As an Earl Desires

by Lorraine Heath

  "Will it go to your head if I tell you that you're handsome?" she asked.

  His grin somehow deepened, making him better-looking than she thought possible. "Then we're a matched couple."

  Not so matched, she thought wildly, for tonight was only pretense. Fundamentally, they each lacked what the other needed, but she didn't want to reflect on that, not now, not this moment, not with him when he was striving so hard to give her something special because she couldn't give him forever.

  He escorted her down the long length of the wide hallway. A footman standing at attention outside the ballroom opened the door.

  She glanced at Archie. "The ballroom?"

  "I told you to dress as though you were going to a ball."

  He led her inside and it was as she'd never seen it. Lit only with candles, strategically placed to throw light and shadows around the room, to create an intimacy in a place that had been designed to appear expansive. Even the mirrored walls seemed to have shrunk down to nothing.

  Then suddenly music began to play, and she squinted into the shadows. "Is that an orchestra?"

  "Yes, I want to dance with you tonight the way I've never been able to dance with you before: as though I adore you. I want no barriers tonight, no false appearances, no pretenses that you aren't the woman I want in my arms."

  "Arch, we can't carry on blatantly in here. Whatever will the servants think?"

  "They're not stupid, Camilla. I suspect they already know. Tonight is ours and ours alone."

  He led her to a table. Small, round. From the garden, she suspected, although she couldn't be certain as it was covered with a white cloth. Orchid blossoms adorned the center, simply lying there without a vase, no stems, and in the middle sat a flickering candle. A footman pulled out a chair, and she sat. Then Arch sat beside her. Not across the long length of a table or even a short distance away. But right beside her, so he could hold her hand, and she wondered how in the world he expected her to eat.

  As though reading her mind, he released her hand and began to tug off his gloves. "Shall we prepare to eat?"

  She removed her gloves and set them on the edge of the table.

  "I have an idea," he said, leaning toward her. "Let's be bold tonight and not put our gloves back on. Let's dance with bare hands."

  Knowing how warm his hands could be, she found herself nodding at his scandalous notion. Who was to see? Who was to know? It would be their secret.

  The food and wine were served as they'd been for the dinners they'd had when their guests were here.

  "How did you arrange all this?" she asked, absolutely amazed.

  "Lillian helped me. She's picked up a few of your tricks."

  "I can't believe you managed to keep all of this a secret. I didn't even see the orchestra arrive."

  "Frannie helped there," he said with a grin.

  "Frannie? Whatever did she…" Her voice trailed off as she recalled all the difficulty her maid had preparing her hair. She narrowed her eyes. "How did she help you?"

  "I told her to keep you occupied for three hours while I arranged things."

  "She kept messing up my hair."

  His grin shifted into something of promise. "Which I intend to do as well a bit later."

  And she could hardly wait, but wait she would, although the anticipation was more than she could bear. It was incredible really, to have already spent so many nights in his arms and so look forward to spending another. She didn't want to remember that it would be the last, but she did want to remember it for always.

  They hardly spoke as they ate, neither did they rush. They simply watched one another, sipping their wine, eating their pheasant. She remembered how he'd told her that he wanted a woman with whom he could be comfortable with silence. She hadn't realized then what he'd been referring to. But this was it, where nothing needed to be said in order for all to be understood.

  When the last of the meal had been served and dishes carried away, he picked up an orchid blossom, leaned toward her, and tucked it into her bodice, between her breasts, a bit of silliness that made her laugh, made him smile. Then he stood and helped her to her feet.

  "May I have the honor of this dance?" he asked.

  "The honor is mine, my lord, to be asked by you."

  He led her onto the shadowy floor. The orchestra had been playing softly while they were dining, and now the tune shifted into a waltz, and she realized that he'd left nothing to chance tonight. Everything was magic. A few months ago, he'd never even been to London, and now he had the ability to orchestrate the most romantic night of her life.

  Her bare hand rested in his, and she wondered why people had ever decided that gloves were needed. The warmth of his touch was intoxicating. They danced more closely than was proper—had they been in a room filled with guests. But as it was only the two of them, they danced as they wanted.

  Grandly, he swept her over the ballroom without worry of bumping into anyone else. This room, this night, this waltz was theirs and theirs alone.

  He didn't carry her as far with the next dance, and the one that followed found them doing little more than standing within the candlelight, gazing into each other's eyes. Then he drew her close, dipped his head, and kissed her, a kiss filled with promise, a kiss that would lead to farewell.

  She didn't want it to end with good-bye, but she shoved the thought aside because they would never again have a night like this, and she didn't want it marred with sadness. It had no choice except to end as it would… but until it did end, she was his, and he was hers.

  He slipped an arm beneath her knees and lifted her, cradling her against his chest. The music continued to play, the lonely strains following them across the ballroom as though to entice them into staying, but his kiss had effectively enticed her into wanting to leave.

  The footman opened the door, and Arch carried her through. There would be no secrets in this household now, she thought, as he strode down the hallway and up the stairs that led into his wing of the house. And she no longer cared. Let the servants know. Let all of England know.

  Tonight she was where she wanted to be. That she couldn't remain there was a worry for another day.

  A footman opened the door to Arch's bedchamber and closed it once they'd entered. Flickering candles, the scent of orchids, and a turned-down bed greeted her. Her heart tightened as she realized he'd gone to such great lengths, down to the tiniest detail.

  All for her. All for her. She'd always enjoyed being waited on, but this was too much, too much from him, and not enough from her. This was their last night. A night for them both to remember.

  She'd not have him looking back on it and seeing all he'd given to her and not realizing she'd given to him as well.

  He set her feet on the floor, and still there was nothing said between them, nothing needed. They undressed each other, him standing naked and proud before her long before her clothes were all removed. She had more layers, more items. But eventually all the clothes were gone and there was nothing between them. And he'd done as he'd promised, released her hair until it had tumbled into a mess around her.

  She came into his arms as though she alone belonged there, planted her mouth against his, and initiated the kiss before he had a chance. She heard a muffled growl, and his chest vibrated against her breasts. She scraped her fingers along his scalp, up into his hair, and his arms tightened around her.

  He angled his mouth for a better fit and began walking her backward toward the bed. But the bed wasn't yet where she wanted to be. She offered resistance, and he stopped. She nipped his chin.

  "What are you doing?" he asked.

  "I have plans of my own for the night," she said in a sultry voice that almost didn't sound like her.

  She trailed her mouth along his throat, bringing her hands down to his shoulders. He skimmed his fingers over her back.

  "What plans?"

  "Something I don't think you'd ever suggest for fear I'd not enjoy it." She slid down his body until she was kn
eeling before him. She glanced up at him, could see the need, the desire, the fire burning in his eyes.

  She pressed her lips against the moistness. He spasmed and thrust his hands into her hair, his fingers pushing against her scalp.

  "I love you," she whispered.

  Arch heard the words pounding in his blood, watched as with the sweetest smile, she pleasured him. He dropped his head back as his body tensed, and sensations of gratification speared him. He'd planned every moment of this night, but he'd not planned for this. He didn't know if it was her words or her actions that drove him to his knees, but suddenly he was there, taking her into his arms, struggling to get to his feet, and getting her into the bed.

  He slashed his mouth across hers. It was torment not to be inside her. He slid his hand between their bodies, between her thighs, only to discover that she was indeed ready for him: hot, moist, and willing. He pushed inside her and she raised her hips, allowing him to go deeper.

  It was always like this. The rhythm they set required no instruction. It simply… was. Sliding, stroking, kissing. He could see her face in the candlelight, and the wonder of her expression always amazed him, as though each time, whatever sensations he brought to life surprised her. It was no different for him. He felt more with her. The pleasure was harsher, more intense, as though his nerve endings were laid bare to her touch.

  She had a power over him that no lady had ever had. He reveled in it, wallowed in it, wanted it to last forever… but that was impossible. He couldn't scale another mountain if he never came down from the first. He thought he would never grow tired of scaling new heights with her wrapped around him, her body pulsing with his, tightening, coiling…

  She was gasping, shrieking, calling out his name, her fingers digging into him. When the pleasure reached the ultimate pinnacle, sent him soaring over, spilling his hot seed into her, his body shuddering with the force of it, he was vaguely aware of her clinging to him, tremors cascading through her body.

  Breathing heavily, he lifted himself slightly and gazed down on her. "Are you all right?"

  A glorious smile spread across her face as she nodded, reached up and skimmed her fingers along his face. "I wasn't certain I'd survive."

  "I almost didn't," he admitted.

  She laughed, and the muscles holding him inside her tightened and pulsed around him. When her laughter quieted, he asked, "What possessed you to do what you did earlier?"

  She shook her head slightly. "I don't know. I wanted you to know how special you are to me. I'll never have with anyone else what I have with you."

  He kissed her forehead, her nose, her chin. "I am not so selfish as to wish that you don't have this with someone else."

  But even as he spoke, he knew that, for himself, he'd never have with another woman what he had with her.

  * * *

  Chapter 20

  As she walked through the gardens, her cloak wrapped around her, Camilla thought it had been rather silly of her and Archie to think that everything could return to the way it had been before they'd fallen in love. They'd not slept together since their last glorious night, but it haunted her that she might never again experience something as wonderful, as breathtaking. Although in truth, she thought few among the aristocracy with their arranged marriages probably did. So she couldn't have been more grateful that she had indeed experienced it.

  She tried to find comfort in what had happened when Kingsbridge had left. He'd kissed her hand and assured her, "We shall be happy together, you and I."

  And she'd smiled.

  While inside her heart had cracked. He was a kind and gentle man. But she would never love him greatly, and therefore, the passion between them would be lukewarm at best. Damn Archie for showing her the wonder of fire when she'd been content with ice.

  She looked around the gardens where she'd always found solace before. Now none existed. Winter was coming upon them, and it somehow seemed significant, as though all of Sachse Hall would be saddened by her departure. How vain could she be to think that even the plants would miss her?

  But she would miss all of this, when she'd never expected to. Under Archie's care, everything was different: warm, vibrant, alive… and in the spring, it would be the same.

  She would return to Sachse Hall for visits perhaps, and as the years progressed her visits would become fewer until they ceased altogether. Such was the price one paid for imperfection.

  She was accomplishing nothing with this melancholy walk through the gardens. She had much she needed to do in order to see to it that everything was left in readiness for Archie. She doubted that she'd have time to be of much assistance once she married. Although surely the duke would understand that she couldn't leave the earl completely alone.

  She needed to find him a wife and find him one quickly. If only he didn't have such high standards and insist upon love. Just as she'd always suspected, love did little more than sticky up the situation.

  Still, she was glad that she'd had it if only for a short while.

  She returned to her bedchamber. She would meet Archie in the library soon for an afternoon reading session. They seldom met in the children's wing anymore. She was progressing quite nicely, although the larger words and those that didn't sound as they were written still gave her a bit of trouble. She wondered how she would continue to learn after she was married.

  Perhaps she'd hire a tutor—secretly, of course, as she dared not reveal to the duke that her reading skills were sorely lacking. Even as she had the thought, she dismissed it. She didn't want to begin her marriage by trying to do things without her husband's knowledge. No, she'd lived that way once before. Never again. She wanted her next marriage to be very different from her first.

  She glanced at her jewelry box. She'd never read Archie's letter, and she wondered if it was best simply to leave well enough alone. What if he'd said something unkind? No, she couldn't imagine that of Archie. Still her curiosity was piqued. If she was ever going to read it, she should read it before she left Sachse Hall, so if she had any trouble with the words, Archie could help her with it.

  She remembered now that he'd said something when the duke was there, something about his letter. That she would know how he'd planned to find a wife if she'd read it. Whatever had it said? And if she read it now, would it help her to find him a wife quickly?

  She placed the jewelry box on her bed and went through the ritual of removing the trays, the jewelry, and finally the false bottom. There was Archie's letter, safe and sound where she'd tucked it away a lifetime ago. She removed it and pulled the letter from the envelope.

  She'd loved the way his writing had looked then, she loved it now. But now she was able to appreciate it so much more. She couldn't read it as easily as she'd hoped, but she could make out a good deal of it… especially the part about a quiet recognition.

  That was how her love for him had come upon her. Not like the boom of a bass drum or the clang of cymbals from an orchestra. It had slipped upon her during low conversations, and patient lessons, and tender gazes, and gentle touches.

  She loved him. She loved him so much that it hurt. But it would hurt more not to.

  She blinked back the tears that wanted to pour forth. They'd had one last, glorious night, and it would have to suffice for a lifetime. Although she thought that she might hold out hope that perhaps when they were old, and their hair had turned to silver, and their eyes were not as sharp, when he had his heirs, and his wife was gone, as was her husband, perhaps then she and Archie could come back together. Perhaps they could share their winter years. It was something to look forward to, something to give her hope, a reason to believe that all was not lost.

  The entire notion saddened her. To realize that true happiness would have to be postponed until children were born and spouses died. Until great joy had been experienced, and great loss endured.

  Oh, she would be content with the duke, but Archie had taught her that joy was so much better.

  His children would be
a joy to her. She would send gifts to them and watch them grow up into the fine young men and women that she knew they would be. His children could do no less, because they would have him as an example and a teacher.

  Carefully she folded his letter. She would keep it and take it out on lonely nights to read again.

  Another notion that saddened her. To think that she might indeed have lonely nights.

  She was about to slip his letter into place when her gaze fell on the other letter: the one that the countess had written to her as she lay dying. She removed it. She could at last see to the countess's wishes, should see to them before she married, while Archie was there to help her. There might be words in the letter that she couldn't decipher, but he would assist her if she needed help, and together they could do whatever it was the duchess had requested.

  She closed her eyes. Was she only prolonging the inevitable? Looking for an excuse to keep Archie in her life… would she forever find reasons for him to help her? Read to me, assist me with this word, do you think I've learned enough to read this book?

  She certainly couldn't ask any of these questions of her duke… how would she explain that some words were still beyond her grasp without revealing that she'd only recently learned to read?

  No, best to see to this matter now, before she became a duchess.

  Carefully, she opened the envelope, which had been sealed these many years. Nearly fifteen. She removed the letter, unfolded it, and with a contented sigh at the possibility of finally doing as she'd promised, she began to read.

  The first words were simple, small, but they made no sense. They'd been written with a hand that was obviously struggling because it belonged to a woman who'd been so ill. She couldn't have been much older than Camilla was now, but she'd unexpectedly taken ill… and never recovered. The lines she'd scrawled were wiggly, unclear, which made the words more difficult to read.

  Camilla stared at them more closely. She couldn't have read them right. She had to be missing something. The words seemed clear enough, but she had to have misread them. They couldn't possibly say what she thought they did.