Her Errant Earl (9 page)

“Nor had I, but we can’t very well toss her out now that
she’s here.”

“Of course we can.” There was nothing she’d love more dearly
than watching that atrocious woman’s bustle disappear behind the front door.
“At the very least, she must be gone before the duke arrives. Surely you
agree?”

His expression darkened. “I’m not sending her on her way for
that old bastard’s sake but for yours. I don’t give a damn if he doesn’t like
Lady Strathmore. Your good opinion is the only one I care for.”

She searched his gaze, wishing she trusted him. But she
didn’t. Guilt ate at her. “It was not always so,” she reminded him.

“But it is now,” he said firmly, reaching out to pull her
into his arms. “Come, let’s not make a row of it. She’ll be gone soon enough,
no harm done. I’m sorry she’s upset you, my love.”

My love.
The term of endearment was not lost upon her.
It was the first time he’d ever used it, and it had a melting effect upon her.
She wound her arms around his waist, pressing her ear to his chest. His heart
was a steady, reassuring thump. How she loved him, frightening as it was. If he
ever abandoned her again, the anguish would be too much to bear. She could only
hope that he loved her too, and that love would be enough to keep him at her
side.

* * * * *

Later that night, Pembroke was about to visit his wife’s
chamber when the oddest thing happened. His door opened and in slinked none
other than Lady Strathmore, clad in nothing more than a silken wrapper. Her
black hair was unbound, trailing down her back, and without the trappings of
her dress, he could see her figure was very fine. She was incredibly beautiful
without artifice, he had to admit.

But he felt nothing when he looked upon her other than
horror.

“Lady Strathmore,” he murmured, careful to keep his voice
low lest Victoria overhear him. “What in the name of all that’s holy are you
doing in my chamber?”

She closed the door at her back and sauntered across the
thick carpet, hips swaying, an inviting smile on her full pink lips. “I should
think it’s obvious.”

“I’m afraid it is, but you’re quite mistaken.” He frowned at
the woman, thinking her incredibly bold. Not long ago, he would have taken her
up on her offer with great relish. Now, she simply disgusted him. “You’re going
to have to leave at once.”

“Nonsense.” She pouted, stopping before him to tug at the
knot of his dressing gown. “You told me to visit you, and I have. Everyone’s
wondering what you could be doing moldering in the country for so long. I’ve
come to save you from the tedium of your dowdy wife.”

He swatted her hand away as if she were an annoying gnat.
“She’s not dowdy, by God, she’s quite beautiful. I don’t need saving, Lady
Strathmore. I’m astoundingly happy here.”

It was her turn to frown. “Happy? In the country? Why, you
must have gone completely mad. The Season is still going strong. No one who is
anyone is in the country.”

“Then one wonders why you’ve chosen to appear here,” he
pointed out. “If I indeed invited you to Carrington House, it was a grave
mistake on my part. While I hate to turn away any guest, I’m afraid you’ll need
to leave at first light.”

“You cannot be serious.” Her pretty face reflected her
shock. “Of course you invited me. It was at Lady Kensington’s ball. You said
you’d been forced to the country by your father, but that I ought to liven up
the monotony for you.”

Dear God. Perhaps he had. He had to privately acknowledge
that it sounded like something he could have said. He dimly recalled the ball
she referred to and knew he’d been drinking heavily that evening at his club.
What a villain he’d been.

“I misspoke,” he said hastily, revolted by his old self. How
had he never failed to see how shallow his life had become? He’d rather spend
one night in Victoria’s arms than a hundred nights in the bed of a woman of
Lady Strathmore’s ilk. “I’m sorry if I misled you.”

“What power has she over you, Pembroke? This is utterly
ridiculous.”

His wife did have power over him, he realized. He wanted
nothing more than to spend his life at her side, and he’d do anything to make
certain that would happen. He had to confess, it was a far cry from the errant
husband he’d been. He never could have imagined, when he’d arrived a few weeks
before, how irrevocably his world would change. He was almost pleased that this
reminder of his past had rematerialized, for it made him appreciate his future
all the more.

“It’s not ridiculous at all,” he argued, a great sense of
peace coming over him. “I’m in love with my wife.”

There. He’d said it. Damn, but saying the words aloud felt
good. Freeing.

True.

“In love with your wife?” Lady Strathmore all but spat the
words.

He didn’t blame her. Love was not in existence in their set.
One married for duty and money, then found pleasure elsewhere. He’d thought
that had been the sort of life he wanted for himself. How very wrong he’d been.

“Yes,” he said, grinning like a complete bloody fool. “I’m
in love with my wife.”

* * * * *

Dinner had been an awkward affair indeed. The odious Lady
Strathmore had made no secret of the reason for her visit, Victoria was
certain. Her eyes had only been for Pembroke. She’d teased him, cast him
lovelorn glances, even toyed with her food in a most seductive manner. Once,
she’d nearly dropped her trout upon her silk bodice in her ridiculous effort to
be noticed.

Victoria had not been impressed.

She picked up a book and headed for her bed to await her
husband. She’d long since dismissed Keats, who had assured her there was no new
gossip surrounding their awful guest. Nervousness swept over her as she passed
the time, wondering what was taking her husband so long. She didn’t like the
idea of that horrid woman being beneath the same roof. Not one bit.

With a sigh, she turned a page that she’d only halfheartedly
read. And that was when she heard it, the sound of conversation coming from
Pembroke’s chamber. She held her breath, listening, convinced she’d imagined
it.

But no. She hadn’t.

There was no mistaking it. She detected the faint rumble of
voices emerging from her husband’s chamber. One was too high in tone to belong
to his valet. Heart hammering against her breast, a stone of worry sinking in
her stomach, she leapt from her bed and threw a dressing gown around her. She
hastily padded toward Pembroke’s rooms before taking a deep breath and
thrusting open the door adjoining their respective spaces.

Lady Strathmore wore nothing but a dressing gown, standing
in the middle of her husband’s chamber as if she belonged there.

Victoria gasped, shocked. She supposed it was what she
should have come to expect from him. But the hurt was akin to a sword running
her through. She could scarcely breathe. Her hand flew up to cover her
furiously beating heart. Her gaze flew from Pembroke to Lady Strathmore. She
was dimly aware that her husband wore a wretched expression. Lady Strathmore,
to the contrary, appeared rather smug.

“What is going on here?” she demanded when she could speak
once more.

“Lady Strathmore was horribly mistaken,” Pembroke answered
first, his voice hard. “She was just about to take her leave.”

“I’m afraid his lordship is correct,” the lady in question
confirmed in a sour tone. “Pray accept my most sincere apologies, Lady Pembroke.”

The apology didn’t sound sincere to Victoria’s ears, not in
the slightest. She pinned the interloper with a glare designed to let Lady
Strathmore know precisely what she thought of her and her apology both. “I’m so
very sorry to hear that you’re going to be on your way at first light tomorrow
morning, my lady,” she said with remarkable aplomb. Inside, she was seething,
but she wasn’t about to give Lady Strathmore the satisfaction of knowing it.
Letting the woman know she was no longer welcome was the only suitable way she
knew how to react.

Lady Strathmore looked as if she’d swallowed something most
unpalatable. “Thank you for your understanding. I bid you both good evening.”

With that, she turned and practically ran from Pembroke’s
chamber.

When the horrid woman was gone, having been neatly routed,
Victoria faced her scoundrel of a husband. He started toward her, but she held
up a staying hand. “Stop right where you are, Pembroke.”

“Christ’s sake, Victoria, I didn’t invite her to my bloody
chamber. Don’t glare at me as if I’ve just trounced your favorite puppy.”

“I don’t have a puppy,” she countered in a remarkably
controlled voice. “Unfortunately, however, I do have a roving husband who can’t
even be trusted to be beneath the same roof as another woman without having her
wind up in his bed.”

He grimaced. “I don’t mean to mince words, my dear, but the
Strathmore tart was certainly not in my bed.”

“She wasn’t far from it.” Victoria shook her head. “How
could you, Pembroke?”

“I didn’t, damn it. I’ll own I’ve done scads of awful things
to you in the past, but this time I’m completely innocent.” He stalked to her
then, close enough to touch. “She had taken up some wrong-headed notion that I
wanted to share my bed with her, but I was putting her to rights when you came
in.”

His explanation was far too convenient, and with his
penchant for straying as a precedent, she was not confident in his
protestations at all. Her gaze narrowed upon him. “Surely you don’t expect me
to believe that?”

He raked a hand through his hair, his exasperation seeming
genuine. “Do you truly think I’d be stupid enough to invite a woman to my bed
with my wife’s chamber mere steps away? No, don’t answer that. I can see very
well that you do. Victoria, I don’t want any woman save you, and that’s what I
told Lady Strathmore in no uncertain terms. Is it true that when I was in my
cups I made the mistake of inviting her here? Likely yes. Bastard that I am, I
can’t recall. But I stand before you as the man who has, somehow, against all
odds, fallen in love with you, and I’m not about to jeopardize that for a game
of slap and tickle with a woman of questionable morals.”

As the implications of his rambling speech sank in, she was
once more speechless. Had he just said he’d fallen in love with her? Her dazed
mind couldn’t even comprehend it. Pembroke didn’t love. Goodness, half the
time, he didn’t even care. Love? She’d been afraid to hope he would develop
more potent feelings for her than lust.

Still, she wasn’t altogether sure she could trust him. He had
always proved a wily intellectual opponent. What if he was only claiming he
loved her so that she’d forget about Lady Strathmore?

“There you have it.” He threw up his hands. “You’ve shredded
the remaining portion of my claim to manhood. I’m in love with you. Christ, I’m
a milksop.”

She frowned at him, more bemused than ever before. “Why
would you say such a thing to me?”

“Because I’m an evil villain out to bend you to my whims,”
he scoffed. “This isn’t a sensation novel, Victoria. I have no motive other
than that I want you by my side for the rest of my life, and I’m not about to
let a lightskirt get in the way of that.”

Good heavens. She felt suddenly faint. “You love me?”

“I’ve begun to suspect that’s the odd sensation I’ve been
feeling of late.” He gave her a self-deprecating grin. “You’re in my thoughts
night and day. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Will you marry me, my
darling?”

She laughed, grateful for the reemergence of his infallible
sense of humor in this weighty moment. “We’re already married.”

“Are we indeed?” He caught her about the waist, pulling her
against him. “How fortuitous, for now I am free to ravish you.”

Passion simmered to life within her. She threw her arms
around his neck, gazing up into his stormy eyes. “Promise me you mean what you
say, Pembroke. I couldn’t bear it if you left me again.”

He feathered a light kiss over her mouth. “I promise. I love
you, and I assure you that you’re quite stuck with me now.”

She kissed him back with all the ardor that was suddenly
threatening to overtake her. He moaned, his large, knowing hands slipping down
to cup her bottom and press her to his rigid arousal. She sighed, opening for
his tongue’s possessive thrust into her mouth. She could only follow her heart
where it led her now, and she wanted Pembroke more than she wanted to breathe.
There was no more room for practical thought.

Only feel.
His words once more returned to her, and
they held more allure than ever before. Perhaps he was leading her astray, but
the path to ruin had never felt so glorious.

She reached between them to pull at the belt at his waist,
wanting him naked. She needed to erase all memories of the awful Lady
Strathmore. Never again would she let another person come between them, she
vowed to herself. Never again.

He broke their kiss, straightening to look down at her, his
expression slack with passion. “Slow down, my dear. I want to make love to you
this night.”

“Yes,” she whispered, need pulsing through her to her core.
“Please, Pembroke.”

“William,” he reminded her. “I find I’m ordinarily
‘Pembroke’ when you’re vexed with me.”

“William.” She pulled open the belt and pushed the dressing
gown down over his broad shoulders until he stood magnificent and nude before
her. “I love you. I think I always have.”

“You’re wearing far too much fabric, my dear,” he growled,
and whisked her robe away in a blink. He took her into his arms, carrying her
across the masculine chamber to his bed.

As he laid her upon it, she reached up to frame his
beautiful face between her palms. The slight abrasion of his whiskers was
delicious upon her hypersensitive skin. How dear he was to her, impossible
though it seemed. Not so very long ago, she’d been a miserable, abandoned wife.
No longer.