The Earl's Complete Surrender Page 7

  “Marry me,” he said simply.

  Tamping down the heartache that came with the knowledge that she was hurting him, she took a step back. “Forgive me, but I can’t. If you’ll please excuse me, I must be—­”

  “It’s him, isn’t it?”

  Her feet turned to blocks of lead. “Who?” She knew the answer of course.

  “Lord Woodford.” Scarsdale’s eyes met hers, completely unyielding as they pinned her in place.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” And yet she’d had a great deal of trouble sleeping the last ­couple of nights, thanks to some very unseemly thoughts relating to the earl and the certainty she had that he’d meant to kiss her. Surprisingly, she had not been the least bit opposed to such an advance. Quite the contrary.

  Scarsdale’s laugh was unpleasant. “Judging from the glazed look in your eyes, I think you know exactly what I mean. I should have known that what I told you yesterday would have no effect on you. After all, a woman does have needs and he is certainly a fine specimen of masculinity. I daresay he’d be able to satisfy you rather nicely.”

  “Stop it!” The heat inside the room was suffocating her and the things that Scarsdale was saying . . . good lord!

  “Why?” he sneered, moving closer while she remained rooted to the floor. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

  “It makes me wish that I’d never trusted you.”

  He laughed again. Mockingly. “My dear lady. It’s time you realized that all men want the same thing, and since Woodford isn’t here to accommodate you, then perhaps you’ll allow me to do so after all?” He shrugged while Chloe stared at him in disbelief. “Marriage can wait, if that is what you wish.”

  Was he completely mad? “I will not sleep with you or marry you, Scarsdale. Not ever.” Freed by the statement, she turned and practically ran toward the door, afraid he might follow her and press his advances right there in the middle of the conservatory. To his credit, he did not, but her conversation with him had left a stale taste in her mouth and left her nerves so frayed that her entire body shook as she exited the room and headed down the long hallway, averting her gaze from anyone she happened to pass along the way.

  Not until she’d climbed the stairs and turned down a hallway that removed her from sight, did she allow her pace to slow. Scarsdale’s revelation and the manner in which he’d made his intentions known, had genuinely shocked her. Halting her progress, she steadied herself against the wall with the palm of her hand and drew a succession of deep breaths, forcing her heart rate to slow. It was clear to her now that their friendship had not been honest. He’d had an agenda, and based on the way he’d just treated her, she very much doubted that it was founded on love or even fondness. It also made her doubt that what he’d said about Woodford was true. In all likelihood, he’d just been trying to steer her into his own arms by vilifying Woodford and making himself look like a victim.

  Briefly, she closed her eyes and allowed her mind to center on her purpose, aware that changing focus would be the best way to set aside any unpleasantry. With renewed determination, she pushed away from the wall and continued toward the end of the hallway where she turned left. If she could just find the journal, everything would be so much better. Her marriage would have actually meant something. Which was why, having methodically searched every room on the ground floor and determining that it wasn’t there, she now had every intention of finding a way to get into the late Earl of Duncaster’s bedchamber.

  Up ahead, she prepared to turn right in the direction of the north wing. She’d visited that part of the house only once before when Lady Duncaster had invited her to her private apartment in order to discuss the game day that Chloe had helped plan a ­couple of weeks earlier. Quickening her pace in the hope of arriving there unobserved, Chloe reached the juncture and rounded the corner, the entire length of her body connecting with a solid surface that was coming toward her at equal speed.

  “Oomph!” collided with “Bloody hell!” And then, “Lady Newbury, are you all right?”

  The air had been knocked out of her, making words difficult. Somewhat dazed, she managed a nod, her palm clasping her forehead while a sturdy hand braced itself against her elbow. Without needing to look at his face, she knew that the man she’d run into was Woodford. She’d recognized the rich tone of his voice immediately.

  “We have to stop meeting like this,” he murmured. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  Raising her gaze from where it rested on the buttons of his jacket, she was struck by the sincere look of concern in those dark eyes of his. “I think I’ll live,” she said, offering a faint smile.

  Ever so slowly, the corners of his eyes crinkled and then the most astounding thing happened: the edge of his mouth curved, producing a crooked smile that very nearly took Chloe’s breath away. Again. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. And then, as if he’d shown no sign of amusement at all, he frowned. “Where were you heading? Perhaps I can escort you?”

  “I was going to see if Lady Duncaster would mind showing me the roof terrace,” she said, coming up with a quick excuse.

  “I’m afraid the countess has gone out. As it happens, I was just looking for her myself.”

  “You spoke to her maid?”

  “Yes. She stepped out just as I arrived. Apparently she’s overseeing a thorough cleaning project in the hallway outside the countess’ bedchamber. Paintings are being brought down for dusting and windows are being washed. It’s quite a mess.”

  Schooling her features, Chloe nodded. Getting into Lord Duncaster’s bedchamber was going to take more time than she’d expected. “I see,” she said, her mind whirling with possibilities. Perhaps she should ask Lady Duncaster to grant her access . . . out of curiosity? No. She did not know her ladyship well enough to make such a request.

  “In the meantime, I would be happy to show you the roof terrace myself, if you like,” Lord Woodford said. “The stairs aren’t far and the view from up there is truly magnificent.”

  “I don’t know,” she hedged, still wary from her encounter with Scarsdale and greatly concerned by the longing that Woodford stirred in her. Stepping back, she pulled away from his touch. “Being alone together is probably a bad idea. If anyone were to see us, they would assume that—­”

  “That what?” He took a step toward her, crowding her with his much larger size.

  Her breath caught, her pulse quickening while heat overwhelmed her, flushing her skin. “I should go,” she said, edging toward the firm stability of the wall, her hand pressing against it as if its permanence would somehow give her the strength that she needed.

  “That what?” he repeated, pinning her with his stare. His mouth was drawn tight, accentuating the bold angle of his jaw.

  “That you and I have engaged in an affair.” The words tumbled out of her, filled not only with despair, but with such acute yearning that she startled herself with the utterance. Embarrassed, she closed her eyes, hoping that when she opened them again, Lord Woodford would be gone and that somehow this interaction with him would be forgotten.

  “Look at me,” he said instead. She peeked at him from beneath her lashes and found him closer than he had been before. “I cannot explain what’s between us, Lady Newbury, other than to say that I have an uncanny urge to kiss you whenever we meet. Do you feel the same way, or am I mad?”

  She nodded and he leaned back a little, his brow knit in a deep frown. “You’re not mad, my lord,” she told him hastily, realizing the ambiguity of her response.

  A short sigh escaped him and then he offered her his arm, which she hesitantly accepted without him displaying the slightest lack of patience. “I cannot promise you anything,” he eventually said as they started along the hallway, heading toward the far end of it. “I have no plan to marry and . . . as far as love is concerned, I fear I’m not capable of such deep emotion.”

  Brie
fly, she considered mentioning Hainsworth and the role he’d played in Woodford’s life. Surely he must have some affection for the man who’d raised him as if he were his own son. But she didn’t want to distract from the conversation they were having either, so she said nothing and just listened to what he had to say instead.

  “That said, I must admit that I enjoy your company immensely,” he continued. “Our conversations are both interesting and refreshing—­a perfect reflection of you. So, if you would like to consider a more intimate relationship with me, then I would be more than happy to oblige.”

  His forthright manner made her tense a little, not to mention that this was the second proposition she’d gotten within no more than an hour, and from a man whom she still knew very little about. But unlike Scarsdale, there was nothing pushy about Woodford. Furthermore, Scarsdale did not make her skin tingle the way Woodford did, which definitely made Woodford’s offer a lot more tempting. “And if I say no?” she asked.

  “Then I will respect your wishes,” he said.

  No. He wasn’t like Scarsdale at all, though perhaps a bit more rough around the edges. To her consternation, she decided that she quite liked that. “If I say yes, it will be for a limited time only and with the utmost discretion. I won’t be your mistress, Woodford.”

  “I would not ask you to be,” he murmured as they reached a door at the end of the hallway. Opening it, he revealed a winding staircase leading upward. “We would just be two adults taking pleasure in each other’s company. Nothing more.”

  His hand settled against her lower back, sending a wave of heat all the way to her toes. It had been so long since she’d felt a man’s touch, and then it had been with a man whose affection for her had fallen tragically short of what hers had been for him. At least with Woodford, she knew where she stood. “I’ll need to take it slow. My previous experience . . . I don’t want to rush into anything. There is also every possibility that I might suddenly change my mind. If that bothers you, then—­”

  “As long as you continue to be as honest as you’re being right now, then you and I will get along well enough.”

  Raising her chin, she gave him a little nod. “Then we are in agreement,” she said, and stepped through the door.

  James followed, his eyes dropping to the sway of her hips as she started up the stairs and he pulled the door closed behind him. Clenching his hands, he resisted the temptation to reach out and touch her, allowing the anticipation of what was to come to grow. She’d agreed to his scandalous proposition—­a proposition that he’d had no intention of making until running into her in the hallway. Somehow, it had just happened, and as he’d spoken the words, the idea of it had seemed increasingly logical, given their attraction toward one another and her widowed state.

  Stepping out onto the roof terrace, he paused for a moment, watching as Lady Newbury took in the view. Their propensity for crossing paths with each other was almost peculiar, given Thorncliff’s size. James considered the odds. He couldn’t recall coming across anyone else quite as frequently, which led him to believe that they were somehow meant to be together. Not that he was superstitious, but he’d learned from experience that there did seem to be such a thing as fate.

  Lady Newbury’s gown hugged her legs as the breeze toyed with the fabric. “It’s incredible,” she said, shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun as she looked toward the maze. “I can see fields over there, beyond Thorncliff’s boundaries, and even the church steeple from the village.

  “If you turn a little to the right, you’ll see a haze straight ahead on the horizon. That’s where the sea begins,” James told her, knowing she’d be interested.

  The book he’d found in Lord Duncaster’s room a few evenings earlier had turned out to contain nothing but lists of purchases on the first two pages while the rest of it had been blank. So he’d come upstairs today hoping to locate the earl’s bedchamber based on the route he recalled taking through the secret passageways and with the intent of avoiding more cobwebs and any potential falls.

  Unfortunately he’d found the hallway full of maids and footmen, all of whom had been surprised to see him in such a remote part of the house. Of course, the most frustrating thing of all was that his own bedchamber didn’t have a hidden door to the passage, perhaps because his room was part of the most recent construction at Thorncliff and secret passageways had not been included in the building plans. Either way, it meant that he couldn’t explore them until the rest of the guests retired to their beds. The last ­couple of evenings when he’d tried to return to the Turkish salon late at night, he’d found it occupied.

  Unwilling to interfere with another ­couple’s liaison, he’d quietly closed the door before they noticed his presence. Hopefully they would choose a different location for their rendezvous tonight. Only time would tell, he supposed. It wasn’t all bad considering that he now had a few hours to spare with Lady Newbury.

  She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, a few strands of hair toying in the breeze. “It’s just as splendid as you said it would be,” she said with a smile, her eyes bright and inviting.

  James’s chest tightened, along with other parts of his body. “Come here,” he said, holding out his hand. She caught it within a few strides, allowing him to pull her toward the wall of the tower behind them and out of view from anyone who might happen to look up from below. “I’d like to kiss you now, if I may?”

  Her lips parted ever so slightly, her breath trembling across the plump flesh. Green eyes, wide with expectation, longing and no small amount of fear, met his. He stroked his fingers gently along the length of her arm, a long soothing motion intended to reassure and shoo away the pain that rose to the surface whenever she was scared. She always tried to hide it, but he’d seen it before, and it made him realize that she hadn’t made her decision to be with him lightly. He appreciated that.

  “Yes,” she finally whispered, so faintly that he barely heard her.

  His stomach twisted to form a tight ball of nerves that released the moment his lips met hers, shooting through each of his limbs to accentuate the pleasure of finally being this close to her. He’d dreamed of this moment, and of so much more.

  Unable to resist, he pushed her back, pressing her against the hard wall of the tower as he deepened the kiss while the scent of her—­chamomile and lemons—­assaulted his senses. She murmured something, her lips parting as she did so, and he took advantage, dipping his tongue inside to sample her warmth.

  She was exquisite—­sweet like nectar. And her body . . . it was slim and delicate, but ever so soft against his own firmness, offering him the comfort that he so dearly craved. So he moved even closer, trapping her completely as he demanded more.

  Her arms wound their way slowly around his neck, more hesitantly than he’d expected, and he realized his mistake. She’d asked him to take things slow, yet here he was, plundering her mouth on the rooftop of Thorncliff while contemplating things that a gentleman shouldn’t consider when keeping company with a lady. It wasn’t what she wanted, and though he knew he could have her right now if he chose, he was also aware that going down that path would break the fragile trust that had started to form between them.

  So he retreated, took a few gulps of fresh air, and tried to ignore the devilish voice inside his head that urged him to continue. Her expression grew wary as he took a step back. “What . . . ?” she started, then shook her head and just stared at him, concern brightening her eyes.

  “You’re just as perfect as I imagined you’d be,” he assured her. “But it seems I lack restraint, where you are concerned.”

  “It was just a kiss,” she said.

  “Trust me, it would have become far more than that if I hadn’t stopped. You deserve better than that, and I don’t want to lose your respect.”

  Silence hovered over them and for a moment she looked ready to protest. But the moment passed and
she eventually nodded. “I suppose we should go back downstairs before anyone finds us here together.”

  “Why don’t you go down first, just in case someone happens to be in the hallway below.”

  Nodding, she smoothed her gown and then stepped through the narrow door, turning briefly to look at him. “Where does this leave us?” she asked.

  “I believe a reprieve is in order,” he said. “And then I intend to continue what we’ve started.”

  She nodded again, a flush of color staining her cheeks as she disappeared down the stairs.

  James stared after her. He couldn’t quite believe the lack of restraint he’d just felt, but by God if that woman didn’t stir his blood! Pulling out his pocket watch, he glanced at the time. Four thirty. A little more than three hours until dinner. Deciding it might be wise to cool his ardor if he were to concentrate on his task that night rather than contemplate the quickest path to Lady Newbury’s bedchamber, he snatched a towel from his room and went to the stables. Half an hour later he was in the En­glish Chanel, a succession of frothy waves crashing against him and his mind once again sharply tuned.

  But later that night, when he made his way through the secret passageway again, the glow of his lantern scattering shadows across the door to the former earl’s bedchamber as he tried to open it, he found it locked. Lady Duncaster must have realized that someone had been to her husband’s room. Knowing he wouldn’t make any progress by just standing there, he decided to go back to his own room and reconsider his options before continuing. But just as he prepared to do so, the sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears. Shielding his lantern with his torso, he moved further down the passage until he reached a spot where a wide stone column jutted inward, narrowing the path.

  James stepped around it, hid the lantern completely from view and allowed himself to be swallowed by darkness. The footsteps grew louder; a quick and confident tread upon the floorboards. A yellow haze came into view—­the light of a lantern, behind which the dark form of a man followed. He paused outside the Earl of Duncaster’s bedchamber, reached for the handle and tried to pull.