day to the next if his generosity would be withdrawn. If
so, how would she live?

As though sensing the direction of his
thoughts, she continued, “This afternoon you
asked why I was so keen on finding you a wife. The truth is, that I
thought if I could influence you, if I could select your wife, I
could ensure that she would be an agreeable sort who wouldn't
kick me out before I'd found my duke.”

He watched as she blinked back tears before facing
him fully. The withering of her pride nearly brought him to his
knees.

“Dukes are rare,” she rasped.
“Those who have secured their heir and their spare and are
widowed are even rarer. You are more likely to take a wife before I
take a duke. And then what becomes of me?”

“I would never turn you out.”

She gave him a sad smile. “A promise easily
made, but not easily kept when you have another woman to keep
happy.”

“I would
never
turn you out,” he repeated through clenched teeth.

A corner of her smile crept up higher, and a
sparkle seemed to be fighting to return to her eyes.
“Although considering all the qualifications you were
rambling off earlier this afternoon, I'm not certain you will
find a wife as quickly as I expected.”

“No, I don't imagine I will.” He
wanted to take her in his arms, not to kiss her, but simply to hold
her, to give and draw comfort. But it was not emo
tional or physical comfort that she required. Rather
she needed to feel financially safe.

An idea began to take shape in his mind. The old
Sachse hadn't provided for her, but Arch could and, in so
doing, he could set her mind at ease. “How much would you
require in order to live comfortably?”

She looked suddenly defeated. “You've
decided that Mr. Spellman is right. I need an allowance.”

“No, not at all. But I have recognized that
I've taken advantage. You have graciously taken me under your
wing, and I have done little to show my appreciation. You do not
owe me this service, nor should I expect you to give me your time.
I was paid to teach. You've been teaching me and, therefore,
you should have a salary as well, money which is yours to spend as
you see fit, without Mr. Spellman questioning how you use a single
penny. Would a hundred pounds a month suffice?”

She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it.
“That is more than generous.” She shook her head.
“But there is very little more that I can teach
you.”

“On the contrary. You are exceedingly
familiar with the ladies of London. I want you to help me find a
wife, but I prefer that you help me find one who meets
my
requirements rather than
yours
. I shall pay you a monthly stipend until I
marry.”

She gave him a suspicious look. “You
don't strike me as a fool, but certainly you must realize
that if I find you a wife, I cease to have income. I could find
fault with every lady who comes our way.”

“I trust you not to be that
unscrupulous.”

He could fairly see the wheels turning in her
mind.

“And in return,” he continued,
“here is what I propose. Since your concern is that my wife
might convince me that I should turn you out with nothing, and you
doubt my promise not to, we shall strike a bargain. Find me a wife
who meets my requirements rather than yours, and I shall pay you a
final stipend of”—he considered the last set of ledgers
he'd looked over, determining an amount he could easily
afford—“twenty thousand pounds.”

She stumbled back, and he thought that if the
window hadn't been behind her, she might have fallen.
“That is a princely sum, and I would be able to bring more
than myself to a marriage.”

“And if you didn't marry, you'd
still be provided for. If you invest that money, you will have a
nice yearly income.”

“Indeed.” She shoved herself away from
the window and began to pace. “However, with your standards,
you have set me an impossible task.” Abruptly she stopped and
faced him. “What if I
find you a wife, but
she doesn't meet all your requirements?”

“Yes, I suppose I do have quite a few, and
some may seem unreasonable at that. When all is said and done, I
require only that she make me happy, but I ask that you keep all my
requirements in mind.”

She smiled, and it seemed to him that something had
changed within her, for it was a warmer smile than he'd ever
seen coming from her. “I should like very much to help you
find a wife of your choosing.”

“Then our bargain is struck.”

“Indeed.”

“I don't suppose we should seal the
bargain with a kiss,” he teased.

“Indeed not. Nor is a written document which
must be signed necessary. I believe that a handshake will
suffice.”

She extended her hand. Because they'd been
eating dinner, neither wore gloves. He swallowed hard before
sliding his hand around hers. Her eyes widened slightly as though
she were surprised by the intimacy of so informal a touch. Always
when going to dinner, her bare hand had rested on the sleeve of his
jacket, and he'd never had the audacity to place his hand
over hers.

Her skin was soft, the warmth of her palm com
plementing the warmth of his, the heat radiating up
his arm to settle low in his gut. He wondered if she was
experiencing the same sensations. For a single heartbeat he
imagined the fire that would ignite between them if bared flesh
from shoulder to heel was pressed together. As though suddenly
aware of the direction his thoughts had turned, she gave his hand a
quick shake and pulled her own free.