The Earl's Passionate Plot (12 page)

He'd hunt down his cousin for an update.

It wasn't much of a hunt, really. He found Ned helping arrange flowers in baskets dotting the large room the family had designated for their ballroom tonight. Miss Renford was cooing over the sagging bouquet Ned had put together and the small group of musicians at the far end of the room
were talking amongst themselves and idly tuning their instruments. Miss Renford was the first to notice Dovington's arrival and she jumped when he made his way to them.

"Good evening, Miss Renford, Ned," he said with a polite bow.

"So you did turn up again!" Ned chided with a grin. "We were beginning to think you'd abandoned us."

"I promised Miss Renford I'd return for her ball, and here I am. I apologize for missing dinner, but I was delayed."

"I can have the kitchen put together a tray for you, sir," Miss Renford said in her delicate little voice.

"No, I ate on the road, but thank you. I would not wish to trouble anyone just now. I see all is in readiness for tonight's event."

"Doesn't the room look lovely? I don't even remember the last time we hosted anything here," Miss Renford said, beaming at the glowing lamps and the careful decorations. "It took six men to carry the carpet when they rolled it up yesterday."

"It is a most excellent room and I'm sure the grand Renford ball will be hailed as a riotous success," the earl replied. "But I wonder if you can spare my cousin just now, Miss Renford? I should very much like a wor
d with him, please."

"Of course, sir," she said, curtsying and giving both of them a weak little smile. "I'll see if my mother requires anything else."

She scurried away and Dovington watched after her. "Like a scared rabbit, that one is."

"You do tend to be a bit overwhelming, cousin."

"So they tell me."

"But what do you wish to say to me?" Ned asked. "Perhaps we should retire to somewhere a bit more private."

"Indeed."

Clearly Ned knew exactly what the topic for their discussion should be. Good. That meant he was prepared.
Things had gone just as planned and Ned had done everything needed to see that Miss Vandenhoff would accept his proposal. Dovington could be done with this place—and the whole Renford family—by morning.

The
y left the ballroom and Dovington led the way to the study. It was unoccupied and he took the light from the corridor to find his way lighting the lamp at the desk. The heavy drapes were drawn, keeping out whatever rays of sunset might still be trying to filter in, and the lamp cast dancing shadows around the room. They made the expression on Ned's face unreadable as Dovington poured his cousin a drink.

"You have been often in company with Miss Vandenhoff while I've been absent?" he asked.

"Yes," Ned replied. "The younger set has done much to pass the time enjoyably."

"And you have found the time enjoyable? And the company?"

"Er, yes, actually. I've been quite happy with my stay here at Renford Hall."

He didn't bother to correct the misnomer. What did he care what Ned called the place? The important thing was that
this house and its lands were productive and Dovington could use all of it to satisfy his father's debt.

"I am happy to hear it. Shall I assume you've had opportunity to speak with Mr. Vandenhoff, then?"

Ned became decidedly uncomfortable. "Well... you see, that's been a bit of a problem. I haven't quite gotten around to that."

It figured. Dovington couldn't be angry about it, though. Ned was young, and speaking to a young lady's father might be quite a daunting task. It was understandable that Ned had preferred to wait until his cousin returned.

"No matter. I'll speak to him for you and get everything settled."

"No! I mean... I hope you will let me deal with this in my own way."

"Your own way? You have some special plan in your mind?"

"Yes, actually, I do. I just... this is a delicate matter, as you can understand. Please let me handle things tonight."

"Very well. Since you are convinced all is going positively, I suppose you can be trusted to work things out for yourself."

"Thank you, cousin. I hope I don't disappoint."

"I'm sure that you won't. You've proved to be one of the few bright spots in the Chadburne line, so I look forward to letting you lead."

That notion seemed to make Ned just a bit nauseous, so Dovington clapped him on the back. Ned choked on his drink.

"There, there, lad. It's only matrimony, after all. You'll do fine, and I wish you much happiness."

"Do you, cousin? Do you truly?"

"Of course I do."

The words came
almost too easily, but Dovington realized he honestly meant them. Whatever true happiness was, he did wish it for Ned. It was about time someone in the Chadburne line found it for himself.

"Then... perhaps I ought to go see to a few things before all the guests are arrived."

Dovington nodded. "Yes, you go do that. You can report to me later."

"Yes. Later. Right."

Poor Ned. Already his nerves were a mess, Dovington could tell. The younger man downed that last of his drink in one wincing gulp, and his hand noticeably shook as he deposited his glass on the tray. But he got up from his chair, adjusted his coat, and headed off to the war. At least, that's what his expression said as he marched out of the study.

Dovington shook his head, but smiled. Ned was a good lad and he was proud of him
, standing up and taking the reins on his own. Mr. Vandenhoff would be impressed. Tomorrow morning Dovington would confer with them and they'd put some things in writing. The betrothal would be official and Vandenhoff money could begin flowing his way. Everything was made even sweeter by the knowledge that Ned might actually be content with his bride.

As Mr. Skrewd, no doubt, would be with his. Everything was working out into a nice, tidy package, wasn't it? He ought to be quite pleased with himself. Instead he felt cold and empty inside. He knew what to do, though. He'd seen his father fill that void hundreds of times.

He topped-off his glass and decided to get staggering drunk.

Everything was going remarkably well. Mariah glanced around the gaily lit room and smiled at the fruits of her efforts. Mamma was smiling and showing the carefully placed flower arrangements to Mrs.
Wakefield, while Mr. and Mrs. Benson were making the acquaintance of the Vandenhoff's. The two young Smith sisters were making eyes at the Martin brothers across the room, while Mr. Chadburne and Mr. Skrewd were making themselves comfortable at the punch bowl. The musicians played lightly, preparing for the first dance that would be gathering soon. Their first Renford ball would be in full bloom and Ella appeared to be nearly floating as she grinned up at her sister.

"Isn't it heavenly?"

"It's beautiful," Mariah agreed. "Thank you for your help with it. I think we can all count on a most pleasant evening tonight."

"I hope so! It's so very important that all will be well."

"Don't worry, I'm sure that it will be. I'm only sorry, for your sake, that the earl did not return in time to make an appearance."

"Oh, he's arrived back some time ago," Ella said, then wrinkled her brow. "I can't imagine why we haven't seen him here yet. He must still be refreshing himself after his travel."

"He's here? In this house?"

"Yes. I saw him an hour ago. He assured me he'd be in attendance."

So the blackguard returned and had promised her sister—again—that he'd attend and still he was not here? The nerve of him! She'd have to find him immediately and tell him just what she thought of such behavior. How dare he disappoint Ella this way.

"If he is here, then I should go find him."

"Find him? Why?" Ella asked.

"To box his ears, of course. He promised he'd be here and I won't have him letting you down."

"Letting me down? I'm fine, Mariah, truly. It makes no real difference to me if he attends."

"Don't be silly. You wanted an earl at your first ball, and by heaven you shall have one. Keep an eye on things and I'm going to hunt the man down. Take extra care to make sure Miss Vandenhoff enjoys her time here tonight, will you?"

Ella frowned and glanced around the room. "Very well but... I'm not certain where she is just now."

"She's here somewhere, I talked to her a few moments ago. I'm sure she'll turn up as soon as the dancing begins."

"I hope so," Ella sighed.

"She will. This ball is truly about her, as you well know."

Ella didn't seem especially pleased to be reminded of that. "Yes, yes. I know."

"But of course it is yours, as well. Enjoy yourself, Ella. I shall be right back."

Ella nodded and Mariah left her there to go and locate the absentee earl. When she found him, he would certainly hear about his behavior. Such rudeness!

She asked a footman in the corridor if he knew where the earl was and he seemed to think he'd seen him in the direction of the study. That made sense. Step-Papa had kept his spirits there, so of course that's where she might find the earl. She drew back her shoulders and headed up the corridor toward the back of the house.

Light was spilling out from the doorway as she approached, so she knew she had found him. He was, indeed, in the study. He wasn't at the desk, though, or sitting in one of the comfortable leather chairs. It took her eyes a moment to find him, the dim lamplight making eerie shapes against the walls.

He was sitting the window. It was open and a chilly breeze blew in, adding to the flickering effect from the lamps. She could not make out his expression, but she could feel his eyes on her as she stepped in through the doorway. She wasn't sure what she'd expected him to be doing here, but sitting amongst half a dozen empty decanters seemed to be a bit excessive, even for him.

Now she could see him smile, his teeth showing as if in a snarl. One decanter still held liquid, but he was rapidly altering that. The breeze slightly redirected the stream as the contents were poured out the window, little droplets splashing here and there as they went down into the shrubbery below.

"What are you doing?
That's my step-father's best whiskey!" she exclaimed.

"Not anymore."

"And the brandy, and the Madeira... you've dumped it all out the
window
?"

"Not all of it," he replied. "I started out drinking it, then realized what vile, ruinous stuff it is.
After that I've been dumping it out the window."

"But... that's insane."

"No, wasting a life wallowing in this swill the way my father did was insane. You've surely no great love for it, Miss Langley. Or do you creep down here unseen and sample the stock?"

"Of course not. I just can't imagine... you've truly emptied all of those out the window?"

"Would you prefer I poured them onto the carpets?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I was here to chastise you for ignoring our ball, but now I'm not sure that I want you there. You likely smell of alcohol and will very possibly fall over should you try to stand up and dance."

"I'm not drunk, my dear. And I'm flattered that you should wish to dance with me."

"I never said that!" she declared. "
I've no inclination at all to dance with you, my lord."

"No, I suppose not. You'll be too busy with your curate, at any rate."

"Are you back on that topic? I should have thought after three days you'd forget all about it."

He dropped the decanter onto the sill with the others and rose up swiftly, standing tall and steady and making her wish she had not come quite this close to him. Although, truth be told, as her gaze took in his full form and she struggled again to meet his dark, probing eyes, a big part of her wished to move even closer. Much too close, in fact.

He'd removed his coat so she'd found him in his shirtsleeves. They were rumpled and rolled, showing the strong tendons of his arms and proving that he'd not relied on padding to make his shoulders appear so broad and so masterful. She seemed very small, indeed, standing next to him, though by all accounts she was not a petite female. Perhaps it was the way he was glaring at her, or perhaps it was the persistent memory of how she'd felt in his arms that day on the ridge... she had no way to say, but the feeling of vulnerability only grew as he took another step nearer.

"I've forgotten nothing, Miss Langley.
I wonder if you have?"

She took a step away, but he followed, looming over her. "I... I think we should go down to the ball, sir. People are expecting you."

"No one cares whether I am there or not.
You're
the one who came looking for me, Miss Langley."

"Because you promised my sister. Surely your cousin wishes you to be there for his happy announcement."

He growled at her. "That damned announcement. Yes, after tonight everyone will be so very happy, won't they? What of you and your curate? Do you expect some sort of announcement?"

"Can you not stop teasing me with that? What is this fascination you have for Mr. Skrewd, anyway?"

"Mine? I have none, believe me. It is yours that I'm questioning."

"Well, you should stop. I've heard enough about Mr. Skrewd from you, sir. You've no reason to talk that way about him."

"Then how should I talk about him?" he asked, still moving toward her so that she was forced to take another step back. "Should I mention that when he marries you he'll be taking a woman who so easily throws herself into the arms of other men when he's not looking?"

Drat, but she was up against the desk now; she could back away no further. Still the earl moved toward her, his eyes fixed on hers with that familiar fire burning behind them. She tried desperately to quench the answering heat that rose up inside her.

"I do not throw myself. That was not throwing."

"Well it certainly wasn't crying out in demure resistance
," he said.

"Whatever it was, it's ungentlemanly of you to bring it up," she snapped. "Now if you truly aren't jug-bit to the point of falling over, perhaps you will put yourself together and come down to the ball."

"Because you wish to dance with me?"

"No! Because you promised my sister
you'd be there."

"And what have you promised your curate?"

He wasn't letting up. He was inching ever closer, nearly touching her now and there was nowhere for her to go. Why must he do this to her? What satisfaction could he possibly get from tormenting her this way, waving her own failings in her face and reminding her that no decent man could ever truly want her? She wished he really was drunk so at least she could blame the spirits for his actions, but she could not.

"Why do you persist in this?" she asked, her voice coming out tight and unsure. "Things have been going so well here while you were gone. I had thought... I hoped when you returned we could at least be friends, you and I."

"Friends? You want to be friends with me, Miss Langley?"

He glared at her, his eyes searching hers and boring through the calm, unfeeling facade she was desperate to maintain.
His gaze held her long after she gave him a feeble nod of agreement.

"Yes
, sir. I want to be friends."

He lurched out and grasped her shoulders, forcing her to stare up at him. She dared not even blink.

"No, Miss Langley. I'm afraid I can't do that. We can never be friends."

She wished she wasn't so saddened to hear those words. But then she wished she wasn't quite so thrilled when he pulled her tightly against himself and leaned in to kiss her again. Oh heavens, but it was even more delightful a second time! Now she knew what to do, and her body responded in an instant.

Without the bulk of his coat, the warmth coming off of him soaked into her skin right away. When she wrapped her arms around him she could feel the contours of his solid form, the muscles and sinews that gave him that remarkable, manly shape. If he felt this much better to her fingertips with just one layer of linen shirt, how wonderful he would feel with nothing between them!

Her body burned at the thought of it and she pressed herself closer against him. His lips covered hers, nibbled her, and drew such sensation that she sighed involuntarily. He replied with a growl, the sound of a beast
claiming its prize, intending never to give it up.

But he would give her up. He'd made that clear from the start, hadn't he? This was nothing more than entertainment from him. She had to remember that, no matter how
earth shattering it was for her.

His earth would not shatter. She could kiss him
over and over and he wouldn't care. Not only was he opposed to the notion of a commitment, he'd announced they couldn't even be friends. She was kissing him as if he provided her life itself, yet she knew he wouldn't hesitate to walk away and watch part of her die.

How could she allow herself to be tormented this way?
She couldn't. She deserved more than fleeting pleasure and long lasting pain. The earl had dragged her heart to the edge and she had to defend herself before she tumbled over. Forever.

She pushed him away.

"No! Stop this; we cannot, my lord."

He did not quite release her. "I assure you, my dear, we most certainly can."

"Well,
I
cannot. Take your hands off me. Now."

He did, complimenting the action with one blessed step away from her. At last, she could breathe and her head
was finally clearing. She had to get away from him before his magic began to work on her all over again. She'd be lost at that point.

"I... I have to go."

He didn't stop her. She slid away from him then practically dashed out the door. Her heart pounded in her chest and her cheeks felt as if they would burst into flame. She couldn't go back to the ball, not now when everyone might see how distraught she must be.

She knew where to go. She knew what might possibly help soothe the ruin she felt, the ache of a heart she could no longer protect. It was too late for that, she realized now. There was nothing
anyone could do to save a heart that was already broken.