As an Earl Desires (11 page)

“You're not going to fight, are
you?” Camilla asked, although she was quite surprised to find
herself exhilarated by the notion. It was almost as though Archie
were defending her.

He smiled. “Of course not, but I will use
harsher language than is appropriate at a dinner table.”

“I daresay Winston could use a good talking
to,” Nancy said. “They offered him a position at the
school, and he refused it.”

“I've got no wish to spend my day with
a bunch of brats.”

“Do you not like children?” Camilla
asked.

“Can't stand the little buggers. My
nieces being the exception, of course.”

She dearly wanted to kick the man. He would no
doubt end his life with a houseful of children while she had
none.

Archie leaned toward her. “Bank the fires of
anger, Countess. He's not serious. Once he determines
someone's Achilles' heel, he begins shooting arrows at
it.”

“He's not very nice.”

“I agree with Lady Sachse's assessment
of your behavior. You're not being very nice this evening,
Win,” Nancy said. “And you've
had more than enough of the attention. Archie, tell us everything
about London.”

“It's grand, Nancy. I think you'd
like it. You, Owen, and the girls should come to visit next
year.”

“Oh, that would be lovely. Don't you
think, Owen?”

He looked up from his plate and smiled at his wife,
and with that simple gesture, Camilla almost forget that he
wasn't pleasant to look at.

“If you like,” he said quietly.

“I think I would.”

He nodded and returned to eating.

“Would you like to come, Mum?” Nancy
asked.

Mrs. Warner shook her head. “Your father and
I went to London once, when we were young. I didn't much like
it. Far too many people, bustling about, knocking into each other,
picking a man's pocket while they're doing
it.”

“I find London exciting,” Camilla said.
“There is so much to do, so much to see.”

“Perhaps you'd give me a private
tour,” Win suggested, with another wink.

“Have you something in your eye?”
Camilla asked.

He sat up a bit straighter.
“Pardon?”

“Your eye. I've noticed it twitching
ever since we sat down to dinner. I thought perhaps you had
something in it. I, for one, wouldn't be at all
offended if you were to excuse yourself so you could remove
whatever was causing the problem.”

Winston slapped a hand over his eye. “My
apologies if my affliction offended you. I've visited the
best doctors in the area, but they can't figure out why it
twitches like that.”

“For God's sake, Win—”
Archie began.

“No,” Camilla said, cutting him off.
“It is I who must apologize. I didn't realize…I
thought you were flirting. They have no idea what causes your eye
to twitch?”

Winston lowered his hand, shook his head, and
winked again. “They have no idea. It's been doing it
for years. Happens every time I see a pretty girl.” This time
his wink was accompanied by a dashing grin.

“Win!” Nancy said.

Camilla glanced over at Archie and could see that
he was having a difficult time holding back his smile as he shook
his head. He cleared his throat. “I apologize for my
brother's behavior. He's accustomed to flirting with
serving girls at the tavern.”

“Oh, come on, no need to apologize. I was
only having a bit of fun. When did you stop being able to take
a—ow!” Winston glared at his sister. “Hey, Nancy,
what did you do that for?”

“What? I didn't do anything.”

He turned his attention to Camilla, and a devilish
look came into his eyes. “Did you kick me?”

“I would apologize except that I suffer from
an unexplainable affliction. My foot has a tendency to connect with
the shin of unpleasant young men.”

“Oh, my word! Jolly good for you, Lady
Sachse,” Nancy exclaimed, just before bursting into a fit of
giggles.

Winston winked at Camilla. “I deserved
that.”

“Would you like another?” Camilla
asked.

“No, thank you. One was quite
enough.”

Camilla felt a hand wrap tightly around hers where
it sat on her lap beneath the tablecloth. She glanced over at
Archie, and he gave her a warm smile.

“Well done.”

“Was this some sort of test?”

“No, we simply aren't as formal as
those in London. You can well imagine that I find dinner parties
rather boring.”

“You hide it well.”

“I fear that a time will come when I'll
hide everything.”

The words remained unspoken, but she heard them
loudly enough—a time when he would become as well hidden as
she.

 

“I was thinking—”

“That's a first for the evening,
Win,” Arch said,
as he removed his jacket
and draped it over the stall door in the barn. “Whatever were
you about, teasing the countess like that?”

“She teased right back. I hadn't
expected that.”

Neither had Arch. Her reaction had been a pleasant
surprise. There were times when he wished he could figure her out,
and others when he enjoyed each new discovery and was glad that she
was a constant source of unexpected moments.

“I should probably have you come to London
next Season,” Arch said.

“Whatever for?” Win asked.

“Because if I die without issue, you're
next in line, and an incredible number of rules and behaviors need
to be learned and followed. After your exhibition during dinner, I
think you'll require an inordinate amount of
tutoring.”

“If you die without issue, I'll simply
beg Lady Sachse to take me under her wing. Why did you lie to her
about us fighting?”

“Because the idea seemed to bother her, and
Mother had already forbidden us to do so.” Arch unbuttoned
his shirt, pulled it over his head, and carefully placed it on top
of his jacket, cravat, and vest. He rolled his shoulders and rocked
his head from side to side. It felt marvelous to be unburdened.

“She's a beauty but a bit
standoffish,” Win added.

“She got the better of you tonight.”
Arch began bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Why were you
being so difficult during dinner?”

“Trying to get a bit of attention. She hardly
takes her eyes off you.”

Arch stilled and stared at his brother.

“Don't tell me you hadn't
noticed,” Win said.

He hadn't. On occasion he'd thought
he'd caught her watching him, but whenever he looked at her,
her gaze seemed to be elsewhere. He shrugged. “She has little
interest in me other than helping me learn my duties.”

Win jerked his own shirt over his head and dropped
it to the ground. A time existed when Arch's clothing would
have been there as well instead of neatly folded and put away.
“So you've asked her then?”

“I asked her to marry me, but she won't
because she's barren.”

“Barren? What a stroke of luck. Make her your
mistress and you won't have to worry about any
by-blows—”

The impact of Arch's fist connecting with his
brother's jaw traveled all the way up to his shoulder.

Win staggered backward and dropped to the ground
like a sack of seed tossed off a tall man's shoulder.
Groaning, he rubbed his jaw. “What did you do that for? I
wasn't ready.”

“I thought the lesson on respect needed to
begin straightaway.”

Win pushed himself to his feet. “You
didn't like what I was saying.”

“Not particularly, no. Camilla is a lady of
the highest regard—”

“Camilla? That's a bit intimate
isn't it? Is she already your mistress—”

Win ducked the fist that came at his jaw, but
apparently wasn't expecting the one that met his midsection.
He doubled over and fell to his knees. Breathing heavily, he peered
up at Arch. “Was that a yes?”

With his boot to his brother's shoulder, Arch
shoved him onto his back. Easy. Much too easy.

“No, of course she's not my
mistress.” Not that he hadn't entertained the idea.
“You're the one who seems to have grown soft
here,” he said, hoping to distract his brother from comments
regarding Camilla.

Win came up and flew at him, tackling him to the
ground. They rolled, punched, rolled. Arch was delivering the
sturdier, harder blows, while he hardly felt Win's cuffs. It
occurred to him that not once since his brother had arrived home
from the fields had he addressed Arch by name. His entire family
was glad to see him, he had no doubt about that. But there was a
subtle difference in the way they spoke to him, as though
they weren't quite sure of him. And now he was
seeing a difference in the way his brother fought.

“Damm it, Win, fight!” he
commanded.

“And risk the wrath of the Crown for harming
one of its own?”

“Better the Crown's wrath than
mine.”

They continued to roll, grunt, and deliver
ineffectual blows. Arch felt his anger and frustration growing
because everything had changed when the title had passed to him. A
time existed when Win would have taken satisfaction in giving his
older brother a good pummeling. And now he was treating Arch as he
might someone he feared.

Arch had come home because he wanted to feel like
his old self, wanted to walk in his old shoes, wanted to pretend
for a while that he was no longer the Earl of Sachse. He wanted to
find the contentment he'd had in life when he'd known
exactly who he was and what his responsibilities entailed. He
despised—

The cold water lashed against his head and
shoulders. Thank God, some things remained constant. Dear Nancy had
always been the one to break him and Win apart. Courageous girl,
because she knew how Arch would retaliate.

He shoved off Win and lunged toward her. Her
screech echoed through the barn as she fell be
neath him. It wasn't until he flung his wet
hair out of his eyes that he realized he'd made a grave
error. He didn't have Nancy pinned to the ground. No,
indeed.

He was straddling Lady Sachse.

“I
f you'll excuse me, I believe I
hear Mum yelling for me.”

Camilla was vaguely aware of Winston skittering out
of the barn like the vermin he apparently was and intensely
cognizant of Archie lying on top of her. He was raised on his
elbows. Still, each rapid, deep breath she drew in caused her
breasts to brush against his chest. His bare chest. His magnificent
bare chest.

He did have hair, but it was only a light
sprinkling, and she longed to touch it, wanted to glide her hands
along his chest and shoulders. She'd never felt such
incredible yearning with any other man as she felt with him.
Desire. Hot and burning.

When the men hadn't returned, Nancy had told
Camilla that they probably
were
going at each other and as she was busy
tending to her younger daughter, she'd asked Camilla to check
on the men. She'd explained that Camilla would find a bucket
of water outside the barn door and was to use it to stop them from
fighting. Camilla had considered announcing that a woman of her
rank did not stop fights, but she'd been intrigued by the
notion that Archie was actually embroiled in such an undignified
activity.

She'd stood in the barn doorway and watched
them rolling about on the straw-littered floor, listened to the
horrible sounds of flesh hitting flesh while their grunts and
groans had echoed around them.

When Archie had commanded his brother to fight
harder, she'd had no choice except to put an end to the
madness. She'd been shivering and shaking as she'd
hauled the bucket closer and splashed its contents over them.

But nothing like she was quivering now. Rivulets of
water rolled down Archie's face. His hair was wet, his
shoulders damp, his breathing labored as though he was still
fighting.

Her breathing was no better. The air had grown so
incredibly hot that she'd begun to perspire, could feel dew
pooling between her breasts.

“How is it that we seem to end up on the
ground together when we least expect it?” he asked.

“Let me up,” she rasped. Her voice
sounded as though it came from far away, belonged to someone else,
someone who didn't truly want to be released.

“Hold still,” he ordered, his eyes
darkening. “You've straw in your hair.”

It hardly seemed a reason not to move, and yet she
didn't. He shifted his weight until he was no longer
straddling her, but had come to rest between her legs, his chest
close enough now to flatten her breasts, the heat of his flesh
seeping through her clothing. His breath wafted along her cheek as
his gaze wandered from hers and seemed riveted to the spot where he
was plucking away bits of straw.

She watched as the muscles of his
throat—coated with dew—worked while he swallowed. She
studied the grand sweep of his shoulders. He was firm and sturdy,
muscle and flesh and brawn. She could see his strength with each
slight movement he made, the muscles quivering, rippling, his arms
bunched as they strained to support his weight so he didn't
squash her completely.

She smelled the musty scent of his sweat and
wondered why she experienced no revulsion. She had the
uncharacteristic desire to lift her mouth to his throat and gather
the drops with her tongue. Taste him. Experience the intimacy of
his touch.

But she couldn't risk the intimacy. An
educator
who no doubt had the means to discover
her embarrassing inability to read. She knew Archie well enough to
know that if she opened up even a bit, he would insist she unfurl
fully, reveal the tainted and impure blossoms of her true self.
Then he would loathe her and find even her presence unworthy of one
such as he.

She felt the weight of her hair falling away. She
slid her gaze to the side, watched as he brought up his hand,
filled with a mass of golden brown strands, and buried his face
within the abundant tresses. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply,
and she thought he appeared to be captured in rapture.

“You cannot begin to imagine how I have
longed to see your hair unbound, flowing around you.” Smiling
with triumph, he held his hand out and down as though to visually
measure the length of her hair. “It would dip well below the
small of your back, I'll wager.”

The strands flowed out of his overturned hand. He
cradled her cheek, his touch warm, his eyes fevered. “You
torment me,” he growled. “With your haughtiness, and
your do-not-touch attitude. I want nothing more than to melt the
ice countess.”

Then his mouth covered hers, accomplishing exactly
what he'd claimed to want, melting her resolve. A distant
part of her mind screamed that she needed to put a halt to this
nonsense, but an
other part urged, “Not
yet. Just a minute more. Allow one more sweep of his tongue, enjoy
another taste of him, relish his nearness before you send him away
as you know you must.”

Yes, she needed to stop this madness before it went
too far. Before his hands were skimming over her bare shoulders as
hers were now trailing over his. She'd never experienced the
joy of true desire…and it
was
a
joy. To want and be wanted. To need and be needed.

She heard moans. Not certain if they came from her
or him. Growls. He rained kisses over her face, her throat, before
once again pouring himself into a kiss that threatened to chip away
the last vestiges of ice around her heart.

But the ice countess knew what it was to be
vulnerable, to be stripped bare. One could be naked even when fully
clothed. She would die before she saw pity in his eyes.

She tore her mouth from his, their harsh breathing
echoing between them. She pressed the heels of her hands against
his shoulders. “Get off!”

She hated the desperation she heard in her voice,
the fear.

“Camilla—”

“Get off!” Forcing herself quickly to
reassemble her armor, she turned what she knew would be a pointed,
hardened glare on him, and said with
deliberate, succinctly delivered words, “Get
off me now,
my lord
.”

She thought she would forever remember the pain
that filled his eyes before he bowed his head and shoved himself to
his feet. He held his hand down to her. She placed her hand in his
and allowed him to help her rise, ever conscious of her hair
tumbling around her, the longing mirrored on his face as he
watched.

She wanted to wrap her arms around him, hold him
close, and never let go. But there was no future for them. He
needed a wife who could give him an heir, and she needed to
safeguard her secret.

“I trust that was a momentary lapse in
judgment brought on by these uncivilized surroundings.”

He snapped his gaze up to hers, fury replacing the
yearning. She could deal with his anger much easier.

“See that it doesn't happen
again,” she commanded, before spinning on her heel and
marching from the barn.

She'd long ago learned how to force herself
to do things that she had no wish to do, but nothing had ever been
as hard as leaving him there to nurse his own wounds at her
rejection.

 

The Wild Boar had been one of Arch's favorite
haunts in his younger days. It was a man's paradise, with
loud laughter, ribald jokes tossed
about, and
plenty of ale to go around. Men complained about the weather, the
crops, their businesses, their wives. They played darts in a room
off to the side, wagered, and drank more ale. They shared their
troubles and their successes.

When Camilla had walked out of the barn, he'd
retrieved his clothes, put them on, and strolled to the pub without
alerting anyone at home as to his plans. He'd needed the
solitude of the journey to sort out his thoughts, but he'd
expected at journey's end he'd find the camaraderie
he'd always found there in his youth. What he discovered
instead was that he was no longer one of the locals.

Instead of hearty slaps on the shoulder that would
have welcomed him before, he'd been met by silence, before
Jim the proprietor had hurried out from behind the bar.

“Your lordship, good to have you stop by. Let
me set you up over here.”

Arch had received a few nods of recognition, the
men quickly looking away as though it pained them to see him.
Several men had doffed their hats with a mumbled, “My
lord,” as he passed.

So now he sat at a corner table, in the shadows,
alone once again. He didn't view himself as being so very
different from when he'd left only a few months before, but
apparently now that he wore a title, he was seen as being different
by others.

So he sat, drank, brooded, and wondered why life
that had been so pleasant was suddenly a never-ending series of
tests—which he seemed doomed to fail. He would have sworn
he'd seen desire in Camilla's eyes. So how was it that
he was left to feel that his actions had been thoroughly
unwanted?

She'd returned the kiss—with fervor.
Her moans had echoed around him, her tongue had waltzed with his,
her fingers had danced over his shoulders. How could he have
misread her interest when it had been so clearly written in her
actions?

He jerked his gaze up to find Win grinning at him
and holding two tankards. “Ready for another?” his
brother asked.

“Without a doubt.”

Win placed the tankard on the table, dropped into a
chair beside Arch, and leaned back until the front legs came up and
his back hit the wall. He lifted his tankard and winked.
“Cheers.”

Arch returned the salute and proceeded to down a
good portion of the ale. Getting drunk was exactly what he needed
in order to forget his troubles. How could a man in his position of
wealth and power complain of troubles to a group of men who labored
as hard as these did and barely survived?

“How'd you know I'd be
here?” Arch asked.

“Mum. She sent me after you. Said I'd
find you here when you didn't come in from the barn after the
disheveled countess did. Your countess looked none too happy coming
through the door.”

“She didn't like having my attentions
forced on her.”

“You forced?”

With a sigh, he joined his brother in leaning back
against the wall. “Of course not. Courting a countess is very
different from courting a village girl. Do you know how many girls
I kissed in the hayloft and never had a one complain?”

“She complained?”

“Thought I was uncivilized.”

“Were you?”

“I wanted to be. Instead I went
slowly”—albeit hungrily. “I have the impression
that my predecessor wasn't a kind man, and I didn't
wish to frighten her.”

“She doesn't strike me as being easily
frightened.”

“She is more vulnerable than she appears. I
want to strip away the facade she shows to the world and discover
the woman underneath. I catch glimpses of her from time to time,
enough to hold me spellbound.”

“Sounds like too much effort to me.
You're an earl now. You can probably find yourself any number
of beautiful women with no effort at all.”

“I dislike being an earl. You cannot imagine
how lonely it is. I was not raised among the aristocracy, and while
Lady Sachse can ensure that I am accepted into their ranks, she
cannot make them accept me into their hearts. I came to the pub
because I wanted to be accepted for
who
I am, not
what
I am. But that is lost
to me—even here.” He slid his gaze over toward his
brother. “Even you do not view me the same. I carry no
bruises from your punches. You hit like a little girl.”

Win grinned. “You didn't. I won't
be able to move in the morning. Is that why you wanted to fight? So
you could feel normal?”

“I want to be who I was before the solicitor
brought his papers and his explanation of lineages.”

“Father used to say that once a man gained
knowledge, he would never be what he was before he had the
knowledge. In your case, what you gained…well, it gave
knowledge to all of us, because we know you're no longer
simply Archibald Warner. You're the Earl of Sachse. Sounds
frightening to a simple man. These are all simple men.”

“You're not simple, Win.”

“No, but neither am I titled. But I have to
respect that you are. You're still my brother, and I love you
as such. But you're also a blasted earl.”

“Which you could very well be if I die
without legitimate issue.”

“Then get busy doing what you need to do,
because I don't particularly fancy walking in your
shoes.”

“Well, if Camilla has her way, I'll be
married by the end of the next Season to a suitable lady who can
give me an heir.”

“I like her thinking.”

Arch grimaced. He didn't particularly like
it, especially since it involved finding herself a duke to marry.
Although he had to admit that Win's earlier comment in the
barn about making her his mistress continued to echo through his
mind. Camilla was no innocent lass with a maidenhead to keep
intact. If she were indeed barren, getting her with child
wouldn't be a worry. They could share a physical relationship
with no risk—except the risk to his heart.

And perhaps hers. Was that the reason she shied
away from him? Because she could feel something for him beyond
fondness?

And if that were the case, what did he do about it?
He'd promised not to hurt her, but how could he not?

 

Lying in her bed, Camilla watched the shadows dance
across the ceiling. She wished Archie hadn't kissed her,
wished he hadn't stopped. She wasn't a young girl to be
enamored of a handsome face or strong shoulders, but she had to
ad
mit that he did have a fine physique.
She'd never known true pleasure at a man's touch, but
she had a feeling that Archie could deliver and deliver well.