The Earl's Complete Surrender (15 page)

“Oh, you would be surprised by just how interesting he can be,” Chloe said, her mind filling with thoughts of incidental rendezvous, illicit kisses and trips through secret passageways. She hid a smile, aware that Woodford would be a wonderful addition to the characters in the novel that Laura was writing.

Laura threw a dubious look at Chloe. “I somehow doubt it, but that doesn't mean that there isn't something to be said for a brooding hero.” She smiled knowingly. “I think I'm beginning to understand your appreciation for him.”

Placing her hand against her sister's arm, Chloe brought her to a stop. “You've obviously misunderstood the situation, so let me be clear,” she said, “I have
not
developed a tendre for the Earl of Woodford, nor would I ever do so.”

Laura looked as unconvinced by this as Chloe felt. Saying the words out loud made her question the truth in them, but only for a second. She might have kissed Woodford, but she wasn't about to marry him or any other man for that matter.

“He and I barely know each other, Laura, and while we have spent some moments together since arriving here, it would be ridiculous to presume that this brief acquaintance of ours might develop into something more.” She drew a sharp breath as the truth of her words sank in. There was no comfort to be found in them or in the thought of never seeing Woodford again once the journal was found, as would likely be the case. Stunned by how distressing she found this concept, she said, “When we leave here, there will be no reason for us to continue our acquaintance with each other since we have absolutely nothing in common.”

Laura looked ashen. “What is it?” Chloe asked, confused by her sister's response.

“If you don't mind,” a deep, masculine voice spoke behind Chloe.

Closing her eyes, she winced, regretting every word she'd just spoken. The voice was unmistakable—­she'd recognize it anywhere.
Woodford
. Taking a breath, she opened her eyes and turned to face him.

 

Chapter 12

H
e'd heard every word she'd said, and although he'd told himself and her that there could be no deep feelings between them, a small corner of his heart had opened just enough to let her in. Clearly, the same could not be said about her.

After all, she'd just said that they had absolutely nothing in common. What then of the conversations they'd shared about Cook's travels, about Lamarck or any other number of topics they'd discussed since becoming acquainted. Had all of that been pretense on her part? Because as far as he was concerned, he hadn't enjoyed such meaningful discussion with anyone else in recent memory. If ever.

James felt his entire body grow rigid while heat rose to the top of his head. He was not a man prone to anger—­had long since conquered his own emotions so he could view a situation objectively. But the idea that she cared nothing for him and that she'd just been using him to her own advantage made him feel decidedly
out
of control.

His gaze fell on her wide eyes as she turned. Clearly, she felt embarrassed by her outburst and by the realization that he'd heard her.
Good
. He clenched his jaw, shoulders tense with restrained anger. “You left your shawl hanging over the railing outside on the balcony,” he bit out. “In your haste to return your mother's spectacles to her, you forgot it.” He offered her the garment which she hesitantly accepted, as if she feared he might suddenly lash out at her when she least expected it.

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes filled with remorse. She reached toward him, most likely to take his arm, but he stepped away from her. “I didn't mean—­”

His sharp wince cut her off. “I'd advise you not to make a liar out of yourself as well, my lady.” At her side, her sister looked stricken, but that couldn't be helped. He had reached his limit and did not care what others might think as long as they understood that he would not be treated like this. “All things considered, I expected more from you, Lady Newbury, but it seems I was wrong to do so. Return the spectacles, then meet me on the dance floor. I believe our waltz will be starting soon.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned around and deliberately took Lady Dewfield, who'd maintained her closeness, by the arm and led her toward God knew where. It didn't matter other than that he wanted Lady Newbury to see him keeping company with her because of the distinct animosity between the two—­the kind that had kept Lady Newbury from ascertaining if her mother did indeed require her help. Initially, in spite of his disapproval with her choice to ignore what Lady Dewfield had said, James had imagined that Lady Newbury might have been just a little bit jealous of the attentions he'd paid Lady Dewfield. It was clear now that this was not the case.

Bloody hell!
How could he have been so foolish as to think that she might have begun to feel something for him? Logic should have warned him against such an idea for he was not the sort of man who would ever encourage affection. His demeanor was the sort that pushed ­people away rather than invite them closer. It was deliberate, and yet Lady Newbury had somehow managed to tear down his defenses. Damn her!

“You seem incensed, my lord.”

“What?” Looking down, James spotted Lady Dewfield's upturned face. He'd been so busy with his inner musings that he'd forgotten she was there altogether.

“I cannot imagine what prompted Lady Newbury to say the things she said.”
Oh God, she'd overheard it too!
“You needn't worry though. I think you're absolutely dashing, my lord, and this new”—­she waved one hand vaguely about as if searching for the right word—­“bluster, is so becoming on you—­so masculine and alluring. I can assure you I'm not the only one who has noticed either. See those ladies fanning their faces over there? They're positively smitten by you.”

Glancing in the direction she indicated, James spotted a group of young ladies who were indeed fanning their faces quite rapidly while looking his way in between giggles. His chest swelled with pride even as his heart ached with the knowledge that a rift had formed between himself and Lady Newbury. Truth was, her words had hurt like the devil because it had proven to him that he liked her a hell of a lot more than he'd ever intended to and obviously more than she liked him. Christ, he'd fantasized about undressing her! And now . . . now he could think of no other woman in those terms. He wanted Lady Newbury and nobody else. “It's almost time for the waltz,” he heard himself say.

“I shall miss your company,” Lady Dewfield told him.

Was she sincere? James wasn't sure, even though she looked it, because as pleasant as she seemed, there was something about her that gave him pause and that made him wonder about her motive for keeping his company. Especially since the rumors he'd heard about her suggested that she was the sort of woman who enjoyed a life of luxury without the controlling grasp of a husband.

“And I shall miss yours,” he told her politely, because he would behave like a gentleman this evening, no matter what.

Leaving Lady Dewfield's side, James made his way toward the dance floor where several ­couples were already pairing up in preparation for the waltz that was about to commence. The orchestra paused with violins at the ready and James scanned those present in search of his partner. A soft murmur of strings rose through the air and for a moment he thought she would not come—­that she would choose to avoid dancing with him after what she'd said.

But in spite of her aversion to conflict and the fear that his anger likely instilled in her, Lady Newbury was not a coward. She appeared at that moment, just as he'd hoped she would—­an elven lady in green—­her beauty rivaling that of any other woman in the room as she approached him with graceful steps. “My lord,” she said, her head lowered in genteel submission as she curtseyed, provoking a strong desire within James to pull her into his arms and to kiss her with abandon.

Stilling his racing heart and quelling the ever-­increasing lust he felt for her, he took her hand in his and bowed over it, kissing her gloved knuckles. Straightening, he offered her his arm and guided her onto the dance floor where his heart decided it would not be calmed and where his hunger knew no bounds the moment he placed his hand against her lower back.
Steady now. You're angry with her. Control your instincts.

Funny thing, those instincts. James had certainly read enough literature to know that animals would eventually do what they were born to do, and when all was said and done, humans were a sort of animal as well. Were they not? And what was the most basic instinct of all? Survival, not only of the individual, but of the species, which meant that food and procreation were both of very great importance. Therefore, from a scientific standpoint, James was horribly aware that no matter how angry he was with Lady Newbury or how much she'd hurt him, he could not so easily dispel his need for her. After all, it was a matter of survival.
Just bloody perfect!

“About earlier,” she said as the dance started and James took the lead, guiding her forward, “I feel as though an explanation is in order.”

He kept silent, concentrating on the dance.

“In fact, I should probably start with an apology,” she continued.

James raised an eyebrow, acknowledging her comment. Still, he said nothing.

“You see,” she went on, her fingers tightening slightly against his arm, “my friends believe that in keeping your company, I have developed fond feelings for you while my sister's romantic inclinations have prompted her to dream of a deeper attachment between us—­one that will lead to marriage. Considering how ridiculous that would be—­”

“So I gather,” he bit out as his foot came down over her toes. It hadn't been intentional. “Forgive me. I lost my concentration. Shall we?”

She nodded dimly and they continued in a wide arc, spinning as they went. “I meant no disrespect toward you, my lord, but you must agree that we haven't known each other for very long.”

“I agree that we . . .”
Damn!
He'd lost the rhythm now and had to resort to counting the beats in his head. One, two, three. One, two three.

“Perhaps you should follow my lead,” she suggested.

He glared at her and she tried to pull back—­to add some distance between them. Unwilling to yield to her wishes, he pulled her closer instead. “I will do no such thing,” he murmured in her ear. His hand closed more firmly around hers.

“As to your comment earlier, I agree that I did not think we had anything in common two weeks ago when we first met, but now, after spending more time in your company and getting to know you, I feel as though we share enough interests upon which to build a solid friendship. Truth be told, I thought we
were
friends, Lady Newbury, but it seems I was mistaken.”

“I spoke in frustration,” she said. “It was badly done of me, and I am sorry for it.”

She sounded sincere, but considering how easily she'd been tempted to deny any deeper connection with him, he couldn't help himself from lashing out. Tightening his hold, he said, “What makes you think that you deserve my forgiveness?”

Her lips parted and she sucked in a breath, those moss-­green eyes of hers searching his face as if she hoped to find the correct answer to his question there.

“Be honest with me,” he whispered close to her ear as he pulled her closer still. Her scent was like wild honey and freshly picked citrus fruits on a hot summer's day. It was intoxicating. “You're just using me, aren't you? All you want is to find the journal, and you will do so by any means necessary, won't you? I'm just a means to an end for you, aren't I? Come now, Lady Newbury, you can tell me—­”

“No.” The word was but a breath of air hanging between them. But then, more forcefully, she said, “I could never do something so shallow or selfish, my lord. In fact, I quite admire you for the job that you do, for your incredible mind and for keeping a level head in spite of what you went through as a child. It is impressive.”

“Then why denounce what we have?” What the hell had come over him? He was behaving like a rogue. Perhaps he'd had too much champagne? Anything was possible at this point.

“Because . . .” Lady Newbury said. She sounded perplexed—­like someone who'd just been asked to explain why they'd suddenly chosen to attend church when they'd never made a habit of going before.

James waited. When she said nothing further, he prompted, “Because what?”

“I . . . I cannot explain it other than to say that I feel increasingly confused when I am with you. This . . . what we share, is so different from anything I've ever experienced with any other man that I find myself feeling . . . misplaced somehow.”

“Misplaced?”

“Perhaps that was not the right word.” She sighed. “It's as if I'm adrift in a turbulent sea.”
Interesting analogy
. “My husband wasn't anything like you, and though I did love him in the beginning, that love faded when I became aware of the true nature of his character. Since then, I have found it impossible to form a close attachment to any gentleman.”

He couldn't help but stare at her. “What about Scarsdale? I realize that you've fallen out, and for good reason, but you considered him your friend until a few days ago.” The music faded and James took some pride in his ability to bring them to a graceful stop after his earlier blunders. He offered Lady Newbury his arm and guided her toward the terrace doors. Considering the interesting turn the conversation had just taken, he wanted to get her alone so he could press her for an answer to his question.

Of course, as fate would have it, Mrs. Green and Hainsworth stepped in front of them at that exact moment. “You danced beautifully just now,” Mrs. Green said as she leaned toward James and smiled.

James winced, for he knew that Lady Newbury must have looked like a fairy princess being jerked about by a clumsy oaf. At least in the beginning. “Thank you,” he said, regardless.

“Lady Duncaster just informed us that it's almost time to go in to supper. We thought we might be able to sit together if we hurry along and find a table.” Releasing Hainsworth, Mrs. Green linked her arm with James's and started forward, leaving him with no choice but to follow if he was to be polite.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw that Hains­worth was offering his arm to Lady Newbury who smiled as she took it. James looked away. He was not satisfied with where their conversation had left off and determined to get her alone later. For now, however, he had no choice but to accompany a woman who was making him very uncomfortable with her forwardness and the clear insinuation that she hoped to make a conquest of him.

C
hloe feared she might have to claim a headache and excuse herself for the evening. Never in her life had she felt as rotten as she had the moment she'd realized that Lord Woodford had been standing right behind her as she'd proclaimed to have no interest in him, that she hardly considered him a friend and that they had nothing in common.