The Earl Takes All (25 page)

In the refreshment room, a table was spread out with an assortment of dishes, yet none of the offerings appealed to her. The champagne didn't satisfy as it once had. As soon as they returned home, she would have a brandy. She was standing by the window looking for a moment of quiet reflection, instead seeing her own reflection in the glass, not certain she even recognized herself any longer, when Lady Newcomb arrived in a swath of pink taffeta and the cloying fragrance of lavender left too long in a bottle.

“Lady Greyling, I'm so glad to see you came to London for the Season. What with Mr. Alcott's passing and all I wasn't certain if you would make your way here. An accident out in the wilds, wasn't it?”

She would wager her monthly allowance that the woman knew exactly how he had died, but Lady Newcomb tended to fancy her own cleverness at saying one thing while conveying something else. Simple condolences were all that were required, not dredging up the unfortunate circumstances of one's death. “Yes, unfortunately, untamed beasts are not to be trusted.”

“Ever so glad it wasn't Greyling.”

“I would have preferred it not be either brother.”

“Of course, of course, but you must be thanking your lucky stars that it wasn't your husband. I daresay that man was an absolute godsend to the female population, the most upstanding of those hellions, setting an example for them. How fortunate you were to snag him.”

Only it
had been
her husband, and she had to stand here and talk with this woman as though it hadn't been. “I've always considered myself blessed.”

“I know one isn't supposed to speak ill of the dead, but if one of the brothers had to go, the right one did.”

Her words were a punch to gut. Julia could barely draw in a breath. She wanted to shake the woman. “Why would you say such a horrid thing?”

“My dear, I'm merely speaking what so many are thinking. I daresay many a mama is quite relieved that she doesn't have to keep quite as close an eye on her daughter this Season. It was only a matter of time before he ruined one of them.”

“Edward didn't take advantage of proper ladies, so I don't see how he could have ruined one. But if he did give in to temptation, he would have done right by her.”

“Oh, I don't think so. He was all about the chase, not the capture. I dealt with many a such scoundrel in my youth.”

“You're mistaken. He was a good, honorable man.”

Lady Newcomb shook her head, her jowls quivering. “Well, the argument can hardly be proven one way or the other now. He was a man who failed to leave a mark. A sad state of affairs was his life. Even his obituary said so. If you'll excuse me—­”

It was all Julia could do not to stick out her foot and trip the beastly woman. How dare Lady Newcomb assume to know Edward at all! How dare the ladies be gossiping so unkindly about him? She hated it, hated what people said, thinking that circumstances were different than they were, thinking they were talking about a dead brother when they were, in fact, talking about one who was very much alive.

Fresh air. She required fresh air. Opening the doors to the terrace, she stepped out, walked to the railing and closed her gloved hands around it. She drew in a deep breath, striving to clear her mind of all the unkind thoughts that had been voiced tonight. She had an insane need to recall the words of his obituary. She'd barely given it a passing glance. What was the wording?

Failed to accomplish anything of note . . .

Why did those who wrote obituaries feel compelled to point out perceived shortcomings? She recalled a notable poet's obituary a few years back mentioning that the world would have been better served if the man had never taken pen to paper. They tried to be so damned clever. And they were wrong.

She had enjoyed the poet's works. And Edward had not failed to accomplish anything of note. He had traveled the world, scaled mountains, explored remote regions. He had led expeditions, seen things, experienced things that few people did. He had shared his adventures, entertaining people with his tales. He had separated himself from his brother in order to ensure that he did not interfere with the relationship that existed between herself and Albert. He'd been a loving brother, and in retrospect a loving brother-­by-­marriage, even if he had gone about his endeavors in a rather unfortunate way, with drinking, carousing, obnoxiousness. But his intentions had been well-­intentioned.

At great cost to himself, Edward had honored a vow he made to his brother. He'd helped her bring her daughter into the world. He was caring for that child with all the love her father would have given her. He was going to work with a duke to bring about changes in English law. That was only the beginning of what he might accomplish. Who knew how far he might go—­as Albert, the Earl of Greyling.

It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. And she knew with every fiber of her being that they'd made a terrible mistake.

Chapter 24

E
dward
had planned to play only a hand or two but he was having such amazingly good fortune that it was incredibly difficult to push back his chair, bid the gentlemen good-­night, and walk away. He'd never spent much time in the ballrooms because he wasn't one to lead ladies on regarding his attentions. He never danced with the wallflowers, as he didn't want to give them hope that he could make them blossom, which left those who saw themselves as excellent marriage prospects, and he'd never been in the mood to go prospecting.

He was holding three queens when she walked in. He didn't see her as much as he felt her presence, felt her gaze landing on him, and when he looked up, she was standing in the door, pale and unsmiling. As he stood, he tossed down his cards. “I'm out for this hand, gentlemen.”

The ladies and gents who had been standing around watching the various games made a wide berth as he plowed through them, determined to get to Julia. Something was amiss, terribly amiss. She looked on the verge of weeping, and she was not one who easily wept.

When he reached her, he placed his hands on her shoulders. “What's wrong?”

“May we please leave? My head hurts.”

“Yes, of course. Straightaway.” He turned toward the doorway, made to follow her out—­

“Greyling, your winnings!” one of the lords shouted.

He turned back. “Donate them to a charity.” Grinning broadly, he winked. “Just make certain you're not the charity.”

Laughter trailed after them as he guided Julia from the room. In the parlor, he retrieved her wrap, his hat and walking stick. Together they went out and waited in the drive while a footman ran off to notify their driver that they were ready to depart.

It wasn't until they were inside the carriage, with her against his side, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her, that he asked, “What happened?”

“I just needed to leave, to think, to find some quiet.”

Settling back to provide her with just that, he tempered his alarm. He would get it out of her eventually, before they retired. Nothing good ever came from sleeping on troubling thoughts.

She spoke not a word as they entered the residence, kept silent as they looked in on Allie, although Julia seemed reluctant to leave her daughter. Had she had a premonition? Had someone threatened the child?

At the door to her bedchamber, he made to follow her in when she stopped and faced him. “Will you bring me some brandy?”

“Of course. I won't be but a minute.”

“Allow me enough time to prepare for bed.”

“Julia—­”

“I also need to gather my thoughts.”

That didn't bode well. As he stood in the library sipping on his scotch, he didn't think that boded well at all. He shouldn't have left her alone at the damned ball. Something had obviously been done or said to upset her. But what husband never left his wife's side?

They'd have all thought he was besotted. While he was, it would have been out of character for the Earl of Greyling to hover over his wife all night. Although neither did the earl generally sit down to a game of cards, at least not since he'd wed. He'd explained that away as “one hand in memory of my brother.”

Of course, one hand had turned into several. He had to take more care. Maybe coming to London so soon after he and Julia had committed themselves to each other had been a mistake.

With his scotch in one hand, her brandy in the other, he made his way to his bedchamber and stripped down to his trousers and linen shirt. Then he entered her room. She was sitting at her dressing table staring at her reflection in the mirror. He set down the glasses and said in a low, gentle voice, “Come to bed.”

If he could only hold her, comfort her, he could reassure her, make whatever was troubling her go away.

Pivoting on the bench, she lifted her gaze to his. He hadn't seen that much sadness since she'd discovered she was a widow.

“I can't do this, Edward. I can't live a lie. I thought I was prepared to do so, but I'm not and I shouldn't be. It's not fair to you or Albert or Allie.”

He knelt before her. “Julia, whatever happened—­”

“They think you're a scapegrace.” She shook her head. “Edward, they think Edward was a scapegrace.”

“He was. I was.” It was confusing, the person he'd been versus the person he was now. He touched her cheek. “Before you.”

“No you weren't. You liked to have fun. You were a bachelor, young, having a good time. You never ruined anyone. You never ‘didn't amount to anything.' But no one will ever know that. No one will ever know you as I do.”

“I don't need for them to. The only opinion I care about is yours.”

Her eyes held such sorrow, such remorse. Her brow knitted, and he could see her struggling to explain what he truly had no desire to understand. He didn't want things between them to change. He didn't want to lose her.

“The Duke of Lovingdon told me that he had approached you about working on a bill with him.”

“Yes. He thought as a new father I would have a keener empathy toward the plight of the poor and a newfound understanding of how children needed to be protected.”

“You will do good things and everyone will credit Albert.”

While he appreciated that it bothered her, that she wanted more for him than he rightfully deserved, he was not willing to pay the price that came with any recognition he might receive in his name. He sighed. “As long as good things are done, what does it matter who gets the credit?”

“That's exactly why I love you and why I want them to know the man you are. What you do is your legacy, not Albert's.”

“The only legacy I care about is having a life with you.”

With an almost frantic nature to her movements, she shook her head. “It's not fair to Albert either. Don't you see? He will never have a funeral or a memorial service or even his own obituary. He will never be mourned.”

“He will when I die.”

“The man they mourn will be your version of Albert. It won't be him. His life, his legacy, came to an end last year. All that he accomplished until then will be lost in the life that you lead for him.”

“Julia, you're not thinking clearly.”

She placed a cool hand against his cheek, and a coldness settled in his chest. “I'm thinking more clearly than I have since I discovered the truth regarding who you are. Allie will never know her true father, what he was like. Because of our selfish desires.”

Shoving himself away from her, pacing four steps one way, four the other, he plowed his hands through his hair before halting to face her. “It is not selfish to want something.”

“It is selfish if gaining it hurts others. We're stealing her father from her, stealing his daughter from him.”

“When she is a young woman, we can tell her, explain things.”

“We have no idea how she will react, what harm we might inflict. If she decides we betrayed her, that her entire life was a lie and hates us or tells someone—­the life we led until that moment will be completely unraveled. People will know we lived in sin. Any children we have will be declared bastards. Even if she holds our secret, it is one thing for us to choose to live a lie. But it is wrong for us to choose for her that she must live one as well.”

Why did she have to make such convincing arguments? Why did she have to be so blasted right about this?

“Julia, no one will believe that nothing passed between us, not when we have been portraying ourselves as the Earl and Countess of Greyling. Not when we've been seen in each other's company at the park and attended a ball together. By revealing the truth, we will create an unprecedented scandal that will follow us for years.”

“But at least it will be an honest one.” Tears welled in her eyes, rolled over onto her cheeks. “I cannot live a lie for the remainder of my life. I cannot stand by silently while people think ill of you and give you no credit for being the decent man you are. I cannot allow Albert's life to be absorbed by yours. I wish I were strong enough to say it doesn't matter, but it does.” A sob escaped. “I know I am giving up a life with a man I love, but you deserve to be recognized as something more than a scoundrel. I'm sorry, so sorry, but I can't live this lie that we're creating.”

And that was the reason he loved her, damn it all to hell.

She began to cry in earnest. Going back to his knees, he put his arms around her. “It's all right, my love. It's all right.”

“I know they'll hate us, ostracize us—­”

“Shh, no. I'll take care of it. I'll make it right, determine a way to limit the damage.”

She pushed back, swiped the tears from her cheeks. “How? Will you write a letter to the
Times
?”

He brushed the loose strands of hair back from her face. “You leave it to me. I'll figure something out. I spent a great deal of my youth getting in and out of scrapes. I have a wealth of experience to rely on.”

Taking her hand, he stood. “Now come to bed and let me hold you.”

Once they were settled in beneath the covers within each other's arms, she said quietly, “I know you must be disappointed that I'm not stronger.”

“In many ways this path will be harder, and you know that, yet you're willing to travel it. That takes an incredible amount of strength.”

“Not so much. I'm really rather cowardly. I can't live in sin with all of London knowing.”

“I wasn't expecting you to.” Men could be forgiven for all sorts of bad behavior. Women were forgiven for nothing. Even now he had to devise some means to protect her, to ensure she didn't carry the brunt of his actions. “You must promise me that Allie will grow up at Evermore. I won't live there, but I will visit from time to time.”

“You must promise me that you will marry and provide an heir for Evermore.”

He had sworn to never again lie to her, but he had also vowed to make her happy. “Eventually I will. But for now, let me give you a proper goodbye.”

He rolled over until she was partially tucked beneath him and he could rise up on an elbow to gaze down on her. The lamp, still providing a low light, allowed him to see her clearly within the dancing shadows. Never had he enjoyed so much simply looking at a woman. He was going to miss her terribly.

She was young, too young to spend the remainder of her life alone. Eventually she would marry again. He was not going to think about that, wasn't going to focus on what he wouldn't have. For now, he wanted to only concentrate on what he did have: her in his arms, in his bed for one more night. For now, he intended to catalogue every aspect of her, hoard the memories so they would never fade, so he would always have them to visit, to remember, to relive.

“I do love you, Edward.”

He'd planned to go slowly, but with her words, he crushed his mouth to hers, his tongue delving deeply, possessively. He would always think of her when he tasted strawberries, heard the sigh of the wind, felt the warmth of the sun. She encompassed a myriad of sensations. With her, everything was always richer, more intense, more compelling.

Her hands were as frantic as his, divesting him of his clothes while he did the same with her nightdress. Then they were flesh against flesh, beginning with their toes and traveling upward. He knew if he'd been granted a thousand years with her, he'd have never tired of her, never tired of this, but all he had was a few more hours, until the lark sang at dawn. He would leave her bed in the morning for the final time. He didn't know where he would find the strength to do it, but he would.

H
ow
could she say goodbye to this? How could she say farewell to him?

Julia found herself praying that the sun would never again rise, that the passage of time would cease, that she and Edward could remain forever cocooned around each other. Selfish thoughts, but then where he was concerned, she seemed to be filled with selfish needs. It was one of the reasons she'd thought she could live a lie, that she hadn't considered all the ramifications, all the people affected.

She knew she would never again experience such uninhibited passion, be possessed by such rampant yearnings, be obsessed with one man. Something deep within him called to a place within her that had been unchartered, undiscovered. She could have lived her entire life without being aware of it and she would have been content, happy. But now that it had been revealed, how could she ever forget that it existed? How could she ignore it?

Oh, she would miss him.

The way his heated mouth left a trail of dew over her skin, along her throat, across the swells of her breasts. The manner in which his mouth closed over her nipple and suckled gently while his hands continued to explore, his fingers to tease. His thigh provided the right amount of pressure between her legs, causing her to writhe against him.

His groans delighted her ears; his tangy scent filled her nostrils. His skin was salty against her tongue. She was striving to hoard every sensation even as she was becoming lost in them. How was it that she could be so aware and yet so disoriented? She was ascending and falling at the same time. Every time they came together it was the same and yet different.

She pushed on his shoulders until he fell onto his back. Straddling his hips, she glided her hands up his arms until she reached his wrists, then shackled her fingers around them. She guided them above his head, pressed them into the pillow. “Don't move them,” she ordered.

“What are you going to do?”

She gave him her sauciest grin. “Have my way with you.”

“Christ, Ju—­”

Her mouth captured his lips, her name, his breath. She was the one who had determined they needed to end the farce. He capitulated because of his love for her. She knew that. She also knew that he had the power to change her mind; knew that he knew as well. Yet he had surrendered, accepted defeat because her happiness was more important to him than his own.