Her Errant Earl (8 page)

Good Christ. He was getting maudlin. He dropped his wife’s
hands, determined to resume their walk without further sentimentality. He ought
to have known better than to have brought up her family, by God. What was the
matter with him? Had making love to her addled his mind? Very likely, for his
cock was raging just standing at her side.

He’d thought his mad desire for her would dissipate, but it
was growing worse.

What to do? Right, he’d been attempting to show her the
river before he’d gone hopelessly afield. He offered her his arm once more.
“Shall we continue on in our walk, my dear? Have you seen the river here yet?
It’s something to behold.”

He recalled splashing about in it as a boy on the occasions
his family had taken up residence at Carrington House. They had come often
until that awful last visit. His mother had lost a babe, another brother, and
had succumbed not long thereafter to childbed fever. While no one had been
certain whether the father of the stillborn had been the duke or the duchess’s
lover of the moment, the babe’s death had confirmed Pembroke as the sole heir.

Thereafter, the duke had sent him away to school. Carrington
House had been closed until he took possession of it as an adult. And now, he
was here, his unwanted-turned-wanted American wife at his side. Perhaps he’d
overlooked precisely how comforting it could be to know that another soul was
his mate for life. He found he rather enjoyed marriage after all.

“Are you well, William?” His wife’s concerned voice cut through
his troubled musings. “Your face is suddenly bereft of color.”

He realized he’d been gripping her arm with too much force,
and that he’d nearly led them into the river itself, so lost had he become in
his tumultuous thoughts. He took a deep, steadying breath, gazing down into his
wife’s sweet, heart-shaped face. She was ineffably lovely, her golden hair
artfully piled beneath a jaunty hat, her lips wide and lush, her eyes greener
than the grass at his feet. His cock surged against his breeches. What the hell
did she do to him?

“I’m not certain if I am well,” he startled himself by
revealing. Apparently, she had turned him into a milksop.

“What is it?” She slid a bracing arm around him, leaning
into his side as if he could somehow soak up some of her strength.

He didn’t know how she could be so open and kind to him
after the beastly way he’d treated her. Even now, he lied to her still, while
she remained unwavering in her belief there was good in him after all. There
wasn’t good in him. If there was, he would have told her the truth right then
and let her choose to leave him as she ought.

Instead, he was too selfish to let her go. He put an arm
round her cinched waist, holding her to him as if he could forever keep her
there, although he knew he hadn’t the right. “The river is beautiful, isn’t
it?”

Wide yet shallow, the river cut through the eastern corner
of the Carrington House lands. It was one of the rare treasures of the
property, a place one needed to know existed in order to seek it out. As a lad,
he’d come here often, never imagining one day he’d stand here with his wife.

“It’s lovely,” Victoria agreed. “But you haven’t answered my
question.”

She was a persistent little woman, that much was certain. He
sighed, wondering how much he should divulge. No one had ever cared enough to
ask him about his past. “Carrington House is where my mother died,” he shared.
“She’d lost another babe, her fourth or fifth, I think. It was too much the
last time. She took fever and died.”

“I’m sorry, William.” She turned to him then, taking him
into her arms.

He held her tightly, burying his face in the soft, sweetly
scented skin of her neck. Her embrace touched a part of him he hadn’t known
existed, filling his chest with warmth and something indefinably odd. He felt
deeply connected to her in that moment, in a way he’d never known with another
person, and it scared the hell out of him. But damn if he didn’t savor it just
the same.

“Does it hurt you to be here?” she asked quietly.

“No.” He pressed a kiss to her throat. “Not with you, my
dear. You’ve transformed everything, it seems.” He paused, lifting his head to
look down upon her. Their gazes clashed, hers filled with sincerity and caring.
He tamped down the twinge of conscience that told him to confess everything to her
then and there. “Even me.”

She reached up, cupping his cheek with her small hand, a
smile brightening her face and rendering her even more beautiful. “Thank you
for confiding in me. I hope I can help you to build new memories here.”

“A lifetime of them,” he promised her before taking her
mouth in a possessive kiss. He wasn’t about to let anything destroy the
delicate relationship they’d built in the last fortnight. She meant too much to
him to ever let her go now.

* * * * *

Pembroke escorted his wife into the drawing room a few hours
later, the enchantment of their morning effectively dashed by the woman perched
on the edge of a striped silk divan. Devil take it, why did fortune’s wheel
always give him such a rotten turn? He swore he had the worst luck in the
history of misfortune.

They had returned from their heavenly ride to the sight of a
foreign carriage in the drive and news that they had an unexpected and most
unwanted guest. Lady Jane Strathmore, a lonely widow of the accommodating
variety, had arrived. He knew of the woman, had danced and flirted with her on
numerous occasions in London, but he hadn’t the slightest inkling as to what
she’d be doing in his blasted drawing room. The knot of dread in his stomach
told him it couldn’t be good.

“Lady Strathmore,” he greeted, keeping his tone polite
rather than welcoming. “I must say I’m rather shocked to see you.”

She stood and dropped into an effortless curtsy. She was a
beautiful woman and she knew it, having shared her charms with half the
ton
.
“You did extend an invitation to me when last we saw one another in London.”

Was it merely his imagining, or did the suggestive quality
of her tone imply their last meeting had been an intimate one instead of an
innocent one? A quick glance at Victoria confirmed his suspicion. His wife had
stiffened, the color draining from her lovely pink cheeks. Damn it to hell.

He cleared his throat. It was down to some quick thinking on
his part, he supposed. He didn’t want Lady Strathmore here, but they couldn’t
very well turn her out on her well-bustled rear. Could they? It was tempting
indeed.

“Yes, I suppose I may have,” he acknowledged, moving to
stand with Victoria in a show of solidarity for his wife’s sake. “We are
grateful you took me at my word and have decided to enjoy our hospitality here
at Carrington House. The countess has done wonders with this old place, haven’t
you, my dear?”

Victoria appeared to gather her wits together. She
straightened. “Thank you for the compliment, my lord. Lady Strathmore, I will
be happy to have a chamber prepared for you. Do forgive me for not having one
readied prior to your arrival. I confess I hadn’t anticipated any guests as the
Season is still going strong this time of year.”

Her barb was subtle but hit its mark well. Lady Strathmore’s
eyes narrowed into feline slits, and she tipped up her chin. “I am most
indebted to you, Lady Pembroke.” Although the words were innocuous enough, the
tone of her voice was as frozen as Wenham Lake ice.

This wasn’t going to be pretty, deuce it. The two women were
eying one another as if about to declare pistols at dawn. And he was in the
midst of the bloody fray. He met Victoria’s gaze, trying to convey his sincere
contrition. She looked away and glided to the bell pull, calling once more for
the butler. How the devil was he going to explain this?

He glanced back at Lady Strathmore and she gave him a
meaningful smile. “I daresay it is lovely to be in the countryside this time of
year. I cannot wait to enjoy the fresh air.”

He had a feeling it wasn’t fresh air she wanted to enjoy.
Not going to be pretty indeed.

* * * * *

Victoria was not at all pleased about the appearance of Lady
Strathmore. After seeing that rooms were prepared for the unwelcome guest, she
had retired to her chamber, ostensibly to change from her riding clothes. But
she’d also been quite taken aback by the abrupt insertion of Pembroke’s past
into the present they’d been carefully creating together. She didn’t like it,
not one bit.

“Keats,” she murmured as her maid put the finishing touches on
her toilette, “do you know anything of Lady Strathmore?”

“Only that she has a certain reputation, my lady,” Keats
answered, serving to put Victoria more on edge than she’d been.

Had the woman been one of Pembroke’s lovers? The thought
made her ill. Lady Strathmore was incredibly lovely, the sort of woman who
likely had her choice of any man she wanted. She’d said Pembroke had extended
an invitation to her, and she’d made certain to suggest their relationship was
of an intimate nature. Victoria hadn’t missed the way Lady Strathmore had eyed
up her husband, as if she was imagining him divested of his clothes. It had not
failed to infuriate her.

Victoria didn’t know what to believe. She had never felt
closer to him than on their ride that morning, only to return and have their
tentative steps forward immediately reversed. She was keenly aware that
Pembroke still could not be trusted. They had only spent a fortnight together,
after all, even if it had been the best fortnight of her life.

“Thank you, Keats,” she said at length, studying her
reflection. Keats was a dab hand at fashioning her unruly curls into
extraordinary styles. Rubies glittered from her ears, complemented by the
red-and-cream stripes of her gown. She didn’t possess the remarkable loveliness
of Lady Strathmore, but she looked passably pretty. She supposed it was the
best she could manage. “Would you mind keeping your ears open in regard to her
ladyship?”

“Of course, Lady Pembroke,” Keats was quick to assure her
with a grin. “Her maid talks more than I do.”

“Very good.” She rose, feeling a stab of insecurity. She
decided that she would seek out Pembroke at once. The uncertainty was too much
for her to bear.

After dismissing her maid, she beat a hasty path to
Pembroke’s study. She didn’t bother to knock to warn him of her arrival, simply
breezed in the door. Let him be caught unawares for a change, she thought.

Cluttered and brimming with dark, outmoded furniture, his
study was one of few areas in Carrington House she had overlooked in her
campaign of improvement with the pin money her father sent her. The omission
had been deliberate. She couldn’t help but notice that the atmosphere was a
trifle gloomy as she crossed the chamber.

He stood from behind his massive escritoire at her entrance,
wearing a pained expression. From the look of things, he’d been in the midst of
penning a letter, perhaps a return missive to the duke. She was acutely aware
she was invading his territory and that he cut a very imposing, handsome
figure.

“This is a welcome surprise. You are lovely as ever, my
dear,” he murmured, a slow smile stretching his sensual mouth.

A sudden attack of uncertainty walloped her as she met his
intense gaze. There were so many questions she wanted to ask of him. Where to
begin?

Best to start with the simple, she reasoned. “I need to
speak with you, Pembroke.”

He inclined his head, unusually formal. “Just so, but before
you begin, I fear I owe you an apology.”

She stopped halfway across the chamber. Had she heard him
correctly? She wasn’t accustomed to contrition from Pembroke. Of course he owed
her an apology. He owed her heaps of them, in fact. But it shocked her that he
had conscience enough to realize.

“You’re looking at me as if I’ve just announced I’m planning
a trip to the bottom of the sea. Surely I’ve not been that much of a cad?”

She chose to maintain her silence. He
had
been a cad
for the majority of the time she’d known him. There was no point in lying for
the sake of his ego.

He slammed a closed fist onto his desk. “Devil take it. Why
won’t you say something?”

Victoria blurted out the question that had been gnawing at
her. “Has she ever been your paramour?”

“Christ no.” He skirted the edge of his desk, stalking
toward her. “I scarcely know the woman.”

“Yet you invited her to your home,” she pressed.

“I may have.” He stopped within an arm’s reach of her. “I
don’t recall.”

Far from assuaging her concerns, his response only
heightened them. “You have so many conversations with ladies that you don’t
remember what you’ve said to whom?” The emphasis she placed on “ladies” made it
clear she didn’t consider them to be such.

“You have a knack for making me feel like a bloody worm.” He
winced. “I suppose I deserve your scorn.”

“You do,” she agreed. “I don’t like her.”

“She’s a saucy bit of baggage, isn’t she?” He ran a hand
through his dark hair. “I don’t want her here as much as you don’t, my dear.
I’ll find a way to remove her as soon as politely possible.”

“Do you think we can manage it before dinner?”

He laughed, the sound deep and pleasant. When he smiled, he
was at his most captivating. Victoria took an instinctive step in retreat,
putting a safer distance between them. It wouldn’t do for him to woo her again.
She was suspicious of him and Lady Strathmore both.

“We shall give her a day or two to recover from her
travels,” he said at last.

A day or two? She had an endless amount of misgivings about
Lady Strathmore staying at Carrington House for even another ten minutes. Dread
curled through her as if it were a snake. First she was to play hostess to the
odious Lady Strathmore and then the duke as well? “Is kindness necessary? The
woman has foisted herself upon us, whether or not you invited her. I had no
warning.”