Passions of a Wicked Earl (24 page)

“Anne, I had not planned for my relationship with Claire to take this turn, but now that it has, I can give you no promises.”

Looking down at her hands, knotted together, she breathed deeply. “When my husband died, I made up my mind that I would love my next husband dearly.” She lifted her face, her gaze filled with entreaty. “You are the one I wanted. Knowing your marriage had never been consummated, that you and your wife were estranged, gave me hope for happiness such as I’ve never had.”

Swiftly, holding her gaze, he moved to kneel before her and brought her hands to his lips. “Anne, you must understand that I am incapable of love.”

“Then you don’t love her either. You can petition Parliament for a divorce. I can be happy without your love; I simply cannot be happy without you.”

“It would not be fair to Claire. I have set my course. I intend to stay with her. You must accept that.”

It pained him to see the tears rolling down her cheeks. Working her hands free of his, she cradled his face. “I shall miss you terribly, but if you believe you will be happy with her”—she brushed her lips, damp and salty with her tears, over his—”then I shall do as you say. I shall accept that you shall never be mine.”

Pulling a handkerchief from her pocket, she blotted her tears and gave him a smile of bravado.

Standing, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Be happy, Anne.”

Straightening, he strode from the room. For the life of him, he couldn’t recall why he’d ever wanted to be in her company.

C
laire had decided there was little she appreciated more than seeing her husband dressed in his evening attire—unless it was seeing him not dressed in anything at all. During the past week, she’d learned he was an incredibly attentive and adventuresome lover. He didn’t limit lovemaking to the bed. No piece of furniture was spared: a couch, a settee, a chair, a desk, a table. Even the bench in the garden if the hour was late enough and they were not likely to be discovered. She was surprised he’d not yet taken her to the park. Perhaps he would when there was no moon to reveal them.

Standing with him in the library, waiting for Beth to join them, she adjusted his cravat.

“How many more of these blasted balls must we attend?” he grumbled.

“As many as Beth wants,” she answered. Tonight’s ball was the Countess of Claybourne’s—at last. Beth’s gown had arrived only that afternoon. “Please don’t pay any gentlemen to dance with her this evening.”

“I shall be too occupied dancing with you to care who is giving attention to her.”

“Well, unfortunately, as her chaperone, I will be paying attention to her.”

“Not if I have my way.” There was a wicked glint in his eye that caused her breath to catch.

“You’re not thinking of doing something naughty while we’re there.”

“I wasn’t until you put the thought in my head.”

“We’re going to behave.”

“We’ll see.”

“I’m ready,” Beth announced, and Claire spun around, hoping her cheeks were not as flushed with desire as she feared.

Beth twirled, showing off her pale blue gown, edged with dark velvet. “What do you think?”

Before Claire could respond, Willoughby strode quietly into the room carrying a silver salver with an envelope resting on it. “I’m sorry, my lord, but a missive has arrived. I was told it is quite urgent.”

Claire watched with dread as her husband opened it, read it, and quickly tucked it into his jacket.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice calm, absent of emotion. “You’ll have to attend the ball without me.”

“Whatever’s wrong?”

“Nothing to worry over. Simply a situation with which I must deal.” He put his hands on her arms, drew her in, and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll join you at the ball as soon as I’m able. Save me a dance.”

Before she could question him further, he was striding from the room.

“That’s a bit of a bother,” Beth said. “I wonder what was so urgent.”

Claire shook her head, wondering if a time would ever come when her husband trusted her completely, shared everything with her.

Claire would have been impressed with the Claybourne ball—if she hadn’t been preoccupied with thoughts of Westcliffe. She didn’t want to admit to herself that she feared he’d gone to the rescue of Lady Anne Cavill.

Jealousy was not an emotion she relished, but worrying that something was amiss with him was worse. She’d not wanted to come to the ball. She’d wanted simply to wait for his return, but Beth had told her she could pace at the Claybournes’ as easily as she could pace at home.

Only she wasn’t pacing. She was talking with people, trying to give the impression that she cared about the weather or which gentleman had taken an interest in which lady. While Beth’s dance card had not filled up as quickly as before, she did not want for partners. Claire had even been asked to dance, but she’d politely refused both gentlemen. It wasn’t because she feared Westcliffe would get jealous or angry—although he might very well do both. It was simply that she had no wish to dance with anyone other than him.

“Claire?”

She recognized the soft voice so the informality didn’t surprise her. Turning, she smiled. “Lord and Lady Lynnford. How good it is to see you.”

They’d often been visiting when she visited Ainsley’s estate with her father. She’d always considered Lynnford to be one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. Even as a child she’d recognized that he’d been blessed with perfect features. His hair was the color of wheat, his eyes the blue of the sky that overlooked the grain. It always surprised her that his wife was so unimpressive in comparison, so much shorter than he, with a roundness that reflected the five children she’d given him. But she knew no one who was kinder.

“We heard you were in London,” Lady Lynnford said as she took Claire’s hand, pulling her down gently as she reached up to kiss her cheek. “You look well.”

“I am, thank you. I didn’t see you at the first ball.”

“We were taking the waters in the south of France.”

“Is all well?”

“Oh, yes.” She laughed with a hint of self-mocking. “We’re simply growing older and more weary.”

“To me you always look the same.” Although she didn’t, now that Claire studied her a little more closely. It did seem she’d aged, and not favorably. Whereas Lynnford did appear unchanged.

“Is Westcliffe about?” he asked.

“No, he had a matter to which he needed to attend.”

“I see.” She heard the disapproval in his voice.

“It was very urgent,” she assured him.

“I’m certain it was.”

And she suspected he thought her husband was with another woman. “Things are very good with our marriage.”

He seemed surprised, and she realized she’d accurately judged what he was thinking about Westcliffe. “Are they?”

“Yes, we’ve made amends.”

“I’m very glad to hear that.”

She didn’t know where to take the conversation, so she said, “My sister, Beth, is in London for the Season.”

“Is she?” Lady Lynnford asked with true delight. “A pity our sons have no interest in marriage at the moment.”

She tried to remember their ages. She thought they were younger than Stephen. “Ainsley feels the same,” she said.

“And what of Stephen? Do you hear from him?” Lynnford asked.

“No. His regiment must be keeping him very busy.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“Well, my dear,” Lady Lynnford said, squeezing her hand. “We must go speak with others. Do not be a stranger.”

“I won’t.”

Watching them walk away, she wondered if Lynnford had always been so disapproving of Westcliffe. She wouldn’t let his doubts about her husband weigh on her. She would know if he’d been with Lady Anne. She’d know—

“He trusted you to come alone?”

Spinning around, to her immense surprise, she found herself facing Lady Anne Cavill. She was stunningly gorgeous. There were no other words to describe her. And she smelled strongly of lilac. Claire forced herself to smile politely. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”

“But I know who you are, and I suspect you know who I am.” She glanced around. “I’ve not seen Westcliffe here.”

“I’m not surprised. As he’s not here, which I assume you knew since you mentioned my coming alone.”

Lady Anne smiled, but there was nothing generous or kind in it. “You have not won him, my dear.”

Claire’s stomach knotted up so tightly that she almost doubled over.

“You may have him for the Season,” Lady Anne continued, “but I shall have him for always.”

“No,” Claire said coolly. “I will not give him up, not to you, not to anyone. There will be no divorce.”

“Is that what he told you?” She looked at Claire as though she were a silly child, as though she’d not changed or grown at all since her wedding night. “A man will always change his mind given the right incentive.”

“He won’t. And neither will I.”

“For your sake, I hope you’re right. I don’t know if you could survive another scandal.”

“Do not make the mistake of underestimating me. I will fight to keep him.”

She arched a brow. “It seems you’re not quite the gullible girl he said you were.”

“You, however, seem to be quite the whore he said you were.”

Claire saw her hand come up and was raising her own to block the strike when she heard, “Lady Anne, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Ainsley.” She spun around, smiled becomingly, and allowed him to kiss her cheek. “I was just talking with your sister by marriage.”

“Really? How fortunate for her. I, however, am in want of a dance. Tell me the next waltz has been reserved for me.”

“Of course, dear man.”

As he led Lady Anne away, Ainsley winked at Claire. She tried to draw comfort from it, but she was trembling from head to toe. She hated knowing that Westcliffe had spoken about her with that woman. What had he seen in her beyond the beauty?

Beth was suddenly at her side, with Lord Greenwood standing nearby. “Was that Lady Anne Cavill speaking with you? Everyone is talking about the ball she’ll be hosting at the end of the month. We’ve yet to receive an invitation. Is that why she was here? To invite us?”

“I do not think we’ll be invited, and even if we are, we’ll not be going.”

“Why not? I want so desperately—”

“You can’t have everything you want, Beth,” she snapped. “I
want
my husband to be here. I want my marriage to be more than it is. I want—”

She pressed her hand to her forehead. “Let’s get our wraps. It’s time to leave.”

“But there are more dances. I won’t be happy if we leave.”

“And I won’t be happy if we stay. Tonight, my happiness comes before yours.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You have no idea all I’ve done to ensure you have this Season. Do not speak to me of fairness when all I ask is that for one night we do what I want instead of what you want. I don’t want either of us to make a scene here. You will come with me now, or I shall send our regrets to the hostess of the next ball.”

Beth set her face in a mulish expression. “But what if Westcliffe comes here looking for you? He said to save him a dance.”

Oh, he had, blast him. If she wasn’t here, Lady Anne would certainly dance with him. But she couldn’t expect Westcliffe to trust her if she didn’t him.

“I’ll explain to our hostess to tell him we had to leave early.”

“You really do want to leave badly, don’t you?” Beth asked.

“I truly do.”

Her sister nodded. “Very well then.”

W
estcliffe was not in residence when they returned. Claire prepared for bed, then went to his bedchamber, climbed into his bed, and began reading
The Last of the Mohicans.
It made her feel closer to him. While there was much he didn’t share with her, at least he’d shared his favorite author.

It was a little past midnight when the door opened. She glanced over, and her breath caught. Her husband wore no jacket. His waistcoat was unbuttoned and his cravat missing. He was disheveled, his clothes torn and covered in dirt and blood. Black smudges marred his face. His right hand was wrapped in a filthy cloth.

“Oh, my God.” She scrambled out of bed and rushed over to him. “What happened?”

“What are you doing here? Why are you awake?”

“I was worried about you.” He seemed distracted as she led him over to a chair and forced him to sit. She cradled his face. “Westcliffe, what happened?”

“There was a railway accident. I don’t know what happened. The train went off the track. It was … awful.”

“Why did they send for you?”

“I’m one of the investors. It was my railway. Nine died, Claire. At least forty were injured.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have gone with you.”

“I didn’t want you to worry. There was the ball.” He shook his head. “You didn’t need to see this.”

“You didn’t need to go alone.” She touched his hair, his face. She could see the effect the night had on him in the strain in his face, the weariness in his eyes. Gingerly, she lifted his injured hand, realizing he’d wrapped his neckcloth around it. “What happened here?”

“I tore it, lifting metal. A man was trapped beneath what remained of a car. We got him out, but there was so much blood. I don’t know if he’ll be all right. His wife was crying, just standing there crying. Her dress was torn. I gave her my jacket.”

He was rambling. He never rambled. It frightened her to see him like this. Leaning up, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’m going to have the servants prepare you a warm bath.”

“It’s too late.”

“No, you’re trembling. I think a bath will help.”

He nodded. “All right then.”

“Just wait here until I have everything ready.”

Claire had been right. He needed this. His aching, bruised body soaking in the steaming water. The tumbler of whiskey that she’d filled three times already. Her hands slowly, methodically washing the grime from his body.

He knew the horrific scenes would haunt him for as long as he lived. He couldn’t imagine that a battlefield could look much worse. When it was all over, when there was nothing left for him to do, when he could finally leave, the only place he’d wanted to be was here—with her.