The Earl Takes All (2 page)

“Have you contemplated,” Ashe began slowly, tapping his finger against his half-­empty glass, “that you are going to have to abstain completely from any sexual encounters? Considering your past and your appetites, that's going to create quite the challenge, which I honestly don't know if you're up to meeting. But should she hear of you fornicating about, thinking it was Albert being unfaithful to her,
that
could very well cause her to lose the babe.”

“I considered that and I plan to be as chaste as a monk.” He released a self-­deprecating laugh. “It might not be as hard as you imagine. None of my previous conquests were here today. And some of them were ladies.” He'd noticed their absence, along with the absence of tears. Not a single one shed for Edward. Christ, attending one's own funeral was an incredibly humbling experience.

“Edward—­”

“Greyling,” Edward said, cutting off Locke. “If my ruse is to have any chance at all of succeeding, you must both acknowledge me as the Earl of Greyling, call me either Greyling or Grey, as you did Albert when it wasn't only us about. Except now you must do it even when we're alone. Lest you slip when we're not.” And he needed to stop thinking of himself as Edward. In manner, thought, and deed, he had to become the Earl of Greyling. At least until Julia delivered the heir.

Then he would be obliged to do what he did best: give her another reason to hate him by revealing the truth, breaking her heart, and shattering her world.

Chapter 2

I
n
death, it seemed Edward Alcott was accomplishing what he'd not been able to in life: He was causing Julia to lose Albert. Since his return, Albert seemed to welcome any excuse not to be in her company. She despised that she was experiencing petty jealousy toward a dead man because all of her husband's focus was on him, that she'd begun to doubt herself and question her husband's love for her.

She rather wished now that she hadn't encouraged him to go, to take one last trip with Edward, but she knew how much he'd enjoyed traveling before she came into his life. Bless him, he'd always sensed how much she worried that something awful might happen while he was away, so he'd curtailed his exploits, which had created a fissure between the brothers. She'd thought the trip would do them all a world of good, might make Edward more accepting of her. It was no secret among the aristocracy that they didn't quite approve of each other. It saddened her that they'd not been on good terms when he parted this earth.

Suddenly she became aware of a hand closing around hers on her lap and squeezing.

“Where have your thoughts gone?” Minerva asked.

Tea had been prepared and brought to them, but it had grown cold with neither of them touching it. “My apologies. I'm being an awful hostess.”

“Posh. Under the circumstances, you shouldn't feel as though you need to be a hostess at all. You looked so sad just then. I think it's more than the funeral or Edward's death that's troubling you. I'm here to listen if you want to talk.”

It seemed at once a betrayal and a weakness to voice her doubts, but perhaps another's perspective could shed some light. “Albert's not been quite himself since he returned.”

“No doubt grief taking its toll,” Minerva assured her.

“That's what I've been telling myself. But he's been so distant, offering and accepting no affection whatsoever. And that is so unlike him. Although I'm a beastly woman for finding fault with his lack of attention during a time such as this.” But how could they console each other when he took all his meals in his room, had yet to visit her bed?

“You're not at all beastly, but I do doubt he's in an amorous mood, considering the circumstances.”

“I don't expect him to make love to me. I know I'm hardly attractive in this condition, swollen with child as I am, and as you say, he is distracted, but a gentle kiss would be welcomed.” Even a smile, a soft touch, a reassurance that he still cared for her. After months of being separated, when he'd finally arrived home he just stood there staring at her as though he hardly recognized her. She was the one who had wrapped her arms around him, the one who had squeezed. His only words had been, “I'm sorry.”

Then he'd marched into the residence as though that were enough.

“Have patience,” Minerva suggested. “The brothers were extremely close.”

“I know they were. But we were separated for four months. It was supposed to be only three; however Edward's death delayed Albert's return. Not that I'd realized Edward was dead. The telegram Albert sent merely read, ‘Delayed. Return as soon as possible.' It wasn't until he arrived in a wagon bearing a wooden box that I learned the truth. That in itself was odd—­not sharing his burdens.”

“He probably didn't want to worry you, not in your delicate condition.”

“Yet I want to be there for him. We've always had the sort of marriage where our joys were doubled and our burdens halved. But that's merely a small indication of how he changed while he was away. During this week, I've had moments where I felt as though I don't even know him at all any longer. Which is ludicrous. He's my Albert.”

“Which, my dear, is what you must focus on. He no doubt feels as though he lost half himself in those jungles. The twins, I know, seemed to have a special bond, an attachment far more intimate and stronger than that found between other siblings.”

“I know you're right. I just feel as though he's keeping me at a distance.”

“Men are odd that way, striving to never show any weakness. I suspect he fears needing you and so he pretends he doesn't. The very last thing he needs is for you to be pushy. It'll just make him dig in his heels. Men are stubborn that way. Patience is all you require. He'll come 'round.”

She hoped so, as she truly didn't like this . . . oddness in their relationship. Made her feel out of sorts.

“How are you feeling with the babe?”

Welcoming the change in topic, Julia couldn't stop herself from smiling as she folded her hands on her belly. “Wonderful. Happy about my condition in spite of the sadness over Edward's passing. I do believe this one is going to stay around to play in the nursery.” She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I think we've given the gentlemen enough time with their scotch. Shall we join them?”

As she and Minerva strolled into the library, the gentlemen stood, the somberness about them as they sat remaining with them, maybe even closing more tightly around them.

“Our apologies for being gone so long,” Albert said. “We got caught up in reminiscing. Time got away from us.”

“We thought as much,” Julia said. “Dinner will be served shortly. Perhaps we might all like to take a moment to freshen up before.”

“Splendid notion,” he said, then tossed back the amber liquid that remained in his glass. With a grimace, he clenched his jaw, gave his head a barely perceptible shake. It occurred to Julia that Albert never seemed to relish spirits with the enthusiasm of his brother.

Setting his glass aside, he joined her, offered his arm, and she inhaled his familiar tangy bergamot scent. They left the room in silence, with the others following behind just as solemnly. Because the duke and viscount were more family than friends, Julia had arranged for their bedchambers to be in the family wing, just down the hall from the master suite.

As they reached her door, she turned to her guests. “Shall we plan on meeting back in the library in half an hour?”

“That should be sufficient time,” Minerva said. “It's not as though we'll be changing out of our crepe.”

No. Julia would give Edward the full six months of mourning due him as her husband's brother. She would go into labor wearing black.

“Grey,” Ashebury said with a nod to Albert, before nudging his wife down the hallway.

“Thank you, Julia, for everything,” Locksley offered quietly before heading to his room.

Albert opened the door to her bedchamber and followed her in. It was the first time he'd been in the room since his return. She didn't know why her stomach fluttered with the thought.

Glancing around, his gaze seeming to dart past the four-­poster bed, he walked over to the window, looked out on the dark clouds gathering in the distance. It was a cold, dreary day but at least the rain had held off. “I've not had a chance to thank you for everything you did for . . . my brother. The service you arranged was lovely. You went to a great deal of bother to give him a nice send-­off.”

Cautiously, she approached, stopping just shy of touching him. Quite honestly, he looked as though he could easily shatter. “I'm sorry more people didn't come.” She'd been appalled that so few of the nobility had attended the service. If not for the servants whom she'd required to attend, the church would have been embarrassingly near empty. “I think with the distance and the storm threatening—­”

“I think Edward wasn't as well-­liked as he thought.”

“We received many letters of condolence. I placed them in a black box and put it on your desk, so you can read them at your leisure. I think you'll draw comfort from them.” He'd been too sorrow-­filled, lost in his grief, to pay much attention to correspondence, so she'd seen to it for him.

“I'm certain I will.” He shifted his gaze to hers, and as always she found herself falling into the dark depths. “You're very thoughtful.”

“You say that as though you're surprised.”

He gave his head a quick shake and looked back out the window. “No, I just . . . I can't seem to regain my footing with my brother gone.”

“You will.” She rubbed his upper arm. “You will. But speaking of footing, I must sit down. My feet are killing me.”

He swung around. “You're in pain? Why didn't you say something?”

“It's only my feet. They've begun swelling of late. I just need to put them up—­Albert!”

He'd swept her up into his arms as though she weighed no more than a feather pillow, as though she wasn't this ungainly creature. Then he was glancing around as though he didn't know quite what to do with her now that he had her. Her heart was hammering, her fingers clutching his shoulders. He'd not carried her since their wedding night, and when he'd set her on the bed—­

She warmed with the memories of their coming together as man and wife. Surely, they were not now on the verge of engaging in frenzied lovemaking.

In long, sure strides he headed to the bed and placed her on it as gently as though she were hand-­blown glass. With a swiftness to his actions that she'd not seen since he left for his trip, he shoved pillows behind her back. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes, but a chair would have sufficed.”

“Where's your button hook?”

“Top left drawer of the dressing table, but if I remove my shoes I won't be able to get them back on for dinner.”

“You can go barefoot. No.” He gave his head another shake, began walking away. “You're not going to dinner. I'll have a tray brought to you here.”

“I can't ignore our guests.”

Coming to an abrupt halt at the foot of the bed, he glowered at her. “They're not guests, they're family. They'll understand or they'll damned well answer to me.”

She couldn't stop herself from staring at this man, her husband, unable to recall a single time when he'd been so forceful. She couldn't quite fathom why she found his behavior—­him—­so appealing at that moment. She'd always been attracted to him, but this was something more. He always deferred to Ashebury, for instance, had never stood up to him. Not that he'd had a reason to, but still.

Sighing, he plowed his hand through his hair before taking a step nearer and wrapping his long, thick fingers around the bedpost. “We don't want to risk you losing the babe.”

Regretfully, she nodded. “I am rather weary. It's been an exhausting few days. Still, I shall feel like such a terrible hostess.”

“I imagine they'll enjoy having a bit of time to visit without my morose presence.”

His words startled her. “You're not going to join them?”

“I'm not going to leave you here to dine alone after the trying day you've had, not when you're experiencing discomfort that came about because of my brother's actions.”

“I'll be fine.”

“Fine isn't good enough.”

For a moment she thought he was blushing before he turned away.

“Let's get those shoes off,” he said.

She watched as he strode to her dressing table, shrugging out of his jacket as he went and tossing it onto a nearby chair. With his jacket gone, she could see clearly that during his few months away, his shoulders had broadened and his skin had become bronzed by the harsh African sun. She was taken aback that at a time such as this, she should feel such a magnetic pull toward him. How selfish she'd been earlier to want his attentions when he was giving her far more now than she'd expected. She wanted things between them to be as though he'd never left, but she realized that the usual ease they experienced with each other might be slow in coming. However, she had to believe it would return.

He sat on the edge of the mattress and skillfully used the hook to loosen the buttons on one shoe and then the other. Setting the hook aside, he gently tugged off her left shoe. She grimaced with the discomfort, then sighed with relief as her toes were free to wiggle about.

“My God,” he said.

“I know. They're hideously swollen. I fear my ankles rather look as though they belong on an elephant.”

“You should have said something sooner,” he chastised, slowly easing her other foot out of the shoe.

“Don't be cross.”

“I'm not cross,” he said, refusing to take his gaze from the trunks that were her ankles. “I'm worried about you, Julia.”

“The swelling is to be expected. I don't think I'm in any danger of losing the babe.”

He nodded toward the side. “Pass me one of the pillows you're not using.”

With extreme tenderness, he placed it beneath her feet. “Need to get a bit of blood flowing, I think,” he said.

He placed both hands around her ankle, slid them up beneath her skirt and over her knee until he reached the tie of her stocking. Her breath caught and held as she waited. Having his fingers so near the apex of her womanhood was sweet torture. He slowly loosened the ribbons, then even more slowly rolled the silk down past her toes and set it aside. His hands journeyed up her other leg, and she nearly melted on the spot. It was ridiculous how desperately she wanted his hands on her. When the other stocking was cast aside, he returned his attention to her first leg and began kneading her calf. His hand glided up to the back of her knee, his fingers massaging there for a moment before beginning the journey back toward her ankle. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

“It feels lovely.” The skin on his palms and fingers felt coarser, not as smooth as it had been before his journey. She imagined he'd gone a good deal of the time without gloves. If he had worn them, his hands wouldn't be so tanned now. “I may find myself grateful for the swelling. You've never rubbed my feet before.”

He stilled a fraction of a heartbeat before continuing the fluid, soothing motions, offering her an apologetic smile. “What a cad I am.”