The Earl's Complete Surrender

by Sophie Barnes

  “I’m surprised to find you alone like this,” he said, offering Lady Newbury a glass of champagne that he’d snatched from a tray on his way over to her.

  She’d watched him approach, her expression softening as he came closer. “As you can see, my entire family is on the dance floor.”

  “So were you a few moments ago.”

  She looked suddenly contrite. “I didn’t want to dance with him, but it would have been badly done of me to turn him down in public. ­People would have talked.”

  “Where is Scarsdale now?” James asked. He was doing his best to remain calm, but it was proving difficult.

  “I believe he decided to make a go of the tables. He invited me to join him but I declined.”

  “I don’t suppose he was happy about that?”

  “Not especially. No.”

  James nodded. “And Lady Duncaster?”

  Lady Newbury considered him a moment. “Inconsequential,” was her only response.

  “You’re certain of that?”

  “It was a private matter.”

  Her curt tone suggested that there might be more to it than that, but James chose not to press her about it.

  “Did you enjoy Lady Mary’s company?” she asked, looking away and appearing to study the rest of the room with great interest.

  “Not so much, though she has read A Voyage to the Pacific.”

  Lady Newbury turned her head and James saw that her face portrayed the same degree of uncertainty as it would have done had someone just offered her a layer cake in return for her participation in their next social gathering. “Is it not your favorite book?” she asked with caution.

  “It is.”

  She frowned. “Forgive me, but your reasoning seems quite illogical. Unless of course . . .” She gasped.

  “As you have no doubt concluded, the book did not suit Lady Mary. Indeed, she found it a tiresome affair which swiftly led to me tiring of her.”

  “I’m sure she has other fine qualities that you probably overlooked in your swift judgment of her.” She sounded censorious, but her eyes told a different story—­one that led James to believe that Lady Newbury was happy to know that he had no interest in Lady Mary.

  “Undoubtedly,” he said, then decided to test his theory by adding, “but I would much rather share your company.”

  “Oh,” she said, a little startled. “Why, thank you, Lord Woodford. I quite enjoy spending time with you as well.” A pause followed, and then, in a low whisper, “It’s not just the kissing, is it?”

  He would have chuckled, had he been prone to showing signs of amusement. Instead, he shook his head. “I consider you a friend, Lady Newbury.” When she pursed her lips in contemplation, he bowed his head and murmured in her ear, “But the kissing is definitely a benefit.”

  “Who is that lady in the mauve gown?” Ophelia asked as she and Charlotte came to stand beside Chloe a short while later.

  Her eyes were on Woodford who’d gone to fetch some ices—­a welcome reprieve from the heat that he’d instilled in her only moments earlier. “Mrs. Green,” she said, attempting to sound as neutral as possible while she watched the raven-­haired beauty intercept Woodford on his way to the refreshment table.

  A tight knot had formed in her belly when she’d watched Woodford walk away with Lady Mary on his arm, and although Woodford had eliminated the feeling, dismissing any possible interest in Lady Mary, it now returned as Chloe watched Mrs. Green practically gluing herself to Woodford’s side.

  “I don’t like her,” Charlotte said very matter of factly.

  “Neither do I,” Ophelia agreed.

  Chloe turned to regard her friends. “How can you possibly say such a thing when you have not even made her acquaintance?”

  Charlotte shrugged. “Your distaste of her is quite apparent in that scowl you’re wearing, and that is quite enough reason for me.”

  “Agreed,” Ophelia stated with a tight nod.

  Chloe sighed. “Thank you for your solidarity, but you are quite mistaken about my opinion of Mrs. Green and . . . what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?” Ophelia asked.

  “As if I just arrived from the moon.” Glancing briefly toward the refreshment table, Chloe winced at the sight of Mrs. Green whispering something in Woodford’s ear. If only he would give her the set down that she deserved.

  “When last we spoke about the earl,” Charlotte said with a nod toward Woodford, “you made it very clear to us that you had absolutely no interest in him. Romantically speaking, that is. As I recall, you were determined to convince us of the fact. But now . . .” A smile touched Charlotte’s lips. “Nothing would make me happier than to know that you are ready to open your heart again and to move on.”

  Chloe could think of nothing to say. It was as if her mind had gone completely blank.

  “In case you are interested, I have spoken to Forthright,” Ophelia said, “made some inquiries just in case you happened to develop a tendre for Woodford.”

  “I have done no such thing,” Chloe said, finding her tongue. “Nor do I plan to.”

  “Your eyes tell a different story,” Charlotte muttered.

  “What?” Chloe started. “Don’t be absurd.”

  “According to Forthright, Woodford is highly respected for his levelheadedness,” Ophelia said. “It is true that he’s not very social, but Forthright insists that he is one of the most honorable gentlemen there is.” Lowering her voice, she added, “Apparently that duel between Woodford and Scarsdale was Scarsdale’s idea. He goaded Woodford into it because he wanted to prove himself to his friends.”

  “I suppose Newbury was one of them.”

  “Forthright wasn’t that specific,” Ophelia said, “and I didn’t ask, so I really cannot say. What I do know is that Woodford warned Scarsdale against dueling and that Scarsdale insisted. He ridiculed Woodford until Woodford finally consented. But even then, Woodford held back. He did not want to fight Scarsdale, and yet he still won. Scarsdale’s humiliation was huge of course, especially due to his opponent’s lack of effort.”

  “Not to be the harbinger of bad news,” Charlotte interjected, “but while the two of you have been talking, Lady Dewfield has also approached Woodford. I can practically see her salivating at the prospect of claiming the earl for herself.”

  A cold shiver weakened Chloe’s limbs at the sound of that name. Lady Dewfield. The woman who took perverse pleasure in reminding Chloe that Newbury had favored her bed. “I cannot allow that,” Chloe whispered, more to herself than to anyone else. The knot in her stomach tightened—­painfully so. I cannot lose him to her. Ridiculous notion, Chloe chided herself. She didn’t want Woodford for herself, she wanted . . . her heart thudded as she watched Lady Dewfield take Woodford by the arm and lead him away from Mrs. Green, who was looking understandably piqued.

  “I have to intervene,” Chloe said, moving forward without waiting for a response from either Charlotte or Ophelia. When it came to Lady Dewfield, time was of the essence.

  “What a lovely gown,” Chloe said as she approached, hoping to sweeten her meeting with Lady Dewfield by appealing to the lady’s vanity. “You must tell me who your modiste is.”

  “Ah! Lady Newbury,” Lady Dewfield said with treacly politeness that gnawed at Chloe’s nerves. “I could say the same of you.”

  “Why thank you,” Chloe told her. “You’re really too kind.”

  “Not at all,” Lady Dewfield said. She smiled tightly at Chloe. “If you’ll excuse us, Lady Newbury, we were on our way over to the refreshment table when you arrived.”

  “I have not forgotten about the ice I promised you,” Woodford assured Chloe while Lady Dewfield’s eyebrows rose a notch. “Will you accompany us to the refreshment table or would you rather I bring it to you elsewhere?”

  Chloe almost
cheered in response to Lady Dewfield’s dissatisfied expression, but before she could form a response, the edge of Lady Dewfield’s mouth kicked up and she said, “I think you’d best seek out your mother first, Lady Newbury. When I passed her no more than ten minutes ago at the other end of the ballroom, she inquired about your whereabouts. I wasn’t sure where you were at the time so I was quite unable to offer any help.”

  Chloe narrowed her gaze. Lady Dewfield could be callous and shrewd, but would she deliberately lie in order to achieve her goal? Chloe decided that a woman like her—­one who slept with other men’s wives without feeling a modicum of guilt—­most definitely would. Lady Dewfield wanted Woodford for herself and was willing to say what she had to in order to remove Chloe from his vicinity.

  I won’t allow it.

  “I doubt it’s anything important,” Chloe said, accepting the arm that Woodford offered her.

  “Are you certain you wouldn’t like to check first?” Woodford asked.

  “Mama is always looking for one of her children whenever she needs a second opinion on something,” Chloe assured him. She’d walk to hell and back barefoot before leaving him alone with Lady Dewfield. The woman was a veritable predator! “I’m sure it won’t make much difference if it’s me or one of my siblings.”

  “Well, if you’re sure,” Woodford said, sounding skeptical, “we would love your company.”

  That was definitely not true. He might love it, which sent a flutter of heat through Chloe’s veins, but Lady Dewfield would most assuredly loath it.

  “Thank you, my lord,” Chloe said. “I can think of no one better with whom to share a refreshment.” And nobody more deserving of a punch bowl being emptied over their head than Lady Dewfield.

  Chloe refrained from saying as much as Woodford lead her forward. She savored the firmness of his arm and the scent that she now recognized as uniquely his, all the while telling herself that her feelings toward him were born from mutual understanding and the sense of responsibility they shared in their pursuit of the journal. They didn’t run deeper. They simply couldn’t. And yet the beat of her heart warned her that she might be deceiving herself a great deal more than she was willing to admit.

  “There you are,” Laura said, addressing Chloe as she stepped out onto the balcony half an hour later. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  After claiming the heat inside the ballroom was too much for her to bear, Woodford had offered to escort Lady Dewfield outside. Chloe had naturally decided to follow. “Whatever is the matter?” she now asked her sister.

  Laura took a breath. “You have Mama’s spectacles in your reticule and she wishes to play cards. She cannot do so without them since the lighting is too dim.” She looked at Lady Dewfield. “As I recall, Mama asked you if you had seen my sister and you said no. How come you didn’t mention this to Lady Newbury when you eventually found her?”

  Oh no!

  Chloe had been so focused on thwarting any attempt Lady Dewfield might make to seduce Lord Woodford that she’d completely forgotten about the spectacles.

  Lady Dewfield arched a brow. “Why on earth would you suppose that I didn’t?”

  “Well I . . .” Laura looked back at Chloe with a big question in her eyes.

  “Lady Dewfield did her duty,” Woodford said, “but your sister didn’t believe the matter was urgent.”

  Oh, she felt rotten now.

  “I don’t suppose it is, as such,” Laura said.

  “Nevertheless,” Chloe said, finding her voice amidst the humiliation, “I should not have chosen to ignore it. I’ll bring her the spectacles immediately. If you’ll please excuse me,” she said to Woodford and Lady Dewfield. His brow was slightly creased while Lady Dewfield managed a taunting smile that seemed to say, You’re completely out of your depth.

  Straightening her spine, Chloe determined to hold her own against the widow. Ignoring her completely, she faced Woodford and said in her most pleasant voice, “Don’t forget our waltz, my lord. I believe it’s due to commence quite soon.”

  His frown deepened a little as he nodded, and his voice was a touch too gruff as he said, “I’ll come and find you.”

  With nothing more to say, Chloe followed Laura back inside the ballroom where they proceeded to wind their way through the throng of ­people present as they went in search of their mother.

  “It appears as though you and Woodford are becoming very well acquainted with each other,” Laura whispered in a dreamy voice that suggested her mind was focused on romance.

  “To some degree,” Chloe told her warily. “I cannot deny that I enjoy his company.”

  “I would not have thought it. He seems entirely too laconic.”

  “Oh, you would be surprised by just how interesting he can be,” Chloe said, her mind filling with thoughts of incidental rendezvous, illicit kisses and trips through secret passageways. She hid a smile, aware that Woodford would be a wonderful addition to the characters in the novel that Laura was writing.

  Laura threw a dubious look at Chloe. “I somehow doubt it, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t something to be said for a brooding hero.” She smiled knowingly. “I think I’m beginning to understand your appreciation for him.”

  Placing her hand against her sister’s arm, Chloe brought her to a stop. “You’ve obviously misunderstood the situation, so let me be clear,” she said, “I have not developed a tendre for the Earl of Woodford, nor would I ever do so.”

  Laura looked as unconvinced by this as Chloe felt. Saying the words out loud made her question the truth in them, but only for a second. She might have kissed Woodford, but she wasn’t about to marry him or any other man for that matter.

  “He and I barely know each other, Laura, and while we have spent some moments together since arriving here, it would be ridiculous to presume that this brief acquaintance of ours might develop into something more.” She drew a sharp breath as the truth of her words sank in. There was no comfort to be found in them or in the thought of never seeing Woodford again once the journal was found, as would likely be the case. Stunned by how distressing she found this concept, she said, “When we leave here, there will be no reason for us to continue our acquaintance with each other since we have absolutely nothing in common.”

  Laura looked ashen. “What is it?” Chloe asked, confused by her sister’s response.

  “If you don’t mind,” a deep, masculine voice spoke behind Chloe.

  Closing her eyes, she winced, regretting every word she’d just spoken. The voice was unmistakable—­she’d recognize it anywhere. Woodford. Taking a breath, she opened her eyes and turned to face him.

  Chapter 12

  He’d heard every word she’d said, and although he’d told himself and her that there could be no deep feelings between them, a small corner of his heart had opened just enough to let her in. Clearly, the same could not be said about her.

  After all, she’d just said that they had absolutely nothing in common. What then of the conversations they’d shared about Cook’s travels, about Lamarck or any other number of topics they’d discussed since becoming acquainted. Had all of that been pretense on her part? Because as far as he was concerned, he hadn’t enjoyed such meaningful discussion with anyone else in recent memory. If ever.

  James felt his entire body grow rigid while heat rose to the top of his head. He was not a man prone to anger—­had long since conquered his own emotions so he could view a situation objectively. But the idea that she cared nothing for him and that she’d just been using him to her own advantage made him feel decidedly out of control.

  His gaze fell on her wide eyes as she turned. Clearly, she felt embarrassed by her outburst and by the realization that he’d heard her. Good. He clenched his jaw, shoulders tense with restrained anger. “You left your shawl hanging over the railing outside on the balcony,” he bit out. “In your haste to retu
rn your mother’s spectacles to her, you forgot it.” He offered her the garment which she hesitantly accepted, as if she feared he might suddenly lash out at her when she least expected it.

  “Thank you,” she said, her eyes filled with remorse. She reached toward him, most likely to take his arm, but he stepped away from her. “I didn’t mean—­”

  His sharp wince cut her off. “I’d advise you not to make a liar out of yourself as well, my lady.” At her side, her sister looked stricken, but that couldn’t be helped. He had reached his limit and did not care what others might think as long as they understood that he would not be treated like this. “All things considered, I expected more from you, Lady Newbury, but it seems I was wrong to do so. Return the spectacles, then meet me on the dance floor. I believe our waltz will be starting soon.”

  Without waiting for a response, he turned around and deliberately took Lady Dewfield, who’d maintained her closeness, by the arm and led her toward God knew where. It didn’t matter other than that he wanted Lady Newbury to see him keeping company with her because of the distinct animosity between the two—­the kind that had kept Lady Newbury from ascertaining if her mother did indeed require her help. Initially, in spite of his disapproval with her choice to ignore what Lady Dewfield had said, James had imagined that Lady Newbury might have been just a little bit jealous of the attentions he’d paid Lady Dewfield. It was clear now that this was not the case.

  Bloody hell! How could he have been so foolish as to think that she might have begun to feel something for him? Logic should have warned him against such an idea for he was not the sort of man who would ever encourage affection. His demeanor was the sort that pushed ­people away rather than invite them closer. It was deliberate, and yet Lady Newbury had somehow managed to tear down his defenses. Damn her!

  “You seem incensed, my lord.”

  “What?” Looking down, James spotted Lady Dewfield’s upturned face. He’d been so busy with his inner musings that he’d forgotten she was there altogether.