The Earl Takes All (8 page)

At the desk, Edward tapped his finger on the mahogany wood, striving to determine how best to word the letter to the solicitor so he didn't give himself away. His gaze drifted to the ebony box. He was relatively certain that Julia would have sent acknowledgments to everyone who had offered condolences. The thought of reading them held no appeal, seemed a betrayal of sorts, as people were paying tribute to a man who still breathed. After shoving it to the very edge of the desk, he leaned back in his chair, studied the paneled ceiling.

Julia had the right of it. This room more than any other reminded him of Albert. If he were to claim a room as his, it would be the billiards room. He wondered which room Julia might have claimed as her own. When he envisioned her, he always saw her in the bedchamber, which conjured up dangerous images of her stretched out on the bed with slumberous eyes—­

Oh, he needed a woman. She was one he could not ever have. That he couldn't seem to stop thinking about her was a testament to his body's needs rather than her desirous state. She was swollen with child, for God's sake. Nothing attractive there.

Except her hands were so silken and warm when they traveled over his chest, his back. Her mouth was fiery and eager. Her moans were low and throaty.

Shoving back the chair, he got to his feet and stormed to the window. He was so hot that he was surprised he didn't ignite. He should go to the mausoleum, remind himself of the debt he owed his brother. Pressing his forehead to the cool glass, he realized that he needed to replace images of her in the bedchamber with those of her elsewhere.

The dining room, perhaps. Closing her lips around her fork, a look of sensual delight crossing her face. Her tongue quickly touching the corner of her mouth—­ No, not the dining room. If he wandered through the residence, he might find a place in which he could view her as unattractive and boring. He owed it to his sanity to give it a go.

The manor house was large, two wings. One could roam the halls for days and not come across anyone else. It had been relatively easy to avoid her when he would come to visit; except now he was supposed to be someone who yearned to be in her company. If he crossed paths with her, he could claim to have been looking for her. It would be a lie, of course, he wasn't wandering about, peering into one room after another because he
wished
to see her. Disappointment didn't punch his gut because he found each room empty. Rather, he decided, it was only because the rooms didn't suit his needs.

None reminded him of her. They seemed too harsh, imposing, not nearly as welcoming.

He should suggest she redo the residence so it reflected her more than any countess who came before her. It wasn't as though he had any sentimental attachment to anything. He didn't even know which rooms his mother might have decorated or if she had. When he was a child, most of his time had been spent in the day or night nursery except when he and Albert were paraded out to be inspected by their parents for a few minutes in the afternoon or evening. He had far more memories of his nanny than he did of either parent.

He was much fonder of Havisham than Evermore. Although many of the rooms there were locked, they'd been free to roam the hallways to their heart's content. While he and Albert had walked through every inch of this residence, most of it was still foreign to him. He was more at home in his London residence.

He needed to become more at home here. Albert would want his son raised within these walls, which meant much of his carousing was behind him. He'd have to set a good example, teach the boy how to be a proper lord. He'd never planned to marry, to have children, yet here he was on the cusp of raising a lad without enjoying any of the marital benefits. No woman in his bed every night. Not that he relished the warmth of Julia's body snuggled against his. Not that he was going to miss the sound of her breathing when his ruse was no longer necessary. Not that he drew solace from watching her in peaceful slumber.

At the end of a long hallway, he peered into a corner room papered with yellow flowers. Floor-­to-­ceiling windows along one wall provided a view of the rolling hills. There was an absence of clutter and, for the most part, furniture. A small settee sat before the fireplace, with a large table behind it decorated with an assortment of drawings. Near one of the windows, Julia sat on a plush bench, an easel in front of her, watercolors on a small stand beside her.

He could see only a portion of her profile, but she appeared so serene, so calm, a direct contrast to the wind battering the trees and the dark clouds rolling ominously across the sky. He would like to see her bathed in sunlight. He suspected she had chosen this room because of the days when the sun would warm her.

And she was singing, a soft, lyrical song about angels watching over a wee one as the babe slept. He imagined her holding that child, rocking it, and singing the same tune. He doubted he would ever see the sight. She would banish him from her life when she learned the truth. He didn't understand why his chest suddenly felt as though it might cave in.

He would be in the child's life, would insist on it, but he could not force himself into the mother's. Whatever time he would have with her would be fleeting, moments shared only until the birth, only until no reason existed for him not to reveal his deception.

But until that moment he was her husband—­if not in truth, then in deceit, for a greater good. To honor a vow he'd made without considering consequences.

He tried to imagine what Albert would do at this moment, but then what did it really matter? She and he had acknowledged that changes had occurred during their separation. He had to stop treading too lightly, had to stop worrying over mimicking Albert. He could be himself, within reason. So he decided to give in to temptation.

As quietly as possible, he crept over the thick Aubusson carpeting until he was directly behind her. He cupped his hands on either side of her waist. She gave a start, a tiny gasp. He pressed his lips against her nape. With a soft sigh, she dropped her head back.

“I didn't hear you enter.”

He trailed his mouth to the silken sensitive spot below her ear. “I wanted to surprise you.”

Standing, she turned, her eyes glittering like the finest sapphires. “I'm glad. I was missing you.”

She rose up on her toes, and he lowered his head, taking her mouth as any devoted husband might, with hunger and need. His response should have been forced, should have been the result of playacting. Instead it felt as natural and real as the woman in his arms.

If he didn't distract himself, he was going to lure her to the settee and take advantage of her enthusiasm. He might be a scoundrel but he had no plans to be completely rotten where she was concerned. She had been given into his keeping, and while it required an unconventional approach at the moment, he had no plans to betray the trust his brother had placed in him.

Leaning back, he smiled. “You do have a lovely way of making a man glad he sought you out.” Lowering his gaze, he allowed regret to lace his voice. “But we must behave.”

She winged her eyebrows and pressed her teeth into her lower lip. “I'm very much looking forward to the time when I can be naughty.”

His lungs ceased to work as he was bombarded with images of her writhing beneath him on satin sheets, their heated bodies entangled, covered in dew. With great effort, he slid his gaze to the canvas, fully expecting to see a naked goddess.

Instead a mouse wearing trousers, shirt, waistcoat, jacket, and a perfectly knotted cravat greeted him, thankfully dousing his rampaging desires. “Interesting. I didn't think ladies liked mice.”

And he hoped to hell that she hadn't shared this little creature with Albert before he left.

She laughed. “I know you're accustomed to my landscapes, but of late I've just had these whimsical creatures fluttering through my mind.”

He walked over to the table with its scattered papers. She had created an entire menagerie of animals dressed in clothing. “They're very good.”

Stepping up beside him, she rubbed his arm. “Do you think so? You don't think they're too silly?”

“I think they're marvelous.”

As marvelous as the blush that swept over her cheeks. “I thought to have them bound.” Sadness touched her eyes. “I'd considered asking Edward to write a story to go along with them.”

“He'd have liked that.” When he rose from the dead, he would do it. For her, for his brother's child. He glanced around. This was her room. Even when it was dreary out, it was sunny in here. He was glad she had this room, hoped it would bring her solace in the days to come.

Chapter 8

A
week
later, galloping his horse through the freezing rain, Edward ignored the sleet that pricked his face and cursed the weather for turning foul so quickly, cursed the farmer who had needed help pushing a wagon out of the mud, cursed his need to have an active role in managing the estates, to check on the tenants, to ensure all was well.

He considered for all of a heartbeat returning to the farm and taking shelter there until the storm passed, but he knew Julia would worry, and his entire purpose behind his ruse was to ensure that she didn't fret.

And blast it all, he didn't want to go another moment without seeing her. He wanted to enjoy an evening spent in her company, dining and conversing. Going to bed.

That he was content just lying with her had been a revelation. He liked listening to her breathing, enjoyed inhaling her fragrance when it became laced with the scent of sleep. It was a little different than when she was awake.

Sometimes she snored, more of a soft snuffling sound.

Whether she faced him or had her back to him, her feet always managed to work their way between his calves. And they were bloody cold when they first made their way there. He might have yelped if he didn't fear discouraging her, as he was fond of having her body oddly interwoven with his.

It was dangerous, so dangerous, how much he enjoyed being in her company. It didn't matter her reason for being with him. It only mattered that she was—­

His horse screamed. He was aware of nothing surrounding him and then pain ricocheting through his shoulder, along his ribs, air refusing to come into his lungs, his eyes tearing up. Rolling to his back, he found himself in danger of drowning from all the rain.
Relax, don't fight the pain. Draw in a little air. Just a little.

It wasn't the first time in his life that he'd taken a tumble. He doubted it would be his last, but it certainly couldn't have happened at a more inopportune time. Darkness was descending. And he was so bloody cold.

He thought of the warm fire waiting for him, the warm brandy, and the warm woman.

Pushing himself to a sitting position, he was grateful that his lungs seemed to be working again, even more grateful to see his gelding standing, although it was favoring its left front leg. Damnation. Making his way to his feet, he cautiously approached and knelt before his steed. Gently, he ran his hands over the leg. “Doesn't appear to be broken. That's good, but I assume you've gone lame.” Taking the reins, he stood and guided the horse forward. It limped but at least it wasn't screeching in pain.

Edward glanced around, trying to map out the countryside in his mind, calculate distance. When he and Albert had reached their majority, they returned to Evermore and their first order of business was to ride over every inch of land that belonged to them, to introduce themselves to the tenants, to understand exactly what had been left to Albert. Edward had felt no jealousy, no envy, no desire to hold what had been placed in Albert's keeping. He was content to be the second son, to receive an allowance, to be free of responsibility. Even now he was merely the heir presumptive until Julia delivered her child, hopefully his brother's heir.

Although he could no longer be completely without responsibility. He would have to see after the raising of his brother's child. One day he would take the lad on a ride over this land, would introduce him to the tenants, would speak to him of his father. And he would hope that in time he would be able to forget how right it had felt to hold Julia while she slept.

With a frustrated sigh, he realized he was probably as close to the manor house as he was to any tenant lodging where he might be able to leave his horse and borrow another. He was not looking forward to the next couple of hours, but there was no hope for it. “Going to be a long walk, old boy. We'd best get to it.”

More than once, as he began to lose feeling in his hands and feet, he considered stopping, lying down, taking a rest, but he feared if he ceased moving for even a few minutes he would cease moving forever. And that wouldn't do. Not with Julia waiting for him. Rather, waiting for her husband.

He pictured her working with her watercolors, sporadically looking through the windows toward the hills, striving to spot his dashing figure astride the gelding as it loped down the slope. Edward had deliberately gone in a direction that ensured she would be able to catch sight of him when he returned. But that wasn't going to happen now. Full darkness was almost upon him.

If he had grown up here, if he knew this land as well as he knew every hill and dale that surrounded Havisham, he might be more confident that he was trudging along the correct path. The sleet and snow obscured the stars. The compass he always carried in his pocket was of little use without light, and he doubted that if he struck a match, he could keep the flame going long enough against the wind to get a bead on the arrow of the compass.

Yet he was determined that one way or another he would make his way back to Julia, he would give her no reason to mourn for a husband she had already lost.

J
ulia
had done very little that afternoon except stand at the window and watch for her husband's return. She shouldn't have let him go out. Had she asked, he would have stayed. She knew he would have. He'd become more solicitous than he'd ever been, given her more attention than he ever had. He'd never really been lacking in either regard, but there was more devotion now—­which she'd hardly thought possible.

His touches came more frequently, his interest in her more intense. He seemed to care about every aspect of her. She thought she'd loved him as much as it was possible to love any man. Strange to realize that she loved him a little bit more each day.

Before he left for the safari, it was as though their love had plateaued, as though there was nothing additional for either of them to give to the other. But now she realized how wrong she'd been. There would always be more, something new to discover, uncover. A reason for their feelings to be reignited with a passion that surpassed what it had been.

So she was striving not to worry because the sun had disappeared but her husband had not yet reappeared over the rise. She'd never before noticed how dashing he looked riding away from her. She'd anticipated him looking far more dashing returning to her, a smile spreading across his face as he saw her. But it was growing too dark for her to see anything.

After ringing for the butler, she returned to her post at the window. If his travels hadn't ended in tragedy, she might not be so worried, but it could have easily been him the gorilla attacked rather than Edward. Life was precarious. She heard the click of the door opening, the fall of Rigdon's footsteps.

“You had a need, m'lady?” he asked.

“His lordship went over that rise this morning. As he's yet to return, I fear he might have suffered a mishap.”

“He's an excellent horseman. The weather is no doubt slowing him or perhaps he took shelter for the night.”

He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't leave her to worry. She turned from the window. “Gather up the outdoor servants and send them to search for him.”

Surprise flickered across Rigdon's face before he could prevent it, but he quickly returned his expression to its stoic state. “It's rather nasty out there, m'lady.”

“Which is the very reason they need to find him.”

While Rigdon moved not a muscle, she was rather certain that deep inside, he was shifting his weight, possibly shuffling his feet. “I'm not certain he would approve of that action.”

He wouldn't. Placing servants at risk. He wouldn't like it at all. “Then he should have returned sooner. Send them out.”

“As you wish, m'lady.”

He left, and she gave her attention back to the gloom. It was dreadful out there. She was being selfish to care about only her own happiness. Albert was not going to be pleased with her, even if he'd taken a tumble and was in trouble. But she could not bear the thought of him languishing—­

A shape in the distance, an odd silhouette, caught her notice. Not a man on a horse, but she was relatively certain it was a man and quite possibly a horse.

“Rigdon!” Her heart hammering, she rushed from the room and nearly slammed into a footman. “Find Rigdon, let him know that someone is coming over the hill. Could be his lordship.”

“Yes, m'lady.”

He took off, his long legs quickly separating him from her, and she was suddenly quite grateful for tall footmen. She was pacing the entryway when the front door finally opened and a familiar figure stepped through.

“Albert!” She was suddenly in his arms, aware of his trembling and the cold of his skin as he placed his cheek to her temple.

“You shouldn't be touching me,” he said. “I'm filthy.”

Only his grip on her was so sure, so tight, she wasn't certain she could have broken away even if she'd wanted. Which she didn't. “I was so worried.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. I helped a farmer whose wagon had become stuck in the mud. On my way home, my horse went lame. It was a day of mishaps.”

“I was afraid you'd gotten lost.”

Gently, with a gloved hand, he tipped up her face. “Not when you're my north star.”

Then his mouth was on hers as though they'd been separated for years rather than hours, or as though a parting was on the horizon that couldn't be avoided. He was worried about the dangers of her giving birth, she knew that. But this seemed to be more, was woven with urgency, with need. She wondered if he'd feared never making his way back to her, if the storm had caused him to doubt that he'd ever again have the chance to hold her, to kiss her.

Drawing back, he held her gaze. “You warm better than any fire.”

She smiled. “I should hope so. Rigdon, have a bath prepared for his lordship.”

“Have already seen to it, m'lady.”

Nodding, Albert released her. “Then I shall take advantage of that.”

“I'll come with you, assist—­”

“No need. I shan't be long. I'm as hungry as I am cold.” He folded a hand over her shoulder. “I'll join you for dinner shortly.”

“I'll be waiting.” Always she would wait for him.

Watching him trudge up the stairs, she couldn't shake off the feeling that she might have lost him tonight, that tragedy seemed to take delight in visiting this family.

W
ith
a shudder of pleasure, Edward sank into the steaming water. He would have preferred sinking into Julia, which was the very reason that he forced himself to decline her invitation to assist him. His passions were on a short tether.

During each grueling step, he had envisioned her face, her smile, her soft voice urging him forward. When he had opened the door and seen her standing there, seen the relief, the joy wreathing her features, everything he felt for her that he had spent years denying—­burying beneath caustic remarks and asinine behavior, drowning in drink—­burst forth like a volcano spewing ash and lava. And just as the molten magma covered everything near it, so he had wanted to envelop her, to take true possession, complete possession.

Julia wouldn't have denied him, would have given him anything he asked. He saw it in the glittering of her eyes. But she would have thought she was giving it to Albert. Her joy at his return wasn't truly for him. And that knowledge had chilled him more than the winds and snow blowing beyond the walls. But it didn't lessen his desire for her, and that was the damnable problem.

He heard the door click quietly open. “I'm not yet ready for you, Marlow.”

“How lucky you are then that I'm not he.”

Pushing himself up from his lounging position, causing the water to ripple around him, he glanced back over his shoulder to see Julia standing there, holding a glass.

She smiled sweetly. “I thought you might like some scotch.”

“You're a godsend.” He held out his hand, fully expecting her to give him the glass and depart.

Instead she came around and knelt beside the tub before extending the glass to him. He took a healthy swallow, savoring the heat that settled deep within him. He cast her a sideways glance. “I shan't be much longer.”

“I'd like to wash your back.”

“It's not necessary.”

She took a cloth and the soap from a nearby stand, dipped them in the water, and began to rub them together. “I want to.”

“Julia—­”

She arched a brow. “You know better than to argue with me when my mind is set.”

He knew nothing at all, except that it was very unwise for her touch him when his mind had careened into lascivious thoughts during his trek in order to keep his legs moving forward. Another swallow of scotch, larger than the one he'd taken before. Steeling himself, he placed his elbows on his upraised knees, allowing his back to curve slightly. “Do your worst.”

The light tinkling of her laughter echoed through the room as she moved behind him. “I've long wanted to do this,” she said as she placed both her hands on either side of his spine.

What had become of the bloody cloth?

Then another thought dawned. She'd never done this for his brother. He tossed back what remained of the scotch, clutched the glass in fingers that wanted to reach back and bring her forward, cradle her face, kiss her. Do something to distract himself from the light press of her palms as they glided down his back, up and over his shoulders. God, but it felt marvelous.

“Whose wagon got stuck in the mud?” she asked.

How was he supposed to think with her fingers dancing over his skin? “Beckett, I think. Yes, Beckett.”

Why did his voice sound as though he was strangling? Perhaps because he was having a devil of a time drawing in air.

“Am I hurting you?” she asked.

“God, no.”

“Should I stop?”