Kiss the Earl (24 page)

The men ate too much, and Ella picked at the food like a nervous bird. Patrick and the baron talked about common acquaintances, land management, the Royal Exchange, and all sorts of things that men commonly discussed. But even when Patrick attempted to draw Ella into conversation, she'd smile, mumble a bit, and then turn her attention back to the food on her plate.

After dinner, the baron excused himself.

“I must return to my home and make ready to leave in the morning. I shall arrive here by first light.”

He pressed a kiss to Ella's hand, then clapped Patrick on the shoulder and took his leave.

“He's really not a bad guy,” Ella observed as Patrick followed her up the stairs.

“I am glad he did not shoot me this morning,” Patrick said.

Ella stopped at his bedchamber door and smiled back at him. “Me too.” She went into the room, pulling rosebuds from her hair as she went. But when Patrick didn't follow, she turned.

“Aren't you coming in?”

This was the moment he'd been dreading. Clearing his throat, he clasped his hands behind his back.

“It is quite late, Ella. And we must leave at first light.”

Her smiled faded, and a small, confused wrinkle appeared between her beautiful brows. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I shouldn't like to keep you up late. And we'd be rushed.” Ah, he was lying to her face. But he could not stand to disappoint her, and the knowledge that they could never lie together as man and wife would surely disappoint, even if she agreed with the notion. She seemed to enjoy his lovemaking, and just the thought of stripping that pink dress from her body made him harden with lust.

He cleared his throat. “You need your rest for the long journey. I would not have you become ill again.” Crossing the distance between them only took a moment, and he pressed a brief, searing kiss to her lips. “Sleep well, Ella.”

And then he turned on his heel and left the room, hoping that there would be enough cold water in the guest room's basin to sluice over his heated body.

There would be no cooling of his lust any other way, not tonight.

Ella blinked at the door that had closed behind Patrick, willing it to open again and reveal his face, probably with a wicked smile and a “Just kidding!”

Sadly, it stayed shut.

She looked down at herself. What had gone wrong? Granted, this hadn't exactly been the day either of them had been expecting, but she'd agreed to marry him and this was her wedding night. Did he honestly expect her to be okay with sleeping alone because they had to get up early the next morning?

Clearly, the fact that he'd left her with nothing but a close-lipped kiss meant yes.

Sinking onto the edge of the bed, Ella weighed her options.

She could go after him and attempt to seduce him. That one was obvious, but “sex kitten” wasn't exactly in Ella's list of talents. It was obvious that he wanted her though, so he must be abstaining for some other reason.

Ella scowled.

Second option, she could stay here and go to sleep like an obedient wife. She snorted. Even though she'd vowed in front of the bishop she'd obey Patrick—the agreement had chafed, but what could she do at that point?—she wasn't about to bow down like a mindless servant. She deserved answers, and she deserved to be treated like his equal.

Ella bent down and pulled the slippers from her feet, then rolled the stockings down. Wiggling her bare toes against the rug, she flopped backward onto the bed.

A huge yowl sent her bolt upright.

“Oh God, Elspeth, I'm sorry! I didn't know you were there!”

The cat glared at her, her whole body gone static-fluff.

“Seriously, didn't mean for that to happen.” Ella offered her knuckles to the irritated feline, and was honestly relieved when Elspeth sniffed them, then began to rub her face against them and purr.

As the cat climbed onto her lap, Ella began to stroke the silky orange fur.

“He had to have a good reason, didn't he, kitty? I mean, I know he wants me. And I want him. And we're married now, right?”

Elspeth's tongue rasped over Ella's wrist, the odd sensation sending shivers up Ella's spine.

“Something isn't right. But I don't know if tonight is the time to figure it out.”

Elspeth yawned, her sharp white teeth glinting in the candlelight.

“You're probably right. I should let it go for right now. I'll figure it out tomorrow.”

Setting the cat on the pillows, Ella stood and pulled off her gown and shift. Naked, she crawled between the sheets, shivering as a chill seeped into her bare skin. She blew out the candle and snuggled deep into the covers. Thankfully, she wasn't alone. Elspeth settled against the curve of her knees, seemingly content to ignore Ella's feet for once.

“Thanks, kitty,” Ella said softly. “At least I'm not spending my wedding night totally alone.”

The two fell asleep that way, curled together like kittens in a basket. And Ella's toes were safe all through the night.

The next morning, however, wasn't quite so peaceful. Mrs. Templeton woke Ella well before the sun had thought about getting up.

“Good morning, my lady,” the housekeeper said with a cheery smile, bustling into the room and lighting candlesticks with the taper she'd brought with her. “You must rise and make ready for the journey ahead!”

“Ugh,” Ella grunted, rolling onto her stomach. Elspeth hissed and darted from the bed. It looked like the truce was over. Oh well.

“Come now, my lady. Your yellow dress is clean and pressed, though it's looking worn. Poor thing, you need more gowns! I've got a warm pitcher of water for you to wash with, and Cook is this moment preparing some chocolate for you.”

Ella blinked hard, trying to get the room to look normal. It wouldn't, though. Something about the bitter disappointment of the night before had prevented her from anything like a restful sleep. The thought of Patrick's departure last night sparked her anger again, and that was enough to make her throw back the covers and attempt to face the day.

Like it or not, today he was going to tell her what all that had been about. She'd let him off easy last night, but it wouldn't happen again.

After cleaning up and dressing, Ella descended the stairs with a small traveling case in her hand. Mrs. Templeton had packed her few dresses carefully, wrapping them in tissue paper. Wearing her yellow dress, her boots, and a little hat that Mrs. Templeton had made to match the frock, Ella entered the foyer like a true countess.

Well, she would have if Sharpwicke hadn't rushed at her like a linebacker.

“Ah, my lady, do allow me to take that case from you. You should have rung for me. I would never have dreamed of seeing the Countess of Fairhaven carrying her own case! It's simply not done, my lady, and I, as the butler of the Meadowfairs, would have been gratified, nay honored, to do this thing for such a lovely and kind lady—”

“Sharpwicke, do let Lady Fairhaven be. Surely you have abused her ears enough for one morning.”

Ella turned and caught sight of a weary-looking Patrick, looking no less pressed and put-together than normal, but his eyes didn't shine as bright as usual, and the corners of his mouth were drawn. Well, it looked like he hadn't slept any better than she did.

Served him right.

“Good morning, my lady,” Patrick said as he drew even with her. He pressed a kiss to her hand.

“Good morning,” she returned the greeting, hoping she sounded aloof and completely unaffected by his presence. “Sleep well?”

“Yes,” he said shortly, but Ella inwardly smirked at how obvious his lie was. Then she felt a little guilty. Even though she was mad at him, she didn't want him to suffer.

She opened her mouth to say something nice, but before she could, the sounds of approaching hoofbeats cut her off.

“That'll be the baron,” Patrick said, accepting his hat from an obviously piqued Sharpwicke. “We must be off.”

Ella turned at a timid, “Lady Fairhaven?”

Mrs. Templeton and Cook stood there, Mrs. Templeton with Ella's cloak in her hands and Cook holding out a huge basket covered with a checkered cloth.

“It has been a great honor, my lady,” Mrs. Templeton said as she fastened the cloak against Ella's throat. “I hope you return to Meadowfair Manor very soon.”

Ella smiled, wondering why she was feeling so choked up. “Thanks, Mrs. Templeton. You've been wonderful.”

“Sharpwicke, Cook, Mrs. Templeton, thank you. Lady Fairhaven will be returning home to visit her family, but do not worry. I shall see you all again very soon,” Patrick said before moving to the exit.

After accepting the basket from Cook and kissing both women on the cheek, Ella turned and walked to the door held open by her new husband.

It dawned on her, as she climbed into the carriage alone, the basket on the unoccupied seat across from her, that it might be the last time she ever saw this house. As the baron and Patrick mounted their horses and rode alongside the carriage as it bounced down the drive, the reason for Patrick's denial the night before smacked Ella right in the face.

She was so stupid. How had she not seen this before?

She'd be going home, and Patrick clearly had every intention of staying here. Their marriage would only be a matter of weeks at best, if that Mrs. Comstock could help her get home.

Ella's guts went cold.

“I shall see you both again very soon,” he'd said. The man she loved had no intention of following her home.

* * *

As the early morning turned into midday, Patrick's guilt pricked him more with each passing mile. He'd elected to ride with the baron instead of sitting in the carriage with Ella. A coward's move, nothing more. Facing what he'd done—selfishly wedding her when they had no future together—was possibly the most difficult thing he'd ever have to do.

So he put it off until the baron himself brought it up.

“Surely that bride of yours is awake now, m'lad. I appreciate your kindness in riding along with me, but I know you must wish to spend some time with her.” The baron shifted in his saddle. “I may be worried about my precious jewel enough to drag you from your home the day after your wedding, but I'm no monster. A bright girl, that one is. Despite your marriage's unfortunate beginnings, I believe she may be a good influence on my Amelia once we find her. Go. Sit with her awhile now.”

Patrick nodded. “Perhaps that is best.” He certainly didn't want the baron to suspect that theirs was a sham marriage. So he dutifully wheeled Argonaut around and waved to the carriage driver to stop. Once they'd taken Argonaut's reins and fastened them to the back of the carriage, Patrick climbed in, much to the surprise of the napping Ella.

“May I share your conveyance, my lady?” Patrick's question was voiced in a grand tone. Instead of taking the space on the tufted bench beside her, he opted to move the basket over and place himself on the opposite bench, facing his bleary-eyed but beautiful bride.

“I don't guess I've got a choice, do I?”

Patrick thumped the ceiling of the carriage and they lurched to a start. “Of course you do, Ella.”

“I didn't have a choice about the sleeping arrangements last night.”

The jibe was expertly delivered, possibly more so for her lack of venom. She did not look angry, just hurt and sort of bewildered—almost as if she'd had a nasty shock.

Patrick cleared his throat. “Yes. I thought you might be upset about that.”

“Upset isn't exactly the word. I wasn't expecting to have a wedding yesterday, but we did. And when we did, I kind of thought that, well, we could, you know…” Her cheeks went a vibrant shade of pink. “But we didn't. And then I thought maybe I was wrong about some other things too.”

“What other things?”

Maybe she had come to the same conclusions he had. Lord, that would make things so much easier. The last thing he wanted was for Ella to feel undesirable, unloved. But what could he do? They were bound for different futures, and nothing either of them could say would change that.

“You said to Mrs. Templeton and the others that you'd be back soon but I probably wouldn't.” Ella looked down into her lap, picking at the threads around one of the buttons on her cloak. “It kind of hit me then that you're planning to stay here.”

“Of course I am,” he replied, staring at the top of her head. She wouldn't look at him, but that wouldn't stop his sincere words. “I am the Earl of Fairhaven, and I have responsibilities to my title, to my name.”

“But what about your responsibilities to me?” She looked up at him, and the pain in her pale-blue eyes was almost lethal. His heart thudded hard against his chest, almost as if the burden of pumping blood through his veins was too much to bear. “You married me, Patrick. And even though divorce is pretty common where I come from, I didn't think you'd be a fan of it.”

Well, she had been thinking quite a bit, hadn't she? But unfortunately, not enough to prevent the discussion that was about to follow.

Praying for strength, Patrick began.

“Divorce is quite difficult, yes. But it will not be necessary in our case.”

“What do you mean?”

The carriage jolted over an especially deep rut, throwing both of them to the left side. Ella let out a small grunt of alarm but righted herself before Patrick could reach over to help.

“So much for our good English roads,” Patrick joked, but Ella didn't look especially amused. “Ah, where were we?”

“You were in the middle of telling me why we don't need to get a divorce, since you don't want to stay married to me.”

“Right.” His cravat felt a bit too tight, but Patrick resisted the urge to yank at it. “When you return home, I will send out search parties for you. After a time, you will be declared dead. Our marriage will not be an impediment to either of us then.”

She went pale but nodded, pursing her lips. Gads, why did he feel like the biggest bastard north of London?

“So you and I would be through, just like that. I'm guessing, in light of that, you never had any intention of coming home with me?”

“I cannot.” He wished the answer were different, but it wasn't.

“My friend Jamie married the Earl of Dunnington. And he came back with her. He was an earl just like you, right?”

He wasn't sure why, but he was pleased she had not simply agreed to dissolve their ill-advised union. If she had, he'd have wondered if she felt the same for him as he for her. But the determined set to her chin did his heart good, even though there was no hope for them.

“Yes, he was. Though I was abroad when Lord Dunnington disappeared, I do remember the situation. He was thought to have traveled to the Colonies, and had the title passed down to his younger cousin. Good lad he was too, took up his place in the House of Lords and is even now fighting for stricter regulations on those who employ child labor. Many in the
ton
saw it as a graceful exit for the former earl. He had brought scandal upon the earldom, and his departure ensured a better future for his tenants and dependents.”

“So why can't you do the same thing? Give your title to someone else and come with me?”

Though her words had been cutting, her plea was no less heartfelt. He wished things were different, but there was no such easy solution in his case.

“My only relative is Iain, and he is related but distantly through my mother's side. The title cannot go to him. There is no other relative to pass my title to. If I am not Earl of Fairhaven, the title will no longer exist. And I promised my father that I would never shirk my duties. I cannot leave here, Ella. There is no one else.”

“I see.” She looked out the window then, her jaw tight and her brow furrowed. He longed to ease onto the seat beside her, lay her back against his chest, smooth the worry from her brow, and take her lips in a deep kiss.

But he didn't. Instead, he begged, “Stay with me, Ella.”