Her Errant Earl (4 page)

She wasn’t certain if it was because he’d taken an interest
in her, or if it was because he disliked her taking up the reins. “I waited
quite some time to begin making my mark here at Carrington House,” she offered,
feeling as if she ought to explain. “You never answered my correspondence, and
so I suppose I took your silence as acceptance.”

“Of course you would.” He flashed her a smile that she
couldn’t quite decipher. “May I ask you something, my dear?”

“You may.” She stilled in the act of sampling Mrs. Rufton’s
rich soup. “But I cannot promise an answer.”

His smile deepened, and it served to only enhance the
startling effect of his good looks. “Everyone, from the new housekeeper to Mrs.
Rufton to the very proper Wilton, has been raving about how wonderful a
mistress you are. I can see much has changed, and yet when I arrived, there was
an inordinate amount of dust in my chamber. Why?”

She felt her cheeks go warm. Oh dear. It seemed her
husband’s newfound skills of observation extended to all matters. She was
embarrassed that he’d caught her childish act of defiance. “You were not
mistaken.” She paused. “I directed Mrs. Morton to tell the housemaids not to
touch your chamber.”

“Indeed?”

“I had no reason to think you’d be returning any time soon,”
she added hastily. “But I must admit that I was also hoping that should you
return you’d suffer a very unpleasant welcome.”

He laughed at her admission, the sound loud and pleasant to
her ears. She realized she’d never before heard him laugh. At least, she
reasoned, he wasn’t angry with her for allowing the dust to grow in his
chamber. Lord knew it had given her endless amounts of satisfaction to imagine
him sneezing away in it during the months of his absence.

“I daresay you won that battle, my dear. I’m sure I was
sneezing my wits out all evening when I first arrived.”

She shared his smile, aware she was ever falling more under
his potent spell. “You deserved it, my lord.”

“William,” he reminded her.

“William,” she said, trying his Christian name on her tongue
for the first time. William seemed fitting, somehow. Pembroke had been the
rogue husband who’d abandoned her. It was as if William was the charming,
perceptive man who’d taken his place.

His expression sobered. “I confess I do like hearing my name
on your lovely lips.”

She forced herself to recall the awful months he’d left her
to cavort with other women in London, lest she throw herself at him there in
the dining room. “You deserved it, William,” she said pointedly before
returning her attention to her soup.

“Touché.” He raised his wine goblet to her in mock salute.
“But I still enjoy hearing you say my name.”

She looked back up at him. “But I’m sure you’ve grown
accustomed to hearing it on the lips of many other
ladies
.” The emphasis
she put upon the word left no doubt that she did not think any of them had been
ladies at all.

“Am I to be forever reminded of my past misdeeds?”

It was her turn to raise a brow. “Until you’ve proven you’ve
changed for good, yes. I remind myself as much as I remind you.” For her own
self-preservation, she added silently.

“I’ve told you before that I never wanted to hurt you,
Victoria.” He put down his spoon. “My battle is with my father, not you, and I
will forever regret that you were caught up in the crossfire.”

The acknowledgment seemed genuine. But she didn’t know if it
was enough. “Thank you,” she offered simply. “I am gratified you have realized
that much, at least.”

“You are most welcome.” He studied her intently. “Now, I
find I’ve tired of the soup course. Have you?”

Her turtle soup had long gone cold. She nodded, watching
warily as he rose from the table and stalked toward her. He stopped when he was
at her side, leaning his hip negligently against the table. He reached out,
framing her face with his large hands.

“We both know I never wanted to be a husband when I married
you,” he said at last, his tone grave.

His acknowledgment had an air of deep candor to it, far more
than his effortless flirtation and charming grins did. She searched his bright
gaze, wondering if she could trust him. Wondering if she should. It occurred to
her that what had happened in the past did not hold as much power over her life
as what could happen in the future. Her mother had prepared her for many
aspects of marriage. She’d warned Victoria of some husbands’ penchant to share
beds with other women. She’d been prepared but not world wise enough to realize
her husband was that sort of man. Perhaps she could not forever punish him for
being the man society had made him.

“And what of now?” she asked. “What do you want now?” It was
the question that seemed to matter the most.

His gaze grew shuttered. “I have a duty to do by you.”

She frowned, trying to understand him. His hands were still
a warm, tempting touch on her face. “Duty is not a want.”

“Sometimes it becomes a want,” he murmured, lowering his
mouth to crush hers.

The hunger of his kiss took her completely by surprise. He
slid his palms down over her arms and hauled her to her feet. Her chair toppled
over behind her. She clutched at his shoulders, opening to his questing tongue.
His words swirled through her mind, confusing her all the more. Was he saying
he wanted her? Or that he still considered her a duty?

She couldn’t be sure, but all she did know for certain was
that he was undoing the hidden jet buttons at the back of her bodice. He
dragged the lace-capped sleeves down over her arms, drawing her gown down to
her waist. The creamy tops of her breasts were exposed above her satin corset.

He tore his mouth from hers to gaze down upon the flesh he’d
revealed. His eyes were hot, glittering with lust and, unless she was mistaken,
appreciation.

“Scarlet?”

Flushing again, she looked down at the extravagant red
corset she’d had commissioned in Paris before her nuptials. “It’s my favorite
color,” she said, slightly embarrassed by her whim.

“I adore it.” He dropped a kiss upon each of her breasts,
cupping them through the fabric and stiff whalebone that helped her curves to
attain the proper shape. “I’d adore it even more if it was on the floor.”

She gasped, reality returning to her at his bold
pronouncement. “We mustn’t. Not during dinner. What would the servants say?”

He looked up at her, a wicked expression on his face. “I
expect they’d say that I’ve gone mad, and I’m afraid they wouldn’t be too far
off the mark.”

“I must say I prefer mad William over sane Pembroke any
day,” she confessed.

The old Pembroke certainly wouldn’t have all but made love
to her over dinner. Goodness, what was she thinking, allowing him to cajole her
into such scandalous behavior? Bad enough he had her at sixes and sevens. Now,
she was
en dishabille
during the soup course.

Was it possible for him to have changed so completely? She
was still afraid to hope.

“I suppose you’re right.” He sighed and began straightening
her desperately askew bodice. “It wouldn’t do to ruin the servants’ proper
opinion of us. But I’m afraid I cannot wait much longer for you, my dear, else
I’ll go mad in truth.”

He wanted her.

He wanted the shy woman he’d married for money. Her stomach
upended like a tipped teacup. Oh dear. She hadn’t permitted herself to even
think of sharing the marriage bed with him again. It was far too tempting, far
too dangerous to her heart.

His hands were gentle as they righted her gown over her
bared shoulders before reaching round the back to redo the hidden procession of
buttons. “May I come to you tonight?”

The request sent her heart into a wild rhythm as passion
slid through her body like warm honey. She closed her eyes for a moment,
uncertain of what her answer should be. Very probably, it ought to be an
outright “no”. And yet, she couldn’t deny she was drawn to him as ever. What
could be the harm? It was only her heart at stake.

“Yes,” she whispered. “You may.”

* * * * *

Pembroke lingered in his study long after dinner’s end,
nursing a brandy and soda water, brooding. He’d finally gotten what he wanted.
His cock had been hard as hell for the duration of dinner, but he’d wanted to
give Victoria time to prepare herself for his visit, so he’d gone off to his
study.

The trouble was, once alone, his conscience had set in, the
very conscience he’d no longer thought he possessed. He cursed and tossed back
a bit more of his drink, disgusted with himself. Returning to the country had
turned him maudlin. Somehow, over the course of the week he’d been at
Carrington House, he’d grown to like his wife. He even admired her for her
skills at running his household and for her strong will. Back in London, he
hadn’t considered the particular conundrum in which he now found himself so
precariously mired.

He was poised on the precipice of success. In just a
sennight, he had wooed his wife into accepting him in her bed again. He should
be thrilled. Christ, he should be stripping her out of her naughty French
undergarments and sliding inside her sweet little cunny right now. He shouldn’t
be hiding away in his study.

With his ultimate goal so close at hand, he wasn’t supposed
to be feeling empathy toward his wife. She was a means to an end, a necessary
duty. He definitely wasn’t supposed to be so achingly attracted to her. Bloody
hell, feeling anything at all most certainly was not part of his plan.

Yet, he did.

Yes, he liked her. He liked the way she was so tiny compared
to him and how she smelled of orris root and the way she pursed her lips when
she was mulling over something and the way she held herself with quiet grace
when she entered a room. He liked her snapping eyes and her long, luscious
blonde hair, and good Lord he positively loved her ample bosom.

This was a strange development indeed. Of all the women he’d
flirted with and bedded in his life, and it was an admittedly lengthy list, he
could honestly say he hadn’t truly liked many of them. Perhaps he hadn’t even
liked
any
of them, now that he thought on it.

A conundrum indeed, one of the worst sort. Victoria was
waiting for him in her chamber, willing and ready. And yet here he lingered in
his study with a tumbler of spirits, realizing he harbored an alarming
tendre
for his wife. He tossed back the remainder of his brandy and soda water. It was
foolish to linger any longer like a callow virgin on his wedding night.

He was no callow virgin, and he’d already had his wedding
night. But he had a bothersome feeling that what awaited him would leave him
forever changed.

* * * * *

Victoria had dismissed Keats. She wore only a silk wrapper
and a few dabs of orris root at her throat and wrists. William had told her he
preferred the scent.

William.

Her husband.

It seemed so odd, so improbable, that the man whose presence
she eagerly awaited was the same man who had wed and abandoned her, the same
man she’d sworn she’d never forgive. Her mind told her she was the biggest sort
of ninny. Had she learned nothing from the five months of loneliness and
swirling scandal she’d had to face alone? Perhaps not, for all she could think
of now was the devastating way he’d looked at her for the duration of dinner,
as if he’d devour her if he could.

He had kissed her as if he were a starving man and she the
feast before him. He touched her and set her aflame. She wanted him very much.
At that thought, a solid series of knocks sounded on the door joining their
chambers together.

Despite knowing he would be coming to her, she gasped, a
bout of nerves gripping her. She tightened the belt at her waist and consulted
her reflection in the looking glass. Her hair was down, a curling golden sweep
of locks to her waist. The lamp light was low and golden, bathing the chamber
in a romantic glow. Perhaps she didn’t look pretty, but neither was she
hideous. She was very petite, particularly without the encumbrance of her gown
and underpinnings. She hoped he would not be disappointed. It had been so very
long.

Another knock interrupted her worried contemplation.

She took a deep breath. “Enter.”

The door creaked open and she thought she must have one of
the footmen oil it. Then her husband was filling the doorway and she quite
forgot everything. He wore a black dressing gown, his large bare feet and
strong, masculine calves peeking beneath its hem. Her face went warm and she
was sure she was flushed as a ripe apple. Her eyes traveled up from the tie
drawn at his lean waist to the sliver of his bare chest visible. Their gazes
clashed and a delicious tide of longing washed over her.

“Victoria,” he murmured. “I was afraid you’d have fallen
asleep.”

She swallowed. “I couldn’t have slept a wink waiting for
you.”

Perhaps she had revealed too much, for his expression
shifted, his jawline hardening. “Are you certain you’re prepared for this?”

No.

But she couldn’t tell him as much. “I am ready. Please, come
in.”

He’d been lingering at the threshold but at her urging, he
finally crossed the invisible boundary between his chamber and hers. The
adjoining door squeaked closed again at his back. He was unbearably handsome.
His thick hair was ruffled, as if he’d been passing a hand through it. Had he
been as nervous as she?

It seemed so ridiculous for a practiced man of the world to
be as anxious as she.

They both began moving toward one another, meeting in the
center of the room. She gazed up at him, framing his beautiful face with her
palms. His cheeks were slightly scratchy with the texture of the whiskers he’d
shaved that morning. She rather enjoyed the prickle against her skin.

“Is this real?” she asked, aware she likely sounded silly
but unable to help herself.