A Wicked Way to Win an Earl

by Anna Bradley

  She was furious to hear her voice quaver at the end of her little speech. Alec took a step toward her. “Delia, don’t—”

  She held up a shaking hand. “No.” A thread of panic entered her voice. “Don’t come near me. I don’t want you near me, and I don’t want to hear any explanations.”

  He came to a halt, his eyes searching hers. “I won’t come near you. I only want to say I regret you overheard such an ugly argument.”

  “Do you regret you said those things, or that I overheard them?”

  She already knew the answer.

  He took one step closer, despite his promise. “I regret you overheard them, but I meant it when I said there will never be anything between you and Robyn.” His voice was low and fierce, and his black eyes glinted dangerously.

  To Delia’s fury, his words cut through her like a thousand shards of glass. “Yes, I deduced that, my lord.” She caught her breath painfully. “Of course, there is one consolation. It seems I would make an admirable mistress, so perhaps the journey to Kent wasn’t wasted after all.”

  She tried to keep the misery out of her voice, but as soon as the words fell into the heavy, dusty air of the stables, she knew she’d failed. The words hung there, a noose choking the life out of their fragile intimacy of that morning.

  Alec flinched when she said “mistress,” but otherwise he was silent. He simply watched her, an odd expression in his eyes. Was it regret? Or, so help her God, was it pity? Suddenly Delia’s every limb was trembling again. Her throat closed. Tears of rage and humiliation pressed behind her eyes. He dared to pity her?

  “As I said, my lord, I didn’t come here to trap Robyn into marriage. It never even occurred to me.” Delia wanted to stop talking, but the words tumbled from her lips. “But it has now.”

  Before she could move, Alec leapt toward her, closing the distance between them. He grabbed her upper arms. “What do you mean by that, Delia?” His voice was a whisper, lethal and dark.

  Delia shivered but didn’t answer. His hands tightened on her shoulders and he pulled her toward him until their bodies were touching. His heat overwhelmed her, and she found herself swaying into him. “What did you mean, Delia?”

  She didn’t know what she’d meant. She’d said it to wipe the pity from his eyes. To make him angry. To hurt him. She hadn’t thought beyond that.

  His breath was fast and harsh, and his dark eyes had gone black. He towered over her, his lean, hard-muscled body far too close to hers, seething with fury and frustration and, she knew instinctively, passion and desire. As if this experience hadn’t been humiliating enough, she realized every cell in her body ached in response to his nearness.

  “Let go of me, my lord.” She twisted in an attempt to free her shoulders from his grip. His hands tightened for a moment and his eyes dropped to her lips, but then he released her so suddenly she stumbled backward.

  He took a step forward again as if to help steady her, but froze when she backed away from him. “I should thank you for your honesty, my lord—your honesty to your brother, that is, as opposed to the lies you told me during our ride today. I would much rather know the truth, even if it’s spoken behind my back.”

  “I don’t know what the truth is, damn it. All of it is true. Or none of it. Since you came here, I can’t tell the difference anymore.”

  His voice throbbed with some emotion Delia couldn’t name, but she was past caring. “I have a very hard time believing that, Lord Carlisle.” She turned her back on him and walked toward the stable doors.

  “This isn’t a game anymore, Delia.” His voice was soft, deadly. “You’ll never belong to Robyn. Stay away from him. Don’t do anything unworthy of you.”

  Delia kept her back to him so he couldn’t see the tears wetting her cheeks. “From what I overheard today, my lord, I think there is very little you’d consider unworthy of me.”

  She paused, but he didn’t correct her or deny her words. Delia’s back stiffened. “I may not be a suitable match for Robyn, but he is an excellent match for me. Do you imagine I’ll overlook my own best interests?” She tried to laugh, but the sound that emerged sounded more like a sob. “You expect a great deal from a social outcast with a nobody for a father.”

  After that, there seemed to be nothing left for either of them to say, so she walked away.

  Chapter Eighteen

  He’d have to demand more whiskey. Alec frowned at the bottom of his empty glass. He gave it a little shake and the ice rattled merrily. He shook it again. Maybe if he kept shaking it, someone would come fill it with whiskey.

  He wasn’t drunk—not at all. He knew he wasn’t drunk, because he never lazed about in his study like some degenerate and drank alone. That would be pathetic. Still, if he were going to get drunk, this would be a good time to do it.

  Christ, what a dismal evening.

  She’d seemed to enjoy herself. He thought after the scene at the stables Delia would find an excuse to skip dinner, but as usual she’d surprised him. Wearing a pink gown that turned her skin the color of rich cream, her countenance smooth and unruffled if slightly pale, she’d taken her seat at table with meticulous punctuality, as though she hadn’t a care in the world.

  She hadn’t looked at him once the entire evening.

  She looked at Robyn, though. As far as Alec could tell, she’d done little else besides look at Robyn. She drank wine and ate next to nothing, and all the while she smiled at Robyn and laughed at Robyn’s conversation until Alec was ready to throw his wineglass over the heads of his unsuspecting guests directly into Robyn’s dinner plate.

  Alec raised his glass to his lips and cursed when he remembered it was empty. He pulled the bell, rattled the ice in his glass, and pulled the bell again.

  Where the bloody hell were the servants?

  Robyn was delighted, of course. Any man would be delighted to have her full attention. How did she get her lips such a deep pink color? It must be paint. No woman’s lips were such a color naturally.

  But it didn’t look like paint. It looked real. It had been days since Alec had kissed her, but he remembered with painful clarity how her lips tasted. They were delicious: hot, eager, wet. Real. Alec knew well enough one taste of them wasn’t enough. Robyn might be tasting them right now. Her deep blue eyes might be closed, her lips parted, and Robyn might be leaning down toward her . . .

  Alec hurled his glass across the room. It slammed into the heavy oak mantelpiece with a sharp crack and shards of shattered glass and ice hit the floor.

  She hadn’t turned away quickly enough this afternoon. He’d seen the tears in her eyes and he’d known, down to the deepest recesses of his black soul, he’d done something unforgivable, like trampling a carpet of bluebells under his heavy, muddy boots.

  Maybe Robyn was right. Maybe he was just like his father. His father used to drink alone in this very study. It was a coincidence worth noting.

  Someone knocked at the door. “Finally,” Alec mumbled. “Come!”

  Rylands himself entered the room. “My lord—” Rylands began, but he stopped at the sight of the broken glass and melting ice by the fireplace. The butler looked from Alec to the mess and his perfect impassivity faltered. Alec kept his temper under tight control most of the time, so such a display was rather shocking.

  “Ah, Rylands. Another bottle of whiskey, if you please.” Alec glanced toward the fireplace. “And another glass. Mine appears to be broken.”

  Archie peered around the half-open door. “All right there, Carlisle? I thought I heard a gunshot.” He stepped into the room.

  “I dropped my glass.” Alec gestured vaguely toward the fireplace.

  Archie strolled through the door. He looked at Alec’s morose expression, the smashed glass on the floor at the other end of the room, and raised an eyebrow. “I see that. How unfortunate.”

  “I’ll send a maid in right away
to clean up the mess, my lord.” Rylands bowed and turned to leave the room.

  Alec sighed with irritation. “If you must. But don’t forget my whiskey.”

  “Yes, of course, my lord. Right away.” Rylands scurried out the door and closed it quietly behind him.

  Archie sat down in the seat across from Alec. He looked around and took in the coat tossed over the back of a leather chair, a crumpled cravat on top of it. Alec’s long legs were stretched out before him and his boots rested on the mahogany table.

  “So. Carlisle. How are you this evening?”

  Alec scowled.

  A maid hurried into the room and began to clean up the broken glass on the floor. Rylands followed, carrying a bottle of whiskey and three glasses on a silver tray.

  Alec eyed the glasses. “Are you going to join us, Rylands?”

  “No, my lord.” Rylands gave an offended sniff. “The second glass is for Lord Archibald. The third glass is an extra one, in case there is another, ah, mishap.”

  Alec’s scowl deepened. “How cautious of you.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Rylands placed the tray on the edge of the mahogany table, as far away from Alec’s boots as possible. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “Damn impertinent,” Alec muttered as the door closed behind the servants. Still, it was by no means certain he wouldn’t hurl another glass across the room, so perhaps it was just as well.

  “What are you hiding in here for?” Archie asked.

  Alec gave Archie a sullen look and slumped down farther in his seat. “I had an argument with Robyn today.”

  “Ah. Curious, that. A fight with Robyn, I mean. Surprising. Explains why you’d be holed up in here like a hermit, of course, soused and tossing glasses about.”

  Alec slammed the heel of his boot into the table. “Robyn wasn’t at all pleased when I attempted to take away his favorite new toy.”

  Archie frowned, and Alec felt a rush of savage satisfaction. Even in his whiskey-addled state, it occurred to him that maybe he wanted Archie to be disgusted with him.

  “And by ‘new toy,’ I suppose you mean Miss Somerset?”

  “Who else? Robyn demanded to know why I was sneaking around with her, or disappearing into dark corners with her, or spiriting her down mysterious pathways, or some similar nonsense. The discussion deteriorated quickly after that.”

  “No doubt it did. What did you tell him?”

  Alec drained the whiskey from his glass and poured another. “Told him he couldn’t have her, that’s what. Reminded him of his duty to his family.”

  Archie leaned back in his chair, considering. “So Robyn really is courting her, then? Did he say as much?”

  “Course not. Robyn never admits to anything. You know that, Archie. He did ask if—” Alec broke off. He didn’t want to remember this part of the conversation, much less repeat it, but he didn’t see any way around it. “He asked if I would approve the match if he were in love with Delia.”

  Love. Robyn. With Delia. A sick emptiness started in Alec’s chest and began to claw its way up his throat. He took a deep swallow of whiskey to force it back down.

  “Did he?” Archie’s tone was deceptively casual. “What did you say to that?”

  Alec winced. He wasn’t proud of what he’d said next. “I might have mentioned something about Robyn taking Delia as his mistress.”

  There was a charged silence, and then Archie leaned forward in his chair, his face grim. “Christ, Carlisle,” he began, but then his eyes narrowed on Alec. “But that doesn’t sound like you. You didn’t mean it.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  “No. I didn’t mean it. I may be a bastard, Archie, but even I draw the line at despoiling virgins.”

  “Why say it at all, then?” Archie asked in a maddeningly reasonable tone.

  “To hear him deny it, of course!” Alec took another swallow of whiskey and made an effort to lower his voice. “I feel as if I don’t know Robyn anymore, and I wanted to be sure he still draws the line at despoiling virgins.”

  Archie ignored Alec’s outburst. “Does he? What did he say?”

  “He was furious. Thank God for that. He told me I didn’t know him or Delia at all if I believed either one of them would consent to such an arrangement.”

  Archie let out a long breath. “Thank God indeed,” he murmured, as if he hadn’t been at all sure of the answer. “Damned unpleasant scene. Glad that wasn’t a gunshot I heard earlier, come to think of it.”

  But Alec shrugged off Archie’s concern. He didn’t know the worst of it yet. “Delia overheard every word of it.”

  Archie’s eyes nearly popped out of his head and fell into his whiskey glass. “Jesus.” All trace of levity vanished. “She heard everything?” He sounded truly aghast.

  “Yes. I don’t know what she was doing there, but she was standing outside the stable doors the entire time. She heard every bloody word.”

  “You’re an unlucky one, Carlisle.” Archie shook his head. “What a disaster.”

  “It was. Even more so than you can imagine. I’ve never seen anyone more hurt or angry in my life.” The pain and disbelief in her expressive blue eyes flashed in his mind. The same image had tormented him all evening.

  Bluebells smashed under his boot heels.

  “The worst of it is Robyn will find Delia Somerset more irresistible than ever now.” Alec kept the fact that he also found her irresistible to himself, however. What difference did it make now? She despised him.

  “That’s the worst of it?”

  “Of course. You remember Robyn as a boy, Archie. Always angling after whatever bauble was forbidden to him. Delia seems far more interested in Robyn now, too, after she overheard him defend her so valiantly.”

  Something in Alec’s voice caught Archie’s attention. “Robyn’s not a boy now, Carlisle.” His expression was unreadable. “He’s a grown man, and for all her shining beauty, Delia Somerset isn’t a bauble.”

  Alec shrugged. “It amounts to the same thing.”

  Archie shook his head. “No. It doesn’t. Not a bit of it, Carlisle.”

  “Then she said she hadn’t come here intending to marry Robyn, but after today, perhaps she’d reconsider.” He’d flown into a fit of savage, jealous rage then, and had stopped just shy of showing her who she truly belonged to—

  Alec took a deep, unsteady breath and drained the rest of the whiskey from his glass. Even now, remembering her words, he felt fury rise like bile in his throat.

  Alec had forgotten Archie was even in the room with him and was taken aback when he heard him chuckle. “She actually said that?”

  “Not in so many words, but yes—that’s what she meant.”

  “Ah.” Archie nodded. “And now you’re embracing your whiskey as if you believe it will squeeze you back because you think she’s going to encourage Robyn’s attentions?”

  Alec exploded again. “She’s already encouraging his attentions! Didn’t you see her at dinner? She may as well have been sitting in Robyn’s lap.”

  Archie blinked at him. “No, Carlisle, I confess I didn’t see Miss Somerset enthroned on Robyn’s lap at dinner this evening. I can’t think how I missed it.”

  Alec shrugged. Then he picked up Archie’s whiskey glass and drank the contents in one swallow. “Me either.” He wiped a hand across his mouth. “S’matter with you, Archie?”

  Archie sighed. “What do you intend to do now? Perhaps it would be best if you stepped aside.”

  Alec stared at him. Now. He was going to throw the glass now. “The devil I will.” He sloshed more whiskey into his glass.

  “Very well, Carlisle.” Archie got to his feet. “I’ll leave it to you, then.” He placed his whiskey glass on the table, then picked up the bottle and handed it to Alec. “I believe you’re going to need this. Good evening.”

  Al
ec didn’t notice Archie leave. He sat in front of the fire drinking whiskey and trying to remember why he’d objected to Delia as a match for Robyn in the first place. Didn’t it have something to do with the beau monde tittering about the Sutherlands in every drawing room in London?

  Was that it? Odd. He couldn’t quite remember anymore.

  He frowned, concentrating. He thought it had something to do with Robyn. He didn’t want Robyn to kiss Delia. That much he was damn sure of. Or touch her.

  Or look at her or talk to her or walk with her or make her laugh or smell her hair or taste her or anything else her.

  Ah, yes. He smiled happily at his glass. That was it.

  * * *

  Delia felt weary down to her bones. She looked at the stairs in front of her and wondered if she had the energy to climb them.

  Dinner had been interminable. The food had undoubtedly been delicious, but every bite felt as if it would choke her. She’d conversed with Robyn and smiled and laughed until her face ached from the effort. It took every ounce of her control not to look at Alec, but still she felt him, the heat from his intense dark eyes as palpable as a hand sliding down her back.

  “Off to bed at last, Delia?”

  Delia nearly jumped out of her skin. The low drawling voice seemed to come out of the darkness itself, but when she turned from the stairs, there he was, arms crossed over his broad chest, leaning against the wall next to his study door.

  He’d removed his coat, waistcoat, and cravat, and the neck of his fine white cambric shirt gaped open. He’d shoved his sleeves up past his elbows, exposing an endless length of muscular forearm. He must have been running his hands through his thick dark hair, too—he had a habit of doing that. Too-long locks fell across his forehead and the start of a dark beard shadowed his face.

  He looks like a pirate. Delia’s eyes drifted to the tanned skin of his chest left exposed by the open shirt, and an unwelcome shiver of awareness tickled down her spine. A pirate who was a bit worse off from drink, that was.