Passions of a Wicked Earl (23 page)

“Perhaps we will invite them to join us there for Christmas.”

His eyes narrowed. “Have you no regrets for what happened earlier?”

“Nary a one.”

“Do you want this marriage, Claire?”

“Have I not been clear enough all Season? I am ready to be a wife. Your wife. I want children.”

“And what of Stephen?”

She rolled her eyes. “I have told you. He was a friend. You will never again find me in his arms.”

He studied her for a moment, then he said, “Well, then, let me take you back into mine.”

And with that, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

S
he is quite taken with Greenwood,” Claire said, as she strolled through Hyde Park, her arm linked with Westcliffe’s, a short leash tethering Fen to her as he sniffed along the unfamiliar ground. She’d awoken in Westcliffe’s arms that morning. While he’d slept, she’d done little but observe him. He’d seemed younger, more carefree, until his eyes had finally popped open. And then it had been as though the weight of the world settled on him.

She didn’t know how to lighten his load. Their relationship was fragile, and she knew she had to tread carefully; but in time, she hoped they would share more than a bed. She hoped he would share his troubles and allow her to help him carry whatever burdens he now balanced on his shoulders.

“You don’t approve,” Westcliffe said.

The couple was walking several feet ahead of them. Beth was wearing a pale pink dress and her light blue bonnet. She was constantly looking up at Greenwood with adoration, and he was gazing down on her with adulation. From time to time, their laughter would waft back toward Claire and Westcliffe.

“She wanted a Season and after only one ball, she seems to be content with one suitor. She’s given no one else an opportunity to garner her affections.”

“Do you not believe in love at first sight?”

She snapped her head around to stare at him. “I’d have not expected that question from you. To even contemplate that love can come about so easily. No. Lust perhaps. But love? No.”

“Why not?”

“Love at first sight would be love based upon only what you could see. The color of her hair, the shade of her eyes, the shape of her nose, the curve of her chin. Those are not things to love. Love must see below the surface, to a person’s soul.”

“But what if … you heard her laughter, watched the way she made the loneliest person in the room feel less lonely, saw her dance with even the most homely of men, noticed that her smile was seldom absent and always glittered in her eyes. First impressions, Countess, are not always based upon the attributes with which one is born.”

“My God, I’d never realized you had poetry in your soul.”

“Perhaps it is because I distract you with the poetry in my fingertips.”

She laughed. “Those talented fingers have yet to find my ticklish spot.”

“My desire to uncover it has lost its urgency. You’re laughing more.”

So was he, she realized. And his smiles were more forthcoming. He was not quite as formidable as he’d once appeared. Strange, how in so short a time, their relationship had changed to such a great extent. All because Beth had wanted a Season.

A dashing gentleman on a black horse brought the beast to a prancing stop in front of Beth and Greenwood. Sweeping his hat from his head, he engaged them in conversation.

“Who is that?” Claire asked.

“Possibly another suitor.”

She squeezed his arm. She’d never expected that he’d be such a tease or that she would enjoy so much spending time with him, even engaged in an activity as simple as taking a walk through the verdant park. “His name?”

“Ah. Viscount Milner.”

“Do you know him well?”

“I’ve played cards with him now and then. He has rotten luck.”

“It’s interesting to note that what a man values in other men is not at all what a woman searches for in a husband.”

With a wicked grin, he capitulated. “He’s a pleasant enough fellow.”

“Did you pay him to dance with Beth at the first ball?”

“I did.”

“And did he return the money?”

“No.”

“Pity.”

“You’re judging too harshly. Love at first sight is often preceded by the discovery of the size of a lady’s dowry.”

Before she could make a scathing rebuke—even though she knew that was the way of things, as her circumstance had been—Milner trotted his horse over to them and bowed in the saddle. “My lady, my lord.”

“Lord Milner,” Westcliffe said. “How is your mother?”

“One day older than she was yesterday, which means she has one more ache in her bones. I daresay your mother seems to avoid the years.”

“If rumors are to be believed, she made a bargain with the devil to keep her youth.”

The young man laughed before giving Claire what she was certain was his most charming smile. “Lady Westcliffe, I was hoping you would allow me to call on your sister tomorrow.”

“We would be delighted with your company, Lord Milner.”

“Jolly good. Until tomorrow then, I bid you good day.” Settling his hat into place, he cantered away.

Westcliffe lowered his head to hers, his breath skimming along her ear. “Are you happy now? Your sister has another suitor, a choice.”

“I want her to have a choice.”

“Because you didn’t,” he said quietly.

The darkness had returned to his gaze. She did not wish to pursue this path. “I simply want what is best for her. I want her happiness.”

“A choice does not always guarantee that.”

“A poet
and
a philosopher. I learn more about you every day.” She hoped her teasing would return the lightheartedness to their walk.

“And I about you.”

His eyes darkened with desire, and she thought he was probably thinking about last night more than any other day that had come before. Thank goodness, Fen started tugging on his leash, apparently wanting to explore the brush at a nearby tree.

“What do you think he’s found?” she asked, irritated that she could be so affected by him with so little effort on his part.

“Let’s see.” He took the leash from her and began to follow the dog.

She glanced toward her sister. Westcliffe reached out and wrapped his hand around Claire’s. “They won’t get into any mischief.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because they’re too busy gazing at each other to notice that we’re not directly behind them to ensure they behave.”

She scowled at him. “Why do you care so much about what the dog has found?”

He pulled her. “Come along. I’ll show you.”

They ascended a small rise, and she could have sworn that Westcliffe was leading the dog more than the dog was leading him. They went around the tall brush and the tree.

“So what did he find of such interest?” Claire asked.

Westcliffe grinned, snaked his arm around her, and pulled her flush against him. “A spot away from prying eyes.”

Before she could protest, he was kissing her deeply, intimately, as though they were alone in her bedchamber. She should have shoved him back. Instead, she wound her arms around his neck. It seemed that the moment his mouth touched hers, she had no will to do anything except welcome him.

He had such a skillful way of plundering her senses. Everything came alive. He did have the good graces not to touch her hair, for she was certain he’d have created a mess that would have made it impossible to deny what was happening within the shade of the towering tree.

He dragged his mouth to her ear. “We should go home now.”

Pressed up against him as she was, she was well aware of his readiness. She was surprised he didn’t hike up her skirts here, more surprised that she might not have even objected. She could barely contain her disappointment when he was the first to step back. His gaze roamed over her, and everywhere it lighted, she tingled.

“Yes,” she rasped, “we should inform Beth.”

Turning, she staggered back with a small screech. Beth was standing there, an amused smile on her face. Lord Greenwood had the good manners to have his back turned, his gaze turned upward as though he were trying to determine how clouds remained in the sky. At that moment, Claire’s opinion of the young man soared.

“Well, it seems my sister and her husband are the ones in want of a chaperone,” Beth teased.

“The very fact that we are married signifies that we are not in need of a chaperone,” Claire said tartly to cover her embarrassment at being discovered.

“But such public displays.” She tsked. “I daresay if you weren’t married—”

“But we
are
married, so any further discourse is nothing except irritating.” She began marching down the incline. “Come along. We’ve had quite enough of the park.”

She was halfway down when Westcliffe caught up with her and offered his arm. She placed her hand on it and slowed her step. “I cannot believe I am setting such a bad example.”

“As you said, we are married.”

She glanced over at him. He was smiling again. She so loved his smiles. “I think you enjoyed getting caught.”

His grin grew wider. “I cannot deny there is a certain added excitement when the risk is there. Perhaps someday we’ll do more than kiss someplace where the threat of discovery is great.”

She shook her head. “Never.”

But he merely looked satisfied, and said, “We shall see.”

Good Lord, he was correct. Just the thought that someday …

Sprawled in a chair in Anne’s parlor, Westcliffe watched as she paced. He remembered a time when he’d thought her magnificent in her fury, but now she seemed somehow diminished, petty, spoiled.

A half hour earlier he’d received a missive from her:
I must see you. Now.

So he’d dismissed his investment manager and rushed over here, expecting to find her ill or in some sort of dire emotional distress. Instead, she’d greeted him with nary a word, simply a look that might have sliced a man to ribbons if he were dependent upon her affections.

Her reddish blond hair was piled into an elaborate coiffure, every strand in place. He couldn’t recall ever seeing a strand out of place unless she desired it. Nothing escaped her. She was wearing a white dress with a voluminous skirt that she continually grabbed and snapped around so it didn’t interfere with her quick steps and sharp turns. Her red lips disappeared and reappeared, depending upon how hard she was pressing them. Her breaths, like her movements, were agitated.

He considered speaking, but he’d once attended a lecture on volcanoes, and he had a feeling that he was on the verge of watching one erupt. The lecturer had described them as beautiful but dangerous. Westcliffe couldn’t argue that point.

“I went riding along Rotten Row yesterday,” she finally spit out. She neither looked at him nor ceased her pacing, but everything within him stilled. “Imagine my immense surprise when I spied you kissing your wife.”

She did stop now to glare at him with all the force of her fury. He slammed his eyes closed. It had never occurred to him that she would see him or that what he’d meant to be a quick buss over Claire’s lips would turn into moments of distracting delight. The latter, he should have known. He could not touch her without wanting more.

He opened his eyes to discover that her fury had evaporated, and in its place was devastation. Tears that he suddenly realized appeared with uncharacteristically good timing welled in her eyes.

“Why would you kiss her in public?” she rasped. “Why would you kiss her at all?”

Very slowly, he came to his feet. “Anne—”

“You’re going to get a divorce.”

He wasn’t sure if she was making a statement or asking a question. He shook his head. “The situation has changed. I should have come to see you the moment—”

“How has it changed?”

He had witnessed his father hurting his mother and been determined never to bring harm to a woman. Yet in the span of three years he had hurt two. It did not matter that neither loved him. He was part of their lives, and he had treated them poorly. “A divorce is no longer … desirable,” he said quietly, the words difficult to say, and yet doing so also brought a sense of relief.

Growing pale, she staggered back and slowly lowered herself into a chair. “You’ve bedded her?”

She said the words as though he’d admitted to eating dog excrement. For some reason, anger surged through him, not for himself, but for Claire. That Anne would not realize what a treasure his wife was, that any man would be fortunate to have her.

“She is my wife,” he said, enunciating each word carefully and putting all the force of his position in society behind them.

“Do you love her then?”

Did he? He cared for Claire. He enjoyed greeting the day with her nestled against him. He certainly relished their lovemaking. Whatever feelings he had for Claire, she should hear them first, before anyone else. It would help if he could identify the need and want that battled inside him. “I’m sorry, Anne, but my feelings for her … are not to be shared with you.”

“And what of your feelings for me? You have been my lover for six months. You have stayed with me longer than you have with any other—save your wife. And your time with her has been one of separation. Surely she has not won you over in so short a span of time. She has bewitched you with her constancy in your home. But you cannot desire her more than you desire me.”