The Earl Takes All

by Lorraine Heath

  “Would it bring you pleasure, joy, satisfaction?”

  She fought not to squirm. “I think so. I don’t know for certain, as I’ve never been quite so bold. I’ve only thought of doing it.”

  “Then it is not improper.”

  “How does one learn what is proper and what is not?”

  “By experimenting, I suppose.”

  “It’s easier for men. You can visit brothels. I suspect you’ve had a thousand women, and if you make a fool of yourself with one you simply move on to another.”

  “Not quite a thousand.”

  “A hundred?”

  “I truly didn’t count, but I suspect the number is far fewer than that. The important thing is: I would never make you feel a fool.” He held out his arms in supplication. “You may do with me as you will, and I shall be ever grateful for it.”

  “If I wanted to flog you for keeping things from me?”

  He grimaced. “I would probably object to that. I’m not of the opinion that pain equals pleasure. Although I think I’m relatively safe, as I promised not to keep anything else from you.” He looked toward the fire. “And yet already I have done so.”

  Her chest tightened a fraction. “What have you kept from me?”

  He slid his gaze over to her, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Shall I gave it to you now?”

  She furrowed her brow. “It’s an object, not a secret?”

  “It’s a secret if I haven’t given it to you yet.”

  “You’re being difficult.”

  He grinned. “I am, but then you expect that of me, don’t you?”

  To tease her, to cause mischief, to be playful. Strange how the facets to him that had once irritated her now charmed her. “Perhaps I don’t want it.”

  “Fear of you tossing it in the fire is actually why I haven’t given it to you yet.”

  She pouted, sighed, rolled her eyes. “I won’t toss it into the fire, but it’s not fair to tell me about it if you’re not going to give it to me.”

  “I suppose you have a point. Wait there.” He drained his glass before getting up, striding to the desk and pulling open a bottom drawer. Reaching inside, he pulled out an oblong shape wrapped in brown paper, secured with a string. Walking back over, he held it out to her. “I was going to give it to you for Christmas, but I had second thoughts, was afraid it might give me away.”

  Taking it from him, she set it in her lap, watched as he returned to his chair and went incredibly still, his focus on her as though this item and her reaction to it were of monumental importance. She tugged on the string until the bow unraveled and the paper fell away to reveal a glistening rosewood box with a small crank on one side. “Oh, Edward, it’s gorgeous.”

  “It opens.”

  Lifting the hinged lid, she smiled at the exposed mechanisms, protected behind a veil of glass. “What does it play?”

  “Wind it up and see.”

  Slowly, gently, she turned the small handle, afraid something so delicate might break. When it would turn no more, she released her hold and “Greensleeves” began tinkling around her.

  Memories washed over her, of ballrooms and waltzes and being held inappropriately close, yet never objecting. She hadn’t even realized she held those remembrances, and yet there they were, so vivid, as though the moments had occurred only last night.

  “You always waltzed with me when the orchestra played this tune,” she said quietly.

  “I wasn’t certain if you noted that it was always the same song.” He still hadn’t moved, didn’t appear to even be breathing.

  “I’m not certain that I really did until just now. Why the same song?”

  “If it was a pleasant experience for you, I wanted you to associate it with me. And if it wasn’t, I didn’t want to be responsible for ruining every tune for you.”

  Closing the lid, she stroked her fingers over the polished wood, the vibrations of the tune thrumming through it. “I always enjoyed dancing with you. It seemed to be the only time that we weren’t at odds. I thought it was because we were concentrating on not stepping on each other’s feet.”

  “Having the opportunity to dance with you is the only reason I ever attended any ball.”

  It wasn’t so much that she wanted to be wooed as much as she wanted to ensure she saw him clearly, the man he truly was and not the man he’d been pretending to be. She needed to be certain she could separate one from the other, that any feelings she possessed for the man sitting across from her were sentiments he rightfully deserved. But when he uttered words such as those, how could she not be wooed, flattered, enticed? How could her heart remain unaffected? “We never spoke when we danced.”

  “I wanted nothing to distract me from the sensation of holding you in my arms. Dance with me now.”

  She glanced around wildly, wanting what he offered, yet strangely fearful that it might prove her undoing. “What? Here? Or are you suggesting we go to the grand salon?”

  “The grand salon is too large.” He stood and extended his hand. “The foyer would serve better. More intimate but with enough room that we won’t bump into anything. The box can serve as the orchestra.”

  “It’s madness.”

  “Then be a little mad.”

  He was looking at her seriously, solemnly, and yet there was a challenge in those brown eyes. Neither of them had put on their gloves following dinner. His hand in no way reminded her of Albert’s graceful one. Edward’s appeared stronger. He had a callus on the pad below his index finger. Months here, and yet still his hands were those of someone who preferred the outdoors and exertion. She slipped her hand into his. As his fingers closed around it, before she could rise, he grabbed the box that would have required two of her hands to hold it securely and was then pulling her to her feet.

  “I haven’t danced since last Season,” she said as he escorted her from the room.

  “I haven’t danced since I last danced with you.”

  “But you did dance with other ladies,” she pointed out. She’d seen him dancing with them, and each one had looked completely infatuated.

  “I did, but I usually retired to the card room after I waltzed with you. I liked having your scent lingering around me, which in retrospect was rather masochistic on my part.”

  “I truly had no idea.”

  “That was the whole point in my unforgivable behavior.” They reached the foyer, and he released his hold on her. “Now I need you to see and trust that the man I was before is not the man I am.”

  He wound up the music box, his large hand dwarfing the small mechanism, then set it on a table that hugged a wall. The music filled the area. He stepped up to her and drew her into the circle of his arms.

  And then they were waltzing. Closer than was appropriate, more securely than he’d ever held her, as though he would never let her go. Or perhaps he merely wanted to ensure that she didn’t knock into any of the tables or statuettes or flower vases. How he managed to avoid them was beyond her, as his gaze never left hers.

  She realized that during all the years when they had shared a single dance, he’d always given her his full and complete attention. She simply hadn’t seen it because devotion to her was not what she expected of him. She’d assumed he was striving to make her feel uncomfortable or mock her in some way, and yet still she’d enjoyed circling over the floor with him because he was one of the most graceful dancers she knew. Perhaps because he’d spent time balancing along cliffs or hazardous trails. He’d skirted obstacles to reach his destinations—­

  But he’d walked away that night in the garden because his brother loved her, and she loved his brother. And he loved Albert.

  The music stopped and yet still seemed to hover on the air, reluctant to go away completely. As reluctant as Edward seemed to release his hold on her. He lowered his head.

  She pressed a finger
to his lips. He stilled, his eyes searching hers.

  “If you kiss me, I’ll be lost,” she told him.

  “I’ll find you, lead you back.”

  “I have to lead myself back. Edward, I must be sure that what I’m feeling is not influenced by what I no longer have.”

  “I promised you time and you shall have it.” Stepping away from her, he went to get the music box.

  She was a silly woman to mourn the distance that now separated them when she had been the one to insist upon it.

  He offered his arm. “I’ll escort you up.”

  They were silent as they went up the stairs, and yet there was nothing uncomfortable in it. He wasn’t resentful or angry, nothing untoward shimmied off him. At her door, he handed her the box.

  “Sleep well, Julia.”

  Then he was gone, jogging down the steps at a steady clip, the click of his footsteps echoing up. She went into her bedchamber, walked to the window and sat in the chair. Holding the music box on her lap, she wound it up, leaned back, closed her eyes and let the music and the memories overtake her.

  She had no plans to compare brothers. Still, what she felt for Edward was unlike anything she’d ever before experienced. It was vibrant, alive, intense. It frightened her, if she were honest. It was as though he had the power to reach into her and expose every secret she’d ever possessed—­without shame, remorse, or guilt. Surely it could not be healthy, surely they would burn up if they gave in to their desires. But it was more than a touch of the flesh, it was a touching of souls, a commonality of passion.

  She had loved once, loved still, but the stirrings in connection with Edward were vast, encompassed more than the whole, seemed to reach beyond what was safe and secure. Yet how could she contemplate not surrendering?

  Chapter 20

  As he tossed back his scotch, Edward considered stripping down to his trousers and racing barefoot over hill and dale, taking a plunge into an icy river, finding a wolf or wild hog to wrestle. He took small comfort in the fact that she was not immune to his charms, that she did desire him, otherwise she wouldn’t be so wary regarding where his kiss might lead.

  Straight to her bed if he had his way with it.

  The odd thing was, he understood her reluctance, had no wish to be a substitute for his brother. He wanted her feelings to be for him, separate from what she’d felt for Albert. He didn’t expect them to ever be as strong or as large in scope, but he did want to be the one in possession of them.

  He could honestly admit that he had never felt for any woman what he felt for her. It bloody well terrified him, and yet walking away was not even a consideration. Her company from a distance was better than not having her company at all.

  Patience had never been his strong suit, but for her, he would bide his time. For her, he would have unique musical boxes crafted. For her, he would drink less. For her, he would give whatever was within him to give.

  For her, he would toss and turn a good bit of the night, and wake up in a foul mood that required a cup of coffee stronger than his usual. He’d taken one sip that nearly blistered the roof of his mouth when she strolled into the breakfast dining room, wearing a black dress that was comprised of too much material and far too many buttons. She was done up tight, but still a sense of welcome relief washed through him. He shot to his feet. “Good morning. Is something amiss?”

  She smiled sweetly. “I decided it was silly of me to eat alone when I could enjoy breakfast in your company. If you don’t mind if I join you, that is. I suppose I should have asked first. Perhaps you prefer to begin your day in solitude.”

  The way she was prattling on, he wondered if she were nervous, fearful that he might not welcome her presence. She could join him in his bath if she wanted. “I’ve never much cared for solitude. By all means, please join me.”

  She wandered over to the sideboard, made her selections, and took her place at the foot of the table. Smart girl. If she sat within reach, he would touch her. Wouldn’t be able to help himself. Just gliding a finger over her hand, her cheek would suffice to lessen his need to possess her.

  Fool, nothing was going to lessen that.

  Resisting the urge to pick up his plate and move nearer to her, he dropped into his chair, sipped his coffee, aware that it was now too strong, as his mood had improved considerably.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked.

  “Not really. You?”

  “Horribly.”

  She bestowed upon him a gamine smile. “Why does that please me, I wonder?”

  “Because you’re a little witch, and you know you’re the cause for my restless night.”

  “I would not presume—­”

  His laughter quieted her. “You deny me a kiss and you don’t think you’re responsible?”

  She glanced around as though hoping the servants had all suddenly gone deaf. He wished he could make her completely comfortable discussing their passionate natures. Then the full weight of her blue gaze fell on him. “Would a kiss have made it better?”

  He released a deep sigh. “No. I suspect it would have made it all the worse, but a small price to pay for the flavor of your lips upon my tongue.”

  Even at this distance, he could see the deep crimson blush creeping up her face. He rather imagined that it began at her toes. He’d like to kiss those toes, the arch of her foot, her ankles, and journey all the way up to the haven between her thighs.

  She looked past him to the windows. “Appears it’s going to be a lovely day outside.”

  Her change of topic was no doubt intended to take his thoughts off their wayward path—­although that wasn’t likely to happen. Still, no harm in allowing her to believe he was easily distracted. “I was going to ride into the village today. I wanted to check on the health of Mrs. Lark and her family. Perhaps you’d care to join me. I seem to recall promising to take you riding.”

  Her face blossomed, wreathed with joy. “I would dearly love to go riding. I’ve missed it so.”

  “We’ll stop for some strawberry tarts.”

  Her smile grew. “Even better.”

  “We’ll leave following breakfast, shall we?”

  “I’ll need to change.”

  “Thomas,” he said, directing his attention to one of the footmen. “Send word out to the stables to have our horses readied.”

  “Yes, m’lord.”

  After Thomas walked out, although two other footmen remained, she leaned across the table and whispered, “And you’ll behave.”

  “I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

  But even a perfect gentleman could find a way to steal a kiss if he put his mind to it.

  It felt so marvelous to be on horseback again. Her chestnut mare seemed equally pleased. While a groom had been riding and exercising her, Julia liked to think that the old girl had missed her and was glad to have her mistress back in the saddle.

  It had turned out to be a rare warm day that required neither coat nor cloak. She’d never before had occasion to ride beside Edward. He kept them at a sedate pace, while she yearned to race over the fields. On the return home, she would take matters into her own hands, but she didn’t wish to arrive at the widow’s appearing bedraggled with her hair askew.

  The village came into view. They plodded down the main narrow thoroughfare that cut through the center of the town, shops and buildings lined up on either side. At the far end, they approached a small weathered cottage that had most certainly seen better days. The door was so small that Edward would have had to duck to cross the threshold. She imagined that he had fairly filled whatever space there was inside, couldn’t envision the dwelling as having more than one room.

  Edward brought his horse to a halt and dismounted in a graceful movement that made her mouth go dry. Why did the most common of actions, when performed by him, have to affect her as though he were the most extraordi
nary man she’d ever seen?

  He came around and held his arms up to her. The moment she had both anticipated and dreaded. His powerful hands spanning the breadth of her waist, closing around it, his eyes latched onto hers, her hands coming to rest on his broad shoulders. He lifted her up slightly, brought her down, leaving her with the impression that he could have held her aloft all day, without his muscles once quivering with fatigue. Her feet came to rest on the dirt, her knees feeling somewhat weak—­no doubt because she’d gone so long without riding. Not because he looked at her as though he might sweep her into the cottage and have his way with her.

  “Your lordship!” The youthful voice echoed around them.

  Edward broke out into a wide grin, released her and spun around just as an urchin leapt on him, the boy’s legs circling his waist, his scrawny arms wrapping around the earl’s neck as Edward closed his arms around the lad. Not that Julia thought that action was needed. The boy clung so tenaciously to him that she didn’t think Edward would be able to extricate himself from the hold, even if he wanted to.

  A slender woman with a babe in her arms and a little girl clutching her skirt scrambled out of the house. “Johnny Lark! Get off his lordship this instant. You can’t be crawling all over your betters.”

  “It’s quite all right, Mrs. Lark,” Edward said. “I’m just glad to see he appears to be doing well.”

  “Too well if you ask me. He is a handful. I was sorry to hear you took ill, m’lord.”

  “I’m fine, completely recovered, no lingering ill affects.”

  “Ye lost weight. I can tell that. Come inside for a cup of stew.”

  Julia knew it was ridiculous to experience a pang of jealousy because this woman with her worn clothes, her untidy hair, her rough raw hands, knew Edward well enough to note that he had indeed lost weight.

  “I appreciate the offer, but I promised the countess some pastry.” He turned to her. “Lady Greyling, allow me to introduce Mrs. Lark.”

  She smiled kindly. “It’s a pleasure.”

  Mrs. Lark curtsied three times, as though she wasn’t quite certain when she’d paid enough homage. “M’lady. Sorry I’m such a sight. Wasn’t expecting company today. But I’ve got enough stew for the both of you.”