As an Earl Desires (8 page)

“Punish her for it? Why ever would I punish
her—”

“The old Sachse did. I'm sure of it.
She'd never admit it, though. He was so very tight with his
money. One Christmas she purchased dolls and cloaks for little
girls. When he found out what she'd done…I don't
know what he did, and she never said, but I do know that she moved
most gingerly for almost a week.”

It seemed once her mouth began working, Lillian
didn't know how to stop it.

He slid his eyes closed, well imaging what the
bastard had done. He'd beat her. He opened his eyes.
“Thank you for the confidence, Lillian. I'll keep this
between us.”

She raised her chin a notch, rebellion in her eyes.
“She still did it, though, bought the cloaks anyway, so the
children would be warm, but she did it by putting aside the small
amount of money that he gave her for different items. And when she
could convince him that she needed a new cloak, she would have it
made with several linings, claiming that she always got so cold.
When it arrived, she'd remove them all and we'd sew
smaller capes for children and piece the scraps
together for blankets. It wasn't much, but it was something,
and it always made us feel good at Christmas.” Suddenly she
looked immensely embarrassed. “I've revealed far more
than you asked and more than I should have. She wouldn't want
you to know all that.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “And I
shan't let on that I do know.”

“Thank you, my lord. May I go now?”

“Yes.”

After she left, Arch walked to a window and looked
out on the garden. He thought of the way she'd stiffened
beside him when Spellman had questioned her purchases. Had she
thought Arch would react as her husband had—or had she simply
responded based on past experience?

Was it any wonder that she'd built a wall
around herself?

 

She was familiar with skating, of course, having
observed it on several occasions. Young people enjoyed the sport
because it allowed them easily to rid themselves of the chaperones
who were seldom able to keep up with the nimble youths. No one
frowned upon the antics of the daring couples, because they were
usually in sight of other skaters, although Camilla had heard of a
few people being caught in fervent
kisses. As
she sat on the park bench moving her feet back and forth, testing
the movement of the wheels beneath her shoes, she wasn't
certain how anyone could engage in a kiss while wearing skates
without falling flat on their bottoms.

“Ready?” Archie asked from his place on
the bench beside her.

“You go first.”

“I thought we would go together, arm in arm,
providing each other with support.”

“If you stumble along and go down, then so
shall I.”

“I shan't go down.”

He sounded so cocky, so sure of himself—but
without conceit. Had she made the same claim, she would have come
across as arrogant, because she knew no other way to protect
herself except to live behind her shield of snobbery. How did he
manage to say what she would but without the chill? Perhaps it was
because his smile was warm, his eyes inviting.

“I'm afraid that you will have to prove
to me that you have the skill to remain upright.”

He held out his hand, palm up. “Trust me,
Camilla.”

She dipped her gaze to his outstretched gloved
palm. If only she could place her hand in his. She lifted her eyes
to his, imploring him to understand that she was talking about more
than the
skating and fully cognizant of the fact
that he was as well. “I can't.”

“If he weren't already dead, I believe
I'd kill him.”

Before she could wrap her mind around the
implication of his words and to whom he was referring, he shoved
himself off the bench and rolled away from her. He faced her, and
as though he'd accomplished some great miracle, he extended
his arms. “There, you see? It's not so hard.”

It did seem simple enough and had the possibility
of being a bit of fun. She lifted herself off the bench, her feet
rolled away, and she plopped back down. Not so easy.

“Have your feet tucked farther back behind
the bench to give you better leverage as you're getting
up,” he suggested.

She shook her head. “I don't believe I
can do this.”

“That doesn't sound like the countess I
know.” He returned to her side as easy as he pleased and held
out both hands. “Come on.”

“Give me a demonstration of your
skill.”

“If we dally much longer, we won't be
the only ones on the path. You need only find your balance, and the
sport is quite simple.”

“I need to see you traverse more than you
have in order to have any confidence in your ability,” she
insisted.

“Very well.”

He skated away from her, his hands clasped behind
his back, his strides long and sure. Beautiful really. Elegant. But
nothing like the beauty and elegance of a woman. He possessed a
strength and power that radiated from his body, and she thought he
did indeed have the ability to keep her upright.

He disappeared around the corner, hidden from her
by hedges. Anxious to keep sight of him, she was halfway to her
feet before the traitorous skates tried to take them in opposite
directions, and she found herself plopping back on the bench,
fairly rattling her teeth in the process. Then she heard the whir
of the wheels, and Archie was headed back toward her, confidence in
every stride, his smile beaming.

“It's fun, Camilla. You really
must—eh, there! Watch out!”

She shrieked as a squirrel scampered across the
path. Archie tried to avoid it. He lost his balance and took a
tumble onto the side of the path.

“Oh, Archie!”

She was almost to him before she remembered wheels
were beneath her soles rather than solid ground. As panic took
hold, she began wind-milling her arms. Her legs went this way and
that, as though each were controlled by separate minds. Before she
realized it or could do anything
to prevent it,
she landed on top of him, his arms around her, holding her in
place, cushioning her fall with his body.

And it was such a young, virile body. Not soft from
overeating as her husband's had been. Not smelly from too
much drink and tobacco.

He grinned up at her. “You see? It was jolly
good fun.”

“How can you smile?”

“How can you not?”

Then he did the most remarkable thing. He laughed.
Deep and long. She felt the rumble of his chest against hers.

“You looked incredibly funny,” he
said.

“Me? You should have seen yourself. I thought
your eyes were going to pop right out of your head.” Then in
spite of her best intentions not to do so, she remembered how he
had looked, striving to find his balance. A bubble of laughter
escaped her throat.

It was met by another bark of laughter from him.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she saw him again, the comical expression
of horror on his face, and the laughter rolled out of her, mingling
with his. She'd never seen anything so humorous in all of her
life.

Abruptly he went silent. She opened her eyes, saw
the intensity with which he watched her, and her chuckles died away
beneath the onslaught of his raw and exposed desire.

“You have such a lovely laugh,” he
said.

“Don't be—”

“No!” he growled, cradling her face
between his hands. “Don't go away. The woman you are
now, let her remain.”

“She is a silly woman; she wouldn't be
taken seriously.”

He trailed his finger around her face.
“Everything about you changed in that moment when you
laughed. So young, so carefree. I believe I could love a woman such
as that.”

“She would break your heart and hers as well.
She cannot give you a son, and you cannot give her a
dukedom.”

“I could give her a kiss.”

He lifted his head, and even though she knew she
should pull back, she didn't. She remained as she was,
sprawled over him, closing her eyes as his lips touched hers. So
tenderly, so sweetly. How could he not understand that it was
because she cared for him so much that she couldn't allow him
past her barricades?

He drew back from the kiss and held her gaze.
“That wasn't so bad now was it?”

She pressed her fingers against his lips.
“You break my heart.”

She offered him no chance to react, but shoved
herself off him and reassembled her barriers. “How do you
propose we get up?”

He rolled into a sitting position, his chest
against her back, his breath wafting along the nape of her neck.
“Stay with me a while longer, the woman you are now, until
the end of the path.”

“Promise you won't kiss me.”

He pressed his warm mouth against her neck.
“Promise.”

The movement of his lips over her skin almost had
her turning around and begging him to break that promise. Then he
was gone, and she was aware of the sound of movements as he worked
to get himself to his feet. She glanced over her shoulder and
thought that she might never again view him as she had before this
moment. He seemed to require no effort at all to push himself to a
standing position.

He reached his hands down to her, and she looked up
into his face. His hair had fallen over his brow, and he was in
need of straightening, but she couldn't seem to find any
impatience for his disheveled appearance.

“I'll make you fall again,” she
said.

“No, you won't. I'm stronger than
I look, I'm braced and balanced.”

She placed her hands in his and allowed him to pull
her to her feet. He grinned. “You see? It's easier to
stand when you allow another to help.”

“I've grown accustomed to doing
everything on my own.”

“I know you have,” he said. He slipped
her arm around his. “I don't mind your leaning on
me.”

She couldn't remember a time when she'd
leaned on anyone. She'd certainly never dared to look to her
husband for support. She wasn't afraid of all men. She knew
some men were kind and gentle. But she also realized that receiving
that gentleness required a vulnerability that she wasn't
willing to show, a step away from isolation that she wasn't
willing to relinquish. She positioned herself so her shoulder was
against his. “My stride is not as long as yours.”

“Then I shall adjust my stride. I'm an
accommodating fellow.”

“I don't believe this is your first
time to skate as you'd have me believe.”

“No, it's not. I was amazed you rushed
to my rescue. You were quite shocked to realize you were suddenly
skating.”

“Shocked? I was terrified.”

“You hid it well.”

“I always do, Archie.”

“You needn't with me. I'd never
ridicule you.”

“I can't fathom why you give me so much
attention. You're young, handsome, gentle, and kind. You
could have any woman you wanted.”

“Apparently I can't.”

She felt the heat suffuse her face. Did he mean
what she thought he did?

“I am yours until the end of the path,”
she told him, not certain why she felt compelled to do so.

“Perhaps we'll discover the path has no
end.”

She refrained from commenting as he guided her
along the path, their strides in tandem. But she knew the truth.
All good things came to an end, and usually much sooner than one
wanted.

S
he
had the most beautiful laugh. Arch couldn't get it out of his
mind as he danced during the final ball of the Season. Camilla had
instructed him to pay attention to each of his partners, but it was
difficult when memories of her laughter overshadowed the music
being played.

The laughter had filled her eyes, colored her
cheeks in crimson, and shaped her mouth to perfection for kissing.
He shouldn't have taken advantage, but he'd been unable
to stop himself.

Despite her years of marriage, her kisses
weren't that of an experienced woman. Rather they were
tentative, unsure, as though she didn't quite understand what
was happening between them. Perhaps it was only that she'd
never known
such tenderness. He suspected her
husband was the first man to possess her body, and based upon what
he'd gathered of her feelings toward the man, he didn't
think she hurried to another's bed after the earl drew his
last breath.

He wanted very much to introduce her to the glory
that could exist between a man and a woman. But could there be true
passion with no love? Could there be love with no future?

“As you can well imagine, Mama is quite put
out with him,” his dance partner said, bringing him back to
the task at hand. As he'd not been paying attention, he had
no idea with whom her mother was put out.

“He is all of two-and-thirty,” she
continued. “She believes it is high time he took a
wife.”

Her brother possibly? He was dancing with the
lovely Lady Anne Stanbury, sister to the Duke of Weddington, a man
Arch was coming to envy because he'd had the good sense not
to make an appearance.

“Do you not agree?” he asked.

“I believe one should marry for love, not
because of one's age.”

He smiled, finding it quite refreshing to meet a
young lady who seemed to have an opinion that was in the
minority.

“I understand that this is your first Season
as well,” she said, smiling brightly.

“Indeed it is.”

“And what are your thoughts?”

“I've hardly had a chance to catch my
breath since arriving.”

She giggled. “Isn't it marvelous?
I've rather enjoyed it.”

“It has certainly been a Season I
shan't soon forget.”

The final strains of the tune lingered and faded as
he escorted Lady Anne back to her mother.

“Duchess, thank you for allowing me the
opportunity to dance with your lovely daughter.”

The duchess smiled kindly. “I thought you
made a handsome couple.”

Lady Anne rolled her eyes. “Oh, Mama, I want
to be more than a nice set of matching bookends.”

“Dear girl, your first Season is at an end,
and you have yet to find a suitor.”

“And I'm not worried about it in the
least.”

“Good for you, Lady Anne,” he said.
“Now if you'll excuse me, I believe I have a full dance
card this evening.”

He began making his way through the crowd,
searching for Camilla. He was on dance number six…or was it
seven? He wasn't certain. Panic was beginning to set in. Not
only couldn't he remember which dance was to be called next,
but he couldn't remember with whom he was supposed to
dance.

He felt a delicate hand come to rest on his upper
arm. He turned and felt relief swamp him at the sight of
Camilla's smiling face. “I can't remember
who's next,” he admitted.

Her smile grew. “I am.”

“Thank God! I don't know how you keep
up with it.”

She held up her wrist, her dance card dangling
along her glove.

“I don't suppose you could get one of
those for me?”

“You don't need one. I was standing
beside you when you signed every card. I know which dance belongs
with which lady.”

“You wrote it on the back of your
card?”

“No, I simply have a very good memory.”
The strains of a waltz began. “Would you rather take a walk
in the garden?” she asked.

He would, but he feared if he did that, he might be
tempted to sneak a kiss. The last ball of the Season, and
he'd spotted a lot of kissing going on when couples could
elude their chaperones. Many of the ladies were already spoken for,
although none on his list were. Camilla had made certain that he
wasn't wasting his time, as though he'd consider
moments spent with any lovely lady a waste.

After their rinking session, she'd returned
to her proper self, determined to find him a wife. Some
times he felt as though that morning had never
happened. And other times, he drifted off to sleep with the memory
of her laughter surrounding him.

“No, we'd best stick to the task at
hand,” he said. He'd promised never again to overstep
his bounds, but he was finding it to be an extremely difficult
promise to keep, especially when the evening required that she
remain near.

He escorted her onto the dance floor, and when he
took her into the circle of his arms, he wished he could chase off
the feeling that overcame him: that she was exactly where she
belonged.

She was dressed in a gown of the palest pink, edged
in blue, her bosom modestly revealed. Pink roses adorned her
upswept hair. The jewels at her throat glittered almost as much as
her eyes.

“You're enjoying yourself,” he
said.

Her smile blossomed as the flowers in her hair had
done before being set in place. “Immensely. I love balls: the
dancing, the music, the beautiful clothes, the elaborate
decorations. I always feel so alive.”

“You're quite popular.”

“My dance card could have been filled, but I
wanted an opportunity to observe you with several ladies. The next
dance, however, I shan't pass up. It's to be with a
duke, and you shall dance with his daughter.”

“I thought I just danced with the daughter of
a duke.”

“You did. Lady Anne's father was a
duke, but he died some years back. Her brother is not in
attendance.”

“Is he available?” he asked, fairly
certain that the duke wasn't, based on the conversation
he'd had with the man's sister. Arch kept his voice
lighthearted as he learned the rules of the game that she played so
adroitly.

“Not to me. He has yet to obtain an
heir.”

She kept her gaze on his, making him feel as though
no one in the room were more important. And he realized that was
probably part of the game as well.

“Were you taken with Lady Anne?” she
asked.

“Lady Anne?”

“The woman with whom you just
danced.”

“Ah, yes, Lady Anne, who believes a person
should marry for love.”

“It sounds as though you two are of a like
mind, so she is a possibility?”

“I think not. She was very nice, but hardly
half my age.”

“You are going to find very few ladies here
who are near your age and marriageable.”

“There is you.”

She gave him a look of impatience. “I am
close
to your age, but not marriageable
to you
, as you well know.”

“Quite right. I forget myself when you look
so lovely.”

She blushed, and he wondered if that, too, was part
of the game. If she could call her blood to the surface on command.
He despised that he questioned every aspect of her behavior this
evening. Above all else, he wanted honesty between them. He
understood that there couldn't be love, but there could be
affection, honesty, friendship.

“What's wrong?” she asked
quietly.

He shook his head, then decided he couldn't
expect her to be honest if he wasn't the same. “I would
rather you not play games with me. Play them with your duke, but
not with me.”

“I've forgotten how not to play
them.”

“Then perhaps I shall educate you as you
educate me.”

The music drifted into silence, and he released a
weary sigh, wishing the night would come to a hasty end. “Who
is next?”

“Lady Alice.”

“I danced with Lady Alice before I danced
with you.”

“No, you danced with Lady Anne.”

Her memory astounded him. “I assume
you'll see that I make it to Lady Alice's side without
tripping over my own feet.”

“Of course.”

She guided him through the crowd, smiling at people
she passed, offering a whisper here, a touch on the arm there. She
was truly in her element, the gracious hostess at a ball for which
she wasn't hostess. How in the world could she not see that
she'd already garnered the respect that she thought she
lacked? And damn it all if her smiles didn't seem genuinely
offered to everyone except him.

She loved the attention, blossomed in it, and was
so good at giving it back. And to his immense surprise, she seemed
to give to everyone. Oh, he noticed an extra pat on the arm to a
gentleman whose clothing seemed to be made of finer cloth than
most, but she didn't seem to distinguish between persons
based on appearance.

She stopped, touching a gentleman on the shoulder.
Arch didn't much like the way the man looked down at Camilla,
as though he could envision running his finger along her
décolletage.

“Lord Winburrow,” she said quietly,
“Lady Jane Myerson has yet to take to the floor, and Lord
Sachse is not on her dance card until the eighth dance. As you are
such a highly regarded gentleman, I thought I should make you aware
of her circumstance so you might take it upon yourself to spare her
the embarrassment of sitting in the corner for so long without a
dance partner.”

“It is kind of you to bring her sad state to
my at
tention, but I believe I shall sit this
one out.”

“As your mistress will be dancing with her
husband, I believe it would do you well to be occupied with another
lady before others notice on whom your attention seems to
linger.”

Lord Winburrow blushed scarlet and looked as though
his cravat had suddenly transformed into a hangman's
noose.

“I appreciate your counsel. I shall seek out
Lady Jane immediately.”

Arch watched the man scamper away. “You
approve of his affair?” he asked quietly.

“It is not my place to judge. You will find
that some women are very open about their lovers, even having them
as escorts rather than their husbands. His mistress is not to that
point.”

He shook his head. “I don't understand
the aristocracy. I suppose I should add to my requirements a woman
who will not take a lover.”

She peered up at him, smiling softly. “I
believe you will keep any woman from straying.”

“You surprised me by offering a kindness to
Lady Jane Myerson after her scandalous lack of gloves.”

She lifted a delicate shoulder. “Just because
she isn't right for you doesn't mean she isn't
perfect for someone else.” Her smile blossomed into one of
genuine joy. “And here is Lady Alice.”

Arch remembered her now, being introduced to
her as he'd signed her dance card. She was
indeed pretty. Her blond hair was so pale as almost to match the
shade of the pearls dotting her white gown, which made the deep
green of her eyes more noticeable. Her features were flawless, her
smile genuine and one of warmth.

“Lord Sachse.”

Her voice was that of a nightingale.

“Lady Alice.”

“I must admit I've been looking forward
to our dance. The countess speaks so highly of you.”

“She can speak no more highly of me than I do
of her.” He thought he was presenting himself as an absolute
buffoon. He'd attended several balls and never crossed paths
with the elegant and poised lady before him.

“I daresay that this is fortunate timing
indeed, as I was about to go searching for my next dance
partner.”

The voice was gruff but kind, and when Arch looked
at the man whom he was certain was the Duke of Kingsbridge, he knew
he shouldn't have taken an immediate dislike to him, because
there was nothing about him deserving of that attitude. But he
couldn't seem to help himself. He disliked everything about
him.

He had thick side whiskers and a heavy mustache,
both white to such an extent that Arch couldn't determine
what the original color might
have been. Not
that it was important. His eyes matched his daughter's, as
did his smile and his warmth. Perhaps what Arch didn't like
was that the duke seemed unaware that anyone other than he and
Camilla was in the room, and when he extended his arm and Camilla
placed her hand on it, it seemed she was of the same opinion.

“My lord?”

He snapped his attention to Lady Alice, who was
waiting expectantly for him to give attention to her. He offered
her his arm. “Shall we?”

As he escorted her to the dance area, he realized
that she was extremely comfortable with her surroundings, at ease.
Her smile as he took her into his arms encompassed her entire face.
She seemed forthright, and he thought she'd never have
secrets, would never be a mystery to unravel. She provided the
openness and honesty he sought, and he wondered why he didn't
find the notion more alluring.

As they twirled around the dance floor, she was as
feathery as a cloud on a summer day, her eyes sparkling, her smile
sublime. He thought that of all the ladies he'd danced with
this evening, save one, she held the most promise.

“I'm rather pleased to see my father
take such an interest in Lady Sachse,” she said.
“He's been widowed for nearly two years now, and he
does get lonely.”

“I understand he has an heir.”

She laughed lightly. “Three as a matter of
fact. My brothers are off on amazing adventures, while I'm
left here to search for a husband. It seems rather unfair to me, as
I should like very much to be on an adventure.”