The Earl Next Door

by Amelia Grey

  “Yes. You’re right. I usually do when I retire for the evening.”

  “You’re avoiding talking about what just happened between us,” he said cautiously.

  Because of all she’d been through and endured in the past, she concealed the mountains of emotions that were swirling inside her. He didn’t need to know that he’d just brought to reality so many of her dreams; he didn’t need to know her secrets.

  “There’s nothing to say about it.”

  “There’s a lot to say,” he argued in a soft, determined tone.

  “I expect you to be a gentleman about it and slip out the door as easily as you came in and we’ll say no more about this.”

  Lyon didn’t move, but his eyes continued to search hers. She didn’t waver and neither did he. He looked as if he was trying to decide whether he wanted to take her to task in disagreement or do as she asked.

  Adeline hoped he wouldn’t fight her on this. Her reserve of strength wasn’t feeling very strong right now. If he tried to pull her into the warmth of his arms once again she would go, rest her cheek against his chest, enjoy his embrace, and ask him to make love to her all over again. She didn’t have one smidgen of regret for taking him into her arms and quite possibly into her heart, too.

  Finally, showing the mark of a good man, Lyon nodded. He reached down, picked up his coat, and granting her wish, he left.

  Chapter 13

  A cold wash might work wonders for the body, but it did little to enhance peace of mind or comfort a turbulent soul, Lyon thought as he threw the daily newsprint aside and stood up in the tub. He stepped out and wrapped the towel around his waist before heading toward the window, which was now a daily ritual. He parted the top half of the drapery panels with the backs of his fingers and searched the garden.

  The countess was nowhere in sight. Not that he expected her to be. Still, he looked every morning since the day he’d seen her standing under the trellis. He should have never told her he could see that section of her grounds from the window in his dressing chamber. She would probably never stop in that part of the garden again.

  Letting the panel go, he walked over to where his clothing had been laid out and picked up his shirt. He’d tried to shake it off, but it still rankled that Adeline had told him she didn’t know if she’d been waiting for him last night or if any man would have fulfilled her desires. That was a damn good way to make a man feel like a convenience. He didn’t know what had made him ask the question. Maybe he’d had doubts because she’d been so willing. She’d felt so fresh and innocent in his arms it was almost as if she’d never been touched by a man. Damnation, he hadn’t had any misgivings about who had been in his arms. He didn’t think she had, either.

  Until it was over.

  He was now sure Lady Wake left her gloves in plain sight on purpose—as an invitation for Lyon to go to her. Knowing the other men at his table noticed them too, Lyon had made a show of picking them up, saying convincingly he’d have Brewster see to it they were returned immediately to Lady Wake.

  But, of course, that’s not what he’d told his butler.

  When he’d seen her standing in the lamplight dressed in the deliciously provocative black velvet robe with her long honey gold hair curling about her shoulders, he saw a beauty, tempting him beyond his control. And he’d wanted her madly.

  Not just any woman. Her. And he thought she’d been waiting for him. Not just any man. Him.

  She was a daunting, alluring vixen and had been since he’d first seen her. It troubled him that even after they’d come together, he didn’t know what she was feeling or thinking. She’d not only set his body on fire for her, she set his soul on fire for her, too. He knew her body had been satisfied, but what about her soul? Did she wake this morning thinking Lyon was the only man for her?

  That’s sure as hell what he was thinking.

  Lyon finished dressing and sat down to put on his boots. He sensed that his valet had come back into the room. The man was always quiet as a mouse and usually waited for Lyon to acknowledge him before speaking. If Lyon didn’t say anything after a minute or two, he’d slip out of the room again and wait to be called.

  Sensing the man was staying longer than usual, he said, “What is it, Dome?”

  “Your aunt is here, my lord,” the spry, older man said.

  A morning visit from his aunt? That was odd.

  “Mr. Brewster has asked her to wait for you in your breakfast room.”

  Maybe she wanted him to go with her to Lady Wake’s home again with another basket to deliver. Lyon’s lower stomach tightened at the thought of seeing Adeline. “Let her know I’ll be down shortly.”

  Memories of being with the countess last night slipped easily back into his thoughts as he pressed his foot into his boot. He leaned against the back of the chair and enjoyed reliving them for a few moments. But there was another image of her that wafted across his mind. He’d seen it briefly in her face when he’d offered her the brandy. It was pain. Not physical pain from being sick or injured, but a much deeper hurting. A private one. An agony that she hadn’t been able to suppress.

  That troubled him.

  Had she been ill? Too fond of the taste of wine and unable to control it unless she completely stayed away from the drink? It could happen. Was that inner hurt the reason she was never seen with her husband?

  Lyon wasn’t one to delve into another’s weaknesses or past, but Lady Wake’s intrigued him. Whatever it was that had kept her delicate for a time was ended. She was the strongest, most passionate lady he’d ever met, and after last night, he wanted her to be only his.

  But what did she want?

  A few minutes later Lyon walked into his favorite room of the house. The breakfast room had two walls of windows overlooking the back grounds and not a sheer or drapery fabric on any of them. No coverings were necessary since the room was only used in the broad light of day. On sunny mornings, the sparsely decorated area was bright, cheerful. It was where he would read the newsprint and drink coffee if he was in a hurry and passed on a soak in the tub.

  Lyon walked over to the table, bent down, and kissed his aunt Cordelia’s soft cheek as she kissed the air beside him. He looked at the plate in front of her and grunted. “You’re only eating a scone?”

  She smiled at him. “I’ve already broken the fast and needed only a nibble while waiting for you to come belowstairs.”

  He poured himself a cup of the aromatic coffee and then leaned against the buffet chest that held dishes of food topped with silver covers and emanating the mixture of smells from eggs, fried ham, and sweet fruity preserves.

  “It’s early for you to be out.”

  “I know.” Her brows went up and she scooted her chair back and faced him directly. “But some things are best taken care of as soon as one awakens. The early bird getting the fattest worm sort of thing.”

  Lyon tilted his head, denying a sudden sense of unease, and simply said, “Now you have me curious.”

  “Is that all?” Her gaze stayed on his. “Really, you have no idea why I’m here?”

  “There are too many possibilities for me to guess at just one.”

  “Hmm. I assumed you knew and you were simply being your usual mum self when it comes to your private life. Which I understand and don’t mind, you know.”

  “Ah, I see.” He sipped the coffee and casually crossed one foot over the other. “You’re here to do your usual complaining about my father. Enlighten me. I have no idea what he’s done this time.”

  “Fiddlesticks, no,” she said, shaking her head for emphasis and using a rare frustrated tone with him. “I wouldn’t waste my morning on him. Not today anyway. But, that’s not to say that I’m not looking forward to seeing Miss Ballingbrand at the Great Hall for the first soirée of the Season. Everyone is. It’s been at least six years, maybe more, since her debut. No one I know has seen her since, and we’re all counting the days until we meet her.” Cordelia stopped and sighed, while dabbing her nap
kin at the corner of her mouth. “We can talk about her later. Neither she nor your father are the reason I’m here. It’s much more important than those two. I had a note from Mrs. Feversham on my tea tray this morning asking that I come visit her with all haste.”

  “Another fall?” he asked, placing his cup on the table in front of his chair. “Is she all right?”

  “Yes, she’s well. For all her complaints, she’s almost as robust as you. Except for her hip, of course. She is fine, but I fear you are not.”

  The way his aunt said the last sentence worried Lyon, but calmly, he asked, “What do you mean?”

  “To put it bluntly, my dear, she saw Lady Wake march into your house yesterday afternoon as if she owned the place and had every right to do so while your gaming club was there. How many men is it each week? A dozen? In any case, Mrs. Feversham was outraged the widow would do such an unacceptable thing even if it was raining buckets on top of her head.”

  Doing the unacceptable was one of the things that drew him to Adeline. A primal feeling to protect her rose up inside him.

  “Mrs. Feversham is watching my house again?” he asked, outraged at the thought.

  “Again?” Cordelia asked incredulously. “She’s never stopped. And what’s more, now she never will because she’s purchased a sailor’s spyglass for herself so she can see up closer.”

  “Blast it!” Lyon said, muttering an oath under his breath. He pulled out his chair but didn’t bother to sit down. “A telescope? Has the lady no sense of decency or shame for such behavior?”

  If she were a younger, able-bodied lady, he’d go over and rip the damn thing from her hands and stomp it to pieces right in front of her. He didn’t like the idea of anyone snooping on him, knowing who came and went from his house. Once he’d thought about trying to have the school moved out of the neighborhood. Now he was wondering what he could do to get Mrs. Feversham out.

  “It’s all she can do.”

  “No, she could knit and keep her eyes on the yarn instead of her neighbors. I can’t believe this is the way she repays me for taking her enormous basketful of pastries to Lady Wake,” he said angrily. “She shouldn’t be spying on a gentleman’s door. She’s gone too far.”

  “Are you saying it would be all right for her to watch a lady’s door with her spyglass?” his aunt asked rather guardedly as her brows went up again. “Perhaps Lady Wake’s door?”

  “No one’s door,” he insisted. Suddenly Lyon’s gut tightened. He looked closely at his aunt. “She didn’t.”

  “Of course she did,” Cordelia said, pushing her chair back from the table and refolding the napkin in her lap with no small amount of consternation. “She saw you enter Lady Wake’s house last night after the lights on the servants’ floor went out.”

  Lyon refrained from speaking aloud the oaths that would have felt so good spewing from him. No one should have known he went to the countess’s house last night. He made sure there wasn’t a carriage or a soul in view and most every light within his sight was out.

  “Homebound or not, friend or foe, Mrs. Feversham will have to be dealt with,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Indeed, but how?”

  “Wait a minute, Aunt,” he said, his voice unusually heavy with aggravation toward her. “I’m not admitting to anything she has told you about the countess.”

  “Dash it all, I wouldn’t expect or want you to. You know I’m not here for an admission, details, or to pass judgment on anyone.” Cordelia rose, laid her folded napkin by her plate and, to his amazement after his firm tone, smiled up at him as confidently as always. “I’m only here to advise you of what your neighbor saw and to suggest you use the back gate when you visit the widow.”

  Lyon’s instinct to protect Adeline soared again as he stared at his aunt. “I won’t allow Mrs. Feversham to ruin Lady Wake’s reputation.”

  “You don’t have to worry about Mrs. Feversham talking to anyone else about this,” his aunt said in a practical tone. “I took care of that so you wouldn’t have to.”

  “How?” he asked, not convinced anything other than matrimony could salvage Adeline’s reputation.

  “I said that I’d asked you to pick up the straw basket that I’d left at Lady Wake’s the day we delivered the tarts and biscuits to her. And that you had been so busy entertaining your gentleman friends all afternoon you must have forgotten about it until the evening. I had no idea why she couldn’t see my basket in your hand when you left, and she might need to have someone with knowledge of the instrument look at her spyglass and adjust it. That seemed to satisfy her.”

  It didn’t satisfy Lyon. “What about Lady Wake coming inside my house? How did you leave that?”

  “Oh, she knew the reason for that. She could see clearly that the area in front of Lady Wake’s home was blocked with your friends’ coaches. Mrs. Feversham knew it wasn’t the first time it’s happened. It’s been going on for years. I told her I was very sympathetic with the countess on that account and that she had every right to knock on your door and express her displeasure. In the end Mrs. Feversham agreed with me.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked skeptically.

  “Yes—I made certain all was well with her before I left.” Cordelia paused, seeming to consider her next words. “She admitted you weren’t in Lady Wake’s house long enough to have even taken off your clothing and gotten into bed with her.”

  “Aunt,” Lyon said, returning to his cautionary tone, “this is not a discussion I want to have with you. Now or ever.”

  “Understandable. Brewster said he would personally walk over and retrieve the basket from Lady Wake’s housekeeper—the back way, of course—and have it waiting for me at the front door. I’ll take my time leaving and make sure Mrs. Feversham sees it in my hands as I walk out. Now, I must be running along. I do try to never overstay my welcome. I’ll be over for a drink soon, my dear. I enjoy having a glass of claret or brandy with you.”

  “You never even taste it,” he grumbled.

  “Oh, that’s not true,” she denied hastily. “I have. Once or twice. Enjoy your breakfast. I’ll see you at the Grand Ball—if not before.”

  With that, his aunt swept from the room.

  Lyon picked up his cup and took it back to the silver coffee pot to refill. Instead he put it down with a clamor and hit his fist upon the buffet chest. What could he do about his snooping neighbor? An old widow who was crippled.

  After a few moments to calm himself, Lyon poured more coffee into his cup and gazed out one of the windows. The gray skies promised more rain for the already sodden earth. His gardeners were busy on his grounds. In the distance over the yew hedge and near barren trees he could see a good portion of the school, but from this room he could see only the roof of Adeline’s house.

  Adeline.

  After last night, how could he be so formal to think of her or even talk to her in such formal terms as Lady Wake? She had him guessing like no other lady and had him feeling things he’d never felt before. Like she was his.

  Damnation!

  He couldn’t shake the straightforwardness with which she said she didn’t know whether or not she wanted him or just someone—anyone. He had to admit he’d been with countless women, especially when he was younger, where all he needed was just to fulfill his driving need for release. Is that the way she felt? Any man would do?

  Lyon didn’t like the way that made his gut wrench.

  To be fair to himself, perhaps there was a little of that in him last night, too. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman. There was a desperation in him, as well. He hadn’t taken the time to trace the curve of Adeline’s waist, stroke the plane of her hip, or let his hands stray leisurely between her thighs. Their urgency had been too intense and too heated to unfurl their passion slowly. There had been no time for long glances or tender caresses. Not even soft, sweet kisses or seductive words about how intoxicatingly fresh she smelled, how delicious she tasted, or how smooth her skin felt be
neath his touch. He didn’t even tell her she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen or held in his arms.

  But he had known whom he held and she was the he’d wanted.

  There was one thing for damn certain. He was going to make sure she would know it was him, that he was the one she wanted, the next time they came together.

  And there would be a next time.

  “What the devil are you looking at that has you so enthralled?” Marksworth asked, walking up beside Lyon. “I called your name twice and you didn’t answer.”

  “The grounds,” Lyon said, feeling no guilt about the lie to his father. “We had a storm yesterday afternoon.”

  “I was aware of it.” Marksworth picked up a cup from the buffet and poured himself coffee. “I fear there’s an even bigger storm going on in London today.”

  Unlike his aunt’s news, Lyon was sure that he knew what his father was going to tell him. How could any hot-blooded man stay quiet about seeing and hearing Adeline yesterday afternoon? Still he said, “What are you talking about?”

  “You and Lady Wake.”

  Exactly what Lyon thought.

  “I had three notes delivered to my house before I’d even awakened. The Duke of Middlecastle and a room full of others were already waiting at White’s by the time I got there. Apparently the arrival of Lady Wake in your drawing room yesterday afternoon has spread faster than the whirlwind storm that brought her to your door. By the time I’d heard all that was said about how resplendent she looked dripping from head to toe and how valiant she spoke, I was wishing I hadn’t missed the afternoon and had been there to witness the spectacle myself.”

  The knot of anger that had formed in Lyon’s chest with his aunt’s tale of his neighbor’s spying started growing.

  “Some of the nodcocks were arguing over who would pursue her since you hadn’t laid claim to her after she left,” Marksworth added when Lyon remained silent.

  But Lyon had in the most intimate way possible.