Earl of Charm: Wicked Earls’ club

by Maggie Dallen

  Chapter Four

  He wished he wasn’t quite so aware of Clara beside him.

  “You’re doing wonderfully,” she said, her voice low and her smile beguiling as she looked up at him.

  Was he? He didn’t know. He’d managed to ask all the right questions when introduced to the guests of honor, the Earl of Davenport and his wife. Their hosts, the Huntingtons, had been easy enough to navigate. They were notoriously gregarious, and all he had to do was stand there and listen as they regaled him with story after story.

  Supper itself had been a dull affair, but he had again been surrounded by talkative companions, so his job had been merely to listen and nod.

  “Listening has proven to be an exceptional skill,” he said to Clara.

  She chuckled softly and he felt it in his chest. He’d been hoping to make her laugh, and he’d not been disappointed. He’d become something of a connoisseur when it came to her laughter. This one was a rare variety indeed, and something to be cherished. There was an intimacy about it that came with their growing friendship.

  They had private jokes.

  He felt his own lips twitching up at the corners as she murmured, “Imagine that.”

  “You look beautiful tonight.”

  She looked up in surprise before dropping her gaze, that pretty pink blush creeping up her cheeks. “Thank you.”

  He cleared his throat. This had been becoming a bad habit of late. Not only was Clara easy to talk to, she was also…impossible not to talk to. Words had a way of slipping out when she was around.

  The truth, always, and nothing less than what was in his heart of hearts.

  But that didn’t make it appropriate. He cursed himself now as he sought a topic that would put them back on easy footing. He was saved instead by Davenport and his wife, Anne, who started up a lively conversation with Clara.

  He found himself facing the man who’d once been called the Devil of Davenport with no clue what to say. What sort of questions did one ask a former devil?

  For his part, the devil in question seemed in no hurry to make small talk. For a long while they merely regarded one another in silence.

  “Do you know,” Davenport finally said. “I’ve long admired a man who did not rush to fill the room with hot air.”

  A huff of laughter was shocked out of Alex at the roundabout compliment, and he caught the other man’s answering smirk.

  “I was sorry to hear about your brother,” Davenport continued in a low, gravelly voice.

  Alex tipped his head in acknowledgement. Despite Clara’s assistance, he still wasn’t quite certain how to respond to mentions of his brother’s passing. His father’s death had been different entirely—everyone had known his end was near. It was sad, of course, but not tragic.

  Frederick’s death was a tragedy. And he, the new Earl, was a constant reminder of that.

  Davenport’s gaze seemed to catch on his lapel. Alex looked down to see what had caught his attention.

  The pin.

  He looked up and saw that the earl was eyeing him oddly. “Was that your brother’s?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Do you recognize it?”

  The other man’s eyes flashed with humor. “I do.”

  “What is it?”

  For a moment, he thought Davenport might not answer. “It’s a reminder.”

  He arched his brows, waiting for more explanation, which did not come readily.

  “A reminder of what?” he asked. “Do you know?”

  Davenport drew in a deep breath and his gaze grew unfocused as though he were lost in thought. Alex did not mind the silence between them. In fact, he was grateful for the respite.

  At last, Davenport looked at him, his attention once more on Alex. “I suppose you could say that your brother wore that pin as a reminder that while he had a duty to his family and his title, he also had a responsibility for his own happiness.”

  Alex frowned. That was…not what he’d been expecting. He’d thought perhaps the W stood for the name of a club or something, perhaps a secret fraternal order. Those existed, did they not? But instead it seemed to represent some sort of philosophy.

  “I see,” he said slowly, though in fact—he did not see.

  Davenport shifted, his gaze scanning the groups of talking, laughing members of the ton who congregated in clusters throughout the parlor. “I would not say I was close with your brother, so I would not wish to speak for him...”

  Alex watched the other man closely. He listened even closer, noting the way his voice trailed off as though searching for the right words. He did not take Davenport to be the sort to equivocate over precise wording, but he seemed to be weighing each word before he spoke.

  Davenport faced him again. “It cannot be easy dealing with your brother’s death, and all the responsibilities that come with your new position in the household.”

  Alex’s brows hitched up in surprise at the sudden change in conversation. “We are all learning to adapt,” he said, looking meaningfully in the direction of his great aunt and sister who were speaking with a handful of ladies on the opposite side of the room.

  “I only meant, you must have been forced to put aside your own plans for the future to venture down what was supposed to be your brother’s path.”

  Alex tipped his head in acknowledgement. Davenport had no idea.

  But then…he vaguely remembered the stories about the Devil of Davenport. How he’d gotten the name after his elder brother died and he’d become the late earl’s heir.

  Maybe this man did have an idea, after all.

  “It’s not for me to dole out advice,” Davenport said suddenly, straightening as his gaze once more fell to the pin on Alex’s chest. “But I believe your brother was of a similar mindset when it came to this lifestyle.”

  “Oh?” Alex didn’t try to hide his surprise. How could this man, who admittedly hardly knew his brother, know his mindset? “And what mindset is that?”

  “We all know the duty that comes with being a leader among men,” Davenport said, his voice low and his tone so serious it made Alex stiffen as he hung on every word. “But a true nobleman understands that being responsible does not always mean making the right decisions. Sometimes it means making a choice, and making it be the right one.”

  Alex stared at the other man in confusion. “What does that even mean?”

  For a moment he feared he’d offended the older earl, but Davenport gave him another smirk. “You wish me to speak plainly, I see.”

  Alex threw his hands up in a helpless gesture. “I’m afraid subtlety is often lost on me.”

  “Some might call it unconventional, or selfish, or even…wicked. But a man need not be a martyr to his family and his title. He ought to follow his own desires on occasion. Society is not always in the right, and a man must know his own mind if he is to lead others.”

  “I see,” he said. He did not see. “So you’re saying there is a virtue in being selfish?”

  Davenport’s mouth twisted with humor, which Alex assumed was at his expense. “Something like that.”

  Alex nodded and they stood in silence for a moment. “But what does the W stand for?”

  Davenport’s lips curved up in a grin that was slow and sly. “If you heed my advice and start acting on your own desires rather than the ton’s dictates?” He arched a brow. “I assure you, you will find out.”

  Alex started to ask him what he meant by that cryptic remark, but the other man was already moving to join Clara and his wife, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist and whispering into her ear. Whatever he said made his wife blush and soon the two of them were hurrying off together, their heads bent as they talked in hushed voices.

  Clara was left on her own, and he found himself heading toward her, drawn to her like a magnet. If there were any other ladies in the room, Alex did not see them. There was only her, looking beautiful and…not happy.

  He blinked in surprise. He’d gotten so used to seeing her smile, to hea
ring her laughter, he felt the lack of it keenly. Without thinking, he touched a hand to her back and her head snapped up. Her pretty blue eyes sparkled with…not laughter.

  Were those tears?

  “Is everything all right?”

  She nodded quickly. “Of course.” Her voice was too bright, too cheerful. It made his heart hurt to hear her feign joy, this woman who seemed so naturally buoyant. Seeing her unhappy was unnatural, it wasn’t right.

  “Tell me,” he said softly.

  She shook her head, but she no longer tried to deny it. “It is silly.”

  “It’s not.”

  She looked around the room. It was a small affair but there were still too many people about. Not at all the right place for a private conversation. He placed one hand on her elbow and steered her toward the front hall.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “It’s warm in here, no? I think we could both use some air.”

  She didn’t argue and let him lead her outside, where they found a sheltered area behind a row of trees.

  “It will look like we’re hiding,” she said.

  “Maybe we are.”

  “If we get caught—”

  “We won’t.” He had no way of knowing that, and by all rights he ought to worry about the consequences of his action. But at this particular moment, it was impossible to fret about anything but her unhappiness.

  She gave him a tremulous smile. “You do not need to do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Be so kind.”

  “I’m not being kind,” he said. “I’m being utterly selfish.”

  She gave a little snort that was both adorable and unladylike. “You wouldn’t know how to be selfish.”

  She was wrong. Davenport’s words were still ringing in his ears. He might not have understood everything the other man had said, but the words stuck with him. Being out here alone with Clara—this was selfish. Stealing a moment alone with the woman who made his heart pound and his breath quicken when he ought to be making promises to his brother’s fiancée…this was the very definition of selfish.

  This was wicked.

  His eyes flickered over her face, drinking in every detail from her smooth ivory brow to that little pointed chin. They settled on her lips.

  Selfish. Greedy. Wicked. Yes, he was definitely all that and more.

  Her tongue flickered out to wet her lips and he groaned softly. “I assure you, Clara. I can be selfish on occasion.”

  Her lips trembled with a nervous smile. “I do not believe it. Self-centered, perhaps, but never—”

  He kissed her. It was wrong, and he knew it, but Davenport’s words were still ringing in his head, and hers too. You wouldn’t know how to be selfish.

  He wanted to be. For one moment, he wanted to have it all—he wanted to taste those lips that gave him such joy, he wanted to hear her gasp his name, he wanted to rid those pretty eyes of sadness and fill them with the same dizzying desire that he’d been battling ever since they’d first collided in his drawing room.

  He got his wish, and it was so much more than he could ever have dreamt. Her lips were sweet, her arms warm where he held her, and when he pulled back after the briefest of kisses, her eyes were so beautifully dazed he knew he would be dreaming of that look for the rest of his life.

  The rest of his life…which would not include Clara.

  It couldn’t.

  He wanted to kiss her again, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t. One kiss had been a tease; he’d only made it worse for himself. If he kissed her again, he might not be able to step away, or perform his duty.

  Her lips parted as her eyes widened. It seemed she was only now registering what had happened.

  He cleared his throat. He ought to apologize, but the words were difficult to muster. He wasn’t sorry. Not at all. That one chaste kiss was likely the closest he’d ever get to Clara, and he would never regret it. It would stay with him forever.

  “Why were you so sad?” he asked instead.

  She blinked. “Was that why you kissed me? Because I was sad?”

  “No.”

  She seemed to be waiting for him to say more. “Then why did you kiss me?”

  He licked his lips, his gaze darting away. Nothing but honesty would do with this woman. He was capable of little else. “Because I wanted to.”

  “Oh.” Her lips seemed to freeze in an o of surprise.

  “I should not have done it,” he said. It was the closest he could come to an apology for an act he did not regret, even though the memory would surely haunt him until he died.

  “I’m glad you did.” Her voice was breathy and seductive. He wondered if she had any idea how tempting she sounded.

  “You’re glad,” he repeated. He wasn’t quite certain whether he ought to believe her, but he’d long suspected that she felt it too. She’d never pulled away from their growing intimacy, their new friendship which felt like so much more.

  “I am,” she said, a smile lighting her features.

  He let out a long sigh of relief. “I did not want to offend you, or…” He swallowed the rest of his words, but as always she seemed to know what he was thinking.

  “Or lead me on?” she said. A hint of bitterness entered her voice. “Do not worry, Alex. I know that I’m an unsuitable match for you. I know that this…” She gestured between them. “This is merely a distraction for you.”

  “What?” Shock and horror had him jerking back a bit so he could see her better. Her eyes were startlingly serious. “No,” he said quickly. “This is not…that’s not what this…”

  “It is all right,” she said softly. “I am not offended. I know you respect me, and I’m truly grateful. If I’m doomed to be a spinster, I am glad I’ve had one beautiful kiss in my lifetime.”

  Her smile was so sad it made him want to pull her into his arms.

  He did it. It might have been wrong, but he could not care. Not when she was hurting. “Don’t say that,” he said. “You are not doomed to anything. You are beautiful and spirited and intelligent—”

  “And a scandal,” she finished, her voice muffled against his chest. “What prospects do I have?”

  He gently pushed her away so he could see her eyes. He almost wished he hadn’t. The sadness there was nearly his undoing. “Is that why you were so sad before? Inside?”

  She didn’t answer, but that was answer enough.

  His chest ached so badly he’d do anything to ease this tension. Words threatened to escape—promises he couldn’t keep.

  He couldn’t make her the kind of promises he wanted to, he couldn’t pledge to give her a future and a family and to take care of her as his wife.

  But he could still take care of her. Davenport’s words still swirled in his head. Perhaps this was what he’d meant about finding the balance. He might have new responsibilities, but his new position also gave him more power. He could make things right for her.

  “I will help you,” he said. “I promise you, Clara, my family and I will stand by you. I will provide a dowry for you just as I will for my sister and—”

  “I could never ask that of you,” she started, alarmed at the mere thought.

  “You are not asking. I am offering,” he said. His voice sounded too gruff, and he tried to soften it. He tried not to think about the fact that the dowry would be to lure another man. That he would be helping her find a husband. “I care about you, Clara. So does my Aunt Gertie and Tess—you are a part of our family, and I will ensure that you have every opportunity to—”

  He stopped short. To what? Marry another? Did he truly intend to deliver her over to another man? Sit by in silence as she was wooed and wed by someone else?

  “That is a kind offer,” Clara said. Her gaze didn’t quite meet his, and he wondered if her thoughts were following in the same vein. “But I am not your family, and it is not your duty. For you to do such a thing would only raise questions and cause speculation.”

  He hated the sadnes
s in her voice. More than that, he hated all those who ought to have looked out for her, who should have protected her and did not.

  He might hate the idea of watching her with another man, but he could ensure that she was safe, that she was paired with someone worthy.

  No one is worthy of Clara.

  Perhaps not worthy, but someone kind, at least. Someone with wit and intelligence. Someone who could provide for her and give her a family.

  His chest burned with jealousy over this hypothetical gentleman, but he knew what he had to do. “You are my responsibility now, Clara.”

  Her gaze snapped up to his, but before she could speak, they heard a door open and shut.

  “Perhaps we’d better get back before we’re missed,” she said.

  Chapter Five

  You are my responsibility now, Clara.

  The words were haunting her even as she sat at the writing table in the family’s parlor to read through the letters that had arrived.

  A full day had passed but her mind could do little more than replay that kiss and remind her of his words.

  It was official. She was obsessed.

  She was also stupid. Such an unbearable ninny. Clara was not normally one to reprimand herself—but then, there was rarely such a need.

  It wasn’t the kiss that brought about her scorn. No. As much as she might try, she’d meant it when she told Alex she did not regret it. She never would. How could she when it was her first, and likely last, taste of passion and romance?

  That thought made her heart heavy. Weariness dragged at her, making her want to lie down and take a nap.

  Or perhaps that was just lack of sleep. She’d gotten little more than a couple hours of sleep after they’d returned home from the party. Who could sleep when one had experienced the kiss of a lifetime?

  Too brief, she’d decided. But oh so splendid. Sweet and tender, the feel of his firm lips against hers had sent shivers straight through her and wiped her mind clean of all thought.

  It seemed her mind had still not recovered. And her heart?

  Well, her heart had been lost in the process. She’d been aware of this burgeoning infatuation ever since she’d first met the man, but that kiss had made it impossible to deny the extent to which it had grown.