The Untouchable Earl

by Amy Sandas

  A wreck.

  An abomination.

  Less than a man.

  But when he chanced a glimpse around, he noted that although a few people glanced his way in curiosity, whatever had caused their initial swarm to the ballroom floor still held the attention of the majority.

  He turned in place and made his way as directly as possible through the shifting crowd to the doorway, clenching his teeth at every brush of contact, refusing to meet the eyes of anyone he passed.

  He had almost made his escape when he happened to see the gentle face and lovely form of the woman who had become far more precious to him than he deserved.

  And she saw him.

  Though he did not allow his attention to rest on her for even a moment as he passed by, he still soaked in the sight of her parted lips and widened eyes when she noticed his swift passing. His stomach clenched as tightly as his fists. God, how he wanted to go to her and draw her softness against his body in a desperate attempt to distract him from the pain he felt inside.

  But Avenell kept going. He escaped the ballroom, but he could not escape the truth.

  He pushed his tumultuous thoughts of Lily aside and concentrated solely on breathing. He forced air in and out of his lungs, feeling the expansion and contraction as he fisted and extended his hands in practiced synchronization.

  He had no mind for where he was heading, only vaguely acknowledging his descent down the main stairs and an instinctive turn down a back hallway that led to a stretch of unoccupied rooms. He turned into the first one, a private study.

  Stalking to the large desk set in front of a row of windows, Avenell braced his hands on the desktop. He stared down at his spread fingers and focused on the desk’s smooth texture of stretched leather, willing himself to accept and then manage the rioting sensations coursing over his skin.

  It took a few minutes to get his physical reaction under control. His emotional turmoil would take much longer to tame. Perhaps forever.

  “My lord?”

  Fire erupted again at the sound of Lily’s voice, but this heat came from within.

  He did not turn around, could not acknowledge her presence other than to straighten to his full height, bringing his hands to his sides and lifting his gaze to stare at the windows in front of him.

  But then he saw her reflection in the glass.

  The ache spreading through him was familiar. It had been years since he had last felt its unbearable weight, and it carried far more strength now than it ever had in his youth.

  She started toward him, and against every urging of self-preservation he possessed, Avenell turned to face her. It took tremendous self-control to shield her from the riot occurring inside him.

  “I did not know you were going to be here tonight,” she said.

  “Neither did I,” he replied, his tone abrupt, harsh.

  She stopped in front of him. Her pale-green skirts floated against his ankles. He saw it all in her eyes. The longing. The desire. And so much more.

  “Avenell.” His name was a whisper, a sigh, a sacred vow on her lips.

  The ache inside him deepened. He knew what she wanted. Somehow, he always knew. Despite the truth he had to acknowledge, he was unable to deny her.

  He lowered his head to take the words from her, pressing his mouth to hers as her eyes fell closed. Lifting his hand, he cradled the side of her face, indulging in the smooth warmth of her cheek against his palm and the way her pulse fluttered where the pad of his little finger rested below her earlobe.

  She tilted her head to deepen the kiss, and he responded with a sensual sweep of his tongue.

  No matter how many times they had come together in the last couple of weeks, the heat never dissipated. The urgency and the passion seemed only to grow.

  It was too much and yet would never be enough.

  She began to lean into him, and though he tensed when she pressed against his chest, he did not stop her. Nor did he object when her hands came up to rest on either side of his lower rib cage. He just breathed more deeply of her scent, allowing the essence that was Lily to overwhelm his senses.

  After a few long minutes, he drew back to rest his forehead against hers. He could not resist the temptation of savoring that moment.

  He wanted to believe it could always be like this, but he knew better.

  She deserved a normal life with a normal man.

  If Avenell released her now, she may still make a good match. Mr. Arthur Campbell, for example.

  Jealousy raged hot again at the memory of how well suited the two had looked. The thought of another man taking her kisses—accepting her sweet-smelling embraces—filled him with furious regret for the loss of things he could never have.

  But his anger, no matter how fierce, could not change what he was.

  The stark reminder chilled the fire in his blood like a dousing of ice water, squeezing the breath from his lungs.

  This was not going to be easy for either of them.

  “Well, isn’t this fortuitous.”

  Lily stiffened so sharply at the sound of Fallbrook’s voice that Avenell felt the echoes of the movement through his body.

  Looking to where the insolent lord lounged against the doorframe, Avenell acknowledged the utter loathing he had for the man. He released Lily and stepped around her, intentionally positioning himself as a barrier.

  “Fallbrook.” The hostility was clear in his tone. “You are intruding.”

  The other man chose to ignore his warning. His heavy-lidded gaze and the swaying motion of his body indicated that he had had too much to drink.

  “I expected you to have tired of her by now, Harte. If I had known you would use her for so long,” Fallbrook sneered, “I would have bid a little higher.”

  Rage unlike anything Avenell had ever felt rushed through him at the arrogant declaration. Fallbrook had just made an unforgivable mistake. The fool did not seem to notice.

  “I should be incensed, considering all the time I put into her this Season for you to just sweep in and claim the prize.” Fallbrook gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “I can be gracious, I suppose. Let me know once you have finished with her, Harte, so I may take my turn.”

  The furious energy seething through Avenell’s body released like a flash of lightning as he lunged for Fallbrook and caught him by the front of his coat with one hand. With his other hand, he grasped the man’s throat as he slammed him back against the doorframe. The crack of Fallbrook’s head against the wood paneling was distinctly satisfying.

  “You have made a vital error, Fallbrook,” Avenell stated calmly through his teeth. “If you come within one hundred paces of this woman again, I will kill you.”

  Fallbrook’s stunned eyes bulged as he clawed at Avenell’s grip. His strangled sputters and gasps barely filtered through the sound of the blood rushing in Avenell’s ears.

  Only the shocking pressure of Lily’s hand gently resting on the center of his back managed to draw him out of the blind rage.

  “Leave him. Please,” she whispered.

  Avenell looked over his shoulder and saw the concern in her eyes, and the fear.

  Dammit, he had not intended to scare her.

  “This is not the way,” she added.

  He released Fallbrook instantly. The man fell to his knees as he coughed and drew long, ragged breaths into his lungs.

  As soon as Avenell stepped back, she lowered her hand again. He reached toward her without taking his eyes off Fallbrook as the man struggled to regain his feet. She slipped her hand trustingly into his.

  “If I hear you mutter a single breath about that night ever again, there will be nowhere safe for you to hide from the consequences.”

  Fallbrook pushed to his feet and made a show of brushing the wrinkles from his coat as he watched the earl from the corner of his eye. “I always s
uspected you were a bit mad, Harte.”

  “That may be true, for I find I rather enjoyed the feel of my hand around your throat.” His voice lowered to a menacing calm. “If you value your dishonorable hide, you will stay away from this woman.”

  Fallbrook made the mistake of glancing toward Lily. It appeared as though he intended to say something, but the earl had had enough. He took a step forward, and though Lily couldn’t see his face, whatever Fallbrook saw there must have been enough to convince him the earl’s threat was real.

  Fallbrook’s eyes widened as he started inching along the wall toward the door, his hands raised in a show of surrender. “I’m done. I swear. No need for further warnings.”

  When the earl said nothing more, Fallbrook turned and rushed from the room.

  As soon as he was gone, Avenell released Lily’s hand. The loss of even such a minor connection to her suddenly took on a wealth of meaning. It didn’t matter that he was the one who had imposed it.

  “Please forget about him,” she pleaded softly. “He was a nuisance long before Pendragon’s. He has nothing to do with us.”

  The muscles along Avenell’s jaw tensed as he ground his teeth. He could not bring himself to look at her.

  “You should go back to the ball.”

  “I prefer to stay with you,” she argued.

  He tried to ignore the subtle note of desperation he heard in her voice.

  “I was about to leave anyway.”

  “Take me with you.”

  “No.”

  There was a moment of silence following the vehemence of his denial. He could imagine how she must look at that moment. Her eyes soft and confused, her hands reaching.

  He tensed from head to toe as she stepped around to stand in front of him, forcing him to look at her. “Tell me what is wrong, my lord. Your distress is obviously about far more than Fallbrook.”

  She had always seen too much.

  He did not reply. He could feel the harshness of his own expression, the coldness in his eyes as he turned away and strode back toward the window. He needed distance.

  “I love you.”

  He stopped instantly, the pain caused by her words making it impossible for him to take another step, another breath. He fisted his hands and somehow found the strength to mutter, “No, you don’t.”

  “You asked me to always be honest with you, and I have. I love you. It is a simple truth.”

  He couldn’t take it. He turned around to glare at her where she stood so quietly composed, her hands clasped in front of her, her smoky eyes trained on him, and her full lips displaying just the slightest quiver.

  It was the quiver that convinced him his next words were necessary. Here was proof that this had gone too far. He had always known it could not last. As inevitable as it had been that they had come together, it was just as inevitable that their time would end.

  “There is nothing simple about it,” he growled fiercely, “and you are dreadfully naive to believe otherwise.”

  She tipped her head to the side. “Do you think I know nothing of my own heart?” she asked. “Do you think I do not comprehend the challenges inherent in loving you? I know—”

  “You know only what I allow you to know,” he sneered, his need to protect her making him cruel.

  She took two steps toward him. He tensed so sharply that the muscles along his spine seized in a cramp. He welcomed the discomfort. It distracted him from his breaking heart.

  “Then explain it me, Avenell. Tell me what happened to make you this way.” Her voice was gentle, but a thread of steel ran through it.

  It always amazed him how she could be commanding and imploring at once.

  He stared at her, knowing he would forever be tormented by the image she presented in that moment. Calm, determined. Filled with compassion and a desire to understand. Filled with love.

  He would rather remember her like this than with a look of pity and disappointment distorting her sweet features. That was inevitable. With him, it was always inevitable. He was not and could never be like other men. He could not give her the life she deserved, as his mistress…or wife.

  He lowered his gaze.

  “I tell you this only so you will see why this cannot go on any longer. Why I am no proper match for anyone.”

  Her chin lifted as though she wished to defy his statement, but she did not interrupt.

  “When I was seven years old, I fell ill with a debilitating sickness. It began as an odd pain and tingling in the hands and feet. Within two weeks, the tingling became a weakness in the muscles that spread from the legs to the upper extremities and sent me to bed. By the third week, all I felt was pain from the back of my head down to the soles of my feet. In my muscles, every inch of my skin. I was terrified I would never be able to move again.

  “I could barely swallow and couldn’t move my eyes, so I kept them closed most of the time rather than stare constantly at the ceiling. Eventually, even breathing became a difficult endeavor. No one understood what illness had claimed me. Not the doctors, the nurses—certainly not my father. They often thought me asleep, and I would listen to them speak in hushed tones about how I was not expected to ever leave my bed again. Every night they anticipated that I would simply slip into death.”

  “What a terrifying thing for a child to experience.” Her arms were wrapped around her middle, and silent tears rolled down her cheeks. “I am so sorry.”

  No. Not her pity.

  “The odd paralysis went on for months,” he continued roughly, anxious to finish, “though it felt like an eternity, when every day I had to fight for the breath to stay alive. Finally, even that turned against me when an infection invaded my lungs. The mindless fever was a relief. And then that too passed. Recovery was slow and painful. It took months—years—to regain my full strength. Some symptoms never went away. I still feel the million pinpricks of fire along my arms, my shoulders, and my chest from even the slightest stimulation. That pain will always be with me, though to this day no physician can tell me why.”

  She slowly approached him. “There may be a way to lessen the sensations. Perhaps I could—”

  “Stop, Lily,” he ordered harshly enough that it made her flinch. “There is nothing you can do. I have accepted what I am and what I can never be. I am not normal.” He took a long breath through his nose before stating what needed to be said. “I cannot be loved by you.”

  Her expression tensed. “But you are, my lord. Nothing can stop me from feeling what I feel.”

  Avenell ground his teeth.

  “What do you not understand, Lily? I do not want your love. This”—he sneered with a wave of his hand between them—“has always been about lust. You admitted that yourself when you offered yourself to me. It was never about anything more than that.”

  He threw the hard words at her, needing them to hurt her so she might accept the truth.

  Instead, she straightened her spine and leveled him with a stare so open and direct it proved she was a far more courageous and noble human being than he could ever be.

  “That is not true,” she stated clearly. “It is so much more.”

  He wanted to believe her. But the reality of the situation could not be changed. He could not be changed.

  “You are wrong. It is nothing to me,” he said as he started for the door.

  He needed to get out of there—get away from her before his facade slipped. The only way out of the room was to pass by her position. He schooled his features into a dark scowl and put as much cool disinterest into his voice as he could manage.

  “I have no more patience for this conversation. Our relationship existed for one purpose, and that is now done. We are done.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw her lower her gaze as he passed. Her lips trembled as she spoke one word.

  “Avenell.”


  He directed his gaze forward and kept walking.

  Turning down the hallway, he headed away from the party, taking long, angry, desperate strides until he reached the next room. Slipping through the door, he closed it silently then pressed his forehead hard to the wood. His chest squeezed so tight it was reminiscent of being in the final throes of that illness he would never forget. He fought to deepen and even his breath, but he could do nothing for the savage beating of his heart.

  And he welcomed the pain flowing through him. He embraced it as it seeped into every corner of his being, until after a while he grew numb. From the center of his soul to the farthest reach of his breath, he forced that numbness to take over. The deadness was far more comfortable than the tumult of emotion and passion he had experienced since he had spied a quietly bold young lady staring at him with eyes so soft and beckoning.

  He did not shift from his spot, holding the door shut until he heard the soft rhythm of steps that had somehow become as precious to him as life itself.

  He had chased her away.

  He was glad to be rid of her.

  As much pain as it caused to hurt her, it had to be done. He had reconciled himself to a lifetime of suffering, but her pain would be temporary. She would survive. She had the support and love of her family. She would move on and marry a noble gentleman and birth beautiful children. It was the life she was meant to have.

  She was never intended to be mistress to a broken man.

  If he didn’t walk away now, she would eventually realize her error, and the love he would have grown accustomed to, the love he would have started to rely on, would be yanked away. Avenell had survived such cruelty once.

  He would not have survived it again. Not from Lily.

  Twenty-six

  Lily curled up in her bed, but she did not sleep. Her body hurt from head to toe. Her head pounded with unshed tears, and her throat was tight. She could barely breathe past the emotion compressing her lungs.