The Earl's Complete Surrender (16 page)

Oh dear God, what was she to do? Her apology had sounded pathetic to her own ears—­not nearly enough to repair the damage she'd done to her growing relationship with the earl in the space of only a few seconds. But the remarks from Charlotte and Ophelia, and then from Laura, had propelled her to denounce any possibility for a blooming romance between them because . . . She knew the reason and had almost confessed it to him.
Foolish woman
.

For once, Mrs. Green's arrival had come as a blessing, preventing Chloe from revealing the true contents of her heart—­a heart that she'd sworn to guard with vigilance. Today, out of guilt, she'd almost offered a piece of it to the Earl of Woodford.

Seated next to him at a small round table with Lord Hainsworth at her left and Mrs. Green opposite, Chloe tried not to notice how charged the air seemed to be between her and the earl. He had not yet forgiven her, indeed it was possible that he never would, and this knowledge that all was not right between them set her on edge, preventing her from concentrating properly on the conversation happening around her. She decided therefore to focus on her food—­a delicious cream of asparagus soup.

“Wouldn't you agree?” Mrs. Green suddenly asked.

Raising her gaze, Chloe saw that everyone looked at her with expectancy, though she couldn't determine Woodford's expression since she refused to look directly at him. She felt so very ashamed. “I beg your pardon?” she asked, realizing that she was meant to respond to a question that she had not heard.

“Marriage,” Mrs. Green said. “I was just trying to dissuade these gentlemen from venturing into it.”

Setting down her spoon, Chloe forced a smile. Of all the topics in the world, why did it have to be this? “Marriages of convenience can certainly lead to some unhappiness,” Chloe said, “but love matches are not unheard of either, not even among our set. And while I'm sure many gentlemen in particular are reluctant to relinquish their freedom in favor of one woman, they recognize that their duty toward their lineage comes before their own wants and desires.”

“How eloquently put,” Mrs. Green said, taking a sip of her champagne while Chloe, with a polite nod, picked up her spoon and continued eating. “However, one needn't marry in order to have children—­”

Chloe choked. She was shocked that anyone would have the courage to say such a thing, and at a ball of all places!

“I believe Mrs. Green is trying to make a technical point as opposed to a socially acceptable one,” Lord Woodford said dryly.

“In a sense she's quite correct,” Hainsworth said.

Grabbing her napkin, Chloe dabbed her mouth. “I cannot
believe
I'm having this conversation,” she muttered.

An odd sound escaped Lord Woodford. Eyeing him, she saw that the corner of his mouth twitched as if he was trying to hold back a smile. Mrs. Green on the other hand made no attempt to stop her response. “Would you mind repeating that, Lady Newbury? I fear I didn't quite hear what you said.”

“Mrs. Green,” Chloe said as she drew upon every ounce of patience she possessed, “you know as well as the rest of us here that one must marry if one wishes to have children. Especially if one happens to be heir to a title.”

All eyes fell on Lord Woodford. A sly smile spread its way across Mrs. Green's lips. Chloe decided she didn't like it in the least. “Well,” Mrs. Green said, “fortunately there are ways to prevent any unnecessary embarrassments.”

Dear Lord!

Hainsworth coughed, no doubt to hide his discomfort with such a statement while Woodford himself appeared to have gone quite pale. “In my opinion,” Chloe said, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction, “marriage requires hard work and dedication from both parties. It is a partnership strengthened by trust. If only parents would teach their children proper values I do believe arranged marriages would have a greater chance of success. Instead, young ­couples often believe that their marriage is doomed from the very beginning—­that it doesn't stand a chance because it was entered into for material gain. But if they would at least try to understand each other, to make a valid attempt at getting to know each other, it is fair to say that a great deal of unhappiness might be avoided.” She was fairly trembling by the time she spoke the last word. So passionate was she in her belief, so affected by the exact thing she had just described, that she had, without thinking, spoken from somewhere deep within.

“I will certainly endeavor to make a friend out of the lady I eventually marry,” Woodford murmured. He didn't look at Chloe, and yet she felt as though he spoke only to her. “To make an enemy of her would indeed be foolish.”

“You make a fine point,” Hainsworth said.

“You could always send her away to the country,” Mrs. Green pointed out.

Chloe stared at her. “Which is precisely what some men do. However, it doesn't make it correct or admirable.”

“No,” Mrs. Green said, nodding her head, “I don't suppose it does.” There was a moment's silence before she burst into a bright smile. “Well then, Lord Woodford. Since that's been settled, perhaps I can convince you to fetch me a slice of cake?”

There was a barely noticeable hesitation before Woodford agreed, rose, and went to fulfill Mrs. Green's request. He was only just out of earshot when Mrs. Green leaned across the table, her eyes conspiratorial as she looked from Chloe to Hains­worth and back again before saying, “Oh, isn't he simply delicious?”

Chloe clamped her mouth shut to stop herself from speaking the words that shot to the front of her mind. She looked to Hainsworth who was studying Mrs. Green very carefully. Taking a sip of his wine, he eventually said, “Woodford will marry, and once he does, he will be faithful to his wife, no matter who she might be.”

“You're certain of this?” Chloe asked with interest as she tried to ignore Mrs. Green's crestfallen expression.

Hainsworth nodded, his face a little softer than Woodford's, but not much. “I've known him all his life, Lady Newbury, and have raised him since he was just a lad. I know the sort of man he is. Honorable to the core.”

“W
hat are you doing?” James asked Hainsworth after supper. Mrs. Green had been asked to dance by a young bachelor who'd probably heard about her wealth while Lady Newbury danced with Chadwick.

“Care to be more specific?” Hainsworth asked.

“You deliberately introduced me to Mrs. Green, didn't you?” James asked, his eyes on Lady Newbury as she smiled toward Chadwick. She looked so young and carefree right now while dancing.

Hainsworth took a sip of his champagne. “I can't get anything past you, can I?” He was quiet a moment before adding, “I am aware that it has been a while for you, Woodford. Mrs. Green is an attractive widow. I don't expect you to marry her, but I did think that you might be able to enjoy her company and that doing so would help you forget about Lady Newbury.”

“I'm afraid it's too late for that,” Woodford said, watching as Lady Newbury twirled about on the dance floor.

“Please don't tell me that you're in love with her. You need to focus, Woodford. Love just muddles the mind. It—­”

“You needn't worry, Hainsworth, I know what I'm doing.” But even as he spoke the words, James wondered how true they could possibly be when the lady filled his thoughts at every waking moment.

I
t was nearing two in the morning by the time Chloe decided that it was time to retire. Most of the guests had already done so—­including her family, Woodford, and the majority of her friends—­save some who still sat at the card tables. Chloe had chosen to stay behind a while longer and watch a high stakes game of
vingt-­et-­un
that was being played between the Duke of Pondsly and Lord Hainsworth. Her heart was still heavy with regret, for although Woodford had been polite and cordial toward her the rest of the evening, Chloe felt that there was a great deal of distance between them now. He had not forgiven her yet, but then again, neither had she.

Making her way up the wide staircase to the second floor, Chloe watched the light from the tall candelabras that were held by stretching female statues on either side of the stairs. It flickered and danced against the shadowy walls. All was quiet, including her footfalls.

Turning onto the landing, she started down a long corridor that would take her to her bedchamber. When she arrived at her destination, she reached inside her reticule for the key, finding it just as a hand snaked its way around her waist. Immediately, she found herself restrained and pushed up against the door to her room.

Opening her mouth, she began to protest, but was stopped by a hard and searing brandy-­flavored kiss. Her mind reeled. Somewhere in her subconscious, she'd hoped that Woodford might surprise her like this. She longed for him to do so. Desperately so.

As it turned out, she felt nothing but complete indifference toward the kiss she was now subjected to. It failed to stir her, because the man kissing her was not Woodford. It was Scarsdale.

Placing her hands against his solid chest, Chloe pushed at him while trying to turn her face away.

“Come on,” she heard him say. “Let's put aside our differences, Chloe. It will be good between us.”

“No,” she whispered. “I have no interest in acquiring a lover. Nor do I wish to marry you. Friendship—­that's all I ever wanted. You know this.”

He pulled back a little and met her gaze in the darkness, black eyes twinkling. “I beg to differ,” he murmured. “You clearly have Woodford in your sights.”

“That's not true!”

He snorted. “If you truly believe that, then you're lying to yourself, because I daresay I would do anything for you to look at me the way you look at him.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you,” he said. “Isn't that obvious?”

“Certainly not,” she told him, pushing him back some more. “Such emotion would not have prompted you to say the things you said in the conservatory.”

“I admit that I was angered by your lack of reciprocation.” He leaned toward her. “But I'm hoping we can put that behind us and that I might still be able to persuade you to reconsider my offer of marriage. It still stands.”

“As honored as I am by your consideration, my answer remains the same,” she said. “I cannot marry you.”

He seemed to hold himself in check, and Chloe held her breath, fearing that he might do something rash. Instead, he brought up his hand and cupped her cheek. “You are the loveliest lady in England,” he whispered. “I'll always want you and I won't stop trying to make you mine.” Releasing her, he stepped away completely. “We're not done with each other, you and I, and if Woodford knows what's good for him, he'll keep his distance.”

Her stomach contracted as she watched him walk away. His threat had been clear and somehow, she'd have to find a way to deal with it. Turning back toward the door to her room, her gaze drifted toward another corridor leading away from the one that she was in. Standing there at the junction, was Woodford, his arms crossed as he stared stiffly in her direction. Chloe's heart thumped. She took a step toward him, uncertain of how much he'd seen of her interaction with Scarsdale. On the heels of their argument, Woodford would likely draw the worst conclusion possible. Somehow she had to explain the situation for what it was. But before she could manage a single word, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving her completely alone in the darkness.

 

Chapter 13

W
hen James got out of bed the following morning, it was not after a night of restful sleep. In fact, he'd scarcely slept at all, his mind completely occupied by Lady Newbury, the things she'd said and the sight of her kissing Scarsdale of all ­people. Hot jealousy had poured through him, urging him to challenge Scarsdale to a duel. James was confident that he could take him, for he'd done so before and therefore knew that the earl was not very proficient.

But with no claim of his own to Lady Newbury, what would be the point? He'd made her no promises and knew that he would accomplish nothing by acting on his jealousy other than embarrassing himself. But
Scarsdale?
Hands clenched, James decided it might be time for a reprieve from Lady Newbury. First, he would have his breakfast, and then he would continue his search for the
Political Journal.
Alone. If he could just find the bloody entrance to the attic he was confident his mood would change for the better.

But when he entered the Arabian salon, ideally located in a part of the house that might provide for a spiral staircase in one corner, he was met by Lady Dewfield who was looking particularly beautiful dressed in a light blue gown, her dark curls framing her heart-­shaped face. She was reclining on a chaise longue while a woman, whom James presumed must be her maid, read to her from a book of poetry.

Spotting James, Lady Dewfield raised her hand to stop the reading. “That will be all for now, Anna. Thank you,” she said, her lips stretching into a wide smile. They were much too red for James's liking—­vulgar almost—­although he decided not to judge her too harshly on that point alone since she had been nothing but pleasant toward him the night before. But since it was clear to him that she and Lady Newbury didn't get along and, keeping her reputation in mind, he chose to remain guarded, just in case.

“Lady Dewfield,” James said, greeting her with a slight bow as Anna hurried from the room.

“Lord Woodford,” the widow replied in a breathy voice. “Will you join me?”

For a moment he just stood there, undecided. A moment passed, and then he nodded. “I'd be honored.” Crossing to a nearby chair, he took a seat.

Lady Dewfield studied him. “Perhaps you'd care for a brandy, my lord?”

James nodded. “I'd welcome one. Thank you.”

She chuckled lightly, but the sound was not as pretty as Lady Newbury's laughter. Instead, there was a flatness to it that made it sound disingenuous. “I thought you might,” she said, rising. Crossing to the door, she closed it until it remained only slightly ajar. “You look strained. Did you not sleep well last night?”

“No,” he told her truthfully.

Standing at the sideboard, she looked over her shoulder at him, a playful smile tugging at her lips. Returning her attention to the carafe she held in her hand, she poured a large measure, then turned toward him and began her approach, hips swaying in a manner that was no doubt meant to entice. “I hope you're not still concerned about Lady Newbury's faux-­pas, Lord Woodford.”

Reaching his side, she paused, her body inappropriately close to his. Holding the glass to his lips, she forced him to partake of her offering in a far too intimate manner. Everything inside him revolted as he tilted his head backward and drank. What the hell was he doing with this woman? He didn't want her, had no desire to even contemplate the prospect of sharing a bed with her, and yet he found himself in her company because of what he'd seen last night. It was laughable. Immature. Completely out of character for him.

Gripping the armrests, he started to rise, intending to make his escape, but Lady Dewfield must have sensed his sudden change of heart, for she was suddenly right before him, kneeling at his feet with the brandy glass still in her hand. Her fingers trailed across his knee. James almost leapt from his seat. “What the . . . what are you doing?” he asked.

“Whatever you want,” she purred.

Good God, the woman was far too forward.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, unable to stand the pout of her mouth or the touch of her hand for a moment longer. Brushing her aside, he prepared to stand, just as the door to the room swung open, revealing none other than Lady Newbury, her eyes widening as she took in the scene before her.

C
hloe froze, her hand on the door handle as her brain acknowledged that Woodford was indeed sitting in a chair with Lady Dewfield kneeling before him on the floor, the widow's fingers resting upon his knee while he leaned toward her. “I beg your pardon,” was the first utterance that came to mind, and then, as anger crashed over her, “although in all fairness I do believe you ought to be begging
me
pardon for subjecting me to such an intimate scene.” The more Chloe considered it, the more furious she became, not only with Woodford and Lady Dewfield, but with herself as well. One stupid meaningless kiss with Scarsdale last night—­a kiss she hadn't even instigated or wanted—­and now this.

At least Woodford had the good grace to look highly uncomfortable as he rose to his feet. The same could not be said for Lady Dewfield who appeared far too smug for Chloe's liking.

“We are all adults here, Lady Newbury,” Lady Dewfield said with a slight shrug as she rose lithely to her feet and placed the glass that she was holding on a small table next to Woodford's chair. “He is a handsome man and I am a widow. Nobody would fault either one of us for getting carried away.”

Chloe's back stiffened. “I suppose you would say the same of my late husband?” She hated herself for bringing it up. It made her feel vulnerable—­as if Lady Dewfield was being allowed the right to see how deeply her affair with Newbury had wounded her.

Lady Dewfield shrugged. “I wasn't the only one. You know that. Your husband, Lady Newbury, was a formidable lover, and you were not enough for him. It's time you came to terms with that.”

Chloe swallowed away the angry retort that tempted. She would not take Lady Dewfield's bait—­would not lower herself to her level. “Yes,” she said, refusing to look at Woodford even as she sensed his eyes burning into her, touching her very soul and quickening her heartbeat. She was feeling short of breath. “Perhaps I should thank you instead for satisfying his needs.”

Smiling maliciously, Lady Dewfield came toward her slowly, and Chloe fought the urge to back away, facing her nemesis instead with all the courage she possessed. “It would be a fitting start,” Lady Dewfield said. Halting in front of Chloe, she cast a look in Woodford's direction. “Poor Lady Newbury,” she murmured, “you never were able to keep your men in your bed.”

It was probably a stroke of luck that Lady Dewfield chose to take her leave at that moment or Chloe might very well have placed her hands around the harridan's slender neck and tried to strangle her. Or so she told herself as she struggled with the wave of emotions rolling through her. And to think that she'd been desperately searching for Woodford all day so she could explain herself properly to him—­that she'd feared his censure—­only to find him like this, in the process of attaching himself to Lady Dewfield. It was beyond acceptable. “Why?” she asked him, regaining her composure.

Raising his head, he met her gaze, sharp and unyielding. “Do you really need to ask?”

She shook her head. “Of all the women in the world.”

“Forgive me, but I did not know that she and . . . Forgive me.”

Chloe drew a breath. “I cannot believe that you were tempted by her. Don't you see? She's only using you to vex me.”

His head jerked up, eyes blazing with carefully controlled anger. “And what if she is? What reason would I have to consider your sensibilities? You've said we're not friends, that there is nothing between us, and yet you wish to keep me to yourself. Rather selfish of you, wouldn't you say?”

Chloe backed up a step, but rather than retreat through the door as she'd intended, she missed the opening, her back flattening against the wall behind her. “I'm sorry,” she said, distressed by how it must seem to him.

“As far as I can tell, Lady Dewfield seems rather capable. I'm sure that she and I can come to an understanding.”

The cold detachment with which he spoke caught Chloe off guard. “Is this because of what happened yesterday?” she asked him carefully. She'd known at the time that he'd been angry with her, but she hadn't imagined that it might lead to a deliberate attempt on his part to seek out another woman just to spite her.

“You tell me,” he told her bitterly. “You were the one . . .” He paused, his dark tumultuous eyes boring into her. “Never mind. It is not my place to comment. After all, you and I owe each other nothing. Do we, Lady Newbury?”

Chloe swallowed. He sounded jealous, but surely that couldn't be true. Her mind whirled with possibilities. Last night she'd thought his anger at seeing her with Scarsdale had stemmed from Woodford's dislike of the man, her confession of Scarsdale's ill-­treatment of her and the possibility that Scarsdale might be an Elector. Considering his reluctance to marry, it hadn't occurred to her that Woodford might feel any sort of possessiveness toward her. The idea that he might, thrilled her unlike anything else. “I can only imagine what you must think of me,” she said, desperate to regain his high regard.

He frowned. “Can you?”

She raised her chin. “It isn't difficult, all things considered.” When he said nothing in response, she felt the need to fill the silence between them and so she continued. “I said some regrettable things last night and then, upon returning to my bedchamber, Scarsdale surprised me. I was unprepared for his advances, though I don't suppose I should have been since he'd made his intentions plain to me several days earlier. Forgive me, Woodford, but I have never engaged in a liaison before and I—­”

“Until last night,” he pointed out, cutting her off.

“No,” she told him bluntly, “until you.”

Silence descended upon them like rain, freezing them in place. Chloe knew she was dangerously close to revealing more than she should about her feelings for Woodford. Why was she even explaining herself to him?
Because you like him. Because if your life had been different, you would have wanted more than friendship from him. Because in spite of your better judgment, you still do.

He winced. Shook his head. “If you think that you can simply exchange my embrace for his, then you don't know me at all.”

Chloe stared at him, unsure of how to make things right between them. “What do you want from me, Woodford?”

His posture straightened with self-­assurance while his eyes darkened to inky-­black pools that held her hostage and weakened her knees. “I'm just asking you to be honest.”

Reaching for the doorjamb, Chloe held herself steady as she met Woodford's glower. “Then allow me to explain. First of all, I did not
embrace
him.” His eyes narrowed, forcing an unexpected shiver down her spine. Still, she stiffened her back and soldiered on. “Second of all,
I
did not kiss Scarsdale. For your information
he
kissed
me!
And third of all, how dare you act like a jealous husband when you took no issue with replacing me with Lady Dewfield at the first available opportunity?”

Oh hell! Who was sounding jealous now?

Once again, it would seem that she'd said too much. She tried to stay calm, hoping he wouldn't notice.

He blinked, hesitated, but then relaxed, the rigidity leaving his shoulders though his expression remained inscrutable. Eventually he nodded. “You make an excellent point,” he said. “I have no right to judge you. After all, you and I are not emotionally attached, are we?”

His comment shook her, and she suddenly knew how deeply she'd wounded him, for he had just succeeded in reciprocating the feeling. A knot formed in her chest, regret settling upon her shoulders.

“But just as I have no right to judge you,” he continued, “you have no right to judge me.” The knot tightened. “If I wish to engage in a brief liaison with a woman who's willing, I see no reason why you should try and stop me.”

“Not even when you know that her eagerness to pursue you stems from a fixation she has with me? She wants to hurt me by taking that which she presumes to be mine.” Although she'd never understood it, Chloe knew that it was true.

His eyes sharpened. “In that case, she'll be sorely disappointed, for I am not yours, am I, Lady Newbury?”

Chloe sucked in a breath, released it slowly and shook her head. “No,” she whispered, her courage finally failing her in the face of his ire.

“Now that we understand each other, I ask that you'll excuse me, for I have work to do and you have kept me from it long enough.”

“But we agreed to work together.”