The Earl's Complete Surrender

by Sophie Barnes

  It took Chloe all of two seconds to fathom that she was being abandoned, which she certainly wasn’t pleased with. Turning away from the room, she made to follow Lady Duncaster out, when in her haste, her elbow struck the door, producing not only a loud bang, but throwing the door wide open. Silence descended upon her, and she knew, horrifyingly so, before she even looked, that she’d been spotted.

  “Lady Newbury,” Hainsworth said as he began striding toward her, “to what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?”

  “I . . .” How on earth was she to deny spying on them? “Lady Duncaster offered to show me the exercising room, so we came down together. I apologize for the intrusion.”

  “No need,” Hainsworth said as he looked beyond the spot where Chloe was standing. “Is the countess still here?”

  “No,” Chloe admitted, looking away. “She just left.”

  “As you should have done when you realized we were training,” Woodford remarked with a scowl. “This isn’t a sight for a lady.”

  On that score, he was probably quite correct. Even now, Chloe was having a difficult time avoiding the unbidden image of him wearing decidedly fewer clothes. But the severity with which he spoke grated, stopping her from doing what she ought in favor of discovering the reason behind his sudden hostility toward her. “Perhaps not,” she said, ignoring the urge to flee and walking into the room instead, “but since I did happen to see you, may I at least compliment you on your form? You are both quite skilled.”

  A muscle twitched at Woodford’s jawline as he followed her progress with his eyes. Here, in this place below stairs—­a place where women did not venture—­he seemed incredibly powerful and perhaps even a bit dangerous.

  A shiver slid along Chloe’s spine, and it took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to give her own emotions away. They frightened her, these new sensations, even in their fresh fragility. Incredibly, Lord Woodford had awoken something inside her—­a yearning she hadn’t felt in years, not just to be held . . . touched . . . kissed by a man who wanted her in return, but to be appreciated for the woman that she was—­to be admired. Except she now felt as though he was trying to push her away and she needed to know why.

  “You’re acquainted with the art of fencing?” Hainsworth asked, addressing her in a much gentler tone than Woodford had done.

  She nodded, her eyes trained on Hainsworth. “I’ve been taking lessons for almost a year now. Spencer has been teaching me.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Woodford asked, sounding wonderfully astonished.

  “Surely you jest,” Hainsworth said, looking equally surprised.

  “Not at all,” Chloe assured him. “Spencer and I have always done many things together due to our closeness in age.”

  “You cannot possibly mean . . .” Hainsworth’s words trailed off into obscurity.

  There was a pause, and then, “What exactly are you saying, Lady Newbury?”

  The question was voiced by Woodford, and although it did sound as though he was speaking through between clenched teeth, Chloe detected an unmistakable note of curiosity. She turned toward him slowly, smiled benignly and said, “That I enjoy fencing for sport as much as you do.”

  He narrowed his gaze on her—­studying . . . assessing . . .

  “Perhaps I ought to show you,” Chloe said, raising an eyebrow.

  “The devil you will,” Woodford said.

  He looked just about as unapproachable as a rock. Chloe took a step back. Perhaps she’d made a mistake in staying. She really should leave.

  “I believe you know better than to speak so rudely in the presence of a lady, Woodford,” Hains­worth said, halting Chloe’s plans of retreat.

  “Forgive me,” Woodford muttered, “but I fear it was unavoidable.”

  With a speculative glint to his eyes, Hainsworth bowed toward Chloe. “Lady Newbury, it has been a pleasure seeing you again.” Straightening himself, he removed his vest and handed it to her along with his foil, which she graciously accepted. He then started toward the door leading out to the stairs.

  Woodford stared after him. “Where are you going? We still have three more rounds left!”

  “I daresay Lady Newbury will be more than happy to oblige,” Hainsworth called over his shoulder. Pausing by the door, he said, “Just don’t forget what we talked about.” He gave a curt nod before disappearing from sight.

  A long drawn-­out moment of awkward silence followed. When Chloe could stand it no longer, she hazarded a glance in Woodford’s direction and found him watching her as if he wasn’t quite sure of what to do with her. Her heart tapped lightly against her chest, unsure of what it meant. “Are you having second thoughts?” She eventually asked, not wanting to hear the truth but knowing that she must—­for her own peace of mind.

  “About what?” His expression was a tight mask of rigidity, betraying not a hint of his thoughts.

  The question surprised her. Choosing not to answer, she responded with one of her own. “How do you do it?” She shook her head, unable to fathom that he’d kissed her passionately—­as if he’d been starving for her—­only the day before. “How can you be so unaffected by what we shared?”

  He shrugged. “It was just a kiss.”

  Her heart crumpled a little. “You said that you intended to continue what you started.”

  “And I still might. At some point.”

  She blinked. Something must have happened. His behavior made no sense otherwise, for although he’d always maintained a serious demeanor, he’d never been cold toward her before. But the way he was treating her now . . . it almost reminded her of the way he’d been toward Scarsdale. Pushing aside her pride in an effort to understand, she said, “Have I done something to displease you?”

  He tilted his head. “I believe your conscience would trouble you if you had.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Nothing, except for the fact that we shouldn’t have allowed ourselves to get carried away. As I told you, I have no plan to marry.”

  “And I have accepted that condition since—­”

  “You shouldn’t,” he clipped.

  His tone made her bristle, and just like that, she completely lost the composure that she’d worked so hard to retain. “I hope you’re not trying to presume what’s best for me, Lord Woodford, because if you are, then allow me to assure you that I have no desire to marry anyone ever again. I have already endured one marriage and it was a miserable failure, so I will not be subjecting myself to another!” Her heart was in her throat as she covered her mouth with her hand. Wide-­eyed, she stared at him, waiting for his rebuke. She could not believe she’d just spoken so boldly.

  Woodford’s expression softened until he almost looked as though he might smile. He didn’t quite. But he didn’t get angry with her either, as she’d feared he might. “Was it really that bad?” he asked instead.

  Her annoyance dissipated in response to the sympathy tinging his voice. “It was awful,” she confessed. “Nothing but lies and humiliation. I . . . She bit her lip before saying something she’d likely regret, but the truth was that she’d felt no sense of loss when Newbury’s death had been reported. On the contrary, she’d felt free.

  “You’re glad he’s gone?”

  The question startled her to her core. “No. I could never do anything as reprehensible as rejoice in the death of another person.”

  “Of course not,” he told her seriously. And then, “Would you like to talk about it?”

  She almost laughed, but shook her head instead. “Why did you treat me with disdain when I came down here?”

  Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry about that. I’m just not sure that you and I should be engaging in a liaison with each other.”

  “May I ask why? After all, you are the one who suggested it in the first place.”

  �
�I know,” he said, “but I did not think it through. There are a lot of ­people here at Thorncliff. If any of them find out, it could affect your reputation, and you don’t seem like the sort of woman who would be indifferent to such a thing.”

  “You’re probably right,” Chloe agreed. She’d always hated gossip, especially when it was directed at her. “But if that were the only issue, you could have just talked to me.” She studied him a moment, taking courage, until finally she said, “I suspect there might be another reason for your displeasure with my presence here.” His eyes darkened, increasing her concern. “What is it?”

  It seemed like forever before he finally spoke. “I don’t like Scarsdale,” he said very matter-­of-­factly. “He and I have a history and”—­he glanced away a moment, then looked her squarely in the eye—­“did he visit you last night?”

  “What do you mean?” He didn’t reply, his eyes steadily boring into her as if he hoped to somehow read the contents of her mind. Realization was quick to follow. “No! Of course not!”

  “The thought distresses you?”

  “I don’t know why I’m confiding in you like this, but it turns out that Scarsdale is not the friend I thought him to be.”

  Woodford appeared to hold himself in check with some great force of will. “What did he do?”

  “It’s nothing really,” Chloe said, attempting to make light of the issue in case Woodford decided to do something foolish like challenge Scarsdale to a duel. “Suffice it to say that he believed there was more between us than there actually is.”

  “I see.”

  Was it just her imagination or did he look slightly relieved? “Are you really just concerned about my reputation?”

  “Yes,” he said, responding quickly.

  Chloe’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Why not? What reason would I possibly have to lie?”

  “I don’t know,” she told him truthfully, “but you’re a serious man, my lord—­the sort of man who does a great deal of thinking. You would have considered the potential danger to my reputation before allowing yourself to get involved with me in the first place.”

  “You’re wrong about that,” he said. “I acted on impulse.”

  “Why are you lying?” The words were nothing more than a whisper, and yet they were perfectly audible as they filled the space between them.

  Woodford’s eyes flickered, hard as flint. “If you were a man, I’d call you out for implying that I might be.”

  Her hunger for the truth emboldened her, so rather than retreat, she took a step toward him. “Allow me to save you the effort.” She lifted the vest and rapier. “I hereby challenge you, Lord Woodford.”

  “No,” he said simply.

  “If I win,” she went on, ignoring him completely, “you’ll be honor-­bound to tell me why you really want to be rid of me.”

  He flinched just enough to suggest severe discomfort with that notion. “And if you lose?”

  “Name your terms.”

  For a long unbearable moment, he remained completely impassive until, ever so gradually, he allowed a distinct nod. “If I win, you will tell me why you felt compelled to flee the salon the other day when I got angry.”

  Chloe drew back. “I had my reasons.”

  “I do not doubt that, Lady Newbury, and I should like to know what they are.”

  “Why?”

  He stared back at her until her toes began to curl inside her slippers. “Suffice it to say that I’ve always been the curious sort. I like to understand ­people, and I do believe that I’ll be more likely to understand you if you tell me about your fear of confrontation.”

  It was a gamble. A dangerous one, given his proficiency with a foil. But she’d been the one to suggest the match. Backing out would only prove that she was a coward, so she decided to take the risk of having to confide in him the truth about her marriage. “Very well,” Chloe conceded as she put on the vest that Hainsworth had given her and tied the ribbons in place. It was a little large of course, but she was too agitated to go in search of another and therefore decided to make do. “Shall we begin?” she asked with more confidence than she felt.

  “En garde,” Woodford muttered, taking up his position.

  Chloe followed suit. While her right hand held her foil at the ready, her left clutched the fabric of her skirt, hitching it slightly upward so it wouldn’t tangle around her legs or accidentally trip her. If only she’d been wearing breeches as she usually did when she fenced with Spencer, but she was certain that doing so would have been too great of a shock for Woodford on the heels of discovering her fondness for a discipline reserved exclusively for men.

  Instead, she would simply have to make the best of it, and she was not given much time to gather her wits since, to her surprise, Woodford moved toward her, forcing her to back up. For some reason she’d expected him to wait for her to make the first move, but he had not, and rather than an easy, playful bout, she found herself struggling to keep up.

  “You present good posture,” Woodford remarked as their foils engaged with fluidity.

  “Thank you, my lord,” Chloe replied, her heart already pumping fast with the exertion. “I’ve been practicing a great deal, though I daresay I’ve never fought against anyone as accomplished as you.”

  He frowned. “Have you ever fought against anyone other than Spencer?”

  “No,” she confessed.

  The edge of his mouth twitched. “Then you flatter me, Lady Newbury, for your brother is quite skilled.”

  “Have you ever lost against him?”

  “I cannot say that I have.”

  “Then I did not flatter you at all. I merely stated fact.”

  Woodford nodded, conceding the point as they changed directions. “Pull your shoulders back a little and raise your chin.” Chloe did as he suggested. “Good. Now concentrate on my foil. I’m going to try an attack and I want you to block me if you can. Ready?”

  “Ready.” The word was barely out before Chloe felt, rather than saw, her own foil being pushed aside by his so swiftly that it was over in a second. She hadn’t stood a chance.

  “Shall we try again?” he asked, the tip of his foil still pressed against the middle of Chloe’s chest.

  Determined to do better, Chloe nodded and took up her starting position. “En garde,” she said, leaping forward to attack.

  Woodford’s eyes widened. Evidently he had not been prepared for her to perform a balestra and just as she’d hoped, it worked to her advantage, allowing her to push Woodford’s foil aside so she could pin him with her own.

  “An exemplary show of swordsmanship, my lady,” he said with appreciation as she lowered her foil and stepped back.

  Pleased that she had managed to best him, she smiled with satisfaction, but was quickly reminded of her inferior skills when he suddenly engaged her once again, deflecting her blows as he took command and pressed her backward. “Arrogance has no place in fencing,” he remarked.

  She gasped as she fought for control. “You think me arrogant, my lord?”

  “I think you’re trying to prove yourself somehow. I also believe that your one successful move has made you too confident—­so confident in fact that you failed to anticipate this.” With a flick of his foil, he knocked hers aside, caught the hem of her gown and, whirling the fabric around his own foil, drew her closer until they were practically chest to chest. His breaths were controlled, unlike hers, but there was a slight sheen upon his brow to suggest that he’d been exercising with vigor.

  “It appears you’ve won yet again,” Chloe said, her voice barely audible above the thundering sound of her heart. Lord help her they were close—­indecently so. The thrill of it was almost unbearable, the scent of him—­the elemental smell of strength and vitality—­intoxicating. Gazing up at him, Chloe licked her lips without ev
en thinking.

  His eyes darkened while a gruff sound escaped him, but rather than kiss her as she’d expected, he stepped back, adding distance, and unwound his foil from her skirt. “That’s two to one,” he said, raising his foil once more while she did the same, her composure utterly shaken by the professional detachment with which he approached their match. “Ready?”

  She nodded, her breaths still heavy against her chest. “Ready,” she said as she focused all her attention upon his hand and the foil that he wielded so easily that it seemed to be an extension of his arm.

  “En garde,” he said before moving swiftly to­ward her.

  Their foils clanged together, echoing through the large room. With precise movements, he pushed her to use every aspect of her training. But every time she attempted an unexpected thrust in his direction, he was ready to deflect her. The element of surprise that she’d used against him previously was now an impossible act to follow since he’d been made aware of her capabilities.

  “Will you surrender?” he asked when she began showing obvious signs of fatigue.

  “Never,” she hissed.

  He arched an eyebrow and gave a curt nod as he pushed her further back, the strength in her hand beginning to fail her. “Your determination is admirable, just as long as it doesn’t prove foolhardy.”

  Pivoting on his heels, he rounded on her, his foil dashing hers aside and then pinning the thin muslin of her gown.

  She felt it like the prick of a needle and instinctively gasped. “The victory is clearly yours,” she eventually said.

  With a slight nod, he drew back his foil. “There is nothing wrong with sizing up your enemy, concluding that you cannot possibly win, and then abandoning all attempts at trying. It’s a strategy that may allow you another attempt to achieve your goal later.”

  “Thank you for the lesson, my lord. I shall certainly take it into account the next time that I am faced with a superior opponent.” Lord how she hated the annoyance with which she spoke. After all, he’d just made a valid point.

  He frowned, but rather than comment, he said, “Would you like to take a walk with me in the garden once you’ve freshened up?”