The Earl's Passionate Plot Page 12

  Ella frowned and glanced around the room. "Very well but... I'm not certain where she is just now."

  "She's here somewhere, I talked to her a few moments ago. I'm sure she'll turn up as soon as the dancing begins."

  "I hope so," Ella sighed.

  "She will. This ball is truly about her, as you well know."

  Ella didn't seem especially pleased to be reminded of that. "Yes, yes. I know."

  "But of course it is yours, as well. Enjoy yourself, Ella. I shall be right back."

  Ella nodded and Mariah left her there to go and locate the absentee earl. When she found him, he would certainly hear about his behavior. Such rudeness!

  She asked a footman in the corridor if he knew where the earl was and he seemed to think he'd seen him in the direction of the study. That made sense. Step-Papa had kept his spirits there, so of course that's where she might find the earl. She drew back her shoulders and headed up the corridor toward the back of the house.

  Light was spilling out from the doorway as she approached, so she knew she had found him. He was, indeed, in the study. He wasn't at the desk, though, or sitting in one of the comfortable leather chairs. It took her eyes a moment to find him, the dim lamplight making eerie shapes against the walls.

  He was sitting the window. It was open and a chilly breeze blew in, adding to the flickering effect from the lamps. She could not make out his expression, but she could feel his eyes on her as she stepped in through the doorway. She wasn't sure what she'd expected him to be doing here, but sitting amongst half a dozen empty decanters seemed to be a bit excessive, even for him.

  Now she could see him smile, his teeth showing as if in a snarl. One decanter still held liquid, but he was rapidly altering that. The breeze slightly redirected the stream as the contents were poured out the window, little droplets splashing here and there as they went down into the shrubbery below.

  "What are you doing? That's my step-father's best whiskey!" she exclaimed.

  "Not anymore."

  "And the brandy, and the Madeira... you've dumped it all out the window?"

  "Not all of it," he replied. "I started out drinking it, then realized what vile, ruinous stuff it is. After that I've been dumping it out the window."

  "But... that's insane."

  "No, wasting a life wallowing in this swill the way my father did was insane. You've surely no great love for it, Miss Langley. Or do you creep down here unseen and sample the stock?"

  "Of course not. I just can't imagine... you've truly emptied all of those out the window?"

  "Would you prefer I poured them onto the carpets?"

  "Don't be ridiculous. I was here to chastise you for ignoring our ball, but now I'm not sure that I want you there. You likely smell of alcohol and will very possibly fall over should you try to stand up and dance."

  "I'm not drunk, my dear. And I'm flattered that you should wish to dance with me."

  "I never said that!" she declared. "I've no inclination at all to dance with you, my lord."

  "No, I suppose not. You'll be too busy with your curate, at any rate."

  "Are you back on that topic? I should have thought after three days you'd forget all about it."

  He dropped the decanter onto the sill with the others and rose up swiftly, standing tall and steady and making her wish she had not come quite this close to him. Although, truth be told, as her gaze took in his full form and she struggled again to meet his dark, probing eyes, a big part of her wished to move even closer. Much too close, in fact.

  He'd removed his coat so she'd found him in his shirtsleeves. They were rumpled and rolled, showing the strong tendons of his arms and proving that he'd not relied on padding to make his shoulders appear so broad and so masterful. She seemed very small, indeed, standing next to him, though by all accounts she was not a petite female. Perhaps it was the way he was glaring at her, or perhaps it was the persistent memory of how she'd felt in his arms that day on the ridge... she had no way to say, but the feeling of vulnerability only grew as he took another step nearer.

  "I've forgotten nothing, Miss Langley. I wonder if you have?"

  She took a step away, but he followed, looming over her. "I... I think we should go down to the ball, sir. People are expecting you."

  "No one cares whether I am there or not. You're the one who came looking for me, Miss Langley."

  "Because you promised my sister. Surely your cousin wishes you to be there for his happy announcement."

  He growled at her. "That damned announcement. Yes, after tonight everyone will be so very happy, won't they? What of you and your curate? Do you expect some sort of announcement?"

  "Can you not stop teasing me with that? What is this fascination you have for Mr. Skrewd, anyway?"

  "Mine? I have none, believe me. It is yours that I'm questioning."

  "Well, you should stop. I've heard enough about Mr. Skrewd from you, sir. You've no reason to talk that way about him."

  "Then how should I talk about him?" he asked, still moving toward her so that she was forced to take another step back. "Should I mention that when he marries you he'll be taking a woman who so easily throws herself into the arms of other men when he's not looking?"

  Drat, but she was up against the desk now; she could back away no further. Still the earl moved toward her, his eyes fixed on hers with that familiar fire burning behind them. She tried desperately to quench the answering heat that rose up inside her.

  "I do not throw myself. That was not throwing."

  "Well it certainly wasn't crying out in demure resistance," he said.

  "Whatever it was, it's ungentlemanly of you to bring it up," she snapped. "Now if you truly aren't jug-bit to the point of falling over, perhaps you will put yourself together and come down to the ball."

  "Because you wish to dance with me?"

  "No! Because you promised my sister you'd be there."

  "And what have you promised your curate?"

  He wasn't letting up. He was inching ever closer, nearly touching her now and there was nowhere for her to go. Why must he do this to her? What satisfaction could he possibly get from tormenting her this way, waving her own failings in her face and reminding her that no decent man could ever truly want her? She wished he really was drunk so at least she could blame the spirits for his actions, but she could not.

  "Why do you persist in this?" she asked, her voice coming out tight and unsure. "Things have been going so well here while you were gone. I had thought... I hoped when you returned we could at least be friends, you and I."

  "Friends? You want to be friends with me, Miss Langley?"

  He glared at her, his eyes searching hers and boring through the calm, unfeeling facade she was desperate to maintain. His gaze held her long after she gave him a feeble nod of agreement.

  "Yes, sir. I want to be friends."

  He lurched out and grasped her shoulders, forcing her to stare up at him. She dared not even blink.

  "No, Miss Langley. I'm afraid I can't do that. We can never be friends."

  She wished she wasn't so saddened to hear those words. But then she wished she wasn't quite so thrilled when he pulled her tightly against himself and leaned in to kiss her again. Oh heavens, but it was even more delightful a second time! Now she knew what to do, and her body responded in an instant.

  Without the bulk of his coat, the warmth coming off of him soaked into her skin right away. When she wrapped her arms around him she could feel the contours of his solid form, the muscles and sinews that gave him that remarkable, manly shape. If he felt this much better to her fingertips with just one layer of linen shirt, how wonderful he would feel with nothing between them!

  Her body burned at the thought of it and she pressed herself closer against him. His lips covered hers, nibbled her, and drew such sensation that she sighed involuntarily. He replied with a growl, the sound of a beast claiming its prize, intending never to give it up.

  But he would give her up. He'd made that clear
from the start, hadn't he? This was nothing more than entertainment from him. She had to remember that, no matter how earth shattering it was for her.

  His earth would not shatter. She could kiss him over and over and he wouldn't care. Not only was he opposed to the notion of a commitment, he'd announced they couldn't even be friends. She was kissing him as if he provided her life itself, yet she knew he wouldn't hesitate to walk away and watch part of her die.

  How could she allow herself to be tormented this way? She couldn't. She deserved more than fleeting pleasure and long lasting pain. The earl had dragged her heart to the edge and she had to defend herself before she tumbled over. Forever.

  She pushed him away.

  "No! Stop this; we cannot, my lord."

  He did not quite release her. "I assure you, my dear, we most certainly can."

  "Well, I cannot. Take your hands off me. Now."

  He did, complimenting the action with one blessed step away from her. At last, she could breathe and her head was finally clearing. She had to get away from him before his magic began to work on her all over again. She'd be lost at that point.

  "I... I have to go."

  He didn't stop her. She slid away from him then practically dashed out the door. Her heart pounded in her chest and her cheeks felt as if they would burst into flame. She couldn't go back to the ball, not now when everyone might see how distraught she must be.

  She knew where to go. She knew what might possibly help soothe the ruin she felt, the ache of a heart she could no longer protect. It was too late for that, she realized now. There was nothing anyone could do to save a heart that was already broken.

  Chapter 17

  He stared after her. She'd literally run from him, so eager to be away from his touch. He couldn't really blame her, either. He'd run from himself if he thought it would do any good.

  He turned back to the window and grabbed up one of the decanters. Damn, what an idiot notion to dump it all out. He smashed the decanter against the far wall. The sound was only temporarily satisfying. Once all the little shards had settled, he was still alone with himself in the silence.

  Alone. The way he'd been for so long and the way he had planned to remain. It was an unbearable thought now. Mariah Langley had shined some kind of light into his dark corners and he was not content to retreat to them again.

  But what could he do? She'd rejected him and she'd left. Definitively.

  Well, she'd left. She'd not truly rejected him, since all he'd really offered her were insults and ruin. It was unreasonable to expect anyone not to reject such things. He could never fault her for being unreasonable.

  Damn it all, but he could not fault her for anything. She knew nothing of him but that he was self-centered, rude, and a derelict. What on earth was there in that to recommend him? Nothing, save his ridiculous title.

  But that did count for something, didn't it? True, he never expected to share it with anyone, but what if he did? No matter how worthless he was, that title meant something. His wife would enjoy the benefits of it; she'd be a countess, mother to noble-born children and respected everywhere she might go.

  Would that be of interest to Miss Langley? As much as he hated the fact of his parentage, it suddenly dawned on him that because of it she might see beyond his many obvious failings. Was there even the slightest chance that she'd be willing to trade in her status as the bastard child of no one for the decorum that came with bearing a title? His title?

  For so many years he'd refused to let himself contemplate such a thing, but right now it seemed there was nothing else he could think of. He could offer his title to Miss Langley and she might even consider it. He could offer her legitimacy, and he could promise to care for her mother and sister. Yes, that might just motivate her. She might decide that she wanted a title, after all. In the process, then, she'd have to take him with it.

  That is, unless she accepted the bloody little curate first.

  Well, he'd simply not let that happen. If he was going to live his life pining away like this, he sure as hell wanted to know he'd done all that he could. If she was truly to be rid of him, he'd make sure she had to reject an honest to God decent proposal.

  He grabbed up his coat and stormed out into the darkened corridor, his footsteps echoing until they were drowned out by the sounds of music and laughter as he approached the ballroom. The footman cowered as he swept into the room, searching the small crowd for Miss Langley's form. The shimmering peach colored gown she'd been wearing would show her to excellent effect in the gleaming light here. He watched the dancers, examined the few ladies sitting in chairs, and it was obvious she wasn't here.

  "So you are here, my lord," Mrs. Renford said cheerfully as she came up to greet him. "I'm happy to see you've returned."

  He couldn't be bothered with pleasantry just now. Only one thing mattered and he needed to find her.

  "Where is Miss Langley?"

  "Mariah? Well, I have no idea. She was here a few moments ago. Perhaps she has gone to confer with the servants on some matter or other."

  A nauseating thought entered his mind. Skrewd. Where was Mr. Skrewd?

  Nowhere, it seemed. The room was as vacant of him as it was of Miss Langley. The blood in Dovington's veins turned cold. She'd gone off with her lover. He was too late.

  But he knew where they'd go. Only one place made sense. With everyone here in the house enjoying the ball, it would be easy for the couple to steal away for some private moments outside. In that damn hut.

  "Excuse me, ma'am," he said, barely recalling propriety and giving her the requisite bow. "I must tend to something."

  Someone else tried to speak with him, but he paid no mind. He caught a brief glimpse of Ned off in the corner with Miss Renford, but he didn't bother to acknowledge their existence. There'd be plenty of time to greet Ned and to tell Miss Renford she was the prettiest belle at her very first ball. For now, he was storming back out of the ballroom.

  Back to the darkened corridor, past the study and toward the turn at the far end. Beyond that, he found the narrow door that led out to the garden, the side garden that was little in use and overflowing with lilacs. He followed the path until he could see the outline of the hill where the little hut was. Sure enough, he could make out a faint light in the window. The hut was not empty. Shadows darkened the window and as he approached, he heard the unmistakable sound of laughter.

  He knew nothing of the last few steps he took. All he was aware of was the urgency, the need to get himself in through that red door as quickly as possible. He had to stop them, no matter what they were up to.

  The door banged open, dishes rattled on a nearby shelf from the force of it. Dovington ducked his head and peered in. One dim taper flickered on the table, the light spilling over the cramped room. His eyes adjusted readily.

  There she was. Just as expected, his eyes fell on her and she was not alone. She was sprawled on the floor, her gown rumpled carelessly and her arms wrapped tightly around... a puppy?

  "What the devil...?"

  She sat up quickly and tucked her ankles carefully under her skirts, patting her hair and pushing the puppy off of her before it upset the already daringly low cut of her gown. Another puppy took its place, dancing on her and wrestling with its partner. A third appeared then, clambering over the others and flopping its soggy pink tongue. Miss Langley, however, looked past the wriggling little masses of black and white fur and glared up at him.

  "What are you doing here?"

  "I should ask you the same."

  "As if it's any of your business what I'm doing here."

  "Of course it's my business. This is my property and I'll not have you bring shame on it, rollicking on the floor of a bachelor's house!"

  "I am rollicking with puppies, sir. You find that particularly shameful?"

  "Of course not, but... where is Mr. Skrewd?"

  "Dancing at the ball, I presume."

  "Then why did you come here?"

  "For the p
uppies. I thought they might... well, I am looking after them, that's all."

  "And why should you be looking after Mr. Skrewd's puppies?"

  "Because they are not all Mr. Skrewd's puppies. These two are spoken for. I've selected them for..."

  She didn't finish, though he gave her ample time. "For whom?"

  "One is for Ella. I was going to surprise her after the ball."

  "I see. And the other?"

  "It's for... someone else."

  "And I want to know whom."

  "It doesn't matter. I doubt he really wants it, anyway."

  He? By God, she had another man to be giving gifts to? He'd throttle the man, whoever he was.

  "Who, damn it? Give me his name."

  She thought long and hard before answering. When she finally did, she fairly spat the word at him.

  "You."

  "Me?"

  "Yes, you. I thought you might... it doesn't matter now."

  "It does matter! Why on earth did you think you needed to give me a puppy?"

  "Because you were sad. It's idiotic, I know, but when you left three days ago you seemed so defeated by everything your father did to you, how he left you... I just thought that perhaps if you had someone—something—who cared about you... well, I thought you might want something like that. Apparently I was wrong."

  Wrong? Hellfire, no, she wasn't wrong. She was absolutely right. She was right about him, and she was right for him. He was going to pull her up into his arms and tell her so right now.

  Unfortunately, someone plowed into him from behind and he went sprawling onto the floor, flailing inelegantly in monumental effort not to land on Miss Langley or any of the puppies. He succeed, but only barely. When he could catch his bearings he realized he was now sitting roughly beside Miss Langley, gazing up at Mr. Skrewd.

  "Er... sorry," the curate said awkwardly. "I saw the door open and I thought the puppies might have escaped so I came running. Forgive me, sir, but I didn't see you there."

  "So you were planning to meet Miss Langley here," Dovington said.