Only an Earl Will Do (3 page)

Mr. Andrews smiled, and the aristocratic mask eased. “It can be, Lady Newland, but our father runs an import export company out of New York and has vessels of the highest standard at our disposal. Our journey over was never a concern. His biggest worry was if his daughter would return to America come the New Year.”

Elizabeth met Victoria’s gaze and refused to react to the man’s implication. What was he trying to say? Was there an understanding between Miss Andrews and someone… Miss Andrews looked up at Henry, her coquettish gaze saying without words what
gentleman
she had in mind.

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes.

“Do you wish to make England your home, Miss Andrews?” Victoria asked.

“No, not at all,” Miss Andrews replied. “But I wouldn’t be against Scotland or Ireland. I find the people in the north more to my taste.”

Elizabeth started at the barely masked insult against those who lived south of the Scottish border. Again Miss Andrews fixed her attention on Henry, and the lady’s liking of everything north of the border became clear. Elizabeth cleared her throat, taking her sister’s arm. “Well, Miss Andrews, perhaps you could join the society in Edinburgh or Dublin, since those are more to your taste. We would not wish to keep you here if it makes you unhappy.”

Henry stepped forward and bowed when Miss Andrews didn’t reply but merely glared at Elizabeth’s remark. She smiled.

“Lady Newland, would ye care to accompany me for the next dance? I believe it’s to be a cotillion.”

Elizabeth ignored the longing that the request brought forth in her. She steeled her resolve to remain strong, detached, withheld. “That is kind of you, my lord, but I do not wish to dance. My feet are feeling poorly after my earlier efforts.”

“Come, Lady Newland, surely there is one more dance in ye,” Lord McCalter said jovially.

“Perhaps another time,” Victoria stated, clearly sensing her growing unease. “Elizabeth did say when she finished the last set that she wouldn’t dance again this eve. But the season still has many more dances in it. I’m sure Lord Muir can wait to take advantage at another ball.”

Henry smiled, but the gesture never reached his eyes. “Of course. I would never wish to cause unease for Lady Newland.”

Elizabeth bit back a nasty retort and directed her attention to the dancers swirling about on the dance floor. Henry’s years in America had turned him into a hypocrite.

“How is Dunsleigh? And ye father? We’ve only been back in the country a week or so, and I’ve not heard how ye family goes on.”

Like you care.

The bitter thought should shame her; to think so cruelly wasn’t something that was in her nature, and yet the man before her was the very reason she’d married a total stranger. Had used him poorly.

“We’re all very well. Although Father hasn’t accompanied us to town; he remains in the country,” Victoria said.

“Are ye staying at Newland house or the Duke’s London residence?” Henry’s eyes burned with a hatred Elizabeth wondered at. That he was annoyed with her was odd, since it was by his own doing that she’d married someone other than himself. Had he returned when they’d written him, they would be married right at this moment.

“I’m staying at my brother’s home.” Elizabeth’s reply was clipped, and Mr. Andrews shifted with unease. The tension among the party was almost palpable, and uncomfortable to say the least.

Henry laughed, the tone mocking. He took a sip of his wine, draining the contents. “How diverting. Ye English husband doesn’t mind that ye stay with your family when in town. I thought he would wish ye beside him at all times.”

Victoria met her gaze, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“I do not believe my husband would wish me to be beside him at this very moment, Lord Muir, since he’s buried in the family plot in Wiltshire.”

Henry started at her words, his eyes widening in shock. “Ye’re a widow?”

Elizabeth glared at the Scottish oaf. “Lord Newland passed away over a year ago.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Lady Newland.” Mr. Andrews threw her a consoling look. “We apologize for bringing up what must still be so painful for you.”

“Thank you.” She looked back at Henry, who watched her, or more like contemplated her every move like a fox watches a rabbit. “Lord Muir, do you have something to say?” she asked, annoyed he would study her so.

He cleared his throat. “Sincere condolences, my lady.” Henry took another glass of wine from a passing footman. “I’m relieved to hear ye father is doing well. I shall travel down to Dunsleigh and call on him before returning to Scotland.”

“That won’t be necessary, Lord Muir. I’m sure you’re busy here with your visiting family from abroad.”

“I admit we’re very busy, but I will always have time for His Grace. He was my guardian, after all.”

Elizabeth made a noncommittal sound, looking toward the supper room doors that were being opened by liveried footmen. “Well I’m sure you’ll do as you please.” Victoria’s hold on her arm tightened, a silent warning to behave. The first strings of a cotillion sounded, and the tittering about the room increased.

“I will dance with you, Henry. This dance is such a favorite of mine, and you do it so well. I’m sure, given the amount of times we’ve stepped out together, I will prove adequate for this society’s standard,” Miss Andrews said, her voice as sweet as ratafia.

Elizabeth watched as Henry smiled down at Miss Andrews, and a rage as strong as she had ever known consumed her. This woman believed she was acceptable for Henry, and no doubt wished to become more to him than just his cousin. She watched as the woman boldly set her hand on his arm, her expression riveted on the earl.

Miss Andrews was in love…with Henry.

Elizabeth hated her on the spot.

Henry chuckled, the sound deep and throaty, and one Elizabeth had heard only sparingly in his youth. She studied his profile and realized she no longer knew him. His voice, body, mannerisms were all different. Had she ever really known him? She doubted she did right at that moment.

He took Miss Andrews’s hand and bowed over it. “Shall we, my dear?”

Elizabeth looked away from the retreating pair and refused to let past emotions over Henry hurt her a second time. No, she no longer knew him and really never did, if she were honest. Never had she been so wrong about someone’s character as she had been with Henry.

Needing to get away, she pulled Victoria toward the supper room doors, determined to stuff herself with food to fill the aching hole she felt in the pit of her stomach. Of course she’d known one day Henry would walk back into her society, possibly married and with children. But to see him again, to be so close to him and yet so distant, was something she would have to get used to. Perhaps he would tire of town and leave for Scotland soon and all would go back to the way it was before.

Normal. Mundane. Lonely…

Elizabeth heard a familiar laugh and turned to see Henry and Miss Andrews, their enjoyment of the dance and of each other clear to see.

She growled under her breath. Damn him.

Chapter Two

Henry finished the dance with Amelia and managed to dislodge his cousins from his side during supper. He leaned against the ballroom wall, watching the play of the ton before him, all of the guests oblivious to the turmoil coursing through his body.

After walking past a group of meddling matrons he decided, at the look of fear they threw his way, that perhaps he ought to stop glaring at everyone present. He took another glass of brandy from a passing footman, confident the beverage would amend him to a more affable manner.

Or perhaps not.

The reason for his sour mood stood talking in deep discussion with the pompous Lord Riddledale. The older gentleman, at least fifteen years her senior, seemed to be too close, leering at her like a man who’d never seen a woman’s form before. And with Riddledale, that was surely a possibility. Henry gritted his teeth, forcing another sip of the burning liquid down his throat.

“Is this the chit you’ve been pining over the last two years?”

Henry huffed out a breath, but didn’t deny the charge his cousin Richard laid against him. “What was there to pine over? She married another not long after I left. Lady Newland was a child of my guardian. Nothing more, I assure ye.”

His cousin raised his brow, considering his words that Henry had to admit sounded false. “She makes a beautiful widow.” He paused. “In fact, all the sisters I’ve been introduced to this evening are striking beyond measure. Lady Newland has three sisters, I’m told, and one brother.”

Henry nodded, unable to disagree with his cousin on both counts. Elizabeth had always been handsome. The memory of them as children, of the delightful girl who had no qualms attempting anything he or his friends could manage. A girl who hadn’t minded the mud and scrapes of venturing outdoors. He’d loved her even then, although in a different kind of way from the love his affections had morphed into as an adult.

“Beautiful they may be, but believe me when I say they’re as fickle as snakes if in need or want of something.”

As if his thoughts conjured her, Elizabeth looked across the room, and their gazes locked. His hands fisted at his sides, and for the life of him he could not look away. How could she have married Newland after promising him only weeks before that she would wait for his return? Yes, his time away equated to two years, but Elizabeth had known his time in America could be lengthy. She’d promised that no matter how many seasons her parents afforded her, she was his.

So why did Elizabeth do it?

“Most women are, I find, although that’s what makes the chase all the more enjoyable. Wouldn’t you agree?” Richard nudged him, smiling. “So now that you’re not looking to the striking Lady Newland as a wife, on whom have you set your sights? Father would be pleased to see you settled and happy. You were so focused on gaining a fortune that we thought your heart ceased to beat for the opposite sex in New York.”

Henry shuddered at the thought of marrying anyone at all. Of course he wasn’t foolish enough not to know he must marry one day, but it wasn’t a priority. Now was the time to enjoy himself. Acquire a mistress perhaps and drown himself between her legs whenever he wanted. “The sole reason I came to America was to gain my fortune and secure my estate. Now that I’ve done that, I can take my time in surveying the diamonds of the ton. And paramount to that, no father can call me an heiress hunter.”

Richard nodded, his cousin’s gaze fixed on Elizabeth still. Henry frowned, not liking the appreciative glint in his relative’s eyes. “I must say Lady Newland wasn’t cordial to you. In fact, her very finely veiled dislike of your presence was quite obvious.”

“Yes, but the sentiment was mutual, so my feelings remain intact.” Henry looked about the room, anywhere but where Elizabeth stood, laughing, drinking, her beautiful eyes that once looked upon him with favor now turned toward other gentlemen, all of them more than happy to take whatever she would bestow upon them.

She was a rich widow, which meant the proprieties in this society no longer applied to her, within reason, of course. If she were not obvious in her regard or affairs, the ton would not care what she got up to behind closed doors. Elizabeth could take a lover, and no one would chastise her for it.

The image of them beside the lake, of her flushed cheeks and thoroughly kissed mouth, tormented him. Of knowing another man may hear her whispered gasps of pleasure, of taking from her what he’d always thought of as his, near buckled his knees.

“Who is that gentleman with her now? He seems quite cross.”

Henry’s lip curled at the sight of the pompous bastard. “Lord Riddledale, Marquis Ridges.”

Richard laughed. “Your tone tells me all I need to know. You’re not old friends then?”

“No, not at all. And why the fool thinks Elizabeth would have him is beyond me. He’s old enough to be her father.”

“You mean Lady Newland.”

Henry cursed, taking another sip of brandy. “Yes, of course. Lady Newland.”

“It’s sad about her husband. He died well before his time, poor chap.”

Well before his time. How would anyone wish to die when the delectable Lady Newland was your bed partner? He knew how Elizabeth was in the throes of passion, giving, needy, absolutely delightful in every way.

Henry pulled at his cravat, the damn thing awfully tight all of a sudden. Why was he tormenting himself in this way? She was nothing to him. Nothing but an immature chit who used him, lied to him, and yet…he could not shake the feeling of her legs about his hips, her breasts free from her gown, the dampness of his kiss on her pebbled peaks glistening in the afternoon sun.

Henry cleared his throat, needing to pull his thoughts away from memories that only made him want what he could not,
would
not, have again.

“Yes, terrible tragedy, I’m sure. Although I dinna know the particulars of his death. In fact, I had no idea at all he had died.”

“Why did the family not write you? You were their ward.”

That Henry couldn’t answer. In fact, after the letter of Elizabeth’s forthcoming marriage, he’d not heard from the family at all. They cut him off with no word as to why, even after he’d written numerous times to see if all was well. Communication ceased, and it had puzzled him greatly.

He took another sip of brandy and realized with embarrassment his cup was empty. “Who knows how these great aristocratic families work. Ye guess as to why they never wrote me is as good as mine.”

Richard nodded in agreement. “Will you seek her out and ask why you were never told of Lord Newland’s death or why the family ceased all communication with you?”

“That, cousin, ye can be assured I will.” And he would take great pleasure in telling Elizabeth what he thought of her treachery and lies.

Richard clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man. Now, our dearest Amelia is looking bored. I had best save the chits of London from the vocal capabilities of an American when she becomes annoyed.” Richard went to leave, but stopped, turning to face him. “Good luck with it all, man. If there’s anything I can help you with, let me know.”

“Thank ye, I shall.” Henry watched him go before seeking out the one woman who’d haunted his every thought since the day he left. He looked back to where he’d last seen her only to see the space empty.

He caught a glimpse of blond curls disappearing through a door into an adjoining passage.

Henry marched after her, making the passage only scant moments after Elizabeth. He scanned the corridor, noting a conservatory at one end, the door slightly ajar. Was she rendezvousing with another gentleman? Fury tore through him, and heedless to the clip of his boot heels on the polished tile floor, he marched toward the perfumed room.

She stood before the fountain, her profile clear to see in the moonlight that pierced the glass roof. He shut the door, and she turned at the sound of the click.

“What do you want, Henry?” Her bored tone hurt more than he liked to admit.

“I wish to talk. Now.”

…

Elizabeth fought to control her voice lest she give way to emotions that no longer served her any good. There was no future with Henry, not after his abandonment of her. She had escaped to the conservatory for some time to gather herself, to stop her eyes from constantly seeking out the man before her. And now here he was, looking more handsome than she ever remembered him.

“What? No kind salutations on seeing me again? Ye greeting of me in the ball earlier was unpardonable for a duke’s daughter.”

“Or a viscount’s wife.”

Pain flickered in his gaze before his eyes narrowed with another emotion she herself was feeling right at this moment. Anger.

“We’re not friends, Lord Muir. I do not have to be
nice
to you.”

“And why is that, madam? Pray tell me, what did I ever do to ye to make ye throw our friendship away?”

She laughed. What was he? Foxed? “I have my reasons, you know I do.”

“I would like to know of them.”

Elizabeth moved away toward the stone bench, not liking how the closer he came, the more she wished to throw herself at him like the lovesick fool she had been in her youth. “Why don’t you tell me why we’re no longer friends, Henry? I’m sure you have some inkling.”

His lip cured into a snarl. “You married Lord Newland without a care to the promises we’d made to each other. How could ye, lass? Did ye lose ye heart in some way as to treat me with such little respect?”

“How could I? How could I not! You would not come back and marry me.”

Henry stepped back, running a hand through his hair, leaving it on end.

Elizabeth fought the urge to pull it back to order, to run her hands through it and touch it one more time. But she would not; never would she touch him again.

“Ye knew I would not marry ye as poor as I was. I refused to let society class me as a Scottish fortune hunter after a rich English lass. I wanted to marry ye, give you the life you were accustomed to, without the help of your dowry. What is wrong with that? Why did ye not wait for me?”

“We wrote you, Henry. Asked for your return. You did not.”

He shook his head, frowning. “I never received such a letter.”

Elizabeth held up her hand, needing a moment to think. None of this made sense. Was Henry lying or telling the truth? And if he was in fact being honest, that meant he did not know of their child.

Oh dear God
. “But you replied saying you would not be returning to England any time soon.”

“I never wrote such a thing.” He shook his head, confusion replacing the anger in his tone. “I don’t understand what ye’re talking about.”

She bit her lip, her mind whirling with thoughts. If he did not know of Samuel, their son, was that such a bad thing? Her son was to inherit Newland Estate and the abundance of wealth that came with the viscountcy. If Henry knew Samuel had been birthed under the guise of another man’s name, he’d murder her.

“I,” she paused, thinking for the first time that perhaps Henry had never abandoned her. Had never in fact treated her with such utter disrespect that she would never forgive him. That the man before her had never willfully broken her heart… “I don’t know what to say but, in any case, it’s done now. I fell in love with another, and I married him. You left for America to gain your wealth, and you’ve succeeded if your superfine coat is anything to go by. There is nothing left to say now that could change our past.”

“Someone has meddled, and I want to know why. I never wrote such a letter, and I certainly never received a letter from ye family requesting that I return.”

She bit her lip, confusion warring with the long-held anger she kept within her. The urge to run far away from Henry made her restless. “I do not know, and I’m not interested in opening old”—she was going to say wounds, but she would never allow him to know how much it hurt that he hadn’t come home—“opening up what no longer matters. It’s done now, just as we’re done.”

He came up to her, leaning over and cowering her smaller stature. Elizabeth lifted her chin, refusing to step back. “We’re done?” he mocked, his gaze flicking to her lips. Her mind fought with her heart to give way, to close the scant space between them and see just if what she said were true.

“Yes.” She cleared her throat, hating that her voice would betray her at such a time and sound breathless. Needy even. Damn him.

They stood within the conservatory, the air crackling with denied need and perfumed hothouse plants.

A little disappointment pricked her when he stepped back, his eyes darkening to the color of coal. “Ye’re absolutely right. Good night, Lady Newland. I hope the remainder of the ball is to ye satisfaction.”

Elizabeth’s mouth opened in shock as she watched Henry bow and depart. A severing pain, similar to the one she felt the day her father had read his missive, tore through her. How dare he again be the one to leave? But with the thought came guilt. Had he written the letter, or was it Henry’s way of getting out of a bad situation to deny all knowledge of it?

Neither seemed to sit well with her, especially since—up to Henry’s leaving—he’d been of sound character and mind, not fickle or in need of lying to those who supported him.

So if she were to give Henry the benefit of such doubt, who had written the letter and why? Elizabeth walked back to the ball, wanting nothing but to return home, away from all the intrigue and scandal that the ton thrived on. In no way did she wish for her scandalous past to be known or gossiped about. And in no way did she want Henry to find out his son held another title and name that was not his rightful father’s.