The Earl Takes All (6 page)

“No, actually, in memory of my brother I'll go with his favorite: strawberry.”

“And your ladyship?”

“I'll have the same.”

“What sort of tea might I bring you?”

“Darjeeling.”

“Your lordship?”

“The same.”

“Be back in a trice.” She scurried away.

Julia began removing her gloves.

“You didn't have to go with strawberry,” Albert said.

“It's my favorite. I love strawberries. In summer when you're not looking, I gorge. I wonder what else Edward and I might have had in common.”

Looking out the window, he removed his gloves and stuffed them in the pocket of his coat. “Not much else, I suspect.”

Mrs. Potts returned with the teapot and pastries. After the proprietress left, Julia poured tea for her husband and herself. “I love the fragrances in this place.”

“Always makes me hungry,” Albert said.

“I don't suppose you had many pastries in Africa.”

He shook his head. “Let's not talk about Africa. What did you do while we were away?”

“I don't even know where to begin.” She'd longed to share so many moments with him, but now that he'd asked, words failed her. She took a sip of her tea, gathering her thoughts. “I changed, Albert.”

He angled his head slightly. “Pardon?”

“I've worried that you sensed it, that I'm not exactly as I was when you left, and that's partly responsible for this . . . awkwardness between us.”

“My distraction has nothing to do with you.”

“I know that's what you say, and I have no reason not to believe you, as you've never lied to me, but I am also not as I was. While you were away, I did things . . .”

He narrowed his eyes. “What sort of ‘things'?”

A fissure of annoyance wove through his voice, and she had the sense that he was striving not to erupt with rage.

“For the first time in my life, I answered to no one save myself. First there were my parents, and I had to obey them without question. When they died of influenza, my cousin immediately took control and dictated every aspect of my Season and what was expected of me.”

“What was expected?”

“To marry by Season's end. Thank God, I met you. I adore you, you know that. I considered myself the most fortunate girl in the world because I was able to marry for love. But I went straight from my cousin's household into yours—­”

“You found your husband to be a dictator?”

“No, of course not, but everything I did was with the intention of pleasing you, making you proud, ensuring you were glad that I was your wife. Suddenly, when you left, I had no one to answer to. No one cared if I slept until the afternoon. I got dressed in the morning and that was it. I didn't change for dinner or to take a turn about the garden or for afternoon tea. It was liberating.”

“My, my. You behaved quite wildly.”

The heat warmed her face. “You're mocking me.”

“No.” A corner of his mouth hitched up ever so slightly. “Well, maybe just a tad. Surely you did something a bit more daring than not changing your clothes.”

She took a bite of her tart. “I read
Madame Bovary
.”

He stared at her as though he didn't know who she was. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Would you think less of me if I did?”

He laughed, a deep rich sound that seemed to echo through her soul. Reaching out, he skimmed his thumb along the corner of her mouth. When he brought his hand back, she saw the small dab of strawberry jam that Mrs. Potts used on the tarts when she had no fresh fruit. Holding her gaze, he closed his lips around the edge of his thumb. “I would not.”

Her stomach tightened with his actions as much as with his words. “Have you read it?”

“I have.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“I found it . . . provocative.”

“Have you read all the books and magazines in Edward's room?”

He narrowed his eyes again. “How do you know about the things in Edward's room?”

“I was bored one afternoon. The maids had left the door open, and I thought if I just stepped inside that I might gain a better sense of him. I simply wanted us to get along.”

“That's how you knew about the liquor kept in the room.”

She nodded. “He kept it hidden away in a small cabinet. I know I should have respected his privacy—­”

“The room is in your residence. He didn't own it. You had every right to enter the bedchamber. To be quite honest, I suspect he would have taken immense satisfaction in knowing he'd shocked you.”

“But he didn't. I expected to find liquor about. I half expected a woman secreted in the wardrobe to be awaiting his return.”

He grinned. “Did you, now?”

“He seemed to have a bevy of followers, but then so did you. It still amazes me that you put all that aside for me.”

He turned his attention back to the window. “It was not as challenging as I expected it to be.” Swinging his gaze back to her, he pinned her to the spot. When had he acquired the ability to hold her captive with little more than his eyes? “His reading preferences didn't make you want to take him to task?”

Slowly, she shook her head. She could admit the truth because this was Albert, and they were always honest with each other. “Just as you stated with
Madame Bovary,
I found everything quite provocative.”

“You read them all?”

“I had a considerable amount of time alone. I had to fill the hours with something.”

His eyes filled with remorse. “I'd not considered, when I decided on this journey, that you would be lonely.”

“I wasn't lonely, not really. I missed you terribly, but at the same time, I felt as though I came into my own. I made all my decisions without your counsel. I gained confidence.”

“I never noticed you lacking in confidence.”

“Sometimes I had doubts, but I didn't say anything, as I didn't want to appear weak. You're so strong. You deserve a wife who is your measure.”

He studied her as though she were an odd specimen of insect he'd discovered beneath a rock. “You humble me.”

Once again he turned his attention to life beyond the window, as though she had made him uncomfortable with her confession. “The sun has begun its retreat. We should probably be away.”

When he had her settled in the carriage, he removed his coat and began draping it over her as though it were a blanket.

“You'll catch your death,” she told him.

“I've been colder.” He tucked the edges of his coat between her and the seat.

“Albert, I feel as though I said something wrong.”

Lifting his gaze to hers, he cupped her cheek with one gloved hand, and she desperately wished he hadn't yet put on the leather. She wanted his warm skin against hers. “You're not at fault. I'm feeling a bit melancholy. I thought I knew all there was to know about you. I'm discovering I know nothing at all.”

She released a self-­conscious laugh. “You know everything. I know I may have changed a bit, but I'm still the woman you married.”

Removing his hat, he pressed his forehead to hers. “If only I were the man you married.”

Cradling his face between her gloved hands, she urged him back until she could meet and hold his gaze. “Our time apart had a greater effect on our relationship than I anticipated. We need only to reacquaint ourselves. Our time together last night, then this afternoon, is a beginning. Before long, it shall be as though we were never apart.”

“Don't wear black to dinner tonight.”

“I want to give your brother the respect he deserves.”

“Trust me, Edward would be delighted if you wore something other than black. It's so dreary. He would want you out of mourning, at least when we're in residence.”

“Are we dining formally this evening?”

“Yes. Perhaps you're right. The sooner we put the grief behind us, the sooner we'll find our way back to each other.”

He skimmed his finger lightly over her chin before moving around to the other side of the carriage and climbing in with far more muscled grace than the groom who had been seated there on her journey here. Lifting the reins, he flicked them, causing the horse to take off at a trot.

Wrapping both her hands around his upper arm, she relished the strength she felt there. She knew that things between them would never be as they'd been before he left, but that didn't mean that different wouldn't be better.

Chapter 6

S
he'd
enjoyed the reading material he'd secreted away in his room. Standing at the window in the library, sipping scotch, Edward smiled with the realization that Julia Alcott, Countess of Greyling, wasn't quite as prim and proper as she appeared. Her eyes had darkened with longing when he'd taken the strawberry jam from the corner of her mouth to his tongue, and while he knew it was impossible, he could have sworn that it was a much sweeter taste having been against her skin.

From the moment she married his brother, he'd been as off-­putting and obnoxious as possible, wanting—­needing—­distance between them so he wasn't tempted to do something he shouldn't. Not that he thought she'd ever dishonor her vows, but seeing desire mirrored in her eyes today had been like having a sharp lance piercing the center of his chest. He wanted that desire to be for him, but if he were honest, he was merely serving as a proxy for his brother—­and everything she felt, everything she said, everything she did, only came about because she thought she was in the company of her husband. When she learned the truth, her heart was not only going to break with the news, but her hatred for him would increase tenfold. He should make an excuse to avoid her tonight. The tart hadn't agreed with him perhaps. He was tired, he was weary. He was jealous of a dead man.

He was a fool to think he could spend considerable time in Julia's company with no repercussions to his own sanity.

Hearing footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder as she walked into the room. What a mistake it had been to encourage her not to wear black. Better to be constantly reminded that he was merely playing a role, one that would garner him no applause or standing ovations when he took his final bow. But he was just so blasted tired of the sadness.

She'd selected a deep violet velvet that dipped low to reveal her collarbone and plump cleavage. Although her hair was up, curling tendrils framed her lovely face. He'd always thought her beautiful, but the few passing years had removed the sparkle of youth and replaced it with the glow of maturity. Serenity. Confidence.

“I don't recall you indulging before dinner,” she said.

“Another bad habit developed during my travels. Would you like some?”

“I doubt it's good for the babe.”

Did that mean that she would have joined him if she weren't with child? He'd never considered that perhaps she had a taste for spirits as well. “One sip.”

She was near enough now to take the glass from his hand. Near enough that he inhaled her fragrance. Roses. Unfortunate, as the rich sweetness always reminded him of that night in the garden when he had thought to take her mouth with no consequence. He watched as she carried the glass to her parted lips, tipped it slightly so the amber liquid flowed into her mouth. Why did he find the slow movement so riveting, so sensual? The delicate muscles at her throat shifted slightly as she swallowed, smiled, handed the glass back to him.

No cough, no sputtering. She looked out the window. “You never asked me to join you before.”

“For which I heartily apologize. I didn't think you'd enjoy it, but I daresay I believe you've indulged before.”

“On occasion. My little secret.” She slid her gaze toward him, her eyes twinkling. “A countess should be above reproach.”

“On the contrary. A countess should be able to do as she wishes. At least mine should.”

With a small laugh, she looked back out the window. “I love winter.”

He leaned his shoulder against the wall. “I would have thought you'd favor summer.”

“I enjoy summer, but I like the bleakness of winter. It allows for much contemplation.”

“You fancy your thoughts more than I fancy mine, then.” She turned to study him, and he feared he'd given too much away. He kept himself busy with wine, women, wagering, and traveling so he wouldn't have to examine his life too closely. He'd never possessed much in the way of ambition, other than to have a jolly good time and live with no regrets. Yet still the regrets were there, and a good many of them involved her.

“My lord, dinner is served,” the butler announced. Edward hadn't even heard Rigdon enter.

Setting aside his glass, he offered his arm to Julia, relishing the feel of her fingers coming to rest in the crook of his elbow. “I believe I failed to mention that you look lovely tonight.”

“It's nice to be out of black, although I didn't want to go with anything too bright.”

“A commendable compromise.”

“You're teasing now.”

She pressed her cheek to his arm, her rose scent wafted up, and it was all he could do to carry on through the doorway and not stop to kiss her. In her condition he could not take things further. Besides, if she'd been struck with the same awareness that night in the garden as he had, she'd have not married his brother.

When they walked into the dining room, the chair at the head of the table didn't loom quite as large as he'd expected. It had helped matters that he'd dined in the breakfast room that morning, had taken his place at the head of that table. It wouldn't be quite so uncomfortable doing it here.

Because he had dined with his brother, he knew that Julia preferred to sit at his right rather than at the foot of the table, so he escorted her there now, pulled out the chair for her, helped her settle, refrained from taking the chair opposite her, instead opting for the one that marked his brother's place. It merely provided him with her profile. He much preferred his view from the other chair.

Wine was poured, the first course brought out. To ensure he made no blunders, he needed to control the direction of the discourse. “Surely you did more than read while we were away.” She blushed a delicate pink hue, and he wondered if she'd done the same while reading
Madame Bovary
or any of his magazines with the risqué stories. “How else did you fill your day?”

Delicately, she pressed the napkin to her lips. “I practiced my water coloring. I'm much improved, and I've been working on something special.”

“I hope you'll share it with me.”

His answer pleased her. It was dangerous to please her too much, to have that smile directed his way.

“I'd rather wait until I'm further along.”

“Whenever you're comfortable.” He sipped his wine, savored the flavor, trying not to recall the essence of the kiss she'd bestowed on him last night. Kissing her was not going to cause her to lose the child. He was going to have to come up with another excuse to avoid those lips, a reason that wouldn't cause her to doubt herself.

Swirling the wine in his glass, he longed to down the entire bottle but knew he needed to limit himself, keep his wits about him. He was too stiff, too formal with her. He needed to stop thinking that he should relax, so he could relax.

“Do you think Locksley will ever marry?” she asked.

He was grateful for a topic that had nothing to do with them. “If he wants an heir, he must marry.”

“That's such an unromantic reason to wed.”

“Still, it is reason enough for many lords. Wanting to play matchmaker?”

Pursing her lips together, she shook her head. “No. As much as I like him, I wouldn't wish the life he offers on any woman. When you took me to Havisham to meet his father, I thought I might go mad during the short time we visited. I can't imagine what it would be like to live there all the time. It feels so abandoned.”

“It's not that bad.”

“Because you were young. Boys. Always able to find adventure. But for a woman, I think it would be a very lonely place indeed.”

“Do you find Evermore to be a lonely place?”

“No, I feel as though I belong here. It's my home. I take joy in it. I don't know how a woman would ever make Havisham a home.”

He tapped his finger against his wineglass. “It would take a special woman. But then to be honest, I never expected Ashe to marry either.”

She took her wineglass, inhaled the bouquet, set it aside. “Do you think Edward would have ever married?”

Slowly he shook his head. “No.”

“I find it rather sad that he died without ever having been in love.”

“I didn't say he'd never been in love.”

Her eyes widened. “Who?”

“Someone he couldn't have.”

“She was married, then.”

“She could have been a servant.”

“No, had she been a servant he would have married her simply to shock all of London.”

He grinned. “You knew Edward better than I thought you did.”

“I would not have put it past him to marry a woman of ill-­repute or at the very least a woman of scandal.” She was smiling as though she rather enjoyed the notion of him doing it.

“I didn't realize you gave him that much thought.”

She blushed. “I didn't. Just something that occurred to me at some point. He never much cared what people thought.”

I cared what you thought.
And fearing she'd think the worse, he'd behaved in a manner that ensured she did. “I suppose he did enjoy doing things he ought not.”

“Therefore, I can draw the conclusion that the woman he loved was married. Otherwise he'd have wed her.”

“Love is a rather strong word.”

“You're the one who used it first.”

“I misspoke. More like, infatuated. Besides, a good wife is not supposed to question her husband.”

“We long ago established that I'm not always a good wife.” She swirled her wine, inhaled again, set the glass aside. If he had to guess, he'd say she missed wine, but he had to admire her strength in not indulging. Her gaze came back to him and he felt it like a punch. “You didn't marry me simply to gain an heir. You love me.”

Was that doubt in her voice? He didn't love her, but he wasn't going to lie to her either. “Every Earl of Greyling married for love.”

Her brow furrowed. “How do you know that?”

“Marsden told us.”

“How did it even come up?” Skepticism laced her voice.

“When our parents died, we lost a good bit of our history. That's something one doesn't really consider, how much one learns through stories shared. It bothered Edward, the things we didn't know. How did our parents meet? What was Father like as a student? Every night before we went to bed, Edward would insist that we share something our parents had told us and he would write it into a journal. When we ran out of stories, he began to ask Marsden to share what he knew. I think that's why Edward enjoyed weaving elaborate tales. He didn't like the idea of history not being passed on. He probably would have made a passable minstrel.”

“What became of the journal?”

He shook his head. “I don't know. I haven't thought about it in years.”

“Maybe you'll find it when you begin going through Edward's things.”

Not likely. He'd given it to Albert for safekeeping, to be passed on to his heir. Maybe when he went through Albert's things. “Perhaps.”

“Speaking of Edward's things . . . I would be happy—­no, happy is not the correct word. I wish it didn't have to be done, but I could sort through Edward's belongings, spare you the sadness of it.”

It was an odd thing to realize how involved she was, how conscientious she was of lightening his burden. Her husband's burden. He couldn't forget who she was truly assisting or thought she was. Still, of all the women Edward had been with over the years, not one had ever seemed to care about any burden he might carry. They were only interested in what being with him might gain them. Even if circumstances were different, he wouldn't have known how to accept her generous offer, but he did know it wasn't Edward's possessions that needed going through. He also knew that eventually she would be the one to go through things. Perhaps they would go through them together.

If she didn't hate him with every breath she took.

“I appreciate the offer but I'll see to the task.”

“What about his residence in London? I suspect you'll want to get his possessions out of there as soon as possible.”

“I don't see the need to rush.”

“But you're shelling out money on a lease that's no longer needed.”

“I can well afford it.” The words came out too tart. He softened his voice. “I have no desire to leave you alone until after the babe is born. And you certainly have no business traveling to London.”

“You could send word to the servants to simply pack up his things—­”

“No!” He still needed his own London residence, as he intended for her and the child to live in the dwellings that belonged to the earl. “It's a matter that can wait. As I'm finished with dinner, if you'll excuse me—­”

Her hand came to rest over his, causing the rest of his words to back up in his throat.

“I'm sorry. I don't mean to push. I know going through his belongings will only bring home that he is truly gone. You'll take care of it when you're ready to face it.”

“When we go to London for the Season will be soon enough I think.”

With a gentle nod, she gave him a soft smile. Why did she have to be so blasted understanding? “I'm going to the library for an after-­dinner drink,” he told her.

“I'll come with.”

Not what he wanted. He needed some time alone to regain his balance. “But you're not drinking.”

“I know you like to use the time after dinner for quiet reflection. I'll read.” Her hand had yet to leave his, and she gave it a tender squeeze. “I've had far too many nights without you of late. I promise not to intrude.”

How could she not intrude, he wondered, when they were sitting in opposite chairs before the fireplace in the library, he with his scotch—­half the amount he would have poured had she not been there—­and she with
Wuthering Heights
? While he stared at the low flames sending out their warmth, he inhaled her rose fragrance, heard her quiet breathing. He was quite simply so aware of her presence that she might as well be sitting on his lap. Not that she'd be reading if that were so. He'd have his lips on hers, his hands gliding over her back and shoulders. His fingers would unfasten the back of her gown, peel it down until—­