The Earl's Complete Surrender

by Sophie Barnes

  A knock had sounded at the door and James’s mother had entered, her smile the gentle kind that invited laughter. “It’s getting late,” she’d said as she’d stepped inside the room. “You should be getting to bed.”

  “Who? Me?” James’s father had joked, to which James had laughed. “Let the boy enjoy his sweet, Jane. I can bring him up when he’s ready.”

  The doorbell had rung at that moment and James had heard a muffled exchange of words coming from the foyer. It had been followed by a loud thud. James’s father had gotten to his feet. “That’s odd,” he’d said, rounding his desk and moving toward the door. “I’ll just see what that was.”

  James’s mother had looked at her son. “Your math tutor says that you are making great progress,” she’d said. “I’m so proud of you.”

  Coming from the hallway, James had been able to hear his father’s voice. “Peters? What’s—­”

  The single shot of a pistol had cut him off. James had flinched. Startled by the sound, he’d swallowed his sweet whole. His mother had leapt to her feet, pulling him with her. “What happened?” he’d asked, even though he’d known. The truth, however, had been impossible to process. It still was.

  “Get inside,” his mother had said, her voice trembling as she’d held open the door to a cupboard below the bookcase.

  “I’ll never fit,” he’d argued, peering inside the tight space.

  “You must,” she’d insisted, shoving him toward it with all her might.

  He’d done as she’d asked, contorting himself around a stack of books.

  “I love you,” she’d said and he’d looked up to see the tears welling in her eyes as she’d closed the door.

  A moment had passed, and then, “It’s you,” she’d said, sounding very surprise. “You’re an Elector. Don’t move or I’ll shoot.” She’d gathered up Papa’s pistol, but it had been to no avail. Another shot had sounded and James had bitten into his knuckles in a desperate effort to remain silent.

  “I was hiding,” he told Lady Newbury.

  Her face practically crumpled with sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”

  He nodded, but had no wish to allow melancholia to take hold of him, so he shrugged it off and said, “I’d like to have a quick look around in here myself, just in case you missed something. If I come up empty-­handed as well, then it must be somewhere else.” He pulled open another drawer in the escritoire. “How did you know to look for the journal here at Thorncliff?”

  “I’ve been corresponding with an old acquaintance of my grandfather’s,” she said. “His name is Mr. Lambert.”

  James paused momentarily before resuming his search. “You’re lucky to have him on your side, Lady Newbury.”

  “Yes, he’s proven surprisingly helpful for a professor in English literature.”

  “You needn’t pretend with me, Lady Newbury,” James said, deciding that it was time to be completely honest, whether he liked it or not. “I know that Lambert is more than that.”

  It was as if her entire regard for him changed in that instance, her mind clearly working with swift alacrity in order to process all that she knew about the Earl of Woodford so far and adding it to what he’d just told her until . . . “You’re not just an earl, are you, my lord?”

  “No, I’m not,” he admitted as he yanked open the bottom drawer and searched that one next.

  “Are you . . . ?” She waved one hand in his general direction.

  “Am I what?”

  Cautiously, she leaned forward and whispered, “A spy?”

  The manner in which she said it, as if it were the most fascinating thing imaginable, filled him with a ridiculous amount of pleasure. He ought not to care about her opinion on the matter, but found that he couldn’t quite help it. “I used to be, during the war. Now I prefer to think of myself as more of an investigator.”

  “I see.” She nodded as if she now knew exactly what his job entailed.

  Abandoning the escritoire, James inspected the bedside tables next. “The king hired me to find the book.”

  Her lips parted in amazement. “The king?”

  “He recognizes that The Electors don’t consider him anything but a pawn, so he would like to find them and bring them to justice before they decide that he’s no longer needed.”

  “Good Lord,” she said on a sigh, “this is far more complex than I realized.”

  “And probably more dangerous as well,” he told her seriously. “Which is why you must promise me not to do any more investigating. Especially since I’m beginning to suspect that Scarsdale might be involved. I’ll take it from here.”

  A brief silence followed, during which James could sense her staring at him. “No,” she eventually said. “I do not believe that. Besides, I’ve put a year into this. I will not give up now just because you happen to be looking for the book as well or because you think Scarsdale’s a threat. How do I even know that I can trust you and that you will show me the journal once you find it?”

  “I shall give you my word.”

  “No. I will not let you toss me aside like this.” Her voice, which was generally so soft and kind, was now filled with passion. “This book may be the only positive thing that I get to take away from my marriage.”

  “It’s for your own safety that you stop looking for it,” he said, trying to sound reasonable. “If anything were to happen to you—­”

  “I won’t say that I’m not scared, but I have considered the consequences and have accepted them.”

  “This, from a woman who recently told me that she prefers to avoid taking unnecessary risks!”

  “You’re right. I did say that. But discovering who The Electors are is far from unnecessary. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I do. What I disagree with, is your need to get involved when I am perfectly capable of doing the job for you.”

  “Thank you, but I think a collaboration between us will be more efficient, and like I said, I need to do this, Lord Woodford. You cannot make me stop.”

  As reluctant as James was to collaborate with anyone, he knew she’d be safer with him than on her own. “Very well,” he agreed, “but you’ll follow my lead.”

  Rather than answer, her expression turned pensive, which James decided he didn’t like at all. “Have you considered that it might have been placed in storage along with the rest of Duncaster’s belongings after Duncaster died?” she asked.

  Flinging open the wardrobe, James took a good look, determining that it wasn’t there either. “The attic might be a good place for us to look next, if we can manage to find the stairs.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Closing the wardrobe, he glanced around the room to ensure that everything was left exactly the way they’d found it. “I have looked for access to the attic before, but was unable to locate it.”

  “That makes absolutely no sense. There simply must be an attic!”

  “Agreed. The stairs, however, have been hidden, so we shall have to find them first.”

  “Perhaps we could ask Lady Duncaster?”

  Her question, as innocent as it might be, made him move to within a few inches of her so that he could look her in the eye. “No,” he said. “It’s much too dangerous to get anyone else involved. As it is, I’m still not comfortable with you being a part of this. Promise me that you won’t tell anyone about the book or that you’re helping me look for something. Not even your family can know about this.”

  Wariness settled in the depths of her green eyes. She nodded. “I promise.”

  James’s chest tightened in response to her sincerity. He might not be able to offer her much, but he was confident in his ability to protect her if need be.

  “This is why you chose to distance yourself from me, isn’t it? Because of your profession?”

  “I didn’t want to put you in danger.”
>
  “I understand. Especially after . . .” what happened to your mother. She didn’t need to say the words for him to know that she was thinking them. “Whatever danger I may be in, it’s of my own making. Now that I know who you really are and that you’re after the same thing as me, I think I’ll feel safer if I can stay close to you.”

  Gazing down at her as she stood there, so ready to risk danger with him at her side, he was unable to stop the kiss that followed. One minute they were standing apart, and the next, she was in his arms, destroying his resilience.

  She was just as sweet as he remembered—­the taste of her intoxicating—­like fresh morning dew infused with jasmine nectar. Wrapping her in his arms, he pulled her flush against his own body, her feminine softness a clear contrast to his own much firmer contours. Placing his hand against the back of her head, he held her steady, savoring the quiet whimper that escaped her throat as he deepened the kiss. Their tongues met, tentatively caressing until James was faced with only two options: to pull away or to have his way with her right there in the middle of the late Lord Duncaster’s bedchamber.

  Reluctantly, he picked the first option, easing her out of his arms with a few parting kisses. “We shouldn’t linger,” he said and gestured toward the door leading into Lady Duncaster’s bedchamber. “After you, my lady.”

  Chapter 10

  That evening at dinner, Chloe found it impossible not to look in Woodford’s direction from time to time. After everything he’d told her that afternoon, the details regarding the deaths of his parents and his work as a spy—­the mission he was on to seek justice not just for himself but for England, she almost felt as though she was seeing him for the very first time. The hard lines that occasionally creased his forehead no longer made him look stern, but rather concerned—­as if the task he’d been given weighed heavily upon his shoulders. Likewise, the tight set of his jaw had meaning now. The anger he felt was not only justified, it also fueled his vendetta.

  “Are you smitten?” The words were whispered close to her ear.

  Chloe almost choked on her veal. “Of course not,” she said, turning to glare at Spencer who was seated next to her this evening.

  He raised an eyebrow. “You needn’t be so touchy about it. It was just a question.”

  “You know that’s not true,” she said as she reached for her wineglass and took a sip.

  “You’re right, but you can’t fault a man for wondering about his sister’s interest in a particular gentleman.”

  “If you must know, I find his distinctive contrast to all other gentlemen intriguing,” she said with a shrug.

  Spencer chuckled. “If you say so.”

  “What? Are you suggesting I might have another reason?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Spencer told her seriously. The smile that followed suggested the opposite. “As it happens, I like Woodford, and if he’s somehow able to help you move on with your life, then I am all for it. You deserve to be happy, Chloe.”

  She nodded, unable to speak as her throat tightened with emotion. Spencer had developed an instant dislike for Newbury after spotting him at a gaming hell with another woman. If he’d known how bad things had truly been, Chloe knew he would have taken drastic measures in order to help her, which was why she’d kept Newbury’s abuse to herself.

  Once the meal was over, the ladies adjourned to the music room while the gentlemen headed toward the smoking room for their after-­dinner drinks. “I’m just going to fetch a shawl for myself,” Chloe told her mother and sisters as they exited the dining room. “Do any of you need anything? I’d be happy to bring it along.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you,” her mother said, “but I’m all right.” Chloe’s sisters agreed that they didn’t need anything either, so Chloe parted ways with them and headed in the direction of the stairs. Turning left at the end of the hallway, she saw Woodford, his back toward her as he entered the Turkish salon. She quickened her step, deciding to talk to him about the attic and their plan to start looking for a way to get into it. But when she entered the salon, she found it empty.

  She glanced around, completely befuddled. A soft click from the far left corner drew her attention. Clearly, there could only be one explanation for Woodford’s disappearance, and it was one that Chloe was not entirely pleased with since he’d promised her a partnership. With a quick glance back at the hallway to ensure that nobody else was about, she closed the door to the salon and crossed to the spot where the click had come from. For a moment, she just stood there, studying the wall. When she saw no manner in which to pull it open, she placed her hand against it and pushed.

  The segment popped open, and Chloe immediately stepped inside, pulling it closed as she plunged into darkness. A lantern would have been useful, but that would have taken too much time. Clearly Woodford meant to find the journal without her, and she was now quite determined to stop him. So she waited for her eyes to adjust and then started forward, wincing as her hand connected with something sticky and stringy. Of course there would be cobwebs in a place like this, and where there were cobwebs, there were spiders. Chloe stiffened her spine. Lord, how she hated spiders, ever since the time Spencer had put one down the back of her gown. She shuddered briefly at the memory before continuing on her way.

  Ahead of her, she was able to discern the distinct sound of footsteps, deliberate in their stride. Her own were silent, thanks to the slippers she wore. Eager to catch up to Woodford before he turned a corner or disappeared through another secret door, Chloe hastened her pace, but in the murky darkness, faint outlines were the only guide aside from touch, so she failed to see where the passageway turned and walked straight into the solid wood wall ahead. The contact produced a loud thud as well as a yelp from her.

  “What the . . . ?” A hazy glow of yellow light brightened the space as Woodford came toward her. “Lady Newbury? What are you doing in here?”

  “I was following you,” she said as she pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. Lord, how it hurt! “You’re searching for the journal, aren’t you?”

  He didn’t answer her question. Instead he said, “You shouldn’t be in here. This isn’t a place for a lady.”

  “I’m sure you’re right about that. But you and I made a deal—­that we would search for the journal together—­yet here you are, sneaking around secret passageways. If your aim is to gain my trust, then you are doing a deplorable job of it.”

  He blew out a heavy breath, his face cast in shades of gray that shifted in response to the flickering light. “My aim was to save you the trouble of having to come this way. I was hoping that the tunnel might lead me to the attic and that, once there, I’d be able to take the stairs down.”

  “And then what? You would come and fetch me? Allow me to join you in the search?”

  “Precisely.”

  She stared at him, trying to determine if he was telling the truth. “I want to believe you,” she said. “I’m just not sure that I can.”

  “You’re suggesting that I would lie to you.”

  She nodded, aware of the change in his demeanor. In spite of the darkness, she could sense his altered mood and knew that he’d taken offense. “Forgive me,” she said, “but given the fact that your profession relies upon secrecy, lies and deception, it would be naïve of me to simply assume that you will not try to deceive me in an effort to keep the journal to yourself.”

  “My profession aside, Lady Newbury, I am still a gentleman, and I have given you my word as such.” His voice was stiff. He made no attempt to hide the displeasure he felt about what she’d just said.

  “I am aware of that,” she said, “but I also believed that my husband and Scarsdale were gentlemen, until I learned that they were in fact scoundrels in disguise.”

  “I am nothing like either one of them,” he gritted out as he stepped closer, looming over her with his much larger size. “D
on’t ever make the error of presuming that I might be.”

  The dangerous tone of his voice made her flinch. Her heart quickened with an immediate sense of panic. “I’m sorry,” she said, attempting to move away but finding herself pressed into a corner instead.

  “No. It is I who should apologize to you. I did not mean to distress you just now, though it is clear that I have,” he said, his voice gentling. Reaching out, he placed the palm of his hand against her cheek, allowing a wave of warmth to ease away her concerns. “I was honest with you when I agreed to a collaboration, and I was honest just now when I told you why I’m here. But you must also understand that I am accustomed to working alone. Involving someone else goes against my every instinct.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I should have known after everything you told me.”

  His hand lingered a moment longer against her cheek before withdrawing. “I’ll escort you back to where you came from so I can continue my search. I promise that I’ll inform you as soon as I find the stairs to the attic so that you may gain access more easily.”

  The sincerity in his voice told her that he was being honest and deep in her heart she’d known that he was not the sort of man who would give his word lightly. Fear, however, was a difficult beast to conquer.

  But as they turned back around the corner, they were met by the light of another lantern. Woodford immediately pulled Chloe back, placing her behind him as Scarsdale came into view. “You know about the passageway,” Woodford stated as if the fact was a piece that fit neatly into a puzzle.

  “I heard a thud and came to investigate,” Scarsdale said, holding up his lantern and trying to catch a glimpse of Chloe. “Took me a devil of a time to figure out how to get in here.”