As an Earl Desires (3 page)

“My dear Archie, obviously there are
subtleties to the aristocracy that you have yet to fully
comprehend. I require rank, and I shall pay whatever price I must
to achieve it.”

What he did
comprehend
was that it angered him beyond all reason that she sought something
that mattered so little.

“When searching for a wife for me, do not
apply your standards in acquiring a duke. I want a woman I cannot
live without, a woman whose death would cause my heart to
break.”

He stepped toward her. “I require a woman who
makes me smile and causes me to laugh with abandon. A woman with
whom I may be comfortable in silence, but whose voice will delight
me and whose conversations will bring me joy. A woman who will stir
my blood to the point of boiling. She must care deeply about all
things and not shy away from revealing that she does so.”
Another step.

“She will be compared to fire, not ice. She
will embrace all that life has to offer, not hold it at bay. She
will love me with every fiber of her being, hope for a thousand
years to be held within my embrace, and mourn my passing as though
she truly regrets that I am no longer by her side.”

“You have unrealistic expectations regarding
a wife.”

“I know of a queen who loved her prince
exactly like that.”

“I find that sort of love to be cruel. I
think it better not to experience it. Then one never has to deal
with the depth of loneliness and despair that comes from mourning
so great a love.”

“But then one must also live with never
knowing so great a passion.”

Before she could argue further or he could convince
himself that he was making a terrible mistake, he took her within
his arms and lowered his mouth to hers. She released a tiny,
muffled
squeak. Her arms were stiff, wedged
between their bodies, but her lips were plaint, urging him on. But
he had no desire to rush this moment that he'd waited months
to experience.

She'd taunted him with her constant nearness,
her faint rose fragrance teasing his senses, her sultry voice
whispering etiquette and protocol near his ear, her warm breath
wafting along his chin and neck. He'd watched her eat
countless meals, studied the way she ran her tongue over her lips
as though she feared wasting a bit of sauce. He'd reveled in
the dreaminess that came to rest within her eyes whenever he read
to her—and had imagined the emotions flitting across her face
were for him rather than the story.

Slowly he deepened the kiss, exploring the confines
of a mouth that was quick to issue a tart response with a voice
cold enough to freeze water. But he found no chill. Only heat.
Shimmering between them as their tongues welcomed the dance of
seduction.

He relished the taste of her. Sweet and
so…salty. He became vaguely aware of the warmth pooling
around his lips, seeping into the kiss. He drew back.

Tears welled within her eyes, washed along her
cheeks, gathered at the corners of her mouth. He'd never seen
her appear so young, so vulnerable, so terrified.

Her gaze dipped to his trousers, the tight cut
revealing the unmistakable evidence that he'd not only
desired her, but had been prepared to go well beyond a kiss. She
was panting, trembling as though she could find no air to
breathe.

“Damn you, Archie, damn you!” she
rasped.

Before he could respond, she spun on her heel and
dashed from the room. Frustration bit into him because he was
hardly in a condition to give chase. And even if he were, what good
would it do him?

He turned to the desk, grabbed the inkwell, and
flung it with all his might, sending it crashing through the window
and into the garden. Grabbing the edge of the desk, he bowed his
head.

What in God's name had just happened?

He'd never in his life lost control of
himself, of his emotions, of his desires. And yet in the space of a
heartbeat, he'd managed to do all three.

Worse yet, now that he had tasted the sweet nectar
of her mouth, how in God's name could he ever forget that he
had?

C
amilla continued to tremble as her carriage
clattered along the London streets. Whatever had possessed Archie
to kiss her?

Certainly she'd sensed a spark of anger in
him as he'd rattled off his expectations for a wife, but it
was the passion in his voice that had held her mesmerized. His
words had seemed to flow from his heart, as though he truly
believed that love such as he'd described not only existed,
but should be available to him. His determination to possess it
left no doubt that one day he would. A man who cared so deeply
about love was a rare occurrence, and she found herself envying the
woman he'd take as his wife.

But why had he placed his mouth against hers
after speaking about great love and great passion when
she was a stranger to both? What had she done to give any
indication that she would welcome his advances when she tried so
hard to keep a wall in place so he wouldn't realize that she
was fascinated by him?

There had been no love lost between her and her
husband. And there most certainly had been no passion. He'd
acted as though he could barely tolerate being between her legs,
and she'd certainly never enjoyed his presence there. Often
the pain had been unbearable, but she'd stoically endured it
because not to do so resulted in worse consequences. She'd
learned the hard way that displeasing him in the least was to be
avoided at all costs.

Shuddering with thoughts of her late husband, she
shoved them back into the corner of her mind where nightmares
dwelled and concentrated instead on the present earl and the flavor
of his kiss. He tasted of mint. Or perhaps she'd only
imagined that he did. She could barely remember the specifics. Only
that his arms had been like taut rope, not flabby like her
husband's, which had always reminded her of bread soaked in
milk. She should have been frightened by the strength she felt
within Archie. But she wasn't. From him, she felt no threat
of physical harm. But the harm to her heart?

She dared not contemplate the possibilities there.
Because they did exist.

Archie was undoubtedly the most kind and generous
man she'd ever known. When he looked at her as he had just
before he pressed his mouth to hers, she wished that she was anyone
other than who she was, that she was deserving of a man such as
he.

She fought not to remember how her stomach had
quivered and her heart had fluttered. He unsettled her. He caused
her to want things she couldn't have, to be willing to risk
discovery of the truth for a few moments in his arms—for
surely a man such as he would discern the truth with ease. When in
his presence, she was forced to keep her guard up, to remain ever
vigilant against revealing her weaknesses.

How was she to have known that he would become a
weakness, like a box of chocolates that once opened was impossible
to close until its contents had been devoured.

“My lady, are you all right?”

She glanced over at her secretary, who'd been
waiting in the earl's foyer. Everyone knew Camilla
didn't believe that a lady of her status should be bothered
with the mundane tasks of her position, and so she kept her
secretary near as much as possible to handle inconsequential
matters.

Lillian was only a little older than Camilla. The
fifth daughter of a merchant, Lillian had been educated, but all
the education in the world couldn't
alter
her appearance. Camilla didn't like to be cruel or speak ill
of those she favored, and she was fond of Lillian, but the dear
woman was little more than bones and points jutting here and there.
No matter how much she ate, she never seemed to gain weight so she
rather resembled a stick walking along the street, but refused to
pad her clothing. She had an angular face. A pointed nose that held
her spectacles in place. Even her front teeth came together to form
an unattractive angle that led one's gaze down to her sharply
pointed chin.

Camilla forced herself to smile and hoped that
Lillian couldn't tell that Camilla's lips were swollen,
tingled, and carried the intoxicating taste of Lord Sachse upon
them.

“I'm fine, Lillian, thank you for
inquiring.”

“You seem unsettled, and I saw Mr. Spellman
lurking about. His presence usually doesn't bode
well.”

Camilla smiled softly. “Hardly lurking. He
wanted to speak with the earl about my expenditures.”

“I feared they would get you into trouble
again.”

“No, not with this earl. He told Spellman
they were none of Spellman's concern, and even after Spellman
left, he failed to ask me why I would purchase so many
clothes.”

Archie had surprised her by standing up to Mr.
Spellman, defending her right to spend as she chose. Yes,
she'd earned that right, but she'd not expected a man
to understand what it was for a woman to be berated constantly,
never to measure up to her husband's expectations.

She'd been only sixteen when the old earl had
taken her as his wife, believing that his aged seed could more
easily find root in a younger girl. He was desperate to replace the
son lost to him when his first wife had taken the boy to America
for a holiday. The child had fallen ill and died there, and the old
Sachse had never forgiven his wife for taking so little care with
his heir. Camilla wouldn't have been surprised to discover
he'd poisoned the dear woman.

He'd been a horrible, horrible man. Camilla
had come to loathe him with every fiber of her being. But she had
been powerless to control her destiny.

That was no longer the case. Now she was in
complete control. She had paid dearly to acquire power and
influence—and she would do anything to hold on to all
she'd gained and if possible to climb higher.

She was not by nature greedy, but she'd
learned through harsh experience that wealth was preferable to
poverty, beauty favored over ugliness, confidence better than
doubt, holding a title more
advantageous than
being a commoner. She'd attained all and looked back on her
life with no regrets, except on the most lonely of nights when she
would undoubtedly find herself staring at too many regrets to
count.

But then ciphering had never been one of her strong
suits, so it was quite possible that her regrets were not as
numerous as she feared. But neither were they as dangerous as the
truth, for if revealed it would cause her to lose her influence
more quickly than anything, so she kept it well hidden. Even
Lillian, who spent the most time in her company, didn't
suspect.

Manipulation of facts and appearances was a part of
whom Camilla had become, and although it reeked with dishonesty, it
was the only way she knew to protect herself. As Charles Darwin had
theorized twenty years earlier with
The Origin
of Species
, survival was dependent upon adaptation to
one's environment. And if she was nothing else, she'd
determined she was a survivor.

“Perhaps you should explain to the new earl
what you do with all these purchases.”

“No, as generous as he appears to be, I have
no way of knowing if his generosity will extend beyond me.
I'll not risk having my good works stopped.”

“So the possibility exists that he could
with
draw his generosity at any time,”
Lillian mused. “What will you do under those
circumstances?”

“For security, I must find myself another
husband. I've not given up on snagging a duke simply because
one got away from me this Season.” For a time, she'd
been betrothed to the Duke of Harrington, but Rhys had fallen in
love with a Texas heiress, which had caused scandal and near ruin
for all involved. Still,
she'd
managed to survive the fiasco.

She would find herself another duke with the
ability to elevate her status to that of duchess. After all, she
had turned thirty only recently and was extremely skilled at
managing her assets: her face, her figure, her ability to appear
confident and in control, when she was anything but.

“Finding another duke will be a bit of a
challenge when Lord Sachse seems to take up an inordinate amount of
your time.”

“Lord Sachse is no bother, I assure
you,” she responded hastily, not understanding her need to
defend him when she'd never felt a need to defend any man.
“He is nothing like the old earl.”

Which makes him oh so much
more dangerous
.

She returned her gaze to the window. Archie was
indeed nothing like the old earl. He was handsome beyond measure.
Young, energetic, fit. She loved the way his eyes sparkled when he
discovered something new, and she'd been able to
share so many discoveries with him in London.
They'd attended concerts at Albert Hall and seen Madame
Tussaud's wax figurines. They'd strolled through art
museums and gone to operas.

She'd never met anyone who possessed as much
curiosity as he did. He asked questions about everything, studied
all around him as though unable to be fully satisfied with any
explanation, as though there was always more to discover.

And when his inquisitive gaze fell on her, his eyes
would darken, causing her to quiver with anticipation—of what
she didn't know, but it hovered just beyond reach, a silent
promise as yet unfulfilled.

He did more than watch her. He studied her as
though she were a butterfly housed beneath glass. What did he see
when he stared at her so intently? What was he able to discern from
his constant perusal? Obviously he did not see her true self, or he
never would have pressed his mouth against hers.

And what a marvelous mouth he had. So skilled at
eliciting pleasure. She'd found the movement of his lips, the
sweep of his tongue incredibly tantalizing. As much as she'd
wanted to retreat, she'd been forced to stay, because
she'd never known anything as sweet or enticing. Or hot. The
heat had seared her blood, had warmed her throughout. Then the
tears had come because for the first
time in her
life, she experienced the rising tide of passion. She
couldn't give in to it. He would discover her secret
then.

And with the discovery, he would cease to look at
her with interest because she had little doubt that what he valued
most, she lacked. She'd faced rejection countless times
throughout her life, but she had an odd feeling she'd not
survive a rejection from him.

“Lillian, have the driver stop the carriage.
I wish to walk in the park.”

While Lillian saw to the task, Camilla kept her
gaze on the grassy green knoll that had come into view. Children
scampered over it, and she imagined the games they were playing.
Their laughter and cries were filled with innocent joy. She hated
that a time would come when all that would be stolen from them,
when the realities of life would shove aside hopes and dreams.

The carriage rolled to a stop. The footman opened
the door and helped Camilla climb out. She knew Lillian would no
doubt join her, but she had no desire to wait.

She began walking along the path, enjoying the
rustling of the leaves in the breeze. She preferred the bustle of
London to the slow waltz of the countryside. If not for
Archie's need of a hostess and the fact that it would be
unfashionable to do
so, she would remain in
London after the Season came to an end.

She stopped walking and studied the children
dashing hither and yon. They were the one thing in life that no
matter how diligently she worked or conspired, she would never
attain. She would never know what it was to feel a child growing
within her, to see love reflected in a man's eyes because
she'd gifted him with a son or a daughter.

The old Sachse had taught her that a woman who
couldn't bear children was not one worth having. She'd
thought she might die from the lessons he gave.

Instead, like delicate skin constantly chafed,
she'd grown tough and hard. She'd found other things
within herself to value. And while they might be shallow, of little
consequence in the grand scheme of the world, they gave her a
measure of satisfaction and allowed her to fool everyone around
her. No one knew of her heartbreak, shame, or regrets.

She would do whatever it took to keep things that
way.