The Diabolical Baron
Page 25
Never too quick on the uptake, it took a moment for George to realize that he had won their wager. His eyes brightened and he said with reverence, “You mean they are mine? The finest team of horses in England?”
“The second finest,” Jason corrected. “A team of matched blacks I have bred and trained are now ready to take their place in society. Shall we return to our guests, my dear?”
* * * *
Richard steered Caroline to a window seat in the far corner of the armor room. The flood of moonlight was bright enough to read by, but bleached the scene to an unearthly coolness.
“Will you not even look at me, Caro?” He took her chin in his hand and gently turned her face toward him. The huge blue eyes were filled with tears she was trying to suppress.
“How many other lies have you told me, my lord?” Her voice was a nearly inaudible whisper.
“None, not now, not in the past, and never in the future. And will you please stop calling me ‘my lord’?”
“But that is what you are. An earl. One of the great men of England, with an ancient title and properties across the whole country. ‘A small estate on the south coast/ indeed!”
He ran his fingers through his thick brown hair with a sigh of exhaustion, then stood and rested one hand on the window frame as he looked at the silver-gilt fields. The swordfight and the emotions released by it had driven him to the very limit of his physical and mental resources, and the lines of his body spoke of defeat rather than victory. Great patches of sweat caused the white shirt to cling to his body, the breadth of his shoulders emphasizing his lean hips and waist. She had never seen him look so powerful, or so vulnerable.
He said in a quiet voice, “Learning I was heir to an earldom was as much a surprise to me two months ago as it was to you tonight. I wanted none of it. I was twenty years old when I first became responsible for other men’s lives. Younger than you are now. For seven years I carried that responsibility, sending them out and knowing many would die of my decisions. Seven long years. And half the men I commanded are dead now, slaughtered in a Belgian field. I know it was not my fault—we were doing our jobs, and we did them well. But after that, I had had enough of responsibility.”
He turned his head to face her, his hazel eyes a dark shadowed gray. “When I came here, it was because I had no will for any other action. Then I saw you, and knew what it was to live again. You have such a rare talent of joy and beauty. I wanted to give you whatever would make you happiest. The moon and stars were beyond me, but I thought to find a place where you could be free to create. That is all I ever wished for you—to love me, and to make music.”
He looked away again, unable to meet her eyes. “I never wanted Wargrave. It will take years of hard work to make it profitable again. Years of riding around England, learning about agriculture and law, settling disputes, caring for those in my charge. I know I can do it, and that I must.
“But the quiet life I longed to have with you is impossible now. The life of peace and love and music— you can never have it with me. A countess also has responsibilities that cannot be shirked. Even if you can forgive me my inheritance, you would be losing so much—the peace and privacy you crave, the time to create, to record the melodies of your imagination.”
He faced her once more, his deep voice bleak with longing. “And the worst of being an earl is that it will obscure that I am a man. Radford, Jessica, my cousin— they all look at me with different eyes now. I can bear it from others, but not from you. Can you not remember that I am Richard? And that I love you?”
She felt a tightness in her chest almost beyond bearing. Praying that this time she would find the right words, she stood and went to him.
Placing her palms flat on his chest she felt the hard pulsing warmth of his body. “If you can learn to be an earl, I can learn to be a countess,” she said softly. “I do not need an ivory tower—great art comes from living life fully, and I know my life with you will be richer than any other path I might find.”
Her eyes searched his, trying to look beyond the illusions of moonlight. “I never truly thought you had lied to me. I was angry to cover my tears. You have always been so strong, so assured, everything I am not. I could not believe you needed me as much as I need you.”
He pulled her to him as a drowning man seeks breath, drawing her to his heart. She felt once more the sense of peace and safety she had always found in his arms, but now was added the joy of knowing she also sheltered him.
The frightening events of the night dropped from her consciousness and she was aware only of him as they touched, mouth to mouth, body to body, and soul to soul.
It was long minutes before he spoke, and humor had returned to his voice. “Do you know, love, music is not the only thing you have a genius for. I think it’s your ability to lose yourself utterly in what you do.”
Caroline closed her eyes and laid her head against his chest with a smile of utter contentment. “I will never be so lost that you cannot find me. And no matter how busy we both may be, we will always find time for love and music.”
* * * *
Deliciously scandalized rumors hovered around the September marriage of Caroline Hanscombe to the Earl of Wargrave. It was said she threw over her first fiancé for a better title, that Radford and Wargrave fought a duel that nearly killed them both, that Radford was so heartbroken he had married the aunt to stay close to the niece.
Mothers of hopeful daughters complained that the new earl had been snapped up before they had a proper chance at him.
Girls who had made their come-outs with Caroline remarked bitterly that it made no sense for such an insipid little thing to receive offers from no fewer than two peers of the realm.
The vicar of Wargrave who married them was delighted that his wife had a new grandson, and he himself had secured a superlative organist for his church.
But the most breathless gossip occurred when the bride was given away not by her father, as was proper, but by her uncle and former fiancée, Lord Radford. The avidly curious attempted to discover why from Radford’s companion, the Honorable George Fitzwilliam, but that gentleman would only say, “It was fitting.”
To Eileen Nauman, for generous professional guidance
and to
my fishy friend, John, for total warmth and support
Copyright © 1987 by Mary Jo Putney
Originally published by Signet
Electronically published in 2011 by Belgrave House/Regency
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.