The Earl's Complete Surrender (6 page)

“The gentleman and the housekeeper? That is your story?” James could scarcely believe that a young, gently bred woman, would be writing such a scandalous tale or that her family would permit it.

“Lady Emily has a remarkable imagination,” Lady Newbury said while Lady Emily blushed and bit her lip. “I have no doubt that she will be just as famous as Miss Austen one day.”

Unable to agree with that statement, James chose not to comment.

“On a different note,” Lady Laura said, speaking up, “Lady Duncaster says that there is going to be a fair next month at the village. It's a yearly event that takes place every summer and Thorncliff always has a stand there with preserves made from Thorncliff fruit. Lady Duncaster has asked for volunteers to gather apples and pears from the orchard so we have offered to help. We thought you might like to join us.”

“I'd be happy to,” Lady Newbury said with enthusiasm. “Would you care to come with us, Lord Woodford?”

He was tempted, for the sake of keeping Lady Newbury's company a while longer, but he really ought to get back to his search for the
Political Journal
. Politely, he smiled at each of the ladies in turn. “Thank you, but I fear I must decline.” Tilting his head toward Lady Newbury, he said, “I've enjoyed our conversation today immensely and look forward to sharing your company again in the future.” Then, nodding toward her sisters, he said, “Ladies, it has been a pleasure,” upon which he took his leave and strode away toward the French doors that would take him back inside Thorncliff and to the task that awaited him there.

 

Chapter 6

“L
ady Newbury, would you do me the honor of taking a walk with me?” The question, spoken by Scarsdale forced Chloe to turn in her seat. She'd been having luncheon with her sisters and had been hoping to leave their company soon in favor of continuing her search for the journal. This morning, she'd finally managed some time alone in the Turkish salon, but had quickly determined that it held nothing of interest.

“I found our outing yesterday most enjoyable,” Scarsdale added, “and was hoping that we might be able to spend more time together today. Indeed, I find that I miss your company when you're not around.”

Fiona gave Chloe a meaningful look from across the table that Chloe chose to ignore. “I would love to,” she said, unwilling to repay the earl's kindness with lies and deceit. “Allow me to finish my tea and I'll come join you by the door to the conservatory.”

“I've wanted to explore this room since first arriving at Thorncliff,” Chloe said a short while later when she and Scarsdale followed the tiled path that wound its way between an array of plants. “It offers quite an escape, wouldn't you say?”

“Absolutely.” His arm tightened slightly around hers as if he wished to anchor her to him. “But I don't believe you need to escape quite as much anymore. You seem more . . . settled than before.”

“You may be right,” she agreed. “This past year has been very difficult, but I do feel as though I'm finally starting to heal—­to let go and move on. You've been a tremendous help in that regard. I really cannot thank you enough.”

“Seeing you suffer like that . . .” They arrived at a small circular patio with a fountain in the center of it and four stone benches neatly spaced along the edge. “Had I known how Newbury treated you, I daresay I would have called him out myself.”

He wouldn't have had the right to do so without implying a deeper connection to her. Consequently, his gallantry would have served no purpose but to damage her reputation and make things more difficult, but she appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. Turning toward him, she placed her gloved hands in his. “You've always been so wonderfully kind, Scarsdale.”

“Which is why I would hate for you to think that there was any ill intent on my part yesterday when I mentioned my concerns about Woodford. I just want you to be wary, that is all.”

“I know,” she said. “You are a true friend.”

The edge of his mouth twitched. “I am hoping that I might one day be more than that.” His honesty made her draw back. “Don't tell me that you're surprised by this.”

She looked away, her mind trying to focus on all the moments they'd shared with each other—­the comfort he'd offered and that she had so freely accepted. It had been a balm to her soul, more so because she'd found in Scarsdale a person in whom she'd been able to truly confide—­a man who'd seen Newbury for what he was and who'd offered her his full support. “I must confess that I am. Completely.” It seemed illogical perhaps, considering how often he'd stopped by to check on her since Newbury's passing, the rides they'd taken together, their museum visits and outings at Vauxhall Gardens—­a long list of excursions that were meant to distract her from the pain her husband had caused. During that time, Scarsdale had put his own life on hold, had abandoned his search for a bride in favor of giving her his full attention. The truth hit her hard in the chest. “This . . . the time we've spent in each other's company, has been a courtship.”

“Not officially, but—­”

“With the goal of wooing me into marriage.”

Silence fell like a blanket of snow around them. “Eventually. Yes.”

Breathing became a sudden struggle—­the heat in the room blending with the scent of wet soil almost suffocating. “I should have known.” Woodford had been right when he'd commented on Scarsdale's high regard for her. “But so should you.”

His eyes widened with incomprehension. “What are you talking about? You have given me every reason to hope, Chloe!”

The bitterness with which he spoke made her wince, as did the use of her Chris­tian name. She shook her head. “No. I have been very clear about what I want for my future. As I've told you countless times, most recently yesterday in the village, it does not include marriage.”

His eyes narrowed, the angry resentment of rejection sparking a glare. “And yet you continued to encourage my visits and my attentions.”

“As a friend!”

He shook his head. “Only a fool would be that blind.”

The worst of it was that she knew he was right. Her sisters had repeatedly commented on her acquaintance with him, discreetly inquiring if anything romantic might come of it. She'd stubbornly denied any such feelings on either part. “I'm sorry,” she murmured, but the apology fell flat. “What can I do to make things right between us?”

“Marry me,” he said simply.

Tamping down the heartache that came with the knowledge that she was hurting him, she took a step back. “Forgive me, but I can't. If you'll please excuse me, I must be—­”

“It's him, isn't it?”

Her feet turned to blocks of lead. “Who?” She knew the answer of course.

“Lord Woodford.” Scarsdale's eyes met hers, completely unyielding as they pinned her in place.

“I don't know what you mean.” And yet she'd had a great deal of trouble sleeping the last ­couple of nights, thanks to some very unseemly thoughts relating to the earl and the certainty she had that he'd meant to kiss her. Surprisingly, she had not been the least bit opposed to such an advance. Quite the contrary.

Scarsdale's laugh was unpleasant. “Judging from the glazed look in your eyes, I think you know exactly what I mean. I should have known that what I told you yesterday would have no effect on you. After all, a woman does have needs and he is certainly a fine specimen of masculinity. I daresay he'd be able to satisfy you rather nicely.”

“Stop it!” The heat inside the room was suffocating her and the things that Scarsdale was saying . . . good lord!

“Why?” he sneered, moving closer while she remained rooted to the floor. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“It makes me wish that I'd never trusted you.”

He laughed again. Mockingly. “My dear lady. It's time you realized that all men want the same thing, and since Woodford isn't here to accommodate you, then perhaps you'll allow me to do so after all?” He shrugged while Chloe stared at him in disbelief. “Marriage can wait, if that is what you wish.”

Was he completely mad? “I will not sleep with you or marry you, Scarsdale. Not ever.” Freed by the statement, she turned and practically ran toward the door, afraid he might follow her and press his advances right there in the middle of the conservatory. To his credit, he did not, but her conversation with him had left a stale taste in her mouth and left her nerves so frayed that her entire body shook as she exited the room and headed down the long hallway, averting her gaze from anyone she happened to pass along the way.

Not until she'd climbed the stairs and turned down a hallway that removed her from sight, did she allow her pace to slow. Scarsdale's revelation and the manner in which he'd made his intentions known, had genuinely shocked her. Halting her progress, she steadied herself against the wall with the palm of her hand and drew a succession of deep breaths, forcing her heart rate to slow. It was clear to her now that their friendship had not been honest. He'd had an agenda, and based on the way he'd just treated her, she very much doubted that it was founded on love or even fondness. It also made her doubt that what he'd said about Woodford was true. In all likelihood, he'd just been trying to steer her into his own arms by vilifying Woodford and making himself look like a victim.

Briefly, she closed her eyes and allowed her mind to center on her purpose, aware that changing focus would be the best way to set aside any unpleasantry. With renewed determination, she pushed away from the wall and continued toward the end of the hallway where she turned left. If she could just find the journal, everything would be so much better. Her marriage would have actually meant something. Which was why, having methodically searched every room on the ground floor and determining that it wasn't there, she now had every intention of finding a way to get into the late Earl of Duncaster's bedchamber.

Up ahead, she prepared to turn right in the direction of the north wing. She'd visited that part of the house only once before when Lady Duncaster had invited her to her private apartment in order to discuss the game day that Chloe had helped plan a ­couple of weeks earlier. Quickening her pace in the hope of arriving there unobserved, Chloe reached the juncture and rounded the corner, the entire length of her body connecting with a solid surface that was coming toward her at equal speed.

“Oomph!” collided with “Bloody hell!” And then, “Lady Newbury, are you all right?”

The air had been knocked out of her, making words difficult. Somewhat dazed, she managed a nod, her palm clasping her forehead while a sturdy hand braced itself against her elbow. Without needing to look at his face, she knew that the man she'd run into was Woodford. She'd recognized the rich tone of his voice immediately.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he murmured. “Are you sure you're all right?”

Raising her gaze from where it rested on the buttons of his jacket, she was struck by the sincere look of concern in those dark eyes of his. “I think I'll live,” she said, offering a faint smile.

Ever so slowly, the corners of his eyes crinkled and then the most astounding thing happened: the edge of his mouth curved, producing a crooked smile that very nearly took Chloe's breath away. Again. “I'm glad to hear it,” he said. And then, as if he'd shown no sign of amusement at all, he frowned. “Where were you heading? Perhaps I can escort you?”

“I was going to see if Lady Duncaster would mind showing me the roof terrace,” she said, coming up with a quick excuse.

“I'm afraid the countess has gone out. As it happens, I was just looking for her myself.”

“You spoke to her maid?”

“Yes. She stepped out just as I arrived. Apparently she's overseeing a thorough cleaning project in the hallway outside the countess' bedchamber. Paintings are being brought down for dusting and windows are being washed. It's quite a mess.”

Schooling her features, Chloe nodded. Getting into Lord Duncaster's bedchamber was going to take more time than she'd expected. “I see,” she said, her mind whirling with possibilities. Perhaps she should ask Lady Duncaster to grant her access . . . out of curiosity? No. She did not know her ladyship well enough to make such a request.

“In the meantime, I would be happy to show you the roof terrace myself, if you like,” Lord Woodford said. “The stairs aren't far and the view from up there is truly magnificent.”

“I don't know,” she hedged, still wary from her encounter with Scarsdale and greatly concerned by the longing that Woodford stirred in her. Stepping back, she pulled away from his touch. “Being alone together is probably a bad idea. If anyone were to see us, they would assume that—­”

“That what?” He took a step toward her, crowding her with his much larger size.

Her breath caught, her pulse quickening while heat overwhelmed her, flushing her skin. “I should go,” she said, edging toward the firm stability of the wall, her hand pressing against it as if its permanence would somehow give her the strength that she needed.

“That what?” he repeated, pinning her with his stare. His mouth was drawn tight, accentuating the bold angle of his jaw.

“That you and I have engaged in an affair.” The words tumbled out of her, filled not only with despair, but with such acute yearning that she startled herself with the utterance. Embarrassed, she closed her eyes, hoping that when she opened them again, Lord Woodford would be gone and that somehow this interaction with him would be forgotten.

“Look at me,” he said instead. She peeked at him from beneath her lashes and found him closer than he had been before. “I cannot explain what's between us, Lady Newbury, other than to say that I have an uncanny urge to kiss you whenever we meet. Do you feel the same way, or am I mad?”

She nodded and he leaned back a little, his brow knit in a deep frown. “You're not mad, my lord,” she told him hastily, realizing the ambiguity of her response.

A short sigh escaped him and then he offered her his arm, which she hesitantly accepted without him displaying the slightest lack of patience. “I cannot promise you anything,” he eventually said as they started along the hallway, heading toward the far end of it. “I have no plan to marry and . . . as far as love is concerned, I fear I'm not capable of such deep emotion.”

Briefly, she considered mentioning Hainsworth and the role he'd played in Woodford's life. Surely he must have some affection for the man who'd raised him as if he were his own son. But she didn't want to distract from the conversation they were having either, so she said nothing and just listened to what he had to say instead.