The Earl Takes All (23 page)

“A wolf in a linen shirt, knee britches, and boots. And you've given him a rapier. That'll please Johnny.”

Mrs. Lark and her children had settled in at Evermore. From time to time Edward would take the lad for a ride. She suspected he wove his tales for him then.

“I suppose it will. What do you think of the new addition to our menagerie?”

“People don't generally like wolves. They're wily. I take it he's another villain.”

“No, he's on par with the steed. He's noble, protective. Strong. The others look up to him.”

“I'll work him into the next story.”

She smiled. “You don't recognize who he is?”

He shook his head, clearly baffled, and she didn't know why his reaction caused her to love him all the more. “Yet you saw yourself so easily in the weasel.”

“That's supposed to represent me?”

“Not supposed to. It does.”

He brought his gaze to bear on her, and she saw the torment and doubt woven there. “Julia, I am not noble.”

“Yes, you are.” She placed her hand against his jaw. “Protective.” She slid her fingers up until they could toy with the hair at his temple. “Strong. I was wrong. You're not the weasel. You were never the weasel. That was just a façade. You are a good and honorable man.” She stepped forward until her breasts flattened against his chest, took delight in his sharp intake of breath, the darkening of his eyes. “If the only way that I can have you is to live a lie, then I choose to live a lie.”

“Jules.” He tugged her in closer, locked his arms around her, pressed a kiss to her neck, her cheek, her temple.

She held him tightly. She'd struggled with this decision, but she knew it was the right one, the only one. She wanted him in her bed, wanted to give him children, wanted to be his wife.

Leaning back, he took her face between his hands, burned his gaze into hers. “I, Edward Alcott, promise to love, honor, and cherish you as long as we both shall live. I shall be as good a husband as a man can be.”

“I, Julia Alcott, promise to love, honor, and cherish you as long as we both shall live. I shall be as good a wife as a woman can be.”

Reaching down, he took her left hand and placed his fingers on the ring. “May I?”

Swallowing hard, she nodded. He gently pulled off her ring and set it in the palm of his hand. “I could purchase you a new ring, but I know how much love this one represents. I don't want to take that away from you. I want to add to it. So if you've no objections—­” He slid the ring back onto her finger. “—­with this ring, I thee wed.”

Tears burned her eyes at his unselfishness, his willingness to let her honor what she had once had. “I love you, Edward.”

His mouth came down on hers with such passion, such power, such urgency, that she might have stumbled backward if his arms hadn't clamped around her at the same time. His tongue slid like velvet over hers, stirring everything she felt in her heart for him until it was whirling through her body. Her limbs went weak, she went weak. Yet she didn't know if she'd ever felt stronger.

They'd been teasing each other for weeks now. It was only natural that her awareness would be heightened, and yet she felt as though he had struck a match to the kindling of her desires.

Quite suddenly he swept her into his arms and began striding from the room. “I want you on a bed,” he growled low, as though he were providing a message to himself as well as her.

With a laugh, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, buried her face in the curve of his neck and began to press kisses there, tasting the saltiness of his skin. She wanted him with an unyielding fierceness that terrified and excited her. He made her feel alive, no longer numb.

When they arrived at her bedchamber, it was much as it had been before—­with clothes being removed in a mad rush, abandoned to the floor. Only it was different. He was a different man, a man she'd never been with completely, and yet she felt none of the awkwardness, none of the doubt that had characterized her wedding night. Perhaps because she was no longer an innocent. Perhaps because she'd been with him as intimately as one could be without being joined.

When he shucked his trousers, she reached out and touched the scar at his hip. He froze. “You didn't get this in Africa, did you?”

“No. The Orient. Some years back.”

There was still so much to learn about him, but so much that she already knew. Stepping forward, she pressed her body to his, stroked her hands over his broad shoulders down his sinewy arms. How was it that she had believed only four months in Africa would sculpt a man into such perfection? This had taken years of trekking through rugged terrain, climbing mountains, hoisting gear. He was a man who would spend as little time sitting behind a desk as he could. He would take her rowing on the Thames, riding in Hyde Park, galloping over the hills. He would help tenants manage their livestock, their fields. He would nurse a widow and her son back to health.

He would brave cold weather to bring her strawberry tarts.

“I love you, Edward,” she repeated, knowing she would never tire of saying it, could never say it enough.

His eyes slammed closed, his head dropped back. When he opened them, she saw enough love to humble her. He marched her backward until her knees hit the bed. With his mouth latched onto hers, his arms holding her close, he tumbled them back onto the mattress. His roughened hands journeyed over her, eliciting sensations wherever they touched.

He shifted, nestled between her legs. Raised up on his arms, he hovered, looking deeply into her eyes. “Say something naughty.”

The scalding heat of embarrassment rushed through her entire body. “You were never supposed to hear those things.”

“And yet I did and they inflamed me.” He leaned down, took her mouth, released it. “I told you that you never have to pretend with me.”

Christmas Eve. By then he knew her tawdry secret. She turned her head to the side.

“Look at me when you say it. See how much I love it.”

She ran her fingers into his hair, held his head in place, licked her lips. “I want your cock inside me.”

Growling low, feral, he thrust his hips forward, plunging deep, stretching her, filling her. He never took his eyes from hers. “I love how hot and wet you are, the way you close around me.”

Laughing, she pulled him down, opened her mouth to him until their tongues were following the same ancient ritual as their bodies. Being with him was liberating. She felt no need to hold anything back, to keep any secrets. He accepted her wholly. She scraped her fingers up his back. He groaned low, increased the rhythm of his thrusts.

Sensations swirled through her, leaving no part of her untouched, unloved. He was giving her everything of himself, allowing her to do the same. She'd experienced their connection during their kiss in the garden and it had terrified her. Now it only emboldened her.

She could touch him however she wanted, say whatever she wanted. No holding back for fear of censure. No withdrawing for fear of judgment.

With him, she could be herself completely and absolutely.

Was herself completely and absolutely. Was more than herself as the world fell away. She was herself with him, with this man who accepted her openly, naughtiness and all. Who made her his own.

Crying out his name, she tumbled through the void where pleasure dominated. Fell fast and hard, her body arching, clutching him close as he bucked against her, her name a growl forced through his clenched teeth.

They landed together, a tangle of glistening, sweating bodies, their breaths coming in short gasps.

Rolling off her, he brought her in against his side, holding her close with one arm, while his hand trailed up and down her arm. They lay in silence for long moments, simply catching their breath, basking in the glow of lingering pleasure.

“Did you think of him?” he asked quietly.

She trailed her fingers across his chest. “No.”

“Not even a little?”

Rising up on her elbow, she looked down on him. “What are you really asking?”

“When you look at me, do you see him?”

“I see only you, Edward. I have for weeks now. I know the two of you looked alike, but I can see little mannerisms in you that I never noticed before, that he didn't have. I love him.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I know that. I shouldn't have even brought him up.”

She placed a finger over his lips. “Open those lovely brown eyes of yours.” When he did, she said, “I love him and I love you. The love I felt for Albert is different than the love I feel for you. It's not more or less. It's not better or worse. It's simply different. I can't put it to words. You said if I loved you a thimbleful as much as I loved him, it would be enough. I love you so much more than a thimbleful. I can't compare or contrast what I feel for either of you. Now and then of course I think of him, but not during moments like this. You've been with other women. Did you think of them?”

“Of course not.”

“Then there you are.”

The corners of his mouth hitched up. “None of them said naughty things.”

“I bet you know a whole host of words and phrases to teach me.”

“I'll teach you anything you like.”

“I was afraid he wouldn't enjoy it, that he would dislike me for it, that's why I only whispered it in his bad ear. You know me better than he did, and I fear that wasn't fair to him.”

“He loved you, Julia. He loved what he had with you. Don't second-­guess any of it now. That you and I have something different doesn't make it better or worse. As you said, it just makes it different.”

She was glad she had something with him that she hadn't had before. “I think I love you three thimblefuls.”

He laughed. “Let's see if I can get it up to four.”

Rolling her over, he enthusiastically threw himself into the challenge.

Chapter 22

A
s
the first of their four coaches pulled to a stop in front of the London residence, Julia took a deep breath. It was one thing to carry on a ruse when they were seldom visited. It would be another thing entirely here. Every day someone was bound to call on them. Not to mention the whirlwind of parties, balls, and dinners they were expected to attend.

She felt Edward's—­Greyling's, Grey's, she had to remember to think of him as Grey—­hand close around hers and squeeze.

“It's not too late if you've changed your mind. I can help you and Allie get settled in here, and then I'll carry on to the residence I began leasing last year.”

Leaning in, she kissed him. “I haven't changed my mind. I'm married to the Earl of Greyling.”

“No one will know otherwise.”

The footman opened the door. Greyling stepped out and handed her down. He seemed so confident, self-­assured, and yet she suspected he had to be experiencing some trepidation regarding the gauntlet that he—­that they both—­would be passing through. Far too many opportunities existed for a slip, which would destroy their one chance to be together as well as their reputations. But the love she held for him was worth the risk.

She was unable to envision her life without him in it. A chaste relationship seemed hardly possible when she was fully aware of the passion that existed between them. It still amazed her that he'd been able to hold it in check for so many years.

As they walked up the steps, another footman opened the door. “My lord, my lady, welcome home.”

“Thank you, John,” she said. Edward had memorized the names of the main staff, but distinguishing one tall, dark-­haired footman from another was going to take time, because she'd been unable to provide him with any descriptions that would make that task easy. Not that he needed to know the names of most of them.

Stepping into the residence, she inhaled deeply the familiar fragrances of their London residence. Flowers adorned the entryway, the floor glistened with a recent polishing, stairs on either side led up to the next level.

“Lord and Lady Greyling,” the butler said with a slight bow. “We're glad to have you in residence. Allow me to offer the staff's condolences on the loss of Mr. Alcott.”

It hadn't occurred to her that everyone in London who hadn't been at the funeral might feel a need to offer their sympathies on the death of Edward. And each offering simply served as a reminder of their deception.

“Thank you, Hoskins,” Edward said. “I'll be going back out shortly. See that a horse is readied.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Taking her arm, Edward began escorting her toward the stairs that led up to their bedchambers.

“I didn't realize you would be leaving so soon,” she said.

“I need to go speak with Ashe.”

“That seems rather risky. I should think if anyone could discern the truth—­”

“He already has.”

At the top of the stairs, she turned to face him. He gave her a laconic grin. “He and Locke both figured it out the day of the funeral. For what it's worth, Ashe was rather insistent that I tell you the truth then and there. Which is why it's imperative that I speak with him as soon as possible. He needs to know that you know, before he takes it upon himself to tell you.” He touched his fingers to her cheek. “Don't look so worried. He won't object once I explain things to him.”

“Perhaps I should go with you.”

“It's best if I go alone. I'm sure he'll have some choice words for me, the sort that should never touch a lady's ears.”

“Will he think ill of me?”

“Not unless he wants a bloodied nose.”

She forced a light laugh. “And Locke?”

“He's not coming to London for the Season. Perhaps we'll stop at Havisham on our return to Evermore.”

It hadn't occurred to her that anyone would know what she and Edward were up to, but she knew he trusted his childhood friends.

“When I return, we'll go for a ride in the park,” he said. “Ease our way back into London Society.”

“I shall look forward to it.” A little lie. She rather dreaded it, feared she would give them away.

Leaning in, he took her mouth, and she melted against him. She always melted against him. How was it that after a hundred kisses, he still had the power to completely undo her with little more than the persistent press of his lips, the swirling of his tongue over hers?

Drawing back, he grinned. “I'll return posthaste.”

“I'll be waiting.”

“I love when you utter those words.”

He dashed down the stairs before she could stop him, before she could suggest that perhaps he should join her in her bedchamber for a bit. God, what a wanton she was. He sent all her good sense to perdition.

A
s
Edward trotted his horse through the familiar streets, he hoped that taking Julia to the park later would reassure her that no one was going to look at him and
see
Edward. They had no reason to doubt the veracity of his identity. He had no reason to lie. He was the Earl of Greyling. That was whom people would see.

The closer they'd come to London, the tenser Julia had become. He'd tried to distract her with kisses but even they had failed to relax her once they entered London proper. One of the things he loved about her was her awareness of her reputation and its impact on her daughter's prospects for a happy life. Scandal was a scourge that could ruin any bright future, and unfortunately, ladies could get away with far less inappropriate behavior than men. Perhaps because they cared so much more about their positions, but then it was more important for them. Few had the means to support themselves. Marriage was their occupation.

Edward now had a rank, power, and wealth. Mothers would overlook his transgressions if it meant a good match for their daughters. But a ruined woman made a favorable mistress, and men would often settle for that when desire was all that drew them.

But more than desire drew Edward to Julia. He admired her strength, her dedication to the right path even if she was willing to tiptoe along the wrong one for him. Actually, that made him love her all the more.

Drawing his horse to a halt in front of Ashe's residence, he quickly wrapped the reins around the hitching post before darting up the stairs, taking them two steps at a time. He wasn't anticipating this confrontation, but it had to be done. He knocked, waited. The door opened.

“Lord Greyling,” the footman said.

Edward still had a moment of wanting to look around for Albert whenever someone spoke that address. He wasn't certain if he'd ever grow accustomed to it being directed at him. For Julia and the sake of their relationship, he had to.

Handing his hat, riding crop, and gloves to the footman, he asked, “Where might I find the duke?”

The earl's presence here was the natural order of things. Staff was well aware that he didn't require an announcement.

“He's in the library, my lord.”

Edward carried on down the hallway. The library door was unattended, which suited him just fine. He didn't need anyone to overhear the coming conversation, and he suspected part of it might entail a raised voice or two. Although he had no intention of being goaded into shouting.

Ashe was sitting behind his desk, apparently in the process of inscribing some missive. Looking up, he shoved back his chair and stood. “Edward. I was just writing to you to see if you were planning on coming to London.”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“You told her, then?”

“I did.”

With a brusque nod, which Edward took as a sign of approval, his longtime friend walked over to the sideboard and splashed scotch into two glasses. He handed Edward one. “How did she take it?”

“As you predicted. Her heart shattered, she wished me dead, and she went into mourning.”

“That could not have been pleasant for either of you, but being forthright is always the least complicated path. I suppose your next step is to dispatch a letter to the
Times
.”

“No, actually.” Edward took a long slow swallow of the scotch, holding Ashe's gaze the entire time. “My next step is to tell you to keep what you know to yourself.”

Ashe angled his head thoughtfully, his mouth pressed into a hard, firm line. “I beg your pardon?”

“I love her, and she loves me. We're going to continue on as we have been, with people believing Edward is dead and I am Albert.”

“Have you gone mad?”

“Our positions in Society prevent us from going off to some parish where we're not known and getting married. We are known among the nobility. Good God, we're known among royalty. The only way we can have a marriage that is not questioned is if Albert remains alive. Tell me that I'm mistaken.”

“But you're not Albert. This is not legitimate; you're not legally wed.”

“No one other than you, Locke, Marsden, Julia, and I will ever know that.”

Ashe spun around, paced halfway across the room, stopped, turned back. “If even one person should suspect—­”

“No one ever will. Why would they? Why would anyone suspect I am not Albert? The entire notion is ludicrous—­that I would pretend to be my brother. That Edward would want as his wife a woman he abhorred. Why would anyone even postulate such a scenario as Edward not being the one laid to rest in the vault at Evermore? I'm the legitimate heir, Ashe. There is no reason for this ruse other than keeping at my side the woman I love. Who is harmed by us going on as we have been for a little over half a year already? I submit that we will cause more harm if the truth is revealed.”

Ashe dropped into a chair, hung his head. “Are you certain you love her?”

“It is the one thing I am completely, entirely certain of. And I love her with all my heart. Will you deny us a lifetime of love because of a stupid law?”

He looked up. “We could work to get it changed.”

“How long will that take? What if we have children before the law is changed? Do we deny ourselves each other's company? Would you tell Minerva, ‘Someday we will be together but not now'?”

“Damn you.”

Edward realized he should have asked him that question in the beginning. It was no secret that Ashe adored his wife, would do anything to have her.

Ashe stood. “If you love her even half as much as I love Minerva . . .”

Edward was willing to wager his entire fortune that he loved Julia as much as Ashe loved Minerva—­if not more.

The Duke of Ashebury raised his glass. “Edward, I wish you and Julia all the happiness in the world. You'll have my silence, and from this moment forth I will recognize you as Grey. I pray to God that you have better luck keeping your secrets than I had keeping mine.”

Edward tossed back his scotch, ignoring the shiver of foreboding that skittered up his spine.

“
D
on't
look so terrified, Julia.”

Perched atop her horse, at the entrance to Hyde Park, she glanced over at Edward. “I feel as though I'm wearing a huge sign that reads ‘Imposter.'
”

“You're not the imposter. I am.” He said it so casually, with such ease, as though he wasn't at all bothered, but then he had been ensconced in the role for a good long while now.

“I'm afraid I'll give us away.”

“We've exchanged vows. I'm your husband as much as I can be your husband. Remember that. And remember that I love you to distraction.”

She held out her hand. When he placed his within it, she squeezed hard. “I love you as well. So much. Bearing witness to our devotion to each other, people will surely not suspect the truth.”

“I promise you that no one is looking for Edward.”

Nodding, she released his hand. “Don't forget that you're deaf in your right ear.”

“Few will take note of that. Albert was self-­conscious about his loss of hearing. Only those closest to him knew he had difficulty hearing.”

She smiled with a memory. It was becoming easier to think of him without the pang of sorrow. “I'd forgotten about that. He told me just before he asked me to marry him—­as though his inability to hear in one ear would dampen my love for him.”

“I liked to tease him about it.”

“No! You were not that cruel.”

He nodded. “When we were in a group of people, I could tell when he didn't hear the comments because he would just nod and smile, so I would make some ludicrous retort as though it was in answer to something someone said, and Albert would respond in kind until we had those around us thinking we'd lost our minds.”

“That sounds awful.”

“It was funny, but you had to be there to appreciate it. He'd always laugh afterward. ‘You got me again, Edward,' he'd say. Then I'd discover he filled my scotch glass with some bitter brew of tea that had me spitting it out. God, I so enjoyed the tricks we played on each other.”

“I'm glad we can talk about him now, so openly.”

“I'm glad to see you smiling. We can carry on now, I think.”

She realized he'd used his tale about Albert to distract her, to put her at ease. With a gentle flick of her riding crop, she prodded her horse forward into the park and the mash of people who thought it was incredibly important to make an appearance this time of day. Tomorrow she would begin making morning calls, and ladies would make them on her.

For now, she simply focused on how much she enjoyed the company of the man riding beside her. “Will you be going to the club tonight?”

“No. I doubt I'll ever go to the club again.”

With a teasing smile, she looked askance and skeptically at him. “That would raise suspicions. A gentleman not going to his club. That's rather expected.”

“Not of a man who is madly in love with his wife.”