The Earl Takes All (4 page)

“More forbidden at night, after you all were supposed to be abed, I imagine. That's when I would have gone,” she said with a tantalizing wicked upturn of her lips.

He fought not to stare. At that tempting luscious mouth and at the sparkle in her eyes that hinted she'd have been right there alongside them, sneaking down dark corridors with only a single candle to light their way. He didn't much like discovering that she was comprised of unexplored facets. He liked even less that he found himself wanting to explore them. He merely wanted to walk in his brother's shoes until his heir was born, walk cautiously forward without taking any side jaunts. Getting to know Julia better had not been part of his plan. Still, he had to acknowledge she had the right of it. “More adventuresome as well when we were in danger of getting caught, as the marquess roamed the hallways at night. I often heard his soft footfalls going past my bedchamber door, so the thrill of escaping back to our beds unscathed was a driving force,” he admitted.

Her smile blossomed into something that caused a tightening in his chest. “And did you?” she prodded.

“Do you want me to spoil the story by giving you the ending to our adventure?”

She reduced her smile a fraction. “Now you sound like Edward with his obsession for storytelling.”

Damnation. He'd slipped. He'd always enjoyed weaving tales. Albert always preferred a more direct approach, never taking the time to enhance the narrative.

“He was always so good at it,” she continued.

He blinked, wondering if he'd heard correctly. “I didn't think you noticed.”

“I loved listening to his stories. It's the reason that I always held a dinner party when Edward and the others returned from one of their adventures. I knew he would never bother to share his exploits with me, but he would weave a mesmerizing tale for others, for an audience. It didn't hamper his storytelling to know I was in the back of the room, although I tried not to let on how much I was enjoying it, lest he decline the next time I invited him.”

“I didn't know.” He'd assumed she'd always done it for the attention it brought to her. The Countess of Greyling managing to provide London Society with a night of entertainment courtesy of the Hellions of Havisham—­as the four of them were often called.

She lifted a delicate shoulder. “I have a few secrets.”

He found himself wanting to uncover every one, although he suspected for the most part they were innocent, trivial, while the one he now held from her was horrendous. “He thought you had no interest in his trips. If you had merely asked—­”

“He'd have said no. You know he would have. Edward had no wish to please me, to please anyone other than himself. It inflated his self-­esteem to have an audience, and so I provided it. And in return, I got a little something for myself. Hearing about the adventures.”

She was wrong. Had she asked, he would have woven the tales for her, just for her. How was it that they managed not to know each other at all, when Albert had been so important to both of them?

“Now finish sharing your memory,” she prodded, interrupting his thoughts.

“If I tell it like Edward might have, well, it's only because I had two months of listening to him prattle on. He does like hearing the sound of his own voice.”

She laughed lightly. “That was always obvious. He was never lacking in confidence.”

Her tinkling laugh served to lift a fraction of the pall of sorrow that had enveloped him with Albert's death. How odd that it was she, rather than Ashe or Locke, who would provide a spark of hope that a time would come when he wouldn't feel as though he'd gone into the vault with his brother. He wished he could tell her the truth now, wished they could share their memories of Albert.

“Arrogance, more like,” he offered. “He never doubted that we could break undetected into the large salon.”

“That was your first expedition?”

“Yes. He drew up a plan of the residence and our route—­not a direct one, of course. That would be too boring. It included lots of twists and turns. He'd managed to sneak into the housekeeper's room after she'd gone to sleep and nicked her keys. He led the way with a candle. We were terrified.”

“But you saw it through.”

“We did. The walls were mirrored. Ashe squeaked like a mouse that had been trapped by a cat when he caught sight of his reflection. It was eerie. Chandeliers and candelabras unlit, serving as anchors for cobwebs. No light except for the solitary candle. There were dead flowers in vases. Dust covered everything. Musty odor was thick on the air. I don't think anyone had been inside the room in years. That's what we discovered on each of our adventures: a room abandoned, no longer used. But we got bolder with our explorations, always found something that made us glad we'd ventured forth. I think that's the reason, when we were old enough, that we began exploring the world.” He looked toward the fire. “Edward started it all. Had we ever gotten caught, we might not have begun to think we were invincible.” He turned his attention back to her. “Still, most of the memories are good ones.”

She was studying him again, as though striving to figure him out. “I'm glad you have them.”

With a nod, he finished off his wine and stood. “It's late. I'll see to having the servants come clean up the mess so you can retire. I also want to check on our guests.”

“Will you come back and sleep with me tonight?” Her eyes held such doubt, and he knew it had cost her to ask. He was also acutely aware that she shouldn't have to plead with him for anything. Albert would grant her anything she desired. He was failing miserably at the task he'd set himself.

He hesitated. “I don't think it's wise with the babe.”

“I think we're safe if all we do is hold each other. Until you went on this trip, I'd forgotten how much I disliked sleeping alone.”

“Yes, all right.” Then, although the words were a lie, he knew he had to say them. “I've missed holding you.”

She gave him that smile again, the one that tore a hole in his chest while managing at the same time to make him grateful she bestowed it. Before all was said and done, she was going to be the death of him.

H
e
was going to sleep with her. But first he needed some scotch. With any luck, Ashe and Locke were still up, they'd join him, and he'd have an excuse for not returning to her bed until he was well and truly foxed.

He caught them and Minerva on his way down the wide sweeping stairs as they were on their way up. “Care to join me for a drink before retiring?”

He'd even welcome the duchess. She had a reputation for favoring spirits, for favoring all things wicked, which was one of the reasons she was an excellent match for Ashe.

“It's been a long day, Grey,” Ashe said. “We plan to depart early tomorrow, so I think Minerva and I are better served calling it a night.”

“Sleep well, then.”

As the couple walked past him, the duchess reached out and placed a comforting hand on his arm. “In taking care of Julia, don't forget to take care of yourself.”

He grinned. “I'm about to take care of myself in the library.” As soon as the words were out, he knew they were ones that Albert would never speak. Fortunately, Minerva hadn't been familiar enough with Albert to know that. Ashe, however, scowled and shook his head before placing his hand on the small of his wife's back.

“Let's go to bed, sweetheart.”

He waited until they disappeared down the hallway to turn his attention to Locke. “Ashe was correct. While Albert and Julia have separate bedchambers, my brother did sleep in his wife's bed. She just mentioned that she missed her husband being there. My following through on that particular habit of his necessitates a drink first. I prefer not to drink alone.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Locke leaned back against the banister. “You're going to go to Julia's bed reeking of whiskey?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of scotch. I need to dull my senses so I don't do something stupid.”

“Dulling your senses
is
doing something stupid.”

He wanted to slam his fist against a wall. He hated when Locke was right, but he saw no other option. “She's a woman. If I climb into bed with her, my cock is going to react.”

“She'd expect that. You're supposedly her husband.”

Plowing both hands through his hair, he hissed a vile curse before admitting, “I don't know how to sleep with her.”

Locke stared at him. “Christ, Edward—­Grey—­you're not a virgin.”

“No, but what do I do with my hands?”

“Pardon?”

He splayed his fingers. “Do I cradle her breast? Cup her backside? I don't know what she expects.”

Locke shrugged nonchalantly. “Just hold her.”

Easier said than done. Albert had never shared the intimate aspects of his relationship with Julia. Wouldn't she be suspicious if he did something his twin had never done, reacted in a way that Albert never had? The intimacy of being beneath the sheets with her, even if his body wasn't joined to hers, made him break out in a sweat. “I'm going to give myself away.”

“Don't overthink it. Assume she's in need of comforting, reassurance that nothing changed between her and her husband while they were separated.”

“Everything changed. That's the bloody problem.” Giving his ear a hard, unforgiving yank, he shifted his gaze toward the foyer that branched into multiple hallways, one that led to the library and solace. With a deep sigh of longing, he turned back toward the bedchambers and, with Locke beside him, began trudging up as though climbing a treacherous and demanding mountain. “Will you be departing early as well tomorrow?” he asked.

“Long journey back to Havisham.”

“I haven't even asked after your father,” he said as he came to a stop outside his bedchamber door. He'd call for a bath before going to his brother's wife for a long, interminable night.

“He deteriorates a bit more each day,” Locke said. “You should come to see him once Julia delivers the babe.”

“Are you going to tell him the truth of things?”

He nodded. “I want to ensure that during whatever time remains to him, he's mourning the proper loss. Your secret will be safe. Out on the moors, he has no one to tell.”

“Except for the ghost of your mother. I thought I saw her once.”

Locke gave him a laconic grin. “Everyone thinks they've seen her. It's just a wisp of fog. Ghosts don't exist.”

“Still, I can't help but believe that if I look out toward the mausoleum, I'll catch a glimpse of Albert watching. I don't want to let him down.”

“Then tonight hold his widow a bit more tightly than you think you should.”

With that bit of advice, his friend turned on his heel and headed toward his bedchamber, leaving Edward to stare after him. In all the days, hours, and minutes since Albert's death, he'd been so consumed with his own guilt for his role in what came to pass that he'd never once thought of Julia in that solemnized term: a widow.

Chapter 4

W
ith
a low fire simmering on the hearth and one lamp casting a low glow from its place on the bedside table, Julia lay beneath the blankets, her hands clutching them to her chest as she listened to the familiar noises coming from Albert's bedchamber. Was he having a bath prepared? There were so many comings and goings that she didn't see how it could be anything else.

She would have dearly loved to slip out of bed, go into his room, kneel behind him and scrub his back, would have enjoyed feeling the quivering in his chest with his satisfied groan. Eventually she would move on to more interesting aspects of his body. He would kiss her, his nimble fingers working free the buttons on her nightdress. Before long they would be in his bed, with his still-­wet body gliding over hers. She loved contemplating the notion of how badly he would want her.

But she couldn't bring herself to do it. Not when she'd never done it before, and there seemed to be this odd strain in their relationship. While she had not expected it to be so, she was experiencing butterflies worse than the ones that had fluttered about on her wedding night. This was Albert. She knew what to expect. Only she didn't. Four long interminable months had passed since he'd been in her bed. If she were honest with herself, she'd forgotten things that she had thought to always remember: the feel of him, the scent of him, the warmth of him.

They weren't quite as comfortable as they'd been with each other before he left. She knew grief was a consideration, the upheaval in their lives created by the death of his twin. Always, Edward was there hovering, so they'd been unable to relax into each other.

Then there were the changes in her, in the shape of her body as well as in the fabric of her being. She could be laughing one moment, weeping the next. Her lady's maid had begun treading lightly around her because she never knew when Julia might lash out. It was unsettling to feel as though sometimes she had little control over herself.

Perhaps the changes in her deserved more credit for this distance between them.

As the minutes stretched out, she began to wish she'd called for a bath, although she'd bathed that morning and washed up before donning her nightdress.

Why was he taking such care in his preparations if they were merely going to sleep? Yet she couldn't deny the little shiver of pleasure that coursed through her at his thoughtfulness. Albert was always thoughtful, sometimes too thoughtful, as though he feared with a misstep that he might lose her love. That was impossible. She would never love another as she loved him. She'd begun to fall for him the moment he'd first waltzed her over the dance floor.

The door separating their bedchambers opened, and the butterflies launched into a frenzied flight moving from her stomach into her chest. She watched as her husband walked into her room, wearing his dressing gown sashed tightly at his waist. He gave her a small smile before striding over to the fireplace, taking the poker, and stirring the logs on the fire.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

She realized he was delaying coming to her. Perhaps he, too, had noticed that things between them weren't all they should be. “I won't be once you're in bed with me.”

Setting aside the poker, he came to the bed, his gaze on the lamp. “Do you want the light?”

“No.”

He extinguished the flame, and the shadows moved in, dancing in rhythm to the flames cavorting on the hearth. He untied the sash, shrugged out of the dressing gown, and tossed it toward the foot of the bed. At the sight of his bared chest, her mouth went dry, the butterflies fluttered lower, and she cursed herself for not asking that the light remain.

Sliding between the sheets, he settled onto his back. She rolled over to her side, placed her hand on his chest, welcomed the warmth of his skin. “You've never not worn a nightshirt to bed.”

Beneath her splayed fingers, he stiffened. “It was unbearably hot in Africa. I became accustomed to sleeping in the nude.”

She trailed her fingers up his chest, down to the waistband of his drawers, which she assumed he'd worn out of consideration for her sensibilities. “Perhaps after the babe is born, we'll both sleep in the nude.”

Grasping her wandering fingers, he jerked his head to the side. Even with the shadows, she could feel the intensity of his stare. Her cheeks grew warm as she forced a brave smile. “I think it would be lovely.”

Bringing her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingertips. The butterflies settled, warmth sluiced through her, tears stung her eyes at the tenderness of his action.

“I know I've not been myself.”

“Shh. It's all right,” she cooed. “Our being separated was more challenging than either of us expected, I think. I hadn't anticipated being uncomfortable with you when you returned.”

“I don't mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

His hand was still curled around hers, holding tightly. The bond was there, it would always be there. “I don't mean to imply you're at fault. It's merely the circumstances and going so long without having you about . . . to be quite honest, I've forgotten things that I never thought to forget. What it's like to be with you. I got rather accustomed to caring only about my own needs, my own wants. I only had to see after myself. Now that you're home, I have to settle back into being a wife. It's not that I mind. I don't feel burdened by it. It's simply that I feel a bit awkward sometimes because I'm not quite sure how to act or what to say.”

Rolling onto his side, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I'm sorry that I'm not the man you married.”

“You don't have to apologize. Don't you see? We changed somewhat and now we just have to get to know each other again.”

Leaning back, he cradled her cheek. “You're so . . . insightful. I thought I was the only one feeling as though I didn't know you any longer.”

Reaching up, she brushed his hair back from his brow. “The only thing that hasn't changed is that I love you beyond all imagining.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You humble me.”

Dropping his arms around her, he pulled her into his chest. That broad, wonderful chest. “It's been a long day. What say we sleep for a bit?”

Nodding, she tried not to be bothered that he hadn't confirmed that he loved her. Before, whenever she professed her love for him, he was quick to reassure her that he loved her as well. In retrospect, she dearly wished she'd not encouraged him to take the sojourn with his brother.

T
he
baby gorilla peered out through the underbrush.

“She's adorable. Look at those huge brown eyes. Ladies will fall in love with her.”

“Don't get too close.”

“We're fine. She's a sweetheart. Look how eagerly she came to me.”

“You always had a knack for charming the ladies.”

“We should take her back with us. Think of the attention we'd garner. And Julia would adore her.”

“I'm not certain that's a good—­”

The frightening growl ripped through the dream, jerking him awake as it had every night since Albert's death. He was sitting up, breathing heavily, drenched in sweat. He had no memory of pushing himself up, the remnants of the nightmare causing uncontrollable tremors to ratchet through him.

“Albert?”

“Apologies for disturbing you. Go back to sleep.” Tossing back the covers, he lunged out of bed and strode to the fireplace. The flames were low, on the verge of sputtering out. Kneeling, he carefully set a log on the dying embers, added kindling, watched as it sparked. He was cold, so blasted cold, as cold as his brother was now. He needed to get warm, needed his teeth to stop chattering.

He needed the horrendous nightmares to stop. He felt as though he couldn't draw in a breath, as though the oppressive heat of the jungle were suffocating him. Why had they wandered away from camp without their guides? Why did Albert have to be so damned observant and spot the baby gorilla? Why did he have to notice everything? Why hadn't Edward had his rifle at the ready rather than slung uselessly over his shoulder?

“Here, sip on this.”

With a great deal of effort, Edward looked over at the small hand extending the glass, lifted his gaze to blue eyes filled with worry and concern. “Where did you get that?”

“Edward's room. It's scotch. It'll help calm you.”

How long had he been lost in the aftermath of the dream? And how the devil did she know that she'd find scotch in
Edward's
room? Taking the glass, he downed half the contents in one long swallow, welcoming the burning in his throat as it went down, the heat spreading out through his chest.

“This is the reason you haven't been sleeping with me, isn't it?” she asked.

It wasn't, but still he nodded.

“Were you dreaming of Africa?”

He turned his attention back to the fire. “I can't stop seeing it. That last afternoon. The sunlight dappling through the leaves, the din of insects and wild creatures going about their day. The jungle is seldom quiet. All the minutia of that moment mocks me. I remember it in such vivid detail.”

“You haven't told me exactly what happened. Tell me now.”

“Julia—­”

She placed her hand on his shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze. “Unburden yourself.”

He shouldn't, but it was eating at him.

“We, uh . . .” He cleared his throat. “He, uh . . . It was early afternoon. We'd been trekking through the jungle, stopped to eat, to have a spot of tea. I heard something, went to investigate, rifle in tow. He came along. He spotted it first. He was always so good at that. Spotting things . . . even when we were lads . . .”

His voice trailed off and he became lost in a whirlwind of memories that went back for years. She rubbed her hand in a gentle circle over his shoulder. “What did he spot?”

“A baby gorilla. It was small, with such huge eyes, so damnably cute.”

Her fingers flinched, and he knew his use of the word “damnably” had taken her by surprise. He had to remember that Albert never used profanity or vulgar language with her.

“He approached it, knelt on one knee, and began to play with it. I just stood back watching. He looked happy, smiling, chuckling low. He was actually tickling the thing. I was so incredibly glad that we were there, that we'd made the journey together . . . then there was this terrifying . . . roar is the only way to describe it. I could swear the earth trembled. Then this monstrous gorilla swept up my brother and hurled him against a tree as though he were nothing, a scrap of paper lying about. I don't know how many times he slammed him to the ground before I was able to shoot the beast through the back of his skull. But it was too late. My brother was already gone.”

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed tightly. He was trembling, brought his hand up and dragged it over his mouth. “Oh, Albert, how dreadful. I'm so so sorry. I don't know what else to say.”

“There's nothing to say. I think the first blow did it.” A lie. But he didn't want her to know the truth of it, not when it was actually her husband who had lain there all broken and dying. “He didn't suffer overmuch. He might not have even known what was happening. It was quick.” He took in a shuddering breath. “I should not have shared such a ghastly thing with you in your condition.”

“I know you think otherwise because of the babes I lost, but I am not so delicate as all that. You must share everything with me. You mustn't keep it to yourself.”

He finished off the scotch, set the glass aside.

“Steadier?” she asked.

Remarkably, he was, and he didn't think it was so much due to the scotch. He forced himself to meet and hold her gaze. “Yes.” He was no longer trembling, his teeth no longer chattering. The chill in his bones had faded away. “Thank you for the scotch. It was exactly what I needed.”

“I tried to wake you up when you began thrashing about.”

He'd been thrashing about? “Did I hurt you?”

Shaking her head, she brushed the damp hair back from his brow. She had such gentle fingers. “No. But it tore at my heart to see you suffering so.”

He did not deserve to have her experiencing any sort of mental anguish on his behalf. He didn't deserve her worrying over him. “It might be better if I slept in my bedchamber until the dreams stop.”

Yet how could he give up the comfort she offered, here kneeling beside him, rubbing her delicate hand in circles over his shoulders and back. Her bare hand on his skin felt so damned good. He didn't deserve to be touched, didn't deserve to be comforted.

Your husband is dead because of me,
he wanted to shout. He had to pretend for a little while longer, had to be stronger than he'd ever been. He wished Albert were here so he could punch him, for old times' sake. He wished he were here so he could tell him about all the confusing emotions rioting within him.
Ever notice how tiny your wife's feet are?

“God, I miss him,” he croaked. “I miss him so damned much.”

“I know,” she cooed, wrapping herself around him as though she were a cloak to protect him from the harsh elements. “I know.”

Only how could she know? Albert had been a part of him, connected to him through tragedy and triumph. And now he was gone. It was as though a sledgehammer had suddenly struck his chest to bring home the reality—­

A fluttering at his lower back caught his attention. “What the devil was that?”

Julia unwound herself from around him, took his hand and placed it on the mound of her belly.

“Julia—­”

“Shh, wait,” she said so softly that he almost didn't hear her over the crackling of the fire.

Then he felt it beneath his palm, a slight undulation, which caused his mind to empty of all thoughts save one: This was yet another moment he was stealing from his brother.