The Earl's Complete Surrender (2 page)

 

Chapter 1

Thorncliff Manor, later that day

I
t was almost two weeks since Chloe had arrived at Thorncliff with her parents and siblings. Owned by the Countess of Duncaster, the elaborate guest house would provide her and her family with the retreat that they needed while their own home was being renovated.

The afternoon sun cast a splendid glow upon the fields surrounding the estate as Chloe made her way along the graveled path with her sister, Fiona. She'd always enjoyed the outdoors and was especially fond of sharing it with her family. Arm linked with Fiona's, she leaned a little closer to her sister. “I've missed spending time with you like this. With all of you, that is.”

Offering a sideways glance and a crooked smile, Fiona nodded. “We've missed you too. I know it wasn't easy for you to move out of your home after Newbury died and his cousin arrived to claim his inheritance, but I am glad to have you back home with us at Oakland House.”

The mention of her late husband made Chloe's skin prickle. Repositioning her shawl, she drew it more firmly across her shoulders, hugging herself in the process. “I just don't like imposing on Mama and Papa, so I am considering other options—­perhaps a position as governess for someone's unruly children.”

Fiona must have caught the slight crack in her voice, because she quickly said, “You could have some of your own if you chose to remarry.”

“You know that's not an option,” Chloe told her, feeling once again an unforgiving weight pressing down on her. They continued for a moment, accompanied by the sound of pebbles crunching beneath their feet while birds twittered from the treetops.

“I do hope Kip will take our advice seriously,” Fiona suddenly said. As Chloe's youngest sister, she was the least reserved of the Heartly siblings, of which there were seven in total. Kip, or rather, Christopher Maxwell Heartly, otherwise known as Viscount Spencer, heir to the Earl of Oakland, was the eldest.

“After we held him hostage and tried to blackmail him?” Chloe asked, reminding her sister that they had resorted to more disagreeable tactics several days earlier.

“Well, he would have fled our company otherwise, refusing to listen to what we had to say,” By
we,
Fiona was referring to all the Heartly sisters, as well as their mother.

“Would you blame him, Fiona? Frankly, I found your method a little extreme—­perhaps even cruel.” Chloe could not even begin to imagine what it must have been like for Kip to be faced with so many women all planning to get him married posthaste, and with no possibility for escape in sight.

“Cruel?” Fiona looked genuinely surprised. “We all have his best interests at heart, Chloe.”

“Do we, Dearest? Because if you ask me, locking him in a room against his will and then blackmailing him into spending time with Lady Sarah might not be what he wants.”

Fiona sighed. “Perhaps not, but I do think it's necessary to remind him that not all women are like Miss Hepplestone. I'm sure Lady Sarah . . . oh look, it appears there may be new guests on the way.”

Chloe shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand and saw a carriage approaching. It bore no crest and was drawn by four magnificent black horses, their tails whipping the air as they plodded along in perfect unison. “I wonder who it can be.”

“Someone important, I'd imagine,” Fiona said. “See those markings on the wheels? That's a Robertson carriage—­one of the most expensive there is.”

Stepping aside, they watched as the carriage rolled past them, allowing a brief glimpse of the two men within. One was older and appeared to be extremely well groomed and stylish while the other . . . Chloe's heart took flight, skipping along as she met his dark and brooding gaze. He was a young man in his prime, with unfashionably long hair falling across his brow and temple where it blended with the shadow darkening the edge of his jaw. Politely, he dipped his head in greeting as the carriage continued along the road, but his mouth was uninclined to hazard a smile and his eyes remained sober.

Chloe watched as the carriage disappeared around a bend up ahead. A breeze licked between her shoulder blades and she realized that she'd allowed her shawl to slip. Repositioning it, she pulled it tight against the breeze and recommenced walking.

“Who was that?” Fiona asked almost immediately. “Did you recognize either of them?”

“One of them—­the older gentleman, that is—­is the Marquess of Hainsworth. I had the pleasure of sitting next to him a few years ago when Newbury and I were invited to visit the Duke and Duchess of Pinehurst for dinner. He was most agreeable—­both interesting and amusing.” She frowned at the recollection. Newbury had thought her too welcoming of Hainsworth's company. He'd glared at her continuously from across the table.

“What about the other gentleman?” Fiona asked, forcing Chloe back to the present. “Might he be Hainsworth's son?”

“No. Hainsworth has no children.” Slanting a look in her sister's direction, Chloe nudged her gently with her shoulder. “I hope you're not contemplating your prospects already, Fiona. With our other sisters still unwed you're not in any hurry to—­”

“Don't be silly,” Fiona said as she nudged Chloe back, making her stumble. “I am not contemplating marriage or anything that might lead to it.”

“I'm relieved to hear that,” Chloe told her. “It's terribly important for you to take your time with such a . . . permanent decision.”

“I know,” Fiona murmured, her brow creasing in a frown that looked misplaced upon her otherwise smooth forehead. As if discomforted by it, Fiona suddenly smiled, erasing all traces of any concern. “But I am curious, you know. I always have been.”

Chloe allowed a faint smile. “Well, in this instance I'm sure that your questions will likely be answered. As soon as we return to Thorncliff you may inquire about Hainsworth's companion from the butler.”

Fiona's eyes glowed like a pair of pearls caught in a ray of sunshine. “Then let's return quickly so that this mystery may be solved.” Her steps quickened, forcing Chloe to hurry after her.

“Honestly, Fiona, I don't understand the urgency. He's either going to be a peer or gentry, neither of which is likely to be of interest to you since you're not in the market for a husband.”

“If it makes any sense, I simply cannot stand the
not
knowing.”

Chloe considered telling her sister that there
was
such a thing as knowing too much, but she bit back the rejoinder and kept silent instead, unwilling to take their conversation in that particular direction.

“In all likelihood you'll be right and my interest in whoever
he
is will prove pointless,” Fiona said as they passed a row of elm trees. Like a curtain pushed aside, they gave way to an impressive view of Thorncliff, the towering walls dwarfing anyone standing before them and likening them to ants. “Come to think of it, he did seem rather dull—­as if it made no difference to him that he was about to arrive at the most fantastic estate in England. He should have been staring out of the window of that carriage with keen enthusiasm. Most young gentlemen would do so, but he did not.”

“No,” Chloe agreed as they turned onto the driveway that would take them straight up to the front door. “Perhaps coming here disagrees with him.”

“I can't imagine why,” Fiona said. “It's the most fascinating place in the world!”

“You say so only because you have not traveled the world.”

“Perhaps that's our answer,” Fiona suggested. “Perhaps the man we saw, whoever he may be, has traveled to so many fine places that Thorncliff fails to entice.”

“Or maybe he's just not the adventurous sort,” Chloe offered. “He may simply enjoy reading a good book, in which case he has no need of coming here at all and probably considers Thorncliff a complete waste of time.”

The words brought Fiona to an immediate halt. “Do
you
find it a complete waste of time, Chloe?”

A rush of emotion swept through Chloe. It almost felt as if an ebbing tide was tugging at her belly. “Of course not. Why on earth would you think such a thing when I've already told you how happy I am to be spending more time with you and the rest of the family?”

A puff of air escaped Fiona in the form of a sigh. “Perhaps you wanted to be kind and spare my feelings?”

Taking her sister by the hand, Chloe held on fast as she gazed into her troubled young eyes. “No. I would never be dishonest with you.”

“Are you certain? Because I am well aware of your fondness for reading as well as your lack of enthusiasm for socializing at the moment. Are you sure you wouldn't have rather stayed at home with your books?”

Closing her eyes, Chloe struggled to ease the nerves that threatened to send her heart racing. “No. I would not. The Thorncliff library is vast. I mean to explore it during my stay here. As for socializing . . . I've just spent a year in mourning, Fiona. I need time to readjust.”

“I'm sorry,” Fiona said, biting her lip. “I just wish that I could do more to make you happy.”

“I am happy,” Chloe assured her. At the very least, she was free now, and that was pretty much the same thing. “Come, let's find out who Lord Hainsworth's companion is so we can put your curiosity to rest.”

They reached the front door where the coach was being unloaded by footmen. The men who'd occupied it, however, were nowhere in sight. The butler on the other hand, was very much present, issuing orders to each of the footman as they carried trunks into the house.

“Excuse me, Mr. Caine,” Chloe said as she and Fiona walked up to him.

Raising his chin in the typical butlery manner that conveyed that his complete attention had been drawn, he spoke a succinct, “Yes, Lady Newbury?”

“My sister and I were out walking when this carriage drove past.” Angling her head, Chloe indicated the carriage in question. “I immediately recognized the Marquess of Hainsworth, but I failed to place his companion. Perhaps you can enlighten us regarding his identity?”

Mr. Caine hesitated only a moment before bowing his head in acquiescence. “I believe you must be referring to the Earl of Woodford, my lady.” A brief pause followed. “Will that be all?”

Chloe blinked. “Yes. Thank you, Mr. Caine.”

The butler nodded before turning away and resuming his duties.

“Isn't he the one whose parents—­”

“Yes,” Chloe said, silencing her sister. It was as if her heart had suddenly been filled with lead. Shaking off the melancholy that had swooped down upon her the moment she'd learned of Woodford's identity, she placed her hand against Fiona's elbow and guided her through the foyer and toward the hallway beyond, no longer surprised by the solemnity with which Woodford had regarded her from the carriage. Somewhere, trapped inside that man, was the little boy who'd once suffered the tragic loss of his parents, and Chloe found that her heart ached for him.

 

Chapter 2

S
urely it had to be here somewhere. Running her fingers carefully along one of the shelves in the library, Chloe gave herself up to the search of the book she'd determined to find: the
Political Journal
. After spending several days keeping her sisters company, she'd finally managed to excuse herself and had therefore decided to dedicate as much of today as possible to her task.

Moving slowly, she studied the various titles on the shelves while considering the most recent letter she'd received from Mr. Lambert, her grandfather's old friend and a former spy. In it, he had encouraged her to take advantage of the opportunity her stay at Thorncliff offered and had assured her that the journal
had
to be there since the third Earl of Duncaster was known to have had it last. Chloe's fingers trembled ever so slightly at that thought. If Mr. Lambert knew this, it was possible that others did as well. She might be running out of time.

Inhaling deeply, she read each spine carefully.
Letters on the English Nation . . . Great Britain's Commercial Interest . . . The History of the Life and Reign of Richard, the Third . . . Poems by the Earl of Roscommon
. Chloe paused as she studied the burgundy leather and the gold lettering that graced it. Clearly it was out of place. She tried to pull it free, but the other books hugged it so tightly she could barely manage the task. How on earth had anyone gotten it in there in the first place?

Stubbornly, she pried her fingers between it and the adjacent volume and pulled as hard as she could. The effort seemed to be working because the book was gradually inching its way off the shelf until . . . oomph! It came free and Chloe lost her balance, staggering backward and straight into something warm and solid.

Pressing her prize against her chest, she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that she would vanish into thin air, because she very much feared that she'd stumbled straight into another person—­a man, to be precise.

“May I be of assistance?” A low voice inquired. It was husky—­almost a whisper—­and underscored by the faintest rumble that brought to mind a cozy fire on a cold winter's evening or the feeling of brandy heating your insides.

Chloe shrugged away the sensation as soon as it formed. Men were liars and cheats. They were not to be trusted.

Turning, she prepared to offer an apology, but as the man came into view, her mouth went inexplicably dry. Good lord! He was even more handsome than when she'd first seen him in the carriage a few days earlier. She saw now that his hair was longer than she'd initially thought, brushing against his broad shoulders while a few stray locks swept carelessly across his brow. It was black, just like his eyes. Her stomach tightened as she met his gaze, responding to the sharp look of curiosity he gave her. “Forgive me,” she managed as she took a step back. “That was terribly careless of me.”

He studied her in silence, his expression completely inscrutable. His eyes, however, were deep pools of emotion, and Chloe found that she could not look away. Her heart beat faster until blood rushed through her veins. She hadn't felt this jittery since her first Season when she'd been introduced to Newbury.

The thought of her late husband was sobering, reminding her of the person she'd once been and whom she'd striven to become since his death. Straightening her spine, she prepared to excuse herself when the man before her dropped his gaze to the book she was holding and said, “You enjoy poetry?”

“Not particularly,” she found herself saying. “I believe it was misplaced among the history books so I thought I'd try to return it to its rightful position.” Eventually, that was, once she'd determined that it wasn't the
Political Journal
in disguise.

He looked up, meeting her eyes once more. “I can help you with that, if you like?”

“Thank you, but that's really not necessary.” She looked around to see if anyone was paying attention to their conversation, but found that only a few gentlemen were present, all of them engaged with either a book or a newspaper. “Besides, we haven't been formally introduced, so I really shouldn't be talking to you at all.” There, that ought to get rid of him.

He regarded her for a moment, then dipped his head politely and moved away. Chloe's eyes closed on a sigh of relief, her fingers tightening around the spine of the book she was holding. But when she opened her eyes once more, she saw that he was striding back toward her and that he wasn't alone. Her brother's friend, the Earl of Chadwick, was with him.

“Lady Newbury,” Chadwick said, his bright smile in stark contrast to Woodford's cool disposition. “How do you do today?”

Chloe's spine stiffened. She knew precisely where this little conversation was heading and had no wish to continue it. But to excuse herself now would be intolerably rude. “Very well, my lord. And you?” The words were tightly spoken and although she fixed her eyes on Chadwick, she could feel Woodford's gaze boring into her and tightening her skin to the point of discomfort.

“I am always well,” Chadwick said, “though I was rather surprised to discover that the Earl of Woodford has not yet made your acquaintance. May I present him to you now?”

A small shiver vibrated through Chloe. Not once in all her years of socializing had she ever noted Woodford's presence at any gathering, so she very much doubted that Chadwick was the least bit surprised by her not knowing the earl. “Nothing would please me more,” she said with little effort to hide the hint of sarcasm lacing her words.

A twitch at the corner of Chadwick's mouth suggested that he was either amused by her irritability or bothered by it. Knowing Chadwick, Chloe supposed it was probably the former rather than the latter. Deliberately, she turned away from him and faced Woodford whose expression appeared unaltered. The bow he gave her however was perfectly executed with the sort of elegance most gentlemen spent years trying to master.

“And this,” Chadwick declared, addressing Woodford, “is my dear friend, Lord Spencer's, eldest sister, the remarkable and incomparable Lady Newbury.”

Chloe dropped her gaze to the floor as she curtsied, hiding the slight amusement that threatened to touch her lips and make her smile in response to Chadwick's exaggerated pronouncement. As saddened as she might be by what Woodford had once endured, she had to remember that he was now a man and that guarding her emotions well would serve as her best defense against whatever motive he had for wanting to make her acquaintance.

“A pleasure,” Woodford said, his words as direct as any arrow shot with precision.

“Well then,” Chadwick said, “if you don't mind, I think I'll return to my glass of brandy over there.”

“Of course,” Chloe heard herself say in a distant voice that begged for him not to leave her alone with the earl. Catching herself, she squared her shoulders and gave a curt nod. “Perhaps you'll join me and my sisters for tea on the terrace this afternoon?”

“I'd be delighted to,” Chadwick said, and then he was gone.

“Is that the Earl of Roscommon's book of poetry?” Woodford asked, drawing Chloe's attention back to him. “I've never actually seen a copy. May I?” He held out his hand.

Chloe flinched, reminded of the book she was still holding. What was she to do? If she handed it over and it turned out to be the
Political Journal,
Woodford might not relinquish it again. Still, she could hardly keep it from him without explanation. Hoping she didn't seem too reluctant or hesitant, she handed the book over and took a deep breath.

Woodford's gaze narrowed, his fingers curled around the spine, and then he opened the book in the middle and the edge of his mouth tilted into the ghost of a smile. “Ah,” he said as he showed her what was, in truth, nothing more than a poem. “
Ode Upon Solitude: On Rocks of Hopes and Fears, I see 'em toss'd. On Rocks of Folly, and of Vice I see 'em lost . . .
Somewhat mournful, wouldn't you say?”

Chloe expelled the breath she'd been holding, her knees as weak as pudding. “I do find that poetry has a tendency to lean in that direction, which is perhaps the reason why I don't enjoy it.”

“So you prefer more uplifting stories? Shakespeare's comedies perhaps?” Gesturing toward the poetry section, he proceeded in that direction.

“I confess that they can be entertaining,” Chloe said, following him with reluctance.

“But not your ideal reading material, judging from your tone.”

“Not especially. No.” She offered nothing further.

He stopped and turned toward her. “Are you always such a remarkable conversationalist?”

A caustic response flew to the tip of Chloe's tongue. Her mouth opened, but not a single word escaped her. She held them back and turned a critical eye upon herself instead. Woodford had been nothing but a perfect gentleman so far. He did not deserve to be ill-­treated for reasons that had nothing to do with him. “My apologies,” she said. “It's been a while since I've made a new acquaintance.”

He nodded at that. “Then we have something in common.”

“If I may offer a better answer to your question,” she said, choosing to ignore his comment, “I do have a partiality for Mrs. Radcliffe.”

“I see.” He tilted his head a little and gave her the most peculiar stare.

“What?”

With a slight shrug he turned away and continued toward his destination. “You just don't strike me as the adventurous sort.”

Chloe's jaw tightened. “Perhaps because I'm not,” she told his back. Newbury hadn't thought so, that was for sure. “I like to read her books because of the exciting stories they offer, not because I dream of being part of them.”

He grunted as he came to a halt in front of a large bookcase.

“I like the calm with which I pass each day,” Chloe added. “There's a certain pleasantry to be found in predictability, you see.”

“I couldn't agree with you more,” he said as he slid the book between two others, returning it to its rightful position. “Personally, I detest crowds and loud gatherings, which is why I rarely attend balls.”

“I'm actually rather fond of them myself, for the exact reason that you claim to dislike them. Socializing is one of my favorite pastime activities besides reading. It's just been a while since I've done it.”

A crease appeared upon his brow as he turned to face her. “You like surrounding yourself with ­people.”

“But you don't?” Her words came out a little breathy for some reason. Collecting herself, Chloe tried not to let his piercing dark eyes affect her. They were so intense . . . searching . . . for what, she did not know. But they prompted her to wonder what it might be like to find amusement within their depths and what Lord Woodford's face might look like when he smiled. Soft heat settled upon her skin like fine pollen traveling on a breeze.

His expression remained unaffected by her question. “No. I tend to favor my own company.”

“And yet you specifically asked to be introduced to me. Why is that?”

There was a pause, and his eyes melted into liquid black ink. “It would have been rude of me to ignore you after our unexpected encounter with one another.”

“Again, I apologize for that,” Chloe said, her shoulders sagging a little beneath his scrutiny. “It was very clumsy of me and I—­”

“Please. You needn't apologize.” His chest expanded as he took a deep breath. “Truth is I've quite enjoyed your company, as brief as it has been. I can only hope that you feel the same way.”

As unexpected as it seemed to her, she did. His staid manner and the candor with which he spoke had pushed aside the initial instinct she had to retreat. Instead, she felt increasingly at ease the more they spoke. “I do,” she said and to her surprise, the darkness in his eyes subsided while his mouth pulled a little to one side. It wasn't exactly a smile, but a distinct sign of appreciation nonetheless. Chloe's stomach tightened in response. A tremor hugged her chest and for a moment it almost pained her to breathe.

“Are you all right?” Lord Woodford asked, his hand suddenly at her elbow as if he meant to hold her steady.

The result, was a flash of warmth against her bare skin. “Yes. Thank you.” She pulled her arm away from his touch and took a deliberate step back.

“Perhaps you'd like a cup of tea?”

She shook her head, still troubled by the manner in which she'd responded to his touch and wary of what it might mean. “I . . . I should probably go.” Her feet however refused to move, anchoring her to the floor.

“Allow me to escort you,” he said, taking a step toward her.

“Please don't trouble yourself.” Backing away, her legs came up against the side of an armchair, throwing her off balance. A weightless moment followed as she struggled to right herself, her heart briefly lodging in her throat until a steady surface settled against her back, halting her descent. Chloe blinked, befuddled by the awkward situation she was now in and the fact that a man whom she'd only just met had just caught her in his arms, saving her from the humiliation of landing in a most unladylike position.