Amy Lake (3 page)

She didn’t move. Biddable and delicious, thought the earl, forgetting that only minutes earlier she had given him a tongue-lashing for suggesting she might be less than a lady. He was thinking how it would be to bed her, and he liked that she had enough spirit not to quail under his touch or to indulge in girlish protest.

What could she say, after all?  Edward doubted that Claire de Lancie wanted to call undue attention to herself in the present company of the
haut ton
. For the moment, at least, she was his to do with as he pleased. His finger trailed down her smooth skin to that very alluring
décolletage
. Desire had turned into an urge strong enough to cause Edward some discomfort. He watched Claire’s face carefully, but he could see no answering emotion. She looked . . . detached. Why should he care a fig for the girl’s sensibilities?  She’d as much as told him she was in the Pemberton home under false pretenses. The earl moved forward and captured her lips beneath his, deepening the kiss as the feel of her body against his erased caution.

Edward did not have the reputation of being a cad, but the luscious figure of Miss de Lancie, combined with the girl’s infuriating refusal to respond to his touch, was driving him half mad. She should be melting under his caresses, or at least–thought Edward, his logic a little fuzzy–struggling to fight him off!  Indifference was not a response he was familiar with in women.

He kissed her again, keeping his hands firmly around her waist.

Nothing. Edward broke off the kiss to see her looking at him with evident calm, as unruffled as if they had been discussing the weather.

“Are you quite through?” asked Claire. “It won’t do, you know. Even an older gentleman will require purity in a bride of my age.”  She smoothed a runaway tendril of hair. “We should return to the ball.”

Are you quite through?
  The earl bit back the first reply that came to mind. How dare the chit speak to him like that?  He was about to remind her of her place and opened his mouth to say–

“Marry
me
,” croaked the Earl of Ketrick. ?

Chapter Two

Edward stepped back abruptly, stunned at the two words that had come out of his mouth. Had he just asked the chit to
marry
him?  Miss de Lancie’s composure–which had been up to the mark when dealing with his amorous advances–now disintegrated.

“What!” she gasped, and slapped him roundly across the cheek.

This was too much for the earl and he burst into laughter. Claire hitched up her skirts– Edward caught a glimpse of trim ankle–and ran.

* * * *

From what Jody could see of it in the dark, the Pembertons kept an especially well-tended garden, mercifully free of brambles. He had found a secluded niche inside the wall at the southwest corner and dozed off briefly while waiting for his sister. It was a perfect hiding spot–Jody had become an expert on this sort of thing–with a row of tall yews between him and the house, and the road just on the other side of the wall. He sat patiently, hearing the murmurs of passersby in the street and the clip-clop of horses’ hooves.

Jody rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, feeling thoroughly bored. Whatever thrill he may have found in sneaking around outside the great homes of the
ton
had long since worn thin. London had proved to be much less exciting than he had hoped, and finding a husband for his sister too much like work. Maybe Cheltdown Manor hadn’t been so bad, after all. At least he’d had Cousin Harry to talk to, although–well, Harry
was
a bit odd.

He’d forgotten to tell Claire about the young man he had seen on the street earlier that day who had looked so much like their cousin. But why would Harry Rutherford be in London?  It couldn’t have been him, thought Jody. Harry  would be the
last
person to enjoy town life. Still, it had certainly looked like their cousin, and the other day, at Green Park–          

No. It couldn’t be. Claire would say he had an overactive imagination, that’s all. Besides, when the man saw Jody looking at him, he had turned and walked away.

The minutes crawled by. He was standing up to stretch cramped muscles when he heard the sound of running feet crunching over gravel. Claire?  His sister didn’t normally run in a ball gown.

“Jody!  Jody!” 

It was Claire, all right. Jody’s eyes were more accustomed to the dark and he intercepted her as she almost collided with him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing. Let’s go.”

He wrapped Claire in a sturdy black cloak and helped her climb the half-wall. Leaping over after her, he caught the eye of a passing hackney driver, and within moments they were sheltered and anonymous inside the cab, on the way back to Jermyn Street.

* * * *

Lady Pamela collapsed on her bed in helpless laughter.

“
Marry
you!  You asked her to
marry
you?”

“Why not?” said Edward irritably. “She needs a husband, and I want to get those matchmaking mamas off my back. I haven’t been able to attend a single
ton
event this season without being besieged by one milk-and-water miss after another.”

“Hmm.”  Pam smoothed the lilac silk of a pillow sham with one hand and looked at him with absorbed curiosity, as if–thought Edward–he were an unusual zoological specimen.

A worm, perhaps. The earl had the uncomfortable feeling that Lady Pamela hadn’t believed a word he said.

He tried again. “She looks strong and healthy, and I’ll need an heir eventually. She can stay at Wrensmoor with the children, and I’ll spend my time in London. We’d hardly even need to see each other.”

For some reason this provoked more howls of laughter from Pam.

He was certainly having no luck with women
this
night, thought Edward sourly. First  indifference, now hilarity. He supposed he should be grateful that his mistress–w ho was currently trying to suppress an attack of giggles –wasn’t upset. Any other woman would have gone into paroxysms of jealousy, but Lady Pamela Sinclair possessed a singularly independent mind. Edward had always assumed that she was as likely to give him his
congé
as vice versa, and at times during the last year he had suspected that they both knew their days together were numbered.

Lady Pamela was passionate, intelligent and kind–all qualities Edward admired–but the fire that flared between lovers had long been missing between them. Perhaps it had been absent from the start. He had occasionally wondered if this was due to some quality lacking in himself–but the earl was not a self-reflective man by nature. He had not chosen to examine the subject more closely.

He looked at Pam now, stretched cat-like on the silk and lace of her bed. She had removed her hairpins, and silky tendrils fell around her face in waves of white and gold. She was as beautiful as any woman he had ever known, yet in his mind he was seeing a woman with raven curls, not blonde. He would not be staying with Lady Pamela that night, the earl realized.  Nor, perhaps, any night to come. And he knew that Lady Pam realized it, too.

* * * *

Jody was looking at his sister in horror.

“You
slapped
him?   He asked you to marry him, and you
slapped
him?  Why?”

Claire poked at the fire and was rewarded with a few flames springing back to life. She sat on the bed and combed out her hair, wondering if anything could ever feel as good as her head did after she took out all those hairpins.

She thought, unaccountably, of the earl’s touch on her lips.

She had no answer to give her brother. The entire evening had been a disaster. First the desertion of Major Trevor, then Lady Sinclair claiming to know both her and her nonexistent Aunt Sophie, and finally–the Earl of Ketrick. She had no idea why she slapped  him. It was not sensible–and certainly not ladylike–and Claire was experiencing a deep uneasiness about the possible repercussions. If he was a spiteful sort of man–

But she felt that Lord Tremayne was not. And he had laughed, after all. Nonetheless, Claire wasn’t happy about the night’s events. She had come to London to get married, had spent every scrap of money she could find on a decent address and the
accoutrements
needed to make a small splash, and when an eligible man offered for her–an
earl
, for pity’s sake–she slapped him and ran.

What had come over her?

“Did you say no?” asked Jody.

Claire looked at her brother, confused.

“Say no?”

“Well, you slapped him, but did you tell him no?  That you wouldn’t marry him?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t say anything, I don’t think. I just ran.”

“What does he look like?  Do you think he’s handsome?”

Claire was having difficulty following her brother’s train of thought. “What does that matter?” she asked. “With any luck, I’ll never see him again.”

Jody was watching her intently. “Is he handsome?” he asked again. “How old is he?”

Claire sighed deeply and flopped back on the bed. “I suppose he’s a few years older than I am. And, yes,” she finished, “he is the handsomest man I’ve ever seen.”

* * * *

Lady Pamela looked out her bedroom window at the quiet, dark street below, her gaze following Edward as he walked away. She felt a small tug at her heart, more from nostalgia than anything else. There had been some good times between Edward Tremayne and Pamela Sinclair.

   She had cared for the Earl of Ketrick as much as she’d cared for any man, but it wasn’t the kind of love Edward thirsted for, and she’d always known it. For some men deep passion was not a requirement in a relationship. For Edward Tremayne–whether he was aware of it or not–it was. A banked fire smoldered inside the earl, and when the flames finally burst forth they would consume him.          

How she would rejoice to see that blaze. Lady Pamela couldn’t really have said why Claire de Lancie had caught Edward’s attention, or why she was so convinced that the girl held the key to her friend’s happiness. Call it woman’s intuition, she thought, laughing at herself. Pam didn’t have much use for romantic nonsense. But perhaps intuition was unnecessary, because in the past twenty-four hours–since those few minutes in the draper’s shop–she had seen a look in the earl’s blue eyes that had never been there before.

 The situation clearly required her assistance. Eventually Edward would need to offer again for Miss de Lancie, and Miss de Lancie would need to say yes. Pam gave a contented sigh and pulled the silk duvet over her shoulders, snuggling down into her bed for warmth. She had a number of tasks to undertake on the morrow, and it was time to get some sleep.

* * * *

Claire was at her desk in the sitting room, perusing the small stack of bills needing to be paid. The bills were manageable so far, but she knew that time was running out. In another month, perhaps two, if she was very careful–

Mr. McLeevy scratched at the door, then entered. “The Baronet Aubley to see you, miss,” he said.

Oh, bother, thought Claire, suppressing a laugh when she caught sight of Mr. McLeevy’s expression. Apparently Sir Clarence was not a favorite of her butler-
cum
-handyman.

“I’ve taken the liberty of sending for Mr. Jody, miss,” he added. “Perhaps I could delay your visitor for a few minute until he arrives.”  Claire nodded. If her brother could behave himself, his presence would be welcome.

Mr. McLeevy departed, but the door burst open again almost immediately as her brother flew into the room.

“Oh, thank goodness he hasn’t arrived yet. Claire, you
can’t
be thinking of encouraging this coxcomb!  How could you stand to talk to him day after day?  How could you stand to even
look
at him?  Do you remember the waistcoat he wore to Lady Spence’s
musicale
?  I thought it would
blind
me, even from out in the street.”

“Shh!” said Claire, trying not to laugh. She remembered that waistcoat. “Sir Clarence will be here any second.”

“Oh, Claire,
please
. The
Earl of Ketrick
offered for you!  Don’t decide anything until you see him again.”

“Jody, I don’t think–”

They were interrupted by Mr. McLeevy at the door. “Sir Clarence Aubley to see you, miss,” he announced.

The baronet bustled in, his ample girth contained in what was, for him, a relatively staid coat of peacock blue. Claire shot a warning glance at her brother.

“Ah, mah cher mamzelle!  You are too, too beautiful today!”  He took Claire’s hand. “And, Monsieur Jodrel–how good to see you, also.”

Hearing his friendly, artless words, Claire was seized by a sudden attack of guilt. Sir Clarence was a kind and amiable soul. He didn’t deserve to be laughed at. He deserved . . . someone to love him. Claire tried to push that last unwelcome thought out of her mind.

“I was desolate when I did not see you at the Pembertons’ ball last evening,” the baronet was saying. “And I was told you had been there earlier!  It was most infelicitous!  I was hoping for at least one dance.”

“Oh,” said Claire weakly, “Yes. A headache came on suddenly, I fear.”

“Oh, mah cher, I am so sorry. You are well today, I hope?”

“I am very well, thank you, sir.”

They spoke for a few minutes about the gowns Sir Clarence had seen the night before. He was, as Claire knew, quite interested in ladies’ fashions, and knowledgeable about the newest styles in both dress and coiffure. The length and narrowness of Lady Ponsonby’s sleeves came under some scrutiny, as did the color of Lady Pemberton’s turban, but eventually the baronet paused to give Claire a meaningful look.

“I had hoped to speak with you about a subject that has been uppermost in my mind for these several days.”  Here Sir Clarence paused, glancing at Jody. “Perhaps, if your brother would be so kind to leave us for a few moments . . . ”

Claire’s heart had plummeted to her slippers. She didn’t dare look at Jody.

This is what you came to London for, you little idiot!  said the voice in her mind.

Oh, but–

And just what do you plan to do, if you do not marry the baronet?  It’s too late to take missish over what can’t be helped.