Nina Coombs Pykare (23 page)

She fought the trembling in her knees and the fear that rose up to close her throat. There was no reason to be frightened. Whatever lie the earl had been told, surely she could prove it wasn’t true. She was not ashamed. She had done nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing at all.

She kept reminding herself of that as she followed the earl into the library, but somehow it didn’t make her feel any better.

He went to the hearth, turned and glared at her. “Shut the door,” he commanded brusquely.

There was so much authority in his voice that she wouldn’t have dared disobey him. She closed the door, then hesitant, turned again to face him, not daring to go even a step nearer him, a step further into the room. But perhaps that was for the best. She wasn’t sure her legs would work properly, would carry her closer to him when he was glaring like that.

Now the anger was apparent in the expression of his face as well as in his eyes. It made his nose seem more hawkish, his eyes black as the pits of hell. For several long, seemingly endless moments, he stood there, a menacing figure. If only he would tell her what she had done. Whatever it was he thought she’d done, it must be really awful to make him glare at her in that horrible fashion, as though she was so far beneath his touch that it outraged him even to think of her.

Charles faced the little governess, anger so fearsome raging through him that he had to tighten his hands into fists to control himself. So she hadn’t taken his subtle warning this morning, but had rendezvoused with Crawford in the woods anyway. His innocent daughters there to observe! Oh, he didn’t think Miss Pierce had done anything too flagrant with Crawford. He couldn’t see her doing anything that might hurt the girls. Even now he couldn’t see that.

But they had met—Miss Pierce and Crawford. By arrangement, no doubt. Crawford had taken her arm. Taken it and held it while she smiled up at him from big green eyes under that battered old straw bonnet. They’d walked and talked, conversing pleasantly, smiling at each other, remembering what they’d done the night before, remembering their passion.

Charles ran a hand through his hair. But why should he care what they did? Why did these thoughts send him into such a rage? She was the governess, only the governess. Just a fresh-faced young woman, courageous but stubborn, with wide green eyes and a mouth that could make a man want- In God’s name! What was he doing? Such thinking was all wrong. He loved Catherine, he would always love Catherine.

Chapter Twenty-three

Edwina’s knees were trembling beneath her gown. How frightening the earl looked. She forced herself to meet those accusing eyes steadily. They were even more angry than they had been earlier, before she left with the girls for their walk. Why? Why did he just glare at her? Why didn’t he tell her the reason for this anger of his?

Finally, when she thought she couldn’t stand another moment of this agony, he spoke. “Well, Miss Pierce,” he said, each word so clipped and sharp they pierced her like knives. “Tell me, did you enjoy your excursion into the woods this morning?”

Why was he making polite conversation when he was so obviously angry? She swallowed hard and willed her voice to steadiness. “Yes, milord. It’s been a lovely day. The girls enjoyed the wildflowers.” She wished her voice hadn’t been so soft, but at least this time it hadn’t cracked. “But they missed you.” She kept her gaze on his face. `”They were looking forward to your coming along with us.” What would he do now? What would he say?

“I see that your meeting with Crawford came off as planned.” He might as well have been accusing her of murder, so fiercely did he pin her with his gaze.

For a moment she stared back at him. Crawford? Was he the cause of the earl’s anger? Was the earl so furious because she’d been with the viscount? But why? Did the earl think she was casting out lures for his cousin? Angling beyond her station in life?

Was that the lie Lady Leonore had told him? That the new governess was trying to snare his friend and heir, marry him and eventually share the earl’s estate? Outrage made Edwina’s voice stronger. “Indeed, milord, you are mistaken. The viscount and I made no plans to meet. He chanced upon the girls and me while returning from his morning ride. He asked permission to accompany us on our walk and I saw no harm in giving it. I’m afraid life in the castle is somewhat lonely for a man of his sociable persuasion.”

“No doubt.” If anything, the earl looked even more thunderous. He paced once across the hearth, then turned sharply to face her. “I am greatly indebted to you for what you have done for my girls,” he said, his voice still cold. “Greatly indebted.”

“Thank you, milord.” Certainly that was an odd time for a thank you. Now, when he was so irate.

He took a step closer and she held her ground, though with difficulty. He was a big man and in his anger he seemed to grow even bigger, towering over her in a most disturbing fashion. She wanted to run, to hide, but she forced herself to remain there, facing him. She was not a coward.

“Because of what you’ve done, because of your conscientious care of the girls, I feel some concern for your welfare,” he went on in that cold flat voice that was frightening in itself. “So I feel I should give you warning.”

“Warning?” she repeated. Why didn’t he get to it, say what he wanted to say? “Warning, milord? About what?”

“About my cousin Crawford.” The earl’s tone was harsh, his expression thorny. “About the viscount.”

So that was it. “I fail to see why you should want to warn me about the viscount.” Well, that wasn’t quite true. She could see very well. But she didn’t have to admit that to him. “I anticipate no harm from your cousin,” she replied stiffly.

The earl didn’t look convinced. His face remained set and angry, his voice cold and flat. “As long as you’re a resident of my home I feel responsible for your safety.”

She felt a surge of irrational anger. Who did he think he was fooling? He wasn’t thinking about her at all. “My safety, milord?” she snapped. “Are you sure it is my safety you think about? Or is it my reputation, perhaps?”

“Both.”

She laughed, astonishing herself at the brittle harshness of the sound. She was aware on some level that she was behaving in an unmannerly fashion, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “I am not a child, milord. I am four and twenty. I lived for some time in London. I also lived all about the country with my father. I know how gentlemen behave. I know they cannot be trusted.”

She pulled in a deep breath. Why couldn’t he understand? “Perhaps you should speak to the viscount. Ask him to desist from his friendly attentions to me. Tell him—and rightly so -that I am quite beneath his touch. Remind him that I am only a penniless governess, not fit to associate with a peer!”

To her complete dismay she heard her voice growing more and more shrill. Why was she behaving like a veritable fishwife? Just when she should be most firm and reasonable.

But she wasn’t feeling reasonable. Not at all. She was feeling hurt, angry. She’d thought he cared about her, really cared about her. She should have known better. He was a peer, after all. His concern for her had been sham. His real concern was to protect his cousin and heir from marriage to a pauper.

The man who had offered her a home for as long as she wanted it was not the man she’d thought him. He had betrayed her. He thought she was after his precious cousin, and so she meant nothing to him. Yes, he had betrayed her trust. Surely that was the cause of the great lump in her throat, that feeling of betrayal.

“Please, Miss Pierce.” He moved closer still, until he was only inches from her. “I am only concerned for your welfare.”

“I don’t believe you,” she cried out in hurt and outrage. “It’s your precious cousin you’re trying to protect—not me. Well, you can rest easy on that score. I know better than to set my sights so high.” Why couldn’t he believe her?

He stood staring down into her eyes. “He has been very attentive to you.”

“Of course he has,” she retorted angrily. “I’m the only woman in the place that will give him the time of day. And as far as that little kiss-” She stopped in horror, her heart fluttering in her throat. Oh God! Now she’d given herself away! In her anger she’d let slip the most damaging thing possible. Ignoring the thunderous expression that had reappeared on the earl’s face, she babbled on. “A little kiss means nothing to him, absolutely nothing. He’s a rake, that’s all, an ordinary London rake. I know that. I’ve known his kind before. His kisses mean nothing. Nothing.”

Something in the earl’s eyes made her words slowly die on her lips. She’d made an utter fool of herself, she thought, shivering under the reproach in his eyes, the disgust she read there. Why had she told him about the kiss? Now he would surely send her away.

She stood helpless before him, waiting for him to pronounce her doom, to exile her from the castle, and the girls she had come to love, and who loved her. But suddenly, without warning, he reached out, pulling her instead into his arms.

Breath left her body and thought left her mind. She was all feeling, the feeling of his body against hers, of his mouth on hers, of her blood racing madly through her veins.

Charles felt her body against his, the body of a pliant eager young woman. His mouth covered hers possessively. This, this was what he wanted, what he’d been longing for. To pull her in his arms, to hold her, to kiss her. Thus had Crawford kissed her. Crawford who had kissed so many many women. Crawford who had done more than kiss them. Just as last night he’d done more with this one. But at the moment he couldn’t, wouldn’t, think about that.

Seeing her there so close to him, her face flushed, her eyes flashing, her bosom heaving with such indignation, had nearly driven him mad with desire. Then, hearing from her own lips that Crawford had kissed her, he’d gone on to imagine last night and the man possessing her. He’d felt such rage, such longing, that he’d completely lost his control. Had surrendered to the terrible compulsion that drove him to yank her into his arms, to feel the warm body, to taste the sweet mouth that had been haunting him.

Now, even worse, even more insane, he wanted to keep her there, pressed against his body, never to let Crawford near her again. Dear God, had he completely lost his mind? What of Catherine, his dear beloved Catherine?

Crushed against the earl’s body, Edwina was shaken to her very soul. Could the earl have lost his senses altogether? He must have, to reach for her, to kiss her like that. But her own senses had rioted in the strangest way. His kiss was savage, passionate—full of anger, and something more she didn’t understand, that she had never felt before.

He forced her lips apart and possessed her mouth in a way no man had ever done. Her knees failed to hold her up and she clung to him, afraid to let go for fear she’d fall. And not wanting to let go because there in his arms she felt—at long last—that she belonged. She shouldn’t surrender to her feelings, she knew that, but her traitorous senses wouldn’t obey her. She couldn’t push him away as she knew she should.

When he took his mouth away, she was still trying to make sense of the strange feelings that coursed through her. He kept his hands on her waist, she could feel their warmth through her gown as she had that day at the beach when he lifted her down from the carriage. He gazed down at her, still scowling. “Since kisses mean so little to you,” he said harshly. “Since they mean nothing-”

She fought to control her senses, to hold back the tears that insisted on rising to her eyes. “Milord! Why do you insult me?” Though she longed to step again into his arms, to feel their comfort, she forced anger into her voice. “It’s the viscount to whom kisses are of little import, milord. Not I.”

The earl smiled, an ugly smile, the smile of a man who knew the world, the utter worst of the world, and had suffered much from it. “But still you allowed him to kiss you.”

She shook her head. “No, milord. Well, not really. I tripped over a root and—and the viscount caught me. He took me by surprise.”

He shrugged. “Exactly. He took you by surprise. As I did.”

“Yes.” Oh no! Too late she realized her error. She shouldn’t have said that. She’d responded to the earl’s kiss, responded passionately, in a way that couldn’t be overlooked. Now he would think—he must think—that she had encouraged the viscount in a similar fashion. That she was the kind of woman who would kiss a man and . . .

“You don’t understand, milord. I- I-” She could think of no way to explain her actions, no way that would not make her look even worse, or divulge the embarrassing knowledge that she had only just discovered herself, knowledge she didn’t want him to have.

“Perhaps I understand too well,” he said harshly. “After all, an earl ranks higher than viscount, does he not?”

The bitter words hung in the air between them. Her heart raced. How dare he say such things to her! She was so angry her hands formed into fists. She raised one to strike him, but he caught her wrist and stopped the blow before it reached his chest. His fingers bit into her flesh and she cried out.

“I, too, have lived in London,” he said in that acerbic voice. “Though I’ve been struck before, I have never allowed a woman to strike me for telling her the truth.”

“But it’s not the truth!” she cried, wishing herself out of this nightmare. “It’s not the truth at all.” The tears were dangerously close now, tears that angered her almost as much as his words. She didn’t like being a watering can. “I’ve never thought of such a thing. I’ve never tried to get married.”

“It will do you no good,” he said sarcastically, as though he hadn’t heard a word of her denial. “I belong to Catherine. I’ll never marry again.”

His hand still grasped her wrist in a painful grip. Edwina summoned more anger. It was all she had. “If you have insulted me quite enough,” she cried, “perhaps you will let me return to my duties.”

“Perhaps!” His tone was so mocking, so unlike the man she thought she knew, that she felt fear rising in her again. To combat it, she fueled her anger even more. “Let me go, milord.” She jerked her wrist free of his hold. “You know my circumstances. You know I care about the girls. It’s most unkind of you to take unfair advantage of me.”