"The purpose of a collection is simply that—to collect."
"What are you afraid of?"
"I'm not afraid of anything."
"Everyone is afraid of something."
"What of you then? What are you afraid of?"
"I'm afraid of never finding love, of living a lonely life, and at its end finding myself with nothing except discontentment."
She looked at him as though she'd never seen a sadder creature. "Do you not understand that you shouldn't reveal so much of yourself?"
"If I don't, then how will anyone truly come to know me? To trust me?"
"Why can you not be content to gaze upon the surface?"
"Because it isn't the surface that draws me to you."
She came up out of the chair as though someone had suddenly lit a fire beneath her. "I have no desire to discuss so private a matter where servants can hear. You may join me in the drawing room as soon as you've finished with your dinner."
She swept from the room as though she were a woman scorned. He hardly knew what to think, how to react. He was not a stranger to women. On the contrary, he'd enjoyed the company of his fair share over the years, had been left with the impression that they'd enjoyed being with him as well. But then none of them had been married to the old earl, and from what he'd been able to ascertain from those who knew him, few had liked the man.
With a sigh, he shoved back his chair and stood. Perhaps she thought all earls of Sachse were cut from the same doth.
He walked out of the room, down the hall, and into the drawing room. Standing before a window, she was gazing out into the night. The firelight from the nearby hearth played over her golden brown hair, the delicate slope of her neck, her narrow shoulders. At moments like this he found it difficult to envision her as the haughty woman she so often came across as being.
"Would you prefer for me to leave your home?" he asked.
"It is not my home." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "All of this is yours. Do not think for a single moment that I forget that fact. I know it is only your generosity and kindness that allows me to live in this house. You may ask or demand of me what you will, and I have no choice except to follow through on your wishes—until I have found another husband to see after me."
"You are not my slave, Camilla."
"But you provide for me, do you not? The old Sachse, may he rest in hell, made no provisions for me—as Mr. Spellman was only too quick to remind you."
And perhaps that was a good deal of the problem. He couldn't imagine being in her situation when she never knew from one day to the next if his generosity would be withdrawn. If so, how would she live?
As though sensing the direction of his thoughts, she continued, "This afternoon you asked why I was so keen on finding you a wife. The truth is, that I thought if I could influence you, if I could select your wife, I could ensure that she would be an agreeable sort who wouldn't kick me out before I'd found my duke."
He watched as she blinked back tears before facing him fully. The withering of her pride nearly brought him to his knees.
"Dukes are rare," she rasped. "Those who have secured their heir and their spare and are widowed are even rarer. You are more likely to take a wife before I take a duke. And then what becomes of me?"
"I would never turn you out."
She gave him a sad smile. "A promise easily made, but not easily kept when you have another woman to keep happy."
"I would never turn you out," he repeated through clenched teeth.
A corner of her smile crept up higher, and a sparkle seemed to be fighting to return to her eyes. "Although considering all the qualifications you were rambling off earlier this afternoon, I'm not certain you will find a wife as quickly as I expected."
"No, I don't imagine I will." He wanted to take her in his arms, not to kiss her, but simply to hold her, to give and draw comfort. But it was not emotional or physical comfort that she required. Rather she needed to feel financially safe.
An idea began to take shape in his mind. The old Sachse hadn't provided for her, but Arch could and, in so doing, he could set her mind at ease. "How much would you require in order to live comfortably?"
She looked suddenly defeated. "You've decided that Mr. Spellman is right. I need an allowance."
"No, not at all. But I have recognized that I've taken advantage. You have graciously taken me under your wing, and I have done little to show my appreciation. You do not owe me this service, nor should I expect you to give me your time. I was paid to teach. You've been teaching me and, therefore, you should have a salary as well, money which is yours to spend as you see fit, without Mr. Spellman questioning how you use a single penny. Would a hundred pounds a month suffice?"
She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it. "That is more than generous." She shook her head. "But there is very little more that I can teach you."
"On the contrary. You are exceedingly familiar with the ladies of London. I want you to help me find a wife, but I prefer that you help me find one who meets my requirements rather than yours. I shall pay you a monthly stipend until I marry."
She gave him a suspicious look. "You don't strike me as a fool, but certainly you must realize that if I find you a wife, I cease to have income. I could find fault with every lady who comes our way."
"I trust you not to be that unscrupulous."
He could fairly see the wheels turning in her mind.
"And in return," he continued, "here is what I propose. Since your concern is that my wife might convince me that I should turn you out with nothing, and you doubt my promise not to, we shall strike a bargain. Find me a wife who meets my requirements rather than yours, and I shall pay you a final stipend of"—he considered the last set of ledgers he'd looked over, determining an amount he could easily afford—"twenty thousand pounds."
She stumbled back, and he thought that if the window hadn't been behind her, she might have fallen. "That is a princely sum, and I would be able to bring more than myself to a marriage."
"And if you didn't marry, you'd still be provided for. If you invest that money, you will have a nice yearly income."
"Indeed." She shoved herself away from the window and began to pace. "However, with your standards, you have set me an impossible task." Abruptly she stopped and faced him. "What if I find you a wife, but she doesn't meet all your requirements?"
"Yes, I suppose I do have quite a few, and some may seem unreasonable at that. When all is said and done, I require only that she make me happy, but I ask that you keep all my requirements in mind."
She smiled, and it seemed to him that something had changed within her, for it was a warmer smile than he'd ever seen coming from her. "I should like very much to help you find a wife of your choosing."
"Then our bargain is struck."
"Indeed."
"I don't suppose we should seal the bargain with a kiss," he teased.
"Indeed not. Nor is a written document which must be signed necessary. I believe that a handshake will suffice."
She extended her hand. Because they'd been eating dinner, neither wore gloves. He swallowed hard before sliding his hand around hers. Her eyes widened slightly as though she were surprised by the intimacy of so informal a touch. Always when going to dinner, her bare hand had rested on the sleeve of his jacket, and he'd never had the audacity to place his hand over hers.
Her skin was soft, the warmth of her palm complementing the warmth of his, the heat radiating up his arm to settle low in his gut. He wondered if she was experiencing the same sensations. For a single heartbeat he imagined the fire that would ignite between them if bared flesh from shoulder to heel was pressed together. As though suddenly aware of the direction his thoughts had turned^ she gave his hand a quick shake and pulled her own free.
"May we both never regret the bargain we've made," she said.
But her voice was low, raspy, and reminded him of whisperings that should be made beneath sheets during the late hours of the night,
leaving him with the realization that his touch had affected her as hers had him.
He gave a brisk nod, fearing that the hoarseness of his own voice would reveal that he already regretted many of the promises he'd made this day.
* * *
Chapter 5
Women adored him.
They absolutely adored him. Young and old. Beautiful and plain. Married and unmarried. Mothers and daughters. Wives and sisters.
Standing within the National Portrait Gallery, Camilla watched in amazement as lady after lady stopped to speak with Archie.
They seemed to be drawn to him as hummingbirds to nectar. Not that she had ever seen a hummingbird, but last night he'd taken her to a lecture on the tiny American creatures, and she'd seen illustrations of them sipping from blossoms. She'd been intrigued with the notion of their existence, and she thought surely the little birds darting in and out among the flowers were like these women vying for a bit of his attention.
She wasn't surprised by their behavior, only baffled by the fact that she'd failed to notice it before now. Although she supposed she shouldn't have been. They'd both been rather occupied throughout the Season with the Duke and Duchess of Harrington—but then that was another story entirely, a situation she preferred not to reflect upon.
She knew the ladies weren't blind to Archie's handsome features. Still, she thought it was probably his quick smile that initially drew them in, his warm eyes that held them spellbound. Whenever he looked at her, she often forgot that anyone else existed. It was his way to give a person his complete, undivided attention, as though for that single moment in time no one was more important to him.
He was tall, slender, usually in need of someone putting him back to rights: straightening his collar, adjusting his jacket, combing his thick brown hair back off his brow. He always gave the appearance whenever he arrived anywhere that he'd rushed to get there.
No doubt because he would stop to study something along the way to wherever he was going and lose track of the time—then have to hurry to catch up. He looked at all things as though if he scrutinized them diligently and long enough, he could come to understand every aspect of their being. Part of the reason that he was so dangerous to her.
She needed to find him a wife and find one quickly. She was striving to make certain that Archie was seen about London in these final days of the Season. She was gathering impressions of the ladies, looking at them a bit differently than she had before, trying to determine who might be best suited for him.
He would no doubt look upon his wife with the same intensity that he looked at all things. Therefore, it stood to reason that Camilla should focus her attentions on the most comely of women. Flawless complexion. Unblemished.
She thought perhaps a woman with blond hair would do well for Sachse. Because he was so dark, they would complement each other, like twilight and dawn. Unlike her own brown hair, which would offer no contrast. Yes, blond would do. The lighter the better.
A woman who came no higher than his shoulder would also do well by him. She liked the way he angled his head downward just a little when he spoke to someone who wasn't as tall as he. And then he would smile, such a warm, inviting smile—
"Lord Sachse is most charming, isn't he?" This from the Duchess of Kimburton.
"Yes, Your Grace, he most certainly is," Camilla conceded.
"I daresay that he is in need of a wife. A pity I don't have a daughter."
"Indeed it is, Your Grace."
The duchess studied her for a moment before saying, "And you are need of a husband."
"One who is not in need of an heir," Camilla reminded her, although she was fairly certain the woman needed no reminding that Camilla had committed the unpardonable sin of being unable to give her husband an heir. Not once had his seed taken root, and as that had not been the case with his first wife, no doubt existed as to who was responsible for the failure with his second.
"Quite so. A pity that. It reduces your choices."
"How is your son, Your Grace?" Camilla asked, in order to change the subject to one the duchess generally got long-winded about.
"Still sniffing around American ladies. I don't understand this fascination our lords have with them. Nothing wrong with a good English girl, I say."
Except, like Camilla, most were without money, while American ladies were surrounded by it. Primogeniture certainly provided for irrevocable superiority for England's firstborn aristocratic sons, but at what price to its daughters?
The duchess patted Camilla's hand. "Never fear. You are not so old as to be completely without hope."
Camilla hardly knew how to respond to so glowing an assessment, but as the duchess was already walking away, she could only assume that a response had not been expected. Just as well. She might have released her sarcasm on the duchess, and that would never do.
She turned her attention back to Archie. The ladies had scattered, and the Duke of Harrington had joined him. They were talking quietly, apparently about the portrait since their gazes were transfixed upon it. Two more different men she'd never known. Still, the earl and the duke had become friends.
"Lord Sachse seems to be rather fond of that painting."
Camilla cast a sideways glance at the woman who'd approached. Lydia, the Duchess of Harrington. One of the little Americans the Duchess of Kimburton wasn't happy about. Knowing the woman's husband as she did, Camilla was surprised to see them here. Since they'd been married less than a week, she'd fully expected Rhys to keep his wife beneath the covers—not parading her about London.
"Indeed, he does, Your Grace," she responded. "I can't understand why. This is our third trip to the Gallery. Lord Sachse claims that each time he looks at a painting, he sees something different. I find that notion preposterous. A piece of artwork cannot change; therefore, it looks precisely the same each time you view it."
"Perhaps the difference comes not from the painting itself but from the perception of the person doing the viewing."
"You speak in riddles, and I grow frightfully bored by riddles."
The duchess laughed, as though nothing Camilla ever said would truly bother her. The one thing she'd never been was intimidated by Camilla's coolness toward her, which in the end had earned her Camilla's respect. She rather liked the girl, although she certainly had no plans to admit it.
"The person changed, not the art," the duchess explained. "In this case, Lord Sachse has changed. I imagine he notices subtle differences in himself every day. He was not born expecting to inherit a title, so the schoolteacher he once was must give way to the man who is now responsible for the titles and all the estates that holding them entails."
She wasn't quite certain what to make of this explanation, but Camilla felt a need to defend Archie. "Lord Sachse is perfectly capable of handling the responsibilities and duties of his titles."
"I don't doubt that, Countess, but still his life is very different from what he expected it to be only a few months ago. Like me, you married into the aristocracy. No matter how prepared you are for the elevation in status, it is still rather frightening. I find it is not as comfortable a fit as I thought it would be when I dreamed of marrying an English lord."
Camilla wondered if ever in her life she'd been as youthful or filled with as much innocence as this young blond woman. "One would not know you were insecure by looking at you. That is the mark of a true lady."
She turned her attention back to Archie. He certainly didn't give the appearance of being uncomfortable with his titles. Indeed, she thought he wore them rather well, much better than his predecessor. He had an innate ability to appear noble. It was there in the way he tilted his head when he spoke, the manner in which he gave deference to those of higher rank but never lorded himself over those beneath him.
As though suddenly aware that he'd become the object of her musings, he looked over his shoulder, his dark eyes homing in on her with unwavering precision. The intensity of his gaze heated her to the core. At moments such a
s this, his innocence became lost to her. She couldn't pretend that he was harmless. She couldn't overlook the fact that he was a man, with a man's desires and a man's passions and a man's hungers.
She turned to the duchess. "This facility does not allow for a proper breeze. I'm going to step outside for some cooler air."
"What caused her to run off like that?" the Duke of Harrington asked. "I've never known Camilla to retreat."
"I don't understand it either," Arch admitted. He gave his attention back to the masterful painting. "She will look everyone in the eye except me. Do my eyes remind her of her husband's, do you suppose? Our being related and all."
"I suppose that might be it, but I suspect his eyes contained cruelty. I never met the fellow, but he and my brother Quentin were quite close, and as Quentin was the devil's spawn, I suspect Sachse might have been as well."
"Why would she marry a man such as that?" he asked.
"You might as well ask me why my mother adored Quentin." He shook his head. "I think what makes the evil truly evil is that they possess the ability not to appear evil."
Arch grinned, even though the subject wasn't humorous. "A lot of evil there."
"Indeed."
"If you will excuse me, Your Grace, I should go find the countess. I could spend all day here, but she grows bored rather quickly, and as she is presently striving to find me a wife, I should probably stay in sight of her."
"I daresay she'll serve you well in that regard. She is well thought of among the Marlborough House Set. She knows a good deal about most of these people."
"So I'm discovering." He wondered how much they knew about her, though. Surely it was not only with him that she hid herself. Arch and the duke walked over to the duchess.
She smiled warmly, her violet eyes sparkling. "The countess excused herself to get a bit of cooler air. Seems she was growing warm in here."
"I should have no trouble finding her," Arch said, as he took her gloved hand and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. "We shall be leaving for the country soon. If I do not see you for a while, I want you to know that I've enjoyed immensely every moment spent in your company."
As an Earl Desires Page 5