The Earl Takes All (3 page)

She laughed lightly at his teasing. She'd missed it. Missed this. Simply being with him, no expectations, no burdens. “You also never used profanity in my presence.”

“It seems Edward's bad habits became mine during our travels.”

“You must have seen some amazing sights.”

Moving his hands to her other ankle he nodded. “We did.”

“I wish I could have journeyed with you.”

“You wouldn't have much liked it when Edward broke an egg into your shoe and insisted you walk about with the muck in there.”

“Are you joshing?”

He lifted his eyes to hers, and for the first time she saw no sadness, and she was filled with hope that perhaps the mourning would not last the remainder of his life. “Prevents blisters.”

“How did he know that?”

He shrugged. “Read it somewhere. He was always reading, trying to ensure our journeys were as comfortable as possible.”

“You had a good time when you were with him.”

“I did. It was the best . . . until it wasn't.”

She wanted to give him a bit of cheer during this dark time. “I thought we might name our son after him.”

His gaze went to her belly, then he looked away. “No. We'll not name the Greyling heir after such a selfish bastard. He's to be named after his father, as he should be.”

She didn't know what to say to his harsh words regarding Edward. He'd never shown any anger toward his brother. Not when Edward stumbled into their residence three sheets in the wind. Not when he held out a hand for more money because he'd frittered away his allowance. Not when large men knocked at their door because he had amassed large gambling debts. Albert indulged his brother, seemed to think his irresponsible lifestyle was harmless enough. He'd never had a bad word for Edward. Until now. It was so unlike him.

She could sense him withdrawing into himself. She didn't want to lose him, not again. As he continued massaging, his hands periodically disappearing beneath her skirt, a little bit of naughtiness took hold of her. “You are my husband. It is perfectly acceptable for you to lift my skirt over my knees.”

“I don't need the temptation.”

As inappropriate as it was during this time of mourning, she couldn't help but feel a little thrill. “Are you tempted?”

“A man is always tempted when a lady reveals her ankles.”

“Then I'm nothing special.”

His hands stopped, his eyes captured hers. “I did not mean that. Other ladies no longer tempt me.”

She smiled softly. “I know. I was merely teasing, striving to make you laugh, relieve your burden for a bit.”

“Eventually, we will laugh again. Just not today.” He patted her ankles and stood. “I should let the others know we won't be joining them for dinner.”

“My feet aren't as swollen. If I sit with them resting on a little stool—­”

“No, it'll be better if we dine alone. I won't be long.”

He snatched up his jacket before leaving her room. With a sigh, she sat back farther into the pillows and wiggled her toes.
If we dine alone.
His wording did not escape her. Now that Edward was laid to rest, perhaps her husband would finally return to her.

S
he
had the tiniest toes. Even with feet and ankles swollen, it was obvious that her toes were small and delicate. Why the bloody hell should he find them so intriguing?

As he strode into the library, he was grateful to find no one was yet waiting on him. He crossed to the side table, poured himself an unhealthy amount of scotch and tossed it back. He had to take care with his words, had to ensure he gave her no cause to doubt Greyling's devotion to her. He couldn't mention other ladies' ankles or thighs or lovely attributes. He could give no indication that he remained a man who found other women attractive. Although at that moment he couldn't think of a single woman other than Julia who appealed to him. Still, he needed to tamp down all natural urges, in order not to find himself taking advantage of this situation. He quickly drank another tumbler of scotch.

Even the urge to drink to excess had to be curbed. He could get by with it for a couple of days, chalking it up to grief, but he doubted Julia had ever seen Albert deep into his cups. And if he himself were drunk, he could very well make a ghastly mistake and reveal who he was. Although it was likely that could happen if he was sober.

He wandered to the desk and grazed his finger over the shiny ebony box. He'd noticed it earlier but assumed it always sat on his brother's desk. In the past, he'd often visited his brother at the estate, but never really lived within the residence, especially after Albert married Julia. The manor had been closed up when their parents died, so when Albert reached his majority, he'd come to Evermore, hired new staff, and opened the place back up. Edward knew a few by name, but most he couldn't have cared less about. Knowing Albert, he'd probably known them all. God, he'd stepped into a quagmire. He was going to have to tread so very carefully.

He returned to the table, reached for the decanter, paused with his fingers wrapped around the delicate crystal—­

With a harsh curse, he picked it up and slung it against the wall, taking no satisfaction when it shattered into shards and sent amber liquid raining down along the dark paneling.

“Not so easy being your brother?”

With another harsh curse, Edward spun around to face Locke, grateful it wasn't Ashe standing there with his wife. He almost blurted that Julia had tiny toes, as though Locke would give a fig. “She's exhausted; we won't be joining you for dinner.”

“You're afraid we'll slip up.”

He plowed his hand through his hair. “More afraid I will.”

“Tug on your ear,” Locke said as he casually strolled nearer. “When you reach for your hair, tug on your ear.”

“Right.” He did so now, knowing it was too late. Albert tugged before he spoke, not after.

Locke planted his hip on the edge of the desk. “I suspect she's stronger than you give her credit for.”

But she had the tiniest, most delicate toes. And such silken skin. Whatever had he been thinking to skim his fingers over her calves, across the backs of her knees? “Can't risk it. The babe is all that remains of my brother.”

He couldn't explain the hole that now resided within him, the place where Albert had been. He needed this child to survive as much as Albert had wished that it would.

“I was a babe when my mother died,” Locke said quietly. “I grew up with a father who perpetually mourned her loss. Nothing replaces such a loss.”

“I'm not expecting the child to be a substitute, but I owe Albert this small sacrifice. My mind's made up, and while you're very skilled at laying out your arguments, on this matter, nothing will sway me.”

Locke glanced over at the mess left by the hurled decanter. “You might want to reel back your temper a notch.”

Edward chuckled harshly. “More than a notch, I'd say.” Albert never displayed a temper.

Hearing footsteps, he glanced toward the doorway in time to see the duke and his duchess enter. Locke was halfway correct about Edward's reasons for not joining them for dinner. He feared the duchess would figure him out. She was too sharp by half.

“The affairs of the past few days have worn Julia out,” he told them. “She and I will not be joining you for dinner.”

“I assume she'll have a tray in her bedchamber,” the duchess said. “Perhaps it would be best if I joined her there, gave you gents a little more time to catch up.”

He tugged on his ear. “I appreciate the offer, but I think we've caught up all that we need to. I left my wife alone for far too many weeks. I intend to make that up to her now. We'll see you at breakfast.”

He caught a spark of approval in Ashe's eyes; not that he was seeking approval, but apparently he'd managed to conduct himself more as his brother might. Now if he could just do the same without stumbling through the maze that had been Albert's life with his countess.

Chapter 3

J
ulia's
feet were feeling so much better. Albert's massage had done wonders. It had also helped that once he left, she called for her maid and changed from the stiff black crepe into her softest nightdress and wrap. Although she enjoyed visiting with their guests, she welcomed the opportunity to simply relax with her husband.

Sitting in a plush chair near the fire, she set her feet on a low stool and curled her toes. Unfurled them, thought of the callused hands that had stroked her with such surety, as though he'd rubbed her feet a thousand times before, when he'd never once performed that intimate and luxurious service for her. She imagined those abraded hands skimming over all of her, how marvelous the different textures would feel, what a very different experience it might be. She rather hoped they wouldn't go completely soft before they made love again.

Hearing the click of the door opening, she looked over to see her husband stride in with two wineglasses dangling between the fingers of one hand and two wine bottles caught in the other. He staggered to a stop and stared at her, his gaze running the length of her as though he'd never before seen her in a nightdress and wrap. Perhaps it was simply that her condition was not as disguised as when she wore a dress. Self-­consciously she tugged on the sides of her wrap, trying to close it over her belly and breasts, but it refused to cooperate. “I've become huge while you were away.”

“No, not at all.” With his elbow, he closed the door before bringing the wine and glasses over and setting them on the small table before the sofa. She could see now that one was a bottle of red, the other white. “Our guests were completely understanding, and the servants should be bringing our dinner any moment now. I thought we might enjoy a spot of wine while we waited.”

“I'm not convinced spirits are good for the babe.”

He suddenly looked incredibly uncomfortable, as though he'd forgotten about her condition. “You're absolutely right. Not certain what I was thinking.”

“No reason you can't indulge.”

He wasted no time pouring red into a glass, lifting it toward her in a salute before taking a sip and walking to the fireplace. He looked at the fire, darted a quick glance to her, and returned his gaze to the fire as though not quite sure what to do with his eyes. “How are your feet?”

“Much better. It helped I think to change into something not quite so confining. Since it was to be only the two of us here, I didn't think formality was required.”

“Of course it's not.”

Shoving herself to her feet, she was grateful the swelling had dissipated completely and she was able to glide toward him without any limping or discomfort. She couldn't be completely certain, but it appeared he'd ceased breathing as she neared. “You should be as comfortable,” she murmured, taking his glass from that marvelous hand that had touched her so intimately and placing the wineglass on the mantel.

Slipping her hands beneath the opening of his unbuttoned jacket, she glided them over his shoulders, tugging off his coat. “You've broadened a bit while you were away.”

“Trekking through the wilds is strenuous work.”

The jacket began to fall. She caught it before it hit the floor and tossed it onto the nearest chair. Slowly, she freed the buttons of his black waistcoat. “Your skin is darker.”

“The African sun is harsh.”

She lifted her gaze to his. “I could always tell you and Edward apart because he wasn't nearly as fair as you. Did you blister when you arrived?”

“No.”

She eased off the waistcoat, pitched it onto the jacket. Lowering her gaze, she began unknotting his neck cloth.

“Julia, I'm not certain this is wise.”

She gave him a speculative look. “To be comfortable?”

“To tempt me.”

A thrill shot through her. Yes, they were in mourning, yes, sorrow radiated from him, but she still had power over him. She flung the neck cloth aside and cupped his face between her hands, her fingers dancing along the back of his neck. “I missed you so much.”

She tilted his head down, rose up on her toes and planted her mouth on his. His arm snaked around her, drew her nearer. His tongue slid between her lips as he adjusted the angle and took the kiss deeper. She fairly melted against him.

Hunger. Urgency. A compelling need. They were all there. In him. In her. As though death hovered nearby, waiting, as though with enough passion and desire they could ward it off. A low growl vibrated through his chest, shimmered through her breasts, which were flattened against the linen of his shirt.

The heat between them intensified. His hands traveled over her back, her hips, cupped her backside, pressed her ever closer. The hard rigid length of him pushed against her belly, driving her mad with want and desire. It had been so long, too long. Once they knew she was with child, he'd insisted they refrain from any intimacy for fear his ardor might cause her to lose the child. Oh, he'd kissed her, held her, stroked her on occasion, but not like this. Not with this fierce need. She wasn't certain what they'd shared had ever been as primal as this—­as though he'd returned from his travels uncivilized, in need of taming.

A knock on the door had him lurching back as though he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. They were both breathing rapidly, heavily. Horror was reflected in his eyes.

“My apologies,” he rasped.

Disappointment slammed into her because he was retreating, was regretting what had just passed between them. “None is needed. You're my husband.”

“But the babe.” His gaze dipped to her belly. “Did I hurt the babe?”

“Your son is a bit stronger than that.” Still, she took a step back as well and bade the servant to enter.

More than one came in carrying trays bearing an assortment of covered dishes. Julia sat as a maid set a tray in her lap. Albert had retreated back to the fireplace, was gulping his wine with vigor while a young maid set his tray on the low table.

“Will there be anything else, m'lord?” the first maid asked.

Staring at the fire, Albert merely took another swallow of wine.

“No, that'll be all,” Julia said.

The servants left, closing the door in their wake. Her husband stayed as he was.

“Albert?” He seemed lost. “Albert,” she said more sharply.

He finally jerked his head toward her, his brow furrowed so deeply it had to be painful.

“Sit, eat,” she told him.

“Are you certain I didn't hurt you?”

“It was quite lovely actually. It's been so long. I was beginning to fear you hadn't missed me as much as I missed you.”

“Trust me. Not a night went by that I didn't drift off to sleep without thoughts of you.”

“I'm selfishly glad to hear that. Were you tormented by those thoughts?”

“In ways you cannot possibly comprehend.”

She was being beastly to take such satisfaction in knowing thoughts of her had plagued him, but it was so incredibly satisfying. She smiled softly. “Let's eat, shall we?”

He gathered up the clothes she'd strewn over the chair, took them to the bench at the dressing table and then dropped into the chair that put him the length of the short table away from her. She had hoped he would sit on the sofa, on the corner nearest to her. Perhaps he hadn't because he feared she'd be a distraction.

She'd feel a bit better about things if she had the sense that he welcomed the distraction. Instead she was left with the awareness that he regretted it.

T
hank
God for the knock on the door.
That was all that ran through Edward's mind.
Thank God, thank God, for the knock on the door.

He'd been on the verge of lifting her into his arms and carrying her to the bed. For the first time since his return he hadn't been consumed with guilt, buried in grief. Instead, he'd been lost in passion, desire such as he'd never known. Her fragrance, her heat, her softness. It didn't matter that it would have been the worst possible thing he could have done. For a moment she'd served as a blessed distraction. The fire in her kiss—­

Good Lord. Where the devil had that come from? Certainly there had been a spark that night in the garden, but what he just experienced had fairly consumed him. Maturity and knowledge gained had replaced innocence and naiveté. A lethal combination that could send his good intentions to perdition.

With an unsteady hand, he reached for the wine, began pouring, saw her arch a delicate brow, and refrained from refilling his glass to the top. Being alone with her in a bedchamber was proving to be incredibly dangerous to his ruse. But how to avoid it? He had to recall that she held no affection whatsoever for Edward, that the kindness she was showing him, the temptations she offered, were merely offered because she believed he was Albert.

This was Julia—­who had kicked him out of his brother's London residence because he arrived home in the early hours in an inebriated state that she didn't fancy. Julia—­who had encouraged Albert to reduce Edward's allowance so he couldn't indulge to his heart's content in wine, women, and wagering. Julia—­who always looked at him as though he were something she'd recently scraped off the bottom of her shoe.

Julia—­who had arranged an elaborate and elegant funeral for a man she couldn't tolerate. Who had seen to a few guests without complaint even though it had exhausted her. Who had kissed him as though no one in the world were more important to her. Who had initiated the kiss. He'd never had a woman do that before. It was incredibly intoxicating.

If she had hated him after the encounter in the garden, she was going to hate him doubly so when she learned the truth and recalled this kiss. He had to avoid his lips coming within a hairbreadth of hers, lest he forget again that he was not the one she loved, the one she desired, the one with whom she'd exchanged vows.

Looking down at his plate, he bit back a curse. Garnished fish. Of course, on a day like today, the cook would have prepared Albert's favorite. Edward had never developed a taste for it. He preferred his meat red and bloody.

“What were you reminiscing?”

He jerked his head up, saw Julia studying him as though once again beginning to have doubts about him. “Pardon?”

“In the library. You said that you and the others were reminiscing. About Edward, I assume. Did it help to recall happier times?”

It might have, he thought, if that had indeed been what they were discussing. While he hoped to minimize his lies to her, he couldn't eliminate all the little white ones. “A little.”

“Share something with me.”

If I could sip on your mouth whenever I wanted, I could do without wine.
“Such as?”

“Something about Edward. A pleasant memory. We never really spoke much about him except when you expressed your worry that he would come to an untimely and unpleasant end, or when I lost patience with his . . . questionable activities.”

Albert had worried over him? He knew his brother had not been happy with the way he led his life, but he hadn't known he actually worried over him. Whenever Albert had taken him to task, he'd simply viewed it as an older brother being disappointed or needing to control a younger one. Yet, he'd promised Albert if he took the journey to Africa with him, that when they returned he would settle down, marry, and seek a position in Parliament. He hated that he couldn't be certain it was a promise he would have kept. He would have said anything to get Albert to go with him. That truth pained him now: that he might not have been completely honest with the one person who had always been absolutely forthright with him.

She was waiting expectantly for him to tell her something about a man she disliked, and for the first time that he could recall, he wanted her to have a favorable impression of him. “Edward didn't like being the second son.”

“I suspect most second sons don't,” she said gently, no disapproval in her tone.

Before he left on his trip with Albert, she'd only ever spoken to Edward with disapproval threaded through her words. He didn't like that he now enjoyed the soft tenor of her voice, that he was suddenly finding it very easy on the ears. “Ironically, though, he had no desire whatsoever to be earl.”

“Too much work,” she said with a smile.

He found himself returning it, only a slight lift of one corner, but it was more than he'd ever thought he would experience again. “Exactly. You knew him very well.”

“Not really. I regret that now. But we digress. Something pleasant.”

Something pleasant. The fish definitely didn't fit that category, and while he'd only managed a few bites without gagging, he set his plate aside and snatched up his wineglass while he still had an excuse for indulging. “At first we didn't like living at Havisham Hall. It didn't take us long to determine that something wasn't quite right. None of the clocks worked, not a single one ticked. The manor was as large as Evermore, but there were only half a dozen servants. We were forbidden from entering a good part of the manor, many of the rooms locked. So Edward began plotting our first expedition.” He smiled at the memory, the seriousness of it. In this story at least he would be himself.

“You told me once that the marquess had stopped all the clocks when his wife died.”

Edward's smile withered. Damnation. How was he to know what Albert had shared and what he hadn't? Surely she would give an indication if she knew this story. “The marquess stopped a lot of things when his wife died. Living, mostly.”

“I can imagine that. I don't know what I would have done had it been you who died in Africa.” She shook her head. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean for us to go there. We're at Havisham Hall.”

Still, her words merely confirmed that his present course was truly the only one open to him if he wished to honor the vow he'd made to Albert. While he might not have been a man of his word before, he damned well planned to be one now. “I don't know why we got it into our heads that we could go exploring only at midnight. It wasn't as though anyone was truly about during the day to interfere.”