Sex and the Single Earl (20 page)

A string of curses met her threat. She spun on her heel and fled through the library. Slipping into the hallway, she gave a silent prayer of thanks that it was deserted. Then she took a deep breath, forced her trembling limbs to steady themselves, pulled her wrinkled gloves taut above her elbows, and prepared to return to the drawing room.

A deep voice pierced the quiet. “Sophie.”

She almost jumped out of her kid slippers. Simon strode down the hallway, a velvet cloak flung over his arm. He looked stern. Panic once more whipped her heart into a mad gallop.

“You’re flushed. What’s wrong?” he said as he came up to her.

Even as she tried to calm her thundering heartbeat, she plastered a bright smile on her face. “Nothing. I’m just surprised to see you.”

His eyes narrowed under suspicious brows. “Why? I told you I would meet you here tonight.”

“Well, ah, it was getting so late I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

“Sophie, when I say I’m going to do something, I do it.”

She bit back the retort that sprang to her lips. The arrogant earl needed a set-down, but this was not the time to get into an argument. She had to get him away from the library door before Mr. Watley put in an appearance.

Simon gave her a thorough look. The nostrils of his patrician nose flared as if he could sniff out her lies. She tried not to squirm under his inspection.

“What are you doing out here?” he demanded.

“I had to visit the retiring room. Not that you needed to know,” she huffed, feigning indignation.

When he opened his mouth, she cut him off in an attempt to forestall any more questions. “Why don’t you escort me to the saloon? Truly, Simon, I’ve been longing to dance with you all evening.”

His eyebrows shot up. She winced inwardly. Considering how their last conversation had ended, she may have over-played her hand. He hesitated, but obviously decided to let her deranged suggestion go unchallenged.

“As much as I would like to dance with you, my dear, it’s getting late. It’s time for us to leave.”

She noticed for the first time that it was her burgundy cloak draped over his arm. As much as she wanted to be gone, she hadn’t actually thought about the consequences of being alone with Simon. The very idea made her wish she was back in the conservatory with Mr. Watley. At least she could manage
him.

“I suppose you’re right. But I must tell Annabel we’re leaving, and say good night to Sir Geoffrey and Lady Hume.”

“I’ve already done so.” He draped the heavy cloak over her shoulders and tied the tasseled cord under her chin.

The feel of his warm fingers brushing her skin made her gulp. She raised her eyes, scanning his features for any kind of reaction. He looked cool and remote—the mask of the imperious lord having slipped once more into place.

Weariness descended on her like a shroud. “I’m ready to go home, Simon.”

He hesitated and the mask slipped. “Not home. Not just yet. We need to talk in private.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Not more talking. Why couldn’t he leave her alone? “I don’t think that’s a very good idea. I’m really very tired.”

His eyes, dark as midnight in the shadowed hall, gave nothing away. “I’m sure you are, Puck. But it must be done. We must resolve the questions that stand between us, for both our sakes.”

She moistened her lips, acutely aware of him as he loomed over her. He looked so handsome, so…so masculine in his severe tailcoat and dazzling white cravat. He even smelled wonderful. The faint scent of sandalwood and leather teased her with memories of the glorious night when she had surrendered…well, thrown herself at him, if she were to be honest about it.

Doubt twisted within her like a Gordian knot. He wanted her to trust him again. She could actually
feel
him willing her to trust him—could see it in the flaring intensity of his gaze.

How could she, when she didn’t even trust herself?

He stroked a thumb over the sensitive skin of her neck. She had to stifle the whimper of longing that rose to her lips.

“I never meant to hurt you, Sophie. You know that. Let me explain what happened.”

His sinfully seductive voice slid over her, overcoming all her resistance. She nodded weakly, hating how easily he could persuade her.

Simon took her arm and led her from the house to the waiting carriage.

“Where are we going?” she whispered.

“To my lodgings in Milsom Street.”

Her anxiety spiked again.
Alone with Simon. In his private apartments. Late at night.

Her rational mind—and propriety—demanded she refuse him. But if that incident in the conservatory had taught her anything, it was that Aunt Jane had been correct. Simon was the only man she would ever love. She had to find out if he could return that love, even a bit, and if he regretted treating her as he had. For them to have any chance of a life together—if only as the friends they once had been—she needed to know.

It took only minutes to reach his lodgings. She barely had time to catch her breath before he was ushering her into his apartment, untying her cloak and tossing it over the arm of a square-backed chair. He moved silently to a heavy mahogany table covered in ledgers and correspondence and turned up the lamp that had been left there. The soft light glowed, highlighting the hard planes of his face.

Sophie’s heart gave an extra, painful beat. Something akin to despair crept through her as she studied his rugged features. Would she ever truly know him? Ever pierce the shield he had erected around his heart? He knew everything about her, but these last few days had left her feeling she no longer understood anything about him.

He steered her with a gentle hand to a leather club chair beside the table. She perched on the edge of the seat, watching him uncertainly. To her surprise, after discarding his greatcoat and gloves, he knelt on the floor before her. He took her hands and began to strip the gloves from her arms. Tiny shivers danced up her spine.

“Sophie, I owe you an apology.” He didn’t look at her, keeping his attention on the task of easing the butter-soft kid from her fingers. “What I did was wrong, and I never would have done it if I hadn’t been convinced there was no other way.”

He finally looked up and gave her a rueful smile. “You have a rare talent for driving me insane, Puck, and that little scene you put on in the Pump Room forced me past the limits of my endurance.”

Sophie couldn’t repress a stab of guilt. “Simon…”

“No, the fault was mine. I should never have let you talk me into making love to you that night. I knew it was a mistake.”

Irritation quickly replaced guilt. “Well, it might have been a mistake, but not for the reasons you think.”

He ignored the peevish note in her voice. Instead, he took both her gloves and dropped them to the floor. Raising one of her cold hands to his lips, he pressed a burning kiss into her palm. The tiny shivers racing up her spine turned into a jolting shudder.

He returned her hand to her lap, keeping his on top of it. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and self-contained, but he kept his gaze fastened on their clasped hands. “My behaviour was less than honorable, Sophie. I knew full well I was pushing you, and I regret that. But I did it to protect you. You don’t realize how vulnerable you are. There are those who would hurt you if they could, and it’s my duty to keep you safe.”

She sighed, frustrated that he wouldn’t meet her gaze. “But don’t you see? That’s the problem. I’m not a child anymore, and I’m not that innocent. I need you to respect me, not order me about as if I were still in the schoolroom.”

That brought his head up. “Believe me, Sophie. I do recognize you’re no longer a schoolgirl. Fully recognize it.”

A sly grin transformed his expression as his eyes raked over her body. Despite her irritation, she felt an answering heat.

“But you’re not tutored in the unhappy ways of the world,” he continued, “and I hope you never are.”

She opened her mouth to object, but he placed a long finger across her lips.

“Sophie, hush. Let me apologize.”

Subsiding into her chair with a grumble, she decided it was best to ignore the smile lingering around the corners of his mouth. After all, he could hardly enjoy this. Simon rarely apologized to anyone.

His amused expression faded, replaced by a serious, direct gaze. “I acted the fool when I should have been patient and understanding. I won’t make the same mistake twice, I assure you. I won’t lie to you again, and I will never break a promise, either.”

Sophie tried to resist the urge to capitulate, but she could feel her heart turning traitor. As she gazed into his eyes, she knew he spoke the truth—at least as he understood it. She yearned to accept his apology, but it felt too much like surrender. What control of her life, her emotions, would she have if she gave in to him?

“I don’t know, Simon.” Her voice held a humiliating quaver. “When Lady Randolph…”

He cut her off, shaking his head. “No. She means nothing to me, Puck, and never will again. I give you my word of honor. You are the only woman in my life.”

Sophie gazed wretchedly back at him. She loved him so much she sometimes felt there was no room inside for herself. But how did he actually feel about her? It was all very well to apologize, but he would never be true to her. Not true in his heart, the way she was to him.

Simon rose with a masculine grace, pulling her up with him. He took her face between his hands and brushed his mouth softly against her lips. She trembled, every part of her yearning to feel his arms around her once more. To give herself to him. But once married, she would forever be weighed down by her need to win his love.

“I care for you more than anyone, Puck,” he murmured, trailing a string of tender kisses across her cheek. “Nothing will ever mean more to me than having you as my wife. That I promise.”

Her resistance crumbled. She choked back a whimper and lifted her face to his. His lips captured hers in a hot, devouring kiss, his arms lashing her against his hard chest.

But as Sophie yielded to him, surrendering to her own love and weakness, something deep within whispered a warning. Simon still hadn’t said he loved her, and she was beginning to believe he never would.

Triumph surged through Simon’s veins. And, he ruefully acknowledged as he explored Sophie’s honey-sweet mouth, a feeling of relief she had capitulated so completely.

He slid one hand down to her hip, easing her softness into his already full-blown erection. It had taken but a moment for him to turn as hard as a pike—ready to pull off her clothes, spread her legs, and plunder the heat of her tempting body. He throttled back the impulse. She needed reassurance, not ravenous lovemaking.

When she had asked him about Bathsheba, her finely drawn features etched with anxiety, he had almost taken her then. But her eyes, brimming with vulnerability behind her gold-rimmed spectacles, had held him back. She required tenderness and understanding, and he would give her those in full measure.

Sophie trembled in his arms even as she returned his kiss with a shy enthusiasm that threatened to break his self-control. He softened his mouth against her lips, hoping to soothe her, but little tremors coursed unabated through her limbs. He set her away from him just as she tried to clutch at his shoulders.

“Are you cold, my love?” He stroked her tumbled curls back from her pale face. They felt like velvet ribbons twining around his fingers.

“A little.” She gave him a wavering smile.

He dropped a kiss on her plush mouth and eased her down into the club chair.

“Rest for a minute, Puck. I’ll get you something warm to drink.”

Simon crossed to the marble chimneypiece and stirred the banked fire to a roaring flame. He glanced back at Sophie. She perched on the edge of her seat, peering anxiously at him as she followed his every move. He paused, struck by the pure lines of her elflike face, and the abundance of her wild auburn hair. What a fool he had been, blind to her all these years.

Her unique beauty would belong only to him, he vowed as he strode through the connecting door to his bedroom. Sweet and funny, Sophie had a heart more generous than a man could imagine. He would see to it that she never had cause to mistrust him again.

He shrugged out of his coat and waistcoat and untied his cravat, tossing them onto a ladderback chair by the door. As he grabbed a decanter of brandy from the top of his wardrobe, he glanced at the richly upholstered canopy bed standing in the center of the room. He couldn’t help grinning as he thought of all the sensual pleasures he would be sharing with Sophie in that bed very soon.

Simon strode back to the drawing room and paused in the doorway. He gripped the crystal decanter in a tight fist, cursing silently at the scene that met his eyes.

His ever-curious fiancée stood before the large worktable holding a rustling piece of parchment in her trembling hand. He knew exactly what it was. He knew from the stunned, almost blank look on her face. She held a survey of the Stanton estate in Yorkshire—the one that demarcated the proposed sites for his future coal mines.

Frustration with his carelessness rolled through him.

“Ah, Sophie, I wanted to talk to you about that.” He moved cautiously to the end of the table, placing the heavy decanter well out of her reach. It wouldn’t be the first time Sophie had resorted to physical measures to express her frustration with him, and he had the childhood scars to prove it.

She looked at him, her eyes filled with a volatile combination of vulnerability and resentment.

“This is what you wanted all along, isn’t it?” Her voice held a flat, almost toneless quality.

He weighed his words carefully. If he didn’t get the next few minutes right—explaining everything to her with as much honesty as he could—their life together would be over before it had begun. He had to make her realize how much this meant to him.

“Yes, I want that land. I won’t pretend it doesn’t matter. It does. Very much. And I won’t pretend it wasn’t a factor in my decision to marry you. But it wasn’t the only reason. If it was, I would tell you, I swear it. I would never force this marriage on you, and I won’t force it now. After listening to me, if you wish to end our engagement, I will accept your decision and will make our families accept it, as well.”

He paused, trying to gauge her reaction. “But this is important, Sophie, so I ask you to give me a fair hearing. I promised I would never lie to you again, and I won’t. Believe that, and trust me.”

Her eyes widened at the pleading note in his voice. Hell, he couldn’t blame her. It shocked him too. She stared at him, clearly suspicious. For a moment, he thought she would refuse to hear him out. Instead, she dipped her head in cautious agreement.

He moved around the table to join her. Gently plucking the parchment from her hand, he spread it out flat on the table.

“As you can see this is a survey of your lands in the north, lands which I believe hold the key to a prosperous future—for our family and for the people of Yorkshire. I know it sounds odd, Sophie, but you can be a part of something much more important than our own petty, everyday concerns.”

She crossed her arms and gave an unladylike snort. “Like the success of our marriage?” she retorted.

Considering what she was capable of, that was a fairly mild rejoinder. He took a deep breath and forged ahead.

“See here, and here,” he said, pointing to the projected sites for the mines. “An engineer from the Royal Society is dead certain your lands are rich with coal, Sophie. As am I.”

“Coal,” she whispered, staring down at the parchment. “You’re marrying me for my coal.” The pain of disillusionment laced her voice and struck him to the quick.

“I’m marrying you for more than that,” he said, forcing back an unfamiliar sense of panic. “The most important reason is that I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone but you. You are the only woman in the world for me. That I swear on my grandfather’s life.”

Sophie’s gaze flew up to meet his. Her pretty mouth quivered as she blinked back a shimmer of tears. More than anyone, she would know how seriously he took such a vow. After all, he had given up everything to accede to the old man’s autocratic demands.

He stood quietly, waiting for a sign—for any indication she might believe him. Endless seconds ticked past as her questioning eyes searched his face. Finally, she returned her attention to the parchment.

“Continue,” she said. Her voice was clipped, but held a touch more warmth than it had a few minutes ago. And, if he wasn’t mistaken, a reluctant curiosity.

Repressing a sigh of relief, he shrugged the tightness from his shoulders before looking back to the survey.

“What do you know about the textile industry, Sophie—the wool trade, in particular?”

She wrinkled her forehead, looking thoughtful. “As much as most, I suppose. It’s the lifeblood of the nation, is it not?”

“And has been for decades. The war greatly enhanced England’s dominance of the trade. Our naval blockades of enemy ports throttled their industries and gave us command of both the materials and the means of production.”

He hesitated. “Does this make sense to you?”

Her brows snapped together in a scowl. “I’m not an idiot, Simon. I do read the papers, remember?”

He bit his lip to keep from smiling. “Of course, my sweet. Forgive me for ever doubting you.”

“Please get on with it,” she said with an impatient wave.

“The development of new machinery and advances in mill design has made it possible to produce finished products at a much greater rate. These products are the foundation of our trade with foreign markets. And those markets are vast and their appetites insatiable. In order to feed them, we must expand. We must build bigger mills, and we must power those mills.”

The wounded look in her eyes had disappeared, replaced with a growing interest. The tension in his gut began to ease.

“Do you know how the mills are powered, Sophie?”

“Steam, I would think.”

“That’s right, steam. And do you know how we power the steam engines?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Coal.”

“Correct, my dear. And the Stanton lands in Yorkshire are exceedingly rich in coal.”

One hand fluttered up to cover her mouth as she stared at the documents strewn across the table. Remorse washed through him for the pain he was causing her, but he had gone too far to turn back now. He had to trust her to make the right decision.

She dropped her hand. Her eyes, glittering with angry challenge, met his. “Who will build these mills? You?”

“No. There is a man in Bristol, a factory owner, who seeks a partner to build mills in the north. But he requires assurance of a steady supply of coal before he will agree to the contract. Coal from Stanton lands will provide that assurance, Sophie.”

She blinked owlishly from behind her spectacles, and then sighed. “And how is this supposed to make me feel better, Simon? We seem to be right back to where we were this morning. All is business for you, including me.”

“I would never deny how important my trading concerns are to me. Or how much I want to succeed.” His grandfather would spin in his grave to hear such a statement, but the old earl had not lived to see the times now before them, the end of the traditional ways of living.

“There are other considerations, however, considerations that should weigh on the mind of every man of business or wealth in this country.” He set the survey aside and reached for a pile of architectural drawings. “I want you to look at these, Sophie. These are the designs for the new mills I will build with my partner. They would employ hundreds of men. Perhaps, in time, thousands.”

She bent her head over the papers. Her slender hands slowly traced the lines and figures of the drawings as she inspected his plans.

“Over the long years of the war, many men have given their lives for England,” he continued. “Many more have now returned home from the Continent—to wives and children, to families they must support. But they have no work. These mills could be part of the answer. They would provide work for decommissioned soldiers and help stave off the discord that threatens England’s peace. Legions of men without work could lead to dire consequences for all of us. The French learned that lesson years ago.”

Her delicate eyebrows arched upward. “I didn’t know you were concerned about such things, Simon. After the way you reacted about the workhouse…”

“That was about you, not about what you saw there.”

Her expression was troubled, her eyes full of doubt. “Do you really think it’s possible to help these men?”

He rubbed a hand against the back of his aching neck. “I believe it is possible, sweetheart, and I’d like to try. We can’t let these men return home to nothing. There’s going to be the devil to pay for all of us if we don’t provide some proper means of employment.”

She regarded him with solemn eyes, as if waiting for something more. He made one last effort to convince her.

“Sophie, I know how you long to help those less fortunate, but can’t find the way to do it. If you consent to be my wife, you’ll be a woman of power and influence, married to one of the wealthiest men in the land. There is much you could do to change things—much we could do together. Your life could have true purpose, beyond the foolish whimsies of the ton. And,” he reached out and traced the soft curve of her neck, “you would make me a very happy man.”

One of her hands rose up to touch his fingers where they stroked her skin, but then she dropped it back to the table.

He tried an encouraging smile. “Think of all the children you could save if you had access to my fortune.”

That brought the scowl back to her face. “I ought to murder you for keeping this from me. But I suppose your stupid male logic told you it was best not to hurt me with the truth, didn’t it?”

He spread his hands in silent apology.

She eyed him balefully. “You’re a beast, Simon, and an idiot. You know that, don’t you?”

The last bit of tension leached from his body. “I depend upon you to tell me that whenever you think it necessary, my sweet.”

She blew out an exasperated breath.

“All right, Simon. I understand what you wish to accomplish. I know you’ll never love me as much as I love you, but I suppose there’s no help for that. It’s not in your nature.”

He blinked. It was the first time she had ever admitted to loving him, and the force of it shot through his chest like a cannonball.

“But you’re a good man,” she continued, blithely unaware of the impact of her words. “I’ve always known that, even when you’re being a complete ass. No doubt we’ll drive each other to Bedlam, but I promise I’ll do my best to be a good wife and a good countess. After all,” she finished morosely, “it’s what everyone seems to want.”

He moved quickly, pulling her into a fierce embrace.

“I hope it’s what you want as well, love,” he said, holding her against his chest.

“Don’t be a looby, Simon. You know it is,” she mumbled into his shirt. “Everyone knows.”

He smiled at her disgruntled tone, relishing the enticing feel of her lithe body in his arms. They held each other for several moments, offering and receiving comfort, until she stirred restlessly.

“I just wish there was something we could do for Toby and Becky,” she said.

He brushed her curls back from her face. “Well, as to that…maybe I already have.”

She jerked her head back. “What did you do, Simon?”

He smiled, arching one brow.

“Tell me.” She pinched his arm.

He laughed. “Very well, little demon, but only because I fear the damage you’ll otherwise inflict upon me.”

He drew her to the club chair and settled her on his lap. Leaving out the more revolting details, he related the events that had occurred at The Silver Oak. She listened breathlessly, interrupting only once to ask a question. Her expressive face reflected the rapid shift in her emotions as she absorbed his story.

“Oh, Simon.” She wriggled excitedly, setting off an interesting reaction in the region of his groin. “I wish I had been there to see it! I wish I could go down there and beat that horrid man myself.”

He seized her face in his hands, forcing her to sit still. “Sophie, if you ever dare to go to The Silver Oak, I swear I’ll—”

“Oh, pish. Stop lecturing. I’m forgiving you for being so nasty to me. In fact, I’m so proud of you I could burst.”