The Earl's Complete Surrender (5 page)

His conscience urged him to reconsider even as he turned to face her more completely, closing the distance and dipping his head toward her, while the expectation of that one intimate touch sent darts of awareness coursing through him, tightening his stomach and teasing his skin with prickling heat.

The echo of footsteps approaching made him pause, his every nerve hovering between action and inaction. Eventually, he pulled back, but not without noting Lady Newbury's parted lips or the dazed expression upon her face. She hadn't muttered a single word of protest. Indeed, she would have let him kiss her without complaint. He was absolutely certain of that as the footsteps rounded the corner ahead, bringing none other than Scarsdale with them. How bloody perfect!

Spotting them, the earl came to an immediate halt. “It seems we meet again,” he said, his tone as dry as tree bark on a hot summer's day. “Lady Newbury. What a wonderful surprise.”

“I couldn't sleep, so I decided to go for a walk,” she said. “Lord Woodford has kindly offered to show me back to my room since I wasn't as wise as the two of you in bringing a lantern with me.”

“And I suppose you were unable to sleep as well?” Scarsdale asked, addressing James.

“Exactly. And you?” James inquired.

“The same,” Scarsdale said. “Perhaps we should keep each other company? Once you've escorted Lady Newbury back to her room, that is.”

“I was actually hoping to return to bed myself. It is rather late, after all.”

A caustic laugh burst from Scarsdale's mouth. “So it is,” he agreed. “Well, never mind then. Perhaps another time?” James inclined his head and Scarsdale nodded in return. He looked at Chloe. “I very much enjoyed your company earlier today and was wondering if you might like to take a ride with me tomorrow. We could have luncheon in the village.”

“A fine suggestion, my lord and one that is much appreciated,” she said, sounding genuinely pleased. “Thank you.”

Scarsdale smiled kindly at her, then gave Woodford a brief, but somewhat uneasy, glance. “It's settled then. In the meantime, I plan to enjoy a brandy in the smoking room. I'll see you both tomorrow.”

James hoped not. He'd already had enough of Scarsdale to last him a lifetime and intended to make a deliberate effort to avoid him for the remainder of his stay at Thorncliff. If Lady Newbury wanted to spend time with the man, then that was her business.

“Good night,” Lady Newbury told Scarsdale as they parted ways. The earl returned the salutation before continuing along the hallway, his footsteps gradually blending with the silence.

“He seems quite taken with you,” James said, slanting a look at Lady Newbury as he guided her toward the stairs.

“Scarsdale was wonderfully supportive after my husband's death. He was one of Newbury's closest friends and the only one who took an interest in how I was faring in the wake of Newbury's detrimental duel with Wrightley.” She halted at the foot of the stairs and drew away from James so that she could better face him. “I get the distinct impression that the two of you have your differences. Personally, however, I cannot fault Scarsdale for anything since he has shown me nothing but kindness.”

“I understand.”

She winced a little. “I very much doubt that, my lord.”

He couldn't help but frown. “Why do you say that?”

Tilting her head, she regarded him a moment. “I think I would like to retire now,” she eventually said, not answering his question as she started up the stairs.

James hurried after her. “I did not mean to cause offense,” he said, aware that his question had somehow managed to push her away.

“You've done no such thing. I assure you.” Her fingers trailed along the polished wood railing while her other hand clasped the skirt of her gown, raising the hem so she would not trip. “But the question you asked of me will lead to a place that I'm not yet willing to let you enter. Forgive me, but our acquaintance is still in its early stages and far too fresh for me to confide in you the parameters of my marriage.”

“I wasn't asking you to,” James said, a little bothered by the fact that she found his question intrusive when all he'd meant to do was voice his curiosity.

They reached the top of the landing and she deliberately stepped toward him, her eyes searching his face as if to determine if he was speaking the truth. “Why do you always look so somber?” The question sounded like a private thought, mistakenly spoken aloud.

“I'm a serious man, Lady Newbury,” he said, deciding to answer. “Few things amuse me.”

“Or perhaps there's another reason—­one that you'd rather not talk about.” His heart thudded against his chest and the fine hairs at the nape of his neck bristled. “The same reason you got angry when I quizzed you about your time at Eton, perhaps?”

The muscles in his arms tightened. He tried to think of something to say—­something that wouldn't sound bitter or snide. “Your curiosity triggered an unpleasant memory.”

She nodded solemnly. “Then you do understand why I do not wish to continue the conversation we were having.” Raising her hand, she brushed her fingertips carefully across the right side of his forehead. “There's a slight bump, but nothing your hair won't conceal. Once again, I'm sorry.”

When she moved to pull away, he caught her by the wrist, and there it was again—­that tension he'd felt before when he'd been tempted to kiss her. She didn't want to get close, and frankly, neither did he, but to deny that there wasn't something between them would be a fantastic lie.

Beneath the touch of his hand, he felt her pulse quicken. Her eyes held his, displaying a confidence that would have been convincing had it not been for the slight hitch of her breath. His gaze meandered down her arm and across to her shoulder where a slight tremble of pale porcelain flesh confirmed her state of agitation. James had no doubt in his mind that she wanted to flee.

Stubbornly, she remained where she was, perfectly still with her wrist still wrapped in his hand. He admired her control. The tip of her tongue swept across her bottom lip, innocently moistening it, and something fierce began to claw at James's chest. A sharp inhale brought the scent of honey-­sweetened lemons with it, fueling the beast that had sprung to life within him.

Desire
.

That's what it was—­this elemental need to pull her close and taste her, to press his palm against the curve of her breast and . . . Loosening his hold, he released her and took a step back, his chest rising and falling heavily against the tight fit of his waistcoat. “After you,” he said, gesturing toward the right.

Dipping her head, she set off in the direction of her room while he followed slightly behind—­still close enough to light her way, but not close enough to allow for further temptation. Reaching her door, they bid each other a polite good night. He turned away before she'd finished closing her door, eager to return to his own bedchamber where he would finally be able to study the book still resting snugly in his jacket pocket, while hopefully putting Lady Newbury out of his mind.

If only it would be that simple.

 

Chapter 5

D
ressed in a blue floral print day-­dress and a straw bonnet tied with pretty blue ribbons, Chloe set out for Hillcrest—­the closest village to Thorncliff—­the following day. Seated beside Scarsdale in his curricle, she looked forward to escaping Thorncliff for a while, and most notably a certain earl.

“Lady Duncaster says there's a lovely little eatery with an outdoor terrace that serves fresh fish and excellent dessert,” Scarsdale said, glancing in her direction. “Would that interest you?”

“It sounds lovely,” Chloe replied, looking back at him with a smile. His arrival at Thorncliff had been welcome, adding stability to what had started to feel like emotional upheaval after her first encounter with Woodford.

They found the small restaurant without too much trouble, located next to the mill so that they could enjoy the soothing cascading of water while they ate.

“How's your cod and spinach pie?” Scarsdale asked, taking a bite of his own food. He'd opted for pork chops and potatoes instead.

“Delicious,” she said, savoring the smooth texture of the fish and the creamy flavor of the pie. Setting down her knife and fork, she reached for her wine.

“I hope you won't think me too forward,” Scarsdale said as he finished his meal and pushed his plate aside, “but I cannot help but be concerned about you and would therefore like to caution you.”

“About what?” Chloe took a sip of her wine to conceal her wariness. Scarsdale couldn't possibly know about the journal, could he?

“It's about Lord Woodford.” Chloe relaxed a little, even though the subject still troubled her. “I cannot help but notice that you seem to enjoy his company.”

“Why would you presume such a thing?” she asked, setting her glass aside and reaching for her napkin.

“Because I've seen you with him on more than one occasion within the past few days.”

She dabbed at her mouth. “A coincidence, I assure you. He and I didn't seek each other's company. We just happened to run into each other by chance.”

“So you're not interested in forming an attachment with him?” Scarsdale asked her carefully.

She waved her hand dismissively while trying not to think of how much she'd wanted Woodford to kiss her the night before. “You know where I stand. Nothing has changed.”

“I must confess that I'm relieved to hear it.” Raising his own glass, he fell silent while he drank. When he was done, he said, “Woodford is . . . not for you, Lady Newbury.”

This got Chloe's attention. She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“He's always been very peculiar—­mostly after his parents were killed. The incident had a profound effect on him.”

“I daresay it would have had a profound effect on anyone, Scarsdale. Woodford was just a boy when it happened.”

Scarsdale nodded. “I know. But that doesn't mean that you should dismiss the man he's become just because you pity the child.”

His expression was more serious than Chloe had ever seen it. “It surprises me that you, who is always so compassionate toward others, would say such a thing.”

“I just want you to be cautious where Woodford is concerned. He has always been a bit of an odd fellow.” He studied her a moment. “Do you know that he remembers everything he sees? Every little detail?”

“I do, and I think it's quite remarkable really.”

“You won't think so when he chooses to use it against you.”

Chloe frowned. “Are you speaking from experience?”

Scarsdale sighed. “Yes, but it's not a fitting topic for me to discuss with a lady. I just hope that you will trust me when I tell you that Woodford can be unpredictable. I've seen him get angry, Lady Newbury, and it's not an experience that I would like to have again.”

Recalling the discomfort she'd felt when Woodford's calm demeanor had given way to quiet rage during their discussion in the Turkish salon a few days earlier, Chloe wasn't sure what to think. Perhaps Scarsdale was right? “I know that you have my best interests at heart, so I will definitely take your advice into consideration. In the meantime, please rest assured that I have no intention of pursuing a deeper acquaintanceship with Lord Woodford.”

Scarsdale practically beamed. “Indeed, I am delighted to hear it.”

But when they alit from the curricle upon returning to Thorncliff and Scarsdale escorted Chloe back inside, the first person they happened to encounter, was of course, Woodford himself. “Lady Newbury and Lord Scarsdale,” he said, halting the moment he saw them. “I trust you had a pleasant outing?”

“We did,” Chloe said, more curious about him now than ever before because of what Scarsdale had said. She couldn't help but wonder what might have happened between the two men.

“I'm glad to hear it.” He prepared to turn away.

“I see you have a book with you,” she said, not quite ready to let him leave. Ignoring Scarsdale's immediate tug on her arm, she added, “May I ask what it's about?” Woodford held it up for her to see and, pulling away from Scarsdale, she moved close enough so she could read the title. “
Philosophie Zoologique
. How interesting.”

“I doubt you'll think so,” Woodford said.

“He's right, Lady Newbury,” Scarsdale spoke as he came up beside her.

Tilting her head, she smiled at both gentlemen. “Why don't we put that theory to the test? Scarsdale and I were planning to have tea on the terrace. Perhaps you would be kind enough to join us, Woodford, so that we can discuss the subject in greater detail.”

For a moment he looked skeptical.

“Come, Lady Newbury,” Scarsdale said, taking her by the arm once more. “I do believe we've taken up enough of the earl's time. He clearly has other plans for the afternoon.”

“It's nothing that cannot wait,” Woodford said, his dark eyes lingering on Chloe until her knees grew weak.

“You see, Scarsdale? His lordship is happy to accommodate,” she said, not liking the sound of her breathy voice one bit.

“Splendid,” Scarsdale clipped. He began leading Chloe through to the hallway that would take them out onto the terrace while Woodford followed behind.

“So what the author is saying, is that varying influences upon a species will result in different characteristics?” Chloe asked almost a full hour later. She'd moved to a chair that stood in the shade after the sun had begun beating down on her shoulders. The subject fascinated her, especially since Woodford had proven capable of relating the facts pertaining to it in a manner that had completely captivated her interest. Scarsdale hadn't seemed nearly as eager to learn about Lamarck's theories and had seemed very relieved when one of his friends had approached and asked him to join him in a game of cards.

“Precisely,” Woodford said, eying her with interest.

“I imagine the subject to be rather controversial,” Chloe said as she gazed out across the lawn where guests strolled and children played. Croquet and cricket appeared to be popular games of choice. “What's your opinion on the matter? Do you agree with Lamarck's views?”

Woodford's gaze increased in intensity. It was almost as if he was trying to uncover the inner workings of her mind. “I find them fascinating,” he murmured, and Chloe practically forgot to breathe. The way he'd said it . . . it was as if he'd been speaking of something else entirely.

Unsettled by it and concerned with the knowledge that they were not only bonding over literature, but that she was finding his company more compelling than that of any other gentleman, including Scarsdale, Chloe tried to think of something inane to discuss—­something that would help her retreat from the cliff she was presently approaching. There was also Scarsdale's warning to consider. He was her friend so she felt obliged to take it seriously even though she didn't know the specifics. “It certainly is a marvelous estate,” she therefore found herself saying quite out of the blue.

Woodford blinked, seemingly surprised by her sudden deviation from what they'd just been talking about. “So I gather.” His words were measured as he spoke.

“It's very admirable, what Lady Duncaster is doing, sharing her home with all of us and allowing us to enjoy it's grandeur.”

James allowed his gaze to settle on her more fully. He really couldn't afford to spend precious time conversing with her—­not after the disappointing discovery that the book he'd found the previous evening had contained nothing more than a few mundane notes. It hadn't been the
Political Journal
, which meant that there was still a great deal of work for him to do.

Momentarily distracted by the gentle curve of Lady Newbury's jawline, her high cheekbones and the perfect slope of her nose, James tried to focus on the new subject of their discussion even as he prepared himself to take his leave. “I came across its history once in a book on English castles. Apparently there used to be a moat in continuation of the lake. It was filled in during the seventeenth century when focus was placed on redesigning the gardens.”

“Spencer says Thorncliff was built by a knight during the twelfth century and that it used to be much smaller.”

James nodded. “It has also had some very distinguished guests over the years. Queen Elizabeth visited once on her tour of the country, as did her father before her. Both considered Thorncliff a suitable location for an overnight stay.” He smiled slightly. “And then of course there was Edward the Second who, as he passed Thorncliff upon his return to England from exile, inquired if the Earl might be willing to offer him a cup of tea.”

“Really?”

“Upon my honor, it is the truth,” James said, “or at least it is what I have read.” Looking askance, Lady Newbury made a gesture with her hand that prompted James to turn his head. He immediately saw two young ladies approaching. “Your sisters?” he inquired, noting the resemblance.

Lady Newbury nodded as they drew closer. “Lady Emily and Lady Laura.”

James rose, greeting them both with a bow.

“May I present the Earl of Woodford,” Lady Newbury said as she too stood up. “He's been regaling me with stories about Thorncliff and his love of literature.”

Both women smiled politely. “It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord,” Lady Laura said while Lady Emily seemed to study him with great intensity, as if attempting to memorize every detail about him.

Schooling his features, James forced himself to remain still, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. “Likewise,” he said.

“Oh!” The exclamation came from Lady Emily.

James frowned. Lady Newbury sighed with exasperation and Lady Laura gave Lady Emily a gentle nudge. “What is going on?” James asked, deciding that he might as well stop trying to deduce a quandary that seemed to defy all logic.

“Nothing of importance,” Lady Laura said, smiling sweetly.

“You have the perfect voice,” Lady Emily said, disregarding her sister's comment and taking James completely by surprise. Beside him, he heard Lady Newbury groan—­a sound he found oddly amusing under the circumstances.

“Perfect for what, exactly?” he couldn't help but ask.

“For my hero,” Lady Emily explained.

“Your hero?” he asked, more baffled than ever by her answer.

She scrunched her nose. “But how can I describe it? Perhaps a little gruff or . . . or gravelly? Yes, I think that might work.”

James blinked. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of anyone likening his voice to the sound of gravel.

“Husky would be a better choice,” Lady Newbury said quietly. “Or, if you would like to add a nuance to it, you might consider mentioning an underlying rumble.”

Although he still had to figure out what they were talking about and how the sound of his voice had anything to do with it, James liked the idea that he'd captured Lady Newbury's attention to such a degree that she was able to describe his voice in appealing and rather sensual terms. It was flattering, and he found that he could not help but straighten his back a little.

“Perfect,” Lady Emily agreed.

Lady Newbury turned toward him at that moment. “I hope you will forgive my sister, but she is presently working on a great romantic novel and has been struggling with inspiration for her hero. At least now, the poor man has a voice.”

“He's hardly poor,” Lady Emily complained. “Mr. Cunningham is an extremely wealthy landowner with many grand houses to his name.”

“And your heroine?” James inquired, unable to resist posing the question.

“Well, until recently she was meant to be a young lady with a hoydenish disposition, but then I decided that it might be more interesting if she is an untitled young woman with few prospects, who accepts a position as housekeeper from Mr. Cunningham. Naturally, they end up seeing quite a bit of each other and eventually fall hopelessly in love.” Her voice turned dreamy as she spoke.