The Earl's Daughter (4 page)

“Do you think so?” As Clarissa's fingers toiled in her copper locks, her eyes never strayed from Peter. “But I look so disheveled!”

“You look lovely.” Sylvie could feel herself getting strangely frustrated by Clarissa's interest in Peter, so she asked, “What color are your eyes?”

The question was effective, as Clarissa turned in Sylvie's direction to let her see them. “A rather boring brown, I am afraid.”

Sylvie shook her head. “There is nothing boring about brown eyes. Hughes has brown eyes, and they are lovely.”

Peter looked up from his bowl and muttered, “Huh?”

“But I see a bit of green in them as well,” Clarissa countered. “His eyes are much prettier than mine. And your blue eyes, Miss Stafford, are beyond beautiful.”

Robert was smiling as he gave his opinion. “You both have exceptionally lovely eyes, and I am sure Mr. Hughes would agree with me.”

Peter briefly made eye contact with Sylvie, and after a brief pause, he gave her a slight affirmative nod.

The rest of their food arrived, but Sylvie found she had little appetite. She felt as if she was competing with Clarissa for the attention of the men in the room, and it was a nauseating thought. Her excessive jealousy toward the girl was unconscionable.

Her lack of desire for her food did not evade Robert's notice. “My dear, are you not hungry?”

“I'm feeling a bit unwell, truth be told. Perhaps I am a bit exhausted from the journey?”

“You do look somewhat pale. Do you need to lie down? I should show you to a bed.”

“I hope you don't mean
your
bed, Robert, you cad!” Clarissa boldly exclaimed, which earned her matching sneers from Robert and Sylvie. “Was that inappropriate? Oh, I
do
apologize!”

“I... would like to lie down. For a bit,” Sylvie said. As she rose from her chair, she said, “Hughes, please do not leave until you've said farewell. If you left without saying goodbye, I would be gutted.”

Peter gave her a tiny nod, but did not utter a word. He had never been a noisy sort, but she suspected his silence had something to do with the fact that he was uncomfortable. His present company was hardly the sort of company he would usually keep.

Robert took Sylvie's arm and led her from the dining room. As Clarissa and Peter finished their food, the only noise in the room was the sound of clinking forks against plates.

After a few minutes passed, Clarissa set her fork aside and asked, “Would you escort me back to the drawing room, Hughes?”

“Of course, my lady.” Peter swiped his hand across the back of his mouth, unaware that it was a very ungentlemanly thing to do. He rose from his chair and offered her an arm.

When she stood, Clarissa did not take Peter's arm. She did something else entirely.

Her fingers coiled through his hair, and she kissed him.

V

When Clarissa's lips departed, Peter was understandably dazed. It took him a few seconds to gather his wits and speak. “My lady... that was... unexpected.”

Her tongue flitted out to lick her lower lip. Grinning, she said, “I am sure it was. You're a very handsome man. It is such a shame you are not wealthy, or I might consider trading him for you.”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “My lady...”

“You seem a clever man, Peter... for someone who isn't a gentleman. I have always thought that intelligence was not always synonymous with education. You
have
figured it out, haven't you?” Clarissa threw back her head and chuckled, a bit snidely. “I am not Robert's cousin. Not even close.”

“I... see.”

“Robert bores me.” Clarissa narrowed the gap between herself and Peter, until her chest was practically touching his. “I suspect you could provide me with some... amusement?”

Peter did not know what to say to avoid offending the girl, so he simply muttered, “Hm.”

“You look surprised, to say the least. What is the most shocking part? The fact that I am Robert's mistress, or the fact that I have an interest in you?” When Clarissa boldly caressed his cheek, and then his lips, he did not budge. “Robert does not appreciate me enough. He makes no secret of his love for Sylvie, and yet he carries on with me. Can you not pity me, even if it is just a bit?”

“I pity Sylvie more.”

“Of course you do.
Of course
you do!” Clarissa threw up her hands in disgust. “No one takes pity on the discarded mistress, do they?”

“I don't know.”

“You're a man of few words. I like that.” Clarissa gently stroked the lapel of his coat. “And yet... despite being quiet, will you run off and tell Miss Stafford what I have just told you? In a way, I hope you do. Robert's secret deserves to be shared. It is quite cruel of him to carry on with both of us, wouldn't you agree?”

Peter answered with a firm nod. “I would.”

“May I speak plainly with you, Peter Hughes?”

“You
have
been speaking plainly with me,” Peter pointed out. “I see no reason why you should stop now.”

“Very well.” Clarissa raised her chin and asked, “Would you not consider joining me in my bed?”

Peter's eyes widened at the proposition, and he blinked several times. After a brief pause, he answered, “I... cannot.”

“Do you have a wife?”

He shook his head.

“Is it because you have some misplaced loyalty to Miss Stafford?”

This time, he simply shrugged.

“Could another kiss change your mind?” Her tongue flitted out, licking her lips, as if to tease and tempt him.

Peter paused for several seconds, as if he was considering it, but then he finally said, “I don't believe it would.”

“Very well. I shall force myself to be content in Robert's arms, I suppose,” Clarissa said with a sigh. “Good day, Peter. Enjoy your lonely bed tonight.”

Peter watched her leave, then he stared at the wall in stunned silence. Peter had always been a man who knew his place, and he never overstepped his bounds, but he felt honor-bound to say something to Sylvie. With a deep breath, he left the dining room and went searching for her. It took him quite a bit of time to locate her room, as the servants seemed reluctant to reveal her whereabouts to him. Finally, he knocked on her door and waited.

When Sylvie answered, her eyes were narrowed. “A man,” she began, “should never visit a lady in her bedchamber.”

“You did ask me to say farewell,” he reminded her.

“Ah. Indeed.” Sylvie stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind her. “Does this mean you are leaving, then?”

“I am.”

“Are you going to tell me it was a pleasure to escort me?” She simultaneously raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Because if you say that, I am not going to believe you.”

“I wasn't going say that,” Peter said with a wink.

“You are a very honest man, Hughes. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“They have. And because I'm honest, I should tell you something about your Robert... er... Mr. Lytton,” Peter corrected himself. “He might not be quite as devoted as you believe he is.”

Her arms were crossed: an immediate defensive posture. “What would make you say such a thing?”

“I don't believe Miss Overton is his cousin...” Peter spoke softly, as if hushed words would somehow soften the blow. “I believe she might be his mistress.”

“That's preposterous!” Sylvie squealed. “And
these
are the words you wish to part on? Do you want to make me hate you before you leave?”

“Of course not.”

“You take me all the way to Nottingham... and then you try to put doubt in my head?” Tears wavered in the rims of Sylvie's eyes as she glowered at the man standing in front of her. And to think—she had actually
liked
him! He was not even worthy of the tiniest fond feeling. He was just a carriage driver. A working man. Far below her notice. Why did she ever feel indebted to him or drawn to him? “I am rather disgusted with you right now.”

“I'm sorry, my lady.” Peter's eyes dropped to the floor. He wanted to tell her about his conversation with Miss Overton, but he doubted she would believe him anyway. She seemed determined to believe the best about her beau. “I suppose I should excuse myself now.”

“Yes! Yes, you should.” Her arms stayed crossed, and her eyes looked thunderous. “Good day to you, Peter. Regardless of our poor parting, I will always reflect fondly of our journey together.”

“Will you?” He cracked a rare smile. “You called me Peter.”

“Did I?” Sylvie opened the door to her bedchamber and turned away from him. “Well then,
Hughes
, you should take your leave.”

“Farewell...” Peter swept his raggedly brown cap from his head, took a step back, and bowed to her, “...my lady.”

As Sylvie closed the door, she was surprised at how rapidly her heart was racing. What was the reason for her elevated heart rate, she wondered. Perhaps she felt there was some truth in Peter's words—had Robert been unfaithful to her? Or was there another reason for her drumming pulse? Was it the fact that—to her great surprise—she would actually miss Peter Hughes? When he was gone, it was quite obvious she would never see him again.

Sylvie raced to the window and peeled back the curtain. In a moment's time, she saw Peter appear below her. It was raining again, so hard that he was soaked within seconds. He had tugged off his coat and rolled up his sleeves, and for whatever reason, there was something alluring about a man in drenched shirtsleeves. Sylvie was careful to stay behind the curtain, as she did not want him to catch her staring at him. She saw him rush into the stables, presumably to ready his carriage. Once he reappeared, he would be leaving her life forever.

“Foolish Sylvie,” she whispered to herself. “Why do you care so much about the departure of such an... unworthy man? He's not even a gentleman. He's not even
that
handsome.”

Her last sentence had her shaking her head. There was something largely appealing about Peter's darkest black hair, and his smoldering dark eyes would likely haunt her dreams forever.

Sylvie decided to focus her attention elsewhere: namely, on Robert. He was, after all, the man she loved. Robert Lytton was the man for whom she had risked everything.

Sylvie forced herself away from the window and left her bedchamber. As she traveled down the hall toward Robert's room, she tried to imagine what would happen when she appeared at her love's door. Would he kiss her? Would he do more than that? Her unladylike musings had her heart racing yet again.

When she arrived at Robert's door, she was surprised to find it ajar. As her lips parted to announce her arrival, curiosity took hold of her. Rather than speak up, Sylvie tiptoed closer and peered into the open door, and when she did, she swore she could feel her heart crashing against her stomach.

Robert and Clarissa were lying on his bed. Their lips were locked, their tongues were entwined, and Robert's hand was buried in the depths of her dress. Sylvie wanted to scream, but she didn't. She wanted to kick open the door and confront them, but she was too much of a lady to force a confrontation. There was nothing she
could
say. In the briefest instant, the Robert she knew and loved was lost to her.

As her world came crashing down around her, Sylvie had only one goal in mind: to catch Peter before he left. With tears in her eyes, she ran outside, into the rain. She rushed to the stables as quickly as she could and prayed she was not too late. Sylvie was grateful for the raindrops, as they would effectively disguise the tears that rolled down her cheeks.

At the moment, she felt as if her life was over.

She had no one.

Nothing.

When she saw Peter emerge from behind the stables with his carriage, she felt a crescendo of relief in her chest. “Peter!” Sylvie swiped a hand across her tear-stained cheeks as she cried his name.
“Peter, please! Let me come with you!”

He slicked back his wet, dark hair and stared at her for a moment, puzzled. “You want to come
with me?”

“Take me back to my father.
Please
.” Sylvie's lips were trembling terribly as she made her plea. “You were right about Robert... and I cannot stay here.”

“You saw them...?” Peter guessed, “together?”

Sylvie nodded pitifully. “I did. Can you believe it? I'm such a fool.” Her gaze fell to the ground in shame. “Such a fool.”
“You want me to take you back to your father?”

“Yes...
please
!” Sylvie's plea was desperate. As the rain slowed, it was easier to spot the difference between the rain and Sylvie's tears. “I will likely be ruined and thoroughly admonished, but I cannot stay here. Not with Robert. Not with
her
.”

“I'll take you home, my lady.” As Peter extended a hand, offering to help her into the carriage, fresh tears exploded from her eyes.

“I cannot pay you for this job...” Sylvie whimpered. “And I'm quite certain my father won't. You would be doing this out of the goodness of your heart.”

“It's not goodness, my lady,” Peter assured her. He gently took Sylvie's hand and helped her into the carriage. “I'm doing this because I hate to see you cry.”

VI

“Another drink!” Sylvie demanded, raising her empty glass in the air. Her raucous demand made her sound more like a boisterous fishwife than a polished young lady. “I need...
hic
... another drink!”

Peter had watched her down several drinks since they arrived at the inn, where he sat across from her at a table. He figured she needed to drown her sorrows, and he considered it his duty to keep an eye on her. “Haven't you had enough?”

“Never!” she declared. When Sylvie leaned forward, her head nearly crashed against the table. For some reason, everything above her neck felt much heavier than usual. “I have neverrrrr had enough.”

Peter was shaking his head at her slurred words. “Perhaps you should lie down, my lady?”