Passions of a Wicked Earl

by Heath Lorraine

  “How were matters between my son and his wife today?” she asked, circling her finger over his chest while he casually stroked her arm.

  “I think something happened between them.”

  “Of course it did. She betrayed—”

  “No, I mean last night. I sensed a sensual tension in the air. He tried to ignore it by bantering with me.”

  “Do you think he’s forgiven her?”

  “No, but he might.”

  She sighed. “He won’t forgive Stephen until he’s forgiven her.”

  “Is that what this is about, Tessa? Are you trying to reconcile your sons?”

  “It breaks my heart that they are at odds. They are brothers. They share the same blood.”

  “Only their mother’s.”

  She stiffened, her lungs refusing to draw in air. Raising herself up slightly, she stared down on him. “Why ever would you say that?”

  Reaching up, he threaded his fingers through her hair. “I know that the previous Earl of Westcliffe did not sire Stephen. Do your sons know?”

  Wrapping the sheet around herself, she moved away from him as though separating herself from him would distance the truth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Pushing pillows behind him, he sat up. “I’m an artist. I notice the smallest of details. I have painted Lynnford. I’ve also painted Stephen. Did you think I’d not notice the similarities? Does Lynnford know?”

  Tears burned her eyes. “You can’t tell him.” Her voice was hoarse, rough. “He’d never forgive me.”

  “Tessa, I would never betray your trust.”

  She shook her head. “I could scarce believe when Ainsley named Lynnford to serve as guardian over the boys in the event of his death. I fell in love with Lynnford when I was married to Westcliffe. We had a brief affair. Westcliffe did not care. I’d given him his heir, and he had his own paramour. I had only just discovered I was with child when Lynnford informed me that he would no longer be involved with me. He was getting married, and he would not betray his wife. I think he always believed that Stephen was Westcliffe’s. I never corrected him.” She released a strangled laugh. “They were always at odds—father and son. I think because they are so much alike, but neither of them could see it. Oh, God.” She buried her face in her hands. “I have carried that secret for so long.”

  He wrapped a hand around her foot. “Tell me,” he urged.

  She wanted so much to unburden herself, to someone, and he was so dear. “I have never stopped loving Lynnford. And I have loved Stephen all the more because he is his son. And my other sons have suffered because of it. Especially Morgan. As much as I tried, I could never feel close to him. He was so distant—like his father. Stephen was such a joy, always wanting to snuggle.”

  Leo moved up and folded her within his embrace. “You were a child when you had Morgan.”

  “It is no excuse. Morgan paid the price. I do not even know if he is capable of love.”

  “He is. He is simply cautious.”

  She tilted her head back and peered at him through her tears. “Do you think Claire could love him?”

  “All things are possible.”

  “I do not want him to be unhappy. I’ve been happy only twice in my life. When Lynnford was my lover—and now … with you.”

  “Marry me, Claire.”

  Her heart nearly broke with his hushed plea. She cradled his cheek. “No. I am not for you, my sweet.”

  “I shall prove you wrong.”

  As he brought her beneath him, she hoped he would. But she suspected her heart would not listen.

  Chapter 9

  The carriage traveled through the London streets with all due haste. The meeting had gone longer than Westcliffe had anticipated it would. It was only because he wanted to ensure that his sister by marriage felt welcomed that he’d urged the driver not to dally. It had nothing to do with the fact that his wife had seemed to want him there. He couldn’t have cared less what she wanted. But still he was determined to be a good host.

  Usually he enjoyed the meetings with the other investors. Today he’d found it tedious. He’d been anxious to leave. It was strange to find himself arranging his time around someone else. He had made one stop following the meeting: to purchase the bracelet that matched the necklace he’d given Anne earlier in the week. He’d not seen her since.

  Last night, he’d had dinner with Claire, then retired to his library to read. It had begun to rain just before evening, and he found little more comforting than losing himself in a good book while the rain pattered against the windows. So he’d indulged. Although mostly he’d heard the moving about of furniture in the rooms above his head. What was it with Claire and this constant rearranging of things?

  And why did it amuse rather than irritate him?

  This morning, when he’d emerged from his bedchamber, the fragrance of flowers in the hallway had nearly knocked him off his feet. He’d never seen so many vases filled with assorted blossoms, sprinkled throughout the residence as though his wife wished to bring the gardens indoors. He supposed she was doing what she could to offset the dreary earth colors that he preferred. In retrospect, perhaps he was doing the same as she, only he was striving to mimic the country. At times, he missed Lyons Place. It wasn’t enough to visit only once or twice a year. But the women were not as abundant. So he’d chosen London and left Claire at the estate.

  From a practical standpoint it worked well because it made it convenient when Parliament was in session. Being in London also gave him leave to take a more active interest in his investments. The meeting this morning involved a small company of a dozen investors, their railway line only one of many that crisscrossed over the countryside. Years ago, it was the small companies that had provided the means to establish railways through Britain, but now the larger companies were buying them up. They’d had an offer and were divided regarding whether or not to take it. He suspected they would discuss, argue, and contemplate for months. But in the end, they would sell. And then he would look for something else in which to invest. He enjoyed the challenge of determining the perfect investment.

  But still, just like his encounters with women, something was lacking.

  He glanced out the window as his carriage turned into the circular drive in front of his residence and he nearly choked. Three coaches were lined up, each bearing trunks. He could see his footmen struggling to remove one from the first vehicle. Was Claire’s sister traveling with an entourage? He was accustomed to peace and quiet in his household. Claire had disrupted it enough. And now this.

  Reminding himself it was only temporary, he shored up his resolve to bring a hasty end to Beth’s search for a suitable husband.

  He caught a glimpse of Claire standing off to one side, her arm around a young woman he didn’t recognize. Beth, no doubt. He’d not seen her in years. She’d not attended their wedding.

  His carriage rolled to a stop. As he disembarked, he saw Claire draw her sister protectively against her side. Dear God, did she think him a monster? He shortened his stride to give himself more time to approach and observe the newest addition to his household. She greatly resembled Claire. Her hair was slightly lighter in shade, but as he neared, he could see that her eyes were just as blue. She had Claire’s small dollop of a nose, but her lips were neither as full nor as generous. Still, there could be no denying they were sisters—whereas he and his brothers hardly favored each other at all.

  “My lord,” Claire began, “you remember my sister—Lady Beth.”

  So damned formal. Because they were not family. They were not intimate. They were not even friends.

  “Naturally. Lady Beth, welcome.” He bowed slightly, took the young lady’s hand, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, which caused her to roll her shoulders almost to her chin and giggle.

  “My lord, thank you so much for allowing me to stay in your residence. Claire informs me that I’m not to disturb you at all, and I swear to you that I shan’t. I shall be a
s quiet as a mouse.”

  “I’ve never known a mouse to be quiet.”

  Her eyes widened, and she giggled again. “I suppose they aren’t, are they?”

  “As quiet as a pillow perhaps,” Claire said, coming to her sister’s rescue, and he realized there was a protectiveness about her. He didn’t know why he didn’t comprehend the extent of it sooner. It was the reason she was here—to save her sister from Hester.

  “Oh, yes, a pillow,” Beth repeated with more exuberance than he thought the comment deserved. “A much nicer image, really, as opposed to a mouse.”

  “Or a grave,” he said solemnly, and she blinked with incomprehension. “I’ve heard ‘quiet as a grave,’ ” he explained.

  “That’s rather macabre.”

  “Then quiet as a pillow shall suffice.”

  She smiled, an innocent smile, the smile of a child. How old was she? Older than Claire on the day they married? Had she been that young? “Then quiet as a pillow I shall be. But you must alert me if I disturb you in the least. I am simply so excited to be here that I can barely contain my joy.”

  He was on the verge of telling her to try when Claire said, “Come, dear, let’s see to getting your trunks inside.”

  “Are all of these hers?” he asked.

  “There are only three,” Beth said. “And a few smaller bags. I need a proper wardrobe for the Season.”

  “Obviously, I know nothing at all regarding what a lady needs for the Season.”

  “Not to worry. I have it all well in hand.”

  “Come along, Beth.” Claire took her sister’s arm as though words were not sufficient.

  Beth had taken two steps before spinning around so quickly he was surprised she didn’t get dizzy and swoon. “We will see you at dinner, won’t we?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Splendid.”

  He had no reason not to follow, but he waited until both ladies had disappeared inside. God help him, he thought it would be an improvement if she were only as quiet as a mouse.

  “I can’t believe I’m here! You should have seen my eyes on the journey. I’m certain they were as round as saucers. I was so young when I visited London with Father that I barely remember it. I want to see everything while I’m here.”

  They were sitting at the dining table with Westcliffe at one end, Claire at the other, and her sister between them. He was astounded that she managed to eat with her incessant prattling. He wasn’t particularly irritated; simply amazed that she could speak for so long about absolutely nothing of any consequence. He was growing weary simply from listening. He couldn’t imagine trying to carry on a conversation with her.

  “Oh, I do hope that I have good fortune in finding a suitor. I don’t suppose you know which of the lords are available.”

  He was taking a healthy swallow of wine when her attention came to bear on him. Setting his glass aside, he reached into his jacket pocket. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I’ve compiled a list.”

  His gaze darted to Claire, and he saw a flash of gratitude in her eyes. He wondered, if like him, she was already longing for a quieter dinner.

  “Oh, this is absolutely marvelous. Claire, look.” Beth set the paper on the table between her and her sister. “There are so many. Surely, surely I shall find one who suits.” Tears glistened in her eyes when she glanced back at him. “I cannot thank you enough.”

  He wasn’t quite comfortable with her appreciation. “I cannot vouch for their willingness to marry.”

  “I want someone who is pleasing to the eye,” Beth said. “Do you consider all of these men handsome?”

  He fought not to scowl. “I take little notice of their appearance.”

  “Do you know them, Claire?” she asked.

  “I fear I do not, so we shall discover together if they are men of character.”

  “I prefer that they be men of wealth. Westcliffe, do you know of their financial situations?”

  “No.”

  “You have a nice dowry, Beth,” Claire said. “You do not need to concern yourself with their finances.”

  “Of course I do. I do not want a man to marry me for my money. If he has wealth, then I shall know for certain that he is marrying me for me.”

  “Whether he be rich or poor, Beth, he shall want to marry you for you.”

  “Father doesn’t share your confidence.”

  “Don’t be so melodramatic. He’d have not given you a Season otherwise.”

  The ladies settled into silent eating for all of fifteen seconds—he knew because he counted. He’d made a wager with himself that they’d not reach a minute of quiet before dinner was over.

  Then Beth announced, “I can think of nothing worse than being married to Lord Hester.”

  “He’s quite well-off as I recall,” Westcliffe said. “And I believe he’s only forty.”

  Beth glared at him. “My life will be ruined.”

  Such drama. Perhaps he would move to a hotel for the Season.

  “I notice that Ainsley is not listed,” Claire said, her eyes dancing with amusement. Was she teasing him? Or was she sensing his impatience with the banality of the situation? Granted, Hester was not particularly charming, but neither was the man an ogre.

  “I can vouch for his unwillingness to marry,” Westcliffe informed her.

  “That is unfortunate,” Beth said. “What fun we’d have if we were all in the same family!”

  “I can scarcely imagine it.” He heard a cough designed to cover a laugh coming from the other end of the table. He glanced at his wife. She was far too amused, and he found himself wishing that she’d released the laughter.

  “Beth, dear heart,” Claire began, “I believe you must curb your enthusiasm somewhat lest you frighten the young men away.”

  “Oh, I shall behave with the utmost decorum in public. But we’re family. Surely a bit more levity is allowed.”

  “As long as we are not upsetting Westcliffe’s digestion. I daresay he’s not accustomed to the flightiness of young ladies.”

  “I daresay he is if the rumors I’ve heard from Cousin are to be believed.”

  He watched as Claire took great interest in the food remaining on her plate while her cheeks burned a bright red.

  “I assure you, Beth,” he said quietly, but firmly, “there is no truth in the rumors regarding me and young ladies.” Older ladies, mature ladies certainly. But young ones? No, not for some time now.

  Beth took the paper he’d given her earlier, folded it up, and tucked it beneath the sash at the waist of her dress. “I’m so grateful to hear it. I didn’t believe them. Not really.” She gave him a pointed look. “Truly, why would you seek out the company of another when you have Claire?”

  Why indeed? And he realized that while she’d heard rumors of his indiscretions, she wasn’t aware of her sister’s. Not unusual. As those who knew about it—the members of his family—were not prone to gossip.

  “When Claire showed me around the residence, I noticed that you had a pianoforte. To show my appreciation for all you’ve done for me thus far, may I play it for you this evening?”

  Surely she couldn’t speak while she played. “I would like that very much.”

  Within five minutes, Westcliffe realized that he shouldn’t make assumptions about young women. Beth could indeed play and speak at the same time, and she seemed intent on revealing the history of each tune that tripped lightly from her fingers.

  “Did you think she would be silent while playing?” Claire asked quietly as she handed him a snifter of brandy.

  “The thought had occurred.”

  She smiled with obvious amusement and something inside him shifted, teetered, made him feel as though his world were tilting. He’d always liked her smiles, but he felt as though this was the first truly genuine one she’d given him since she’d arrived. He didn’t know what to make of it or his feelings about it. He held tightly to the snifter, knowing he was in danger of crushing the glass, but he needed something t
o anchor him. Her eyes were soft, as though they were friends sharing an intimate secret, and he wondered if they’d appear the same if they were sharing darker intimacies. He felt an absurd desire to take her mouth, to—

  “Claire, please come turn the sheets of music for me. It ruins my playing to have to do it myself. You could even sing while you’re over here. Have you heard her sing, my lord? She has the voice of a nightingale.”

  Claire’s luscious mouth twisted as she rolled her eyes. Was she embarrassed by the praise? Or was she simply unaccustomed to receiving it? He’d certainly never complimented her. Anne could barely stand to go five minutes without hearing words of adoration, and if he wasn’t extolling her virtues, she was—constantly reminding him of her worth.

  Claire took her place, standing near enough to where Beth sat so she could easily follow along with the music and turn the pages aside. Observing the sisters so closely together, he noted that Beth possessed a youthfulness that had long since left Claire. He thought of the manor and how much more efficiently things were managed there now. No leaking roofs. No dirty windows. No overgrown gardens. She’d even purchased a couple of mares. According to the groomsman, she loved to ride. He’d never gone riding with her. Had done nothing of any consequence with her actually.

  His musings were interrupted as the sweetest voice filled the room. Claire was singing. He’d never thought anything would be more beautiful than her laughter. He’d been wrong. Of late, he was discovering that he’d been wrong about a great many things. Her broad smile was almost a perfect match of Beth’s, and yet Claire’s seemed brighter. There was a joy, an easiness about her that he’d never seen. She was still wary of him.

  He’d never played with her, he’d barely spoken to her. She’d always seemed like a child. Last night, when she’d spoken of the years separating them, she was correct.

  He’d only recently begun to recognize her as a woman. Even on the day they’d married, he’d considered her a young girl, barely a woman.